His hands rested upon her shoulders. Although his touch was light, it forestalled her from turning.
“As a writer, I’m sure you are consumed by curiosity.”
It was a statement, not a question. Likely for the first time in her life, she held her tongue.
“Good girl,” he murmured, as if he knew how hard it was for her to remain silent. She felt the heat of him behind her, the warmth of his hands on her. It soothed even as it made her nervous and she wondered for a moment at the duality. She, who was clear-headed, level thinking, and as she had been told on numerous occasions, nosy, was standing quiescent as a stranger touched her.
“So, you’re here to answer more questions. I wonder if those questions are for your vast legions of readers, or aimed deeper? Are you asking about the lifestyle,” he paused, the slight tinge of annoyance in his voice the only indication of how she had affronted him last night.
“Or are you curious as to your reactions to being controlled, and your response to pain? You, a forward-thinking, liberal woman, being submissive? How could those two pieces fit together within you?”
There was another pause, and his finger caressed the side of her neck.
“Was there, I wonder, a certain slight longing to feel the weight and tension of a collar about your own neck?”
His hands slid up, his fingers encircling her throat. There was tightness in the grasp, and her nerves jangled. Yet, along with the racing beat in her chest, she felt a tingle deep inside her belly. Was it his words, or his actions, that were making her quiver?
“So many questions, little one, and so few ways to get them answered, except to beard the lion in his den.” His voice had gone from silky to humor. So many different messages contained there. She’d heard the hunter, and the hunger. She’d heard too, the dominant.
“Do you like hurting women?”
The words all but fell out of her lips. His fingers remained around her throat, not reacting to them at all.
“In here, or in my home? Of course I do! It makes my cock rock-hard to put a woman through an ordeal that the vanilla world would call abuse. In here? It’s a dance. It’s a hunger. It’s a need for the women that I play with, as well as for me.”
Another pause, another flip of her belly as his fingers flexed around her neck, a caress reminiscent of a tickle. She felt goosebumps erupt down the back of her neck, and the sudden clench of her nipples as they rose, hard.
“Play? It didn’t look like a game to me.”
Was that her voice? Soft and breathless, she sounded unlike the strong and capable woman who had left her house such a short while ago.
“Make no mistake, little girl; while there is fun, for all parties, it isn’t a game. We do what makes us feel. For some of us it feels good. For others, it hurts. Pleasure is found on each side of the pain, for giver and receiver. We come together to feed our various desires. Understand, little girl, that this need, whatever it may be for each of us, is as integral to who we are as the color of our eyes.”
She swallowed, knowing that his fingers would feel the bobble. There was heat under his fingers, heat against her fragile flesh, a flush of something that ran down to her breasts, and arrowed down to her folds.
She wanted to deny that just this. . .this barely-there touch, and his simple truths, had any effect upon her. That said, she was nothing if not scrupulously honest, even with herself. That was why she was thrice-divorced, and currently very unattached. Men, at least the men she had been with, didn’t appreciate her bare-bones honesty.
“Okay. I’m….curious. I wonder why she let herself get whipped. I wonder why you touching my nipples made me have an orgasm.”
“I didn’t touch your nipples.”
The protest bubbled up immediately.
“You most certainly did!”
His laugh was a hot gust of air against the back of her head. He was so close to her. The tremor zipped up her spine, tightened her nipples, and made her lower folds swell. There was the familiar ache of long-suppressed desire. And the new longing for the feelings he’d stirred to life last night. It had been so long since a man had made her want this way.
“Touch is far too mild a word for what I did to your tits. I hurt your nipples. I tugged them, pinched them, rolled them. I felt them crush beneath my fingers, felt them rising and begging for more. Felt the stress and tremble in your skin as I twisted them, and the shivers that passed through you as I did. I enjoyed your reactions to the pain…your lovely round bottom pushing back into me, your soft gasps, the scent of your hair coupled with the smell of arousal seeping up from between your legs, and the arch of your body as you spurted cum into your proper panties. No, little girl, I didn’t ‘touch’ your nipples. What I touched was the beginning of something new.”
His hands fell away from her throat. His words stirred something deep and dark and powerful within her. She expected him to touch her breasts again, just as he’d finished describing. It was hard to admit that she hoped for it, lusted for it. A quiver of anticipation flared through her as she waited for that touch. Nothing happened. She took a deep breath, preparing to turn to face him. Yet, he stood so close that doing so would have meant taking a step away. Before she could move, his hands fell to her hips, holding her still.
“Are you ready to explore more? You may find answers to some of your questions. You may find unexpected questions, and certainly interesting answers.”
She nodded, as much to herself as to him.
“Yes. I-I would like to find out more.”
His hands slid from her hips, yet moments later, they were over her shoulders again. He was lifting a thick, mask-like blindfold to her face.
“B-but…how will I….”
“shhhhh,” he cautioned her. “It’s time to let your body listen.”