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“Acting preemptively for praise?” I ask, moving to secure her wrists.
“Maybe.” Alena smirks up at me. “Or maybe I’m just happy you’re here.”
Interesting. “I don’t want to talk about my day. I want to play with you.”
Her eyes widen as I secure her last wrist, then I cup her face and gently swipe away her stray tears. She looks a little surprised, but the last thing I will do is tell her about her father. I plan to separate her from that as much as possible, and the last thing I need is for her to start feeling homesick.
Even if she claims to never want to go back there.
“You forgot to call me Sir,” I point out. Realization washes over her face, and she bites her lower lip. She calls to me as I turn away from her and walk back to the door where I left my bag.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
Taking three items from the bag, I turn and walk slowly back to her.
“You will be.”
Her chest hitches, and her eyes widen when she notices the candle I carry in one hand and the knife in the other. I expect to see fear in those honey-brown eyes, but instead, I’m met with curiosity. She licks her lips quickly, and her eyes dart back and forth between me and the items.
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes.
Within five minutes, the candle is lit and the wax is melting in soft, slow rolls down the stick. Settled between Alena’s legs, I maintain eye contact as the next fat drop of red wax finally drips from the stick and lands on the wax pattern across her abdomen. Alena arches from the bed and hisses out between clenched teeth, then she gasps softly and sinks back down onto the bed.
“Fuck,” she whimpers as her head tosses back and forth.
I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s a work of art, with her skin painted in whip marks, her shoulder bearing my bite mark, and now, she takes the hot wax in her stride. I’d started with my initials, dripping the wax like a brand over her abdomen, but now I’m aiming higher, toward her breasts. Just as the next drop of wax drips down and hits her skin, causing a rolling flinch, I finally pick up the knife.
“Are you scared?” I ask, turning the knife so it glints in the light.
While her eyes widen, Alena shakes her head with confidence.
“No, Sir,” she whimpers.
I tilt the knife and press the tip of the blade feather-light to the inside of her left thigh. Her leg flinches away immediately, and her breath hitches.
“How about now?”
“No.” She trembles and her voice quavers, but her eyes never leave mine.
As the wax drips, her next flinch is more subtle. Clearly, all her attention is on the blade as I trace the wider edge up her thigh toward her glistening pussy. It’s unclear whether she’s turned on from the blowjob, the wax, or simply being touched, but it matters little to me. I only care that her body is interested and her mind will follow.
“How about now?” I stop the blade half an inch from her pussy. Her hips rise up, her abdomen flexing before my eyes.
“No,” she whispers. I detect a hint of fear there, an uncertainty she’s trying to hide.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Maybe.”
I lift myself over her, flip the knife around in my hand, and slowly thrust the thick, black hilt inside her in one slow move. Alena’s eyes blow wide at the intrusion, and her body bows. Her hands curl into fists, and a yelp of surprise escapes her. Just as the flare of the knife bottoms out against her, more wax rolls from the candle and splatters down onto her breasts, cutting off her yelp with a soft whimper.
“Kristof,” Alena whimpers, and her eyes search out mine as I settle above her.
“Alena.”
“I…”
Is she going to beg me to stop? Tell me it’s too much? Plead with me to leave her alone? I can’t settle on what I want to hear, what would excite me the most, but to my surprise, none of that comes from her.
