All this beauty was his. She was all his.
Kimani didn’t know it, but she had walked into a setup with his challenge. He had known that she’d want to win the donation and possibly avoid being his for three days. That was a lot riding on her shoulders. She was the kind of person to put a lot of pressure on herself, and that had affected her game. He didn’t mentioned that, win or lose, he was going to make the donation.
“Whoever invented five-inch heels was a real misogynist,” she declared.
“So what does it say about women that you’re willing to wear them?”
“I don’t wear shoes like these.”
“Not even for fun?”
“Maybe once. At a Halloween party. So, I guess for fun. But it’s complicated. As a woman, you wonder if wearing shoes like these means you’re pandering to men, let
ting them define what’s sexy, and objectifying yourself. On the other hand, if you want to be strong and sexy, and you like wearing heels like these, you get slut-shamed. It’s a no-win situation.”
Was she stalling or talking because she was nervous? If he weren’t so eager to ravish her, he would indulge the discussion, but the Dungeon wasn’t a place for intellectual musings. The Dungeon was for sex. Wicked, kinky sex.
He looked at the half-empty glass of water she held. “Finish your water.”
While she drank, he retrieved a cord of rope.
She had finished the water, leaving a few ice cubes at the bottom. Fishing one out with his finger, he circled it around her areola. The cold made her gasp. He moved the ice closer to her nipple. She gasped louder, squeaking when the ice passed over the tip. The bud hardened nicely. He dropped what was left of the ice into the glass, which he took from her and set aside. Rope in hand, he began to bind her wrists.
“There are only two simple rules to follow,” he told her. “One, addressing properly every time you speak. Try it.”
She glared. “Yes, Sir.”
“Second, if you want to come, you have to beg for it. Got that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good pet.”
She bristled.
Having finished tying her wrists, he threw the excess rope over a wooden beam overhead. The beam was there for suspension bondage, which he hoped to incorporate into tonight’s scene. Stepping back, he appraised how hot she looked. He walked behind her to view her backside. Her heels caused her arse to stick out, and he couldn’t resist palming her full buttocks, digging his fingers into the ample flesh.
Returning to stand in front of her, he played with her breasts, gently kneading, then roughly groping. He roused the other nipple to match the hardness of the first, tugging it, pinching it, twisting it. She grunted and squeaked while squirming. He slapped a breast when she squirmed too much. She stilled her movement and submitted to his manhandling.
“That’s better,” he said before sharply slapping her breasts a few more times.
Her brows knit in anger. She was probably wondering why he was slapping her when she was doing exactly what he wanted.
He fisted his hand into her hair and, yanking her head back, explained to her, “You see, pet, I get to do whatever the fuck I want to do to you. In general, it’s always wiser to obey your Master. Unless you want to be punished for disobedience, and that’s a lot more fun for me than it is for you, given you’re not a hardcore masochist. Do you remember your safety word?”
“Mercy.”
“Good. You might need it tonight.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him so that she could feel his hard-on. Releasing her head, he reached between her thighs and found her damp. The slick moisture was not the water from the bath.
“You always get wet for me, don’t you?”
Fuck you, her eyes said.
He gave her a light slap across the cheek. “Don’t you?”
Yes, Sir,” she mumbled.