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Her head rolled and twisted as she tried to find a chink of light around the blindfold, but he’d left her not a sliver of reality. Just darkness. Beneath the material, her eyes were wide. Her hearing amplified, picking up sounds she never would have imagined.
“Anarchy,” Atticus rumbled, his fingers curling over her shoulders and massaging her rigid muscles, “you need to breathe slowly. Just relax and take a minute to get your bearings. Are you afraid of the dark?”
She shook her head and felt as though she was sliding to the side. Her nails gouged into the leather top. “I-I’m not afraid, Master Atticus.”
“It’s okay to feel fear, sweetheart. It’s natural, but unnecessary with me. Listen to my voice, focus on me. I’m the only element in your life you need to concentrate on.”
“I-I’d feel better if I could put my feet on the floor, Sir.” It was more of a plea than a suggestion. She really didn’t like this feeling of instability, as though someone could give her a tiny push and send her tumbling into the dark.
“I’m sure you would. Unfortunately, it happens that this spanking bench is just the right height for my cock to reach both your holes with little effort on my part. All the better,” he murmured in her ear, “to pound this pretty pussy into numerous orgasms.”
Her breath shuddered out. Her sex clenched, but she didn’t think she was wet, even with the erotic purr of Atticus’s voice adding a punch to the words.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She knew damn well she’d be soaked and leaving a wet patch on the bench if it was Jasper behind her, his voice uttering crude intentions. Hell, she’d almost orgasmed more than once just from listening to the sadist taunting his sub of the night.
Big hands smoothed down her arms, light as a feather, all the way to her cuffs, then trailed back up again before detouring over her shoulders, moving south to her waist. Her skin prickled as Atticus caressed her stomach, then pressed the heel of his hand between her breasts. “Submission isn’t always easy, Anarchy. I can take your sight, your hearing, even your right to speak. As punishment or for your pleasure. I’d like, very much, to give you pleasure.”
She wanted to take it.
“I’m going to move you now,” he continued quietly, cupping her breasts in those hot, hard hands and teasing her nipples into aching little peaks. “When you’re ready, let go of the bench. I’ll guide you where I want you, sweetheart.”
Anarchy arched into the scrape of callouses over her sensitive skin. All she had to do was remember it was just sex. Two bodies joining, bringing pleasure to each other. Just because her heart was attached to a pigheaded moron who couldn’t see he was her everything didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to find solace in someone else.
Atticus wanted her. It might just be that he had a need to help her or maybe he felt some attraction towards her. She hated thinking he might pity her. A pity fuck was worse than anything she could think of right now.
Atticus had given her an order, she thought. She needed to obey him as readily as she would have followed Jasper’s directives, or she should safeword and slink away home to mourn what she’d lost. Alone as usual, but this time…there would be nothing positive to wake up for in the morning. No eagerness to start the day and go to work so she could spend the evening in her Master’s presence.
A whine tickled her throat, rising swiftly as strong fingertips pinched and rolled her nipples in increasingly painful twists. She thought about protesting, using yellow to stop the torment, but if she couldn’t withstand this, how would she ever convince Jasper she could take his brand of sadism the way he needed her to?
I can do this.
She let her fingers go limp, wincing as her cramped digits flexed stiffly.
“That’s a brave girl, Anarchy. I’m very pleased.” Pride suffused his voice and she relaxed into his praise. He gave her one last sharp tweak on her now throbbing nipples, then shifted one hand between her breasts and moved the other between her shoulder blades. “Lean forward now. Nice and gently.”
Anarchy tipped forward, allowing him to lower her until her front pressed fully along the length of the padded top. Her arms dangled down either side of the bench, mimicking her legs in the same position.
Her cheek rested against the leather.
She tried not to think about how open and exposed she was.
Atticus moved away from her and her ears tracked him to her left side. Fingers slipped into her cuffs, testing the tightness, then she heard the soft clink of chains. “I’m attaching your cuffs to quick-release hooks,” he told her as she yanked her hand and found it restrained. “Just relax, Anarchy. I can have you free in a matter of seconds. Are you comfortable?”
“N-Nervous,” she managed. “I’m a little nervous.”
Again, he changed locations on her, his fingers trailing over her bare back as he walked around the head of the bench. “Nerves are good. They’ll heighten the sensations. I want you to tell me if your nerves turn into anything stronger.”
Another clink of chains, and now both her hands were damn near immobile. Her breath came in shallow flutters. She’d been restrained before, but never blindfolded. Certainly not both simultaneously. “Master Atticus?”
“Yes, sub?” He patted her ass lightly as he passed by.
Anarchy listened to his footsteps, realized he was heading back to the cupboards. She could hear him testing implements on his hand, the smack of a paddle, the swish and thud of a flogger. More noises she didn’t recognize. The slide of wooden drawers opening and closing, the crinkle of plastic wrapping.
Her pulse picked up speed.
“Anarchy, you had a question?”
