Maître was quiet for so long I thought I’d pushed too far. “You want answers, you will earn them,” he said. Maître rolled off the bed and came back to me with a bag of what looked like wooden clothespins. I frowned in confusion.
Maître took a clothespin in his hand and ran it up and down my sternum. “These are not for domestic purposes.” He lowered one toward my breast.
I cried out, feeling the sting from the clothespin travel straight to my clit.
Maître flicked the clothespin attached to my nipple, and my body jerked at the short burst of pain, which made my skin heat. As if to soothe the second of pain he’d inflicted, he swiped his tongue over my clothespin-free nipple, and I moaned at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around my flesh.
“Some of our everyday lives are not so good,” Maître said, and in my lust-fueled mind, I realized he was answering my question. “This club…it frees those who cannot be free. It ignites passion in those who have their wants and needs suppressed.”
“You’ve been suppressed?” I asked, sadness fueling my words. “You don’t enjoy your life outside of these walls?”
I couldn’t imagine him being anything other than larger than life. He didn’t answer with words. Instead Maître pinned a clothespin on my other nipple. I hissed in a breath when he flicked them both back and forth. I yanked on the ropes around my wrists, gritting my teeth against the rising pressure between my legs.
Maître crawled over me, silver eyes hovering right over my veiled face. “Do I like my life? Not always. It is not bad. Yet I am not so free. But as of late, it has improved.”
“How?” I whispered.
“He shook his head and reached into the small bag on the end of the bed. He pulled out another pin, but this one was all metal. Inching up my restrained legs, he stopped at the apex of my thighs. He held the pin in the air, making sure I’d seen it, then slowly clamped it on my clit.
My eyes rolled back in my head at the sudden, maddening pressure it brought. Addictive pressure. Mind-blowing pressure. Maître’s hands roved over my thighs, the tensing of my muscles causing the pins on my nipples and clit to sway back and forth, biting me with delicious pain.
“How has my life improved, you ask?”
“Yes, Maître,” I whispered, biting my lip, trying to focus on the question at hand when my body was begging for release.
“A siren,” he said, and I felt my heart almost stutter to a halt. “She came along, lured me in and woke me from mundanity.” His words crashed over me like the warm rays of the sun. Before I could say anything in response, he said, “Only a few questions more.”
“What don’t you like, your job or your home life?” I asked, trying to sway the conversation back to safe territory. I couldn’t let my heart be involved in this. I couldn’t like him like this. I had to keep it in this chambre only.
Maître reached into his bag, and ran a long, thin chain through his fingers. I stared at the chain, wondering what he would be doing with that. In time to Andrea Bocelli’s voice singing through the speakers about dreams, he wrapped the chain around the pins on my nipples and clit until it formed a perfect triangle. The chain pulled on the pins. I felt shivers race like dominoes over my skin, addictive pressure building inside me.
“Some of us are not free to live as we choose,” he said. “Some of us are bound by things out of our control. Bound to duties by blood.”
“You have to submit to someone else,” I realized, the pieces of Maître’s mysterious puzzle slotting together. “That’s why you need this control.” Maître reached into his bag again and pulled out a long, sleek black vibrator. I jumped when he turned it on and the buzzing sound filled the room.
Maître placed the vibrator against the clothespin on my clit. The second it pressed against the metal, I screamed, pulling on the ropes around my wrists. The vibrations traveled like earthquake tremors around the pins on my nipples and clit, a torturous kind of hell that I never wanted to stop.
Maître’s eyes were glued on me as I thrashed against the restraints, needing to get away from the pins but, at the same time wanting to drown in the vibrations. Then Maître turned up the vibrator, faster and faster, until I couldn’t take anymore.
“Do not come,” he ordered and, as I had for weeks, I obeyed his command. My orgasm built and built, but it waited on a hellish precipice for his permission to release. The vibrations were torturous, relentlessly pushing me further and further until I thought I couldn’t bear it. But I did take more. I took so much that my neck ached from tension, and if he didn’t command me to come soon, I was sure I would fracture apart.