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I can see the effect my words have on her—it’s as if I issued a challenge. I might consider that a reason to stop the scene myself if we were doing any harder play, but I feel safe pushing this limit a bit.
“I’m not going to use my safeword.”
“Okay, then.” I drag the feather so softly down her calf. She’s not expecting it and jumps nearly a foot.
“I won’t use my safeword, but I will run.”
I pause, considering her words. I have the still, meditative feeling in my chest that scening always brings me, but there’s no denying the flare of excitement that grows as the meaning of her statement settles in.
I can’t decide which feeling I want more.
“This isn’t really a game where one person runs,” I say.
“It is if I get up and run.”
“I would prefer us to wait until we have some time to talk about boundaries, consent, and hard limits.”
“You want consent and limits? Okay. I, Victoria Easton, hereby consent to let Ben Adams use my body, including all my fun holes, mouth, pussy, and ass, in whatever way he sees fit. He can chase me, tackle me, call me names, tie me up, force me to be quiet. Hard limits are starvation, anything involving poop, and doing things in public.”
Well, it’s hard to argue with that.
My rock-hard cock and gritted teeth certainly agree.
I’m torn between wanting to show respect for the sanctuary I’ve built down here, to follow the strict rules of the world that has offered me so much personal growth, to honor the time I’ve spent honing my control both in and out of the dungeon…and giving in to her.
Because, truth be told, even surrounded by every implement of pleasure and pain that I thought I could ever need in life, there’s still nothing in the world I want to do more than chase this woman down.
I close my eyes as I hold a mental conference with myself. Try as I might, I find absolutely no compelling arguments for denying myself this.
“If you run…” I start, my voice low and gravely, spoken into her ear much closer than she was expecting. “You better hope I don’t catch you.”
The moment of heated silence that follows is a living thing between us. Victoria’s breathing is audible, and I can almost watch her consider her options.
Then I take them away with one soft swipe of the feather across the back of her knee.
She’s on her feet in an instant in an impressive display of strength considering her hands are tightly bound behind her. She runs for a few feet until she meets the wall, smacking straight into it at full speed. I flinch as I watch her nearly fall to her ass as she tries to recover from the blow.
But then, impressively, she’s back on the wall, dragging her body across the flat surface, searching for the door she knows is there somewhere.
I watch her with my arms folded, harder and more rabidly turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
“What’s the hurry, kitten? We were just getting started.”
She doesn't let my voice interrupt her work, if anything, she searches more frantically. When her nose grazes across what she knows must be the doorframe, she lets out a small squeak of triumph.
I let my shoes sound loudly on the floor as I walk slowly toward where she’s got her back to the door, head bowed in concentration as she tries to use her bound hands to turn the knob.
I lighten my steps and approach silently, leaning down until my mouth is just inches away from her ear. “What makes you so sure I haven’t deadbolted it?”
She jumps and lets out an actual shriek at the sound and proximity of my voice. It’s freaking music to my ears.
Fun.
This is fun.
There’s that word again. It’s no coincidence that it’s come up yet again when I’m with this woman. She’s fun. When I’m with her, I’m fun.
Wasn’t I having fun just moments earlier when I was blindfolding her and making her kneel?
