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From the few parties she’d attended and the private club Quill had taken her to, it seemed many of these types tossed around words likeownedandbelonged toin an almost flip way. Most would be horrified if they knew how very literal this enslavement was.
“Close your eyes,” he said when she joined him on the bed.
Saskia closed her eyes and let out a long shaky breath as Phillip’s hand moved under the slit in the gown and up her thigh.
“You are so sweet,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek and along her jawline, down the side of her throat until he reached her collar, and then over her shoulder.
Yes, the sweet girl who conned a man out of millions, Saskia thought.
She heard his weight lift off the bed. “Stay. And keep your eyes closed.”
Minutes later, rich, sad cello music poured into the room. Phillip covered her eyes with a strip of soft fabric. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, “But I wouldn’t want you to slip and earn yourself a punishment. Not your first time with me.”
When the blindfold was in place, he took her hand and led her to what felt like the center of the room. She stood, waiting for a command as he slid the straps down her shoulders, slipping each arm out in turn. The gown was form fitting and even without the straps holding it up, the top of it bunched at her waist, leaving her partly covered.
She felt his eyes on her breasts, even if she couldn’t see it.
“Lift your arms above your head.”
She hadn’t noticed the shackles that must have hung from the ceiling. Phillip locked one wrist in, and then the other.
“We’ll leave the gloves on,” he said.
His hands skimmed the sides of her breasts, then down over her ribcage, and finally he shoved the rest of the gown off her hips until the garment pooled at her feet in a soft swish. He helped her out of the pile of fabric and moved it out of the way.
“We’ll leave the shoes on as well.”
He moved to another part of the room. She heard a light pop and then liquid pouring into a glass. Phillip returned.
“Open your mouth, petal.”
Saskia hesitated, but finally obeyed. He tipped the glass back and a tart sauvignon blanc slid down her throat.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, sir?”
He chuckled. “No, dear. Just pleasantly buzzed to relax you.”
He let her drink probably a full glass until the gentle warm wine buzz prickled out over her face.
Then he retreated to refill the glass. When he returned, instead of giving her more, he spilled a bit of it down the front of her body, quickly catching the trail with his tongue. He must have drunk a full glass of his own this way, licking and sucking wine off her breasts, letting some drip between her thighs and kneeling to lap it up there.
“You are so sweet,” he said again, his voice drifting up from closer to the ground. This time he meant it in a different way.
“Have you ever been cropped?”
“Uh... riding crop?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
She felt him rise from the ground. He went to another part of the room and sorted through some things until he found what he was looking for.
The crop fell across her back in short, hard snaps. “Do you like this?” he asked after the first several strikes.
When she didn’t answer, Phillip’s hand moved between her legs. “I know the truth. It’s coating my fingers. So say it. Do you like being struck this way?”
