Making a Scene (3 page)

I offered my
bound wrists, stretching them over my head. Marc took a piece of
rope dangling from the winch at the head of the rack, and tied it
around the clip anchoring my cuffs together. Then he winched the
rope taut, so that I had no room to lower my arms again.

With a brief
frisson of fear, I wondered if he’d bind my feet in the same way.
What would it feel like to be stretched? Would I enjoy it? What
kind of pain would it bring?

Catching my
worried expression, he shook his head. “Not today, beautiful. Maybe
someday soon, but for now I just want you immobilised.”

I was
definitely that, and closed my eyes in thrilled humiliation as Marc
headed to the foot of the rack. His touch was light on the soles of
my feet, and though I suppressed a shriek, I couldn’t help but
giggle and yank my feet away, my eyes flying open again. Marc
grabbed my ankles firmly and tied one of them to the rack with a
rope knot that looked complicated, but seemed to take him only
seconds of practised movement. I jerked at the rope, but found that
I couldn’t even bend my knee.

Marc grinned
at my dawning consternation. “Oh, yes. You’re going to have to take
this for me, beautiful. Only a safeword can help you now…”

I whimpered
and tried to yank my other foot out of his grasp, but his grip was
like iron. “Don’t,” he cautioned, his voice deceptively mild.

Gulping, I
screwed my eyes shut and waited for him to tie that leg in place,
too.

Surprisingly
enough, he didn’t. Keeping a firm hold of my ankle, he ran his
index finger down my instep, over my heel, then up again, to the
crease where my big toe met the rest of my foot. I held still,
holding back the laughter that wanted to bubble up.

He repeated
the motion with a lighter touch, and I lost it, squirming as I
giggled helplessly. Being tickled was a weakness I’d never thought
a Dom would want to exploit, but I’d obviously been fooling myself.
“Sir!”

“Stay
still…”

I tried; I
really tried. It lasted all of thirty seconds. When Marc used all
four fingers to stroke up and down my foot, feather-light, I
couldn’t help it. Writhing and gasping between laughter that
bordered on desperate, I tried as hard as I could to yank my foot
away, heedless of anything but gaining relief from the tickles.
“No! Please!”

Marc shocked
me into stillness with a sharp slap to my thigh, then let go of my
foot abruptly. “You’re disobedient today.”

Suddenly
anxious, I blinked the remnants of my tears of laughter away to
gauge his reaction, relaxing again when I saw the amusement in his
eyes, despite the severity of his expression. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I
told him, and meant it.

Marc stepped
away from the table without responding, and I tried to compose
myself again while he was occupied with the nearby cupboard. By the
time he returned, holding a length of cylindrical metal with two
cuffs dangling from it, I had control of my breathing again, and my
pulse was pounding with anticipation of what might come next.

Marc took my
foot again —the one he hadn’t tied—and fastened one of the cuffs
around it. Once it was secure, he untied the other ankle from its
rope and buckled it into the matching cuff. That left my legs
spread wide by the metal bar, my pussy exposed to his gaze, his
touch… I sighed when Marc trailed his fingers between my labia,
gathering the wetness there to rub into my needy clit.

I arched
against his hand, sighing appreciatively. He really knew how to
make my body respond, whether through pain, pleasure or even
tickling.

Marc dropped
his hand to his side just as I was beginning to really get into the
rhythm of his strokes, and I swallowed a groan of frustration,
knowing it would do me no good.

“You really
are a slave to your clit, aren’t you, Eleanor?” There was heat in
Marc’s voice that made my pussy react with a corresponding flush of
warmth.

“Yes, Sir,” I
murmured.

“Say it,
naughty girl. Tell me.”

“I…” The idea
of saying it myself was oddly mortifying, and again my pussy
contracted with need. “I’m a slave to my clit, Sir.”

“You are. And
you’d do anything to get off right now, wouldn’t you?”

I swallowed,
nodded.

“Say it,” Marc
said sharply.

“I’d do
anything to get off, Sir. Please tell me what you want me to
do.”

“Good girl.”
The barest amount of approval in his tone had me smiling. How could
he affect my responses this much with so little praise?
God…

“I’m almost
done restraining you. Wait a second.”

As if I could
do anything else…

Marc took thin
leather straps from midway down the rack’s bench and looped them
into the links where the metal bar was joined to its cuffs. On
either side, he strapped the spreader bar tightly to the bench, so
that my feet were tethered just below my buttocks, my bent knees
spread so that I was even more exposed than before. I dreaded to
think what kind of view he was getting, but he seemed to be very
happy with the results. Looking at the bulge in his suit pants, I
couldn’t help but moan aloud. I wanted him to take me so hard…

“Now, I think
that pretty pussy of yours needs punishing, don’t you?”

Punishing?
My anticipation faded into confusion and dread.
What did he have in mind?

Marc cupped my
mound lightly, and despite my anxiety, I instinctively arched into
the touch, rubbing my clit against his palm. “Moan for me,
Eleanor,” he told me, and I did, expressing my arousal without
needing to fake it. He let me rub myself against his hand for a
while, exciting myself until I was trembling with need and almost
desperate for a firmer touch. “Please, Sir…”

“You really
think I’ll let you get off so easily?” Marc withdrew his hand, and
I squirmed with frustration, arching my pelvis up into the air.

No, no,
no…

“You want my
hand back there, huh?”

In the back of
my mind, I got the sense there was a catch to this, but I couldn’t
help it. “Please…”

“As you wish,
Eleanor.”

He slapped my
pussy with his open hand, and it felt fucking amazing.

Had he
actually just
done
that? Had I actually enjoyed it? It
hadn’t really been painful—more of a shockwave of sensation to my
clit—and when he did it again, I moaned. “Oh, god, that’s
good!”

Marc raised an
eyebrow. “You seem surprised. Never had anyone slap your pussy
before?”

Still reeling
from the unexpected experience, I could only shake my head.

“Well, it
certainly won’t be the last time…” He brought his hand down again,
slapping the fleshy lips between my thighs. I yelped, once again
expecting more pain than pleasure, but finding it the other way
around instead. “Think I could get you off just like this?”

No words came
to my lips; I just stared at him imploringly.

Marc leaned
over my body to take my mouth in a bruising kiss. I tried to put my
arms around him, to draw him closer and rub myself against his hard
cock, but I was still firmly tethered and could only moan with
frustration into his mouth. When he drew back, I was breathless
with need, panting and writhing, to no avail. He had control over
my body now.

“Sir, I need
you!”

“Shh. Don’t
make me gag that pretty mouth of yours.”

I swallowed
hard and pressed my lips together. I had never been gagged, but I
was pretty sure I didn’t want to start now.

Marc resumed
his position by my spread legs, clearly amused by my reaction. He
ran his fingers through the wetness that had pooled between my
legs, rubbing lazily but never quite reaching the spot I was
desperate for him to touch. I clenched my jaw against the need to
beg as he teased me.

Then, just as
the pleasure had faded to a level where I could think again, he
spanked my entire pubic region. Not just once, but several times in
rapid succession, taps that increased in force until the pain was
almost on a par with the ecstasy each smack provoked. I gasped for
breath, shocked.

“Good girl.
I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do this to you in front of my
friends… Remember that play party Dylan mentioned the other
day?”

Oh, I
remembered. I also remembered Marc’s vivid description of what his
play parties used to be like—Dominants torturing and teasing their
submissives on every piece of fetish furniture in the room, making
them scream with agony and cry out with ecstasy. I shuddered with
delight just to think of it…but then, placing myself in the
picture, I felt a chill of fear.

“Sir, I don’t
know if I can.”

He slid a
finger inside me smoothly, penetrating deep, then withdrawing to
return with a second finger into the mix. I tilted my hips to
encourage him, but he slapped my clit with his free hand—not more
than a glancing blow this time, but enough to shock and thrill me
again. “Keep still, Eleanor.”

I don’t
know if I can
. I wanted to repeat it—but I knew Marc wouldn’t
take no for an answer. Nothing short of a safeword, he’d said.

He continued
to drive his fingers in and out leisurely, curving them up against
my sweet spot until I shook with the effort to remain still. “You
don’t like the idea of me claiming your body in front of a roomful
of people? Here, or maybe at one of the local BDSM clubs?”

My body
betrayed me, squeezing around his fingers before I could even
formulate an opinion with my conscious mind. He laughed and pressed
a kiss to my knee. “We’ll talk about this some more before it
happens, but the idea of slamming my cock into you in front of
everyone gets me so hard, Eleanor. I want to make sure everyone
understands that you’re mine. Only I get to make you come.”

The fierce
possessiveness in his voice was so erotic that I just had to thrust
up my hips to drive his fingers deeper inside. “Mmmm…”

“Your
obedience still needs some work, though…” Marc withdrew his hand
slowly, teasing me even as he punished me for the transgression.
“Would you embarrass me like that in front of all those other Doms
and subs? Disobey my orders over and over again?”

I turned my
head to bury my face against my shoulder, ashamed by the rebuke
even as my clit throbbed with impatient need. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m
just no good at this, am I?”

He was silent
for a couple of seconds, and I waited tensely for his assessment.
What if he wanted a submissive who was more controlled? I never
meant to disobey him, but when he drove me crazy like this, it just
seemed to happen so easily.

The next thing
I felt was something tickling softly up my side, from my hip up to
my armpit. Without thinking, I writhed away from the unknown
instrument of torturous tickles, unable to help a shriek. “No!”

By the time I
registered that Marc was tickling me with an oversized black
feather, I was almost in pain from laughing so hard. It wasn’t even
unbearable as far as sensations went—my giggles had just gotten out
of control, and now I couldn’t stop laughing. “If you don’t stop
soon, Sir, I’m going to cramp up, I swear…”

He dusted the
feather over my nipples one more time, just to prove that he was in
control, then relented, setting it aside. It was too late, though.
I couldn’t stop laughing and my stomach was beginning to ache.
Worse, I couldn’t move my arms to cradle it, and the whole
situation seemed hysterically funny, though I got the impression I
was being a really bad submissive. The realisation just set me off
into another despairing laughing fit. “Ow… God, that hurts! Yellow!
Yellow, red, ow!”

Marc kissed my
forehead. “I can’t stop you from laughing, beautiful… I’m sorry,
but that’s something you have to do on your own.”

“Fuck!” I
cried emphatically between painful peals of laughter, tears
spilling down my cheeks.

“Hmm…” I
sensed Marc’s concern, but that just seemed even funnier. I wasn’t
sure if it was my fault or his that he’d lost control of the scene,
but either way, it seemed pretty damn hilarious to me.

Then he
slapped me hard—each of my inner thighs, then my neglected clit—and
I was stunned into silence, my breath caught in my throat, my
senses reeling as my body struggled to process the sharp stinging
and the contrasting swell of pleasure in my pussy. My aching
stomach muscles, tense from too much laughter, were an unwanted
minor intrusion in comparison.

Marc grinned.
“I wasn’t sure that was gonna work, but I’m glad it did.”

I sagged back
against the cushioned bed of the rack, trying to get my breath. “Me
too. Sir.”

While I
recovered from the effects of my giggling fit, Marc untied me and
unbuckled me from the spreader bar, leaving me in just my wrist
cuffs and collar. He helped me to sit up, and I reluctantly
acquiesced.

“I’m really
sorry, Sir.”

He shook his
head. “Don’t even go there, Nell. You couldn’t help it. And I may
have contributed a little…”

He lifted me
in his arms and I wrapped my naked body around his clothed one. Why
did it seem so right that I was completely nude and he was the
complete opposite?

“You’re not
the most restrained sub in the world, but like I told you, it’s a
learning curve. And you are learning…even if at times you’re
learning
to be a naughty little hedonist.”

I smiled into
his neck. I definitely was that.

Marc lowered
me onto the bed and motioned for me to grasp the headboard. When I
did, he clipped my wrists together around one of the metal spokes.
“I got the impression you like to be immobilised.”

I nodded
sheepishly. “Yes, Sir. But I love to hold you, too.”

“You’ll get
the chance…when I say so.”

The reminder
that he was in control was enough to shut me up. Marc’s next
move—to strip off his shirt and then his pants—was enough to
distract me from any urge to speak. When he turned to face me
wearing only tight black shorts, an impressive erection barely
contained by the fabric, I subconsciously wet my lips.