Making a Scene (6 page)

He watched me
carefully. “Those sound effects are added or enhanced in
post-production, you know. Sure, you can make those noises with a
cane, but they’re mainly for psychological effect before you
actually hit the target, who’s generally pretty warmed up by that
point already.”

“Okay,” I
managed, filing away the information with not a little relief. “But
they do hurt worse than most other things, right?”

“They can. But
you’re thinking of punishment canings. The way I use them is more
sensual.” Teasingly, he ran the side of his index finger over the
swell of my breast, tapering off as my nipple rose into hardness to
meet his touch.

I closed my
eyes, desire rising to lessen my fear, but no further caresses
followed. Confused, I looked over at Marc to find him studying me
intently.

“What?”

“I won’t let
anything happen to you, Nell. I know what I’m doing with all this.
I practised for hours on inanimate objects before I ever went near
a submissive with any of the impact toys I use. Do you trust me to
take care of you?”

I trusted him
with my body, at least. My heart? That was a different matter, but
I wasn’t going to get into that with him now.

“I trust
you.”

He took my
hand, squeezed it lightly. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure
many people would say that to someone who’s planning to bruise
them, though…”

He raised an
eyebrow. “Not a very respectful mode of address, my sub. I think I
need to put my collar back around your neck, so you remember who’s
in charge around here.”

As if I could
have forgotten!

Unashamed of
his nakedness, as always, Marc got up and headed over to the toy
cabinet, where he retrieved my play collar. Never one to pass up a
free show, I pillowed my head on my arms and watched his taut,
defined muscles ripple with his movement. There was just something
fascinating about the slight dimples above his tight ass.

He glanced
back over his shoulder and broke into a slow smile. “I can feel
your eyes on me. I think I’ll have to blindfold you.”

My heart
skipping, I sat up. “Anything you say, Sir.”

Marc went back
to his rummaging, selecting a few things I couldn’t see. Acting
mostly on instinct, I slid off the bed and onto the floor, kneeling
with my hands clasped behind my back and my knees together, my back
straight but my head slightly bowed.

He took a
couple of minutes to come back to me, and by that time I’d slipped
into a calmly anticipatory mindset, ready for anything Marc had
planned for me.

Well,
maybe.
A shadow of uncertainty was still lurking in the back of
my mind about the cane, but I did trust him. I’d try it before I
decided I didn’t like it. God knew I hadn’t thought I’d love being
spanked or tied up or flogged or paddled, either, and I’d done all
that.

Marc laid a
hand briefly on the top of my head, bringing me out of my reverie.
“You’re learning. Good.”

The simple
pleasure of his approval made me smile, though I kept my eyes cast
down.

Marc crouched
beside me, tilting my chin up until I met his gaze. “I’m going to
push you tonight, Nell. If you feel that anything’s too much to
handle, what are your safewords?”

I gave them,
reassuring us both that I remembered. He nodded, then eased me into
a gentle kiss. My entire body was tingling by the time he broke off
again, my pulse elevated and my pussy tightening around
nothing.

For one second
more, he just looked at me. Then he said, “Remember that I…
Remember that I care about you. No matter what happens once I put
on the collar.”

“Yes,
Sir.”

He stood up
again, moved around behind me. “Hair.”

Used to this
by now, I gathered my hair away from my neck so that he could slip
the play collar around my throat. As always, I closed my eyes and
silently thrilled when he put it around my neck. This time, after
he’d buckled it, he tugged on it firmly enough to remind me why it
was there.

“While you’re
wearing this collar, unless I directly address you, you don’t have
permission to speak unless it’s to give your safeword. Moans and
sighs are allowed, but no coherent words. You don’t have permission
to raise your eyes from the floor, though you will be wearing a
blindfold for some of the time, so that won’t be a concern then.
You
do
have permission to orgasm unless I decide to
explicitly forbid it. Is that clear, my sub?”

“Yes, Sir.”
His low, stern tone was unbelievably hot. I remembered how it had
affected me that first time he’d used it, in his office a week ago.
It had the same effect now. I shivered.

“I’ll be tying
you so you’re unable to move freely during this session. Do you
need to use the bathroom before we start?”

I almost told
him no, but the idea of being caned while being desperate to pee
didn’t appeal. Keeping my eyes lowered, I said, “Just in
case—please, Sir.”

“Go, then. And
be as quick as you can. Don’t make me come looking for you, or the
punishment I’ll give you won’t be a boring and slightly painful
one, like the one at the office.”

I thanked him
and headed across the dungeon to the bathroom at a swift walk.
Shutting the door behind me, I felt the intensity of Marc’s Dom
presence fade and let out a long, slow breath before attending to
business. Once done, I lingered for a couple of seconds to gather
my nerves, admiring my collar in the mirror. I almost spoke to my
reflection to psych myself up, but remembered Marc’s directive in
time. I was pretty sure ‘no speaking’ also meant when I was
alone.

I returned to
his side, noticing that he’d donned a pair of very flattering
leather pants while I was away, then hurriedly returning my gaze to
the floor, mentally drooling at the image.

If Marc had
noticed my minor transgression, he didn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he hooked his finger into the ring on my collar and pulled
me a step forward. Then, as if to himself, he said, “No, I have a
better way.”

Before I could
process his words, he had slid his fingers between my thighs.
Despite the fact that I’d cleaned up in the bathroom, the sight of
the leather pants—and the realisation that I was naked in
comparison—had been enough to get my juices flowing again, and he
encountered no resistance as he eased two fingers up inside me.
Then, as I accustomed myself to the sensation, he hooked his
fingers against my G-spot and took a step backwards. “Follow.”

A rush of
shocked arousal surging through me, I allowed him to lead me by the
pussy to what looked like a modernised version of medieval
stocks.

These stocks
were slightly different from the detention equipment of old, I saw
once we got around to the other side of them—the wood they were
made of was sleek and varnished, stained so dark it was practically
black. There was also a spanking bench attached, so I wouldn’t have
to stand while he did…whatever he was going to do with that
cane.

“Kneel,” Marc
instructed, withdrawing his fingers with a light, teasing brush of
my clit.

I knelt at his
feet gratefully—I was back in that strange, tunnelled mindset where
my focus was so in the moment that nothing mattered outside our
dynamic. Hyperaware of everything Marc was doing, even if I wasn’t
allowed to look at him directly, I waited while he opened the
stocks and set a small table to one side of them.

“Stand up and
come to me.”

I did as
requested, something inside me relaxing when he put a warm hand on
the small of my back.

“Green?” he
asked, and I took a moment to contextualise the question. If red
was ‘stop’ and yellow ‘slow down’, green was…

“Yes, Sir.
Green.”

Marc tapped
the lowest level of the spanking bench. “Kneel here. Lean your body
weight forwards onto the upper level and put your neck and wrists
in the stocks.”

The bench was
padded yet smooth against my knees. I tentatively lowered my torso
onto the upper level, which was at a slight upward angle. I laid my
neck in its designated space, feeling a little like a guillotine
was about to fall and behead me. Stocks had a grim history, and to
have them used in a sexual context was slightly unnerving, but also
kind of a taboo turn-on. I adjusted the position of my body before
putting my wrists into place as well.

Marc smoothed
his hand down my back, then lowered the top half of the stocks
down. There was no way I could withdraw my head through the hole
for my neck, but my wrists were thin enough that I could probably…
I tried experimentally, but the holes were just narrow enough that
I couldn’t fit my wrists through. I wondered if the top part of the
stocks had an adjustor to make the holes smaller, but couldn’t see
with my head trapped the way it was.

The
distinctive click of a padlock snapping shut made my stomach lurch
with excited, anxious finality.

“Now you’re
satisfied that there’s no escape…” Marc walked around behind me,
and I waited for whatever would come next, my body tense. With
gentle firmness, he eased my knees apart so he could reach in
between my thighs to caress my pussy. “It feels to me like you’re
enjoying this, but you should show me just how much. You have
permission to wriggle as much as you need to, by the way.”

Gasping, I
tilted my hips to stroke my swollen clit against his fingers. He
pressed firmly, but let me do all the work to stimulate myself. At
first I felt a little self-conscious, writhing into his touch,
bucking my hips to gain the friction I needed, but soon my pulse
was pounding so hard that I just didn’t care. Almost panting, I
rubbed frantically against him, chasing the orgasm I knew I could
take if I could just reach it…

“Should I let
you come, Eleanor?” He removed his hand as he spoke, and I half
sobbed with frustration.

“Please,
Sir…”

He waited an
agonising moment, then said, “No, I don’t think it’s quite time
yet. Maybe later.”

I bit back a
whimper and remained still with an effort, unsure if I was still
allowed to wriggle if he wasn’t touching me.

Marc walked
back into my line of sight, and I lowered my gaze hastily. In doing
so, I noticed the prominent ridge in his leather pants and gave a
soft, wistful moan at what I couldn’t have. How could he restrain
himself when I was lying here, helpless and wet and wanting him?
For all my fantasies about controlling Marc’s pleasure, I could
never have been a Domme—I just wouldn’t have been able to draw out
the suspense before having my wicked way.

Suspense—one
of the many things of which Marc was a master.

“I’m going to
blindfold you now.”

He slipped
something that was kind of like a sophisticated, kinky sleeping
mask over my head…and everything was blotted out. I blinked, but my
sight had been obliterated, except for slight hints of light in my
peripheral vision. Nothing I could focus on.

Marc’s voice
in my ear made me shiver. “If at any point you can see, even
partially, I want to know, Eleanor. Is that clear?” I respectfully
agreed, and he touched the top of my head lightly. “I’m going to
lay out the canes I intend to use on you. I’ll be nearby.”

I relaxed into
position as his footsteps receded, though not too far. Within a
minute or two he was back, and I heard the sounds of equipment
being set on the table he’d positioned nearby.

“Now, do I put
a butt plug in you while I cane you?” he mused casually.

Trapped in
place, I took deep breaths to keep calm. I’d done a little anal
play with previous boyfriends, but we’d never gone further than a
finger or two, and the idea of a butt plug seemed at once enticing
and terrifying. I knew theoretically I could take more than just a
couple of fingers, but wouldn’t it hurt?

“Colour,
Eleanor.” It was a demand, not a request, and he rested a hand at
the small of my back when I hesitated.

“Green, Sir. I
think. Probably.”

From the tone
of his voice, he was obviously amused. “We’ll see how we go.”

His hand fell
away, and I heard a scuffle nearby, but nothing I could pin down.
Then Marc brought his fingers back between my legs, penetrating my
soaked slit firmly. I rocked back against him with a moan, but
before I could get into a real rhythm, he drew out and rubbed the
moisture he’d gathered against my other entrance. Just the outside
at first, but as I relaxed and grew used to the sensation, he
worked the tip of his finger inside.

He drizzled
something shockingly cold and wet over my hole—lubricant, I
realised belatedly, and he probably hadn’t warmed it up on
purpose—then began to use his lubed finger to penetrate me deeper.
“Take this like a good sub, Eleanor.”

By the time
he’d worked his way up to two fingers, I was past understanding
anything but the fact that I wanted more, for him to give me this
maddening pleasure. So many times, I almost pleaded with him, but I
bit my tongue without speaking, fucking myself wantonly on his
fingers in a way I’d never expected to, gasping and moaning but
always coming up short of orgasm.

“Look at you.”
Marc spread his fingers—
no, too much, but oh, so good—
and I
cried out incoherently as he drove them deep. “So shameless. You’d
love me to take your ass right now, wouldn’t you?”

I wasn’t sure
if that was a rhetorical question, and I wasn’t going to risk him
taking his fingers away by speaking out of turn. My body quivering,
I concentrated on the climax that was just out of reach, drawing
closer, thrust by slick thrust.

“You have a
way of making me want to abandon all my devious plans just to fuck
you until you scream. It’s really quite inconvenient, Eleanor.”
With his free hand, he delivered a sharp slap to my rear, and I
yelped at the sting, so close to the raging pleasure of his fingers
inside me, yet so different. “But no. It’s just too rewarding to
make you yell out like that.”