Bound to Accept (5 page)

The man climaxes first. He pulls out, and
ejaculates over her stomach and breasts, his come splattering her
torso like a Jackson Pollock painting.

“
Master,” the woman says
hoarsely, visibly straining. “May I please come?”

“
No,” he says
coldly.

The woman struggles to
obey, and sweat beads on her skin as she clenches her teeth. Then
the muscles in her thighs clench and she lets out a gasp, a tight,
high-pitched sound that's half-relief, half-fear. I see the liquid
seep out of her glistening vagina, staining the sheets as she makes
a low, mechanical groan that reminds me of that creepy woman
from
The Grudge
.

“
I told you not to come,”
the man says.

The woman makes a sharp intake of breath.
“I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to. Please, forgive me?”

“
You'll have to be
punished,” he says, in that same boyish voice, and I start to
really not like him. He sounds like a bratty teenager telling his
mom he won't clean his room. “Punishment always comes before
forgiveness.”

“
Then please, Master,
punish me. Please, let me show you how sorry I am.” She arches
herself in appeal. “Master, let me suck your cock.”

“
You aren't worthy of my
cock right now,” he says, and there is steel in his voice, and I
think he really might be angry with her. “No, I think what you need
is the whip.”

“
Oh, Master,
no!”

“
She wants to be whipped,”
Tristan says. “Some subs find the sensation of pain triggers
orgasm. They will even go so far as to provoke their Dom in order
to be punished.”

“
But she said
no
.”

“
That's why we have
safewords.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

“
Only safewords mean 'no.'
Everything else means 'yes.'”

“
Ten lashes.” The man in
leather pants produces a whip with about a dozen silky tails, and
when he cracks it in the air it makes a horrible sound like a
gunshot. “One lash for every minute of disobedience.”

And he does it—he whips her, leaving red
welts over her breasts, her thighs, her belly. And each time, the
woman bears it stoically, saying only, “I'm sorry, Master, please,
forgive me.”

When he's finished whipping her, he grabs
her by the hair and takes her roughly from behind.

Tristan turns the TV off and that gives me a
start. I'd forgotten he was here. “What did you think?”

“
I don't know.”

“
Does that seem like
something you might want to try?” he asks levelly. “With
me?”

“
I don't know.”

“
You look like you're
thinking about running away.”

That's exactly what I was
thinking, which annoys me. He sounds amused, like he thinks I'm a
total weenie. “What did Ashlee say when
she
saw the video?” I blurt,
although when I see the expression on his face I wish I didn't say
it.

“
She called me a 'sick
fuck' and ran out of the room,” Tristan says tightly. “Is that what
you wanted to know?”

“
Shit, I'm sorry. It's
none of my business. I shouldn't have asked.” At least now I have
an idea of what they had their big fight about. “I'm
sorry.”

I sound like the woman in the video. All
this apologizing is contagious.

Tristan nods his head, though I'm not sure
whether he's actually accepting the apology or just acknowledging
it. Man, I was really out of line there. I feel terrible.

Swallowing hard, I run my hand over his bed,
smoothing out the wrinkles in his white sheets. “As for the
video…would you want to do all of that?”

“
Not all at once.” His
eyes are the most intense shade of green. “I'd start slowly. BDSM
is about staying safe, sane, and consensual. I wouldn't do anything
you didn't want.”

“
That sounds
nice.”

He smiles, and runs the back of his hand
down my cheek. “It is. And we could have that.”

I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of
him touching me, touching me the way I've always wanted him to. He
rubs my lower lip with his thumb.

“
May I
demonstrate?”

That breaks the spell. “What, you mean
now?”

“
Don't worry,” he says.
“I'm not going to fuck you.” He has a silk tie in his hand, which
he pulls taut as I watch. He must have reached over and gotten it
when I closed my eyes. “I'm going to blindfold you.”

“
Blindfold?” My voice
sounds like I've just sucked down dangerous amounts of helium. I
wet my lips, and regret it when I see the way his eyes fix on them.
“W-why?”

I forget my fear when he puts his arms on
the bed, and leans over me, like some lithe beast of prey. He
strokes a finger up my neck, tipping my chin up.

“
I believe you were
telling me how sorry you were. Well. Now I want you to show
me.”

Chapter Four

He wants me to
show
him I'm
sorry.

“
It isn't going to hurt.”
Tristan is holding the blindfold out like an offering. “I won't be
inflicting any pain.”

What's the point in persuasion, I wonder,
when he could easily grab me and blindfold me, if that's what he
wants?

But that isn't what he
wants. Not quite. He wants me to submit to him. He wants me
to
willingly
hand
over my freedoms, one by one.

He's waiting for me to tell him it's
okay.

Is
it okay?

“
Have I ever hurt you?”
Tristan murmurs.

“
No.”

“
And I would
never.”

He slides the silk cloth down my eyes, over
my nose. It feels as cool and slippery as water.

“
Don't you believe
me?”

“
Uh-huh…”

He leans in to cinch the knot, and his firm,
warm chest brushes against my arm.

“
Do you want me to
stop?”

Darkness has fallen over my eyes. I shiver,
and Tristan's hands are on my shoulders, rubbing up and down my
arms.

“
I'm not sure.” My voice
shakes a little. “What are you going to do to me?”

“
You have to trust me.”
He's still rubbing my arms, but now I feel his warm breath on my
lips. It smells like mint. “Do you trust me to make you feel
good?”

“
Yes,” I say.
I think so.

“
You don't look very
sure.”

“
Are you going to clamp
me?”

“
Do you want me to clamp
you?”

So he owns a set. Maybe multiple sets. I
shake my head violently, trembling at the savage imagery from the
DVD.

“
Then no. I won't.” He
stops rubbing my arms but doesn't take his hands away immediately,
and I'm grateful for that. The connection lets me know he's
nearby.

“
I'll be right
back.”

And then his footsteps recede as he leaves
me to my own blindfolded devices. There's a fleeting sense of
panic, followed by curiosity. Sitting here, vision obscured, it's
as if all my other senses have become amplified. I can hear the
ticking of his watch, which he must have left on the nightstand,
and the distant roar of an airplane overhead. Or maybe that's just
the sound of my heart in my ears.

Tristan bustles around in the kitchen, and I
wonder if he's making a lot of noise on purpose so I know where he
is. I'm relieved when he reenters the room—relieved and anxious,
because he's carrying something that rattles alarmingly.

“
What's that?” I ask,
looking around.

There's a tug at the collar of my shirt. I
go still, and feel the warmth of his hands at my shoulders again.
He's standing beside the bed, I think. “Kelly,” he says, “I'm going
to take off your shirt.”

This seems very sudden. If he were any other
man, I'd say no. But Tristan is not any other man.

“
Okay,” I say shakily.
“You may take off my shirt.”

“
I wasn't asking
permission.” He unfastens my collar, stroking the skin beneath as
he pulls it back from my neck. I suck in my breath as he kisses the
hollow below my ear.

“
Ordinarily, I wouldn't
bother with a narration. Sensation is stronger when it occurs in a
vacuum. But this is your first time with a blindfold, and you're
frightened.”

“
Yes,” I
whisper.

My shirt is completely
unbuttoned. Tristan pulls it off my shoulders and down my arms.
Then he reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. He isn't being rough
at all, and I'm surprised by how reverently he is undressing me.
This is the same man who said he wanted to fuck me
hard
.

“
Lie down.” He smooths his
fingers over my shoulders, pushing my hair out of the way. “I'm not
going to take anything else off. But you aren't allowed to
move.”

His sheets feel crisp against my spine and
give a soft, starchy rasp as I lean back against them. The bed
creaks alarmingly as he slides on beside me, and I start to sit up.
He gently pushes me back. “Relax.”

I swallow, and then nod.

Tristan straddles my waist, startling me
into bucking. He squeezes me with his thighs, and firmly pushes me
back against the bed. I can feel his erection nudging my belly
through his jeans. That makes me happy. In spite of my awkwardness,
and my fear, I know now that he finds me sexually attractive. But
then he shifts his weight and the hard, insistent press of him
disappears.

“
Keep your hands here.” He
pulls my arms over my head and rotates them so that I'm gripping
his headboard. He curls my fingers around the wood, checking to
make sure that my grip is firm. “Don't move your hands.”

“
I won't.”

Something soft and feathery circles my
navel, and I jerk to attention, but the sensation stops almost as
soon as I perceive it.

I let out my breath, then suck it all up
again when the tickling sensation appears again, this time
concentrating around my nipples, before skirting down my sides, and
finally, my lips. I let out a choking laugh, squirming a little as
I turn my head away.

“
I told you not to
move.”

Tristan moves my head back into position and
fixes my arms. Then he rotates the object against my skin, and I
feel the needle sharp point of the feather—I'm pretty sure it's a
feather.

He retraces the path he
took before with the scratchy end and while it doesn't hurt,
exactly, it
is
irritating. As I breathe deeply, Tristan says, “No talking,
either. Not unless I ask you a direct question. Then you may
answer, but nothing else. Is that clear, Kelly?”

The feather circles my aureola lazily,
ringing around the tingling epicenter before coming down heavily on
the sensitive tip. I wonder if he's trying to draw blood.

“
Yes.”

“
Good girl.” He's back to
using the soft side of the feather. “You have magnificent breasts.
Your nipples are already so hard. I bet you want my mouth on
them.”

I can't believe this is happening.

But then I feel his warmth against my naked
skin as he leans in. “Do you want me to suckle your nipples in my
mouth, Kelly?”

“
Yes,” I say
faintly.

“
Ask me then.”

But I can't, oh God,
I
can't
.

“
Say it, Kelly,” he coaxes
me. “Say it, or I won't do it.”

“
I want…I want my
n-nipples in your mouth,” I repeat, and just saying those words
gives me such a thrill. I'm talking dirty. I've never talked dirty
before.

“
Please,” he
prompts.

I can do this. “Suckle my nipples,
please.”

Tristan sets the feather
aside. Then I hear that rattle again. He pulls my shirt aside and
his mouth covers my breast, and I jerk, because his lips are
freezing and yet, somehow, his mouth is
hot
.

With his free hand, he teases my other
breast, rolling the nipple through his fingers as he sucks. I'm
breathing harder now. When he digs his nails lightly into my
nipple, I cry out—because it hurts, but I'm so aroused it also
feels good. Tristan pauses, and I can feel him watching me,
waiting, reassessing the situation. He releases my breast with a
pop and blows cool air over the damp skin. Then, slowly, he moves
to my other breast and repeats the same tortuous process. His lips
are cold again—the rattle must be a cup of ice—and his mouth is
still hot. Hot water? Tea? Soup?

I gasp as he bites me, hard.

He moves away. “Too hard?” He isn't using
the voice he was a moment ago. He sounds courteous, gentle. But
there's an edge of anticipation to it.

“
No.” The word leaves my
throat with resistance. I don't want to talk. Talking feels almost
perverse, like we're violating a secret, sacrosanct
ritual.

“
Hmm. What if I did it
harder?” He demonstrates, and my body jerks as the pain spears into
my breast like a ripple through a pond. “Would you tell me to
stop?”

Gasping, I shake my
head.
No, don't stop!

“
That's not an answer,” he
taunts, pinching my nipple lightly in his fingers. “Would you tell
me to stop?” He punctuates each word with a squeeze.