Page 22

“Stop, Sir,” I whispered.
“And if I asked you for a color?” he questioned, still studying my face as though gauging my reaction.
I swallowed, knowing he spoke of the stoplight system I’d read about while on break from work the day before. I’d realized that everything Stephen and I did together in the lifestyle wasn’t correct. But, I hadn’t brought it to his attention—hadn’t wanted to stir up shit when things had seemed decent for almost a week straight.
“Green, Sir,” I finally whispered, my heart heavy.
Satisfaction emanated from Master Cooney’s stare, and I swore the man was readying to rain praises down over me. “I’m going to wrap you in a chest harness first,” he said instead of what I could have used in that moment to boost my spirits.
“O-okay.”
“You remember that you’re in charge, right? That you simply need to say stop or red to end things if you grow uncomfortable?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I really hope you don’t this time, Becky, but I will not be angry with you if you do.”
Unable to find my voice, I nodded, trusting his word.
Master Cooney turned me sideways with a light touch to my hip, putting me into profile for the audience. “Let’s begin,” he told the class.
Peace swept in with the brush of the hemp rope over my breast. His low voice rumbled in my ears, and as with the first time he tied me in his ropes, I moved with his slightest lead, the gentlest pressure to aid in his harnessing me.
The rope grazed over the hardened peaks of my heavy breasts, and I bit the inside of my lip, holding in my groan. His thumb brushed over my nipple, but rather than flinching or opening my eyes, I leaned into his touch. He wrapped my breasts tightly without pain, my contracted nipples squeezed between the rope.
The juncture between my thighs throbbed. Warm wetness seeped from me, coating my thighs. My ears rang. Every nerve ending in my body needed yet resisted that happy place that called from the back of my mind.
I lost who I was. Where we were no longer mattered. Master Cooney held my body’s full focus.
He laid me on a mat on the floor, his hands and rope wrapping one of my legs, knotting me tight.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his fingertips fluttering along my thigh as he tied another loop. “So soft.”
I melted, a smile on my face.
His fingertip brushed through the wetness near my swollen folds, and I lifted toward him, so, so needy...
“You’re wet,” he whispered, which made my eyelids flutter open. He stared between my thighs and continued tying. A few more instructions in his bass voice to the onlookers I didn’t care about, and he turned his focus to my face.
Oh, sweet Lord...
I had never been on the receiving end of such a lustful look. His thumb rubbed along the inside of my thigh, hidden from sight from those on the floor to my right. “Are you ready to fly, sweetness?”
“Yes,” I whispered on the edge of some unnamable cliff, every cell inside me buzzing and yet relaxed at the same time.
Master Cooney stood, connected the rope dangling from the ceiling to my harness, and I closed my eyes.
Without a grunt of effort, he hoisted me into the air. Hanging only by the connection points in knots on my thighs and chest harness, I swung up off the floor, the loops around my chest tightening on my breasts, pinching my nipples.
I moaned while floating, the intense longing in my core consuming me.
Sir’s hand slid over my calf, rubbing my skin plumped between his ropes, creeping up my thigh…higher…
He spun me a half turn, his thumb rubbing over my pubic hair, gently flicking my throbbing clit.
A gale of exquisite torture slid upward from my toes, and I shuddered, whimpering.
He flicked again.