Chapter 5

Cortland took a minute to compose himself, wiping the smile from his face before he opened the door to their playroom off the Iron Court. He'd left her checklist in the library, and had to race back to get it. He'd been grinning like an idiot the whole time. Sejal was different than he'd thought. Since Hachiro had "given her away", he'd assumed she'd be passive, uber-submissive, and into the idea of being shared. Instead she was self-possessed, strong, lovely, and, apparently, a switch.

Though she'd asked, almost begged, to submit. If he had to guess he’d say she didn’t get to submit as much as she wanted to. A reluctant switch? He wanted to know more about what was going on with her and Hachiro, but he also knew better than to expect someone to open up before they were ready. He wasn't exactly excited about discussing his life outside of Las Palmas, so he needed to respect her privacy too. As they grew more intimate, he'd probably need to know, in order to top her without triggering her, but for now he'd focus on planning the rest of their weekend together, and how they'd complete the items on their checklist.

She was right where he'd left her—not surprising since he'd bound her in place. She sat on the spanking bench, her arms above her head. Her breasts were lovely—large and full, with small, tight nipples. The purple panties she wore looked darker at the crotch, like she was so wet and aroused she’d soaked her underwear, but maybe that was a trick of the light.

When he entered she shifted, bending her elbows and pulling down on the bar. The spring-loaded restraint bar was something that they had only in the rooms of the Iron Court.

Unlike a fixed tie, the spring-loaded bar moved if the sub pulled down hard enough, but had a constant upward tension that would keep their hands pulled above their head unless they consciously pulled down. He wondered if Sejal knew that they were meant to be used for particularly harsh impact play, so that subs could drop to their knees, or dance away from the whip, flogger, or cane.

She seemed relaxed, and despite the bondage, noble. She sat atop the torso piece of the spanking bench as if it were a throne, her feet on one of the long sidepieces meant for a sub’s knees. Her own knees were spread, not lewdly, but enough that he could clearly see the purple satin over her pussy.

He stepped into the room and shut the door. The warm, heated air washed over him, and his skin, which had been pebbled from the cool night air, relaxed.

Her dark eyes tracked him as he walked towards her, the envelope containing her checklist in his hand.

As he passed it, he grabbed a straight-backed chair, and carried it with him, setting it in front of her. Rather then sit, which would put his head slightly lower than hers, he stepped onto the seat, then carefully rested his ass on the back. Now they were at eye level. He took his time opening the flap and pulling the sheaf of papers out from within. He shuffled them, putting the top sheet bearing the picture that didn't really look like her, at the back.

He flipped a few pages until he reached the letter G. He'd reviewed the list plenty of times since he'd first gotten his assignment in the Conclave, but he made a point of looking it over again.

He hid his smile when she made a small, frustrated noise. He looked up, face stern. "Feeling impatient?"

She nodded. "I dislike waiting."

“Ah, so if I tied you up and left the room, left you wondering when I’d come back…”

She shook her head, her long hair lashing her upper arms. “No. I don’t mean that I dislike it in the way people dislike a spanking. I mean that waiting irritates me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

Her face took on a pinched expression. “I know this isn’t how it’s done, but I’d like to ask that you not use my dislike of waiting against me. I promise you it won’t make me feel more submissive, won’t help me accept your dominance.”

He frowned, considering her. “I get it. I’m not going to do something to you that you hate.”

She relaxed, the lines in her face smoothing away.

The need to protect her from whatever, whomever, had hurt her gripped him.

"I want to know you." He spoke softly. "Not so I can use anything I learn against you. That's not how I top. Hell, that's not how anyone should top. If you said waiting makes you frustrated and takes you out of your submission, then I'll do my best not to make you wait."

She nodded once. "Thank you."

"That being said..." He lifted one corner of his mouth in a half smile. "I think there's a difference between waiting and delayed gratification."

She met his smile with one of her own, but it was tempered with hunger, with need. He'd been a Dom long enough that he knew the signs—she spread her knees a fraction of an inch wider. She relaxed her arms, which meant the spring pulled her wrists up towards the ceiling, her body now stretched and vulnerable.

Cort climbed off the chair. He walked around her tapping the sheaf of papers against his leg as he did, a rhythmic staccato sound that echoed slightly. When he'd completed the circle around the spanking bench and stood in front of her once more he used the papers to tap the inside of each knee. She spread her legs open wider, the balls of her feet braced on the knee-rest that, on this particular spanking bench, ran the whole length of the device.

"We already know one of the items on the list," he began. "Given away to another Dom." He checked the paper, frowned.

"How did...how did I answer, Sir?"

"You marked ‘willing to try' which is why you’re here.”

He stepped closer, and then ran two fingers up the inside of her thigh, stopping just before he would have touched her satin covered pussy. "That means you're mine for the weekend."

"Yes, Sir."

"And while you're mine, we have a few more things to take care of." He looked at the list. "I'm glad we're talking now, because I'm afraid you're not going to be doing much of that from here on out."

She whipped her head up, gaze searching his face. He saw her swallow, but then she relaxed. "Gags?" she asked

"Gags," he agreed. "All different kinds of gags."

Gags.

Had she agreed to gags? She must have, because in that first year Hach had used a few ball gags, though he'd preferred to order her to keep silent.

"All different kinds, Sir?" she asked

"Yes. Let's see, you agreed to..." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "All of them except tape gags."

All of them? How many different kinds were there? She frowned and tried to think of a few, but her brain was stuck and all she could think of were ball gags.

"I agree with you on that," he was saying. "Tape gags are a bit too realistic. I'm not kidnapping you."

The idea of being kidnapped by Master Dowell made her blood heat. He'd proven that he was certainly strong enough to throw her over his shoulder and haul her off.

"What are the other gags, Sir?"

He leaned down and nipped her bare breast, then flicked a nipple with his tongue. "Where would the fun be if I told you?"

Sejal tipped her head back, felt the ends of her hair dance against the small of her back. She inhaled, raising her breasts, offering them to him. He accepted her invitation, flicking her other nipple with his tongue. She closed her eyes, anticipating more.

Nothing.

He'd taken a seat on the wooden chair, this time keeping his feet on the ground. He braced his elbows on his knees and glanced at the papers he held again. "Let's see, what else? Gas Masks. You indicated 'willing to try.' I will admit for me it was a not interested, but if we have time, I'm happy to give it a go."

"Gas masks?" Now that he said it, she had a vague memory of looking up gas mask porn while filling out the checklist.

"Next up is 'gates of hell' but that's for men. Doesn't apply here, though I'm going to guess that's what Khan is going to do to Hachiro."

Maybe Hach had looked at the list, seen a toy he wanted used on him, and decided to seek out another Dom, rather than ordering her to top.

She felt…she wasn’t sure how that made her feel, and she didn’t particularly want to parse out those feelings now, not while her nipples ached to feel Master Dowell’s lips and teeth again. Not while her pussy throbbed with need and she suspected there was a damp mark on the satin.

He glanced at the paper, then at her, shifted in his chair, and then cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Rather, he shook his head, then lifted the top page, glancing at what was written on the page behind it, and then lowered the top page.

He seemed...nervous.

What was on there that was making him nervous?

"Garters," he said finally. "You said you're interested in wearing garters."

There was no way 'garters' was the item that had made him nervous. "Yes, Sir. Though I'm not sure I have any with me."

"We can figure that out." The residual tension from a moment ago faded as he looked up at her and grinned. His smile made her nervous, but in a very good way. "Glider."

"Glider?" she asked.

"Mmm hmmm."

She wracked her brain but couldn't remember what that was. "Did I say I was willing to try it?"

"Better than that, you said yes."

"I don't know what that is."

"You forgot since you filled out the checklist?"

Sejal pulled down on the cuffs, until there was enough slack for her to shrug. "I must have, though I don't normally do things on impulse."

"Well maybe you just forgot this is called a glider. Sometimes it's called a rocker. Or a self-fucker."

Sejal forgot to keep tension in her arms. The cuffs jerked up as she relaxed, her upper arms pulled alongside her ears. His grin widened.

"Know what we're talking about now?"

Oh yes, she knew all about what she called a "rocking chair."

"Yes, Sir." Her voice came out as a meek little sound.

"I know we've got to have some somewhere. I'll ask the overseers." He leaned back and adjusted his cock inside the tight leathers. Her gaze dropped to the bulge there. She wanted to see him. Wanted to know if his cock was as beautiful and perfectly made as the rest of him.

"G spot." His voice was lower than it had been a moment ago, and there was an edge to it. Again she got the impression she was seeing his savage self beneath the surface. "Have you ever had a g-spot orgasm?"

“No, Sir. I mostly need direct clitoral stimulation."

His gaze dropped to her pussy. She fought the urge to close her knees, to hide her pussy, and the damp crotch of her panties. To hide how aroused she was, how needy.

She wanted him to know how much she wanted him. Wanted him to touch her.

Very deliberately, she spread her legs wider, offering herself without words.

Master Dowell stood, his muscled chest catching the light, his cock a large, hard bulge behind the leather and lacing of his pants. He was a fantasy made flesh, an incubus come to drain the life from her body.

He came close and she arched towards him, offering herself, too aroused, too in need of his touch, to care what might become of her after a weekend submitting to Master Dowell.