Page 30 of Going Deep
She trailed behind him as he wove through the crowd once again, keeping her eyes cast demurely down—mostly because she didn’t want to look anyone who might have seen her little show in the eye, but she imagined it looked nicely submissive. She let herself look around as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. The play areas were full tonight, as were the observation areas, and she tried to take it all in.
There was more than one flogging taking place—it seemed to be a very popular activity. The spanking bench was occupied by a slender young man who was getting his ass beat with a paddle by a woman in a G-string and thigh-high boots, her bare breasts bouncing with each hard swing. Some of the areas that had stood empty the night before were filled with new equipment she didn’t recognize, and she tried to make a mental note of the ones she wanted to ask Michael about later.
Then he was pulling her toward the stairs to the third floor, and she thought, oh boy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Michael held Ginger’s hand firmly in his as they reached the third floor and reminded himself to keep to the plan.
The small bit of domination he’d subjected her to in the bar had been meant both to test her natural instincts for submission and to excite her, and had succeeded at both—all too well. She’d followed his directions with an eagerness tinged with nerves that had his inner wolf howling, and he’d given serious thought to ditching the plan in favor of fucking her right there in the bar.
She might have let him. Her pussy had practically flooded his hand, soft and wet and ready. But it would’ve been breaking the rules—no play on the first floor—and she wasn’t ready for such a public display. So he’d stick to the plan.
He wove his way through the crowd in the wide hallway, nodding in response to the greetings sent his way. He reached the last room at the end of the hall and, flipping the sign on the door from RESERVED to IN USE, stepped inside.
He closed the door, watching her face carefully. It didn’t lock—none of the doors did, for safety reasons—but no one would enter. The curtains over the viewing window were already drawn—this time, this first time, he wanted her all to himself.
Eyes wide, she looked around the room.
Unlike most of the third-floor rooms, this one didn’t have a specific theme. It held the simplest of equipment: a spanking bench, a bondage table, a St. Andrew’s cross. There was a straight-backed, armless chair, perfect for administering an over the knee spanking, and a comfortable sofa in black leather for post-scene relaxing—or fucking.
A door at one end led to a closet that held a basic first aid kit, a fire extinguisher—as per city code—half a dozen floor pillows, and a stack of warm, fluffy blankets. The door at the other end led to a full bath with a shower. The walls were painted gray, the floor was polished concrete, and the entire space was about fifteen feet by twenty feet. Large enough to work for most types of play, small enough to be intimate.
Michael stood quietly, waiting for Ginger to return her attention to him. He could tell she was nervous in the slight tremble of her hands, the tense set of her shoulders. Her tongue came out to wet her lips, something he was learning signaled a rise in her anxiety level.
Maybe giving her too much time to think was the wrong idea.
He reached out to take her hand again, absorbing the small jerk she gave at his touch. She turned to face him, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips again. “I’m nervous.”
He imagined that little pink tongue licking over the head of his dick and smiled. “I know.”
“Of course, you do,” she said with a sigh, and he chuckled.
“Let’s sit for a minute,” he said and tugged her over to the sofa. He sat at one end and drew her down to sit on his knee. “Comfortable?”
“Not really.” She wiggled, frowning. “I feel like I’m going to fall.”
“You won’t. I won’t let you.”
She looked at him dubiously, but the wiggling stopped, so he moved on. “Tell me about your anxiety.”
Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happens when you get anxious? What do I need to look for?”
“Oh.” Her expression cleared. “I guess it looks like panic? I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about how it looks from the outside.”
He tried a different approach. “What does it feel like?”
“Like I can’t breathe, can’t think. My heart races. But I can usually pull it back before it gets that far.”
“How do you pull it back?”
“Deep breathing, visualization.” She looked uncomfortable. “A couple of other techniques. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“All right.” He pondered that for a moment. “Can I trust you to safeword if that happens?”
“Can’t I just use yellow?” she asked, wiggling on his knee again. “I mean, if I can pull it back, do we have to stop?”
