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Aside from the pair of hanging cuffs, there was also a large spanking bench with padded leather upholstery, a tall, sturdy whipping post, and a butterfly-shaped, black resin chair with hardware that suggested all kinds of scary possibilities. In the far corner, a giant, solid wood ‘X’ displayed more chains and cuffs. I knew what it was for, knew it was called a St. Andrew’s Cross. I pictured myself strapped to it, flailing in pain. I turned to him, trying to hide how scared and squirmy that made me feel.
“No cage?” I asked.
He gave me a look. “Not my thing. I can’t get at you if you’re in a cage. Anyway, you’d break your wings on the bars.”
I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, and I didn’t feel brave enough to ask what he meant. He ran a hand over the front of his jeans. I could see he was already growing hard, and I was definitely wet.
“I’d like you to undress now.” His voice was firm and low, inviting no discussion. “Place your clothes on the bench by the door, next to the sink.”
I suddenly felt shy, but I pretended I was as experienced as the edgy submissives he played with at his private sadists’ club. I took off my dress, and the pretty burgundy velvet bra underneath. I took off my over-the-knee socks next, leaving my legs feeling shaky and cold. I paused at my matching panties, long enough for him to murmur, “Everything,” and then the panties came off too. He wanted nakedness. He wanted everything.
When I was naked to the skin, I faced him with my arms at my sides, trying to look natural. I was at peace with my body, with my wobbly thighs, my full hips. I had a smallish waist, which I liked, and nice, natural breasts. My nipples were rock hard.
Fort watched me a moment, then took off his sweater so he was bared to the waist. I gawked at him, half delighted, half aghast. Unfair, to compete with that. Broad chest, tempting ladder of hair-dusted muscles disappearing down into the waistband of his jeans…
“Let’s get you tied down,” he said, taking my arm and leading me to the post in the back left corner of the room. He thumped it a few times while I watched. “This is solid. It’ll give you something to lean into.”
I nodded, since I couldn’t manage to utter a syllable. I turned toward it, but he stopped me and arranged me facing away from it.
“This way first. Raise your arms.”
I stretched them up high, eager to please, but he pulled them lower, fastening them into cuffs at the top of the post. The cuffs felt very…inescapable. Even though they were leather, they felt rigid as metal against my skin. I stared at his chest as he tightened them with a ratcheting clasp that wentclick click click. As trapped as I felt, I could tell it was the kind of cuff that could release quickly if it had to.You’re going to be safe. Nothing irreparable will happen to you.
I clung to his reassuring words as he tugged on the cuffs’ tether to be sure I was secure. His eyes met mine, then skimmed past me, focusing on the far wall, where a rack held dozens of straps, paddles, crops, floggers, cuffs, chains, bars, clamps, canes…
“If you belong to a private BDSM club, why do you keep so much furniture and gear at your place?” I asked.
He crossed to the wall. “Because I want to.”
He considered his selection of hurty things carefully, while I pressed my legs together and shifted on my toes. I was so aroused thinking about what would come, and the fact that I’d have no choice. I felt naked and vulnerable, and he seemed three times as powerful since he’d taken off his sweater. Without it, he was a wild thing, a wall of muscles. My clit was so swollen I could feel each throb of desire.
“Will I get to come by the end of this session?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said, turning back to me. “We already know I can make you come. We’re trying to figure out other things. Now, no more conversation. Don’t speak anymore unless I ask you a question.”
I closed my mouth and watched him take a pair of silver, rubber-tipped nipple clamps from the rack. He tested each on his fingertip as he returned to me.
“I’m going to run some experiments on you,” he said. “Learn your reactions to different things.”
“Oh, okay. Yes, Sir.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission.”
Oh my God.He cupped my right breast, ran his thumb over the nipple. Then he leaned and sucked my nipple into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth. My arms moved reflexively to push his head away. When I couldn’t move my arms more than an inch, I arched against the polished post behind me. He placed a hand on my back before he moved to the other nipple, so when he sucked it, bringing aching pain to the tip, I couldn’t do anything to get away.
“Oww,” I whined through my teeth. It hurt more than I wanted. It hurt until it wasn’t pleasurable. He drew back and looked at me, and pinched the nipple he’d just sucked, rolling it back and forth between his fingertips. When it was tender and sore and horribly sensitive to the touch, he lifted the first clamp and arranged it over my nipple. When he was satisfied with the placement, he let it fall closed.
I thought the clamp couldn’t hurt as much as his tugging and biting, but it did, because the pressure was constant. While I gasped for breath, he attached the other clamp, letting the silver chain fall down against my skin. I felt cold, hot, shivery, scared. I pulled at the cuffs, desperate to slap the clamps off me to ease the pinching pain. The only result was a faint rattle and sore arms.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know it hurts.” He tugged each clamp to be sure it was secure, then moved back to the wall and picked up a short, thin, braided leather whip.
“Are you…” I almost choked. It was one of the most wicked-looking implements on the wall. “Are you going to start me out withthat?”
“Hush.”
He whacked it against his palm. The flicky sound almost made me wet myself. I thought he’d start out with a fur-lined paddle or something. Actually, I didn’t see anything fur-lined on his dungeon walls.
“That looks like it might really hurt,” I said, staring at the whip in his hands.
