He had led her carefully across the room, giving her the names of some of the items, but not much else.
Of course, the spanking bench was rather obvious, though she did wonder at the supposed allure of having one’s bottom paddled. She looked at, then quickly averted her eyes from, the neat row of assorted paddles.
No. Fucking. Way.
Yet, here she stood in front of the St. Andrews Cross, his hand fisted in her hair, the other carefully holding her hand.
And her body was electric with …she didn’t dare even think the word aloud. She wasn’t a kinky gal. She liked sex, sure. But normal sex, whatever that was. Wasn’t she too old to even think about this strange lifestyle.
For she saw, now, that it very much was a lifestyle, over and above the kink aspects of the sex.
As much as it was about sex, it was about the balance of control. The Dominant who guided his submissive through a scene, and the submissive who gave her, or in some cases, him self up into the care of their Dominant.
He said it was about power. She could see it. Feel it. He’d felt every inch in power as he had massaged her back there on the bench, and was still holding that power, as evidenced by his grasp on her hair…and her lack of complaint.
She had, somewhere along the line, given her control up to Him. She wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but it had.
He pushed her up against the cross. The center of the X was at her waist. He lifted her arms, and bid her to grasp the straps on each extended arm of the giant wooden device. She felt his hands on her right ankle, guiding her foot to the proper width. Then she felt the tightening of a strap around the ankle, the steadiness of His hands as He worked silently.
She should have been quizzing him, that’s what reporters do. They ask questions and dig for answers. But for this time, it seemed as though silence was answering more than words were.
She gave herself up to the experience, just as she had when she first arrived, letting Him string her up in the suspension. After all, wasn’t this just a different format? It still made her accessible…her thoughts stopped short at that point.
Her right ankle was attached now, and she felt him shift and move behind her. The press of his body heat through the thin silk of her slacks was palpable. A fast shiver ran through her body, and His hand ran up her inner leg.
“You’re very turned on by this.”
It was a statement, and it just hung there. She didn’t know how to answer that. To say ‘no’ would be an outright lie. She could smell herself, feel the wetness pooling against her panties as she stood, splay-legged, pegged to the bottom half of the cross.
He stood slowly, drawing his hands up her body, until he was pressed up behind her, body laying against hers, His hands cupping her hands.
He made no move to affix these straps to her wrists.
She could feel ….a myriad of things, really. His control of the situation, of her body, and in part, her mind. His hands snugged over hers, holding and controlling her physically. His body upon hers suggested sex, yes, but once again, power.
Without words He was saying “I’m in control here.”
He stepped back. She felt the loss of Him immediately. The weight of a Man was a precious thing, she found herself thinking, coping with the feelings that whirled through her. Ridiculous to be so snared, so tangled up.
She was here for a story, after all. She cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but He was ready for that, and slipped a ball gag between her lips. She didn’t fight it. Her mouth opened, her cheeks feeling the pinch of the bridle as He tightened the gag.
“You did say you wanted to try it all, little one,” he said with a smile in his voice. He made a few final adjustments, making sure she could breath, but not speak, then stepped away.
Almost immediately she felt the drool begin to gather. Her tongue teased around the ball, but it was big, and took up more space than she would have thought. She couldn’t speak, could barely swallow, and she felt the first line of spit begin to string down from her parted mouth.
How fucking embarrassing was that?
The first slap against her ass caught her unaware.
“Flogger. Many leather ‘fingers’. Depending on how I use it, you’ll feel gentle pain, or if I choose, more intense sensations.”
He slapped again, not too hard, and she felt the sting. It hit her ass, and cupped around to her hip.
A very sharp blow in the same spot made her rise up a bit, gripping the leather straps and attempting to ‘get away’.
She moaned. The blow had slapped against her sounding like a rainstick, then the sting had blossomed into a burning heat. Her ass stung.
And her pussy wet further.
Another blow of the flogger on her lower back, then higher. These were softer, but still had impact. She moaned, and a long thick stream of drool flowed from her mouth. She could see the silvery trail of it down where it attached itself to her tee-shirt at the breast.
It made a fat, wet circle as the spit gathered there, absorbed by the soft cotton.
She cried out as that harsh blow struck against her ass and upper thigh. More soft blows fell upon her, His rhythm unsteady, incomprehensible.
It seemed that every time she started to relax into it, He’d strike her one of those heavy, pain-filled blows.
She felt the sticky wetness as the silk of her pants stuck to her left inner thigh. She saw the unending, gleaming trail of spit leaking from her gagged lips.
She was a sticky wet mess at both ends. It was kind of gross.
And a hell of a turn-on.