Mr. Sir (Ball & Chain) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Grace checked her hair and makeup one last time, turned and gave her backside another glance to make sure it looked all right in the dress she was wearing and headed downstairs. Her husband was not in the living room waiting for her with a bottle of wine like he said he’d be. She passed through the dining room to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there either.

“Owen?”

From the basement she heard, “Down here.”

She huffed a sigh and went to the top of the stairs. “What on earth are you doing down there? We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation.”

“Come here,” he called, his voice playful. Tempting. “You need to see this.”

She touched her forehead to the doorframe, summoning a little patience. “Can it wait until after dinner? I have no idea whether this place will give our table away if we’re late or not.”

He called her down again in a singsong voice that made her shake her head and smile. She had to take the narrow stairs sideways in her heels. At the bottom she looked around the laundry room, but he was still nowhere to be found.

“In here,” he called through the open pantry door.

“What on earth,” she muttered, her heels clicking on the bare concrete.

She hadn’t been able to get in the room for three weeks because he wanted to surprise her once the room was finished. She’d thought it was strange he was making such a big deal out of a pantry, but she’d gone along with it. Letting him finish it himself meant she hadn’t had to do any more painting after all.

She stopped just outside the door.

Her first thought was that the walls were not painted the white they’d agreed on. They were a deep, royal purple instead. Electric lights in scrolled wall sconces flickered like candles. There was lush, dark carpet on the floor and medieval-looking wrought iron rings bolted to the walls both near the ceiling and close to the floor. Chopin was playing from the iPod dock on top of the wardrobe in the corner.

And her husband was sitting on the corner of a sheet-draped, sturdy-legged table the length and width of a wide massage table with one foot on the floor and his other leg draped casually over the corner.

He was barefoot and shirtless in an old pair of jeans.

“Happy belated anniversary, baby doll,” he said. The thrill of hearing his scene name for her, in that cool, deep voice, nearly caused her knees to buckle.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” she asked dryly.

He calmly folded his hands over his thigh as he looked her over from head to toe. She shivered at the look of pure desire on his face.

“Goddamn, you look good,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

She was wearing a new dress, bought especially for their night out. It was that deep emerald green he always said was his favorite color on her. The low, square neckline showed quite a bit of the tops of her breasts, the skirt hung to her knee and the whole thing hugged her in all the right places, as though it had been designed just for her.

“You made me scrub and primer this room for
this
?” she asked.

She ventured a step into the room and looked around. There was a wide, thickly upholstered chair big enough for both of them just to her left. A padded sawhorse with not one, but two padded rails to kneel on and several D-rings bolted to the frame stood in the back opposite the wardrobe—which was surely full of all their toys.

“Now where the hell am I supposed to keep food when I learn to can this fall?” she asked, hands on hips. There would be no paddle if she didn’t misbehave a little. In truth, she wanted to weep with gratitude at the sight of their gorgeous new playroom.

“Because you helped in here as I asked, you’ll be rewarded.” Owen stood, pulling himself up tall and straight, looking at her down the length of his nose. “Unless you keep running that mouth of yours,” he warned.

She shivered. It had been so long. It had been way too freaking long since she’d seen the look on his face, and she wanted it more than anything else in the entire world.

He ran his fingers through the hair draped over her shoulder, letting the strands slide between them. “How long did it take you to get all dolled up like this?” he asked wrapping the end of a curl around his finger.

“I don’t know,” she told him, adding the slightest bit of annoyance into her voice.

“Take a guess,” he said, trailing the end of the curl across her jaw and down her neck. “Pretty please.” The smile he gave her was ice cold.

It made her blood burn hot. “An hour,” she answered, crossing her arms.

“All that work for nothing.” He shook his head, his expression sympathetic. His hand dipped into his pocket. “Put your hair up and strip,” he ordered, a hair elastic between his fingers when his hand reemerged.

“Owen, the Millers only have the boys for a couple of hours,” she started, then stopped at the look on his face.

“The boys are at the Millers’ until morning.” He took her jaw firmly in his hand and leaned in so his face was close to hers. “Now I suggest you do as I say.”

Her heart skipped several beats. Electric heat zipped throughout her entire nervous system. Her stomach filled suddenly with skittish butterflies even as her nipples drew up tight and her pussy heated in anticipation.

She stared up into those cool blue eyes of his just long enough to make his nostrils flare at her challenge, then she dropped her lids and lowered her gaze. She could see the quick expand and contract of his breath in his chest as the rush of beginning play, real play, washed through him.

She felt it too, the frightening thrill of not knowing what the hell was going to happen, but eager for whatever it was he had in mind.

Grace let her fingers brush over his as she took the rubber band from him and he slapped her hand down. She smiled inwardly at both the sting and getting a reaction from touching him when he hadn’t yet allowed her.

“Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, letting her gaze drift lower down his body, knowing he couldn’t see where she was looking from his vantage point high above her.

She stopped just sort of moaning at the sight of his cock, already hard and straining to be free of his jeans. She wanted to drop to her knees, rip open his fly and take him in her mouth. She loved the feel, the taste of him. She loved the way he moaned, low and deep in his chest, when she got it just right.

“Hair,” he snapped, and turned away from her.

Grace gathered her hair high on her head and twisted it into a messy knot to get it out of the way. She quickly reached back and unzipped the dress she’d just put on. As she stepped out of it and draped it over the arm of the chair on her left, Owen turned with her collar in his hand.

A jolt of pure desire ripped through her. She lifted her eyes to his to show him how much the appearance of her collar was affecting her, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

“Out of practice, aren’t we?” he asked, darkly playful. He snapped his fingers and she dropped her gaze once more. “I think someone needs to be reminded of the rules.”

He moved around behind her, reaching in front of her to fasten her collar around her neck. A sliver of panic shoved its way under her ribs, causing her breath to come in short gasps as the lock clicked in place. Owen gave the wide leather a quick, painless jerk backward, fully getting her attention.

“You do not look at me until I give you permission.” His voice was ominous, his breath hot on her ear. “You do not touch me until I say you can touch me, and only the way I tell you. You do not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand me?”

Her nipples pushed against the inside of her bra. “Yes Sir,” she whispered.

“Good answer.” He bit down on her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp, then released her with the smallest of shoves. “Now why aren’t you naked yet?”

“Sorry,” she breathed, drifting easily into her role as she hurriedly unhooked her bra and laid it aside. She stepped out of her shoes as she removed her panties and stood, hands at her sides.

Owen paced a slow circle around her, sizing her up, unnerving her simply by looking at her. She wanted to throw herself on him, back him up to the table, free his cock, test exactly how sturdy that table was by riding him until they were both screaming wildly. She waited for her next instruction instead.

He moved out of her line of sight once more, came back with her wrist cuffs. Her arms prickled with goose bumps the second the thinly padded lining touched the delicate skin of her wrist. She shivered with each snap of their locks, first one then the other. Her nipples reached toward him, eager for his attention. Her pussy swelled with heat and wet, readying for him, dampening the insides of her thighs.

She did moan when his fingers brushed her ankles as he locked her leg cuffs in place. On his knees behind her, he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, spread them out over the flesh of her ass, stroking her. He touched his lips to her skin, grazed her gently with his teeth, kissed the raised scar on the upper part of her right hip.

His hands slid around the front of her thighs. He pulled her back against him, bit down solidly into her hip as he dipped his fingers between her legs and stroked her.

“Jesus, Owen,” she sighed, as she swayed back against him, then startled upright as he cracked her loud and hard on the ass.

He stood, clutched her tits roughly and pulled her back to his chest.

“You are really have forgotten your place, haven’t you?” He chuckled wickedly, using the wet tip of the finger he’d been using on her pussy to stroke her peaked nipple. She resisted letting her head fall on his shoulder. “I asked you a direct question,” he said, pinching the taut nub for emphasis.

She squeaked and flinched with the pain. “Yes Sir,” she said, and winced at the giggle in her voice. “Ow, fuck,” she gasped when he pinched her other nipple harder.

“Such a dirty mouth.” He clutched her jaw and turned her face toward him, taking her mouth hard, possessively. She leaned against the rigid line of his cock as it pressed into the small of her back. And then it was gone. “On the table, on your back.”

She wanted to clap her hands together and squeal with glee. It was ridiculous and she knew it, but she could hardly contain herself she was so happy they were playing. In a sexy-as-fuck room he’d designed just for the two of them, no less. She lay back on the table and found it wasn’t quite long enough to hold her full height. Her legs hung off the end from mid-calf down.

“I have a present for you,” he said softly, stringing a thin line of rope between the D-rings on her wrist cuffs before tying it to something she couldn’t see on the underside of the table.

“You do?” she asked, then jumped when he snapped his fingers in front of her face, reminding her she’d spoken out of turn.

“I do,” he answered anyway, giving the line a tug to make sure it was secure. Standing at her head, he ran his hands down the length of her arms, smoothed them over her breasts then gave them a rough squeeze. He gave her nipples another unforgiving pinch. “I had it custom made for you,” he added.

He trailed his fingertips down the middle of her stomach as he moved around the table. Her back arched and she had to choke down a groan when he tickled her along the seam of where her thigh met her hip, and then along the sensitive inside of her thigh. He shifted her leg so it hung off the side at the knee, bent it backward until it was partly folded around the edge of the table and hooked the D-ring on her ankle cuff to a hook on a strap underneath.

“I’m not really sure how much you’re going to like it.” He bent and nipped at the inside of her thigh before moving around the end of the table to secure her other leg. “But I can’t wait for you to see it,” he said, smiling wickedly as the last lock snicked in place, effectively immobilizing her.

She went ahead and met his gaze. Whatever he was talking about, he seemed pleased with himself. He ignored the direct eye contact as he stepped back and took her in, letting his eyes wander over her body, linger between her legs for a long moment.

“Look at what you do to me,” he told her, rubbing his hand over his cock through his jeans. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream yourself raw.”

The sight of him touching himself combined with the low, even tone of his voice sent a shock wave rolling through her pussy. Her clit throbbed with it.

“First things first,” he said, moving past her to the cabinet in the corner.

She stole the unguarded moment to take in the sight of him, his strong back and beautiful ass, and then he turned around with her “gift” in his hands.

And her mouth went completely and utterly dry.

Chapter Eight

Oh, it had been way too long since he’d freaked her the fuck out.

And, son of a bitch, it felt amazing to do it again.

She’d thought she was going to get away with sassing him about the room, but he was going to make her earn every stroke of the paddling he knew she wanted.

“No,” she yelled, struggling wildly against her restraints. “God damn it, Owen. Let me go right this fucking second.”

“You do remember you get ten extra hits every time you say fuck, right?” he asked, the way he might ask a misbehaving child.

There was genuine fear in her eyes. His cock hardened more even as he fought the urge to drop the coiled single-tail whip in his hands and soothe her until she settled.

The permanent, raised scar on her ass she’d gotten from an inexperienced Dom-in-training was an everyday reminder of what could go wrong when playing with them. She was rightfully afraid of them, but once he’d gotten the idea to have a short one made to add to their toy box, one he’d be able to use in the limited space of their new room, he hadn’t been able to resist.

“What’s your safeword, baby doll?”

She stilled and gave him a venomous look. “It’s cricket.”

“Correct.” He smiled indulgently. “Are you ready to call it now?”

She glared up at him but said nothing.

He set his expression to stern, his blood racing hot, eager for her to fight.

“I asked you a direct question,” he reminded her.

“No. Sir.” She bit out both words through clenched teeth, arms straining against the rope tied to her wrists.

“Good girl.” He stepped closer to the table and let one end of the deep-blue ribbon he’d tied around it dangle against her mouth. “Unwrap your present now.”

Her lips clamped together.

“With your teeth, of course,” he said smoothly, as though she had another choice.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, her eyes bright with anger.

He threw his head back and laughed. “We’re up to thirty.” He twitched the whip so the ribbon danced against her face. “Pull.” His expression went dark. “Now.”

Her nostrils flared as though she was about to cry, but she bit down on the end of the ribbon. Owen pulled so the bow came free and drifted onto her face and neck.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He released the tail end of the whip, letting it fall open across her chest.

She tried to spit the end of the ribbon to the side but most of it stayed pooled around her neck. Inspired, he laid the handle of the custom-made, four-foot-long toy between her breasts.

“This is my second favorite color on you,” he told her, reaching behind her neck and bringing the dark-blue satin around. “You know that, don’t you?”

She continued to glare silently as he tied a bow just below her black collar.

He shrugged. “No matter if you don’t.” He placed a gentle kiss on her still lips and picked up the handle again. “Oh wait,” he said, as if he’d forgotten something. He went to the cabinet and brought out a blindfold.

“No.” She shook her head, clearly becoming more panicked. “
No.
”

“Five for every time you tell me no,” he told her sternly, his face close to hers. “That puts us up to forty strokes.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Shall we go for fifty?”

“That’s a trick question, you—” She snapped her mouth shut.

“Me what?” he asked, truly wanting to know what name she had poised on the tip of her tongue. He chuckled softly when she didn’t answer. “Head up.”

She raised her head so he could slide the blindfold over her eyes. When he was finished, he kissed her ruthlessly until she was open wide and moaning into his mouth, neck arched and hips angling off the table. He skimmed his hand over her belly, wet his fingers deep inside her soaking-wet cunt and toyed with her clit just to the point her hips started to rock in response. Then he stopped.

She was gasping for air when he righted himself. It took everything in him not to free his cock and plunge deep inside her right then.

Her whole body jerked when he took up the handle of the short whip and let the soft braided tail slide along the underside of her tits. He flicked his arm to the side, far away from where it might actually strike her, and the fine, braided leather split the air with a mighty crack. The muscles in her arms and thighs strained as she pulled hard on her ties and screamed long and loud.

The sound rushed straight to his cock.

He swung the whip in a wide, slow arc over her body and let it fall over her now-trembling stomach. He stroked it across her skin with the same gentle touch he’d used under her breasts and then snapped it again, making her scream, only less enthusiastically this time.

Using the first six inches of the tip, Owen flicked it against her breasts, making her gasp. Her tits quivered beautifully with the force of her body trembling combined with the leather flicking against her hard, peaked flesh. He snapped it against her lightly at first, gradually increasing the intensity of the snap until her back arched up high off the table and she moaned, a hairsbreadth away from genuine pain.

He grabbed one breast in his hand and squeezed as he covered her nipple with his mouth and plunged two fingers into her pussy. She was fever hot.

“I’m thinking you don’t hate the whip so much,” he observed, his lips touching hers. He dipped his tongue into her mouth for a brief moment, watched hers chase his touch as he retreated, and snapped the whip in the air behind him.

She called out a highly blasphemous curse and he laughed. “There we have it,” he whispered against her mouth. “Fifty.”

He alternated stroking her with the tail—over her stomach, in her ticklish armpits, between her legs—and cracking the whip in the air until she screamed every time its ear-splitting sound broke the mellow flow of the music playing in the room. After a few moments, he added sharps snaps of just the tail against her thighs, making beautiful red welts rise on her pure white skin.

When she was writhing out of control, he threw it aside, gripped the insides of her thighs high up near her pussy and covered her hot, swollen clit with his mouth. She cried out a lusty, desperate sound as he sucked and licked and kissed until he heard the unmistakable sound of her getting ready to scream out her orgasm.

Then he stopped.

“No, no, no, no,” she chanted, over and over as he completely stepped away from her. Her legs strained against the restraints hard enough to make the leather straps creak as she tried to pull them together to give herself some relief.

“I’m pretty sure I just counted ten more nos,” he said, and kissed her so she could taste herself on his mouth.

“God, Owen, please,” she panted, reaching for him with as much of herself as she could when he pulled away again.

He moved around to the head of the table and planted his hands on either side of her head. “Who?” he asked.

“Fuck.” She winced. “Sorry. Sir.”

He hummed an appreciative sound as he unzipped his jeans.

“I love how your dirty mouth gets you into so much trouble. It’s almost too easy, really,” he said, sighing as his cock came free of his clothes. “Let’s put your dirty mouth to good use, shall we?” He hooked his hands under her shoulders and moved her until her head was resting against the end of the table, angled back slightly.

“Yes,” she breathed, opening for him when he pushed his cock down and touched the already-wet tip to her lips. He spread the fluid over her mouth and nearly lost his mind when she sucked him deep inside the moment he positioned himself to enter her.

It was almost too much to take, the hot feel of her mouth pulling hard on his cock combined with the sight of her naked, bound and spread open for him. The little red marks from the whip dotted her pure, white skin and her sweet, pink pussy gleamed in the glow coming from the wall lights.

His teeth ground together as he pulled back and fucked into her mouth, careful not to go too deep in spite of the urgent desire to plunge to the hilt. The rush of it made his entire body burn hot. He could hear the ragged sound of his own breath and the moan that rose up from deep within him.

His balls pulled up tight, priming to go off any moment, but he held back, needing the feel of his wife’s unbelievably erotic mouth on his cock for as long as he could possibly hold out. When he knew he was getting too close to the edge, he gripped her jaw so it opened and pulled out very slowly.

“No, please,” she begged, her fingernails scraping against the fabric of his jeans as her bound hands grasped for him. “More. I want more.”

He
tsked
at her. “Greedy girl,” he taunted, reluctantly tucking himself back into his pants. He’d let himself get so close to coming, his hands were shaking “I owe you for that sassy mouth of yours. What do you say we get to it?”

She moaned. “Not with the whip.”

He clutched her jaw again. “I’ll use whatever I like, and don’t you forget it,” he told her, using the mild, ominous tone of voice she’d once admitted to secretly loving.

“Please, not with the whip,” she whimpered, and her breath hitched on the intake.

She swung her leg up as though she was going to attempt to get herself free when he unhooked the first ankle cuff to turn her over. He brought his hand down with a loud crack against her thigh and she stilled with a surprised squeak.

“Unless you’re going to call your safeword, I suggest you hold still until I tell you to move,” he barked impatiently. “Otherwise it’s going to be a very, very long time before you’re going to be able to sit on that beautiful ass of yours.”

When she made no effort to move or respond, he lifted her freed leg onto the table and moved to disconnect the other. He loosened the rope binding her wrists without completely untying it, pulled the edge of the sheet until her body was perilously close to the edge, and rolled her onto her stomach.

He couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the surprised sound she made as she flipped over and landed solidly on the padded table, facedown. He quickly got the rest of the sheet out from under her and gave her bare bottom a little pat.

“Up,” he ordered. “Ass only.”

She went up on her knees as he secured the rope holding her arms again. He removed the blindfold and tossed it aside, got two pillows from the cabinet and put them both under her hips, raising her ass to him without leaving her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. While she was still blinking, trying to regain focus of her eyes, he got the crop out of the cabinet, stuck it in his back pocket where she couldn’t see it, and picked the whip up from the floor.

“You with me, baby doll?” he asked, touching the soft, split end to her cheek.

Her deep-blue eyes, all the bluer for the dark makeup that was now beautifully smudged by the mask, gave her a silent but unmistakable eat-shit-and-die look. He bit down on the handle and moved around to the head of the table again, letting the tail of the whip fall where it may.

He stroked her back, digging his fingers into the long muscles, kneading some of the tension out of them until she was practically purring and arching into his touch. He let the bulge of his cock rest against her bound hands, pretended he didn’t notice so he wouldn’t have to add to her punishment as her hand turned, cupped and stroked him. He rocked his hips, grinding into her touch as he leaned over her, hands splayed over the satiny-smooth skin of her gorgeous round ass.

He took the whip out of his mouth. “That feels good,” he told her approvingly, “but you’re not going to get out of it that easily,” he added, as though she’d initiated fondling him, and cracked the whip in the air very close to her hip.

She jumped and screamed, then screamed again, raw fear ripping the sound from her lungs as he snatched the crop out of his back pocket and struck her directly next to the scar on her hip with it.

“You
fucker
,” she screamed, instantly realizing he hadn’t hit her with the dreaded whip. “You
fucking cocksucker
.”

He chuckled. “I love you too, pet,” he cooed, and struck her again as he moved around to the foot of the table, his cock aching from the sight of the small welts as they raised on her clear skin.

Owen smacked her with the crop a dozen times in rapid succession, alternating sides and hesitating half a beat between hits. He smoothed his hands over her quickly reddening flesh, and got her another dozen times while she gasped and flinched with every stroke. She moaned and rocked back against him when he pulled her up higher on her knees and buried his face in her pussy, licking her slick folds and flicking his tongue over her clit.

She muttered something he didn’t quite understand when he backed off suddenly. Her arms pulled tight as she looked over her shoulder and stretched back, reaching for him with her ass, wanting more. He moved to the head of the table and took a long, rough pull from her mouth.

He threw both the whip and the crop to the floor impatiently and stalked to the cabinet for the paddle. She moaned and her eyes rolled closed for a moment. She loved the paddle even more than she hated the whip.

“All right, baby doll,” he said, using his this-is-going-to-hurt-you-much-more-than-it’s-going-to-hurt-me voice. “Twenty-four down and about another hundred to go. Let’s start with another twenty. Count down with me. And you’d better say it like you mean it,” he said brightly, and swung the paddle, landing it solidly on her ass.