He didn’t come to me immediately, perhaps allowing me time to get in my headspace. When he did walk toward me, I heard him place several things behind me.
“This is not a discipline session; it’s a lesson in trust,” he said. “However, because it’s a lesson and not a play scene, you’re not allowed to come. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.” Damn it.
“I’m also going to film our session,” he said. “Stand for me, Abigail.”
He’d recently installed a video camera in the playroom and occasionally filmed our time together. It added another layer of excitement for me. I hurried to my feet and he took down the chains above my head and buckled my wrists into the cuffs. He walked to stand in front of me.
“This is going to be intense.” He reached above my head and wrapped my fingers around a bell. “Drop it to safe word.”
My heart pounded. There was only one reason he’d give me a bell to stop the scene. My suspicion was confirmed when he took a ball gag out of his pocket. Holy hell. It’d been a long time since we used a gag. Even though he told me I wouldn’t be coming, arousal warmed low in my belly.
“Open,” he said, and slid the gag into place.
Next he withdrew a blindfold and covered my eyes. I thought he’d start the scene, but instead he brushed my hair back and pulled it into a low ponytail.
“I’ve taken away your sight, and your ability to talk and move. Now I’m going to take your hearing. You will be totally and completely at both my mercy and disposal. Nod if you understand.”
I normally loved this type of scene, but normally I was given permission to orgasm. I wasn’t nearly as excited as I typically would be. I nodded.
“You have the bell to drop if this becomes too much. Drop it and we stop immediately.”
He normally didn’t take so much time reminding me of my safe words or in this case, safe out signal. For the first time in a long while, I felt a twinge of nervousness.
“If you don’t have any objection, I’m going to insert the earplugs.”
My fist tightened on the bell. I didn’t want to drop it, but I felt reassured just knowing it was there.
He waited a few more seconds and then I was plunged into total nothingness.
Everything was already black from the blindfold, but it wasn’t until the earplugs were put in that I felt truly vulnerable.
There was nothing but silent darkness and I was naked and exposed. I allowed the feelings of being in such a position to wash over me, only relishing the fear because I felt completely safe.
I waited for Nathaniel’s touch. When I’d been in similar positions before, I’d jump when he touched me, and this time I wanted to be prepared. I waited for his touch, anticipating it on my back, or my breasts, or my ass. But there was nothing.
There was no movement at all that I could perceive. Just stillness and darkness and silence. Nathaniel would never leave me alone in such a state. I knew he had to be in the room somewhere. But my mind wandered. He could have walked out of the room and left me all alone. I wouldn’t have been able to tell.
The silence became deafening, and I imagined I heard the shuffling of feet or a creak of the floorboard. The stillness hummed inside my head and I heard my heart beating and felt the movement of air in and out of my lungs. It was the only thing to grasp on to, so I focused on my breathing.
Even though I said I would anticipate his touch, the first sweep of his fingers down my back made me jump. He pressed against me, and his body shook with laughter. I smiled. Some things never changed. With a quick kiss to the nape of my neck, he was gone.
I was prepared for his touch, but the sharp press of metal along my upper arm almost made me drop the bell.
Is that a knife?
I knew it wasn’t. Blood play was one of my hard limits. But it felt like a knife and it had stung and, holy shit, there was something wet on my skin. Panic clawed at my throat.
The feel of metal left my skin and his arms surrounded me, hugging me tight.
I was safe. I was safe. I was safe.
I repeated the words over and over in my head, and relaxed into his arms. Gradually, my racing heart slowed and the panic disappeared. He took a step back and the sharp pain returned, skimming along the other arm. I lifted myself up on my toes and twisted to get away from it, but he slapped my butt as a reminder I was to be still.
I argued with myself. It felt so much like a knife, it had to be a knife. But just as certainly, I knew it couldn’t be. He would never go against my hard limits.
Trust him. The scene was all about trusting him. And I trusted him enough to know beyond a shadow of doubt, he wasn’t cutting me.
I felt the next sweep of whatever instrument it was around my breast, and though I’d told myself it wasn’t a knife, it again felt sharp. I tried to protest around the gag in my mouth. But of course I couldn’t. He dragged whatever it was up across my nipple. It hurt, but it wasn’t a constant pain. I sucked in my breath. That meant it wasn’t a knife, right? I couldn’t decide. For long seconds there was nothing, just my mantra repeating in my head: I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.
He circled the other breast and, fuck it all, it felt as if he was slicing my skin. My fingers tightened around the ball. But right before I dropped it, I realized the liquid couldn’t be blood; there wasn’t enough.
I waited for the next pass and he surprised me by pressing it down my side. I gasped around the gag. He didn’t stop, but brought it around my back and up the other side. I jerked against the pressure, but he wouldn’t stop unless I dropped the bell.
Trust.
Trust.
Trust.
I focused on that one word, and before long, I was drifting in my head. I trusted him with my life. He held my soul in his hands and would protect me.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I realized he was simply holding me. He’d somehow managed to unbuckle me without me noticing. He stood behind me, his arms once more wrapped tightly around me.
His hands came up and gently, one at a time, he removed the earplugs. Sound came back to me in a loud whoosh. But it was his voice I listened for, and when it came it was low and husky.
“I’m so proud of you. I know that was intense.”
I still had the gag on, so I couldn’t speak, but I nodded to show him I’d heard.
“I’m going to remove the gag now,” he said.
It fell away and I worked my jaw open and closed several times.
He wiped my mouth with a soft cloth. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Master.” I couldn’t say much else because I felt I was still on sensory overload.
“I’m going to remove the blindfold.”
I closed my eyes, knowing even the dimly lit playroom would appear bright after I’d been in the darkness for so long. Even when the blindfold was removed, I kept my eyes closed for a minute. Then I slowly eased them open.
The first thing I did was look down at my body. I couldn’t help it. As I suspected, there were no cuts, only faint red lines that appeared to be fading quickly.
“Go ahead and look,” he said. “I don’t blame you at all.”
My mouth felt as if I’d eaten cotton for dinner, but I managed to get out “What was that, Master?”
His only reply was a chuckle. “Top-secret Dom tool.”
I turned in his arms. “I knew you wouldn’t cut me, Master.” And as I said the words out loud, their significance hit me.
He wouldn’t cut me emotionally, either.
Chapter Four
NATHANIEL
I arrived at my New York City office about three hours before my meeting with Charlene. I’d planned to get some work done while I waited, but I found myself unable to concentrate. My mind kept returning to the night before. I felt at a loss because I didn’t know how to break through and alleviate Abby’s suspicions about Charlene.
I gave up on working and walked over to the large picture window in my office. I watched the general flo
w of people on the street far below and decided I needed some air.
I’d always felt there was something to be said for allowing oneself to get lost in the city, to become one with the crush of people. The city was alive, and to mix in and become part of it was to feel that life seep into your soul and revive the sluggish parts.
For the next forty-five minutes I simply walked. The last time I’d gone for a pleasure walk in New York was in December when Abby and I had gone Christmas shopping. Now I walked by a few of Abby’s favorite shops, wishing she was with me. Before I knew it, I found myself going into a rare-book store that she loved.
Though my parents had been avid book collectors and had built the estate’s massive library, it wasn’t until I shared the space with Abby that I truly learned to appreciate it. We had added a few volumes to the collection over the years, but we were always looking for more.
The shopkeeper, Jeremiah, saw me and waved me over. He was an older gentleman with white hair and walked with a hunch. Perhaps from spending so much time bent over one of his beloved books.
“Mr. West,” he said with a grin when I made it to the worn wooden counter. “I was going to call your wife. I had a book come in earlier this week that I think she would like.”
I didn’t doubt him. Before we had kids, Abby and I would visit the shop on weekends and she would go through boxes of books with Jeremiah. I’d enjoyed simply standing nearby and watching her joy at new discoveries.
“What do you have?” I asked, peering over the counter.
“First-edition Lord Byron—1815 Hebrew Melodies.” He stated it with pride.
I looked over the well-kept volume. “An excellent find.”
He craned his neck to look over my shoulder. “Is Mrs. West with you this afternoon?”
“No, unfortunately, she’s at home. Had some work to catch up on.” I was already reaching for my credit card. “But this is just the thing for me to give her tomorrow since I have to stay in the city overnight.”
Jeremiah’s white head nodded as he rang me up and wrapped the book. I, meanwhile, was thinking back to a cold winter night. A night I’d entered the library to find Abby, who’d only been my sexual submissive at the time, combing through the poetry section. What followed was a game of quotes that ended with her naked in my lap and a moment of passion that forever changed me.
“Mr. West?” Jeremiah held the book up.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the package from him and promising to give Abby his regards.
I made my way back to the office and pulled out my notes for the upcoming meeting with Charlene. The trip to the bookstore had made me melancholy and I thought about driving home after we’d finished. Once there, I could take Abby back into the playroom for a different kind of scene from what I’d done last night.
But she had work she had to do, and even though she probably wouldn’t want to admit it, I was willing to bet she was looking forward to some alone time. With two kids, her job, and our playtime, she didn’t have much time that was hers alone. My fingers hovered above my phone and I thought about calling, but a sharp knock on my office door stopped me.
“Charlene,” I said, opening the door. “Thank you for meeting with me on a Saturday.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, breezing past me. “I’m just glad we were able to work something out before I left town.”
I tried to imagine her from Abby’s perspective. Charlene was a lovely woman, with blond hair and blue eyes. I was sure other men would find her attractive, but she didn’t even compare to my Abby. I’d hired Charlene to run my late uncle’s nonprofit because my involvement had gotten unmanageable and I counted myself fortunate to have found her. She was a hard worker and had done more in a few months than I could have accomplished in a year.
I motioned to the couch near the large window and we sat down.
For the next few hours we went through the accounts and I signed all the papers she’d brought for me. When we finished, I leaned back in my seat.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.
“You can do better than that,” she said, putting her documents inside her tote bag. “I’m free for dinner.”
“I better not.” It was certainly tempting, since I was otherwise eating alone and Charlene was a delightful conversationalist. Still, even though I knew nothing would ever happen between the two of us, there were several reasons it wasn’t a good decision to go out to dinner with her. For one, Abby wouldn’t like it and two, people would see us together.
“Just saying.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “A bit of company would be preferable to an empty penthouse.”
“Charlene,” I said with more force than necessary. “I do not enjoy repeating myself endlessly, nor do I like being badgered. I’m having dinner alone tonight. Do you understand?”
Her eyes had grown dark. “Yes, sir.”
It was not unheard of for employees to call me sir. However, I had been a Dominant long enough to know the difference between a business associate using the title and a submissive’s yielding. Our eyes locked and a moment of recognition passed between us as we each acknowledged what the other person was.
Knowledge was a good thing. Wisdom a better thing. And I had the only submissive I wanted or needed in Abby. I nonchalantly reached for my cell phone. “The sir isn’t necessary. You know I prefer Nathaniel.”
She shook herself, as if waking from a trance. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Of course, saying not to worry about it is quite different from not worrying about it myself. As I ate dinner in the penthouse that night, watching the lights of the city, I wondered if somehow I had known all along. Had I been drawn to hire Charlene because I somehow instinctively recognized her submissive nature?
I didn’t believe that to be the case. I felt certain that in all my years of business, I had worked with people who identified themselves as submissives and I was none the wiser. After all, I didn’t tell my business associates I was a Dominant.
Which led me to another question: did I tell Abby?
She made no secret of her dislike of Charlene. But I was around submissive women all the time when we met with our BDSM groups, and she had never reacted toward them the way she did toward Charlene. Abby was normally a very sensible woman who rarely made rash judgments.
I stood up from the table, cleaned the kitchen, and took a shower. By the time I got out and dried off, it was after ten. Abby was probably either working on the assignment I gave her or writing the revised piece for the blog. On any other Saturday night, we’d be headed to the playroom. I’d spend the next few hours working her into a frenzy of pleasure, driving us both to the highs we craved so much. I missed her.
I glanced once more at the clock and picked up my phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello, Master.”
“Abigail.” My body immediately relaxed at the sound of her voice. “How was your day?”
“Productive, Master. I accomplished a lot. I did the writing assignment you asked for and then I did my new piece for work.”
“You did all that today?”
“Only because I found some things I’d written while researching other posts. I was able to use some of it for the new piece. That cut down on the time I had to spend working.”
“Sounds like you were very productive. I think you deserve a reward.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She had to be on edge after not being able to come the night before. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m reading in bed, Master.”
“What are you reading?”
“A dirty, filthy erotic novel and thinking about you.”
I was already hard, and hearing her mention the book she was reading made me uncomfortably so. I undid my pants. “What are you wearing?”
“One of your white dress shirts.”
I groaned. My plan was to have her strip, but the image of her in
my shirt had me pushing my boxer briefs down. “Leave it on. Are you wearing panties?”
“Just a tiny pair.”
“Take them off.”