“…I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for right through this door.”
Their footsteps get closer; my cock twitches with wild anticipation. Not yet, buddy.
“How’d it go, sweetheart?” Her face is flushed and I can’t tell if it’s from alcohol, her conversation with Marcus, or her first visit to a real-life dungeon.
“It was great.” She falls into my open arms and presses her face into my neck. Oh boy. I look over at Marcus and he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Your girlfriend would like a tour of the play room, and I told her you are well acquainted with my equipment.”
I chuff at his innuendo. “I need an hour.”
Marcus quirks his eyebrow at the urgency of my tone. “My overnight guest arrives in forty-five minutes.”
“You know you love making them wait.” Isabella keeps her face planted against my shirt and I pull her even tighter against my body. She has to feel my need.
“Hmm,” Marcus teases, “you’re sounding pretty desperate.”
“Old man, I passed desperate an hour ago. Do you really want to be responsible for sending me out in public like this?”
His all-knowing eyes sweep my body, but the most prominent evidence of my current state of affairs is conveniently hidden from his view by my girlfriend’s hip—providing me with just enough friction to keep me from losing my mind.
“Aw hell, Edward, you know I could never resist your begging.”
“I remember.” Maybe that was taking unfair advantage of his weakness for me, but he’s right—I am a desperate man.
“Have fun, kids,” he finally acquiesces, turning and waving over his head.
He spins around. “You bellowed, young apprentice?”
“Shut the damn cameras off.”
Marcus cups both hands over his heart. “You wound me, grasshoppa.”
He pulls the heavy door closed behind him, leaving the two of us alone in the dungeon. Isabella turns her face to me and I close my lips over hers without hesitating. Her tongue tastes like wine. I trace my fingers down her throat until they meet the first button of her blouse. Not yet.
“Ready for your tour?”
Her eyes are bright with excitement as she nods. “I am so ready.”
Her enthusiasm makes me chuckle. I draw an imaginary circle around her neck as she waits patiently. “No collar tonight, just the two of us taking a spin through a new sandbox together, okay?”
Isabella nods and licks her lips. “I’ve had a couple glasses of wine,” she whispers.
My knuckles brush lightly over her pink cheeks, and I give her a grin. “Noted.”
With my girlfriend eager and tipsy, I lace my fingers through hers and commence the tour.
“I’m sorry we don’t have time to sample all the equipment tonight, Isabella, but here’s something I know you won’t want to miss. This is the Master’s Spanking Chair.”
Edward pulls me to a halt in front of a high-backed cherry wood seat fitted with a luxurious cushion of deep brown leather—obviously designed for the Master’s comfort.
I reach a tentative finger out to stroke the wood. Two retractable arms with various-sized holes sit flush with the chair back. “What are these for?”
Edward squeezes my hand. “I was hoping you’d ask.” He slips into the chair and makes a minor adjustment to the seat height so that his knees are comfortably bent with his feet flat on the floor. “Hop aboard,” he says, grinning broadly, and with my heart pounding hard against my ribs, I arrange myself on my stomach across his lap.
“The Master might be quite content to spank you this way,” he says, bracing me with a strong hand at my lower back before striking me through my jeans. It’s muffled by the heavy denim, but I am so turned on right now, I feel the tingle right to my core.
“Don’t get me wrong…” he hits me again, “there’s nothing wrong with this…” POP! “but watch what happens when I do…this.”
He lowers half of the accessory arm near my head and now I have a very good idea how those holes function. “Put your wrists right here…and here…that’s it, now scoot up and place your neck right there, eyes to the floor, yes.” The other half of the arm closes over my neck and wrists, and he twists the hardware to lock me in place.
“How does that feel?”
There’s ample cushioning around my neck, but it’s cozy. More importantly, I feel trapped and vulnerable. I also have no ability to control my weight distribution and my breasts are now entirely squished against his thigh. My hair has formed a blinding curtain around my face, and my field of vision is limited to the small section of concrete just below me. How does it feel?
“Slightly terrifying,” I answer him honestly.
A calming hand travels up my back, massaging at the base of my neck just below the wood prison.
“Give it a minute,” he says much more gently, without a trace of the smirk in his voice. “The stockade is an acquired taste…but I have no doubt you will acquire the taste for it, sweet Isabella.” His thumb brushes back and forth along my skin, and I draw in a few deep breaths until I feel more grounded. “There you go.”
He surprises me by sliding his hand down the top of my jeans, finding the bare skin on either side of my thong. He kneads my flesh gently, both relaxing me and inflaming my desire. His fingers ride up my side, inside my button-down shirt, caressing and teasing the sides of my compressed breasts. All the while, that other hand stays with me, soothing, reassuring, understanding where I am and what I need.
My hips squirm as he hints at tickling the hollows under my arm. “All that wiggling around right there, Isabella? On any other day, that would earn you a sound spanking.” He manages to tweak my nipple before deciding he’s through with this torture. “I think that’s enough for now.”
He releases me from the stockade and helps me off his lap. “Let’s go peruse the whips and crops, shall we?”
A fierce spike of desire takes me as Edward steers me with a subtle touch at my lower back. I know he’s watching my every response; my thong is slick with moisture, and I imagine my first time in the dungeon is nearly as exciting for him as it is for me.
“Go ahead, you can touch anything you want.”
He steps up behind me, his hard body just barely brushing my back, and traces a finger down my arm. The goosebumps that just settled down pop right back to life. I reach for the whip on the first hook. The ornate, braided handle feels smooth in my hand, and I pull the lengths of leather strips between my fingers. I’ve never seen one of these in person, but I’ve certainly watched videos of girls at the receiving end—not necessarily a place I’d like to find myself.
“You picked the deer hide,” he informs me, wrapping his hand around mine and taking charge of the whip and me in one maneuver. Holding my head in place, he shakes the leather strips along the side of my face. “Feels like velvet, right?”
I nod slowly, not desiring to end up with lash marks on my face.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. This isn’t the flogger to fear. No cuts or bruising with this one, just a whole lot of thud and a bit of a tingle.”
“Its bark is worse than its bite?”
“You could say that.”
He moves both our hands to hook the handle back on the wall.
“Now…this one, on the other hand,” Edward says with a sinister chuckle, “you do not want to find out how this one feels.” He slides down about six hooks and pulls off a basic-looking black leather whip. “See how it has fewer tresses? This is a cat, and you’re going to get a sharper, more punishing blow off this one.”
He suddenly snaps the whip against the wall, and I yelp in surprise. As freaked out as I am by the idea of being whipped, the vision of my Master wielding the implement with such grace and expertise leaves me weak-kneed. He smirks when he reads my expression. “Would you like to see that again?”
“Yes, please,” I whisper cautiously.
His eyes dance as he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, readies the whip, and snaps his wrist with a crisp motion that sends the leather into the wall with a sharp swoosh. Seeing my Master in this new place—one where he is totally confident and clearly proficient—allows me to appreciate his competence in a way I couldn’t have before. He is Master of this realm, and I have never felt more like a novice, despite my apparent gains. He’s the beautiful peacock erecting his tail feathers and strutting around the yard, and I’m the helpless peahen soaking my panties and praying for the chance to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth.
“Better the wall than your bottom, sweetheart. You can well trust me on that.” He coils up the long tresses and returns it to the wall. “What else catches your fancy, Isabella?”
There’s a shorter whip toward the end, and the material looks entirely different from the others. “Rubber?” I ask him, squeezing the short strips between my fingers.
“Another great choice,” he smiles, lifting the short, light whip from the wall. “Yes, it’s rubber. In a longer whip, rubber can be extremely harsh—a real bang for the Master’s buck.” He laughs at his own scary joke. “But in miniature, it can actually be quite sensual in your tastiest areas.” His eyes drop to my chest and then lower. He slips the loop over his wrist and says, “I think I’ll hold onto this one.”
I get the sense he’s rushing me through the selection of crops, and I can’t concentrate anyway with that little rubber whip hanging off his arm. With three crops to go, his impatience seeps out.
“You just about ready to meet St. Andrew?”
For all my careful planning, I was a real dope not knowing tonight would end up with her strapped to the cross. I mean, seriously…how could it not? I would’ve done so many things differently, including strongly suggesting a front-closing bra and no panties.
Alas, here we are, no obstacle too big to overcome; it simply requires some last-minute quick thinking—an audible, if you will. Ugh, the Superbowl needs to hurry up and come and go already so I can get these damn metaphors out of my head.
Being in the dungeon as Isabella’s boyfriend is beginning to pose a challenge for me, not that she’s ever minded having an incredibly bossy boyfriend. It’s just that I feel myself slipping naturally into the role I was born to play in the dungeon, and I have to keep cautioning myself that we’re not in scene; it wasn’t the plan, neither of us is prepared, and we don’t have the proper time for it.
I steer her so she’s facing the large wood and iron structure, and I position myself behind her. “Here it is, the famous St. Andrew’s Cross of fame and fable. What do you think?”
“You think it’s impressive from this angle, wait till I strap you in.” I reach my hands around her and start unbuttoning her blouse. “It’s not nearly as much fun with your clothes on, and I do want you to get the full effect.”
She clears her throat then says, “You are the ever-considerate boyfriend.”
I toss her shirt across the sawhorse and unclasp her bra. Isabella stands perfectly still as the straps slide over her shoulders and down her arms. She’s covered in goose flesh, and I’m sure I’ll find her nipples reaching straight for the equipment when I view her from the front—but not yet.
Pulling her bare back against my shirt, I manage her belt buckle, button and zipper. Conscious of the time Marcus has generously allotted, I take her thong along with the jeans as I drag the material to the ground. It’s a little tricky unzipping her boots and negotiating her knee socks, but I manage, and the reward more than makes up for the effort.
I draw my finger over her collar bone, down the length of her breast, and to the very pointy end of her nipple. She gasps as I brush my fingertips over the sharp nub. “Step forward.”
She advances her feet on the cool, concrete floor.
“Turn around and line up your ankles with the cuffs.”
She does as she’s told, and I quickly bend and fasten her in.
“Now, your wrists.”
Isabella looks above her head and stretches her arms in a wide V. She naturally arches her back as it hits the cold metal, but once I strap her in with the thick leather waist restraint, there’s no wiggle room for her to escape. While I’m still standing close enough to gauge every response, I ask, “How does it feel to be bound and spread?”
Her lip quivers, reminding me how intense this experience has to be for her.
“Exciting,” she answers in a breathy voice.
I kiss her forehead and back away. “For me too, sweetheart. Trust me, you have me good and worked up.” She settles in a bit after hearing that I’m suffering, too.
Deftly sliding the rubber whip from my wrist, I brush her left tit before she has a chance to brace herself. Though she’s flinched and gasped, I’m sure the impact wasn’t anything near what she expected. She’s staring down the whip, waiting for the next stroke, her body tensed and anxious.
“This little whip is designed for pleasure. Tip your chin up and find a spot on the ceiling to focus on. Okay, now unclench your teeth and relax your jaw…that’s it…just let me work on your body.” I swish the tresses over the other breast, and without the anxiety, she gives me a nice, “Ahhhh.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm,” she hums and moans as I alternate between left and right, coaxing her toward the cliff.
Swish, swish, I brush her tits, watching her face contort with mad desperation. Droplets of moisture leak from her lower lips. If I had more time, I could leave her wanting, let her cool down, and start all over again. Alas, we’re on a tight schedule here.
“Are you ready to feel the whip between your legs?”
She’s floaty and drunk from the wine and the mini-flogger, but her face still turns to me with a significant measure of fear. I step closer and place one hand on her thigh, continuing to gently swipe one breast, then the other.
“Isabella, I promise I won’t hurt you. I am completely in control of what you’re feeling, and I know how to make it feel really, really good.”
She nods briefly then tips her head back again.
Thank you for trusting me yet again.
“On the count of three, I’m going to strike you, and these rubber tendrils are going to feel like you’re being fingered by ten men at once. Are you ready for the onslaught?”
I have to smile just a little at her lack of enthusiasm. She has no idea what’s about to hit her, but I do.
“One…” Still slapping against her breasts… “Two…” Slap, slap… “Three!”
With that, I snap the rubber tendrils once between her legs and she quivers and groans. I strike her a second time, dragging the tresses through her slick channel as she moans through the brief contact. I give her a few seconds to recover before hitting her once more, this time the bulk of the rubber lands square on her clit, sending her into spasms of unstoppable bliss.
I toss the whip to the side and drop to my knees between her legs, taking her quivering pussy into my mouth. My own need presses painfully against my jeans, and time is running short.
“Why do I feel like we’re going to end up on the eleven o’clock news?” I dissolve into giggles, and I really don’t know whether to blame the wine, the post-orgasmic endorphins zipping through my system, or the extremely embarrassing position my body is in.
“You are not going to fall; I’ve got you.”
Suspended from the ceiling by a pulley on each side, my legs are spread wide and held several feet off the ground by a loop of surprisingly comfortable nylon around the top of each thigh, balanced by a similar loop around each wrist. Edward has thoughtfully modified the advanced sex swing setup by adding a safety strap under my bottom. In addition, he is clutching me by the waist and has already assured me that even if I were to slip and drop backwards, my head would not reach the ground.
“The only reason we’d end up on the news is that I’m about to burst into flames. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me tonight?”
I giggle again, and this time I know why—sheer happiness. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Oh, thank Christ,” he says, pulling my hips toward his raging erection and exhaling with a loud groan once his balls hit my ass. “Is it good, Isabella?” he asks urgently, sliding out and back in.
“Yes, it’s really good.” So much for giggles; this is some serious fucking right here, all of a sudden.
Edward’s humor is suddenly erased as well, as his face contorts into that of a man who is operating on basic animal instinct. He needs; therefore, he takes. I love this position not just because of the angle he’s entering me, but also because I can see every snarl and flare of his nostril, watch every grunt issue forth from his beautiful dangerous mouth, and watch the muscles of his chest ripple and pop between the sides of his open shirt.
At first, it’s just him moving and thrusting, while I’m the gymnast on the steady rings, garnering points for keeping still. Before long, though, I’m actually swinging forward and back, slamming into his body with additional force and adding a dizzying aerial element to our acrobatic act. After the initial few thrusts, Edward seems to relax a bit, his eyes unpinching and his smile coming back in full bloom as he orchestrates our combined movements like the ringleader of a very adult circus.
“Feels pretty crazy, doesn’t it?” he utters breathlessly.
“Drop your head back if you want a real rush.”
It’s pretty scary, but I close my eyes and tilt my head backward. I feel Edward’s grip constrict around my hips, and I hold on tighter to my wrist restraints. I squeak when he pulls me forward and I get that wobbly feeling in my belly. He pulls me against him harder and faster, and I swim in the sensations hitting me from every angle—inside and out. Edward’s grunting becomes louder and more insistent as our skin slaps together and he plunges deep within me. I’m tethered to reality only by the one place our bodies are joined while the rest of me simply floats. Thankfully, Edward clutches me against his body as the waves of pleasure ripple through me and threaten to knock me off balance.
My legs feel like rubber as he unhitches me from the suspension belts and my feet hit the concrete once again. I fall forward into his chest, and his laughter shakes both of us. “Not easy to get your sea legs back, eh?”
“No. I think you better hold me close for a good, long while.”
He makes a show of sighing heavily. “If I must.”
“Okay, boss, but we need to get you dressed and scoot out of here, or Marcus won’t be so willing to let us borrow his dungeon the next time.”
I crane my neck up to look into his eyes. “Next time?”
Two glinty green orbs sparkle back at me. “Next time, I’m bringing your damn collar and arranging for more time.”
“I’m afraid you’re not helping the wobbly leg situation very much.”
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Can you make it over to the sawhorse on your own while I find my pants?”
I slide out of his arms. “I think you’ll find them halfway between the cross and the swing.”
“Jesus, look what we did to this place in just an hour,” he muses.
My thong is so soggy it’s not even worth putting on, so I stuff it into my handbag after rushing into my jeans and top and pulling a couple fingers through my hair. Edward gathers me under his arm and tosses the rubber whip into a bucket near the door as we exit. “We’re like a kinky hurricane.”
“God help the East Coast.”
Marcus is sitting on the couch when we pass through the living room. The door to his office is closed, and I can only imagine the state of the submissive held captive inside.
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to wash the whisk,” Edward says.
Marcus rolls his eyes. “You don’t look sorry to me.” His gaze clicks over to mine. “Et tu, Brute?”
I shrug. “Sorry?”
Marcus chortles and waves us to the door. “Go already! Your driver’s been out there for fifteen minutes. I was considering bringing him some hot cocoa.”
I giggle at the idea of Domenic and Marcus having a driveway meet-up; it’s so very wrong. Edward gives Marcus one last wave. “Thanks, man. I’ll call you.”
Marcus nods obligingly, standing and heading over to his study. At the last minute, I pull away from Edward and scurry back to Marcus. He pauses—his hand on the door knob—and lifts his eyebrow.
“I just wanted to say thank you as well…and if it’s okay with you…and Edward…do you think I could give you a hug?”
Marcus looks over my shoulder, so I turn back as well. Edward smiles and nods. “Keep it clean, old man.”
Marcus opens his arms and laughs. “Another boundary…great.”
I step inside his embrace and whisper, “Thank you again,” into his ear.
“My pleasure, sweet Bella. You keep me posted, okay?”
Edward extends a hand and I happily transition from one man to the other, feeling all kinds of fortunate.
“So how was the mall?” Isabella asks him while scooting across the back seat to make room for me.
Domenic laughs good-naturedly. “Tell you the truth, Bella, it’s a little bit depressing this time of year. The whole place looks like my living room the day after a big party—it’s clean and all, but you get the sense the fun’s just left. I did have some fancy frozen yogurt from a spigot in the wall, so that was good, I suppose.”
“There you go.” Isabella sighs and snuggles into my side.
Negotiating knit cap and scarf, I touch my lips to her forehead. “Tired?”
“Exhausted, in the best possible way. You?”
“I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”
Her voice drops to a whisper, “It’s pretty hard work for you, isn’t it? All that restraining and supporting and whipping.”
“Mmhmm.” I can’t stop the smile. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining.”
“Do you miss it?” she asks timidly, cocking her eyes up to meet mine.
“What?” The life? The other girls? Hell no.
“The dungeon. All those toys and all the possibilities.”
“I love the fact that you and I can turn any place into our play room, but the equipment certainly offers advantages. Assuming one is properly taught how to use the implements and furniture—which you know I was—it’s a whole lot easier to put your submissive into the right position on a whipping bench than it is to try to recreate that using a dining room chair.”
“You seem to have made the transition successfully.”
“Yes, with a lot of practice. As for the floggers, Marcus was very strict with me, and I’m a far better dom for it. I know how to use each one to get the exact effect I need, but not everyone is treated to that level of training. You should never, EVER—”
“Edward,” she interrupts me softly, placing two fingers over my lips, “if this is where you warn me off other doms, you can just please save your breath.” I respect her wishes and nod. “Thank you.”
“Sorry, I guess I climbed onto my soapbox there for a second.”
“I’m not interested in imagining myself with another dom, okay?”
“I’m not interested in imagining that either, trust me.”
“So…can I assume that things went well with Marcus since you needed to hug him goodbye?”
Her face twists into a lighthearted smile. “Are you fishing, Edward?”
“I mostly just want to know if you’re pleased with the arrangement, but if you care to share anything…I wouldn't be averse to hearing what you talked about.”
Thankfully, her smile stays in place, and without moving her eyes from mine, she calls out to the front, “Domenic, would you mind very much raising the divider?”
This bodes well for me, unless she’s planning to start screaming at me for being a nosy bastard.
“No problem at all, Bella.”
I shit about a brick and a half waiting for the glass wall to rise to the roof of the car, and Isabella straightens up and shifts her body toward me on the seat.
“First off, I am very pleased with the arrangement. You were right about Marcus; he’s great, and he knows the kind of person you are, and he gets us. It was incredibly easy talking to him.”
“The tequila and wine didn’t hurt,” I add with a chuckle.
“I think it will be easier next time, but I definitely needed something to help me over the hump.”
“So you were able to open up a bit?”
“More than I thought I could. We talked about why you can’t share your checklist with me and reinforced everything you’ve said about what I deem to be my failure…”
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, but her face doesn’t register pain this time when the subject is brought up. “So it’s clicking for you? That I’m truly not disappointed?”
“Yes, I get it, but I feel like it’s still out there as something I want to work on.”
My cock is all of a sudden very interested in this conversation, the selfish prick. In possibly the most understated response I’ve ever given her, I answer, “Noted,” and even mange to hold in my smirk.
She, however, does not restrain her smile. “I had a feeling you’d be okay with that.”
I let loose a chuckle. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m more than okay with that. Is there anything else you want me to know about?”
There’s one beat too many between my question and her answer, and now I know she’s keeping something back, and I need to not be an asshole about it. Luckily, she acknowledges the elephant in the back seat, so I don’t have to worry—too much. “There is something else, but I’d really like to talk to you when I’m not so tired and we’re both not so sober.”
I can’t help that my eyebrows lift or that I get a nervous rush of adrenaline from head to toe. I’m not going to be able to wait very long for this…whatever it is. “How about we have this talk over dinner tomorrow night then?”
Her tension breaks and she exhales loudly. “Perfect.”
“It’s a date then.”
“Yes, and Edward…we better eat at home.”