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Sienna, one of the regular submissives, is strapped to a spanking bench with the backs of her thighs red from a flogger. The angry welts look sore, but her pussy is soaking, the evidence of how much she enjoyed that particular punishment. Her ass is plugged, and Micah is fucking her face without mercy. The tattooed man is one of our most experienced Doms, so I have no concern for her safety, but I’m worried about what Leighton might think.
I finally force myself to turn back to them, to see the horror on her face, but that’s not what I find.
Her eyes are glued to the scene, a deep blush across her cheeks, and her lips slightly parted. But there’s nothing but interest in her pretty eyes. She’s not horrified, she's intrigued.
I look up at Wyatt whose smug smirk is firmly in place. Asshole.
He whispers something against the shell of her ear, and her body trembles at whatever he says, before nodding.
What is she nodding about? Did he ask if she wanted to leave? Or if she wanted to watch a while longer? Or…
Before I can ask any more questions of myself, Wyatt is leading her toward me. She keeps her eyes low as we instructed her, not making eye contact with anyone around us, but Wyatt doesn’t stop beside me, he guides her further into the dungeon.
It’s not until he’s pushing one of the private rooms open that I realize what’s going on. Has he somehow convinced her to play? Or are we using the room to talk her down from whatever metaphorical cliff she’s standing on the edge of?
I trail after them, closing the door behind me and watching as Leighton takes in the space around us. This room is one of the more basic ones without a theme, and I’m fucking relieved Wyatt didn’t try to take her into the playpen or the medical room. She’s not ready for that yet, especially if she’s freaking out.
But when her eyes settle on me, not quite meeting my eyes, it’s not fear or disgust playing in the deep pools. It’s lust.
“Our little angel wants to play,” Wyatt informs me, carefully guiding a single finger down her bare shoulder.
I’m still fucking cursing him for picking that dress out for her, because she looks entirely too tempting in it, and I’ve already had to stop myself from killing no less than ten motherfuckers who looked at her with interest.
“Do you now, pretty girl?” I approach her carefully, watching for any signs of hesitance, but there are none, just trust.
I don’t know what the fuck the two of us did to deserve for her to trust us, but fuck, I’d do it over and over again every day for the rest of my life if she'll keep looking at me like this.
“Yes, Sir.” A small smile tips up the corners of her lips, and I let my eyes fall closed for a second as I let go of all the fear I walked in here with.
“Angel, why don’t you tell Elias exactly which parts of that scene we just watched you would like to recreate.”
A soft shiver moves through her body, but she doesn’t pause, and he certainly doesn’t have to ask her twice. It’s like the woman standing before us is a completely different person to the one we met a month ago. “All of it, Sir. The bench, the spanking, the plug. Everything.”
A growl climbs up my throat, and I don’t get the chance to swallow it before I advance on her. She backs away from me slowly, but she’s not really trying to get away. She’s just pretending.
I pin her against the spanking bench, the soft leather pressing into the backs of her thighs as I trap her there. “Do you want to be a good little whore for us, pretty girl?”
She moans as her lips part. Her sinfully pink tongue darts out to wet her cherry-red lips, and there’s nothing I want more in the world than to nip it. “Yes, please, Sir.”
“Such manners.” Wyatt chuckles from his spot across the room. I hadn’t noticed him move, but realize what he’s doing immediately.
In one hand, he has a plug, and the other a vibrator as he dumps their packaging into the trash. Leighton doesn’t move her eyes from me, and that may be the biggest sign of trust she’s given us. She’s in a foreign place filled with things she doesn’t know all that much about, and instead of trying to see what he’s doing, she keeps her eyes trained on me.
“What’s your safe word, pretty girl?”
“Red.”
“And what do you say if you’re approaching your limit?”
“Yellow.”
“Good girl,” I rumble. “Do you want to strip for us? Or do you want to be fucked in your pretty dress like the desperate little slut you are?” I’m testing the boundaries, seeing how far I can push her before hesitance creeps into her eyes, but she doesn’t falter.
“I want to wear my dress, Sir.”
I groan and flick my gaze up to where my best friend is attaching soft leather cuffs to the bench. The smirk on his face tells me he’s happy with her response, and honestly, so am I.
I press a gentle kiss to her lips, relishing in her softness, before I carefully turn her to face the bench.
