Bow to Your Partner (8 page)

Her eyes widened.

"Are you-er, yes, Sir. Please."

Callan didn't ask her to explain herself, or expand
on her words. He got the idea. He nodded and clasped the bracelet around her
wrist, adjusting it to be a snug, but not uncomfortable fit. She fingered it.

"Please, Sir, what's this link for?"

Callan knew fine what she looked at, and wondered
how she'd react to his answer. Truly this evening was the most enjoyable he could
remember, and they'd done nothing but spar.
"Handcuffs."

"Oh, good."
She smiled sinful and
full of mischief. "Do I have to be good or bad for that?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out.
Right, we're going into the club. You have your safe words. Rather than speak
them, nip me like this." He demonstrated on her wrist, "and we'll go
somewhere here you can convey what you want to me. Understand?"

She nodded.
"Yes, Sir, and
green."

He couldn't ask for anything else. He led the way
out of the room, and didn't lock it behind him. "If I'm called away, or
you need a safe haven for any reason, come up here and wait for me. Lock the
door, and only let Sean or myself in. No." He preempted her question.
"I don't think you'll need to, not for a moment, but as this is your first
time, I'm trying to make sure I've covered everything."

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled up at him,
and the glowing look almost made him change his mind, and take her somewhere
private to make love to her. Only the fact he wanted to show her so much kept
him on the move. He took her hand and ushered along a corridor toward a long
curving staircase. He knew what she'd see if she looked over the balcony. A few
couples chatting, and a demonstration area where Sean was setting up to do a
wax play demo. The private rooms were all taken, and those that allowed an
audience no doubt full. The Dance Studio was popular, and could be subscribed
four times over if they so desired. They didn't, preferring to keep it small,
exclusive and discrete.

Callan matched her step for step downstairs, and at
the bottom turned right toward the bar area. More than one person turned to
look at them, and had a speculative look on their faces when they saw her chain.
Callan had been somewhat economical in his explanation. In the Dance Studio a bracelet
such as he'd put on Mason, was tantamount to a declaration that although not
collared there was a definite connection. He had no idea if this was done elsewhere,
and didn't much care. He, Sean and Ryan decided early on the bracelet idea was
something they wanted.

He walked to the bar and seated her on a stool next
to him. There was time enough to talk about protocol.
"Water
or juice?"

"Water, please, Sir." To his amazement and
pleasure, Mason slipped off the high stool and sat on the lower one next to
him, before leaning against his legs. He stroked her hair. He handed her a
bottle, and took one for himself.

"Good girl. Still green?" he asked softly.
She nodded, and gave him a quick glance. He saw a question in her eyes.
"You can talk here, what's going through that mind of yours?"

"I need you." Her words were so soft he
almost missed them.

"How?"

"However you want, Sir, and it
scares
me."

M
y God, does
she even realize what dynamite there is in that statement?
"Scening?
Here, in public?"

She swallowed hard. "One day.
If that's what you want, Sir."

"One day." Not for their first time, however
those words sent a surge of red hot arousal through him.
 
As a cold shower wasn't viable, a short walk
about might be just the thing. "Come." He stood up and took her and
once more." Don't talk unless I say so, don't stare, and save questions
for later."

He didn't explain in any more detail, but drew her
with him to where Sean was about to start his demonstration.

"Did you really mean that? Tell me
honestly." He felt the tremor rippling through her.

"I thought I did, but, now? When I'm actually
about to see someone else do what we would? Oh damn. Red, Sir."

"Pet, we might never do it, so don't worry. Now
watch." Callan ignored the sigh of relief and held her tight.
She needed to accept he would only do
what was right for her, nothing more nothing less. Yes, he'd push her further
than she might think she wanted, but never ever go too far.
It was all well and good to want to please your Sir, but not at
the expense of your peace of mind.

Around thirty people were watching Sean, and few
glanced their way. Callan felt Mason relaxing by the second, getting increasingly
comfortable, as he guessed she realized anything went clothes wise. People wore
whatever they—or their Sir—wanted. Now he'd see how she reacted to what was one
of his favorite ways of scening, even though he chose to leave most demonstrations
to Sean, he was more than happy.
One day.

Sean spoke to his sub in an undertone. Okay, it was
his very new wife Jane, and they knew each other in every which way, but still
he went through everything with her. Partly for those watching, but also
because as they all said, things change and safety was paramount. Callan glanced
at Mason. Her mouth was slightly parted and the sheen on her skin was very
definitely of arousal, not fear.

"One day this could be us," he said in an
undertone. A shiver rippled over her skin.
Excitement?
"Color,
pet?"

"Green."
Her voice was just
above a whisper. "Blimey, it looks good, I feel great, as if
its
all so personal and we're privileged to watch."

It was enough to allow him to press a soft nip to
the nape of her neck. He swore she groaned in a more already tone.

"Soon."
It was a promise.

Chapter
Eight

The weather was typical Glasgow weather, raining and
grey. What the locals called dreich. It didn't dampen Callan's mood though.
Three weeks of him
pushing, and Mason accepting—or
at
times pushing back—had given them both confidence. Yes there had been highs and
lows, and areas they knew were a red, no go zone. For instance, Callan accepted
Mason would never ever let him cup her or do any sort of fire play, but he was
fine with that. Neither were his personal preferences. By trial and error, and
a lot of in depth communication, they'd come to realize how well they meshed,
and how compatible they were. Their agreement to take things slowly had been
the right one.

However, three weeks of Mason's submission and no
sex had given him a permanent hard on. How long he could carry on like this,
Callan had no idea. Nevertheless, his first thoughts were to make Mason happy,
confident, and at peace with her needs.

As he mused over those last few weeks, and thought
how damned happy he was, Callan whistled softly.

Mason picked up a bustier she'd brought with her and
raised one eyebrow. "Yes? Will it be okay do you reckon?"

"Oh, nice one, love."
They were in his
bedroom, both naked, and ready to dress and go out. He hoped she would like the
surprise he had for her.

Callan had hot thoughts about a Mason in a tiny red
skirt and black bustier, with those
fuck
me
red heels she loved.

"Perfectly.
So pet, are we ready
to go public?"

To his horror, Mason shook her head.
"Oh no, Sir.
Red, red and mega red."

 
His heart plummeted,
a big nasty sense of dread hit it and it sped up.
What?
It seemed his surprise wasn't so welcome after all.
His always eager cock deflated, and
metaphorically hid behind his balls like a shy school kid afraid of being
picked on.

"Why, pet?" They'd come to agree
pet
was the perfect tag for when they
played, and often for other occasions as well, as just then.

"I need to feel you in me first." She
looked up at him with so much hope in her
expression,
it
sent a shock wave of expectation right down to his toes.

His heart stopped. Had he heard aright? His cock
decided it was fine to perk up again. He was glad he weren’t
clothed,
or wearing jeans. Zipper imprints down his length were not only a bad look,
they were also bloody painful.

Callan scowled. He'd deliberately let her set the
pace, but this was speeding up with a vengeance. He'd though a little impact
play might help her to realize what she loved, and it had. Those sweet mewls
and sobs, as the flogger caressed her, had been perfect. Callan swore he'd take
things at a pace to reintroduce her to the lifestyle gently. The few drops of
wax he'd allowed on her skin had her crying out in ecstasy. However, now it
seemed now Mason was ready to go one step further. But was he?
Because if she cried red, he would just cry.

"Where?" he said.
She must have heard
the caution in his voice because she blinked and tensed.

"Ah, Sir?"

"Don't tense, this is your pace, remember?"
he said slowly. "You need to be explicit. What exactly are you asking
for?"

"To feel your c—cock in me. To have you come
and know I helped.
To come, and be ready for everything else.
If you want that, Sir?"

A
definite query there.
"Pet, who is Sir?" Callan bit his lip to
stop himself laughing at her expression. Talk about bratty sub mode. His Mason
came
leaps and bounds over those last weeks. Together they'd
learned each other’s likes and dislikes, discovered how much they liked each
other. To his surprise—Callan always thought he was the cautious type—he fell in
love with her without any problems. Life was good, and it seemed getting
better.

Mason looked at him, her grin cheeky,
expression
hopeful. "Well
you
are, Sir.
Callan Mackie.
My Sir."

That was all he needed. "Then it's time to
explore further love." She jumped. Callan guessed at why she was surprised.
"This is Mason and Cal love, no Dom or sub. This is us.
As
equals and loving.
I've been looking forward, no, hoping we'd come to
this."

She smiled, all siren and enticing. Callan's heart
swelled.

"Then let's love." Mason planted a kiss on
his lips and followed it up with a tiny suck to each of his nipples. She
stroked his chest with tiny featherlike touches, which created tiny frissons of
heat and electricity.

"Over to you, love. Show me what you
like." Callan had difficulty forming his words as the impact of her caress
occupied every last inch of his mind.
Every fiber of his
being focused on her.

Mason slid down his body until her mouth was level
with his cock, and knelt on the floor in front of him. The tiny telltale pulse
in her neck beat faster than usual.
A sign of her arousal, or
her agitation.
He hoped it was the former.

"Lean against the wall please, Sir."

The enticing scent of Mason and arousal filled his
senses as she put a palm on his chest. Callan rested his back on the wall and
waited with interest to see what she'd do next. The contradiction of sub
telling Dom what to do didn't bother him. Callan never prescribed to the
concept of one BDSM hat fits all. Each relationship was unique, and theirs
worked for them.

Slowly, she licked the tip of his cock, taking the
tiny droplets of liquid into her mouth. Her throat rippled as she swallowed and
her tongue snaked out to stroke the hot skin of his shaft from head to base,
and back again.

The sensation was too much for Callan to cope with.
If he wasn't careful he was going to come like a randy schoolboy. He recited
the twelve times table in his mind—backward.
Anything to
control his urge to spill.

Mason took his cock into her mouth. A flame of heat
and desire so strong it made him shake hit him.

"Love, pet, either I come in your mouth, or we
move to the bed and I come inside you. Your choice, but I'm on a knife edge
here." His words tumbled over each other. Callan pulled her hair gently.

Mason loosened her lips, and slipped them slowly up
and off his prick. "Aw, decisions, decisions." Tone light, she
smiled. "I guess for our first time, I’d like you inside me."

"Then get yourself onto the bed."

She scrambled to her feet and ran across the room.
"How?"

"Like your favorite ice cream." Callan
followed her, knowing she'd get the inference.
Vanilla ice
cream, vanilla sex.
"On your back."

Mason gawped at him
.

Thought that'd make
her wonder.

"Mm, but you know, Sir? I've started to like
rocky road and all sort of unusual flavors these days."