His Little Tart (19 page)

She blinked. “I can’t believe I forgot. What sort of caterer am I?” She scrambled off him and hurried toward the kitchen.

“A very enticingly dressed one.” He got up and followed. God, she had a beautiful ass. The rest of her was nice, but her butt was sublime. It looked extra good pink from a spanking too. He wondered if she’d ever been fucked there before. He was willing to guess she hadn’t, and he was looking forward to being her first. And only.

“Undressed, you mean. I don’t suppose you brought a spare pair of panties? Or that I could fix the ones you’ve ruined?” She counted out plates.

“Not a chance. Nothing is getting in the way of my view of your ass.”

“It’s not your view I’m worried about, nor my ass,” she retorted. “It’s the view from the front.”

“Nothing wrong with that a little shaving won’t fix.” And come to think of it, his shaving kit was in his carry-on, so that he had with him.

130

Sindra van Yssel

She looked at him and stared. “You wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “Do you really believe that?”

She shook her head slowly, and he watched her face struggle. She was trying not to smile, but she lost the fight. “Damn you. You totally would. And I should know better than to dare you. Arguing is just going to get me into more trouble, isn’t it?”

He kissed her. “I do believe you’re learning, my little tart.”

She turned back to the plates and took one more from the cupboard. “Would you like another tart, Master? I made extra.”

He counted the plates in his head and then nodded.

She added the plate to the stack.

He reached over her and added one more. “And you’re having one too.”

“It’ll go straight to my butt!” she protested.

“Promise?”

“Master. You really don’t want that. I’m pear-shaped enough as it is.”

“I thought you’d learned not to argue. You have a lovely, sexy ass.” He gave her a swat and was rewarded with a delightful shriek. “It makes a nice target, and there is nothing wrong with it. Now let’s get going. You don’t want your tarts to cool past perfection, do you?” He picked up the stack of little plates.

“I think it’s too late for perfection,” she said, softly. “But the taste I got to enjoy was worth it.” She took the big serving plate with all the tarts on it and turned away, but not before he got to see the blush on her face. Her cheeks were nearly as pink as, well, her other cheeks.

It took him a second to figure out what she meant, and then he was amazed. He knew better than to think his cum tasted good, exactly. Clearly, Constance had a deep desire to please. That was probably part of why her baking was so good, even though she barely touched her food herself. Now it was his job to make sure she got as much pleasure as he did. He was looking forward to it.

Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

131

He followed her out into the hall. She didn’t have all the preconceptions some experienced submissives had either. None of this waiting-and-walking-behind-him stuff for her. That might suit other doms fine, but he wasn’t about to be deprived of the view. He wondered if she knew how much he enjoyed watching her backside sway as she walked. All part of getting to know each other better, he supposed.

He was looking forward to that too.

There was a small table with water and glasses on it as well as condoms, lube, and towels, but it was too small for all the tarts too. After a glance, she made a beeline for the big sturdy table covered with a gray sheet that people used for waxing scenes.

Everyone was busy playing. Alex was on the spanking bench and had her ass as pink as Constance’s from a recent spanking. Dylan was at the other end now, however, his cock in Alex’s mouth. The two St. Andrew’s crosses had been set up back-to-back and were both occupied, one by Samantha, who was being flogged by Arthur, and the other by Cliff, who Sue was whipping with a nasty-looking red-and-black braided cat. Because of the position of the crosses, the two subs were a few feet away from each other and could see every expression their counterpart made.

Bruce had Laera tied to the square frame, completely suspended a few feet off the ground by a network of ropes. You had to be sure of your rope work to do something like that because a sub could get seriously injured if they fell while too bound to protect themselves. Bruce, Aidan knew, would have checked every knot several times, and he had confidence Laera was perfectly safe.

Dylan looked up and met his gaze as he walked in, his eyebrows arched in question. Aidan shook his head. He wasn’t absolutely sure, but he was guessing that Dylan was asking if Constance needed help with the tarts. Aidan didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s scene.

“We’ll put them on the table,” he told Constance, “and let people help themselves.”

132

Sindra van Yssel

He thought for a moment she was going to object, but then she breathed a sigh of what sounded like relief. “Yes, Master Aidan. And what will we do?”

“I need to get something from the car.”

Constance frowned. “I don’t want to be alone. Not dressed like this.”

“Of course. You’re coming with me.” He put a hand around her waist and steered her toward the door.

“Dressed like this?” She nearly shrieked it, but she didn’t resist being led.

“Love, this is Bondage Ranch. That’s the charm of the place. No one lives within miles, and no one can see us from the road.”

They made their way across the grass to where his car was parked. She shivered when she saw the shaving kit he took out. Even in the summer it could get cool in the mountains in the evening, and he pulled her closer, sharing his body heat, but he didn’t know if it was cold or nervousness. He wanted her consent for what he was about to do, but he wasn’t going to ask for it.

“Do you remember the safe word, love?”

“I don’t.”

He frowned. He didn’t blame her for forgetting; he blamed himself for not making sure she knew it before now. “The ranch safe word is danger, but let’s get you one you can remember. What’s your least favorite food?”

“Brussels sprouts,” she said without hesitation, making a face.

She’d obviously never had his grandmother’s sprouts with butter. The vision of having her along with him when he visited his grandmother made him smile. Maybe someday. But he wanted to concentrate on the moment.

“Something funny?”

“Not important,” he said. “I actually like them. But that’s okay. The point is to have something you can remember. If you really want to object to something, just tell me about brussels sprouts, and it will stop. Think that will stick?”

Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

133

“Yes, Sir. What do I say if I want to agree to something?”

He grinned. “You just said it.”

She looked at the clippers, razor, brush, and shaving bowl as he took them out of his carry-on bag, and rubbed her top teeth against her lower lip. She raised her gaze to look him in the eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

“After you.” He gestured back toward the door to the dungeon.

“You just like to look at my ass,” she said but walked forward in no particular hurry.

“Darn straight,” he said. “Looks like it’s losing its healthy pink. Think you need a refresher?”

“No, Sir,” she said and picked up the pace.

He had a particular piece of furniture in mind, and he’d been happy to see that no one was using it. It was a small padded table, big enough to support a sub’s back or perhaps a kneeling sub. Around it were various eyebolts, but underneath the table were a series of inflexible metal poles, bolt snaps, and cuffs. It was like an erector set for grownups, and there was a variety of different ways one could configure the table depending on how you stuck the poles together and positioned them through the eyes of the bolts.

He took her hand once they were inside, and he led her to the table. “Here?” she asked.

“Yes, here.”

“I thought, maybe, if you were going to do that to me, that you’d do it in the bathroom.”

“Shave you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He grinned. “Do you have a problem saying it?”

“Saying what?” She grinned back.

134

Sindra van Yssel

He ignored her attempt to turn the tables. “We’re doing it here. Unless you need to say your safe word.”

She looked around and said, “No, Sir. You may shave me here.” She looked down at the ground but not before he saw her face turning pink again.

He tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “Is there something you need to tell me, my little tart?”

“Just that the idea of it makes me wet, and I don’t know why. But I don’t want to resist. I don’t want to use my safe word. I want you to do exactly whatever you want to.”

He’d heard words like that before from subs, and he didn’t like them. Safe words were important, vital even. He squeezed her chin, hard enough to be uncomfortable.

“You
will
use your safe word if we’re doing something that will harm you, physically or emotionally. Are we perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t sound convincing. He supposed it was hard to sound convincing the way he was holding her. He relaxed his grip.

“If I have any doubts, Constance, then we can’t play. I need to know I have your consent. I could ask you each time, ‘May I please shave your lovely little pussy, oh tasty tart?’ But if you don’t want that, I need to know that everything I do, you’ve consented to. And the only way I can know that without asking for everything is to know that you’ll speak up if you ever don’t consent. Am I perfectly clear?”

Her eyes went wide. “Yes, Sir.”

He held her gaze for a long several seconds before deciding that he trusted her answer. “Good girl,” he said at last. “I need you to go and fetch me some warm water in a bowl. It should be hot, but not too hot to touch your skin. Can you do that while I set things up here, or do you need me to accompany you? No one lives here except the Allisons, and we know where all their guests are, so you won’t encounter anyone.” He smiled, sensing her nervousness. “If a guy heads out of here in your direction, I’ll stop what I’m doing and tail him.”

Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

135

She noticeably relaxed at that. “I’m being kind of ridiculous, aren’t I? But thank you.” Her eyelashes fluttered, but it looked natural, not like an intentional come-on. He doubted she was even aware she was doing it. “I like the feeling of you protecting me, Master Aidan.”

“Good. Get used to it.”

He watched her until she was out of the room, and then got to work with the poles. She was going to be very exposed, but he’d have by far the best view, standing right in front of her, and he intended to keep it that way. He put two of the wider poles through the eyebolts eight inches on each side from the end of the table. He slid a thinner pole through two of the holes in the second set to make sure it would fit. It slid in perfectly and snugly, and it took him a moment to pull it back out. That was for later.

There was a telescoping pole with cuffs on the ends that locked into place with a tiny pin once it was fixed. He adjusted it until it was the width he desired and then fastened two more cuffs to the eyebolts in the center of the long edge of the table.

Then he fetched a folding table from the edge of the room and set it up nearby. He placed the elements of his shaving kit on it: bowl, brush, and safety razor. He put a new Japanese blade in the safety razor. One of the nice things about traveling the world was that he had sampled the best it had to offer. But one could get pretty much everything off the Internet these days anyway. Worked better if one had a permanent address too.

He got two towels and a packet of lube from the table. He didn’t know if he’d need the lube or not, but he could always put the packet back later. He had condoms in his pants pocket already.

Constance came back in the room as he was finishing setting up.

“Here you are, Sir.” She put a large green plastic bowl full of steaming water down on the table he’d set up. She had a dishtowel underneath it to protect her hands from the heat, which made him wonder if it was hotter than it ought to be, but better that than too cold. Warm water made for a better shave.

“Why are we doing this in—with people watching, Sir?”

136

Sindra van Yssel

“I don’t care about the people watching. But you like to feel you’re being forced, don’t you, Constance? I’ve watched the look in your eyes when I pick you up or move you or press you against a tree. And when I tied you up too. The way you got excited when I put my hands on your head while you were sucking me off so delightfully, even though I didn’t exert any pressure. Restrained might be a better word. And I can’t hold you down while I shave you; I’m not going to risk nicking you. This little table, however, is going to do that job for me. There isn’t one in the bathroom, and I’m willing to bet there isn’t one at your house. Pretty sure I’ve never seen anything like it in any hotel. So”—he patted the table—“up you go.” Then he smiled. “Would you like me to put you where I want you?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, please,” she said with feeling.

He lifted her onto the table so she was sitting on the edge.

“Sir?”

“Yes, little tart?”

“May I struggle?”

He looked at her, but there was no mischief in her eyes, just a sincere yearning that melted his heart. It was going to be a wild ride with her, he suspected. She’d mouth off, and she wanted to fight him physically too. Yes, a safe word was definitely a necessity in a relationship like that, but he was looking forward to every second. “Yes,”

he said. “You may struggle.” He paused for effect. “For all the good that it will do you.”