resist. My safe word is…‘butterfly.’”
“‘Butterfly’?”
He saw her skepticism. He hid his smile. He’d picked the gentlest, most innocuous little safe word he could think of. He wanted to be totally unthreatening to her. “I don’t plan on saying it,” he taunted her. Deliberately goading, he added, “You couldn’t get me to say it, believe me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A challenge. But, I thought you said I had to learn to ‘bottom’ before I could ‘top.’”
Was that a note of longing in her voice? Ro hid another smile.
“Originally, yes. But now I understand your desperate desire to become dominant. Dominate me.”
“Okay. Um…would you please go to the back corner, by that tall sarcophagus thing?”
He liked that she’d picked the iron maiden. But he didn’t move. “Really? That polite little request is your idea of dominance?”
“Should I just grab a whip and start hitting you?”
She was becoming frustrated.
Good.
“Is that the best you can do?” he chided. He sauntered, slow enough to show his disregard. Away from the iron maiden.
A loud crack in the enclosed room halted him. He turned in time to see her holding a bullwhip away from her with a look of shock on her face. “It’s louder than I thought.” She flicked it again, cracking it closer to him. The sound was like a pistol shot.
He took a hasty step back. “Maybe you should—”
Crack . Her intent look of concentration would have seemed pained, if it weren’t for the sadistic glint that suddenly flashed in her eyes. That was as he’d expected. She felt the sense of power, but didn’t inhabit the role naturally. It was work.
He played along. “What if you slowed it down a bit—”
“Quiet, worm!” Another crack of the whip. “Get over there.”
Ro complied. Very soon now, she’d remember how much she’d enjoyed being bound and dominated. She’d accept her nature. Any minute.
She pointed the whip. “Get inside.”
Ro inched into the iron maiden, the vertical casket with its chains and restraints, and its forest of spikes. The spikes were made of pointed rubber. Far gentler than the rusty metal spikes in authentic iron maidens, designed to impale the victim when the casket closed. But the rubber ones gave an attention-getting poking if one weren’t careful.
Anticipation about what she’d do next zinged through him. How long had it been since he’d let someone dominate him? Even with Lizbeth a raw novice, he couldn’t deny it was exciting. Not nearly as exciting as mastering her body again, but fun.
How long would it take her to figure out that only submitting to him could truly delight her? He settled in, determined to wait her out.
From his position inside the iron maiden he watched her peruse his Cage Room. She approached the wall where the accessories were kept. Slapper bats on their hooks with the other tools: leather and fleece rods, braided and knotted riding crops, even metal-studded paddles and gloves. She glanced at the other, less-common accessories. He doubted she’d use the balls, bars, gags, clamps, cages, or spreaders. But that blindfold…ah, she lifted it off its hook. She stroked the softness of its leather. Contoured, with an elastic back.
She approached, letting the blindfold dangle between two fingers. “Put this on.”
Ro eased it over his head. He could feel the leather dent his hair. His vision departed, replaced by blackness.
Doubt suddenly assailed him. What if he was wrong about Lizbeth?
Pressing his lips tightly together, his hands by his side, he made a granite block of his chin, holding himself as immobile as he could.
She touched one of his arms, and it took all his control not to react. Next to his hip there was a padded leather manacle. She closed it around his wrist. The delicate, warm touch of her fingers threading the buckle stirred him. She did the same to his other wrist. Interesting sensation of vulnerability, being blindfolded and
“‘Butterfly’?”
He saw her skepticism. He hid his smile. He’d picked the gentlest, most innocuous little safe word he could think of. He wanted to be totally unthreatening to her. “I don’t plan on saying it,” he taunted her. Deliberately goading, he added, “You couldn’t get me to say it, believe me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A challenge. But, I thought you said I had to learn to ‘bottom’ before I could ‘top.’”
Was that a note of longing in her voice? Ro hid another smile.
“Originally, yes. But now I understand your desperate desire to become dominant. Dominate me.”
“Okay. Um…would you please go to the back corner, by that tall sarcophagus thing?”
He liked that she’d picked the iron maiden. But he didn’t move. “Really? That polite little request is your idea of dominance?”
“Should I just grab a whip and start hitting you?”
She was becoming frustrated.
Good.
“Is that the best you can do?” he chided. He sauntered, slow enough to show his disregard. Away from the iron maiden.
A loud crack in the enclosed room halted him. He turned in time to see her holding a bullwhip away from her with a look of shock on her face. “It’s louder than I thought.” She flicked it again, cracking it closer to him. The sound was like a pistol shot.
He took a hasty step back. “Maybe you should—”
Crack . Her intent look of concentration would have seemed pained, if it weren’t for the sadistic glint that suddenly flashed in her eyes. That was as he’d expected. She felt the sense of power, but didn’t inhabit the role naturally. It was work.
He played along. “What if you slowed it down a bit—”
“Quiet, worm!” Another crack of the whip. “Get over there.”
Ro complied. Very soon now, she’d remember how much she’d enjoyed being bound and dominated. She’d accept her nature. Any minute.
She pointed the whip. “Get inside.”
Ro inched into the iron maiden, the vertical casket with its chains and restraints, and its forest of spikes. The spikes were made of pointed rubber. Far gentler than the rusty metal spikes in authentic iron maidens, designed to impale the victim when the casket closed. But the rubber ones gave an attention-getting poking if one weren’t careful.
Anticipation about what she’d do next zinged through him. How long had it been since he’d let someone dominate him? Even with Lizbeth a raw novice, he couldn’t deny it was exciting. Not nearly as exciting as mastering her body again, but fun.
How long would it take her to figure out that only submitting to him could truly delight her? He settled in, determined to wait her out.
From his position inside the iron maiden he watched her peruse his Cage Room. She approached the wall where the accessories were kept. Slapper bats on their hooks with the other tools: leather and fleece rods, braided and knotted riding crops, even metal-studded paddles and gloves. She glanced at the other, less-common accessories. He doubted she’d use the balls, bars, gags, clamps, cages, or spreaders. But that blindfold…ah, she lifted it off its hook. She stroked the softness of its leather. Contoured, with an elastic back.
She approached, letting the blindfold dangle between two fingers. “Put this on.”
Ro eased it over his head. He could feel the leather dent his hair. His vision departed, replaced by blackness.
Doubt suddenly assailed him. What if he was wrong about Lizbeth?
Pressing his lips tightly together, his hands by his side, he made a granite block of his chin, holding himself as immobile as he could.
She touched one of his arms, and it took all his control not to react. Next to his hip there was a padded leather manacle. She closed it around his wrist. The delicate, warm touch of her fingers threading the buckle stirred him. She did the same to his other wrist. Interesting sensation of vulnerability, being blindfolded and
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