When I return to the kitchen Ana’s disappeared; I presume she’s getting ready upstairs.
In my closet I remove my robe and slip on my favorite jeans. As I do, images of Ana in my bathroom come to mind—her flawless back, then her hands pressed against the tiles while I fucked her.
Boy, the girl has stamina.
Let’s see how much.
With a sense of exhilaration I collect my iPod from the living room and bolt upstairs to the playroom.
When I find Ana kneeling as she should be at the entrance facing the room—eyes down, legs parted, and wearing only her panties—my first feeling is one of relief.
She’s still here; she’s game.
My second is pride: she has followed my instructions to the letter. My smile is hard to hide.
Miss Steele does not back down from a challenge.
Closing the door behind me, I note that her bathrobe has been hung up on the peg. I walk past her barefoot and deposit my iPod on the chest. I’ve decided that I’m going to deprive her of all her senses but touch, and see how she fares with that. The bed has been made up with satin sheets.
And the leather shackles are in place.
At the chest I take out a hair tie, a blindfold, a fur glove, earbuds, and the handy transmitter that Barney designed for my iPod. I lay out the items in a neat row, plugging the transmitter into the top of the iPod, letting Ana wait. Anticipation is half the buildup to a scene. Once I’m satisfied I go and stand over her. Ana’s head is bowed, the ambient light burnishing her hair. She looks modest and beautiful, the epitome of a submissive.
“You look lovely.” I cup her face and tilt her head up until blue eyes meet gray. “You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia. And you’re all mine,” I whisper. “Stand up.”
She’s a little stiff as she gets to her feet. “Look at me,” I order, and when I look into her eyes I know I could drown in her serious, rapt expression. I’ve got her full attention. “We don’t have a signed contract, Anastasia. But we’ve discussed limits. And I want to reiterate we have safe words, okay?”
She blinks a couple of times, but remains mute.
“What are they?” I demand.
She hesitates.
Oh, this will never do.
“What are the safe words, Anastasia?”
“Yellow.”
“And?”
“Red.”
“Remember those.”
She raises an eyebrow in obvious scorn, and is about to say something.
Oh no. Not in my playroom.
“Don’t start with your smart mouth in here, Miss Steele. Or I will fuck it with you on your knees. Do you understand?”
As pleasing as that thought is, her obedience is what I want right now.
She swallows her chagrin.
“Well?”
“Yes, Sir,” she says quickly.
“Good girl. My intention is not that you should use the safe word because you’re in pain. What I intend to do to you will be intense. Very intense, and you have to guide me. Do you understand?”
Her face remains impassive, giving nothing away.
“This is about touch, Anastasia. You will not be able to see me or hear me. But you’ll be able to feel me.” Ignoring her confounded look, I turn to the audio player above the chest and switch it to auxiliary mode.
I just have to choose a song; and in that moment I recall our conversation in the car after she’d slept in my bed at The Heathman. Let’s see if she likes some Tudor choral music.
“I am going to tie you to that bed, Anastasia. But I’m going to blindfold you first and”—I show her the iPod—“you will not be able to hear me. All you will hear is the music I’m going to play for you.”
I think it’s surprise I see registering on her face, but I’m not sure.
“Come.” I lead her to the foot of the bed. “Stand here.” Leaning down, I breathe in her sweet scent and whisper in her ear, “Wait here. Keep your eyes on the bed. Picture yourself lying here, bound and totally at my mercy.”
She sucks in her breath.
Yes, baby. Think about it. I resist the temptation to plant a soft kiss on her shoulder. I need to braid her hair first and fetch a flogger. From the top of the chest I grab the hair tie, and from the rack I select my favorite flogger, which I stuff into the back pocket of my jeans.
When I return to stand behind her, I gently take her hair and braid it. “While I like your pigtails, Anastasia, I am impatient to have you right now. So one will have to do.” I fasten and tug on the braid so she’s forced to step back against me. Winding the end around my wrist, I pull to the right, bending her head to expose her neck. I run my nose from her earlobe to her shoulder, sucking and biting gently.
Hmm…She smells so good.
She shivers and hums deep in her throat.
“Hush, now,” I caution, and taking the flogger from my pocket, I reach around her, my arms brushing hers, and show it to her.
I hear her catch her breath and see her fingers twitch.
“Touch it,” I whisper, knowing that’s what she wants. She raises her hand, pauses, then runs her fingers through the soft suede tails. It’s arousing. “I will use this. It will not hurt, but it will bring your blood to the surface of your skin and make you very sensitive. What are the safe words, Anastasia?”
“Um…‘yellow’ and ‘red,’ Sir,” she murmurs, transfixed by the flogger.
“Good girl. Remember, most of your fear is in your mind.” I drop the flogger on the bed and brush my fingers down her sides, past the soft swell of her hips, and slip them into her panties. “You won’t be needing these.” I drag them down her legs and kneel behind her. She grabs hold of the pillar to shuffle awkwardly out of her underwear.
“Stand still,” I command, and kiss her behind, gently nipping each cheek. “Now lie down. Faceup.” I spank her once, and she jumps, startled, and scurries onto the bed. She lies down facing me, her eyes on mine, glowing with excitement—and a little trepidation, I think.
“Hands above your head.”
She does as she’s told. I retrieve the earbuds, blindfold, iPod, and the remote from atop the chest of drawers. Sitting beside her on the bed, I show her the iPod with the transmitter. Her look darts from my face to the devices and back again.
“This sends what’s playing on the iPod to the system in the room. I can hear what you’re hearing, and I have a remote control unit for it.”
Once she’s seen everything, I insert the earbuds into her ears and place the iPod on the pillow. “Lift your head.” She obeys, and I slip the blindfold over her eyes. Rising, I take her left hand and cuff her wrist to the leather shackle at the top corner of the bed. I let my fingers linger down her outstretched arm and she wriggles in response. As I walk slowly around the bed, her head follows the sound of my footsteps; I repeat the process with her right hand, cuffing her wrist.
Ana’s breathing alters, becoming erratic and fast through parted lips. A flush creeps up her chest, and she squirms and lifts her hips in anticipation.
Good.
At the bottom of the bed I grab both her ankles. “Lift your head again,” I order. She does so immediately, and I drag her down the bed so that her arms are fully extended.
She lets out a quiet moan and lifts her hips once more.