Page 20 of Yield to Me

Chapter 11

I recognized the room; the same sofa, the same dim red lighting. It was the room from the first night. Two red silk ties lay on the sofa, bright where everything else in the room was dark. Owen tied one around my eyes.

“Remember, you can end this when you want to,” he said. Beneath the blindfold, I could look down, but all I could see were our feet. I heard something heavy and mechanical cranking down and my body tensed; I didn’t remember seeing anything barbaric like that the last time I was there. Owen took my hands, pulling them above my head. The soft fabric clenched against my wrists as my hands strained, reaching above, pulling me up until I was on my tiptoes. As the strings tightened, a small gasp escaped my lips.

This is beyond stupid, I scolded myself, You are going to get yourself killed. How can you be so dense? No one is that gorgeous!

And yet I wanted to take a chance with Owen, to see where he’d take me. For some reason, I trusted him, but I couldn’t think of a tangible reason why. It was more instinctual than anything else. His breath was hot on my neck as he traced his lips down, nibbling on my skin, and when he reached my shoulder blade, he bit hard.

“Ahhh!” I shrieked. “Holy—”

“I have one rule,” he said, cutting me off, his words tickling my skin. The bite mark radiated with heat, the pain fading as each second passed. He has rules too? I thought. “Don’t make a sound, or I’ll punish you.”

I was glad that the blindfold covered my bewildered expression. “Not even a gasp?”

“I should barely hear you breathe.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug and Owen grabbed my chin. “Don’t scream. Don’t pant. Don’t whimper. If I want you to let go of your tongue, I will say so.” As he let go of my hand, I could hear his footsteps behind me.

“If you do exactly as I say, I promise immense pleasure.” His hand crossed the bottom of my back, circled around and held me below the navel, then he pulled me into his body. I could smell his earthy scent, slightly musky with masculinity now. His erection was stiff against me. “If you don’t obey me, you will be disciplined.”

A shiver ran down my spine. He chuckled and I straightened my posture. A war raged in my mind on whether it was better to abide by his rules or to show him that I didn’t care about his stupid, arbitrary rules, that I would moan when I wanted to. I was determined to follow my own path; the only problem was, deep down, that I wanted to see what giving him control was like too. “You must also ask permission to come.”

“Excuse me?” I huffed. The sass in my voice made him chuckle, and I shook my head. “You just want to see me struggle.”

“Of course I do,” he said. I’ll show you, I thought. I was determined not to show him any reaction at all, even if it was from pain or pleasure. If he didn’t want to hear me, then fine, he wouldn’t hear a damn peep out of my mouth. He lifted up my dress, his other hand caressing my cheeks slowly. It was hard not to wiggle, so I tensed, holding back my impulses.

Whack!

A spank landed across my bottom with the sting of each finger as clear as daylight. I groaned, and then gasped when I realized what I had done.

“What was that, Miss Glass?” he whispered in my ear. Instead of responding, I stuck out my tongue. He’d know what I thought without any words. “Very well then,” he said. He spanked harder this time, and then another, in quick succession. With each strike, I lost composure, tensing as hard as I could until I finally twitched out of the way, and the tiniest breath escaped my lips in a wisp. A deep warm feeling welled in my bottom, hot and needy. I could feel it spreading between my legs. My head sunk down.

His warm hands entered my underwear, cusped my bare ass, then pulled down my bottoms until they were on the ground. I lifted each foot and he removed the underwear. He stuffed my panties in my mouth, and I felt a pleasurable burning inside of me.

“This will help you obey me,” he said. I wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t under the blindfold. I turned my head away instead, knowing where he was based on the sound of his footsteps. “Still feeling defiant, are we?” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, as if he was having fun. I had thought he wanted me to be submissive, every instinct in total submission, but it seemed like he liked the challenge.

He tucked the bottom of my dress into the back, exposing me. Then I felt a hand on my back making me bend over. “Arch,” he said. I did my best; it was admittedly hard with your hands tied above you, but maybe that was the point. Then I felt two gentle fingers pulling apart my lower lips, exposing me even further. I felt like I was on display, a specimen for him to inspect.

“You are exquisite. You are perfection,” he groaned.

Waves of heat were still coming off of my ass, and his fingers felt like fire on me. He let go, and a minute passed. Silence. I couldn’t even tell if he was next to me still, or if he had gone to a different part of the room. Another minute passed. I let go of the arch in my back, relaxing, and then an involuntary sigh escaped my lips. I was bored, damn it! Where the hell was he? I wanted to be scared of my ‘punishment’, but he was taking his sweet time, as if reveling in my twitchiness.

“I heard that, Miss Glass.”

So he was near. I felt playful. I wasn’t scared of his punishments yet, though if I reminded myself that I was with a stranger, I knew I ought to be. “It’s Riley, Owen.”

“And that’s two and three. I don’t expect to be called ‘sir’, but I do expect to be called by my last name.”

“But you didn’t—”

“I didn’t think I needed to.” And there was that audible smirk in his voice again. “Four,” he whispered in my ear. “I thought you’d be smart enough.” I wanted to hiss, but I didn’t. He was making fun of me. I wondered if that was part of the emotional sadomasochism. Another minute passed. I wondered what he was doing. The openness of the room had seemed inviting at first, but now it only seemed anxious with possibility. And four, whatever four meant. What else did he have between these walls of books?

A sharp whoosh sounded next to my ear. I flinched. Owen snickered. Of course I’m going to flinch after that much silence, I thought. He put his hands on my waist, kissing my neck from behind. His body pressed against me, his erection straining in his dress pants. I wiggled my hips, grinding into him as much as I could, and he groaned, a deep sound that penetrated my every pore, making me feel weak with desire. His torso was slightly damp with sweat, the moisture noticeable as he pressed close. I inhaled deeply, greedily sucking in the smell of his cologne, loving how it let the faintest hint of his masculinity shine past the essence of earth. I wondered if he could feel the heat of my ass through his pants.

He pulled me in tighter; a long, thin instrument poked my thigh, bulbous knobs scratched against my bare legs. I straightened. What the hell was that?

“A bamboo cane,” he said as if reading my mind. “One of my favorites. We’ll experiment, see which you prefer.”

It can’t be that bad, I thought. Right?

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