bracelet inside with a riding crop charm attached.
Laughing, she pulled it from the box.
“It’s lovely. I adore it. Will you put it on me?” She gave the bracelet to the judge who raised her foot and kissed the top of it.
“Of course, my dear. With pleasure.”
Usually Nora would have been cautious about accepting gifts from clients. Kingsley warned all his employees that clients often engaged in transference. It didn’t matter if one was a Dominatrix or a submissive, a therapist or a prostitute; any woman who gave a troubled man ego-boosting attention could be rewarded with the client’s unhealthy and sometimes obsessive interest. But the judge had long ago proven himself nothing more than a kind older man who loved his wife, loved his life and simply enjoyed giving gifts to everyone who touched his heart.
As the judge played with her feet, first washing them in a basin of warm water and then giving them a long, thorough massage, Nora relaxed into the chair, closed her eyes, and thought of last night with Lance. She’d had so much fun with him it almost scared her. He’d looked so strong and sexy up on her cross, had made her laugh and made her come—twice. She remembered his desperate labored breaths as she rode him, sounds that made her weak even now as she heard the echo of them in her ears. Men couldn’t even begin to fathom how erotic those little sounds could be to a woman. They were admissions of vulnerability, of being so lost in the pleasure of the moment he couldn’t control himself no matter how hard he tried. And she couldn’t help but smile at the thought that the entire time he’d been going down on her, the entire time they’d been having sex, he’d been covered in her welts and bruises and had even sported a Snoopy Band-Aid on his back. She found his comfort with his sexuality so masculine, so erotic. Nothing could minimize his manhood or his strength. Even his submission to her added to his power. He did it so naturally and without shame or embarrassment. She’d rarely met a kinky guy so totally comfortable with what he was. Søren alone had that same air of “this is me, take it or leave it” that she’d seen in Lance. But she knew Søren’s sense of self was hard-won whereas Lance’s seemed entirely innate.
No denying it, she wanted another night with Lance. Another week of nights. Another month of nights. She wanted to make him feel everything—pain, pleasure, candle wax, crops and kisses on every part of him. She wanted to know his body better than he himself knew it. She wanted to take him to the limits of his endurance and let him find new strengths he didn’t even know he had. And she wanted to feel him inside her again but only after he’d earned the privilege.
Nora felt something warm and wet on her feet and she smiled as she opened her eyes. Looking down at the panting judge, she asked, “Was that as good for you as it was for me, Judge?”
“Even better, my dear,” he said, zipping his trousers back up.
He cleaned her feet off and with great care slid her shoes on again, careful as Prince Charming to Cinderella.
Nora gave the judge a hug goodbye after he’d given her his usual fee plus a hundred-dollar tip. She almost felt guilty charging him for the sessions. She knew women who paid good money to get a decent foot massage.
Down in the kitchen, Nora found Lance sitting at Mrs. B.’s kitchen table with a glass of milk in front of him and plate of cookies.
“How are they?” Mrs. B asked as she wiped her hands on a towel.
“Perfect.” Lance took a bite from one of the cookies. “I love them with nuts.”
“So do I, but my grandchildren hate the nuts. I have to make one batch for the judge and me, and another batch for the kids.”
“My daughter hates nuts in anything, too. Nuts and raisins, they might as well be poison to her the way she acts when you try to get her to eat them.”
“You have a daughter?” Nora asked, coming into the kitchen. For
Laughing, she pulled it from the box.
“It’s lovely. I adore it. Will you put it on me?” She gave the bracelet to the judge who raised her foot and kissed the top of it.
“Of course, my dear. With pleasure.”
Usually Nora would have been cautious about accepting gifts from clients. Kingsley warned all his employees that clients often engaged in transference. It didn’t matter if one was a Dominatrix or a submissive, a therapist or a prostitute; any woman who gave a troubled man ego-boosting attention could be rewarded with the client’s unhealthy and sometimes obsessive interest. But the judge had long ago proven himself nothing more than a kind older man who loved his wife, loved his life and simply enjoyed giving gifts to everyone who touched his heart.
As the judge played with her feet, first washing them in a basin of warm water and then giving them a long, thorough massage, Nora relaxed into the chair, closed her eyes, and thought of last night with Lance. She’d had so much fun with him it almost scared her. He’d looked so strong and sexy up on her cross, had made her laugh and made her come—twice. She remembered his desperate labored breaths as she rode him, sounds that made her weak even now as she heard the echo of them in her ears. Men couldn’t even begin to fathom how erotic those little sounds could be to a woman. They were admissions of vulnerability, of being so lost in the pleasure of the moment he couldn’t control himself no matter how hard he tried. And she couldn’t help but smile at the thought that the entire time he’d been going down on her, the entire time they’d been having sex, he’d been covered in her welts and bruises and had even sported a Snoopy Band-Aid on his back. She found his comfort with his sexuality so masculine, so erotic. Nothing could minimize his manhood or his strength. Even his submission to her added to his power. He did it so naturally and without shame or embarrassment. She’d rarely met a kinky guy so totally comfortable with what he was. Søren alone had that same air of “this is me, take it or leave it” that she’d seen in Lance. But she knew Søren’s sense of self was hard-won whereas Lance’s seemed entirely innate.
No denying it, she wanted another night with Lance. Another week of nights. Another month of nights. She wanted to make him feel everything—pain, pleasure, candle wax, crops and kisses on every part of him. She wanted to know his body better than he himself knew it. She wanted to take him to the limits of his endurance and let him find new strengths he didn’t even know he had. And she wanted to feel him inside her again but only after he’d earned the privilege.
Nora felt something warm and wet on her feet and she smiled as she opened her eyes. Looking down at the panting judge, she asked, “Was that as good for you as it was for me, Judge?”
“Even better, my dear,” he said, zipping his trousers back up.
He cleaned her feet off and with great care slid her shoes on again, careful as Prince Charming to Cinderella.
Nora gave the judge a hug goodbye after he’d given her his usual fee plus a hundred-dollar tip. She almost felt guilty charging him for the sessions. She knew women who paid good money to get a decent foot massage.
Down in the kitchen, Nora found Lance sitting at Mrs. B.’s kitchen table with a glass of milk in front of him and plate of cookies.
“How are they?” Mrs. B asked as she wiped her hands on a towel.
“Perfect.” Lance took a bite from one of the cookies. “I love them with nuts.”
“So do I, but my grandchildren hate the nuts. I have to make one batch for the judge and me, and another batch for the kids.”
“My daughter hates nuts in anything, too. Nuts and raisins, they might as well be poison to her the way she acts when you try to get her to eat them.”
“You have a daughter?” Nora asked, coming into the kitchen. For
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