Page 51 of At Her Will

A familiar one. When he was little, he’d gone to the circus with Teena Joy and watched the aerial silk performances. As hegot older, he wondered how many people had been entranced for the reasons he’d been, watching the silk tighten around the performer’s body, restricting her, holding her, even as she danced with it. As he stared up at her, he could feel the bindings as if they were around his own legs and arms.

A spotter below manipulated the cloth to help her, but in his mind, that man’s role was something different. When she’d spun down to land in his arms, Rev had taken all those interpretations home with him, added into a container of desires he'd been too young to explain. Or pursue.

Tonight he was doing just that, and now he was seeing a very different kind of aerial performance.

The silk had been replaced by chains.

A male turned and twisted in them, the metal clinking as he moved. He stopped in a pose that looked like a flying bird, a double length of the chain threaded between his legs, pressed against his testicles, more noticeable because of the flesh-colored hose he wore. Then he turned and the chain was at his waist and ankles. He arched backward in their hold, his arms stretched out and eyes closed as if he were in a trance.

A dark-haired male who stood inside the ring approached and cupped the performer’s head. He kissed him thoroughly, tongue teasing his lips. In his crescent position, the erection became far more noticeable.

The Master stepped back and spoke in what sounded like Italian. It apparently meant “keep going,” because the man was turning and twisting again. He threaded his legs through the loops so his limbs were spread wide. The Dom slapped his testicles and cock with an open hand. The male jerked, his face suffused with ecstasy and pain both. The Dom put his mouth on the man’s inner thigh and bit him, twisting the flesh in the grip of his teeth. The male’s thrown wide hands clenched.

Before stepping back, the Dom pushed him like a swing, getting him started again. The man danced in the chains, legs bending, threading in and out, arms outstretched, torso twisting and untwisting like a washcloth in Rev’s hands, but all of it so graceful, the rippling tension of his muscles holding the eyes of everyone watching.

The Dom had moved back to the low wall circling the performer, which put him next to Vera.

“Lovely,” she murmured. “You’re a lucky man, Giorgio.”

“I am that, Mistress.” He didn’t take his eyes off his sub, “He loves to play in the chains for me. Too much. They leave far more bruises than silks, but he likes the sensations. And proving to me the pain doesn’t interfere with serving his Master. But there are limits to what I wish him to endure.” He offered her a small smile. “Though that will be our little secret, no?”

“Won’t hear it from me.” She gripped Rev’s arm, indicating she wished them to move onward. Giorgio’s gaze passed over Rev, an appraisal, but he gave him a courteous nod. Appreciation of Rev’s looks, with an acknowledgement that he belonged to Veracity.

She’d told him in this world, the boundaries were clearly marked for a reason. While it brought relief, it brought something else. As he recognized her pride of ownership, he felt the thrill, the deep satisfaction, of knowing he was seen as owned. By her.

At their next stop, three women stood around a male sub lying on his back. One was straddling his head, her high heels on either side of his neck. The Dominant’s transparent plastic skirt had gold fringe and was painted with swirls of gold that somewhat concealed her sex and the seam of her buttocks. But since she straddled the male submissive’s head, he was gazing at what was under the skirt.

She appeared to be enjoying her drink and discussion with her friends, but the male sub was showing his appreciation and devotion to her by kissing her shoes and ankles, tongue teasing, teeth nipping. As he did, he gazed longingly at what he could look at but not reach. His body was lashed to a flat board with rough one-inch twine.

He wore jeans, but with a start, Rev realized the leash the Domme had wrapped over her fingers disappeared under his waistband, and she kept idly tugging on it. His engorged cock strained against the jeans. When the Domme pulled on the tether, his facial muscles would tighten from the discomfort. Since the leash had metal spikes along the strap, Rev made the disturbing guess those same spikes might be around the man’s cock, only pointed in, instead of out.

“The pain is confusing to you, isn’t it?” Veracity noted.

“My mind say it’s wrong. But other parts don’t say that at all.”

He hadn’t meant anything smart or crude by it, but she understood. “You remember what you told me? How we’re all just villages? This is a village. And yes, it breaks down too, if you’re not communicating clearly, and connecting, looking one another in the eye to say what’s in your heart. You’ll see that going on in different ways here. Looking for it, recognizing it, removing all the barriers obscuring it from your vision, is part of the journey. And the pleasure.”

She placed her hand on his chest, her palm transmitting heat through his shirt. “Do you feel up to an experiment? I’m feeling a strong desire to get my hands on more of you.” Her gaze dipped. “You seem interested in that, too.”

He was so hard it hurt. No sense denying it. And the words that came out of his mouth seemed to come from the same place, no thought or conscious understanding to them. “Could you do it…the way you want to do it?”

She arched a brow. “Explain.”

“I want you to do it how you like, when the one you doing it with isn’t so new. Not so…careful.”

He might be crazy saying that in a place like this. But being sensible didn’t seem to fit here. And she’d already proven she would protect him from himself. He hadn’t understood just how important that would be.

“Yes, I can do that.” The radiant flash through her silver eyes spiked his adrenaline. “Give me a word you’ll use if it gets to be too much. Not ‘stop,’ because when we’re aroused, we often say that when we mean just the opposite.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Code 15.”

“Appropriate, since it means possible intervention needed.” She crooked her finger at him. “Follow me.”

When he did, he saw a shift in her manner. Almost indifferent to whether he was following her or not. No, not indifferent. Expecting he was, so there was no need to look behind her to see if he was keeping up. He watched the flashing, colored lights of the club form lightning bolts across the waves of her hair when her body moved.

His gaze moved to her God-blessed ass under the tight skirt. She couldn’t be wearing anything under it except the rose-lined hosiery that made her lovely legs gleam as she clicked along in her heels. When she glanced left, she gave him the curve of her cheek, the pursed shape of her moist, full lips. The sweep of dark lashes.

He would have followed her endlessly for that simple, precious view, and because she wantedhimto be the one following her.

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