My Kingdom for a Corner (6 page)

Oliver made sure to keep his steps slow and steady as he left the apartment. Behind him she was spitting out words asking him to wait, that she had a question to ask. He knew the corner would be the undoing of her in this activity, well, besides the kneeling.

This would give her plenty of emotions to feel. The hard part would be picking out just three of them to write down.

Chapter Four

“Kneel in a corner, my fat fanny,” Francesca growled as she prowled around Mr. Oliver’s home. “It will be a cold day in hell before I put my nose in a corner.”

She’d made plenty of subs do it, and they’d always told her it was “exhilarating,” that it helped them to “give over power.”

The word that came to mind for her was humiliating. Maybe she should write that one down, or maybe it would piss him off. But then again, who cared if it did. He wanted to know how she felt. This wasn’t a test with an answer sheet.

“Got the first word,” she said out loud, knowing there was nothing but the walls to hear her. So far she’d found two bedrooms, the larger of which was his. She knew it because of the colors. The guest room was in muted shades of rose. The master bedroom was in blues and browns, just like any male, she’d thought. There was only one full bathroom, situated between the rooms. That sort of surprised her until she remembered this was a Victorian house that had been moved here.

If it were her building, she would have had another bathroom added. She continued to explore, surprised when she found only a kitchen. There was no dungeon. A quick sigh of relief spread through her. No dungeon, no corner, she thought, even though she knew that was wrong. There had to be one here somewhere. But where?

She stepped into the hallway and glanced in either direction. One way led back to the living room. At the end of the hall was a door. It took her a few minutes of maneuvering, with her hands so close to her body, to turn the knob, but when she opened the door a light came on, illuminating a circular staircase, just like the ones in the main club.

So he’d built his dungeon upstairs, she thought as she looked at the stairs. At least they were wood, so that her heels wouldn’t get caught in any openings. Still, navigating the climb in these boots, with no hands, would be tricky. She had no idea how much time had elapsed since he’d left, but she was pretty sure it was at least half an hour. That gave her another hour. And she didn’t want to have to make this trip twice.

She went back to the dining table and looked at the pen and paper. They looked so innocent, and yet they might be at the center of her undoing today. She couldn’t move her hands enough to do something like tuck them into her boots so her hands would be free.

“I won’t be defeated by something so simple,” she said as she maneuvered her body to pick up the sheet, then bent down to take the pen in her mouth. She hurried back to the stairs as fast as she could, then leaned against the wall as she slowly took them one rung at a time, stopping every few steps to center herself and make sure she didn’t fall backward.

At the top she felt a surge of triumph. Soft light illuminated the room, and Francesca’s mouth dropped open, the pencil clattering on the floor as it fell.

“Oh, oh…” His dungeon rivaled any she’d ever seen. She had a few things of her own, a rack and a good collection of whips and crops, but she had nothing like this at her apartment. There was a St. Andrew’s cross, a rack, columns in between where a person could be bound, a swing, whips, chains, crops, clamps. She walked the room, her heart hammering in her chest as she stopped to examine each section of toys. What if he wanted to use all of these on her? She wasn’t into pain. She didn’t want to be in the stocks, or tied between the posts.

Her heart continued to race as she stepped toward the back wall. A suspension system, where a sub could be held by their arms, or upside down if Mr. Oliver so wanted.

“No fucking way,” she whispered even as she continued to stare. As she thought about the equipment that filled the room, she decided the three words she would write down were “I’m outta here.”

But, truth be told, the items fascinated her. What would it feel like to be suspended in air? Would he use a whip on her while she was up there? Or maybe a cat?

“Not on me, but on another sub. I could watch while he did it. Yes, that’s why it fascinates me. I want to watch, not participate.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, a voice sing-songed inside her head. And not just any voice, her voice. She was fascinated, intrigued about giving over control to him.

“That little bastard,” she said. “He’s given me time to come to terms with things. He knew if he just rushed into it, I’d rebel.”

He was smart, she’d give him that, but she was as smart. She’d often told her subs that lots of people thought that stupid people who had no self-worth allowed themselves to be whipped, when in fact the opposite was true. It took a lot of self-worth, and a lot of smarts to come to give control of yourself to another person. You had to have trust, and a true sense of yourself.

She knew who she was, and she realized now that Mr. Oliver was right. This would give her the chance to explore something new, something totally different, which meant she needed to open herself up and give him control.

In a flash, she walked to the table against the far wall and put down her paper. Then she went to where the pencil had dropped onto the floor, getting down on her knees as best she could and picking it up with her mouth.

After several attempts to stand she realized it was not going to be possible, as she was hindered by her bindings and footwear. She knee-crawled to the table, using the surface, which she was sure was low enough so even a short person could bend over it, and her shoulders to get back to her feet. Once in place she spent more precious moments trying to figure out how to write with her hands mere inches away from her body. After she’d managed to write down the first word, which took her forever it seemed, she looked at it.

“Worse than a kindergartener,” she laughed. The block letters were huge, spread out across the page. She should have picked a shorter word. She wrote down the other two, and then looked around the room. All four corners were bare, which meant she had her choice.

“I don’t want any of them,” she said out loud, as the voice in her head reminded her that she’d decided to follow directions, to let the weekend unfold and see what it would bring.

She went to the one on the opposite wall, knowing it would allow Mr. Oliver a good view of her as he came in the door. He would see that she’d followed directions, that she was kneeling in a corner.

Following her mindset was not as easy as she’d thought it would be. Every time she put her shoulder against the wall in preparation to kneel, a voice inside her mind screamed that she was a Domme, that she didn’t kneel for anyone. They knelt at her command. It took three tries to get down, and then it took another two to put her nose in the corner, the dry wall cold against her skin.

When she was in place, she felt a huge sense of accomplishment, as if she’d managed to climb the highest mountain in the world without benefit of oxygen. Interestingly enough, it felt oddly liberating to be in this position. She’d thought it would bring extreme anger, but instead it brought a sense of satisfaction that she’d managed to follow his instructions.

“Give me a gold star,” she said, almost falling backward when he said, “Silver. You have to work your way up to gold, but I’m very impressed that you did as I asked.”

I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off.
“Thank you, Mr. Oliver.”

“You’re welcome. Where are your words?”

“On the table.” She heard his boots click on the wooden floor as he walked, but she didn’t turn around to watch.

“Let’s see, humiliating, anger, fascination.” There was a pause before he said, “Interesting choices. Explain the meaning, please.”

Find a dictionary, asshat…I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off. I won’t smart off.
“I was humiliated at the thought of kneeling in a corner, angered with myself for getting into the situation, and then sort of fascinated by this room, and the items inside it.”

“Not fascinated with how they might make you feel?”

That too, but I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you.
“Not really.”

“Liar. You’re like an open book to me, missy, and I’m going to read you from end to end. Turn around and come to me, on your knees.”

Francesca fought back the urge to say, “You trying doing that with no hands.” Then she remembered her pledge to herself. She backed away from the corner, then turned and looked for him. He’s sat down in what she’d thought of earlier as a throne. It had a high back and thick, wooden arms. The seat, she’d noticed, was adorned with a velvet cushion. She watched as he threw one leg over an arm, and undid his pants, taking out his very hard cock.

“Hungry?”

Damn straight she was. It had been years since she’d sucked a dick. Even the lovers she’d had since becoming a Domme had not had the pleasure of her mouth. She moved across the floor in record time, lowering her head to his lap as she arrived. When he grasped her hair and kept her from taking him in her mouth, she growled in frustration.

“Ask nicely.”

“What?” She tried to get away from his grasp, but he held her close. “You asked if I was hungry.”

“But I didn’t give you permission to eat. Ask. Nicely.”

No, no, no! She swallowed hard. “Please, Mr. Oliver, may I suck your prick?”

“No.” She stiffened at his response. “But you may lick it.”

“So you’re going to tease me, is that it?”

Anger clouded his features, and Francesca knew she’d screwed up—again. She would have whipped a sub’s ass for that remark.

“You may lick, or you may go back to your corner. It’s your choice.”

Francesca battled with herself once again before she said, “I will lick, Mr. Oliver. For—forg—forgive my impudence.”

“Forgiven, now put your tongue to good use.” He had his hand on the base, as if he were offering her a piece of candy, and that’s exactly as she treated it. Her tongue moved up and down the length of him, and when a drop of moisture appeared at his opening she took it greedily, the salty maleness of him making her want even more. She wanted to suck, to take him as deeply as possible, to have him give her that sweet offering at the end.

Her pussy throbbed as she worked, and there was a part of her that thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t let her suck him. Instead he might fuck her, as he had the first night they’d met, driving her insane with lust and letting her come, something she needed very desperately.

“Enough.” His rough command drew her to a halt. Her chest heaved as she placed her head on his thigh.

“Please, Sir, may I suck.”

“I said no. Don’t ask again. There is a place in the center of the floor with a body outline. Did you see it?”

Oh yes, she’d seen it. It had made her think of someone outlining a dead body at a crime scene. She told him as much, trying to keep her words from sounding harsh.

“Go and lay down there.”

Crap, she’d noticed the O-rings around the outline, and it meant only one thing. He was going to bind her. Of course, it could mean he was going to fuck her while she was in that position. That would be good. There were lots of rings in different positions, which meant he could tie her so that her legs were close together, or wide apart.

Francesca was thrilled when he ordered her to spread her legs. She lifted her head enough to watch him wrap rope around the boots and secure her ankles to the rings. Next, he undid her hands before he locked the cuffs together. He secured her hands above her head, leaving her wide open for his use.

Vulnerability swept through her, but it wasn’t overwhelming; mixed with the excitement she felt, it made her feel something she couldn’t put a name on. She just knew that if he touched her clit right now, she would probably shoot off to the moon. She would be the first female to set foot on the lunar surface, and she’d do it with a huge smile on her face.

She watched as he walked to a cabinet against the wall, near the table. She knew there were clamps and whips inside there. Was he going to use a whip on her? If so, why hadn’t he tied her face down? Uncertainty rushed through her, and she fought to keep it under control.

Breathe, she repeated to herself. It’s going to be fine, just breathe. She may have only known him a few days, but he was well known in the Seattle BDSM community. Plus, they’d signed an agreement earlier. He was a man of his word, or he wouldn’t have the standing that he had.

There had to be trust, or else none of this would work. He was back now, kneeling over her, his thighs pressing against her side. In his hands were nipple clamps. Francesca almost sighed in relief; something as easy as nipple clamps shouldn’t have thrown her into such a tizzy. Of course, she didn’t know what he was doing.

A sharp sting shot through her as he attached the clamps to each nipple. He adjusted them until she gave a soft cry of agony, then he pulled the chain that held them together. Francesca groaned as a spurt of pain shot straight to her clit, making her cry out.