her own terms, and part of those terms had included helping Madison find what she’d never been able to find for herself.
Now, in the touch of Logan’s hands, in the way she was sure his eyes rested on her, she realized that hadn’t been a gift for only one person. If Madison believed Logan, Alice had given him something he hadn’t been able to find for himself, either. Just one more time, could she risk her heart? Trust that she’d finally found what she’d always been seeking?
Tears burned in her eyes under the mask. When Logan’s thumbs moved over her throat she swallowed beneath his touch, his collar. “I love you,” she whispered.
His hands stopped but she shook her head. “Please don’t take off the blindfold. I want to be yours . . . I want the fantasy to become the reality.”
Would he understand such a strangely worded request, since keeping the blindfold on would seem to be promoting the fantasy? In the end, he was a Master, wasn’t he? He understood that some things became far clearer while within the session, things that escaped when they were outside it. If she stayed within it long enough tonight, she could brand it on her soul, so she never lost it. She hoped. There were truths to be found here, and she’d just stepped over the threshold, saying she was willing to accept them, find them in his ownership.
“When I’m done tonight, you’ll feel like you’ve been fucked by ten men,” he said, after a long pause, making her breath sigh out in relief. “But they’ll all be me. I’m not going to share you. It will always, only, be me. Say it.”
“Only you, Master.” Her lips curved in tremulous answer, and his hands dropped to her waist. For one blissful instant, he was up against her, his lips at her temple, telling her he understood. That he knew what this moment meant to them both.
He unhooked the thigh straps. “Hold your breath,” he said quietly. “And trust me.”
“I do.”
He pushed her beneath the water, into a thundering world of bubbles. Her knees bent, the ankle straps holding her feet against the opposite bench. The chain pulled against the collar, reminding her of her connection to the world above, but it had enough slack her head came to rest on that bench where she’d been sitting, her backside now suspended in that open area between the two benches. One second, two seconds . . . He caressed her, hands sliding over her breasts, dislodging the wax, rubbing her nipples. She tried to hold her breath rather than strangling at the incredible sensation. Then, slowly, he brought her back up.
She’d trusted him entirely for that, for holding her underwater, and her response to that was powerful. She’d been shaking for a while, but now the feeling had doubled in intensity. He removed the tether attached to her collar, freed her ankles and pulled off the thigh straps, but left her hands cuffed behind her back. Then he scooped her up and brought her out. As he set her down and drew back, she assumed to find a towel, he had to remove his hands from her, step away.
It was then she realized all these revelations were too unsettling. Her knees buckled, a tree without roots.
She didn’t even have a chance to call out. He was back in the space of a heartbeat, his body providing her support. He bent and lifted her again, cradling her back so even with her arms pulled behind her, she felt secure. She was soaking wet and against his dress shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. Taking her a few steps across the room, he laid her down on her side on a thinly padded table.
He spread a towel over her, gently dried her, head to toe. The sculpting clay had done its job: even after her dunking, her hair still firmly held in that topknot on her head, but he patted the area above the collar, her face, then all over, careful and thorough as if drying a child. She quivered under his touch and thought thoughts no child ever did.
When he was done, even down to rubbing the soles of
Now, in the touch of Logan’s hands, in the way she was sure his eyes rested on her, she realized that hadn’t been a gift for only one person. If Madison believed Logan, Alice had given him something he hadn’t been able to find for himself, either. Just one more time, could she risk her heart? Trust that she’d finally found what she’d always been seeking?
Tears burned in her eyes under the mask. When Logan’s thumbs moved over her throat she swallowed beneath his touch, his collar. “I love you,” she whispered.
His hands stopped but she shook her head. “Please don’t take off the blindfold. I want to be yours . . . I want the fantasy to become the reality.”
Would he understand such a strangely worded request, since keeping the blindfold on would seem to be promoting the fantasy? In the end, he was a Master, wasn’t he? He understood that some things became far clearer while within the session, things that escaped when they were outside it. If she stayed within it long enough tonight, she could brand it on her soul, so she never lost it. She hoped. There were truths to be found here, and she’d just stepped over the threshold, saying she was willing to accept them, find them in his ownership.
“When I’m done tonight, you’ll feel like you’ve been fucked by ten men,” he said, after a long pause, making her breath sigh out in relief. “But they’ll all be me. I’m not going to share you. It will always, only, be me. Say it.”
“Only you, Master.” Her lips curved in tremulous answer, and his hands dropped to her waist. For one blissful instant, he was up against her, his lips at her temple, telling her he understood. That he knew what this moment meant to them both.
He unhooked the thigh straps. “Hold your breath,” he said quietly. “And trust me.”
“I do.”
He pushed her beneath the water, into a thundering world of bubbles. Her knees bent, the ankle straps holding her feet against the opposite bench. The chain pulled against the collar, reminding her of her connection to the world above, but it had enough slack her head came to rest on that bench where she’d been sitting, her backside now suspended in that open area between the two benches. One second, two seconds . . . He caressed her, hands sliding over her breasts, dislodging the wax, rubbing her nipples. She tried to hold her breath rather than strangling at the incredible sensation. Then, slowly, he brought her back up.
She’d trusted him entirely for that, for holding her underwater, and her response to that was powerful. She’d been shaking for a while, but now the feeling had doubled in intensity. He removed the tether attached to her collar, freed her ankles and pulled off the thigh straps, but left her hands cuffed behind her back. Then he scooped her up and brought her out. As he set her down and drew back, she assumed to find a towel, he had to remove his hands from her, step away.
It was then she realized all these revelations were too unsettling. Her knees buckled, a tree without roots.
She didn’t even have a chance to call out. He was back in the space of a heartbeat, his body providing her support. He bent and lifted her again, cradling her back so even with her arms pulled behind her, she felt secure. She was soaking wet and against his dress shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. Taking her a few steps across the room, he laid her down on her side on a thinly padded table.
He spread a towel over her, gently dried her, head to toe. The sculpting clay had done its job: even after her dunking, her hair still firmly held in that topknot on her head, but he patted the area above the collar, her face, then all over, careful and thorough as if drying a child. She quivered under his touch and thought thoughts no child ever did.
When he was done, even down to rubbing the soles of
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