Chapter 4

Later, if this went terribly awry, Sejal wouldn't even be able to claim she'd agreed to this due to some fit of madness. She was perfectly sober and thinking clearly. From a strictly objective sense there were more reasons to walk away than there were to stay.

He was unknown to her and therefore dangerous. All she knew about him was his name.

It was ludicrously dangerous to assume that once he had her in bondage, he would adhere to her personal boundaries as outlined in her contract. The rules, conditions, and customs of Las Palmas put a veneer of safety over the things they did here, but that was all it was, a veneer.

She would be quite helpless, and there would be nothing to stop him from doing her irreparable physical or psychological harm.

And that very fact, which should have made it easy for her to walk away, instead made her blood heat.

She kept her chin down as she waited for him to respond. It took long enough that part of her started to wonder if perhaps he'd been trying to hint to her that he wanted her to walk away, because he had no desire to top her. That thought had just started to take root, finding fertile soil in the damage Hach's lack of interest in topping her had caused, when he placed two fingers under her chin, raising her head.

His gaze flicked over her face. He seemed more...fierce than he had a moment ago, as if he'd shed some sort of everyday "don't mind me I'm not a dangerous predator" skin, revealing the cobra beneath.

"It always surprises me," he said quietly.

"What does, Sir?"

"How brave submissives are."

"Brave?"

"Yes. Brave. Fearless. Trusting."

"Is my trust misplaced?"

"No, it's not. I cannot promise I will not hurt you, but I will promise not to abuse you."

She smiled slightly, highly aware of his fingers still on her chin. "Thank you, Sir."

"Is that what you're comfortable calling me, Sir?"

"I can use Master Dowell if you prefer, but since I am bonded, I will not use 'Master' alone."

"Of course not. I just want to make sure you're comfortable."

How could she find both a man's willingness to use her, and his consideration, equally arousing? It was a perverse dichotomy.

"I am." That wasn't a lie. She was comfortable around him. Despite the newly revealed intensity, something about him put her at ease. He was the kind of person who gave others the feeling that he could handle things. That his being near meant life might be a little bit easier. Perhaps it was because he was an attractive, young, white man, the default ruling class of the world. Maybe he felt safe and secure in his place in the world, and that confidence spilled out.

His fingers slid from her chin back along her jaw, sliding under her hair to touch the spot under her ear. Her rumination on the social issues and implications sputtered and died as his simple touch left a trail of heat in its wake.

His fingers slid down her neck, touching the collar.

"I don't want to look at another man's collar while you're mine."

"Yes, Sir."

He unbuckled the collar, sliding it off her neck. He carefully set it aside. She hadn't realized what impact that action would have, and she had to take a moment to grapple with her feelings. She lowered her chin, staring at his bare chest. That also allowed her to see the bulge in his leathers.

“What’s your safe word?”

“French fries.”

“Again,” he ordered.

“French fries,” she repeated.

He reached back, gathered her hair, and tugged firmly. "Chin up. I don't want you to look down. Don't want to see you bend your head to me. To any man."

That shocked her. "What?"

"You shouldn’t bow your head.”

Her stomach clenched. Oh no. It was happening again.

"Do you...want me to top you?" Her arousal cooled to disappointment. Once more her needs wouldn't be met.

He released her hair, instead grabbing the back of her neck, "Excuse me, princess?"

"You don't think I'm submissive. You want me to top you. You will—”

"I hate to interrupt," he said smoothly, "but what the actual fuck are you talking about?"

Sejal had been descending in a spiral of self-hate, resentment, and cold anger. His words stopped her. A snort-laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Sejal clapped a hand over her face, horrified at the noise she'd just made.

Master Dowell grinned. "Pig snort? Cute."

"I did not snort like a pig." Her words were muffled behind her hand.

He used his hold on her neck to draw her face closer to his. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It was a very cute pig snort, but still, a pig snort."

She tried to muffle her amusement, which resulted in another ridiculous snorting noise. Master Dowell's grin widened, his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and then he started to chuckle.

Sejal schooled her face into a cool, impassive expression, but instead of feeling hurt or embarrassed, she was fighting to hide her own amusement. Through it all, Master Dowell kept a firm grip on the back of her neck.

His laughter faded, leaving behind a sort of intimacy. "Come here," Master Dowell ordered.

Sejal wasn't sure what he meant—she was less than a foot from him, kneeling between his spread legs. She leaned an inch closer, focusing on his lips, which were lovely and a pretty pink color she wouldn't have been able to pull off, even if she wanted to try pink lipstick.

"Not like that." He reached behind her, grabbing her by her upper thighs. Need shot through her at the skin-to-skin contact. When he dug his fingers in and lifted she yelped, grabbing his shoulders. He lifted her—the seated position meaning he was using nothing but his arm and shoulder muscles, and placed her astride his lap. With his legs still spread her ass was hanging in the air, her knees hooked over his thighs. She was splayed open, with only a thin layer of stretched satin covering her pussy.

"That's better," Master Dowell murmured.

Sejal, still a little stunned by the physicality of what he'd just done, looked down at him. Her breasts were level with his chin, and she was looking at the top of his dark head. She flexed her fingers, feeling the hard slabs of muscle along the top of his shoulders.

"This is better," she agreed.

From her position she couldn't really see his lips, but she saw his cheek move, heard in his voice that he was smiling. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

He put one hand on the small of her back, and the other cupped her breast.

It was the first truly intimate contact between them, and the air seemed to shift around them. She licked her lips, forgetting, and no longer caring, about her carefully applied lipstick.

He didn't squeeze her breast, he just gently cradled it. She could feel the heat of his hand through her bra, but it wasn't enough. Master Dowell seemed perfectly content to stay that way, merely holding her. Sejal told herself to be patient, to be calm. To try and find that peaceful "subspace" so many talked about but which she suspected was a myth.

Her patience ran out after about thirty seconds.

She'd never been good at waiting.

Sejal inhaled deeply, pressing her breasts into his hand. Her fingertips rubbed small circles on his shoulders while she kept her weight braced on the heels of her hands.

"What do you want, Sejal?"

"To please you, Sir," she said immediately.

"No, what do you want? Really want. I'm asking."

"I want...I want to submit. I want to be the submissive."

He nodded once, and she was glad she didn't have to say more. She was worried that if he knew she'd been topping Hach he'd treat her differently. That he wouldn't consider her truly submissive.

"What do you like?" he asked.

"I don't understand, Sir."

"Pleasure? Pain? Do you want me to lock you in a cage and walk away? You want to be displayed in a courtyard?"

She could give him a list of the things she liked best, the things that made her pussy wet when she thought about them, but that wasn't why she'd come here. If she wanted just that, she could have hired a professional. She didn't want to do to him what Hach did to her—give a list of actions and desires, then sit back and enjoy.

She didn't want to use Master Dowell the way Hach had been using her.

She skittered away from that thought. It wasn't the time or place.

"I want you to decide," she said quietly. "I want to not have to make a decision for a little while. If the scene involved explicit sexual touching that could result in orgasm, then of course I want physical pleasure, yes. And I do have some masochistic physical tendencies, but I want...I want to submit. I mean that. It really is what I want."

The hand at her breast rose to cup her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "At some point we're going to talk about what's going on with you and Hachiro."

Sejal closed her eyes.

"But not right now."

Both hands roamed up and down her back, a comforting touch. It felt good, and she realized she needed, wanted, some comfort. If that was what they were going to do tonight she would enjoy it—but she'd have to ignore the embers of her arousal, which were a slow, smoldering heat within her.

"Now," he continued. "Now, I think it's time you showed me what's mine."

Her eyes popped open as he unhooked the clasp of her bra.

"Take it off. I want to see your breasts."

Sejal lifted one hand from his shoulder then peeled the bra off, so it dangled off the arm she hadn't moved. His eyes dropped immediately to her breasts. She had a moment of self-doubt. At 37, she didn't have the perky breasts of a young woman, and they were full enough that they sagged. The only way to change that would be with cosmetic surgery, which she had no intention of getting.

Master Dowell leaned back. Sejal wasn't expecting that, and tipped forward, her bare breast falling against his face.

He made a pleased sound, and then his teeth scrapped the inner curves of first one breast and then the other. Heels of her hands on his shoulders she pushed up, her breasts now dangling above his face as he reclined back on one elbow. She'd slid down his thighs, and her pussy was now pressed against the swell of his cock, trapped behind the laces of his leather pants.

She shifted her weight a little and the lacing rubbed against her pussy, providing enough texture that she hissed in pleasure. Master Dowell took advantage of her dangling breasts, reaching up to suck one tight brown nipple into his mouth.

"Yes, more, please," she gasped.

He grabbed her hair, which fell down her back. He wrapped it once around his fist and then jerked, forcing her head back so she was looking up at the ceiling. She sobbed in desire as he bit her nipple, then transferred his lips to her other breast.

He sucked hard, her nipple scrapping against the ridged roof of his mouth. It had been too long since her nipples had been properly played with. It never felt as good when it was her own fingers pinching and twisting as when someone else did it. And a mouth? The warmth, the wetness… The softness of lips and tongue contrasted with hard teeth? That was something no self-pleasure could replicate.

He released her, the tips of her breasts damp from his mouth and cool because of it.

"Sit up," he commanded.

She straightened, taking her body weight off the heels of her hands and his shoulders. Sitting astride him, legs splayed wide, breasts naked, she felt wanton. Reveling in the feeling she dipped her chin, shaking her head so her long hair fell forward, over her breasts. Then, remembering what he'd said, she raised her chin, looking down her nose at him. He planted his other elbow behind him, the golden skin of his chest stretched over muscles. She could almost see the striations in his pectorals. She could have taught an anatomy class with his body.

He was giving her an equal appraisal, his gaze running over her a poor substitute for what she wanted—his hands and mouth—but still enough to make her body thrum with need. The need for pleasure. The need to give him what he wanted. The need to submit to him.

Because she was sitting back her pussy wasn't grinding into his pants the way it had been, but his cock was still a hot, hard presence between her widespread legs.

A delicious thought occurred to her.

He owned her now—would he fuck her?

She'd certainly fucked Hach. Both fucked him and been fucked by him, but they’d had a relationship—they were a bonded Master and submissive. He’d transferred all his rights to Master Dowell when he’d “given” her to the other man.

She'd never had a one-night stand before. In fact, her reputation outside of Las Palmas was that of a workaholic prude—unmarried, never dated, etc. The idea of having sex with someone she'd just met should horrify her, but it didn't. Because it wasn't just some nameless, faceless stranger. It was this man. This man who looked like her first fantasy, who cared so deeply about her consent, and who wanted to dominate her, not be dominated. A man who'd seemed to understand when she said she didn't want to make the decisions.

Sejal rocked forward and back on his cock, enjoying the bump, bump, bump of his erection against her vulva.

His gaze raked down her again. "The things I want to do to you..."

"What things, Sir?"

He smiled, a long slow smile that was both delightful and slightly menacing. "Wouldn't you like to know?”

Sejal nodded, her heavy hair sliding against her breasts, tickling her nipples in a barely-there caress she wouldn't have felt if he hadn't sensitized her skin with his mouth.

Master Dowell sat up abruptly. She would have fallen back if he hadn't anticipated that, wrapping one arm around her back.

"Hold on."

She grabbed his shoulders just in time for him to surge to his feet, using only his leg muscles, while holding her.

Until tonight, she'd never considered herself shallow—never lusted after a man's body, or admired his muscles. She was a surgeon; she knew the human body came in all shapes and sizes. Yet she found herself ridiculously turned on by his casual shows of strength. She wanted to bite him, trace the indentations of his muscles with her tongue.

The hand on her back slid down to cup her ass, while she clung to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips. They were just long enough for her to hook her feet together over his ass.

What would he look like naked?

Shallow, she admonished herself. Don't be so shallow.

I bet his ass is all muscle, her shallow self purred.

His lips brushed her temple. "You're smiling."

"Am I?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Your ass," she answered truthfully.

"Really?"

"Yep."

He laughed, and then set her down on the top of the spanking bench. The spanking bench was taller than most—the height must have been adjusted to raise the center, upper piece high enough so that when a sub lay facedown on it—knees on the padded runners along either side—his or her ass would be at the level of the Dom’s solar plexus. Her feet rested on one of the padded sidepieces, as if she were sitting on the back of a bench with her feet on the seat. She looked from the spanking bench to him.

He crossed his arms—his pecs swelled beautifully. "Have you been spanked before?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed what came after."

"Ah."

She tried to decipher that, but he was surprisingly inscrutable. "I'm going to get your list," he said. "So we can go over our to dos.”

She licked her lips. "The letter G?"

"Our very own kinky learning program." He stepped closer, and then reached up over her head. "This orgasm brought to you by the letter G."

"There will be orgasms?"

He pulled down a tension lever with cuffs dangling from it. "Arms up." She slid her palms up his arms until her fingers found his. He fastened the first cuff around her wrist. "And to answer your question. There will be orgasms." He cuffed her second wrist. "Lots of orgasms."