closer attention next time.
Paul told her to move to the the center of the room, and she slipped off the table to comply with his wishes. The middle of the room held what looked like a complex pulley-and-rope system. I leaned forward again, recognizing from Internet research the equipment needed for suspension scenes. Nathaniel didn’t have any of this in his playroom.
Paul took his time and slowly buckled Christine into what looked like boots, securing her to the ropes and pulleys hanging from the ceiling. It was obvious in watching them that they were a couple who had been together for years. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just control fully given and control fully assumed.
Once Christine was in position on the floor, Paul walked to a switch on a nearby wall. Within seconds, the pulley lifted her legs in the air and she rolled up—a smooth, practiced move she must have done many times. When her head hung a few feet off the ground, the pulley stopped. He walked to her, nodded, and she unbuckled his jeans.
I wanted to look away, but I was unable to do so. Then, right as I was trying to decide if I should close my eyes, just before Paul’s zipper opened, a soft scarf covered my eyes. Nathaniel whispered to me, “Sight isn’t the most important part of this scene.”
But I recalled the beauty and trust in Christine’s submission and knew I was submitting to my own master by wearing the blindfold. Knew he had his reasons. So I sat a bit straighter and concentrated on my other senses.
At first my sense of touch felt the most noticeable. The softness of the pillow under me. The movement of air around my bared belly. The hard bones and strong muscles of Nathaniel’s knee under my fingers. Even the silkiness of the blindfold.
Then came the sounds. The ragged intake of Paul’s breath as Christine did whatever it was she was doing. The whispery words of encouragement, too low to make out, but spoken in a tone I completely understood. From above me, the steady sound of Nathaniel’s breathing. Even my own heart. The once quiet room became a cacophony of noise.
I could no longer measure the passage of time with anything save my breaths and heartbeat. I tried to find something else and settled on the rhythmic sounds coming from the couple in front of me.
Christine let out a low whimper of pleasure, and I wondered what was happening. Then I recalled Nathaniel’s whisper and knew what was happening wasn’t what he wanted me to get from the experience.
I’d thought them to be romantic words, meant to soothe, to ease me into sleep. But hearing and experiencing the scene before me, they became so much more.
I saw Christine’s braveness in her supine position on the floor as she waited for Paul’s command.
I heard her strength in the sounds of Paul’s words as he softly encouraged her and eventually gave in to his own desires.
I felt the fierceness from both of them with emotions so fiery they damn near lit the playroom with their heat.
—ABBY—
Nathaniel took my hand and I jumped at his touch, unprepared for the jolt of desire that accompanied his hand wrapping around mine. He placed my hand in my lap.
“Get in your waiting position,” he whispered, his husky voice sending another wave of longing through me.
I slipped off the pillow and moved into the position I took when in his playroom. While kneeling on the floor, I strained my ears, trying to hear what was happening. I hadn’t been in Paul’s playroom long enough to know what furniture Nathaniel was near, much less guess what he might be doing or getting.
And were Paul and Christine still in the room? Were they watching me? Nathaniel said he wouldn’t push my exhibitionism limits this weekend, but would this be considered exhibitionism? I mean, I was just kneeling.
I tried again to hear, to pick up on any voices, any whisper. Then it hit me—it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter what Nathaniel had planned. He was in control. I gave him that power, and to worry would be second-guessing him.
If Paul and Christine were in the room, I wanted my submission to be a mirror of what I had just seen play out before me. I realized then that I didn’t even care if Paul and Christine were in the room. I wanted them to see. Wanted to show them how proud I was to serve my master.
Bare feet padded to me.
“Stand up, Abigail,” Nathaniel said.
I scrambled as gracefully as possible to my feet, but the change in position, combined with the blindfold, disoriented me, and I swayed a bit.
He caught me, slipped his arms around my shoulders. “Steady, my lovely.” He didn’t move his hands, but kept his hold on me. “I need you to trust me.”
“Paul and Christine have left. Only the two of us are in here.”
My heart pounded. We were alone. Alone. Oh, the things he could do when we were alone.
“You are to answer any question I ask immediately and honestly,” he said. “Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
The word meant so much more now that I’d watched Paul and Christine.
I shivered in the new appreciation of its meaning. Every time I spoke it, I renewed my commitment to him. Reminded him I was with him by choice. Had given control to him. Confirmed I wanted him.
Had a six-letter word ever carried so much meaning?
He took my hand. “Come with me.”
We walked. I wasn’t sure where we were going. We weren’t leaving, were we? I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in the playroom. I wanted Nathaniel to take me, to use me, to . . .
But it was his choice, and if he wanted us to leave, he’d have good reason.
He pulled us to a stop. I didn’t think it was near the door. It was hard to get my bearings, but I thought we were near the wall opposite the door.
“Undress,” he said, dropping my hand.
I’d undressed for him numerous times, as both his lover and his submissive, but it seemed different somehow. More intense.
I imagined him watching as I hooked my thumbs into my waistband.
“Top first.”
I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. It fell to the floor and, almost immediately, his hands were on me. Walking me backward until my back hit something wooden.
His thumbs rubbed my nipples, and I bit the inside of my cheek. His mouth ran softly across my neck. “You did so well this morning. I’m so proud of you.”
I couldn’t tell what made me happier—his hands and mouth on me or his praise.
“I’m so proud. I decided to give you a little reward.” His hands took one of my wrists and locked it into a soft cuff above my head. He repeated the action to the other wrist, and his teeth grazed my earlobe. “By fucking you
