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“Then she won’t freak out. I’ll make sure of it.”
Whitney’s dark-chocolate eyes melt, and her lips curve into a warm smile. Then something catches her eye over my shoulder, and she raises her arm to wave.
I turn my attention to the delicate girl with blue eyes and golden locks who approaches us and takes a seat at our table. She’s an interesting combination of fit and fragile. Not like Whitney’s lean strength that’s outlined by every muscle in her body. Still, the girl is pretty in a soft, classic kind of way. Her features are distinctly Russian, now that I see them up close, with a slightly wider forehead, high cheekbones, and full lips.
“Hi,” she says shyly, her lips wavering into a smile that looks more nervous than happy, and it drops a moment later.
Whitney reaches across the table to give her hand a squeeze. “You look like you just walked in on your parents having sex. Relax. Just think of it as a game. We don’t mind if you’re here, okay? It’s all part of the fun.”
I fight the urge to laugh at Whitney’s spot-on description of the girl’s face.
“This is Ilya,” Whitney continues. “Ilya, this is my friend Anya.”
“Pleasure.” I extend a hand to shake hers, making a platonic physical connection that might put the girl at ease. “Whitney said you have arrangement similar to ours and are still trying to… get comfortable.”
Her shoulders seem to relax minutely in response to my smile, and she takes my hand as he nods.
“I thought Ilya could explain a bit about how this works to help you better understand what roles you might play,” Whitney suggests.
Anya smiles gratefully. “That sounds good.” I can see why Whitney cares about her friend. She seems sweet and entirely too innocent for this world.
Shoving that thought aside, I start right in, keeping a close eye on Whitney’s friend to catch any ticks that would indicate she’s uncomfortable. Those will help me later, when we’re in the scene. “BDSM is not just about punishment. It is game of power and control. My job is to create the scenarios I wish to entertain. It’s Whitney’s job to trust me. She must play the game, and when she does it right, I reward her.” I glance at Whitney teasingly. “Sometimes, there is no right answer. Then, I punish her.”
Whitney giggles. “That punishment for us usually entails forced pleasure. Making me come so many times it’s almost painful. Ilya likes to punish me so much my endurance has started to make our games last longer than the club is open. I think he’s started to do our sessions at home more often to save on money.”
She’s being cute, teasing me because she thinks she’s safe with her friend here. I take her chin between my thumb and finger, turning her head to face me. “That smart mouth of yours will get you in trouble if you don’t watch it,” I warn. My eyes flick down to her lips, mere inches from my own, and I can’t resist the temptation. Combing my fingers into her hair, I kiss her fiercely, parting her lips with my tongue as I claim her mouth–a reminder that she’s mine to do with as I please, when I please, where I please. Even in front of her friend.
When I release Whitney, her friend is blushing an impressive shade of red as she keeps her eyes locked on the floor.
“Would you like to come back into our room with us?” I suggest. “I have added you into the scenario as a passive participant. I thought it might give you a feel for role playing without having to join in the sex.”
“That sounds good,” Anya says with audible relief. “Thank you.”
I nod. “Come.” I rise and lead the way down the hall. Stopping at our assigned room, I put my hand on the door handle, then pause and turn to Anya. “In this room, we are part of a scene. Part of the fun is remaining in character, and Whitney knows her safe words to tell me if I’m pushing her too far. Otherwise, she is not allowed to disobey me in here. Not without consequences.”
Anya nods, paling visibly. Then she follows Whitney into the room, with me bringing up the rear.
I close the door behind us and immediately shift into my deeper register as I step up behind Whitney. “Take off your clothes,rabynya,” I command. “And kneel in the center of the room.” I strip my own shirt and toss it aside as I head toward the table to lay out my selection of toys for the evening.
Whitney obeys silently, stripping down to a set of strappy black lingerie that makes me instantly hard. It’s new, and the thin black band that covers each nipple presses the flesh of her breasts around the top and bottom to create impressive cleavage I’m aching to cup and explore. Her panties are just as revealing with barely enough fabric to cover a diamond of skin at the peak of her thighs before thin black straps stretch around her hips, resembling ropes more than elastic. A thin band cinched just above her navel serves as a garter belt that breaks up the flat plane of her stomach and connects down to a pair of black nylons.
It’s like she knew the script without me even saying it. And watching her step quickly to the middle of the room and kneel, bowing her head submissively, tells me she’s hungry for a reward tonight, despite her smart comment earlier.
Taking a leather collar from our room’s wall of toys, I latch it around Whitney’s throat, then tip her chin up so she has to look at me. “You’ve been a naughty pet,” I murmur. “You’ve displeased me, and so I’ve decided to send you with Anya. She’s a new trainer who will teach you to behave properly. Unless, you can prove to me that you’re a good pet, that you know how to behave. Do you want to stay with me,rabynya? To prove you’re worthy of me today?”
“Yes, Master,” Whitney breathes, her eyes growing wide.
“Good. Now get in.” I point to the metal cage before taking Whitney by the hair and leading her to it on her hands and knees.
She folds herself into the cage so I can close the door. And seeing her knees part to rest up by her shoulders makes my cock throb painfully against the zipper of my jeans. Whitney’s dark eyes peer up at me through the bars, but I pointedly ignore her.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask Anya, opening a bottle of wine. This will not only help her enter the scene with something physical to occupy her mind, but from the tension in her shoulders, I would guess she could use a bit of liquid courage as well.
“Um, sure, yes,” she fumbles.
I pour us each a glass as I continue to talk. “She is usually well behaved, a perfect pet, obedient, flexible, athletic, capable of enduring pain. She has been well trained for public outings, or so I thought, but lately, she seems to be testing her limits, pretending like she gets to run the show.” I hand Anya a glass of wine and gesture to the chair next to Whitney’s cage before settling into my own chair. “Please, have a seat.”
Anya does then takes a generous gulp of wine.
