Light Switch (16 page)

“I agree, Sir.”

He laughed softly. “Of course you do.”

With the check paid, we stood. I hadn’t realized how much my knees shook until I tried to rely on them for stability, and twice I had to pause while putting on my jacket to casually hold the back of my chair for balance.

On the way out, Scott offered me his elbow. When I slid my hand over it, he put his other hand on top of mine. An affectionate, gentlemanly gesture to anyone who cared to look. To strangers we passed on the sidewalk, we were a couple so enraptured with each other, we just couldn’t go a step without touching.

I grinned to myself as I imagined what they’d think if they knew the truth. They’d be as horrified as I was aroused.

We walked in silence for a block or so. The car was parked a few blocks down one cross street, but when we reached that street, Scott didn’t turn. On any other night, I’d have ribbed him that he’d forgotten where he parked, but the subtle ridge of his rolled-up sleeve reminded me I was forbidden from doing so. Whether he had another destination in mind, or he really had forgotten where he’d parked, it was no longer my place to question him.

We continued for another block, then into a large park. There, we followed the winding cement path past the deserted playgrounds toward the baseball fields. Stadium lights illuminated one field and its crowded stands, but the rest of the park was dark except where occasional dim lights glowed along the path. Baseballs cracked against bats, people clapped and yelled, feet clanged on the metal bleachers.

In our tiny universe, though, the only sounds were our footsteps on the path and my blood pounding in my ears. As the path wound away from the baseball field, the lights and noise faded behind us, leaving me to my own heartbeat and the synchronized tap of shoes on pavement.

I wasn’t sure what to make of his silence. Was this a game? Was he planning something? Was he already a dozen steps ahead of me, or was he improvising?

What is going on in that head of yours, Sir
?

I barely suppressed a shiver. Even in my mind, I addressed him that way.

My feet halted in the same instant his did. The path was shrouded in darkness here, shielded from moonlight and streetlights by a thick canopy of trees.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he turned to me, and when I mirrored him, he cupped my face in gentle hands and kissed me. His tongue parted my lips, the sweetness of his wine still lingering faintly in his mouth. Goose bumps followed his hand up my neck and into my hair, prickling my scalp alongside the warmth of his fingertips.

With his body weight, he nudged me backwards. One step. Then two. The cement ended, and my third step was on softer ground, as was my fourth. He kept us going until his shoes no longer scuffed on concrete.

He broke the kiss and exhaled against my lips. He kissed me again, then released my hair.

Like wind through brittle branches, his low, growling whisper broke the silence and made me shiver again: “Get on your knees.”

With neither question nor hesitation, I obeyed, dropping to my knees on the cool grass. Every nerve ending tingled with excitement and apprehension, and my eyes darted from side to side in search of the shadow of anyone who might intrude. Anyone who might, I thought with a tingle of excitement in the pit of my stomach,
see
us.

He stroked my hair gently, but when he spoke, there was an edge to his otherwise flat tone. “You disobeyed me last night, didn’t you?”

In the darkness, my cheeks burned, no doubt turning bright red. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me how you disobeyed me.”

I bit back a whimper. “I wasn’t supposed to come until tonight, Sir.”

“Why weren’t you supposed to come until last night?”

Guilt twisted in my chest and I closed my eyes. “Because I came without your permission before.”

“I’m disappointed,” he said. “But, as I said in the restaurant, I can’t exactly blame you.”

Relief washed over me.

“And in spite of being punished last time, you were honest with me again.”

Still more relief.

Leather hissed across leather. “So I’m of two minds.” A buckle jingled. “Do I punish the disobedience?” At the sound of his zipper, I opened my eyes. He went on, “Or do I reward the honesty?”

I hoped it was a rhetorical question, but the silence demanded an answer. I swallowed hard. “Whichever you think is more suitable, Sir.”

He caressed my cheek with his free hand. “Good girl.”

I wetted my lips, my mouth watering as he pulled his hard cock out just inches from my face.

He suddenly gripped my hair, holding it so tight he brought tears to my eyes, a yelp to the tip of my tongue, and an intense tingle to every nerve ending in my pussy. With his other hand, he stroked his cock, and though I could barely see his hand in the darkness, it mesmerized me with its slow, rhythmic motions.

“Are you going to disobey me again?” Upstroke. Down.

“No, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” Downstroke. Up.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sure.”

“Good girl.” The hand in my hair loosened slightly. “Because you disobeyed me, I don’t think I should take you home and fuck you like I’d originally planned. However, because you didn’t lie to me…” He pulled my head a little closer.

As soon as my lips were around him, my spine threatened to turn to jelly. My hands trembled as I held him steady and ran my tongue around the head of his cock. I was always enthusiastic when I went down on a man, but the privilege of pleasing him now was my reward for being honest with him, and I made sure with every sweep of my tongue and stroke of my hands that he knew just how grateful I was for it.

“Just like that,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “That’s perfect, Kristen, just like that.”

I couldn’t keep myself from moaning softly. I ached for his approval like I was sure he ached for release. Telltale saltiness signaled he was getting close, and heat radiated from my clit. Dear God, I hoped he didn’t tell me I couldn’t have an orgasm for another week again. I wouldn’t disobey him a third time, but now, sliding my lips up and down the thick, hard shaft of his cock, I couldn’t imagine surviving another
hour
without coming.

“Yes, that’s perfect, that’s perfect,” he murmured. There was only the subtlest hint of a tremor in his voice. I couldn’t fathom how he always stayed in control, but stay in control he did, even as I nearly deep-throated him.

I stroked him with both hands, circling and fluttering my tongue around the head of his cock. His hand shook in my hair, and I felt more than heard him release a low groan. Then another. A second later, his cock twitched against my lips and tongue, and, with a soft moan, he came.

I kept going until he tightened his hand in my hair to stop me. As he fixed his clothes, I sat back on my heels, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Stand up,” he whispered.

I did so slowly. My knees had been shaking since he’d flipped the switch at the restaurant, and I couldn’t be sure they’d hold me up now. By some miracle, they stayed under me.

Scott put his arms around my waist and kissed me.

“You have an
amazing
mouth,” he murmured.

I smiled against his lips. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, I suppose I could deny you orgasms for another week, couldn’t I?”

My heart sank.
Please, God, no
. “Yes, Sir. You could.”

“After all, you have to learn to obey me.” He caressed my face. “But, asking you not to come would hardly be fair if you’ve got another lover, would it?” He kissed me before I could answer. After a moment, he touched his forehead to mine. “So, you’re not allowed to masturbate, but you may have as many orgasms as he or I see fit to give you. Understood?”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now let’s go back to my place and get a head start on all those orgasms I see fit to give you.”

A few nights after our walk in the park, Scott set his wine glass on the table beside the rack of floggers. He folded his arms across his chest, pausing to tug at one of his freshly-rolled sleeves.

For a moment, he watched me silently. Even when I lowered my gaze, I had to resist the urge to fidget under the weight of his emotionless stare. No matter how many times we’d played this little game, it still unnerved me.

“Take everything off.”

Avoiding his eyes, I obeyed. Sometimes he made every article of clothing, even individual buttons, into their own orders, verbally undressing me one piece at a time. Then there were times like this when he gave a single command. That usually meant he wanted to get to the next step, rather than spend an inordinate amount of time with this part.

My bra, the last piece to go, landed on top of the rest of my clothes. Then I let my arms fall to my sides and waited.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as he walked around me. Another of his unsettling little games, another way to remind me of my exposure and vulnerability. I was used to being naked in front of him, but he knew just how to reignite those feelings and make my heart race.

He stopped in front of me. “You’ve surrendered your sight to me before,” he said. “You’ve surrendered control of your orgasms. Tonight, your mobility.”

I shivered, and it wasn’t entirely from excitement.
I can do this. I can handle this
.

“Your mobility,” he said, “and your ability to speak.” He turned and lifted something off the rack below the whips and floggers. When he held it up, my throat tightened around my breath. The sight of the gag made my skin crawl.

I can do this. I can handle this
.

“Since this is your first time, I won’t use a ball gag,” he said. “It can tire your jaw out, and some people feel like they’re choking with something like that.”

I swallowed.
You don’t say
.

With the gag in his hand, he led me to the Saint Andrew’s Cross and had me face it. He intended to flog me, then, and that thought sent a ripple of anticipation through me. If I could keep it together until he started flogging me, then the pain and endorphins would carry me through the fear of being bound.

I hoped.

“Stay right there.” Without another word, he went back to the rack of whips and floggers, and from that rack, selected a short crop whip. To my surprise, he handed it to me.

“With the gag, you won’t be able to speak,” he said. “So this will be your safe gesture. If it’s getting to be too much, if you find yourself wanting to say your safe word, just drop the whip. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now give me your hand.”

Cool fear and warm arousal vied for dominance, flooding my veins and coiling around my spine. Scott fastened my wrist into a leather cuff at the top of the Saint Andrew’s Cross. Then my other wrist on the opposite side. When he went for my ankle, I drew in a long breath through my nose. I rubbed my thumb against the handle of the crop, reminding myself over and over of the purpose it served.
Just drop it if this gets to be too much. I can do this. I can handle this
.

The last cuff closed around my other ankle, and I was bound. Completely immobile.

I thumbed the crop’s handle a little harder.

“Any pain? Anything tingling?”

Oh, something’s tingling all right
. I swallowed. “No, Sir.”

“Good. Open your mouth.”

I licked my lips, then did as he’d ordered. He slid the gag into my mouth. The rubber wasn’t hard enough to bang against my teeth or cause any pain, fortunately, but it was strange to say the least. I tried to concentrate on its odd taste or the smooth texture against my tongue, anything to distract me from what it was or why it was there.

As he fastened the strap around the back of my head, the gag pulled against the corners of my mouth. I dug my teeth into it, breathing slowly and evenly as I reminded myself that he was in control. Sir was in control. There was nothing to be afraid of.

I can do this. I can handle this
.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. The crop’s handle was damp with sweat as my thumb tried to burrow into it. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to focus on anything but my immobility or the gag in my mouth. Instead, I listened to Scott moving around nearby.

He was at the flogger rack. Then he was beside me. He checked my bindings. Moved again. Stopped.

And he was still. For a long, silent moment, he was still, and my worries started to creep back into my consciousness.

The smack of leather on skin drew my attention away from everything that made me nervous. From
everything
. Goose bumps prickled my skin in anticipation of the flogger hitting my back instead of his palm.

He hit his hand again. I dug my teeth into the gag, silently pleading with him to hit me, hit me, please, hit me.

The first stroke was gentle, just enough for the leather to tap my skin and draw my attention to the anticipation of the next stroke. And the next. And the next. The rhythmic thud of the flogger’s tails occupied my senses. I closed my eyes, letting my head fall forward as the percussive massage consumed me. With time, he struck harder, the tails biting with each sharp crack of leather on flesh. I was distantly aware of a moan of pleasure escaping around and vibrating against the gag.

With every stroke, the world around me faded a little more. I lived and breathed for the split second of impact and the myriad sensations that followed each strike. I wasn’t numb to the pain, just detached from it. Removed. On a different plane where all that mattered was the head-spinning, knee-trembling oblivion that swallowed me a little at a time.

A vague cramp in my hip nudged its way into my consciousness and prompted me to fidget, but the bindings held me solidly in place. An inkling of fear trickled down my spine like a drop of cold sweat, piercing the cloud of endorphins that had fogged my mind. I couldn’t move. I knew I couldn’t move. I was okay. I’d consented to this.

I can do this
.

I can’t move, I can’t move, I can’t
—

I can handle this
.

My Master knew what he was doing. I was safe. I had a safe word.

Another icy drop of panic. The tacit security of the safe word was lost in the gag that kept me from speaking if I needed to.

Every muscle in my body twitched with the sudden violent need to get free, to fight or fly.

Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t fly.

I couldn’t get enough air.

My heart pounded.

Oh God
.

Panic surged through my veins and when I clenched my fists, I suddenly remembered the my safe signal, but a split second before I released the crop in my hand, Scott’s arm was around my waist and the tension on my bindings went slack. As the crop clattered to the floor, the strap around my head loosened and he pulled the gag free.

I gasped for air, keeping my eyes tightly shut as the room whirled around me. My legs collapsed, and Scott guided me to my knees.

“Breathe,” he whispered. He knelt beside me, holding me against his chest and stroking my hair. “Just breathe, baby. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

I found and clung to the front of his shirt and tried to catch my breath. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m—”

“Shh. It happens. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He kissed my forehead and continued stroking my hair. His hand’s gentle motion lulled me into calm like the flogger’s rhythm had lulled me into subspace. My heart rate came down. Breathing came easier. The trembling stilled.

After a moment, he sat back, raising my chin to make eye contact. “You okay?”

“Yes, Mast—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m asking as Scott, not Sir.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

I exhaled hard, my shoulders dropping with the release of my breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Can you stand?”

My legs still trembled, but I nodded.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here and go in the other room.” He helped me to my feet, pausing to make sure my feet would stay under me before he picked up a couple of water bottles off the table and led me out of the dungeon. My legs were steadier than I expected, and I could walk on my own, but he kept one arm securely around my waist until we were in his bedroom. There, he pulled the covers back and made an
after you
gesture.

When we were in bed, he drew the sheet up over us, but otherwise left the blankets off. He pulled me close to him and caressed my back while we both drank in silence.

After I’d finished my water, he took our empty bottles and set them beside the bed.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “I feel kind of stupid now, to be honest.”

“There’s nothing to feel stupid about, Krissy. Sometimes when you push boundaries, they push back.”

“I guess. I just feel like an idiot for freaking out that much.”

He kissed my forehead. “Trust me, you’re not. When you start playing around with this kind of thing, you just never know what can happen. What doesn’t bother one person might trigger some really deep, primal response in someone else.”

I sighed. “I thought I could handle it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Sometimes you don’t know until you get into it.”

“But I should have known. I mean, I’m claustrophobic any—”

“Wait,
what
?” Scott propped himself up on his arm and cocked his head.

“I’m claustrophobic. Always have been.” I looked away, watching my fingers trace a crease on his shirt. “So I was a bit concerned about this.” I paused. “Okay, I was really nervous about it.”

He raised my chin and frowned as he looked in my eyes. “Krissy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought, you know, once we got into it, I’d be okay. Like I’ve been with everything else.”

“Baby, you have to tell me,” he said. “If anything bothers you, if anything makes you nervous at all, even if you think it’s just a silly thing. If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t, and I need to know that
before
it gets to this point.”

I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I will.”

He pulled me to him and smoothed my hair. “Trust is a two-way street with this sort of thing. I’m trusting you to tell me where the lines are. If you’re not sure, or if you have even the faintest concern about something, I need to know so I can be careful.”

“I’m sorry.” My face burned. First I’d freaked out, then I’d fucked up in not telling him I was worried to begin with. Christ, this night was off to a
splendid
start. I sighed again. “I’m sorry, Scott, I—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He kissed my forehead again. “You’re learning, and I should have been clearer about it when we started out. In the future, though, if you’re even a little bit nervous, tell me. I wouldn’t even
think
of punishing you or giving you a hard time for that.” He again lifted my chin and looked me in the eye. “Remember what I said before: I’m in this for your submission, not fear.”

“I know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”

“Embarrassed, maybe?”

“A little, yeah.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled and kissed me gently. “I promise, you’re not the only one who’s gone through this. No one enjoys admitting something scares them.” He draped his arm over my waist, resting his hand against the small of my back. “Maybe we should skip the bondage for a while. Until you’re absolutely sure you’re comfortable with it.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. If you decide you’re ready to try it again, we will.” He pulled me a little closer. “But I won’t push you, I promise.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. We both fell silent for a moment.

He caressed my cheek. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I exhaled and rolled my eyes. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“No reason for that.” His hand drifted into my hair. “These things happen.”

“A bit of a mood killer though, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “We can take care of that. Come here.” He drew me into a gentle kiss.

That kiss went on.

Went on and deepened.

I combed my fingers through his hair. He didn’t push my hands away or pin me down, didn’t forbid me to touch him. His hands were too busy memorizing the curve of my spine, my waist, the swell of my hip.

His jeans brushed my thighs, and when he pressed his hips against mine, and his erection made my breath catch. Relief and arousal swept through me; on some level, I’d been certain he’d back away. That he would push me away. It didn’t matter if it made sense. Rational or not, my fear of his rejection or disapproval was as real as my panic on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.

I had no idea if it was a need for security or if I was just turned on being this close to Scott, but I had to have him. Right now.