Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to chicken out,” I tell him. “Plus, you gave me a safeword. If I chicken out, I can safeword, right?”
“Yes,” he says, straightening. “Alright then. And if you’re gagged, I’ll find a way to make sure you can still safeword.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Water play,” he says, and for the first time, horror strikes me, and it takes me right out of the moment.
“Red, sir,” I tell him.
“Good girl. Gags?”
“Green, sir.”
“Public punishment?”
“Oh. Green, sir.”
“Public sex.”
Holy hell. “Um. Yellow, sir?”
I cringe, wondering if I’ll get in trouble for not following the rules, but he only chuckles.
He goes through a few more, and I’m not sure what everything is, so I ask, and find there isn’t much I’m not at least willing to try. I do wonder, though. How much is he willing to do? Are any of these things off his limits? I don’t know.
“You’ve done a very good job,” he says. Then he’s gone. I try to look around, but he’s slipping something silky and black over my eyes. “God, you’re a vision,” he says, his voice choked with… what? Emotion? Desire? I don’t know.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, and then I’m sinking so deep into the darkness it’s beautiful and scary and exhilarating. I let my weight sink into the table, and for some reason, the bonds at my wrists and ankles no longer feel restrictive but liberating. I’ve allowed this. I’ve let him put me in this position, and here, engulfed by darkness, movement disallowed, I can only feel.
“Clear your mind, Chandra.” His words are beside my ear, and the warmth of his breath makes little goosebumps prickle along my skin.
“How do I do that, sir?” I ask. “My mind is constantly going.”
Smoothing a hand over my hair, his voice is at my ear again. “That’s a very good question, baby. Start by just feeling.”
Fingers tangled in my hair at the base of my scalp. He weaves and tugs, sending a shiver of delight along my skin, then strong, firm fingers are massaging my skin. It’s soothing, like getting my hair washed at the salon, and almost as nice as warm water trickling over my hair.
“Imagine your thoughts quieting,” he says. “Every time I touch you, they seep out of you like the tide ebbing at sand.” His hands are at my neck, kneading so firmly it’s almost painful, then one hand wraps around my throat. “Just feel,” he instructs. His grasp tightens and my breath hitches. I can breathe, but barely, and I need to focus hard against rising panic. My pulse races, my body tensing, then he lets my throat go and both hands are at my shoulders. He runs them along my body, down my sides, and when he gets to my ass, he yanks up my dress.
“Noah! Axle. Sir!” I protest.
“If you’re obeying me today, you’ll lose your clothing when I command it,” he says in a deep, chiding tone.
I whimper a little but nod. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re new to this, and that’s okay. But sometimes if you’re new, you push yourself further than you should. I need to keep tabs of my marks on you. You’ll lose the panties so I can see.”
I’m swimming, sinking, drowning. His fingers gliding up to grasp the strip of fabric. My hitched breath. The touch of his warm, rough hands yanking my panties down and over my feet.
God!
“Yes, sir,” I say. I’m lightheaded and it’s hard to breathe, but my core contracts with his command.
“Chandra?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Breathe,” he instructs, then something whistles through the air and lands on my ass with an audible snap. I yelp, and try to get away from the burning sensation, but I can’t move. This is definitely not the crop, but something far more painful.
“There are a few things that can really help aid your submission,” he says. One warm hand presses firmly against the small of my back, before another burst of pain flares against the underside of my ass. “Things that will heighten my dominance over you. One is a good, hard spanking.” He spanks me again, and again, and I can’t think beyond the pain.
“Remember your safeword,” he warns me before he spanks me again. “What is it?”
“Mad,” I whisper, the irony hitting me with its force. I’m mad. He’s mad. Everyone who sets foot in this place is mad, wanting to play with pain and power and getting off on what should be something to be avoided. My mind shuts my thoughts off when he spanks me again, this time harder, but the pain quickly fades to warmth.
“Mad,” he repeats. Then he’s spanking me in earnest. For some reason it doesn’t hurt as much now, though. It’s still painful but my body absorbs the pain, and I arch as much as I can tied to these restraints. I need more. I want deeper. Harder.