Page 135 of Rut Bar

Bound. Blinded. Gagged. Utterly at our mercy. Seeing him reduced to this state, a helpless toy waiting to be used, is breathtaking. From Veronica’s reaction, she agrees.

“Yes,” she says with a breathy exhale. Her eyes are fixed on my work. They skim over him from head to toe. Double back to his magnificent cock where it’s ruddy and swollen between his legs.

“He’d look better on his knees.” That’s the only warning I give Jamie as I grab him by the handle I wove into his chest harness and haul him from his chair. He scrambles to his feet, his big body swaying until I steady him, then pull him a few feet away from his chair. “Down.”

Jamie goes to his knees while I help him. I ease him down and keep my grip on his handle until I know he’s safely on the floor and isn’t about to tip sideways or fall on his face. His posture is bad. Untrained. Nothing I can’t fix with a firm, guiding hand and my wealth of experience.

“Shoulders back,” I bark.

He’s rounded them to ease the strain of the tie. But that’s not what I want. This isn’t a punishment tie that binds tighter and tighter the more you struggle, but it still demands good posture. I don’t want anything going numb. I want him to feel every inch of my rope. To know another alpha has tied him up. Hobbled him. Bettered him.

With him bound in my rope, it doesn’t matter that I’m older. That my knee is fucked, and it hurts every single day. I’m in charge.

I tap him on the shoulders and a thrill runs through me as he pulls his shoulders back and thrusts his chest out. What a good boy. So eager to please. So delightfully submissive when his every alpha instinct must be screaming at his hind brain to escape. To dominate. Challenge me and fight.

His attention wavers as I circle him and inspect my work, adjusting any rope that’s slipped. He tries to track me, though he can’t see me. When I’m in front of him, I raise my bad leg and set the heel of my shoe against his knee, nudging it to the side. “Wider. Spread those thighs. Sit on your heels.”

Jamie spreads his thighs apart on the cold, hard floor and waits for his next order.

“Good boy.” I lay my hand on his hair and stroke what’s not bound by his blindfold and gag. Veronica stands there, mute, her mouth hanging open and her gaze hungry as she devours the sight of him. Of my work.

“That’s very good,” I tell him. And then I give Veronica a pointed look. “Your turn, sweetheart. Strip for me.”

She startles, her attention ripped from him to me. Exactly where I want it. She frowns. Her shoulders square.

Before she can argue, I hold one finger up to stifle her budding protest. I close the gap between us and caress her arms. “I’m asking you to trust me. To trust that I would do nothing to harm you. Physically or mentally. I gave Anthony my backup pair of shears. The minute he wants to, he can cut you free. So can I. You know we’d never hurt you, right?”

Veronica looks from Anthony to me, her expression wary. I get it. With her history, it’s difficult for her to give up power or control. Even though she so desperately craves it. Needs the release of trusting that someone else will take over so she can rest. Protect her. Guard her. Keep her safe. Because whether or not she wants to admit it, she’s precious. She’s ours.

Her hesitation to submit right now makes the total submission of her heats all that much sweeter. As long as she eventually does what she’s told, I don’t mind being patient. Slowly, she nods. But the skin between her brows is pinched. This isn’t easy for her, though she has nothing to fear from me.

“I’m asking you to trust me and accept my courting gift,” I say, softening my words some more. She doesn’t need my bark, not like Jamie does. She needs the nurturing side of an alpha so she can blossom. So she can feel like an omega when being in charge gets to be too much and she needs an escape from that authority.

And I need this too. More than anything. I need to know she accepts this facet of me. That she trusts me. That she’ll fully submit, knowing that I’d never order her to do something that would hurt her. Because I don’t want to hurt her. Never. She’s mine. My omega to shelter. Protect. Guard.

When she still hesitates, I show her the shears hanging from my belt. They’re designed for medical staff, but the blunted tip guard and thick serrated blades mean they’ll cut through my hemp rope with a few snips.

“If at any point you don’t like what I’m doing, I’ll free you. All you have to do is tell me to stop. We won’t use a safe word today.” Not until I know she won’t forget it in a moment of panic. I hook the shears onto my belt.

“Will you accept my courting gift and strip?” I ask her again.

She swallows, her throat bobbing, and lets out a shaky breath. Veronica reaches for her shirt, tugging it from the waistband of her skirt. “Don’t forget that my taser’s in one of those drawers. If you make me regret this…”

I know she won’t. Neither will I. This moment is everything. “Sweetheart, if that happens, I’ll hand you the taser myself because nothing could feel worse than the knowledge I hurt my omega. Take off the underwear too. I want you nude. You can keep the heels, though. You’ll probably need them for the height.”

Once she’s wearing nothing but her heels and her clothes are a pile on the floor, I take a moment to savor the sight of her. It never gets old. Her tits are perfect for rope. Soft and full, but not too perky. Perky, firm breasts are the worst to tie. Mentally, I run through the colors I have in my bag and decide what I want to see her in. Black.

“So beautiful,” I tell her, enjoying the way her cheeks flush. It never fails. A bit of praise makes her so pleased. Almost like she’s got a serious praise kink.Oh. Oh, yes.

I know a way to make this better. I’m going to turn it into a game, because she’s eager to please even if she’s nervous. I think I still have some from that session I had with that model last year. Sometimes it pays to be lazy and not do a thorough clean out of your toy bag.

I walk over to my bag and rummage through it until I find what I’m looking for. A coiled bunch of ink black hemp, softened with use, and a sheet of gold star stickers. I undo the rope, find the marked center and cast off the excess behind me, then drape it over my shoulder for easy access.

Veronica watches me like a hawk as I rejoin her.

“That’s a good girl for following orders. I know how difficult this is for you. You’re being very brave.”

She frowns as I peel a gold star sticker off the sheet and stick it to her chest, then snorts. “You can’t be serious.”

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