Page 58 of Deviant Obsession

"Mmhmm." He cocks his head in that way that makes me feel like a mouse facing down a coyote. "The kind of plans that'll make you forget all about whatever's got you so wound up tonight."

I wince. He's noticed—of course he has. Every man I speak to seems able to read me like an open book lately, picking up on every subtle shift in my mood, every clumsy fumble.

"I..." The rest of my response dies in my throat as his fingers trail up my forearm, feather-light but deliberate.

"Table seven's still waiting on their drinks, Rhea!"

I jump back at the alert from the kitchen pass, face burning. "Right, sorry! I should..."

"Go." Ethan's smile turns sympathetic. "I'll still be here when your shift ends."

If it’s possible, I feel even more frazzled as I hurry back to work, hyper-aware of his gaze following my every move. The promise of later has my pulse racing, thoughts of Professor Shaw's disappointment temporarily pushed aside by much more immediate desires.

For the first time tonight, my distraction has nothing to do with guilt or anxiety. Instead, I'm consumed by thoughts of playtime, wondering what exactly Ethan has planned, how he intends to help me forget my troubles. If the hungry look in his eyes is any indication, I'm in for quite a night.

***

The ropes lie in precise coils on the table in the playroom, each length measured and prepared with Ethan's borderline-obsessive attention to detail. We've done this enough times now that my body responds automatically to these familiar arrangements, heat pooling between my legs as my mind begins to drift into that alluring calm.

"Strip for me," Ethan commands softly, pulling his own T-shirt over his head until he’s standing there in just his low-hanging jeans. "Then kneel on the bed."

It takes me a few moments to move, torn as always between the instinct to obey and the primal urge to just stare at him in all his chiseled glory. For the first time, a touch of sadness creeps into my immediate lust. If we were something serious, something real, I might trace my fingertips over the ripple of his abs and confess how beautiful I think he is. I might trail kisses across the inked skin of his pecs, discover how soft and smooth it would feel beneath my lips.

But that’s not how we do things. I’m here at his command, as his toy, to do whatever he tells me to. Ethan doesn’t ask for affection, or any kind of intimacy beyond presenting my own body to him with absolute trust. I shouldn’t begin to wonder how it might feel to touch him as if he were mine.

The mattress dips as I settle into position, anticipation already building as Ethan strides towards me with the first length of rope. It slides across my skin like a silken cage, soft to the touch but thoroughly restricting, each knot placed with artful precision. He weaves an intricate harness across my torso, the pressure points grounding me, drawing me deeper into that floating headspace.

When the last knot is secured, he steps back to admire his work. My top half is completely immobilized, elbows and wrists secured behind my back so that my chest is thrust out, thighs spread wide as I sit back on my feet. The way he has to adjust himself in his jeans tells me that he enjoys this position very much. But instead of moving to touch me, he reaches down for a leather bag I've never seen before.

"I want to try something new with you tonight." The metallic sound of a zipper is a threat and a promise all at once, as it always is when my favorite sadist decides he wants to play. "But first, we need to talk a little more about boundaries."

My eyebrows must shoot into my hairline as he withdraws a knife from the bag. It's not particularly large, but the blade gleams wickedly in the low light. My lips fall open with an audiblepopas I stare down this new challenge, this new danger.

"Have you ever thought about knife play before?" Ethan asks with an almost clinical interest. Whenever we discuss these things, I can’t help feeling like he’s studying me, like I’m a test subject in a lab. As always, I’m filled to the brim with the desperate desire to get perfect scores.

I shake my head, unable to look away from the blade. "No, never. But I’m not…opposed."

"Then we'll start slow." He sits beside me on the bed, holding the knife where I can clearly see it. "This is a special blade for edge play. It’s dulled just enough to be safe, but sharp enough to feel dangerous. I won't cut you unless you explicitly ask for it. Tonight is about sensation, about exploring how your body responds to the threat."

My mouth goes dry as he explains the mechanics. How he'll use different parts of the blade to see what I like, how temperature and pressure create distinct responses. The technical details help calm my nerves even as they heighten my curiosity.

"What are your hard limits with this?" His icy eyes bore into mine, demanding complete honesty.

I consider carefully, hyperaware of my vulnerability in the bindings, of every inch of my exposed skin. "No actual cutting without plenty of warning. And...stay away from my face?"

He nods approvingly with a sort of half-grin. "Good girl. Specific limits help me keep you safe. Though, you should know I’d never dream of marking up this pretty face. What about a few grazes, if you’re into it? No areas you don’t usually have covered with clothes, just like with impact play."

"Green for those areas."

"And how are you feeling about being tied up while I use the knife?"

"Nervous," I admit, squirming a little to test my very limited range of motion. "But excited. I trust you."

Ethan’s pupils are blown wide by my confession. This is the part he loves, the part he needs, my complete and utter faith in his control. Sometimes I think hearing me say I trust him pleases him more than the sex. He wants me on a silver platter,compliant to whatever he wants even if it’s just to sit back and stare at me. Or to drag a knife across my skin.

And God help me, that’s right where he has me.

"I need you to be extra vocal with your colors during this scene. Any hesitation, any uncertainty, say yellow immediately. Understand?"

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