Lean on Me
Page 15
Her arms felt as if someone had attached lead weights to her wrists. “Red, Sir.”
“Very good. Master Cullen said you have no medical problems.” He fixed her with a black stare. “Is that true?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” He looped the rope behind her neck with the lengths dangling down between her bare breasts. “This is called Shibari, and it's not only bondage, but it can be erotic and beautiful. We'll try for all three.” As he spoke, his hands worked, tying the rope into intricate shapes. Over, between, and below her breasts, pressing them out. Snugly around her waist, creating a sensation like a corset. Then across her buttocks and around her thighs, squeezing them like tight shorts.
He studied her for a second before drawing the rope from the back up between her legs. After glancing at her pussy, he added a knot and tied the end to the rope circling her waist. When he tightened it, the knot pressed right into her clit.
Dios! The pressure on the most sensitive spot on her body sent shockwaves through her.
“Now the Japanese style tends to immobilize, but I think bondage is even more erotic when it's in motion.” He laced her arms behind her back, not uncomfortably, but tightly enough that her breasts pressed forward. And securely enough she couldn't touch any of his ropes.
“That'll do.” He folded his arms over his black T-shirt and looked down at her. “Find Master Cullen and explain why you're naked. Remain in the ropes for at least a half hour.” A faint smile crossed his face. “Of course, if Master Cullen is annoyed, you'll be in them all night.”
And then he slapped her on the butt as if moving a horse along.
She took two steps and stopped, completely horrified. Each movement scraped the rope between her labia and dragged the knot across her clit. With her hands behind her back, she couldn't adjust it or move it away. She glanced over her shoulder at Master Nolan. No smile showed on the hard face, but laughter glinted in his eyes.
Maybe I'll just stand here for the half hour and pretend to be a statue.
“You were given an order, sub,” he said softly.
Or not. She tried walking slowly, tried not moving her hips, tried not breathing. Nothing helped. Each step moved the knot, and yet the stimulation never intensified enough to get her off. By the time she approached the bar, her rapidly swelling clit burned with need. She halted to try to regain her composure. Like that would happen.
“Pissed off Master Nolan, did you?” Master Cullen's deep, rough voice.
She looked over and saw him and Marcus sitting on bar stools.
Master Marcus glanced at Cullen. “That's beautiful work. Why do you think he's angry?”
“He adds the crotch rope only for discipline,” Master Cullen said.
Andrea flushed as Marcus's gaze dropped to her groin. “I do see how that might become a tad uncomfortable,” he said.
Cullen's laugh didn't amuse her at all.
Cullen tucked a finger under the crotch rope, making the knot press harder on her clit. She barely kept back a moan.
When he pulled her between his outstretched legs and rested his hands on her shoulders, she wanted him to hold her so badly she quivered with it.
“What happened, sweetie?”
“He startled me.” She looked down. “I swung at him.”
“Wrong guy to take a swing at.”
Understatement of the year. “Yes.” She considered not mentioning the remainder of Master Nolan's instructions; then again, good Catholic girls shouldn't commit suicide. “He said he wanted me in the ropes for at least half an hour.” Maybe Señor would think that excessive?
He smashed her tiny hope flat. “A half hour it is.” He glanced at Marcus, “Nolan prefers the Japanese style that uses almost no knots. See how the ropes twine without being knotted?” Master Cullen's fingers ran over the ropes, brushing her skin lightly. He traced the rope running around her swollen left breast, and the nipple tightened so hard that it ached.
“You look lovely in ropes, Andrea,” he said. “And I see he tied your arms so you can't take a swing at anyone else…no matter what they do.” He looked her straight in the eyes and ran his knuckles over the tight peak of her nipple.
A whimper escaped her, and her arms jerked helplessly behind her back.
Master Cullen's eyes crinkled. Rather than stopping, he played with her swollen breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the hard points and making heat streak through her in waves.
When he finally stopped, her legs shook like jelly. “For the next half an hour, you will walk laps around the bar. Stop in front of me with each lap,” he said.
Carajo. She looked at him.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Señor.” She moved away. Carefully. Slowly. Cabrón. Hijo de puta.
Whistling with the music, her Señor returned to his bar.
One lap. Two. With every lap and stop, he came back out. And each time, he teased her, playing with the ropes, fondling her breasts. Once he moved the crotch rope, not away from her clit, but just a fraction of an inch sideways so it pressed on a new place. She grew even more swollen and tender.
Almost twenty minutes later, as she started another lap, she realized her head felt light. Oh, Dios, no. Sometimes, especially if she missed meals or didn't drink enough fluids, she'd get dizzy. She'd only fainted a couple of times, since she usually had the brains to stop and sit until it passed, and then fix whatever caused it. But she couldn't sit, not this time. “Never show weakness.”
She gritted her teeth, trying to force away the blackness wavering at the edges of her vision. Her mouth tasted as if she'd chewed on tinfoil, and her face felt hot, then cold. I can do this, dammit. She staggered into a table, shook her head, and kept on walking.
A hand grasped her chin, and she blinked, trying to see through the haze. “Don't. I don't need help.”
“Hell you don't.”
Her head spun so fast that her stomach twisted, and then she realized Master Cullen was carrying her. He laid her on a couch.
With her feet up, the dizziness receded, and shame ran through her. She'd failed. Couldn't even cut walking around a bar a few times.
“Heather, bring me a water,” Señor called. When it came, he held the bottle to her mouth. She tried to take it, but he hadn't released her arms from behind her back.
“Drink.”
“I—”
“Drink, sub. We'll talk in a minute.”
The water poured into her, removing the taste of tin. Every time she swallowed, she got more until most of the bottle was gone.
Then Master Cullen took a pair of scissors from his pocket and cut the ropes off her, dropping them in a pile on the floor. As blood rushed into every compressed area, her skin tingled and burned. When he pulled her arms forward, she groaned.
“Poor baby.” Chuckling, he slid her down so her head rested on the arm of the couch, then massaged her sore muscles with strong hands. Her neck, her shoulders, her upper arms, squeezing to the point of pain.
The knots in her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed. But having him tend to her felt wrong. That was her job. She tried to sit up.
He pushed her flat, holding her there with a firm hand between her breasts. “Don't move, sub.”
She eyed his stern face. He looked so angry. Now he'd yell at her for screwing up. She couldn't even walk around the room without wussing out. “I'm sorry, Señor,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you sorry for?”
His hand still pressed her to the cushions, leaving her no retreat. “I didn't do what you said, didn't finish walking my half hour. I—”I'm a failure, a weakling.
“I see.” His knuckles brushed along her jawline. But he'd stopped holding her down, so she started to—
“Lie still,” he snapped.
She dropped back on the cushions, although she couldn't relax.
“Andrea, did you realize you were dizzy?”
“Yes.” Oops. “Yes, Señor.”
“Why did you keep walking?”
What kind of a question was that? “Because you told me too.”
He snorted. “And if you'd continued another minute, you'd have been passed out on the floor.”
She flushed and dropped her gaze. Loser.
“Hell.” A finger under her chin raised her face. “Look at me.” He regarded her for a long minute. “Sweetie, I expect a lot from my trainees, but you're only human. If you get dizzy, or if it's the wrong time of the month, or if you're feeling puny, I want to know. That's part of the honesty between a sub and Dom.”
Like he would listen any more than her father?
His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth went taut as if he'd heard her. “And if for some reason, I'm not listening, I'd better hear the word 'red,' coming from those pretty lips, loud and clear.”
Admit to a weakness? Quit? Not me.
The little sub's muscles had tightened up again. That sure wasn't looking like agreement to Cullen. And why the hell had she kept walking despite obviously heading for a faint. He hadn't seen determination like this since his wildland firefighting days, watching candidates take the three-mile pack test.
He'd known she had a never-back-down spirit, but did that include a problem with requesting help? Too many cops and firefighters often had that mindset, especially the macho idiots who figured asking for assistance made them pussies.
“Very good. Master Cullen said you have no medical problems.” He fixed her with a black stare. “Is that true?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” He looped the rope behind her neck with the lengths dangling down between her bare breasts. “This is called Shibari, and it's not only bondage, but it can be erotic and beautiful. We'll try for all three.” As he spoke, his hands worked, tying the rope into intricate shapes. Over, between, and below her breasts, pressing them out. Snugly around her waist, creating a sensation like a corset. Then across her buttocks and around her thighs, squeezing them like tight shorts.
He studied her for a second before drawing the rope from the back up between her legs. After glancing at her pussy, he added a knot and tied the end to the rope circling her waist. When he tightened it, the knot pressed right into her clit.
Dios! The pressure on the most sensitive spot on her body sent shockwaves through her.
“Now the Japanese style tends to immobilize, but I think bondage is even more erotic when it's in motion.” He laced her arms behind her back, not uncomfortably, but tightly enough that her breasts pressed forward. And securely enough she couldn't touch any of his ropes.
“That'll do.” He folded his arms over his black T-shirt and looked down at her. “Find Master Cullen and explain why you're naked. Remain in the ropes for at least a half hour.” A faint smile crossed his face. “Of course, if Master Cullen is annoyed, you'll be in them all night.”
And then he slapped her on the butt as if moving a horse along.
She took two steps and stopped, completely horrified. Each movement scraped the rope between her labia and dragged the knot across her clit. With her hands behind her back, she couldn't adjust it or move it away. She glanced over her shoulder at Master Nolan. No smile showed on the hard face, but laughter glinted in his eyes.
Maybe I'll just stand here for the half hour and pretend to be a statue.
“You were given an order, sub,” he said softly.
Or not. She tried walking slowly, tried not moving her hips, tried not breathing. Nothing helped. Each step moved the knot, and yet the stimulation never intensified enough to get her off. By the time she approached the bar, her rapidly swelling clit burned with need. She halted to try to regain her composure. Like that would happen.
“Pissed off Master Nolan, did you?” Master Cullen's deep, rough voice.
She looked over and saw him and Marcus sitting on bar stools.
Master Marcus glanced at Cullen. “That's beautiful work. Why do you think he's angry?”
“He adds the crotch rope only for discipline,” Master Cullen said.
Andrea flushed as Marcus's gaze dropped to her groin. “I do see how that might become a tad uncomfortable,” he said.
Cullen's laugh didn't amuse her at all.
Cullen tucked a finger under the crotch rope, making the knot press harder on her clit. She barely kept back a moan.
When he pulled her between his outstretched legs and rested his hands on her shoulders, she wanted him to hold her so badly she quivered with it.
“What happened, sweetie?”
“He startled me.” She looked down. “I swung at him.”
“Wrong guy to take a swing at.”
Understatement of the year. “Yes.” She considered not mentioning the remainder of Master Nolan's instructions; then again, good Catholic girls shouldn't commit suicide. “He said he wanted me in the ropes for at least half an hour.” Maybe Señor would think that excessive?
He smashed her tiny hope flat. “A half hour it is.” He glanced at Marcus, “Nolan prefers the Japanese style that uses almost no knots. See how the ropes twine without being knotted?” Master Cullen's fingers ran over the ropes, brushing her skin lightly. He traced the rope running around her swollen left breast, and the nipple tightened so hard that it ached.
“You look lovely in ropes, Andrea,” he said. “And I see he tied your arms so you can't take a swing at anyone else…no matter what they do.” He looked her straight in the eyes and ran his knuckles over the tight peak of her nipple.
A whimper escaped her, and her arms jerked helplessly behind her back.
Master Cullen's eyes crinkled. Rather than stopping, he played with her swollen breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the hard points and making heat streak through her in waves.
When he finally stopped, her legs shook like jelly. “For the next half an hour, you will walk laps around the bar. Stop in front of me with each lap,” he said.
Carajo. She looked at him.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Señor.” She moved away. Carefully. Slowly. Cabrón. Hijo de puta.
Whistling with the music, her Señor returned to his bar.
One lap. Two. With every lap and stop, he came back out. And each time, he teased her, playing with the ropes, fondling her breasts. Once he moved the crotch rope, not away from her clit, but just a fraction of an inch sideways so it pressed on a new place. She grew even more swollen and tender.
Almost twenty minutes later, as she started another lap, she realized her head felt light. Oh, Dios, no. Sometimes, especially if she missed meals or didn't drink enough fluids, she'd get dizzy. She'd only fainted a couple of times, since she usually had the brains to stop and sit until it passed, and then fix whatever caused it. But she couldn't sit, not this time. “Never show weakness.”
She gritted her teeth, trying to force away the blackness wavering at the edges of her vision. Her mouth tasted as if she'd chewed on tinfoil, and her face felt hot, then cold. I can do this, dammit. She staggered into a table, shook her head, and kept on walking.
A hand grasped her chin, and she blinked, trying to see through the haze. “Don't. I don't need help.”
“Hell you don't.”
Her head spun so fast that her stomach twisted, and then she realized Master Cullen was carrying her. He laid her on a couch.
With her feet up, the dizziness receded, and shame ran through her. She'd failed. Couldn't even cut walking around a bar a few times.
“Heather, bring me a water,” Señor called. When it came, he held the bottle to her mouth. She tried to take it, but he hadn't released her arms from behind her back.
“Drink.”
“I—”
“Drink, sub. We'll talk in a minute.”
The water poured into her, removing the taste of tin. Every time she swallowed, she got more until most of the bottle was gone.
Then Master Cullen took a pair of scissors from his pocket and cut the ropes off her, dropping them in a pile on the floor. As blood rushed into every compressed area, her skin tingled and burned. When he pulled her arms forward, she groaned.
“Poor baby.” Chuckling, he slid her down so her head rested on the arm of the couch, then massaged her sore muscles with strong hands. Her neck, her shoulders, her upper arms, squeezing to the point of pain.
The knots in her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed. But having him tend to her felt wrong. That was her job. She tried to sit up.
He pushed her flat, holding her there with a firm hand between her breasts. “Don't move, sub.”
She eyed his stern face. He looked so angry. Now he'd yell at her for screwing up. She couldn't even walk around the room without wussing out. “I'm sorry, Señor,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you sorry for?”
His hand still pressed her to the cushions, leaving her no retreat. “I didn't do what you said, didn't finish walking my half hour. I—”I'm a failure, a weakling.
“I see.” His knuckles brushed along her jawline. But he'd stopped holding her down, so she started to—
“Lie still,” he snapped.
She dropped back on the cushions, although she couldn't relax.
“Andrea, did you realize you were dizzy?”
“Yes.” Oops. “Yes, Señor.”
“Why did you keep walking?”
What kind of a question was that? “Because you told me too.”
He snorted. “And if you'd continued another minute, you'd have been passed out on the floor.”
She flushed and dropped her gaze. Loser.
“Hell.” A finger under her chin raised her face. “Look at me.” He regarded her for a long minute. “Sweetie, I expect a lot from my trainees, but you're only human. If you get dizzy, or if it's the wrong time of the month, or if you're feeling puny, I want to know. That's part of the honesty between a sub and Dom.”
Like he would listen any more than her father?
His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth went taut as if he'd heard her. “And if for some reason, I'm not listening, I'd better hear the word 'red,' coming from those pretty lips, loud and clear.”
Admit to a weakness? Quit? Not me.
The little sub's muscles had tightened up again. That sure wasn't looking like agreement to Cullen. And why the hell had she kept walking despite obviously heading for a faint. He hadn't seen determination like this since his wildland firefighting days, watching candidates take the three-mile pack test.
He'd known she had a never-back-down spirit, but did that include a problem with requesting help? Too many cops and firefighters often had that mindset, especially the macho idiots who figured asking for assistance made them pussies.
