RecipeforSubmission (4 page)

His lips brushed against hers and she felt hers open in
response. He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her securely. “By
showing you. But I’ll need one thing from you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your consent.”

“It’s just for research,” she insisted.

“Of course.” He kissed her full on, his tongue slipping
through the opening her lips had made. She couldn’t really pretend that kissing
was part of research, but it felt so good to slide her tongue against his. She
felt her body pressing against his, instinctively trying to get friction
against the tingling peaks of her breasts. She ought to pull back. She didn’t
want to.

He let her go.

“Could we go someplace more private for it?” she asked.

“We could, but we won’t.”

“Why not?” Maybe showing off was part of his thing.
Look
what I got a woman to let me do.
It wasn’t too late to call the whole thing
off, go home and read a good book.

“Because it’s not safe. Part of the reason for a club like
this is whatever I do to you is being watched by people, people who won’t let
me harm you. I trust myself, but you shouldn’t trust me.”

Now that he said it, it made sense. “You’re right. And I
don’t.”

He laughed. “I hope you don’t make a habit of going home
with strange men, because whether they’re into this scene or not, it’s really
not such a great idea.”

“What do you care?”

He nodded. “Ah yes. This is just for research. But it’s built-in
for me to try to protect women. Especially the woman I’m playing with, no
matter how casual the relationship. It’s not something I can turn on and off.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And how do you feel about women
protecting you?”

He shrugged. “It’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”
There wasn’t any bravado in his voice. He was just stating a fact.

She was tempted to tell him he was a sexist pig, but his
words hadn’t done anything to put a damper on her libido. She hated to admit
it, but his self-reliance turned her on, and it was a refreshing change from
men who wanted her to be their mother.

“There’s a St. Andrew’s cross free. Let’s go.” He took her
hand and led her over to something very much like what Dora had been tied to.
Two wide planks of wood leaning at a sixty degree-angle to the floor formed an
X, braced in that position by various wooden supports. Bolted at each extremity
of the X was a metal plate, from which dangled an O-shaped piece of chrome.
Everything looked extremely solid.

She stood in front of it, eying it skeptically. “What do I
do?” She wasn’t sure she was going to like the answer.

“Nothing yet. First we negotiate, but I didn’t want to miss
our chance to grab the furniture. This is the ideal place for a beginner to
experience a flogging, because you can lean into the wood.”

Kyra shrugged. “I could just put my hands against the wall,
like you did. I’m not going to get any more turned-on by it than you were.”

“Of course not.” He smiled. “First, you need a safe word.
Let’s try ‘banana’. If you need things to come to a stop, for any reason, just
say that word, and say it loud and clear so I can hear it. Don’t worry about
who else hears, but make
sure
that I can. Everything will stop
immediately, and I’ll help you get to a seat on one of the chairs or a couch,
whatever’s available. We’ll talk about what went wrong, when you’re up to it.”

Kyra shivered. All that didn’t make her feel safe at all.
“What are you going to do that I need that kind of attention? Maybe you’d
better tone down your expectations.”

“Would you ride in a car if you weren’t sure the brakes
worked, just because you knew you weren’t going to be going very fast?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t play without a safe word, either.”

“Fine.”

“What is it?”

“Banana.” She giggled. It seemed so silly saying it, as if a
yellow fruit would be out of place amongst all the black leather.

“Good girl.”

She felt a warm glow at the words, and yet if anyone in
normal circumstances called her girl she’d have been upset. She was half
inclined to tell him so, for form’s sake, but form seemed as out of place as a
banana in the softly lit club.

“What I propose to do is have you lean against the frame
while I flog you with the same flogger you used on me. Obviously, I’m stronger,
so I could make the tails hit you harder, but I’m not going to do that unless I
get your express permission. If I ask ‘harder’? I expect an answer, yes or no.
There’s not a good answer or a bad answer to a question like that. There’s only
your answer.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” she said. “It sounds as if
I’ll be in control the whole time.”

“That’s true. You are. But you might not feel in control,
and you might even enjoy feeling out of control. Now I’m going to suggest two
things to enhance your experience. One, that you take some clothing off, so you
can feel the flogger against bare skin. And the other is that you let me put
cuffs around your wrists, and attach those cuffs to the rings at the top of the
X-frame.”

Her first instinct was to say not only no, but hell, no. Be
cuffed to that thing, unable to get away? Be naked in front of all these
people? Neither was part of her agenda. She glanced around. There were plenty
of people who were less dressed than she’d be if she took her shirt off, or
even her shirt and her jeans. Some of them were good-looking too, so it wasn’t as
if all eyes would be on her. He’d taken off his shirt for her, not that it was
precisely the same thing. She had to admit she’d get a perverse thrill out of
stripping.

But the other part. Bondage. Not able to get free. Oh, yeah,
she’d feel out of control then, for sure. She supposed it was the sort of thing
she ought to experience, but it scared the shit out of her.

“Would I be able to get free of the cuffs anytime I want
to?”

“Just say banana and they’ll come off you.”

In other words, no. Not unless I trust him to take them
off.
She supposed if it came to it, with all these people around, she could
get help if she really needed it. That had probably been part of what he’d been
getting at, telling her it was safer to do it here than in private.

The silence stretched, but if he was uncomfortable with it
she couldn’t read it on his face. He stood there as if he had all night to wait
for an answer. Maybe he did.

“I’m willing to try the cuffs. If you’ll really get them off
me the moment I say the word.”

“I will.”

She nodded. There was no way she could ever know for sure,
but she believed him.

“I’ll go get them. The other stuff will stay out in the car,
so you’ll know that the scene isn’t going to involve anything we didn’t agree
on.” He didn’t wait for her affirmation but walked away, his long strides
eating up the distance even though his pace didn’t seem rushed.

She supposed that gave her time to think about the question
of removing clothes. Was this how most BDSM relationships worked, with the
person in the submissive role making all the decisions? She wasn’t convinced.

“This isn’t the real thing,” she told him when he returned.

“It isn’t?”

“No. I don’t think Dora gets a choice as to whether she’s
going to strip or not.”

He chuckled. “They’ve been at this for a while. They’ve
built up trust. You’re right, in a way. Clyde gives the orders and Dora obeys.
But don’t think he does it lightly. Dora can walk out of that relationship
anytime she wants, and Clyde knows it. He’s got to trust her too, or every order
he gave he’d be worried that things would come crashing down around his ears if
he got it wrong. They’re partners.”

“Do you worry about every order?” She somehow couldn’t
imagine that. Even if he was taking it slow, he seemed utterly sure of himself.
But maybe not of her.

“I try to do it right. But the answer is no. I don’t let
myself get in so deep that it’s the end of my world if someone doesn’t want to
play with me again.” He grinned.

That’s good. That’s just what I need, no emotions
involved.

“But since you don’t think it’s the real thing if I give you
too many choices, Kyra, take your shirt and your jeans off. And your shoes. I
want to see your body.”

With those words she realized that her notion that she could
be in her underwear here and not be watched was totally wrong. He would be
watching, intently. And she’d pushed him into ordering her.
Fuck.

She decided her best bet was to be as blasé about the whole
thing as possible. So she kicked off her shoes, then gave them each another
kick so that they were resting against the bottom of the wooden cross. She
pulled off her shirt and gave him a glance that she hoped looked casual.
Judging from the smile on his face he liked what he saw, or he found her
amusing. Or both.
Casual, casual.
She shimmied her jeans off her legs.

He was watching her all right, and the look he gave her made
her think he was looking at a totally different woman than she saw in the
mirror every morning. He looked her over from head to toe and then back up
again. She didn’t want him to be repulsed, but she was definitely not used to
that kind of attention.

“So. Let’s get this over with.” She put out her wrists,
trying to forget she was standing around in her underwear.

The cuffs were leather, soft on the inside, an inch and a
half wide, with a row of rivets on the outside and a ring not unlike the ones
on the cross. He attached them to her wrists, then lifted them and twirled her
around to face the cross. He held her wrists in his left hand, pulled them to
the side along one line of the X, and ran a nylon strap through the ring on her
right cuff and the ring on the cross and tied it off. Then he moved her left
wrist over to the other side and did the same there. It all happened so fast
she didn’t have any time to resist, or decide whether she wanted to resist.

That feeling that she was going to be in control the whole
time had vanished. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The wood against her
body was ungiving, and cool to the touch.

“Legs apart, so I don’t have to cuff those up too.”

But that wasn’t in our agreement. I only told you that
you could cuff my wrists.
But then, he hadn’t touched her legs. He was
responding to her comment that she was the one in control, trying to show her
who was boss.
Fine.
She spread her legs, glancing down to make sure they
followed the line of the cross.
It’s just playacting, right?

Something soft brushed against her bare shoulders. The
flogger, but it wasn’t being swung, just being swished about above her. It
caressed her shoulder blades like water from a shower and then trickled lower
still, down the small of her back. When it reached her panties it felt
completely different. No longer a series of individual drops but a single large
mass. She understood why he wanted her clothes off; it really felt like another
experience when the flogger touched bare skin.

Given the way he looked at her, she knew that wasn’t the
only reason he had for wanting her clothes off.

The flogger swooshed through the air and landed in a cascade
of small stings on her left shoulder, followed by another set on her right. It
wasn’t painful, any more than it had been when he was first dangling it. It was
more like turning the shower on high. Something tense inside loosened, and as
she relaxed she felt the frame taking more of her weight.

The flogger whispered and tickled, swooshed and stung. The
nerves on her back seemed to come to life at its touch. She anticipated each
kiss it gave her, but she couldn’t guess the where. It moved in constant motion
behind her, and struck wherever Drew chose. She felt herself drifting, out of
her control and into his.

A tail flicked around to the side of her breast. Muted by
the lace and satin between it and her flesh, it still made an impression on her
sensitive skin. At first she thought he might have made a mistake, but then
came the same sensation on the other side, perfectly matched.
Maybe he
doesn’t make mistakes.

That’s nonsense, everyone makes mistakes.
But he
didn’t seem to, not with the flogger. Every touch of it was matched by one on
the other side, whether on her shoulders, on her ass, or wrapping around to her
breasts. Her nipples were aching. When had that happened? The feeling on her
shoulders had intensified every time the flogger touched her there, but it
didn’t interest her anymore. She could only anticipate when he might choose to
placate the tension in her breasts. It was like scratching an itch. It didn’t
really make it any less intense, but it felt so good for the moment. And she
had no control of when he dealt with that itch, either.

It was driving her crazy.
Banana.
She could say it
and he would stop. But she didn’t want him to stop, exactly, and she felt like
a fool saying the word just because she wanted to be touched. She squirmed
against the frame, trying to get relief, rubbing her breasts against it. It
helped some, but not as much as another sting from the flogger would. And it
was making her wet. She was going to soak her panties if she wasn’t careful,
and she wasn’t wearing anything to cover them.

He’d know.

The thought didn’t help at all.

His arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t an intimate
touch, not at all. She wasn’t sure she’d complain if it was, but intimate
touching certainly wasn’t in their agreement. The annoying thing was that it
drew her breasts away from the frame, so she couldn’t— Oooooooh. The tips of
the flogger striking her nipple, through the lace and satin of her bra, stung
for only a moment. Maybe it would have felt more intense without the bra. But
it was exactly what she wanted. And then the other side. She moaned. “Yes!” She
was afraid he’d go back to her shoulders, making her wait for it, but he
didn’t. It wasn’t a blow, just a very intense tickle, the way the whip caressed
her breasts. She arched her back and he gave her more, and more. It didn’t seem
as if it would ever be enough.