I straighten my shoulders and step back. I tug at my sweater pulling it over my head, one hand clasped tightly around the diamonds.
Jason turns his back and takes a seat in the winged back chair in the corner of the room, shadowed slightly in the darkened room but no doubt with an unobstructed view of me. I kick off my shoes and pull my leggings down my legs. My confidence in undressing is completely at odds with my riotous nerves, which are alive with anxiety. My legs start to judder when I rest on each one in turn to remove my panties, shaking uncontrollably. I quickly slam each foot flat to stop the visual verification of my uncertainty. I unclip my bra and stand for a moment staring at the darkness in the corner, only Jason’s suede walking boots visible.
I let the chain drop to its full length and put my head through the large loop. The diamonds glint and sparkle even in the dimly lit room. The chain falls over the curve of my breast, my light coffee-coloured skin a stark contrast to the pure crystal shards of light reflecting across the room. The necklace hangs low and skims just below my belly button. It is cold on my skin, but that isn’t the reason my nipples are hardened peaks or why my breathing is now shallow, rapid pants. Jason makes an exaggerated, disgruntled sounding cough, an ‘ahem’ noise. I pull my brows together for a moment of thought. What could I have done to cause his displeasure? It takes effort to think this way. I am not used to putting myself on the other end of the whip…so to speak. I shake my head and sniff at my own ‘special’ moment. I drop to my knees. I lower my head and place my hands on my thighs palms up, my knees spread but not wide, first position.
We haven’t discussed boundaries or limits, and I am really not prepared to give up too much too soon, not when we have yet to start our proper negotiation.
The chair scrapes with the sudden movement of Jason standing, he takes three large strides and is directly in front of me. His foot taps the inside of one of my knees. I resist the pressure, my jaw clenching tight enough to make my head pulse with the pressure. The thought that this is never going to work flashes across my mind and I exhale in a loud puff through my nose. Jason drops to his haunches and lifts my chin so I am staring directly into his golden brown eyes. The look of adoration goes some way to appease my anxiety. His dark, lust-filled stare is deeply erotic and calms me enough that the slightest pressure from his other hand has my thighs spreading wider under his fingertips. He groans with satisfaction and draws in a deep breath.
“Hmm, fuck, Sam…You have no idea what you do to me like this. I am one lucky man.” His smile is so genuine it steals my breath like a hit to the chest. My own timorous pleasure at his words tips my lips into a reciprocal smile. He stands up, keeping his hand under my chin forcing me to arch and stretch my neck to keep eye contact.
“Tell me what you are, Sam.” His deeply possessive tone sends an erotic chill up my spine and settles in a swirl in my tummy. I struggle to swallow the lump the word I know he is waiting to hear are creating in my throat. “Sam,” he repeats with more force, “tell me what you are.” His grip tightens. His eyes darken with resolve and unmistakeable possession.
“Yours.” I barely get the word out. My voice is croaky, but I feel the truth of my declaration like it is carved into the ancient oak of the St Andrew’s Cross he is no doubt going to tie me to. As if reading my mind, he scoops me up, with no effort at all, into his arms and carefully places me on the plinth that holds that very cross. He methodically straps my ankles and my wrists and only pauses once he is finished. I don’t bother testing the restraints. I know he is more than proficient at his job; I am just struggling with mine. I haven’t ever been a willing submissive for my own pleasure, and this new role is testing me on
Jason turns his back and takes a seat in the winged back chair in the corner of the room, shadowed slightly in the darkened room but no doubt with an unobstructed view of me. I kick off my shoes and pull my leggings down my legs. My confidence in undressing is completely at odds with my riotous nerves, which are alive with anxiety. My legs start to judder when I rest on each one in turn to remove my panties, shaking uncontrollably. I quickly slam each foot flat to stop the visual verification of my uncertainty. I unclip my bra and stand for a moment staring at the darkness in the corner, only Jason’s suede walking boots visible.
I let the chain drop to its full length and put my head through the large loop. The diamonds glint and sparkle even in the dimly lit room. The chain falls over the curve of my breast, my light coffee-coloured skin a stark contrast to the pure crystal shards of light reflecting across the room. The necklace hangs low and skims just below my belly button. It is cold on my skin, but that isn’t the reason my nipples are hardened peaks or why my breathing is now shallow, rapid pants. Jason makes an exaggerated, disgruntled sounding cough, an ‘ahem’ noise. I pull my brows together for a moment of thought. What could I have done to cause his displeasure? It takes effort to think this way. I am not used to putting myself on the other end of the whip…so to speak. I shake my head and sniff at my own ‘special’ moment. I drop to my knees. I lower my head and place my hands on my thighs palms up, my knees spread but not wide, first position.
We haven’t discussed boundaries or limits, and I am really not prepared to give up too much too soon, not when we have yet to start our proper negotiation.
The chair scrapes with the sudden movement of Jason standing, he takes three large strides and is directly in front of me. His foot taps the inside of one of my knees. I resist the pressure, my jaw clenching tight enough to make my head pulse with the pressure. The thought that this is never going to work flashes across my mind and I exhale in a loud puff through my nose. Jason drops to his haunches and lifts my chin so I am staring directly into his golden brown eyes. The look of adoration goes some way to appease my anxiety. His dark, lust-filled stare is deeply erotic and calms me enough that the slightest pressure from his other hand has my thighs spreading wider under his fingertips. He groans with satisfaction and draws in a deep breath.
“Hmm, fuck, Sam…You have no idea what you do to me like this. I am one lucky man.” His smile is so genuine it steals my breath like a hit to the chest. My own timorous pleasure at his words tips my lips into a reciprocal smile. He stands up, keeping his hand under my chin forcing me to arch and stretch my neck to keep eye contact.
“Tell me what you are, Sam.” His deeply possessive tone sends an erotic chill up my spine and settles in a swirl in my tummy. I struggle to swallow the lump the word I know he is waiting to hear are creating in my throat. “Sam,” he repeats with more force, “tell me what you are.” His grip tightens. His eyes darken with resolve and unmistakeable possession.
“Yours.” I barely get the word out. My voice is croaky, but I feel the truth of my declaration like it is carved into the ancient oak of the St Andrew’s Cross he is no doubt going to tie me to. As if reading my mind, he scoops me up, with no effort at all, into his arms and carefully places me on the plinth that holds that very cross. He methodically straps my ankles and my wrists and only pauses once he is finished. I don’t bother testing the restraints. I know he is more than proficient at his job; I am just struggling with mine. I haven’t ever been a willing submissive for my own pleasure, and this new role is testing me on
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