He inhaled slowly, taking in her natural scent, noticing no chemicals altered it. Good, she’d obeyed him. Of course, she chose what she did and did not do on her own with no regard for him. She probably complied because of safety reasons and not because he’d ordered her to.
All of that was ending now.
“You will not speak unless spoken to. I don’t want anything breaking my concentration. I would gag you, but I don’t want anything unnecessary on your body. If I ask you a question, I expect a respectful answer. If it’s not ‘Yes, Master,’ it better be something just as appropriate. If you don’t comply, I will gag you anyway. Do you understand?”
She trembled. “Yes, Master.”
He gave her a curt nod before stepping to the foot of the bed. He reached down and pulled up shackles that were connected to it and closed them around each of her ankles. Her legs shook as he spread them, using the chain as leverage until secured to the bed. Her thighs would not be able to close. She’d be completely exposed to him. Looking his fill before he chastised himself, he mentally ordered his body not to fall victim to her allure again. Next, he moved to her wrists and secured them above her head before sitting in the chair beside her.
“What we’re about to engage in is fire fleshing. Technically, it’s consider edge play because the flame can get out of hand, which makes this dangerous. But I believe it’s pretty tame compared to other edgy style play. If using the proper precautions, then it’s as safe as any other kink.” He rattled off the description because it was the right thing to do. Even though they’d discussed this before, he was still her Dom in this scene, and he wanted her fully aware of what they’d be engaging in. “What’s your safe word?”
“Red, Master.”
His teeth snapped shut. He didn’t like hearing her use that term with him. He’d demanded it because he wanted her kept at a distance, but once he’d accepted her calling him by his given name, he liked it so much more. To any sub at the club, he was Master. She was the only one to ever call him Mason.
“The only time you are allowed to speak to me without being prompted is if you have to use that word. No other.”
He twisted, grabbed a fire wand, and lit it. The flame was high, and her tummy tensed as he neared her.
“Relax.”
He swiped it across her skin and followed with his bare hand, soothing any sting. The fire barely made contact with her. It was just enough to shock and confuse the senses. He continued this pattern for several minutes, and she jumped a few times, but he knew any discomfort she felt was mild. As with much of BDSM, it was a mental game more than anything. After she was sufficiently primed, he snuffed the stick and retrieved a thin Kevlar tipped tool and the can of hair mousse from the side table. She’d done really well with bouncing. Now he was going to try streaking. He shook the can but stole a glance at her. She was frowning at what he had. He could explain to her the alcohol content in it was sufficient for his needs or that he liked the control it gave him when creating designs, but he chose to leave her wondering instead.
After double checking the bowl of ice water and towels beside him were in reach, he began to spray the mousse onto her abdomen. She flinched at the cool sensation, and his gut reaction had been to caress her, let her know she was doing a good job.
He didn’t. Just the desire to do so infuriated him. He had her bound to his bed and her life literally in his hands. He spelled out liar on her flesh before he realized he’d done it, then he lit it and watched it flame. She gasped, and he wiped it away. He touched the wand to it a few more times in some of the places until the alcohol was completely gone. Then he spelled the same word out again with the mousse.
“Do you like what I’m doing to you?”
“Yes, Master.”
He set the fire wand to the word and watched as it ignited. He snuffed out the remaining flame before spelling the same word again. He repeated this process a few more times in the same area, but not exactly over the same spot. The last time, she moaned a little and he dared a glance between her legs.
“You’re wet, pet.” He chose a different word to spell on the tender skin at the apex of her thighs. “Are you wet for me?”
“Yes, Master,” she panted. Her hips lifted off the bed.
“Be still,” he barked. She whimpered, but dropped back to the bed. “My name looks beautiful above your pussy.” Then he lit it, and she wailed. When he rubbed his hand over the spot to soothe the burn, he let his fingers trail lower, massaging the skin, pulling it taut so it teased her clit. “You don’t get to come, Shelby. Only good girls get to come.”
He slapped her labia.
“Oh God,” she groaned softly, and tossed her head back and forth.
“You’ll be punished for speaking when I get done,” he said calmly.
“But,” she sputtered, and his glare flew up to her.
“Now you’ll be spanked and have to see to my pleasure without getting to enjoy the same privilege. Keep it up, Shelby. I’ll torture you all fucking day.” Jesus, he’d had no intention of getting off on this, but watching her squirm around had made him harder than steel. He was holding back the desire to yank his pants off and fuck her where she lay.
She squeezed her lips into her mouth,
