Authors: Sierra Cartwright
Her Two Doms (8 page)
Her mouth dried. He sounded serious. Did they intend to keep her naked all weekend?
“Place your car keys there.” He pointed to a row of brass hooks. “They will be accessible if you decide to leave.”
She hung her rental car key on an empty hook and then placed her handbag on top of her suitcase. It felt as if she were entering an alternate universe.
Master Eric led the way to the great room. Master Rafael followed her, leaving her sandwiched between the two hunks.
Lindsey resisted the impulse to look back at the door and the possibility of a retreat.
Lindsey squared her shoulders. She’d already decided that, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t leave early. She had paid dearly for this experience. She would endure and enjoy every moment of it.
Like the rest of the home, the space was spectacular.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased tall pines and mountaintops dusted with snow. A stone fireplace served as the room’s focal point. A settee, a couple of end tables and two leather armchairs were arranged in a semicircle in front of the hearth.
“Kneel with your back to the fireplace. Not on the rug. You haven’t earned that comfort.”
Earned? She had to earn the privilege of kneeling on a rug?
She felt awkward, but tried to make her motions graceful as she lowered herself to the polished hardwood floor. Both men stood in front of her, and her eyes were even with their crotches.
Her heart raced. She’d played BDSM games before. They generally weren’t accompanied by such an attack of nerves. Then again, she was usually at a club where it seemed natural. Either that, or she was with an established lover and the play was an extension of their sex play.
Both men regarded her. She was unsure how to act. Where would they expect her to put her hands? On her thighs? Behind her neck? Behind her back?
She knew enough to cast her gaze downward and remain silent unless responding to a question.
She spread her legs a bit and leaned slightly back. She put her hands palm up on her thighs. Her previous boyfriend hadn’t ever given specific instructions, so she’d adopted this position. It felt as comfortable and natural as kneeling could.
The men allowed the silence to stretch and drag. Testing her?
Finally, Master Rafael spoke. “We went over the reasons you bid on a weekend with me, but I want you to tell us both about your expectations. What do you want from the weekend?”
Unsure of proper protocol, she took a chance and looked up to meet his gaze. She’d always had a thing for men with thick, long dark hair. She imagined having her fingers laced in the strands as she screamed his name during an orgasm.
“I…” She trailed off. A sudden attack of nerves left her brain feeling like scrambled eggs.
They waited.
She understood. They’d show as much patience as needed, but she wouldn’t be able to get out of answering their questions.
She took a steadying breath and tried again. “As I told you on the phone, Sir, I have had some BDSM experience. I go to a club in Dallas fairly regularly, and I’ve dated a couple of men who are Dominants. But I’ve always come away a bit disappointed.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve heard others talk about subspace. I’ve read about it.” She sighed. “Maybe it doesn’t really exist, but I’ve seen other women, men too, getting into a scene so deep they seem as if they’re somewhere else. I always feel as if I’m distracted. This may be naïve, but I wonder if there’s a part of the experience I’ve completely missed.”
“You’re hoping to get that here?” Master Eric asked.
He sounded so very different from Master Rafael. Master Eric’s voice was crisp and cool, like a winter morning.
“I’m not sure that’s realistic or even possible,” she admitted. “I think I’m the problem. I think I mentioned that I always feel distracted on some level. I’ll think about work or how things could be better. I notice if the room is too hot, or too cold or I need more pressure or the bindings are too tight.”
Again they waited.
“I can’t get out of my own head long enough to really let go. A couple of my boyfriends have told me I’m a control freak.”
“Are you?” Master Eric asked.
“It seems a bit at odds with someone who wants to achieve the ultimate, I suppose.”
“You like BDSM, but you like to be in control,” he surmised.
She nodded.
“That’s the thing about a D/s relationship,” he continued. “It seems the Dom is in control, but the sub truly has the power.”
“I’m not sure I want it, Sir. I think that’s been part of the trouble. I wanted to control every aspect of each scene. I think what I want is to just let go.”
Master Rafael spoke, “For a sub to truly let go, a huge amount of trust is required. Your Dom needs to know you completely.”
Which might have been part of the reason he’d instructed her to phone him every day for the past week, in addition to answering his numerous emails.
It seemed no part of her life had been left unexplored. He’d requested a copy of her health report, he’d asked about men she’d been with, he enquired as to how many enemas she’d administered to herself.
Everything had been so matter-of-fact she hadn’t been mortified.
“Have your Doms taken the time to get to know you?” Master Eric asked. “Do you play with people you trust?”
“No one has talked to me like Master Rafael has, Sir. I have trusted the men I’ve been with. They’ve all stopped when I asked them to. When I ask for more, they have given it to me. When I say I don’t like something, they have tried something different.”
“Trust is about more than that,” he said. “It’s about knowing limits in advance. It’s about knowing you, what you want, what terrifies you. It’s about pushing you to the edge.”
She shivered in anticipation. That was what she wanted.
“I want one thing perfectly clear,” Master Rafael said. “What you’re talking about isn’t just trust. You’re talking about topping from the bottom. With us, that’s not an option. Everything will have been discussed in advance. We’ll establish the trust you require so that we can give you what you want. If you want to achieve subspace, we’ll get you there.”
“You think it’s possible, Sir?”
“I’d generally want more than just a couple of days. But if we’re focused, if you are willing to do what it takes, we’ll get you there.”
She nodded.
“As we discussed, if you are beyond your comfort zone in a way that frightens you, use your safe word. Sunday.”
He’d remembered.
In their first e-mail exchange, he’d asked her for a safe word. She’d never really used one before. It had been her agreement with the men she’d played with that stop meant stop.
Master Rafael had explained that he wanted her to have the freedom to scream no and stop and let her continue with a scene. She’d come up with Sunday because it was Sunday when he’d asked. She wished she’d been a bit more creative, but he’d said as long as she would remember the word it would work fine.
“If you overuse the word, sub, you will be sent home.”
She blinked. “Sir?”
“No topping from the bottom. Your safe word should be reserved for times—as I’ve mentioned—that you are beyond your comfort zone in a way that frightens you. You need to manage your reactions and emotions in order to go beyond what you’ve experienced before.”
Beforehand, they’d agreed that she could ask to slow down by using the word yellow. Using that word would grant her only a short reprieve, a two-minute timeout. It wouldn’t stop the scene, it wouldn’t change the scene, but it would give her a chance to gather her wits.
“Remove your blouse.”
About the Author
Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.
She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since.
Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.
Email:
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Sierra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
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