Blindfolded (6 page)

“Oh, my poor pup. Here, let Master take care of you. That's a good girl. I should have considered bringing gloves and knee pads for your first walk. I'm sorry,” he said, quickly removing the sticker from the heel of her hand and kissing it. Regan felt herself being lifted in his strong arms and carried back over to the picnic blanket, where he laid her upon her back and reached under her shirt to rest his hand on her tummy. He made slow, lazy circles on her skin, focusing only on the soft flesh under her breasts and above her pelvis. She gave in and released a contented sigh.

“Do you like playing puppy?” he asked, his rubbing continuing.

“It isn't that bad, I guess,” Regan confessed, “it's just humiliating. I've written about puppy play in my books.”

“Yes, I know. And you incorporated much more than a little leash-play and tummy rubs. Why does this interest you?”

“It's that old expression about 'it’s a dog's life'. I mean, a well-loved and cared for pet has all her needs met, is played with, gets to cuddle, and basically has no responsibilities. Except, of course, to obey when she is ordered to do something. A happy pet obeys eagerly. I wrote about the struggle the heroine had with that experience. She was humiliated and felt degraded, yet when he presented her in a human dog show, she was so proud to be on display for him.”

“That’s the way with a Master and his pet, Regan. She is his world, his best friend and constant companion. She isn't beneath him, but is trained to be her best. She makes him proud and loves his praise. Do you like praise, darling?”

Regan hesitated before nodding. She closed her eyes under the blindfold as he gently stroked the top of her head. “I will praise you when you obey, scold you when you do not, and direct you as you require. Allow me this.”

Regan felt herself drawn to his lips and moaned as he firmly pressed his own against her mouth. His breath was sweet and reminded her of the warm sunshine on the meadow in which they sat. She sighed blithely as his arms again engulfed her, holding her close against him.

“Feeling a little more secure?” he asked, nuzzling his lips against her ear.

“Is it okay if I touch your face?” Regan asked quietly. He pulled away and lifted her hands to his mouth, and after kissing both palms, he placed them upon his cheeks. Regan lightly ran her fingertips along his cheeks and jaw, holding her breath as she discovered the smooth-shaven angles and chiseled features under her hands. His jaw was large and square, with a strong indent in the lower part of his chin. His lips felt soft and full, and she smiled as he captured a finger between them to suck playfully before biting gently on the tip. His nose felt prominent, but with a smooth gradual slope. She giggled.

“What’s so funny about my nose?”

“I just imagined it to look a lot like the beak of a toucan. No biggie.”

“Hey! I'm Italian. A strong nose is an important feature!” came the retort.

Italian?
Another clue, removing several suspects from her mental list.

“It that what your dad told your mom when she teased him about it?” Regan asked slyly.

“You think you are so smart, don't you, little girl? Trying to figure out if my last name sounds Italian? Sorry to disappoint you, but it was my mom who was full-blooded Italian. Dad was half, from his mother's side.”

Regan wrinkled her nose, disappointed in the discovery that she could not deduce another clue. She continued to explore his face. Evenly set eyes and a gentle brow line. At least he didn't
feel
like a Neanderthal! His hair was very short, cut smoothly along the sides of his head and having about an inch on the very top.
A buzz cut?
“Were you in the military?”

“You little stinker. You already used up your three questions for today. Are you done exploring me?”

“Not yet… I… I like touching you like this. I've never done this before.”

“Except in your books. The heroine always takes time to explore the hero with her hands. So much is missed when we only rely on our eyes.”

“How do you know this? You sound very passionate about it,” Regan commented, noticing a tone in his voice. He didn't
feel
hideous, nor did she notice any prominent scars beneath her fingertips.

“And not at all dorky, huh? Seriously, I am very passionate about it. Part of what I do depends on the ability to use my other senses, not just my eyes.”

“Are you a spy or something?”

“What an imagination! No, darling… not a spy. Stand up now.”

Regan discovered that something had altered within her. She was no longer as confused and frightened as she was curious… She wanted to know this man. Who he was, what he liked, what he did… Not because of her precarious situation, but because she was becoming genuinely interested. She fought to recall that she was still his prisoner, and thus had no means of escape except by his will.

She also knew, instinctively, that if she begged, he would let her go, that he wanted her to be with him on her own accord
. Curiouser and curiouser…

* * *

After leading her back to the house, Master Jay sat Regan upon a hard, cold surface and began to silently bind her hands. She protested, promising not to struggle with him or try to fend him off, but he did not respond verbally. He simply ran the back of his fingers down the side of her cheek and placed a solitary kiss on her forehead. The gesture was all Regan needed to be reassured, and she let herself relax under his care.

He hummed that strange, vaguely familiar tune again as he stepped away, and the sound of light clinking filled the air.

“Lie back, Regan. Arms over your head.”

“But, it’s cold and… Ow! No, please don't spank me! I'll listen!” she cried out as she was roughly yanked across his thighs, and her clothing was lifted to expose her bottom. His hand clapped sharply across her cold globes, and she shrieked in protest. The fact that her skin was chilled made the impact feel so much sharper and pronounced. Regan kicked wildly, her bound hands pumping up and down in front of her as she begged forgiveness for disobeying him.

Satisfied, he landed five hard swats to her sit spots and then waited silently for her to cease her whimpers. “Not another sound from you, or I will gag you, young lady. You have no choice but to obey me… And, by the condition of your little body, I would say that you are excited to do so,” he commented, gently inserting a single finger into her dripping entrance.

Regan felt her body tense in both embarrassment and pleasure as his finger gently swirled around her protruding nub and then returned to delve inside of her.

He chuckled, a deep rattle that came from the bottom of his chest. He sounded pleased. “Very lovely. Open your mouth…”

“I… Oh!” Regan exclaimed as he sunk his finger, wet from her own juices, into the soft confines of her mouth. Slowly, he pumped his finger in and out, milking it as though it were his cock. Regan began to moan, feeling his growing member against her stomach, and finding herself wishing that he would substitute his thick, callused finger with something more…

Callused finger?
Come to think of it, his entire right palm felt hard, as though he had used his hands for hard work and did not keep himself shut away in an office. Yet, he was educated; he had mentioned college in Pennsylvania, and his job depended on his attention to senses other than the eyes… He liked art…

“Do you sculpt?” she suddenly asked as he returned her to a sitting position.

He only laughed. “Lie on your back and stretch your arms over your head. Stop trying to guess.”

With a sigh and a delightfully warm bottom that was currently being cooled down by the cold surface beneath her, Regan obeyed. She once again felt completely exposed to his view as she fought to keep her thighs closed tight. She squeezed her eyes closed beneath the blindfold, trying to picture what room she was in and upon what surface she was resting. It was not a bench, that she deduced, but it seemed to be a large platform raised at least two feet from the floor. It was smooth and cold; like the marble he described earlier. In the heat of the day, and the warm breezes wafting over her skin through open windows, it felt good.

She swallowed as he grasped both her wrists in his hands and slid her fully upon the surface so that her legs were no longer dangling. He then secured her wrists to something so that she was unable to lower her arms. After placing a thin pillow beneath her head, he kissed her gently, grasped the collar of the shirt and, in one easy motion, tore it open straight down the middle.

“No… Please…” Regan began to panic.

“Sweetheart,” his low drawl echoed, “have you ever written about rape or violence?”

“No! Never! But…please, let me go… Please.”

“I will make a deal with you. Allow me this moment to prove that I will not harm you. If you do, I will give you the choice to return to your sad, mundane life or to stay here and complete this journey with me.”

“Will I ever see or hear from you again?” Regan found herself asking.

“Never. Deal?”

“What if I say no? What if I want you to let me go right here and now?”

“Is that what you want? What you honestly desire?”

“Yes!”

“Then answer this one question… Why are you so wet?”

Regan again felt the tingling flush run across her body. She could not explain why this unseen stranger had her so titillated and curious. Nothing made any sense to her at that moment.

Gathering her courage, Regan made a choice. “Alright. I really have nothing to lose anymore,” she relented, shrinking in defeat. “It's a deal.”

She could sense his smile, and he ran his hand over the length of her torso and down her thighs. Goosebumps rose on her skin as his fingers touched her with feathery likeness, and she felt his absence as he pulled away. A dim ringing sound penetrated her senses; a low hum after a loud clang of metal. She could feel the object come closer to her and then touch her mid-section. The vibration tingled against her skin, and he gently traced it around her torso and ribs. It felt strange but not unpleasant.

The loud clang was repeated, and the vibrating metal of a tuning fork traced the outside of her breasts, making her nipples ache with desire. She wanted it to touch her pebbly little mounds! She could not resist straining towards the sensation, nor could she ignore the sudden gush of moisture escaping from between her legs.

There was a third clang and the cold metal resumed its path, coming closer to the hungry center of her breasts. Regan was squirming now, her need to be touched overwhelming. Closer and closer the vibrating fork came, its low vibrato sending tremors through her body. It traced the outer edges of her aureoles, teasing her, beckoning her to it.

“Ask, Regan.”

A fourth clang; the vibrations filled her. Words whimpered from her mouth, “Please, touch me. Please.”

“Say my name.”

“I need… oh God… Master Jay, please touch me!”

“That's my girl,” he praised, bringing the tuning fork within millimeters of her protruding right nipple. She could feel the vibration with it being so close, but it was not enough. She arched quickly, allowing it to touch her. An explosion of pleasure was her reward, and she yelled out her delight as an orgasm rocked her body, causing her to buck against the hard, cold flooring. Sweat covered her body as she continued to shudder uncontrollably, finally collapsing. The cold surface now soothed her hot body.

“That was… Wow,” Regan panted, trying to catch her breath.

He ran his hand over the satiated breast, then leaned forward to place his warm lips around the sensitive nipple.

She groaned, stretching her body out like a cat before him.

“Trust me now?”

“No,” she answered honesty, “but I guess it couldn't hurt to hang around a little while longer.”

“Your friends would advise you that you are making a foolish decision,” he warned, albeit very pleased.

“I… I don’t have any friends. My books, the characters I create;
they
are the closest things to friends or family that I have.”

“Why? You are intelligent, beautiful, educated… Why are you so alone?”

“I don't want to talk about it, okay?” she suddenly snapped. “Let me up.”

“We are going to talk about this. I told you that you need to stop running away from things that are uncomfortable for you. Baby girl, this life you are living… It's making you miserable,” he said, releasing her arms and helping her sit up straight.

She remained silent as the sound of water gurgling filled the room, and a moist layer of warmth started to rise over the cool surface. He helped her to her feet and placed her upon a rubberized surface before gently guiding her into the warmth of a hot tub.

Regan sighed, sinking into the depths. “This blindfold is soaked and is really uncomfortable,” she mentioned casually.

“You'll adjust. I'll change it for a dry one when we’re done. Mind if I join you?”

“You didn’t ask if I minded before. You seem to be a water baby,” Regan commented, feeling the movement of the water as he lowered his body into the tub. “First the hot bubble bath, now this…”