Ultra Violet (2 page)

She held eye contact, looking steadily up into that steely,
confident face. Her discomfort hadn’t quite melted away. She was still, if not
angry, then maybe a little hurt, a little resentful…an uncomfortable bundle of
confusion and uncertainty. She wanted to push the feelings away, to be Greg’s
good girl again, but it was harder than s would have anticipated.

She swallowed heavily, waiting for him to tell her what to
do, because there was no way
she
was going to ask him for a single damn
thing at this moment. Besides, she needed it. She needed him to tell her, to
give her the comfort of her role and her job—needed him to be her Master.

Greg smiled at her—just a little curl to the corner of his
lips, a softness almost at odds with the flint in his expression—and Emily felt
herself start to melt.

“Get your collar from your bag, little one. Get it and bring
it to me in the bedroom. Yes?”

That familiar pitch of comfortable excitement swelled inside
her—the feeling that came with knowing what was coming next, even if she didn’t
know precisely what it would involve. No wand tonight, but Master would still
have his pleasure…she could give him that and she could make him proud. After
all, she was his.

Emily nodded, her head tilting slightly as Greg moved his
hand away as though she could follow his touch.

“Yes, Master.”

His smile broadened. “Good girl.”

Emily’s hands shook a little as she took the velvet bag from
her purse and slipped the smooth metal ring from inside it. Her collar was
discreet and subtle enough that it looked like a solid silver choker—the kind
she could have worn out to the restaurant. She didn’t wear it outside though.
It was a symbol, a private thing meant for the two of them and no one else.

She knew as soon as the collar was fastened around her neck,
the comforting
snick
of the clasp would start her slipping down into subspace,
reminding her that she had nothing to fear. Tonight more than ever she wanted
that security, so she closed her fingers tightly on the cool metal and hurried
into Greg’s bedroom.

He was waiting for her, his arms folded across his chest and
his gaze fixed lazily on her as she entered the room. Emily smiled, feeling
cosseted and protected by that look, and maybe just a little silly for reacting
the way she had to the wand…not that she would ever have admitted it.

Still, she knew Master would never hurt her, never push her
past any limit she had not agreed to test.

She held out the collar, watching Greg take it from her
hands with his lean, strong fingers. His scent filled the space between them,
his warmth and proximity blotting out her uncertainty. They didn’t speak. There
was nothing he needed to say to make her understand.

Emily turned, lifting her hands to swipe her hair out of the
way as Greg unsnapped the collar and brought the sleek, silvery ring to her
neck. She held her breath, closed her eyes…let all the tension seep from her
body as Master’s arms encircled her. He leaned in close to fasten the collar
and the coolness of the metal roused a shiver from her skin.

Emily smiled as the collar
snicked
closed, the metal
already beginning to warm against her neck, his lips grazing the sensitive spot
behind her ear.

“Take your dress off, little one,” he murmured. “Slowly. Let
me see.”

Her smile widened, lips curving lazily as her body segued
into smooth, easy obedience. She stepped away from him, presenting herself for
him, holding eye contact as she began the leisurely dance of shedding her
clothes.

Greg watched her unzip her dress, her arms bowed like a
dancer’s as she stretched to reach the zipper, then she shimmied out of the
black fabric. His gaze seemed warm on her skin and Emily’s nipples peaked
beneath the lace of her bra, her pussy already flushed with heat and hunger.

She moved easily, languidly…this part of the game took no
thought. It was the collection of little moments in which she laid herself bare
for him, relinquishing control inch by inch until Master held her completely in
his grasp, both figuratively and literally.

He waited until she was down to her underwear before he
withdrew a coil of rope from the nightstand. Emily toed off her shoes, biting
at her lower lip with anticipation. The collar had warmed against her skin, its
weight a comforting reminder of her role, its surface a silky caress on her
neck.

She watched Master tease the free end of the rope in his
fingers, his gaze succinctly appraising her body.

“Go on, little one. Take it all off. Then bend over and show
me that sweet, tight ass.”

She shivered, obeying without thought or question, even when
her fingers stumbled on the hooks of her bra. She wanted the rope. She wanted
him to tie her, use her…render her helpless and drive her crazy.

It was one of the things he did best, better than anybody.

Greg had a real talent with rope. He could get her any way
he wanted with it, but it wasn’t all about the rigging. It started with his voice,
with the way he could make her so calm and pliant just by the soothing timbre
of his words, and before she knew it Emily would find herself being wrapped in
beautiful loops of soft, white nylon rope.

That was how it happened now. His words had her snared long
before he touched her, but she knew it was coming and she couldn’t keep from
staring at the rope in his hands…waiting for its kiss against her skin.

She stripped naked—it was hard to feel as sexy getting out
of pantyhose as it was stockings, but she did her best—and bent over as he’d
asked, letting her gaze rest on the soft carpet as Master surveyed her bare
body.

Emily bit her lip as Greg’s warm hand caressed the curve of
her ass, then slapped lightly at the soft flesh. The movement reverberated
throughout her center, setting off quivers of pleasure and an aching need that
was hard to ignore. She fidgeted, not really holding her position the way he’d
asked her to, and perhaps part of her hoped that Master would punish her for
it.

Greg just chuckled and squeezed her butt fondly. “Put your
arms behind your back, little one. I want your wrists now.”

Emily obeyed, her pulse rising as he gripped her arms
firmly, pulling them back behind her so he held her securely…helplessly. She
closed her eyes as the soft rope engulfed her wrists, smiling quietly to
herself as he cinched it tighter.

“Very nice,” Greg murmured, his fingers stroking the back of
her arm as he traveled over her flesh with knots and bights, reacquainting
himself with every inch of her.

Emily let a long, slow breath slide between her lips, trying
to hold firm under his touch. He did this when he bound her—touched and stroked
and woke a fire in every part of her, just with his hands and his voice.

“Can’t keep my hands off you, little one,” he purred and she
leaned her head back, the weight of her collar a soothing bloom at her throat
as Greg moved her toward the bed.

She let him bind her, moving and positioning her as he
wished until finally she was lying facedown on his bed, hogtied with her ankles
and wrists together, her elbows pulled in and her whole body arched like a bent
penny. Greg’s sheets smelled of synthetic jasmine fabric softener, and every
inch of her skin tingled from the touch of his hands as he’d bound her, petting
her while he tied her, making every truss and knot a gesture of sweetness.

Emily wriggled on the pale-blue coverlet, unable to free
herself and, frustratingly, unable to see him. He was behind her, she knew. She
could hear him stripping out of his suit and she wanted to watch that, but he’d
slipped a small ball gag between her lips, so she couldn’t even complain about
her enforced view of his headboard.

She flexed her wrists against the rope as she heard him
approach the bed, squeezing her buttocks, tensing her thighs…every muscle cried
out to be touched, and Emily gave vent to a loud groan when she finally felt
his fingers close around her ankle.

Greg chuckled softly. He liked to tease her like this—these
cruelly wanton little touches that lasted for minutes but felt as though they
went on for hours. His fingertips tickled the soles of her feet, skimmed the
length of her calves, her bound arms…toyed along her shoulders and wound
themselves in her hair, pulling it firmly until she was obliged to tilt her
neck back, increasing the bent curve of her body even farther. Her collar
nudged at her throat, not enough to pinch but enough to remind her indisputably
of its presence. The stretch throughout her frame flushed warmth and vigor into
Emily’s limbs and she groaned again around the gag, sinking her teeth into the
rubber ball as her eyes widened.

She was wet already. She knew that, and knew that Master
knew it.

Her nipples chafed against the bedclothes, her lips tingling
hungrily as his touch seared her skin, and she would have begged if it hadn’t
been for the gag. The rope, for all its security and its sensuousness, silenced
the language of her body too, no matter how hard she tried to part her thighs,
but her pussy’s pleas were clear. A ragged, choked gasp left Emily’s throat as
Master’s strong fingers pressed into her slit.

“Let’s see how wet you are for me, little one. My…
very
wet. Such a sweet, hot pussy. And this pretty little clit.”

He pressed his thumb down hard on the nub in question and
she tried to buck against him, thwarted by her bonds. Greg chuckled and rubbed
lazily along the length of her slit, never dipping fully between her lips,
content to tease her with the growing weight of her own frustration.

Emily growled against her gag. He knew what being bound this
way did to her. She got off so hard on being turned-on—wanting his cock,
wanting that uninhibited, wild fucking he could give her, and not being able to
get to it—that she would fight the very ropes that gave her the security to
be
so excited. And he knew just how to drive her crazy. He would tease and tease,
touch her and taunt her gently with her own desire until she was half out of
her head with need, and only then would he let her have it.

Tonight it was worse than ever. All her resentment, her
frustration and anger over the violet wand seemed suddenly redoubled as she lay
there, tied and helpless. Emily bit deep into the gag, squirming as Master’s
fingers toyed with her pussy, hot pleasure pooling under his touch and yet
never given full vent. It seemed to take an age until he finally thrust two
fingers into her, dragging a squeak from her throat and an involuntary shudder
from her flesh.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, bending low over her
back, his heat and proximity blinding her to everything but the desire she felt
for him. “Need it? Need this cock?”

Emily bared her teeth, groaning violently around the gag,
fighting the ties that bound her and barely even aware of the soft, white, pure
rope chafing at her skin. He took hold of her by the thighs, dragging her with
ease across the bed, and she panted heavily, still fighting him because it
wasn’t fast enough, it wasn’t hard enough… She heard the rustle of the condom
wrapper, still nothing but the pale-blue bedclothes and the pine headboard in
front of her. Visions of his body peopled her head—she could see every detail
of his broad, strong frame, his thick, heavy cock. Her breaths came in gulps as
her pussy shivered in anticipation. It almost seemed as if she could feel him
already, driving within her, hard and relentless. She felt his warmth, his
touch, the solidity of him behind her as he pushed her thighs apart, pulling
her that little bit farther off the edge of the bed.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw stars, hardly
daring to breathe even though her lungs ached for air. The tip of Master’s cock
pressed between her lips and she pushed back hungrily, desperate to feel him
fill her.

But he didn’t. He stayed like that, tormenting her until she
screamed in frustration, his grip on her bound arms driving her as wild as her
inability to break free.

Fuck me
, she wanted to beg, to yell, to plead…and
somehow that soul-deep, burning need became tied up with the resentful,
shameful guilt from earlier, tainted with her anger and uncertainty. Greg
finally thrust into her, opening her pussy and breaking through the walls of
her defenses, and Emily hollered through her gag, tears and saliva wetting her
face. She clutched at his cock, her walls fluttering against his strokes as he
sheathed himself in her over and over again, his rhythm ceaseless and certain.

This was her gift to him. As he used her, fucked her,
pounded into her, she yielded to his need and lost herself in its tide. It was
all she could do to hold on, the ache of her position long eroded by the
consuming intensity of his thrusts, and she couldn’t hold back the searing,
violent climax that soon poured through her flesh, washing away the guilt, the
recriminations…pretty much all forms of coherent thought.

When he was done, Greg untied her and they slid beneath the
bedclothes. He petted her again, soothing life and comfort back into all of her
sore, stiff joints and muscles and giving her a safe, solid place to float back
to.

In turn, as she lay across his chest, tucked into the
comfortable seclusion of his arms, Emily pressed close to him, content and
happy to share this time with him…to yield her submission to him and show him
that he too was loved, cared for and trusted.

In that soft, silent part of the night, just before sleep
stole over her, she supposed that, just maybe, trying out the wand wouldn’t be
so bad.

Not as long as it was with
him
.

Of course, by the time the weekend came around, Emily was
vacillating again.

She almost decided to call Greg and tell him she couldn’t
make it, but the desire to see him was far stronger than her nervousness.
Besides, Emily hated to cancel plans. In the time they had been
together—everything inching along at this slow, careful pace because he was so
keen to let her go as gently as she needed to, even when what she wanted was
fast and rough—she could count on one hand the number of times she’d canceled a
date. Time with Master was important to Emily…even if she wasn’t sure she was
going to enjoy the wand.

He told her to arrive early, setting her the task of
preparing them both a meal. Emily was glad of that. It gave her something to
focus on, enabling her to put the wand out of her mind for a little while, and
she did enjoy cooking for Master.

Greg told her to stay her in the kitchen while he set up the
table, and she thought that was a little odd, worried for a moment that he was
going to prepare some elaborate kind of predicament for her…but she needn’t
have been concerned.

As Emily brought in the seared salmon steaks, salad and lime
dressing she’d made, she caught her breath at the transformation he’d effected
in the sitting room. The little round table beside his bookcases had been
covered with a white cloth, a narrow glass vase housing a single red rose in
its center, and he’d dimmed the lights, the room filled with the warm glow of
several candles that stood on the coffee table. Their dancing flames flickered,
sending shadows spilling along the walls, and the softening wax gave off a
slight fragrance of jasmine, reminding her of the way his sheets smelled and
waking delicious memories beneath her skin.

Greg pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit. Emily
set the plates down and obeyed, her gaze fixed on the velvety petals of the
rose. She smiled at the realization this was probably his way of making up for
Valentine’s Day. Today she had her flowers, her romantic meal…and everything
would be okay.

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his briefly
before he picked up his fork. The reflected candlelight glimmered in his eyes,
turning their bluish gray to the color of rain-dampened stone.

“You know there are lots of different types of electricity,
right?” he said quietly. “It’s not about pain. It won’t hurt. It
can
hurt, sure, but that metal tip? That’s like real edge play stuff, baby. We’re
not going to do that. I’m not going to ask you to do that. You understand?”

Emily nodded. She believed him. She trusted him. Her
apprehension remained, but the cold edge of fear had begun to fade and as they
ate he was patient with her, his every word and movement calculated for
kindness. It was a form of seduction, she supposed—a seduction that had never
been part of the early days of their relationship, when he’d wanted her to find
her own way to him, instead of exerting his influence over her. She enjoyed it.
She liked the attention Greg was paying her, and the pains he went to in order
to make her feel this at ease. By the time they got to dessert—just two
store-bought slices of vanilla cheesecake to finish off what had been a very light
meal, because nobody wanted to get athletic on a full stomach—Emily felt so
calm, so cherished and wrapped in the security of his presence that she’d
almost forgotten ever being afraid.

Greg topped off her glass of sparkling wine. She’d drunk
less than half of it and he was staying on water, but the bubbles made her
smile and the alcohol had ironed away a little of her earlier unease.

He talked as they ate. He’d been talking the whole time,
bewitching her with his voice as he laid out his explanations of how the violet
wand worked, how it would crackle and glow as the electricity flooded the
smooth glass probes and how the current would be controlled. She knew he meant
to reassure her, to demonstrate his understanding and show her he was
completely in control…but Emily already knew
that
. He was her Master.
Whether he knew it or not, there were times when he controlled almost every
thought in her head. She had no doubt at all that, whatever he intended to do
to her tonight, he had every detail taken care of. She would have expected
nothing less.

She sipped her wine, feeling the flush of anticipation in
her cheeks as the bubbles prickled on her tongue. Greg raised his eyebrows.

“Are you ready, little one?”

Emily swallowed heavily. As ready as she’d ever be, she
supposed. Who knew? Maybe it wouldn’t be bad. Maybe it would be good.
He
made everything better just by being there, and even if she still wasn’t crazy
about the electricity, she was comforted by the knowledge she was doing
something he’d asked of her. She was his good girl, his eager playmate, ready
to rise to the challenges he set her and acknowledging that together they could
push the boundaries of her experiences. And instead of just being afraid, she
could learn from them.

Put like that, Emily had to admit it sounded less scary, but
she still wanted to take her glass of wine with her into the bedroom.

* * * * *

Master started off slowly this time, not like the fervid
rush of last weekend, when he’d wanted so badly to possess her and she’d fed
off his energy and off her own conflicted feelings. He let Emily finish her
wine, then had her shed her clothes for him while he wound a soft spool of
white nylon rope between his hands, his gaze devouring each inch of skin as she
disrobed.

She didn’t have her collar on this time and at first she
missed it, but Greg suggested she leave it off. The collar denoted special
things to both of them, and tonight was about exploration. If Emily wanted to
stop or slow things down or change what was happening, she must feel she had
the freedom to do so without worrying about disappointing him.

Put like that, Emily felt better both about the prospect of
the wand and her bare throat, and she smiled as Master prompted her to remove
each garment.

She moved with careful precision, facing away from him as
she unzipped her dress, letting the dark fabric fall away, baring her back
before she unhooked her bra, slipping the straps from her shoulders. She slid
out of the dress, her nipples peaking despite the air’s warmth, and heat pooled
in the base of her belly. Her skin tingled until she was fairly convinced it
was the physical sensation of Master’s gaze tracing her flesh.

Emily shivered as she removed her panties, letting them slide
down her legs and drop to the floor. She was naked, open to him, bared and
vulnerable. She wanted to turn around and see his face but she waited with her
head half turned, her gaze fixed on the carpet. She could hear his soft
footfalls as he moved on the other side on the room.

“Very nice, little one,” he said quietly, and she couldn’t
stop herself from smiling. “Turn around and put your arms up.”

Emily obeyed. The lights were dimmed in here too, and Greg
had brought in a couple of the candles from the sitting room, maintaining that
warm, comforting glow. She raised her arms above her head and watched the
shadows dance on the walls as he came to her, the beautiful white rope trailing
in his hands. She gasped as he slipped it around her waist, sliding the loop up
her back and then holding it taut in one hand—as if it were a leash to pull her
close. With the other, he reached out to caress her breasts. Emily’s eyelids
fluttered closed as his warm, strong fingers skimmed her skin, the pad of his
thumb rubbing gentle circles across her left nipple. She had often wished her
breasts were bigger, but the care and attention he lavished on them pushed all
those thoughts right out of her mind.

“Open your eyes,” Greg murmured.

She did so, gazing up into his rough-hewn face. The
candlelight had daubed shadows across his cheeks, hollowed out his eyes and
painted a dark curve beneath his mouth. He looked proud, strong…hungry. Every
submissive impulse in her quivered with the desire to melt into his hands, but
Emily stayed as he’d asked her to, with her arms held up, her back straight and
her thighs pressed together against the warmth pooling between her lips. The
position might have been awkward if she’d been with anyone else, but somehow
Greg managed to make her feel graceful. Something in the alchemy of submission
changed her, made her act the way she wanted to believe he saw her, and it made
her feel beautiful.

Greg pinched her nipple, drawing a soft gasp from her, and
smiled.

“I’m going to bind you, and then you’re going to lie on the
bed where I will tie you down. Then we will begin.”

The pulse jumped at the base of her throat and she breathed
deeply, trying to catch the smell of his skin against her tongue. She wanted
nothing more at that moment than for him to kiss her, but he lowered his head,
focused on adjusting the bight of the rope.

“Turn around again, little one. I need to make sure this is
secure.”

Emily pivoted on her bare feet, staring at the white
woodwork of his bedroom door while he began to work on the pearl harness that
would cosset her breasts. Master looped the robe around her torso, holding it
firmly so it wouldn’t slip and settling it just beneath her bust, with the
bight in the center of her back. He passed the open ends of the rope through
the loop, then up over her shoulders like straps, allowing them to hang down
her chest, brushing against her flesh. Emily shivered in anticipation as he
moved around her, taking hold of the rope’s loose ends in one hand and looping
them through the first line of the harness, forming a knot between her breasts.

From there, he moved behind her again, taking the loose ends
over her shoulders—every touch a subtle caress—and working a knot at the back
of the harness, creating the second line of rope that would pass around the top
of her bust, pinching her breasts between the bonds until they stood out like a
pair of swollen pearls.

It was a simple enough
shinju
, similar to the body
harnesses he sometimes allowed her to wear beneath her clothes. While Emily
enjoyed that naughtiness, the secret of having his work next to her skin when
they went out for a meal or to a movie, she loved this even more. The pearl
harness started out feeling comfortable—she would barely notice it in the
beginning—but gradually, as her arousal built, her breasts would strain within
the bonds, peaking with tingling flame.

As Master continued with his knots and wraps, Emily’s
nipples tightened almost as much as her stomach, tingling with the anticipation
of what would come. She loved the way he tied her, and she loved this
especially—the tension of the rope hugging her, biting into her soft flesh.
Never tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to make her remember to whom she
belonged.

She rocked gently with Greg’s movements, each tug and
tightening of the rope encircling her ever more snugly. He pressed close behind
her to complete his work, and Emily suppressed a shiver at his proximity,
feeling the heat of his body against her bare back, the subtle skate of his
thigh against the curve of her ass. He wore black jeans and a black button-down
shirt and as he reached around her she felt the whisper of fabric against her
skin. She wondered if he was hard, and she was very tempted to push her ass
back against him, eager to feel his cock pressed into her…but Master was trying
to concentrate and she had to be patient.

He kissed the back of her neck as he turned her around again
to finish the knot at the front between her bound, pinched breasts, and her
eyes closed again, the breath leaving her in a long sigh, part gratitude and
part frustration, because she wanted more of him and yet he was already moving
away.

“You can put your arms down now, little one. Come along. On
the bed.”

Emily was a little disappointed that she wouldn’t be given
any more rope. She enjoyed being his canvas and she knew—especially once she
saw the look in Greg’s eyes and that proud little half-smile gracing his
lips—just how much he loved working on her.

As she positioned herself on the bed, arms and legs
obediently splayed where he showed her, the realization that he wanted as much
of her skin bare as possible in order to use the wand upon it set off another
skittering of anxiety in her. Emily licked her lips nervously, watching with
quickening breaths as Master wove effortless cat’s paws around her wrists and
ankles, then tied the shackles securely to the corners of the bed frame. She
wriggled experimentally, more because it was something she always did than
because she genuinely wanted to test the bindings, but perhaps Greg picked up
some lingering hint of tension in her movement.

“Do you want to fight it, little one?” he asked softly,
reaching down to stroke her hair.

Emily caught her breath. She hadn’t realized her heart had
been beating so hard or that her gasps were so audible. She pressed her head
into his hand, trying hard to rest her cheek against his palm, and that
familiar impulse to fidget began to bloom in her. She wanted him—wanted
closeness and contact and his hands on her—but she couldn’t get to him. She
couldn’t reach, couldn’t move more than a tiny bit except for the center line
of her body, and she bucked against the mattress once or twice, lifting her
hips and squeezing her shoulder blades together. Her bound breasts stood at
sharp attention, the warm air skimming her nipples like a knife, and Master
regarded her coolly with that shadow-shrouded face, his fingers trailing slowly
over her chest.

“Better?” he asked as she stilled, panting a little now
she’d exhausted her initial struggles.

Emily nodded and he smiled.

“That’s my girl. You always have to fight it first, right?”

He stroked the curve of her waist, his palm so strong and
warm against the sensitive places along her sides, and bent his fingers to
tickle her just under her bottom rib. She twitched and twisted and they shared
in the bubbling of smiles and laughter that rose between them.