Page 12 of First Time

No fucking way I could deny her.

Lips pursed, I dipped my head and began the pressure point explanation to the audience, checking in with Becky as I searched for tingling or pain. Once I reached her ankle, I shifted her leg farther from the other, fighting like hell to keep from filling my vision with her bare folds.

“First, we’re going to secure the ankle.” Thank fuck I sounded professional and not like a man on the verge of rutting into a sopping pussy to empty his balls.

One ankle tied to the chair, I pulled the rope upward, looped it around the top of her calf, and secured it before using the rest of the rope to bind her wrist to the chair’s arm.

Becky gently tested the rope as I stood, but no tension raised her shoulders, and no quick breaths of alarm lifted her gorgeous chest. She sank into her seat, in complete submission, a sweet smile curving her lips.

Fuck. My. Life.

Could she be any more perfect a submissive for my ropes?

Turning away when I wanted to stare, I inspected the audience’s work, giving praise where earned.

A soft sigh sounded behind me, and I turned, lightly caressing Becky’s knee because I couldn’t not touch her in that moment of her relief. “Okay, sweetness?” I asked, the term of endearment smooth and as delicious on my tongue as honey.

“Yes, Sir.

Christ, this woman…

Chapter 6

Becky

Master Cooney pushed my left leg away from the other, sending a rush of cool air over my exposed core. My pulse thrummed in my ears, drowning out his voice as he spoke to his class about sexual binding. The warmth of his palm stroked down my calf. Hemp rope slid around my ankle, and he tied me to the chair. He took care to ease his fingers beneath the loops to make sure they weren’t too tight and uncomfortable.

I didn’t shy away from being made immobile but sank into the alluring calm teasing at the edge of reason.

Prickling tingles swept up my legs in the wake of his fingertips over my knee. My thighs. Tremors quaked inside me as he bound my flesh once more to the chair. He gripped the rope tied to my wrist and lashed that one the same as the right.

Spread open for him, I sat at his mercy, every inch of me relaxed. I’d never felt such freedom in my entire existence.

I drifted along the edge of something delicious. Alluring. A heady feeling floated through my body and thoughts. Nothing mattered in that moment but Master Cooney and his assuring touch. The spicy citrus of his cologne filled my lungs, and his erotic ropes hugged my skin with addictive affection.

The audience mingled to my right, barely registering past the haze of desire hovering over me. Awareness that they would be unable to see the effects of Master Cooney between my thighs made falling into a semi-state of euphoria as easy as breathing.

His warm hand settled on my left knee, keeping me grounded when all I wanted to do was drift away. “You are so goddamn beautiful, Becky,” he murmured, his voice haggard as though he’d never spoken truer words.

I wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Simply staring like a simpleton, I yearned to be caught up in his piercing brown eyes and drown in the wetness he brought to life inside me.

He’d claimed I had the control. How wrong he’d been.

He leaned in slightly, the hunger in his gaze making goose bumps rise over my skin. “I wish we were alone so I could taste the nectar between your gorgeous thighs.”

Oh, God. A shudder rippled through my core, a tingling awareness that spread upward to tighten my nipples into hard, aching points. At that moment, I realized what I experienced.

Master Cooney, his touch, his words, aroused me. He made my frigid body experience physical desire for the first time.

In front of an audience.

I swallowed hard as reality and awareness of Stephen’s presence trickled into my conscience. My brain came back fully online as did self-consciousness and shame. Although I lusted for whatever would happen next, the scene between Master Cooney and I had to end. Immediately.

But would the gentle giant of a Dom listen to me? Had he meant what he’d said about my having the power to control the scene I’d consented to do with him? While unsure, considering how he’d put me under a spell of some sort, I had no choice but to try. Otherwise, that doom of humiliation I thought I’d face by agreeing to be his volunteer wouldn’t compare to the anger Stephen would let me know about once we left the club.

I expected pain. Plenty of it. Angry words over how I had humiliated him by finding pleasure in a stranger instead of him. Guilt speared into my brain, making me want to curl up in on myself.

“S-Stop,” I whispered.

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