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Almost?
I still feel the marks a little, like ghosts.
A pause, then I typed, Haunted by a sadist.
Something like that.
I pictured her looking over her shoulder with her back to the mirror, inspecting the marks I’d put on her. Was she disappointed when they started to fade? I leaned back on my couch, putting my feet up.
Are you ready to go further this time? You seemed to enjoy yourself last time.
I did. A pause. Are you going to try to get me into subspace?
I’m going to try to break you. Agonize you. Make you lose your mind.
Why? You’ll be stuck with a crazy submissive.
I laughed at her literal reasoning. So Juliet. Her hair was probably down. She was probably twisting it around her fingers when she wasn’t typing to me. Or maybe her fingers were between her legs. Maybe she had on some of those socks…
You’ll be bound, I typed after a moment. So even if you go crazy, you won’t be able to do much damage. I’ll probably fuck you extra hard to drive that point home.
Oh God. That sounds intense. What are you saving for session three?
I’ll figure that out. I started to type something, then stopped, then typed it anyway. Maybe we could go to The Gallery, if that still interests you.
The Gallery? Your private club?
Yet. I corrected the typo. Yes.
Why wouldn’t it interest me?
I didn’t answer for a long time, because I didn’t know how she’d react to what I was about to say.
If we go to The Gallery, I typed, you aren’t only mine. You’re submissive to every Dominant there.
Three dots blinked, then went away. Her reply finally came through. How many Dominants are there?
I let out the breath I’d been holding. If she was curious, then she wasn’t repulsed by the idea.
15-20 on a busy night, I answered. Sometimes just 4-5. But the number doesn’t matter. What matters is the submission. The Gallery is a place of total female submission.
More than your dungeon? I’m just trying to understand.
She was so sensitive about everything, so thoughtful. I wished I hadn’t brought up The Gallery when we weren’t face to face.
You won’t understand until you go, I typed. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Get some rest, and before you turn in tonight, take a good long look at your ass in the mirror.
Why?
So you’ll remember how it looked before I got a hold of it and fucked it all to hell.
Wow, she typed. Three dots flashed and disappeared again, this time twice in a row. Do you mean literally fucking my ass, or figuratively fucking it up with punishment, or what? she finally added.
All of the above. I brushed a hand over the front of my pants, quieting my cock. I’m going to let you go now. See you tomorrow, Sparkles. Sweet dreams.
I could have asked for a nude photo, maybe a photo of her sexy, sock-clad knees. I could have enticed her to stroke her tits or pussy on camera, but I would have gone crazy when I couldn’t touch her myself. I lay back against the couch and thought about how I’d hurt her tomorrow, how I’d make her come. I wondered if she was an anal virgin. I hoped she was, for sadistic reasons. I hoped she was terrified about what was going to happen when I saw her tomorrow.
But not so terrified that she wouldn’t come to the session.
I couldn’t wait for her to show up.
Chapter Sixteen: Juliet
I stood outside Fort’s door a full five minutes before I found the courage to knock. I waited with my fists clenched, checking in with myself. Are you sure about this? You can leave now. He’d never know. But once I left, that was it. Everything was over.
I’d prepared myself for tonight, both mentally and physically. I’d showered, shaved, primped, and donned a black dress and vampy underwear that made me feel wild and sexy. Everything would be okay. I trusted Fort. He hadn’t shown any carelessness or lack of control during our previous session, and he’d given me no reason to suspect he’d lose control now. He was the epitome of control. But I was the epitome of uncontrolled emotions and loaded expectations—
Holy shit, Jules. Just knock on the door.
I knocked with as much confidence as I could summon. He answered the door in a coffee-colored sweater and another pair of alarmingly sexy jeans.
“Juliet.” His voice rumbled seductively, making my stomach flip as he welcomed me in. He wasn’t trying to seduce me, he was just being Fort St. Clair in all his glory: confident, assured, built to torment and fuck. I glanced at his crotch, then stared, like my gaze was caught in a tractor beam. When I looked back at his face, he wore a cocky grin.
“Back for more punishment?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Sit down with me first. Another little drink so you won’t be nervous…”
I was about to open my mouth and pass on more red wine when he held up a pink, sparkling spritzer drink. “It sparkles like you,” he said. “And it’s only mildly alcoholic.”
“Like me,” I said, smiling in appreciation as I sat on his couch. I liked the lowbrow wine cooler better than last week’s expensive merlot, which made me feel cheap and slutty, but it was a kind gesture on his part.
“That’s a great dress,” he said, settling next to me. He moved the hem up my leg, running a fingertip over my upper thigh. “But where are the socks?”
I took a big sip of my drink. “I thought you might be getting tired of them.”
“I’ll never, ever be tired of them,” he said with a half-smile. “Wear them next time.”
“Yes, Sir.” I drank too fast and got some spritzer bubbles in my nose. “I suspected you had a sock fetish.”
“I’ve developed an intense sock fetish where you’re concerned. But I have a little black dress fetish, too.” His caressing fingertips left my thigh. His voice turned lower and huskier. “Are you excited, Juliet?”
“Yes, Sir.” I held my glass in my lap, twisting it between my fingers. “Excited and nervous.”
“That’s perfect. Whenever you’re ready—”
“Are you excited?” I asked.
He tilted his head back and leveled me with his direct hazel stare. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.” He took my glass and put it on the table, then cupped my head and kissed me, his typical hard, rough, blatantly possessive kiss. When he pulled away, it was to take my elbow in an unforgiving grip. “Let’s get started. I’ve been fantasizing about the best ways to hurt you all week.”
When he led me to his library this time, I took less notice of my surroundings. The suspended pendulums that had fascinated me so much the previous week now suggested the shape of butt plugs.
I suppressed the urge to repeat that I was nervous. He probably understood that from the tension in my arm. We entered his dark, otherworldly dungeon and the tension turned to shakes. I took deep breaths to center myself. I wanted this. I’d looked forward to the terror all week.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
I complied, trying to be sultry in spite of my trembling. I hoped he appreciated my pretty black lingerie, but he said nothing as I undid the bra’s clasp and then peeled down my panties, lying all of it on the low bench just inside the door.
“Come here,” he said when I was done.
I went to him, slouching gratefully into his arms when he opened them.
“Same as last week,” he murmured against my ear. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to make you very uncomfortable tonight, but you’re going to be safe. Do you trust me?”
