His Little Tart (11 page)

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than for mutual pleasure. But her softly spoken request had done it for him. He turned her toward him and kissed her deeply, not letting her go until they were both breathless.

He retrieved the dress and handed it to her, and she smiled at him. “Thank you, Sir.”

Something had melted inside her, it seemed. She pulled the dress on quickly. He got his pants and his shoes on. She was watching him, and she seemed to like what she saw. He didn’t much get what women saw in men, himself, but he didn’t mind her looking, not one bit. He decided to skip the shirt and put it in his bag instead.

“It feels funny, not to be wearing panties,” she said. “Sir.”

“Good.”

She blinked and tilted her head to get a better angle as he approached. “Good?”

“You know why you’re going knicker-less?”

She shook her head, and then stopped and grinned. “Because you’re a pervert?”

“That too. But if you earn yourself another swat, it will be on your bare ass. And if I decide I want my fingers inside you, I don’t want to have to push anything aside to get there. And…” He let his voice trail off, to see if she’d ask the question.

She didn’t disappoint. “And what?”

“And I want you thinking about those two things, all day and all night long. Now do you want to walk or ride?”

“Ride? Oh, you mean you want to carry me around? That’s lovely, but it’s hard to stay decent when you do that.”

He smirked. “I know.”

She looked down at the ground and shook her head, but he was pretty sure she was hiding a smile. “I’ll walk, if that’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t have given you options if I wasn’t okay with them.” He picked up his bag and took her hand, and together they walked back toward the building. As they

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walked, he became aware of how perfectly her cool hand fit in his. Holding hands made him feel almost as if she was his girlfriend rather than a weekend partner. He hoped he wasn’t giving her the same idea, because a relationship wouldn’t work.

Even though it felt damn good. The way she kept sneaking glances at him felt even better.

He stopped before they got to the door. A threesome was making love on the swings, a big girl sandwiched between two buff men. Not his scene—he didn’t share well—but he thought Constance deserved a chance to decide for herself. The rest of the afternoon, as far as he was concerned, was all about exposing her to the world of possibilities, and two men at once had been a fantasy for several women he’d been with.

Constance stared. Each thrust moved the woman on the swing against her other partner. “Wow. Never saw anything like that before,” she said. “Never expected to either. It’s like something from a porn movie.”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” She watched some more, and then shook her head. “Is that something you’re into?”

“Nope.”

“Well, good for her if she can handle it, because I don’t think I could.”

He smiled, and he wasn’t sure why. It shouldn’t matter to him whether she liked the same things he did. He was letting her go, and she’d find someone.

“I didn’t even like dating a guy in college if I’d been with another one recently. I’m afraid I’m a one-man-at-a-time woman.” She smiled up at him, and her eyelashes fluttered. Whenever he’d seen any other woman do that, it struck him as the worst kind of coquettishness, but with her it seemed fresh and honest.

Oh shit. I’ve got it bad, don’t I?
He shook off the thought. She was another woman, that was all.

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“Let’s go inside. There’s more to see there, and I want to help you figure out what attracts you.”

“Maybe it’s you.”

He gritted his teeth. She obviously noticed, because she added, frostily, “Or maybe it’s not.”

He let go of her hand so he could open the door for her, and she put both her hands behind her back as she walked through. A pretty, very submissive pose, but he suspected she was just keeping her hands out of reach. He didn’t blame her, because she’d made herself vulnerable with her comment, and he’d smacked it down with the wrong look. But he wasn’t letting her go either. He took a quick glance around and then put his hand around her shoulders to steer her toward the side of the room, where a couple of neatly contrasting scenes were taking place: Mistress Sue was inflicting some serious punishment with a cane on one of her regular subs, Frank, who was holding his position against the wall, and Master Ken was flogging Josie with a deerskin flogger at one of the X-frames.

“I don’t think I could do that to a man,” she said quickly. “That looks like it really hurts. Why is she doing that?”

“Because on some level, she thinks he likes it. Or needs it, even. Maybe he likes being pushed to the edge. Or he likes showing off how much he can take. Or possibly he gets off on the endorphins the body releases in response to pain. But it definitely really hurts.”

As if to punctuate his point, Frank yelped as Sue put down a particularly red line on his ass.

“It doesn’t sound like he likes it,” Constance said, scrunching her face doubtfully.

He kissed her lightly behind the ear. “By that standard, love, one would think you hated having an orgasm.”

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She blushed nearly as red as her dress, even though he’d been careful not to speak loudly enough for anyone to hear. He let her reflect, not saying anything until she was ready.

“I did like the spanking. I just don’t know about whips and sticks and stuff.”

“It’s called a cane.”

“Yeah, I knew that. I couldn’t come up with the word.”

“It’s a matter of degree, really—although my preference is for partners who don’t crave serious pain. Some people like jalapeños, and some people like habaneros. That’s a better analogy than it might seem, because those peppers also cause a release of endorphins, creating a sort of high.”

“I think I’m a bell-pepper girl. Preferably the red or orange ones. Maybe a banana pepper here or there in a pinch.” Constance nodded over to Josie, who was sticking her butt out and wiggling it. “At least she obviously likes what’s happening to her, although I still don’t know that I could let a man hit me with a whip like that.”

“We usually call a whip with multiple tails like that a flogger. That one hurts less than a bare-handed spanking does, and you liked that. My guess is that he’s warming her up and will move on to something heavier, but from what I’ve seen of those two, they’ll never play as heavily as Mistress Sue is with Frank.”

“Hmm. And what does he get out of it? Or Sue. Or you? That’s what I understand least.”

“We all like giving pleasure, I think. I can only really speak for myself. Sometimes I wonder if Sue isn’t working out a few issues, but she’s a caring person and won’t hurt her subs in any way they don’t want to be hurt. They all adore her, it seems.” He paused, trying to come up with a good way to explain it.

“There are lots of ways to give pleasure. She could give him a blowjob or something. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that.”

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He blinked at her. She seemed so innocent, he was surprised to hear her say something like that. She knew it too. She smirked. “I’ve been around, just not lately,”

she said.

He grinned. “I think you’ll do well here. Already are, in fact. But to your question, I think it’s similar to cooking, really. Some people just want food warm and pathogens killed, and they love their microwaves. Some people want control over every step of the process, fussing over the sauce, happily stirring constantly, adjusting the temperature, tasting as it goes along to make sure it’s just right.”

“I’m a taster, for sure. Goes straight to my hips.”

“And your very attractive ass.” He moved behind her and gripped her hips, pushing himself against the upper curves of her backside. His cock stirred at the contact. “See what it does to me?”

She looked back at him impishly and wiggled her hips. “Yep.” She gave the dress a tug downward. “So you like control, but why do you like whacking my butt?”

“Maybe I’m an ass man.” He chuckled. “But that’s not all of it. I like knowing what I’m giving you is as intense as anything you’ve ever felt, that it’s different from any experience you’ve ever had. That I’m creating an impression in your mind that will never leave you. Whether it’s a spanking or playing with your tits or anything else we do, I want it to be special. As perfect as I can make it. Control is a means to that end.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about me forgetting any of this.”

He wanted to lift her skirt, unzip his pants, and plunge right into her. Perhaps bend her over a nearby table. She’d never forget that, but he suspected not in a good way. She wasn’t ready for that kind of treatment, maybe never would be. There was a shyness to her, and she was already on edge from wearing a short dress without panties. But grinding up against her ass was like torture. Reluctantly, he pulled away before his self-control deserted him.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, turning to him.

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He thought of making up something innocuous, but he wanted her honesty, so he owed it to her in return. “About fucking you. But I want to show you one other scene, and then I want you to experience a flogger for yourself. They aren’t as intense as they look, and I think you’ll actually like it.”

“I really doubt it.”

“Do you trust my judgment enough to try anyway?”

She made a face at him. “Yes. But please be gentle.”

“I’ll be as gentle as you need me to be.”

Her face relaxed; then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She was too intelligent to miss the ambiguity of his statement, and she seemed to understand that he’d be deciding what she needed, not taking her word for it. But she nodded. “As you wish, Sir.”

He’d been getting so relaxed talking to her he’d forgotten to enforce protocol.

Now that she said the word, he realized how much he missed it. “I like it when you call me Sir. I’ve been forgiving about that, but if you forget again, I’ll be giving you a swat on your beautiful bare ass.”

She blinked. “That’s not necessary. Sir.”

“But I’ll enjoy it, and I’ll enjoy having you call me Sir. So I’ll win either way.” He grinned at her. “Now do you understand what I might get out of topping?”

She gulped. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He took her by the wrist and led her over to a place where they could get a good view of the waxing table. It was time to move on anyway. Mistress Sue had gotten out a single-tail whip, and she was trying to clear space around her. If he hadn’t been with a sub, he’d have helped her police the area, but as it was, he’d help by making space for the people moving out of the way. As they moved, he noticed Sue had signaled a sub he’d seen her with earlier in the weekend to assist her. The man looked

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eager to help the woman he adored, but Aidan thought that must be the worst kind of torture—helping someone you were attracted to play with someone else.

And yet, in the big picture, that was exactly what he was doing with Constance.

Helping her learn so she could play with someone else. He tried to brush the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to imagine her with anyone else.

“What is it you want me to look at this time, Sir?” asked Constance, cutting through his thoughts.

“That scene, there.” A big, brown-skinned man with black hair had a cute brunette on the table. She was still wearing a bra and panties; he was stripped to the waist. He’d enjoyed a long conversation with Diego the last time he was at Bondage Ranch, and he liked the man’s take on BDSM. Constance could do worse, but that wasn’t why he’d brought her over.

“Oh. Him.”

Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve met Diego?”

“Yes. He pretended to think I was a Jehovah’s Witness or something when I came to the door.”

Aidan laughed. “Wearing a dress like that? Even with knickers, I don’t think that’s very likely. Although they’d get more recruits, I’m sure.”

“I wasn’t wearing this dress, Sir. This is actually Alex’s dress. She made me change the moment she saw me.”

“Ah.” Alex had a domme streak. That came in handy, no doubt, running the Bondage Ranch events. He was surprised to find his possessiveness extended even to another woman over something so minor.
My sub. I get to decide what she wears.
Then again, if Constance had come to the door dressed so as to be mistaken for a proselytizer, Alex had done him a favor.

“He also offered to whip me, Sir,” Constance added and fixed him with a speculative look.

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Okay, I really need to get this jealousy thing under control.
He kept his face impassive as he nodded to acknowledge what she said. If Constance could read his emotions, she’d think he was in love with her or something. And that was the last impression he wanted to give. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to get involved in a relationship that couldn’t work.

A moment before, he had been contemplating Diego as a future partner for her, and now every instinct was casting the man as unwelcome competition. He hadn’t expected to feel that kind of jealousy. “We’ll take care of that later.”
And I will be your first.
“For now, watch what he does.”

Constance turned and obeyed. Diego had a few implements laid out on the table, all seemingly harmless. A pair of gloves. A pelt of fur. A toothbrush. A loofah. The tool in his hand, on the other hand, was a Wartenberg pinwheel and probably looked a lot more scary to Constance than it really was. A sharp wheel of spikes at the end of a handle, it was designed for neurologists to test nerve reactions, but doctors weren’t the only people interested in nerves. If pushed hard, it could puncture the skin, but rolled lightly, the effect was a series of tiny pinpricks. As Diego moved it over his sub’s breasts, she strained at the bonds that held her to the table. “Oh my God. Oh my God,”