Page 3 of Masters of Play

But that would be my next battle. Tonight, I just wanted to fly.

“What kind of knots would you like tonight, Kellie?” asked Owen as he took the small, pencil-thin dreadlocks of my hair and pulled them back into a single queue.

Another African American woman would've slapped a white man's hands if he dared to touch her hair. But Owen had asked permission the first time we played together. That permission had more to do with my safety than any fetish curiosity. It would be far too easy for one of my locks to get tangled up in the rope and cause me an injury.

“The tight kind,” I said.

Owen's grin spread wider, showcasing his gleaming white incisors. He stepped closer, and his hot breath brushed my forehead. The goosebumps rose along my forearms. The hairs pricked up at the back of my thighs.

“Do you need to come?” Alan asked.

“God, yes.”

He nodded, unwinding a length of rope from his hands as I pulled my T-shirt over my head and then shimmied my jean skirt down my hips.

Now I know I just said that an orgasm is a woman's responsibility, but damn if it didn't feel twice as good when she doesn't have to do all the work. I stood nearly nude, dressed only in a bra and panty set and my Converse. I had no issues with public nudity. The underwear thing was a rule from the Carsons. There was no penetration included with their services.

“You’ll come," said Alan. "But only when I say you can."

"Sure," I snorted as I came to stand in front of the tripod.

"If you please me and behave, I’ll let you come more than once. If you misbehave and don’t follow my commands, all you get is the one.”

I held out my hands, palms up, and bowed my head. But not before rolling my eyes. Alan saw it. I made sure he saw it. I wasn't a brat by nature, but he brought it out of me.

At the center of the three legs of the tripod hung a metal hoop. Alan placed a rug before the rig. “Come,” he said. His voice was full of command and sent a shiver down my spine.

Owen picked up a length of rope and walked toward me. I stared at the rope, and my breath caught in my throat.

“Are you ready for us, Kellie?” asked Owen. Or at least, I think it was Owen. The only time I couldn't tell them apart was when they began tying me up with rope.

"Yes," I said.

My skin prickled as the air conditioning kicked on from above, blowing at the fine hairs on my forearms. My ears perked up, listening for any instructions. My eyes were so focused, I clearly saw the eyes staring at me from the back of the room. It was sensation overload.

“Hands.”

My hands came up on their own accord and I presented the twins with my wrists.

“Good girl.”

That was Alan. I knew because he loved to use my praise kink against me. With just those two words, my knees went weak. Suddenly, I wanted to please him. I wanted to be his teacher’s pet.

Alan took my wrists in his hands. His touch was electric. He guided my hands behind my back, folding one forearm over the other. His chest pressed into my back as his hips and torso met my ass. His belt buckle brushed against the skin of my lower back.

He began to wrap the rope around my wrists. The feel of the ropes and their restriction ignited something within me. I was at his mercy, the mercy of his sure hands.

Owen rested his chin in the crook of my neck as he pulled the ropes taut. My head lolled back to rest against his cheek. I tilted my head up, offering him my lips. There was a part of my brain that knew he would never kiss me. But the highest part of the brain was not in control when the pleasure senses were ignited.

"Spread those pretty thighs.”

That was Owen's voice. His voice was always soft, with a hint of humor. Owen stood in front of me, those dimples on display, as he grinned at me. I did as he bade me and widened my stance.

“Good girl,” said Alan, pulling the binds on my arms tight.

And there it was again. That pleasing purr that moved like honey over my senses.

“Do not come,” Alan commanded. “If you come now, it will be the only time I allow it. Do you understand?”

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