She had always thought of herself as a chameleon of sorts. In her opinion, a good reporter blended into the background, able to morph into the scenario capturing information and impressions as if she was a part of it all.
She had no frame of reference for being suddenly blindfolded and led across the room. It seemed so much bigger when she could not see where she was going. She moved stiffly with her hand outstretched.
“I’m not planning on walking you into a wall, you know.”
His voice did curious things to her. Something in his tone, his inflection, the very tenor of it made her melt a little inside. Perhaps it was what he’d done to her last night. Perhaps it was his -. She, a wordsmith, could not think of one word that summed him up adroitly. She’d need a magazine spread to explain him, to explain her feelings when around him.
His hand left her shoulder and she stopped moving. Yet in seconds that same hand rose to grab a fistful of hair at the back of her head propelling her forward once more.
“Perhaps this is motivation for you to walk normally?”
Her nipples crinkled into tight, sensitive nubs. After her initial gasp of shock, her lips pressed together as if to assuage the sudden sliver of desire that shot into her core.
“Yes,” she said, her voice returned to that breathless whisper from last night.
“Protocol would advocate that you should address me as Sir when you respond. Lucky for you, little girl, I’m not one to stand on ceremony. You will hear others address me that way. You are not my sub, but a seeker. We’ll worry about forms of proper address if you continue down this path, hmm?”
She tried to bob her head yes, forgetting his hand was buried in her hair. Wincing, trying to not yelp at the tug on her scalp, she muttered a quick “yes, okay.”
He stopped moving a second before she did, once more eliciting a sharp “OUCH” from her.
“That’s better. Don’t hold back when I hurt you. I enjoy it.”
She frowned at him.
He laughed for a moment, then leaned against her. His voice was low and silk-smooth in her ear.
“You’ll learn, little one, that holding back is a form of dishonesty. I demand total honesty from any submissive that I play with.”
His finger pressed against her lips. How had he known she was about to speak, she wondered.
“How else can I judge how much more you can take? Whether it is whipping or spanking or multiple orgasms, your tone, your cries are part of what I base my actions on.”
Did she imagine it, or had his tongue just touched the top whorl of her ear. She shivered, felt an immediate dampening between her legs.
“And of course, your yelps of pain do incite a certain reaction for me, as well.”
He took her hand, placing it against his groin for a moment. Long enough for her to feel the hardness growing there. All that from one hair-pulled yelp? Or perhaps he got off on the control he was exercising over her, as well as her reactions to him. That was an interesting thought to pursue. She drew a deeper breath, prepared now to launch a series of questions.
His finger pressed harder against her lips, silencing her yet again, then slid away. Her lips plumped as she felt the rush of blood where his finger had been. There was an answering rush deep within her belly. It amazed that these simple little touches had such an effect.
Her pussy throbbing, her body poised for his next move, she discovered that she had no idea what to say after all.