Light Switch (10 page)

“Brutal?”

I laughed and offered a half shrug. “Yeah, I guess that’s the word.”

“It can be. Just depends on what you want out of it.” He smiled and stroked my hair. “We’ve barely scratched the surface anyway. All of this has just been for you to learn to trust me and submit to me.”

“I already trusted you. You know that.”

“The rules change when the clothes come off. You trust me, but I believe in earning that trust all over again in the bedroom. Especially if I’m asking you to submit to me.”

“Do you do this with all of your subs?”

He scratched back of his neck and shrugged with one shoulder. “Depends on their experience level. With you, I’m introducing you to the lifestyle. With, say, Amy, she had years of experience. She had a few Doms before me, so, it was just a matter of laying the ground rules and establishing my dominance.”

“Funny, I never thought about Doms having to establish dominance.”

“Unfortunately, neither do some Doms.” He rolled his eyes. “They don’t last long, believe me. I’ve seen one or two who go up to subs and assume that sub will obey them and call them ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ at the drop of a hat.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How do most subs respond to that?”

“Usually with something like ‘go fuck yourself.’ Submissives aren’t wimps. In fact, most subs I know are incredibly strong, independent people, and they’re not about to bow down to anyone who hasn’t earned the right to command them.”

“So does that mean I can make you beg for the right to command me?”

He laughed. “I’ll earn the right to dominate you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll beg for it.” The fingers in my hair tightened, pulling hard and making me gasp. Against my lips, he whispered, “Like I said the other night, if anyone is going to beg, plead, or give puppy dog eyes, it’s you.” He kissed me gently, the tenderness of his lips emphasizing the iron fist that held me still.

When he broke the kiss, his grip softened as well and he went back to stroking my hair. “We’re reaching a point now, I think, where you understand what it means to submit.” He grinned. “Which means now we can really start pushing some boundaries.”

I gulped. “Such as?”

“Well, you’ve tasted what a power exchange is like,” he said. “The more we play, the more control I’ll demand from you. We’ll try some pain play, some bondage, things like that.”

Ice worked its way along my nerve endings. Pain play intrigued me. Bondage, I wasn’t so sure.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. “We don’t have to do everything, you know.”

“I do want to try it.” That much was definitely true. Curiosity trumped nerves, and I’d face my fears head-on if it meant more of the things he did to me.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

He kissed me again. “And, now that you’ve gotten your feet wet, the rules are going to get stricter. Disobey me or don’t respond when I ask you to, there will be consequences.”

“Haven’t there been consequences already?”

He shrugged. “Sure, but there will be more.”

“Such as?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

Before Scott showed up the next night, I made a run to the grocery store for a few things, especially since I was out of the red wine that seemed to be his custom. Of course, as it always did, a trip for a few things turned into a trip for every damned thing in the store.

I really need to go shopping more often
, I thought as I struggled to get as many bags out of the trunk and onto my arm as possible. Living on the eighth floor, the fewer trips I had to make, the better.

“Need a hand?” Matt’s voice startled me.

I looked up. “Oh, hey. No, I think I’ve got it.”

He smiled. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I set the bags down and leaned against the trunk, rubbing my wrist gingerly. “Remind me to get an apartment on the ground floor next time I move.”

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “At least the elevators in your building don’t take forever to move.”

“That’s true. But then, we can’t all live in modern, state-of-the-art buildings, so you get to suffer.”

“Whatever.” He laughed and rolled his eyes. Then he gestured at my grocery bags. “Are you sure you don’t need a hand with all of that?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I suppose I could use the exercise, especially—” I glanced over Matt’s shoulder as another car pulled into the lot. “Actually, it looks like my company just got here anyway.”

He looked back as Scott pulled into a visitor spot and parked. Our eyes met again, but his quickly shifted away.

Scott got out of his car and slung a small backpack over his shoulder. He strolled toward us, offering a curious glance at Matt.

When he stopped beside me, I gestured from one man to the other. “Scott, Matt. Matt, Scott.”

As they shook hands, something flickered across Matt’s face, deepening the crevices between his eyebrows and tightening his lips into a look I couldn’t quite read. At first, I thought it was some thinly-veiled jealousy. It took a moment to realize it wasn’t jealousy or anything of the sort. It was recognition.

I had to fight to keep from grinning.
Yes, Matt. That’s him. And yes, that’s why he’s here tonight
.

Scott gestured at the bags of groceries. “Need a hand?”

I glanced at Matt. To Scott, I said, “Well, since you’re coming up with me anyway, you might as well be useful.”

He glared at me, shook his head, then looked at Matt. “Do you hear that? Invites me over for an evening, and puts me to work. What the hell?”

“Oh, shut up and grab a few bags,” I said.

Matt laughed, offering an apologetic shrug to Scott. “Seems like you’ve got your hands full.”

I pursed my lips. “I could make you carry a few if you want.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” He put his hands up and backed away. “Looks like you’ve got it covered.” He winked and turned to go. “I’ll see you on Sunday. Nice meeting you, Scott.”

“Same to you,” Scott said, glancing up from getting a few bags out of the trunk.

Matt and I exchanged one last look before he left. His eyes darted back and forth between Scott and me, then he turned to go.

My heart pounded. He’d be watching tonight.

With all the grocery bags in hand, Scott and I walked into my building. We waited in silence for the elevator which, being much faster than those in Matt’s building, arrived in fairly short order. We stepped inside and I elbowed the button for the eighth floor.

As the doors slid closed, Scott said, “His window is right across from yours, isn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“Uh huh, I’m sure.” We exchanged grins. “So it wouldn’t bother you if he’s watched us before?”

“Not at all. I told you, I’m as much an exhibitionist as I am a voyeur. As long as it doesn’t bother you, I certainly don’t mind it.” He lowered his voice and, with a seductive grin, added, “I don’t mind performing for an audience.”

I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks were bright red just then.

He chuckled. Neither of us spoke as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

In the kitchen, Scott dropped his backpack on a chair and helped me put the groceries away.

I held up the bottle of red wine. “I assume you want me to keep this out?”

“You assume right.”

I clicked my tongue and sighed theatrically. “Scott Moore, you’re getting so predictable.”

He eyed me. “Oh,
am
I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He nodded toward the backpack he’d brought in. When I gulped, he grinned. “Predictable, eh?”

“Okay, maybe not.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I cleared my throat. “Why don’t I pour you some wine and we’ll go back into the bedroom?”

His grin broadened. “Sounds like a plan.” He paused, then added, “Grab a couple of bottles of water too.”

Moments later, Scott picked up his backpack and, glass in hand, followed me into the bedroom.

I put the bottles of water on the nightstand and he set his glass on the window still. When he dropped the backpack on the chair beside the window, I recognized the muffled clang of handcuffs. The bag landed with a heavy enough impact, though, that it obviously contained more than just the familiar-sounding restraints.

Scott unzipped it and pulled out something that resembled a whip. The handle was maybe a foot long, and a dozen or so wide, black tails hung off one end. It appeared to be some sort of leather.

When he hit it against his palm, my eyes widened.

“Ever seen one of these?” he asked.

“Not up close and personal, no.”

“It’s a flogger. This one is a softer leather than some of my others, and the tails are thicker, so it’ll be more thud and less sting.”

“Will it still sting?”

“If I decide it will, yes.” He set the flogger down and pulled a similar implement out of the bag. This one had much longer, thinner tails, and they were knotted at the ends. The leather was visibly stiffer, especially as he ran his fingers between the tails.

“This is a cat o’ nine tails, and no, I’m not going to use it on you tonight,” he said. “The material isn’t nearly as forgiving, and the knots as well as the length mean it could tear your skin up royally if someone overdoes it.” He fingered the tails, and I thought he might have shuddered.

“So, if they make something like that,” I said, gesturing at the cat o’ nine tails, “I’m assuming some people like having their skin torn up?”

“Those who are heavily into pain, yes.”

I eyed it, then looked at him. “I can’t imagine how that would be enjoyable.”

“You’d be surprised. For some, intense pain—or the resulting endorphins—can be quite enjoyable. And erotic.”

“I’ve experienced intense pain before,” I said dryly. “Getting off on it was the last thing on my mind.”

Scott chuckled. “Not all pain is created equal, darling. Whip me, bite me, claw my back until it’s a map of Manhattan, but just watch what happens if I get a paper cut.”

I laughed, and some of the nerves in my gut unwound. Part of me wanted to ask how he went about being whipped if he was exclusively a Dom, but I let the thought go for now.

“Anyway,” he said, “I happened to have that one with me, so I thought I’d show you something different. You ready to do this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” He set the flogger down and picked up his wine glass. “Safe words?” He swirled his wine, mesmerizing me.

I licked my lips. “Red to stop, yellow to back off.”

He stopped swirling the wine and raised it to his lips. As he took a sip, my heart rate jumped. When he set the glass down again and went for his left sleeve, my nipples hardened. My blood turned to molten anticipation, sizzling in my veins while I watched him roll up one sleeve, then the other.

He picked up his wine. I held my breath when he took a sip, and my heart skipped when the glass clinked on my nightstand.

His eyes met mine.

Goodbye, Scott. Hello, Sir.

“Strip. Leave your bra on, though.”

I obeyed, all the while avoiding the temptation to steal a glance across the alley to see if Matt was watching.

Once I was down to my bra, I stood with my eyes down, waiting for Scott’s next command. He picked up the flogger again, the tails whispering almost inaudibly against each other like rustling fabric.

“Now, I can’t have you moving around while I’m flogging you,” he said. “And since I don’t have the Saint Andrew’s Cross here, I’ll just have to improvise.”

I looked at him and raised my eyebrows, asking him to elaborate.

He gestured at the window with the flogger handle. “Stand in front of the window. Facing out.”

I hesitated. “The—”

“The window.” Another gesture, sharper this time, coupled with a look that said
this isn’t up for discussion
.

I turned toward the window. Matt’s bedroom was directly in my line of sight, but I closed my eyes. I was afraid he wasn’t there. I was afraid he
was
there. I’d never been so brazen in showing myself to him, and I couldn’t decide if I was excited or embarrassed.

Scott’s fingertips drew a path of goose bumps up the center of my spine, stopping at my bra strap. With a flick of his fingers, my bra went slack. He hooked a finger under it and slid it down my arms. It landed on my bare foot, and I closed my eyes tighter and swallowed hard.

He took my wrist and guided my hand up to the molding around the window. “Hold on to that. Do not let go until I tell you.”

I gripped the molding as he ordered. “I won’t, Sir.”

Then he brought my other hand up and did the same thing. With one shoe, he tapped my foot. “Put your feet a bit further apart. Shoulder width.”

Once had me where he wanted me, he stepped back. I held my breath, waiting for…I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Pain? A sharp slap? A dull thud?

The first time the flogger hit me, I jumped and flinched. My entire body reacted as if it had hurt, but as the seconds passed, I realized it hadn’t hurt at all. It was startling, nothing more. When I relaxed, he brought the tails down on the other side of my back. Again and again, alternating between my left side and my right.

He flogged me with a steady rhythm, the tails landing on my back with percussive impacts that sounded sharper than they felt. This was a different animal altogether from the belt. Instead of just one point of impact, the tails fanned out to cover more surface area and awaken inexperienced nerve endings. Every stroke left a different tingling pattern.

Then he stopped, and a moment later, his fingertips trailed down my back. His soft, almost ticklish touch made me gasp.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured.

“Can you handle more, or is this enough?”

I hesitated, wondering if this was a trick question, but he wasn’t asking what I wanted, he was asking what I could handle. I licked my lips and whispered, “I can handle more, Sir.”

“You know what to do if it gets to be too much.”

The flogger hit me again. Then again. It came down progressively harder, each strike reverberating through my bones and shaking dormant nerves to life.

Tails struck skin again, but I felt nothing. My eyes flew open and my body tensed, nerve endings searching for the contact I hadn’t felt.
How could…what did…where
…

Another slap of leather on skin. Nothing but sound.

His hand. He was hitting his own hand. That had to be it.

Fucking tease
, I wanted to scream.
Hit me
. I didn’t dare, though. He was in charge. I had to be patient, or I’d be punished.

When the flogger came down again, a hundred beestings rewarded my patience. My eyes stung almost as much as my skin, and it was all I could do not to beg him to do it again. Harder.
More
.

I didn’t have to beg.

As he hit me again, I realized it had begun to sting earlier, but I hadn’t noticed, so lulled was I into a trance that the pain didn’t make it into my consciousness. On some level, I was aware of it, but I was more aware of the rush that consumed me each time the flogger left a fresh pattern of stingers.

“Can you handle more than this?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” I slurred. My own desire for more surprised me. I’d expected it all to be too much, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I needed more. I was drunk off the thrill, the pain, the endorphins.

The tails struck harder.
Harder
. My head spun faster. The pain—there, but not—faded into the background.

“Don’t let go of the molding,” Scott said.

I swam out of the sea of endorphins long enough to remember what my hands were supposed to be doing. I adjusted my grip, making sure I didn’t inadvertently disobey him.