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“What did you call me?” El-Mudad mused aloud to Neil. Years ago, Neil had consented to sub for El-Mudad. It had been light play, owing to Neil’s past trauma, but the idea of my Sir being ordered to his knees struck me as impossible and impossibly arousing at the same time.
There could even be some of that in our future. When we discussed the roles we would take together, Neil had been direct and honest about not being open to letting El-Mudad Dom me without his involvement, but he hadn’t shot down the idea of submitting to El-Mudad.
“I believe I called you Monsieur,” Neil replied, a note of amusement in his voice.
“Then, she shall call me that, as well,” El-Mudad said from somewhere behind me. The sound of his expensive shoes on the polished floor told me where he was, but I felt his approach more than heard it.
The air around me changed, filled with the scent of his cologne and the heat of his body. His clothes rustled as he leaned down, and one finger hooked beneath my chin to lift my face. Though I couldn’t see him, I imagined that I somehow met his gaze. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip.
“Say it.”
“Monsieur,” I breathed, and almost cringed at how clumsy it sounded on my mouth. But if that’s what he wanted—if that was what Monsieur wanted—then it was what I would call him.
A different hand, bigger, replaced Monsieur’s. Where his touch was elegant and gentle, Sir was commanding and cruel. He gripped my chin and touched his thumb to my lip the way Monsieur had, but roughly smeared my wine-red lipstick across my mouth.
“But she made herself so pretty for us,” Monsieur said with a disappointed sigh.
“Tell him why you made yourself so pretty,” Sir ordered, and I could see his smirk in my mind.
“So that you could mess it up, Sir. Monsieur.”
“I think we could make her very messy, indeed, can’t we, Monsieur?” Sir asked. Hearing him use the title sent a thrill through me. The more distance they put between themselves and who they were outside of our game, the more impersonal and, frankly, frightening this could feel for me.
“She’s trembling,” Monsieur observed. “Are you not looking forward to that, little one? Are you afraid of what you’ll see when we’re finished with you? Sweat, tears, cum dripping from your mouth and your cunt…”
I moaned.
“You’ve struck a nerve.” Sir chuckled darkly. He released my chin, his hand sliding along the curve of my jaw and into my hair. He gripped a huge handful and pulled; I lifted up slightly to follow it, and he tugged, again. “On your feet.”
I stood, grateful for the reprieve from the floor but aching from the position I’d held. That at least gave me some idea of how long they’d forced me to wait.
Sir stood so close to me that his shirt brushed against my nipples, the legs of his trousers against my knees. He didn’t let go of my hair or relax his hold on it. “Where should we start?”
I held my breath. Though we’d discussed rules for the scene, I rarely wanted to know ahead of time what was actually planned for me. Neil knew my limits and knew that I would tell him in advance if there was a particular activity I wasn’t comfortable with. It was a perfect arrangement; he could surprise me, and I could be safely afraid or titillated, while we both knew I was perfectly safe.
“The machine room, I think,” Monsieur said casually, as though he were ordering something off a menu. “Is there a bench there?”
“There is,” Sir confirmed.
“Wonderful. Let’s bend her over it and use the machine to fuck her. To get her warmed up,” Monsieur added.
“Shackles?” Sir asked.
“Of course.”
Sir handed me over to Monsieur with a quick shove that almost toppled me from my feet, forcing him to catch me. With the blindfold on, I felt helpless, and Monsieur’s strong arms around me were the only point of stability and reassurance I had. Oh, there would be definite advantages to having two Doms.
He guided me into the machine room and stood behind me, running his hands down my arms to position them. They encountered the textured leather of the waist-high bench, and he gently pushed me down to bend over it. My feet stayed comfortably flat on the floor, so that my weight wouldn’t rest entirely on my chest against the bench.
Sir knelt beside me and took my ankle in his hand to steady my leg as he cuffed it. Eerie that I could tell it was him just from that incidental touch, one that I hadn’t realized I’d memorized.
As he secured my other ankle, I heard the click of an electrical cord striking the floor. A deep, ticklish feeling washed through my pelvis in anticipation.
