Indulgence (123 page)

“Kimmie?” Mute as a stone, I just sit there, staring at my
hands. “Kimberly? Talk to me.” I can’t make myself speak. It’s too embarrassing.
That’s when he reaches for my hand. “Hey, look at me.” It takes me a little
while to meet his eyes, and when I do, they return my gaze with warmth. “You
were thinking sex, weren’t you?”

“Isn’t that what most people do when they come to a club like
this?”

He looks around the room. “How many men have you had sex
with here?”

I shrug. “I dunno. If they’re available, then I’ve probably
scened with them.” When I hear myself say that out loud, I feel a pang of
humiliation, but Jaz doesn’t even flinch.

“How do you feel about having sex with just one?” There’s a
twinkle in his eyes that I can’t miss.

I can feel my entire body relax. “I’d feel very good about
it, sir.”

“Good. I want you to think about it. And know this: The
first time we’re together like that, it won’t be here. It’ll be in the privacy
of one of our homes where we’re comfortable and feel safe. Understand? If we’re
doing this, it’s not as some kind of freak show. It’s to get our needs met and
build a relationship. That okay with you? Is that what you’ve got in mind?
Because we need to be on the same page. Are we?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. And while we’re here, there’s something I want you to
wear.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls something out.

It’s a thick curb chain, and it’s gold, or at least
gold-colored. And it’s got a good-sized ring on either end of it. After a
second, I recognize it; it’s a choke chain for a dog, but it’s gold instead of
the regular chrome. Once he’s got it straightened out, he produces a small gold
lock that reminds me of the one I use on my luggage. I guess my eyes are wide
in surprise, because he waits until I make eye contact again and states
plainly, “I don’t share. If you’re my play partner, you’re
my
play
partner. That’s non-negotiable. How do you feel about that?”

I swallow hard. “I’m good with that.”

There’s that smile again. Oh, god, I love it when he smiles
at me like that. And I kind of hate it too. It makes me feel like I’m about
fifteen, and here I am, a grown woman with my nerves fizzing and my thoughts
racing. What is it about Jaz that does this to me? He unnerves me and makes me
feel comfortable and safe, all at the same time, and I’m unsure why or how. I
just know that parts of me like it, but other parts are terrified.

“So lift your hair.” I do as he says, and he drapes the
chain around my neck. I hear the lock
click
into place, and there’s a
fluttering feeling in my chest. “There. That’s beautiful. Now, where are we
going from here? Scene out here? Private room? What’s your choice?”

“We can go to a private room?” That’s what I really want. I
don’t want to tell him that, though, so I’m glad he’s asked.

“Of course. Let me see what’s open and we’ll pick one.” I
watch his fine ass as he steps over to speak to one of the dungeon monitors and
I’m shaking all over with anticipation. “Well,” he starts when he returns,
“five, four, and two are open. You’ve been around here longer than I have.
Which one?”

“Two, please.”

“Two it is. I’ll let them know and be right back.” He steps
away, steps back, and takes my hand. “Ready?”

I rise and shake myself almost like a dog. I can’t help it –
I’m so damn nervous I feel like I’m going to jump right out of my shoes. “Yes,
sir. As ready as possible.” I’m used to following a Dom at a respectful
distance, but Jaz leads me, my hand in his, through the crowd and down the back
hallway. Once we’re in the room, he closes the door behind us and I look
around. I’ve been in this room dozens of times, but this time it seems
different. Everything looks new and exciting somehow.

He takes my hand again and leads me toward the bed. “Come
sit down. We need to talk first.” When we’re both seated, he gives me his full
attention. “Safeword?”

“Pickle.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Yep. That’ll work. I don’t
usually use a play word. It’s not necessary. I just ask if you need to safeword
and if you say no, that’s good enough. Agreed?” I nod. “So Kimmie, I think this
is the time when I need to explain to you my philosophy on being a Dominant.
I’ve watched what goes on here in this club. I know how most of the Dominants
here operate. I’m very different from them.” He looks down at our hands joined
together, and I get that weird feeling in my chest again. “I will discipline,
but I’m not quick to punish. I always listen to the sub’s side of the story.
I’m not as much into pain as I am into restraint and play. I’m far more into
surprise. But I want to make something clear: I don’t believe there’s ever a
reason for a Dom to be cruel or unkind. If I administer pain, it’s either at
your request or to help reinforce a rule or correct a behavior. If it’s
punishment I’m going for, it’s usually psychological punishment I’m going to
hand out. But not abuse – never abuse. Getting what you need is the most
important aspect of play for me, but I will never take you farther than I feel
you can handle or can experience safely. I don’t draw blood, and I don’t
torture. If that’s what you want, I’m not the play partner for you. And if and
when we move this into the sexual realm, I feel it’s as important for my body
to be available to you as yours is to me. You have needs to be met, and meeting
those needs is my number one priority.” He sits quietly and waits. “I need to
know your reaction to what I just said. I need to know that you’re on board
with this.”

“I am.”

“And now I need to hear your philosophy on being a
submissive.”

Shit. I hadn’t expected him to ask me that, and I’m
completely unprepared. I’ve never met a Dom who cared about my philosophy.
They’ve all had an agenda, and my philosophy wasn’t a part of that. I’ve been
so intent on what he’s been saying that my brain is in a scramble, trying to
formulate the answers he’s looking for. “Well, um, I don’t see a submissive as
a slave. I mean, if you want a Master/slave relationship and it’s mutual, then
that’s okay, but I don’t see a submissive that way.”

“Good. I don’t want a slave.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess. And then, um, I suppose I see a
submissive as one who gives herself to her Dom for his use and pleasure. I get
a lot of pleasure out of satisfying a Dominant. That’s important to me. If I
can trust the Dom, I can surrender myself completely.” He smiles and nods. “It
takes me a while to get comfortable with that person, but once I do, I’m
completely open and honest. And I communicate well. I think that’s the key –
communicating. It’s hard for me at first, but then it gets easier.”

“I would think it’s that way with anyone,” he offers.

“Not for you. You’re just out there, if you know what I
mean. You just say what you’re thinking and feeling and lay it all out there.”

“Ah, but there’s a difference, babe. The one who stands to
be hurt the worst in this relationship is you. Yeah, we’re both emotionally
invested, but physically, I have the upper hand. You let me bind you and I can
do as I please with you. You have no recourse, and if I were the dishonorable
type that ignores a safeword, you could be in real trouble. That’s enough to
make anybody shy and hesitant. But I’m hoping we’ll come to trust each other
pretty quickly. And I promise to you now that I’ll do my best to never, ever
hurt you in any way. Accidents happen; I don’t want them to happen with us.”

He said
us.
That makes my heart tremble, but all I
manage to squeeze out is, “Thanks.” This time when I look down at our hands,
just the look of our fingers alternating makes my stomach shiver. His hands are
strong and comfortable, and I need their heat on my skin. “Jaz, I . . .” I
swallow hard, unable to force out what I want to say.

Tipping my head back to look into my face, he nods.
“Whatever you need to say, say it. I swear, I won’t run screaming from the
room.” A silly grin spreads across his face, and I almost giggle – almost.

“Well, um, I . . . Do I call you Sir? And do I wear this . .
.” My fingers go to the collar. “I mean, is it
only
for when we’re here?
I’m a little confused, and I just don’t know . . .”

His hands trap both of mine in them, and his voice is warm
spiced brandy flowing over my tattered soul. “Kimmie, if you want to wear the
collar all the time, please do. I don’t have another play partner, and I’m not looking
for one. I’ll gladly give you a key so you can take it off in case of an
emergency or something. But we need to scene together a few times and if things
go well, then I’m prepared to offer you a contract if that’s what you want.”

Oh my god. Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I nod. “It is.”

“Then let’s get to this. And if we decide on a contract, you
won’t be wearing that collar. I’ll get you something far nicer. But right now,
I want you to present yourself to me while I get everything ready.”

Dropping to the floor, I settle into my stance and wait. Jaz
busies himself with pulling things out of drawers and laying everything out on
the bed. His eyes finally land on me and he smiles. “Nice. Very nice. But I
want your hands behind you and dropped to rest beside your ankles.” I move
around a bit until I do what I think he wants. “Comfortable?” I shake my head.
“Try other things until it is. Maybe you can actually put your hands on your
ankles, maybe grip them, use them to brace yourself? Just experiment. It’s
fine.”

I try a few different things and settle on his suggestion
with my hands on my ankles. “How’s this, Sir?”

He scrutinizes me. “That’s very good, but now you need to
pull your shoulders back. Um-hmmm. Very nicely displayed,” he says with a nod
at my chest. I’m still clothed, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t told me to
undress. “We’ll be getting you fitted with some open-tip demi bras.” I blush
three shades of pink. “What’s wrong?”

“Sir, my, um, gravity is not my friend.”

He laughs. “I’m well aware of the effect gravity has on the
human body. But yours is exceptional regardless. I’m not worried about it.” He
leans down next to my ear and growls, “I’m not concerned about how your body
looks
.
I’m far more interested in how it
feels.
” Awww, holy hell. Now my clit
starts to throb unbearably. And apparently I squirm a little, because he
follows with, “I’ll have you eventually, and it’ll be
perfect
. I’m
looking forward to it. Tell me: Do you want me?”

Oh no. I’m the one who was talking about honesty and trust. Damn
it, I’ve backed myself into a corner, not to mention that he can see right
through me. I just nod. “Say it, sub.”

“Yes, Sir. I want you.” I look up and my eyes land on his
zipper, and there it is, big and hard and just under that ridge of leather. Sweet
mother of god. Every thought in my body focuses on everything within my slit,
and I can feel the muscles in my pussy ripple. No words can describe the
overwhelming urge that smothers me, the need to unzip that zipper and take his
hardness between my lips – either set, don’t care which. At this point, I think
short of shooting me, stabbing me, or shoving me under a guillotine, I’d let
him do anything he wants to me. My body has just rendered the rest of me into
his hands, and I’m not unhappy about it at all.

“We’re working toward that, little one. Stand up.” I comply
and wait while he undoes all of the hooks on my bustier and lets it drop to the
floor. He picks it up in one swoop, then drags the panties down my legs. Once
on the floor, I pick up first one foot and then the other, and he snatches them
away too.

I feel his eyes perusing my frame, stopping and staring in
all the important places, and I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or
burst into tears. Finally, he says, “Now, over to the St. Andrew’s and climb
aboard. Face to the cross.” Once he’s bound me in place, I hear him fiddling
around over by the bed. “Let me know if this is too much,” he says as he steps
up behind me.

A lovely scent envelops me as he runs his hands up and down
my back, ass, and the backs of my legs and arms. Lavender oil. I’d know it
anywhere. He takes a second to run a bit up and down my slit, then dips a
finger in and coats my clit with it. The tingling starts immediately, and I can
feel the blood rushing to every inch of my body that’s carrying the oil. I’ve
used it here and there in the past, but never over this much of my skin, and
it’s a heady sensation. “You’re pinking up. Safeword?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good. We’ll get started.”

That wasn’t “started?” I’m wondering what he means when
something else comes into play, and I gasp as the pain bites into my skin. What
the hell is that? He must realize what I’m thinking, as usual, because he just
comes right out with, “Safeword?”

“No, Sir.” I’m starting to feel a little buzz from it, and
I’m still not sure what it is. In silent explanation, he stops and I open my
eyes to find his hand in front of my face. In it? A nylon scrub brush. He uses
the fingers of the other hand to drag across it and demonstrate how soft the
bristles are, but to my lavender oil-prepped body, they feel coarse and wiry.
He brushes over the entire back aspect of my body, and he stops at the areas
that have thicker skin, like my shoulder blades, and swirls the brush over them
several times to heighten the sensations. As he keeps working, I feel myself
slipping into the stillness of the room, listening to his steady breathing as
he moves about me. The heat from his body makes contact with my skin several
times, and it soothes me in a way I didn’t know it could. When he stops, I want
to cry out and beg for more, but I stay quiet and wallow in the tickling
sensations just under the surface of my skin.

But I cry out when the first pin prick hits me. It takes a
second for it to register what I’m feeling, and then I realize: The Wartenberg
wheel. I’ve experienced it before, but after his preparations, it feels
especially intense. I hear his voice say, “Kimmie, concentrate on the feel of
the pins. Pay attention and anticipate where they’re going next.” Giving myself
a mental shake, I set my mind on each and every point as it rolls over my back.
While it’s excruciating, I also feel that same cracking open that I’ve
experienced so many times before, and I embrace it and let it roll over me like
a steamroller. My brain marvels at this – it’s a simple thing, one I’ve
undergone dozens of times, but his expertise has taken it to heights I never
could’ve dreamed I’d reach. He draws intricate swirls and circles on my skin
with the points, and my id dances and cavorts with the exercise, offering
itself up without a word. No grimaces. No groans. There’s just the sensation of
floating free in an ocean of relief, and I don’t want it to end. In my mind,
the swirls he draws are colored swipes, and they come together as an erotic,
electric, luminescent paisley print that dips and soars.