When Sir held out his hand, she let him help her up from the couch. She followed him over to a modified massage table that was standing upright at the moment. Once a submissive was strapped to the table, the Dom could tilt it so the sub could be placed in a variety of angles, with either their head or feet higher than the other, or lay them completely flat. Part of the table, where the sub’s legs would go, was split down the middle and could be separated, spreading the sub’s legs apart.
“Strip, then stand in front of the table and relax for a few moments, pet, while I collect some things for our scene.”
“Yes, Sir.”
While Sir rifled through his toy bag and several cabinets and drawers on the opposite side of the room, Tiffany quickly shed her clothes, folded them, then placed them on the couch. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she got her emotions back under control and the last of her tears had disappeared as she took her place in front of the table. She sniffled and realized she needed to blow her nose. “Permission to get a tissue, Sir.”
Without turning around, he replied, “Granted.”
On a nearby table, there was a stash of items a Dom or sub might need before, during, or after a scene, including condoms, baby wipes, and a box of Puffs. Tiffany snatched two tissues and blew her nose as quietly as possible. She hated when people honked so loudly everyone in the room turned to stare at them. A quick peek in a nearby mirror on the wall revealed no stray boogers were in view, so she tossed the tissues into the room’s garbage pail and returned to the massage table to await whatever Sir had in store for her.
Sir faced her, holding a set of headphones and a blindfold. A shiver coursed through her. Whatever he was planning didn’t include her ability to hear or see. She’d never lost both senses when playing before.
“I’m going to push a few of your limits tonight, pet. What’s your safeword?” When she responded, “red,” he stalked forward. “Eyes closed.”
Biting her bottom lip, she did as ordered and sensed when he came to a stop in front of her. She could hear his soft breathing, the cracking of his leather pants and vest as he moved, and the faint thumping of the music from behind the room’s closed door.
The first thing he did was put the blindfold over her eyes and secured it with a Velcro strap behind her head. Next came the bulky headphones over her ears. There was a click, as he activated the noise reduction switch, and then there was nothing but silence. Without her sight and hearing, she began to panic, but Sir ran his hands up and down her arms, then kneaded her shoulders. His lips brushed over her forehead, and the tension and fear ebbed from her body.
This was Sir, not Bruce. This was a man who’d showed her nothing but kindness and understanding. She could trust him with her body and mind but, unfortunately, not her heart. She couldn’t trust anyone with that. Not anymore. Anytime she’d ever given a man her love, eventually, it had been tossed aside like a piece of garbage. It’d started with her father and then had happened again with several of the men her mother had dated or married. Tiffany had stopped trying to get close to any of them, knowing there would come a time when they left for good, only to be replaced by someone new. That same self-preservation had carried over into her own relationships when she started dating. Usually, she was the one to end things before the guy had a chance to. But that had been before she’d discovered the BDSM lifestyle and had met Bruce, who she’d misjudged horribly. She’d taken a risk by opening her heart to him. It had been the worst thing she could’ve done, and she was still paying for that mistake.
Keeping one hand on her arm, grounding her, Sir did something behind her then urged her to step backward. When she made contact with the soft leather mat covering the table, there had been something else placed in the area where her ass and thighs rested. She recognized it as one of the towels that were in every room for the members’ use. More than once, Tiffany had wondered what detergent they washed the towels in because the fabric was softer than she could ever get her own towels at home to be, no matter how many fabric softeners she used.
While the towel still irritated her tender skin, it was better than sticking to the leather. Quickly and efficiently, Sir slipped her wrists and ankles into the attached restraints before wrapping a strap around her torso, then checked to make certain they weren’t too tight or too loose. Once she was secure, the table began to tilt backward. She gasped at the sudden weightless feeling before her body adjusted to the sensation. It kept moving, until it went past being parallel to the floor, then stopped when her head was lower than her feet, but not to where she felt she would slide off headfirst. Blood rushed to her head, making her slightly dizzy.
The entire time, at least one of Sir’s hands had been touching her, but now she felt their loss. The panic began to return. What if he left her there, naked and restrained?
“S-Sir?” While her own voice was muffled due to the noise cancellation feature, she still heard it, which meant she’d probably screamed it.
The headphone on her left ear was gently lifted, so she could hear again. “I haven’t left you, pet. I promise I would never leave you helpless like this. Relax and let me know when you’re good to go.”
Again, she was pulled back from the edge of hysteria, Sir’s soothing tone and words settling her down. “Yes, Sir. S-sorry. I-I’m green.”
“Good girl. You have permission to come anytime you need to.”
The headphone went back over her ear, and the silence resumed. Seconds ticked by, then something tickled the bottom of her foot. The touch was so light, she almost didn’t feel it. A feather. It was slowly teased up her leg and down the other. While once in a while it tickled so much her body jerked, she found the sensation erotic. It passed over her bare mound and moved upward over her abdomen toward her breasts. It flicked her taut nipples, and she moaned. The feather stroked her neck before skimming down one arm and then the other. While she was definitely getting turned on, it wasn’t enough.
Suddenly the feather was gone. Nothing happened for a long moment as Tiffany anticipated what would come next.
Pinpricks ran up the soles of her feet. She hissed. A Wartenberg pinwheel. Tiny little spikes on a rotating wheel.
The pain was sensual, erotic.
It hurt, but it didn’t.
It was torture.
Sweet, sweet torture.
The wheel rolled up her calf and thigh. Sir alternated the pressure, depending on the body part. Tiffany moaned, and her hips lifted involuntarily, but they didn’t get far due to the strap just above them. Pain and pleasure warred in her mind.
The wheel was lifted, then reappeared on her arm. Then it was gone again, only to start across the bottom swell of her breast. Sir made circles around one fleshy orb, growing closer and closer to the nipple. Tiffany squirmed.
She didn’t want this.
Oh, God, she did want this.
More!
No more!
Oh, please, more!
The spikes rolled across the tender nipple, and Tiffany screamed at the pleasure/pain that shot to her clit. Her pussy wept with need.
The wheel moved to her other breast, and the same pattern was repeated. Her body seized, her muscles rigid as the spikes neared their destination.
“Please, Sir! Oh, God, please!”
Her mind and body were spinning out of control. She had no idea what she was begging for. She wanted him to stop. She needed him to keep going. To take her higher until she dove into a sea of bliss.