Motioning to the chair, he lets me amble about, getting caught in various loops and things that are sticking out before settling his hands about my waist and guiding me how he wants me. Shame burns through my body as I soak in the warmth from his hands. As much as I know he doesn't want me, as much as I know I mean nothing to him than a hole to fuck, there's still a part of me that craves touch, even from someone like him. He lays me back against the leather, and my ass hits resistance, jostling the bells, bringing them pealing to life.
He chuckles and pulls my hips forward until my ass is half hanging off and my feet are arched in an awkward angle down towards the floor. From this position, my hips are brought up into a vee with my back bowed and my chest thrust high in the air. A cramp twinges in my low back, but Master Grigori doesn't keep me there for long. His hands grasp my ankles, and he brings them up towards him and lays my feet against his chest for a moment. Remaining silent, he brings one foot and then the other to the awaiting arms sticking out. Yep. Just like the gyno.
Cool air laps at my exposed flesh, drawing a shiver out of my body. Finally, he has a reaction other than a scowl. A soft smile tilts his lips as he locks a manacle around each ankle then stands up to walk towards my head. With a gentle touch so unlike what he's been typically putting me through, he skims his knuckles across the back of my hand before bringing it up to an awaiting cuff. First one hand, then the other until I'm stretched out as best I can be on this cramped chair.
"Would you like me to adjust it some more?"
I shrug, unsure of what he would even do to make it better. No matter what, I'll be exposed to him and whatever machinations he has towards my person.
Scowling, he reaches down and grabs my nipple, pinching it hard. A yelp escapes my lips as I turn to twist out his grasp. I only make things worse. Panting, I lay there, eyes screwed shut.
"I want your words and not body movements."
"I don't know," I wail. "I don't even know how this thing can move! So I can't ask you for an adjustment."
"Ah."
That's all he says before shuffling about for a moment or two. In an instant, I'm free-falling, the sudden drop sending scores of butterflies into my stomach. Instead of a hard landing, he seems to have caught the head of the chair before it crashed into the bottom part, easing any hard jostling.
"Is that better?"
With my body fully stretched out, the cramp dissipates, leaving me with just the awkwardness of the situation to deal with.
"Yes, Master."
"Good."
With a few tugs, my arms are pulled tighter, making it almost impossible to move. With me in such a vulnerable position, memories of my piercing flood back in, sending tremors racking my body.
"Please don't pierce me again," I cry out, not caring if this earns me more punishment. "I'm trying to obey you. I promise."
"What else would I even be able to pierce?"
He pauses, his fingertips trailing over my nipples. Traitorous parts that they are, they harden under his touch. Please don't take this as an invitation. Please don't pierce my nipples.
"I guess I could give you some matching jewelry, hmm?"
His fingers tighten around the buds, not enough to cause pain but enough to send a shaft of pleasure down my body, coiling low in my stomach. I don't like that idea. I don't like it at all, but my body keeps sending him the wrong signals. I don't like pain, but I can't seem to convince him of that.
"I think I'll leave these beauties alone. The healing time for nipples would make piercing them right now just impractical. But I guess I could give you a little decoration in the meantime."
I let out a breath as he leaves to walk over to the wall. He didn't say he'll never pierce them, but it seems like right now, I have a reprieve. All too soon, he's back at my side, his hands molding my breasts through the shirt. I stifle a moan as he kneads me, my body melting under his touch. With a jerk of his hand, he rips my shirt open, revealing the lacy bra underneath. His eyes grow large as he takes me in, lust evident in his gaze.
"Such a shame you wore such a pretty set. Looks like I'll have to buy another one."
Before I can ask him what he's talking about, he brings up his hand, revealing a wicked-looking razor - not a typical one, but something you'd see in a barbershop or something. My throat closes as scenes from that musical with Johnny Depp fill my brain. So this is it, then? This is how he kills me? Scrunching my eyes closed, I barely register the soft snick as he cuts through the bra. It's not until his fingers are plucking at my bare nipples that I realize what happened. My breath releases on a moan as the heat of his mouth engulfs my engorged bud.
His fingers work my other nipple before slipping a band around it and tightening. Lifting his mouth, he does the same to the other before pulling back and admiring his handiwork. I crane my neck and look down, unable to see what he's done to me. It doesn't hurt - quite the opposite, in fact. My nipples stay hard as the leather encircling them doesn’t allow the blood to drain away. If only nipple clamps felt like this.
"Now then, before we get started, some grooming needs to happen."
I resist rolling my eyes until my lids are closed. I'm not that stupid - not when he probably has the razor down near my bits. What is it with these men and perfectly groomed pussies? Granted, I haven't submitted in a while, so the whole thing probably looks like a crazed jungle by now. From what I can tell, he's just sitting there, staring at me. Is he planning a design? Am I about to be bedazzled? I shuffle about, trying to pull my head up enough to see him when a fiery strike lands on my inner thigh.
"I would refrain from moving about so much if I were you. This cutthroat razor is an unforgiving blade. One false move and I might damage you beyond repair. Though maiming is not on your list of hard limits, I'm assuming you'll want to remain intact."
"Yes, Master," I whisper, holding my body still.
After a moment more, his fingers slide over my lips, tugging at my hair every few moments. He continues that pattern, stroke - tug, stroke - tug until my fingers curl and release in time with his movements. Arousal floods my body at such a simple act, one no one has ever done before. I'd always been mostly bare when summoned by a member. He pulls away and spreads my lips, leaving me open and vulnerable to his gaze. Not knowing where the razor is, I force myself to remain still. Instead of removing my hair, his fingers slide alongside my clit, trapping it in between. With each squeeze and glide, my arousal builds even higher. Groaning, I toss my head back, letting the magic of his fingers flow into me. It's not the same as when he's directly touching it. Instead, it's a deeper sensation, giving me enough to arouse but not nearly enough to get off.
He pulls away, and I miss his touch way more than I'm willing to admit, even to myself. Soon enough, his fingers return, but this time, instead of stroking me, he smears stuff all down my inner lip from the tip down near my ass. The moment chilled metal meets my skin, I force myself to remain still, his threats still lingering in my brain. The roughened glide of the blade against my sensitive skin is unlike anything I've ever known before. Each slide sends a mix of fear and desire swirling in a heady mix. With every pause, I take a breath and hold it for the length of the stroke, careful not to jostle him in any way.
Each swipe is calculated and sure. Not once do I feel a hint of discomfort. I wonder if he'll want to do this from now or if it's too much of a chore for him. A small part of me would love to make this a routine. It's so intimate, so sexy. I never imagined personal grooming making me feel this way. He puts the razor down with a soft snick before bringing a wet cloth to my skin. As he's wiping me down, I'm keenly aware of how wet I am and hoping he doesn't notice.
His fingers slide into me, filling me completely. Groaning, I arch into his touch, pride be damned. If this is the only way I get affection from him, I'll take it. My insides twist as he thrusts in and out, building me up to an orgasm, and just like the asshole he is, he stops, leaving me on the precipice. Grunting, I move my hips, fucking myself on his hand. Chuckling, he pulls out and grips the hair at my mound, the sharp tugs arresting my movement.
"Greedy little minx. You've been such a bad girl today, and you think I'll reward you with an orgasm?" He tsks his tongue, relaxing his grip. "I think I'll let you suffer for a little bit more."
Groaning, I close my eyes, willing my libido to stop. I can't keep getting this turned on around him; he's just going to use it against me. His fingers tug at my hair again, but this time, he lets go after a snipping sound. All the way around my mound, he tugs and snips until he's satisfied with the result. Once again, he wipes me down, leaving me aching for his touch.
I lie there, staring up at a vaulted ceiling as sounds of him tidying up reach my ears. How did I become like this? For most Society members, I was fine with them using me then leaving, happier to get permission to find my own release. Now, with Master Grigori, I want more than that. Sure, I'd enjoy getting myself off, but the things he does to me just make my toes curl. He said he'd make it to where I could only think about him, and hour by hour, I am slowly losing grip of all the men that came before him. They pale in comparison - even professor Richards. Is this what Stockholm syndrome is like? Given a chance to escape, I'd take it with open arms, at least that's what I tell myself. I just wish I was a better liar.
My breathing quickens as hysteria rises up within me. I can’t be so tied to him. I can’t let him control my mind. After a moment or two, I’m keenly aware of a tapping sensation on my ankle. I lie there, my brain trying to make sense of the rhythm. As I concentrate on the beat, I notice my heart slowing down to match.
“Good, girl,” he murmurs, tapping me twice as he says it.
Warmth blossoms in me as we stay there for several minutes more, him tapping and breathing deeply with me. It feels so intimate, so connecting. It feels like he actually cares and wants to connect with me. Nodding, he stands up and slaps his palms against his thighs.
He unlatches everything and pulls me up, bringing me close to his side. With ginger steps, I navigate around the pieces of the chair until we're in more of a clearing. Once again, my eyes are drawn to the silk and the ropes. Maybe one day, I'll be high in the air with nothing but my bonds holding me in place. His eyes follow my gaze, and it looks like he softens as he stares in that area. Is he thinking about his other submissive?
"Do you like rope, Chelsea?"
I start at his words. Should I tell him? No. Better to be disappointed than to face one more promise that will be broken. Besides, if he does send me back to the university, perhaps one of the other Dominants will oblige me. They're always asking each other for help and advice. Maybe one of them will need a bottom for rope. Shuttering my eyes, I cut off any more wishful thinking. It's better to never wish for anything; that way, when it doesn't happen, you're not disappointed.
"Never tried it."
My words are neutral, calculated to show no emotion. Frowning, Master Grigori takes my elbow and steers me towards the dark hallway again. Now that I know what it leads to, I'm no longer afraid. In fact, surrounded by the dark, I allow a few errant tears to fall.
* * *