This was the first test. The feather touched her nose again and again. She wiggled it in response. He told her not to move her arms, but never said anything about her nose. And though it tickled at first, now it itched. She wanted to scratch it.
She must have moved. “Arms at your sides,” he reminded her. “What’s the matter, Ruffles? Talk to me.”
“My nose, Sir. It itches.”
Mia sighed as he rubbed the tip between his fingers. “Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you, Sir.”
“Tell me if something feels bad. Or when it feels good. We can’t have trust without communication.”
She felt the feather softly sweep her collarbone. Then the sensation disappeared. A fragrance wafted past her nostrils. Roses. Her favorite flower. She inhaled deeply, then sighed in pleasure on the exhale.
She was wrapped in a cotton-soft cloud of contentment. That feeling dissipated as something else touched her skin that was scratchy, prickly. Mia couldn’t identify it. It traveled along her side, scooted down her thigh, then grazed her nipples. She felt them spring to attention.
Master Chess slid something smooth across her lips. “Open.”
She obeyed, and he slipped a small disc into her mouth. It was hard at first, but soon liquefied into the bright flavor of wintergreen. A mint patty.
Just as she was savoring the taste, he pressed something hot against her nipple. She flinched. “Oh!”
“What is it, Ruffles?”
“It burns.”
“Burns? Really? Try again.”
He skimmed it against her lips, and they tingled with cold. She laughed softly. “Ice.”
“That’s right.” The frigid sensation circled her breasts, slid down the center of her torso, and prodded her belly button while she squirmed and laughed. Then it skipped lower, down to her denuded mound.
Oh. Oh no.
“Ahh!” Her pelvis jerked when he touched the piece of ice to her clit. She splayed her fingers, pressing against the comforter, and scrabbled for a hold in the silky material. But she kept her arms at her sides, her eyes closed.
He took the ice away, and she let go a long breath of relief, though her clit still throbbed with cold. “You’re doing beautifully, Ruffles. Such a good girl. You make me proud.”
Another touch now, that of warm lips to her forehead. Her throat tightened at his kiss, his praise.
It went on from there. Her senses were inundated. She smelled cinnamon, felt the smooth brush of velvet, then the bristly scrape of a soft brush. Sharp tines biting into her skin. It hurt a little, but for some reason Mia giggled. Her entire body was a blank slate for him to write on. She wanted every experience, every sensation he could give her.
Something prodded her lips. Mia opened her mouth, tasted sugar crystals that melted on her tongue. When she bit into the tidbit, her mouth was on fire. She chewed and swallowed quickly, and the fire subsided to a pleasant heat.
“Candied ginger,” Master Chess said.
She felt overwhelmed, yet alert to each sensation. There were no ropes or chains binding her, yet she couldn’t move. His will and her desire to please him kept her still. Her eyelids felt weighted, too heavy to lift.
She tensed when she heard a
snick
, then smelled smoke and the acrid fumes of sulfur. He’d lit a match. What for?
Moments later, a different scent teased her nostrils. Lavender.
A warm drip fell on her belly, then another and another. A line of drips that trailed up her breastbone, then down to her pubis. The lavender smell grew stronger and the drips grew hotter to the point of being almost—but not quite—too hot. Master Chess’s touch was almost impersonal as he massaged the silky substance into her belly and chest. Her arms and legs, even her toes, were attended to, but the places she most needed his touch—her breasts and pussy—were cruelly ignored.
He flipped her over, and she bit back a moan when the hot oil dotted her spine and tailbone. Mia sank her teeth into her lower lip as he kneaded her back and buttocks. When she dared to arch her back and push her ass against his hands, he gave her a smack that reverberated throughout her body.
“Don’t get smart,” he warned. He grabbed a cheek in each hand and gave a squeeze, then skimmed his thumbs along the crease of her ass. Mia’s breath caught, and tears burned her eyes. Her chest ached. She wanted to cry, not from pain, but out of frustration. She’d never felt so sexually needy in her life.
He turned her over again and touched the corner of her eye, brushing away a humiliating tear that had squeezed through her lashes. “Just a little longer, Ruffles. Hang in there.” His tone was sympathetic but firm.
She
would
hang in there. Show him she could be the sub he wanted.
Mia waited, lying as still as she possibly could. It seemed like forever. Then a stroke on her left nipple almost jolted her off the bed. The touch was so brief, she might have imagined it, until she felt it again, on her other nipple. They felt cool and damp at first, then began to tingle as they swelled to hard peaks.
“Just a little longer now,” he assured her.
One more touch, between her legs. Mia hissed as she felt the lube or lotion, whatever it was, prickle on her clit. She wanted to squirm, to rub her legs together as her clit engorged and throbbed. God, she needed to come. She couldn’t stand it.
“Please,” she murmured.
Silence. Then a buzz, louder and more persistent than an insect. Something bumpy vibrated against her lips, scooted down her chin, and skimmed her nipple. She needed so much more. At last Master Chess took pity on her. He circled the bumpy vibe around her breast brushed it against her nipple. Did the same to her other breast. Mia thrust out her breasts for more as the sensations zinged right to her pulsing clit.
Her poor clit didn’t have to wait long for his attentions. As he stroked it with the vibe, she dimly heard him say “Come.” She couldn’t have held back even if he’d forbidden it. Her muscles went taut as her climax crackled on and on, like a string of firecrackers popping and bursting.
When the contractions subsided, Mia felt too weak to move her limbs. Master Chess stroked her cheek. Tears rose in her eyes; she yearned to turn her head and kiss his hand. If only she could move…
“Open your eyes now.”
Mia obeyed, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light. “Thank you, Sir.” Her throat was thick, her voice low and slurry.
His gaze was soft, his expression serious. “Thank you, Ruffles. For your trust.”
* * * *
When their afternoon was over, Chess asked her to dinner, but his invitation seemed distant, almost rote. Mia told him she had other plans. She wanted to get home, to have time to think. Maybe he needed that as well. At the same time, she didn’t want to leave. As he escorted her to her car, which was parked at the curb, they were both silent, thoughtful.
Chess didn’t know that she’d performed acts with him she’d never done with Philip, and had been far more intimate. Physically, at least. Emotionally, not so much. Though they’d talked, they’d discussed nothing personal.
After all they’d done, they were still strangers.
Mia’s throat was bare. Chess had removed the leather collar, and she missed its weight. She felt unsteady, disoriented. She’d believed that only Philip could trigger her need to submit and satisfy that need. But she’d been wrong. Chess had taken her there and beyond.
She wished she could see him better. It was difficult to make out his expression with only streetlights to illuminate the early evening darkness. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She wanted to come back again. But what did he want? Had last night and this afternoon been enough for him?
She hesitated. She didn’t want to make the same mistake she’d with Philip and assume too much. “Well…” She turned to her open her car door when his voice stopped her.
“Mia. I want to see you again.”
She looked at him, growing wet just from his tone of voice.
“Don’t answer now. I want you to think about it. In the meantime…” He held out a square white box he’d carried with him, one she’d noticed but hadn’t inquired about. “This is for you.”
Mia took the box, blinking, and lifted a corner of the lid.
“Ehhh.” His correction brought her up short. “Not here. Wait till you get home.”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured. Her clit throbbed.
She followed his instructions, if not to the letter. Mia waited until she reached her building’s parking lot before she tore the top off Chess’s box.
What she saw made her quickly jam the lid back in place. Her face aflame, she hurried into the building and up to her apartment. Once inside, she again opened the box and this time removed the items inside. A blue jelly butterfly attached to cloth straps. A white-and-pink vibrating ball. A silver-colored, bullet-shaped vibrator with its remote control. And a note in a bold, slanting script.
These are yours now, Mia. Use them and think of me.
But she didn’t need them to remember Chess. How he looked at her. The way he touched her.
Mia went to her bedroom and opened the lingerie drawer on her dresser. She tucked the new toys next to her lonely little pocket rocket at the back of the drawer. Though it wouldn’t be lonely anymore. All her toys would be getting a workout, most likely starting tonight, as she replayed the afternoon with Chess in her mind.
A small bundle of silk lay in the drawer as well. Mia removed it, and the gold chain fell from the scarf in which she’d placed it for safekeeping. Philip’s gift to her. She hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. Mia picked up the necklace and dangled it from her fingers, admiring its glimmer. A moment later, she frowned and moved it eye level.
“Oh no.” What she saw made her sick.
The clasp had pulled away from the rest of the chain. It could no longer be fastened.
It was broken.
People in BDSM circles often said that the submissive was the powerful one in D/s relationships, but Mia didn’t feel powerful. She felt like a high-school kid with her first crush.
She hadn’t heard from Chess since their day together almost a week ago. As Mia prepared dinner—chicken and rice from her grandma Carlino’s recipe—she sliced carrots and puzzled over her next step.
He’d told her to think about it, but she’d already made up her mind. Of course she wanted to see him, be with him again. He hadn’t called. Was he waiting for her to make the first move? She shouldn’t feel like such a novice.
Does he like me? Why doesn’t he call? Will he think I’m pushy if I call first?
Mia crunched a piece of carrot and tossed the rest of them into a pan of water on the stove. It shouldn’t be so confusing. After all, Chess wasn’t her first Dom. But he didn’t know how limited her play with Philip had been.
Her relationship with Philip began in a very ordinary manner. He’d taken her to dinner, to shows, to the ballet and opera—all the things she loved, but due to her meager paycheck could only enjoy on a limited basis. He was always the perfect gentleman and for months had done nothing more intimate than hold her hand.
She hadn’t understood why he wouldn’t take their relationship to the next level. She was more than willing. If he’d never married, she’d have suspected he was gay and simply wanted a companion for social occasions. But she’d known that wasn’t the case. So what did she lack? Did Philip not want her? One evening she finally summoned the courage to ask him.
And he’d told her. That night was the first time she ever knelt for him.
She’d thought she was in love with Philip. Now Mia wondered if she’d confused love with gratitude. He’d introduced her to her submissive nature. With Philip she felt safe and protected. With Chess, her skin tingled; her body felt alive with electricity; her nerves jangled with anticipation of what he might expect. Was it only because she’d been physically intimate with him?
Or was it more than that?
Before she could answer her own question, the phone rang. Mia quickly swallowed the last bit of carrot as she picked up. “Hello?”
“Mia?” It was her coworker Ronni. She sounded short of breath. “Are you watching the news?”
“What?” Mia glanced toward the living room. “No, I’m—”
“Turn on Channel 3. There’s something—It’s about Serina—”
“Serina Dawes? What is it?” Mia asked, her body numb with fear.
“It’s bad, honey. Just—”
“I’ll call you back.” Mia dropped the phone and rushed to grab the remote from the sofa. She fumbled with the buttons until she saw the young newsman’s face on the screen. He wore a red tie with a white diamond pattern. For some reason, that registered with Mia as she sank down onto the sofa.
“And there’s a tragic end tonight for a young mother who was apparently beaten to death in her Elmont Street apartment just this morning…”
“No, no,” Mia whispered, tears flooding her eyes as a picture of a smiling Serina appeared on screen.
The newscaster intoned, “The body of nineteen-year-old Serina Dawes was found by her sister this afternoon when she failed to pick up her son, who was left in her sister’s care.”
“Jesus God.” She called His name, but Mia couldn't understand how God could let this happen to a young woman who had everything in life to look forward to?
But at least Jacob hadn’t been there when his mother was killed. Wasn’t that what the announcer had said? That the little boy had been with Serina’s sister?
Mia wiped tears off her cheek and turned up the volume, trying to catch what else was being said.
“Police say that they already have a suspect in the slaying. Twenty-year-old Gary Madden, the former partner of Ms. Dawes, is in police custody this evening…”
Gary. Serina had complained about Gary being an ass, but the way she spoke implied he was only a nuisance, not a danger. Yet Mia had suspected something more, even though Serina had denied it. Gary was just “being a creep.”
She should have persisted, should have followed up. Could she have prevented this from happening? She should have urged Serina to open up, to tell her what was really going on…
As those thoughts swirled in her mind, the phone rang again, jolting her. Still dazed, she reached for it, muting the television as she did.