Page 67 of The Sadist and the Brat

“Why not you?” he replied mildly. “I need someone to demonstrate on, and while I could probably use one of the students, they don’t know me.”

“And I do?”

“More than they,” he pointed out. “You’re experienced, comfortable in front of a crowd—”

“This is sounding familiar,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“The class meets at one of the student’s homes,” he said, “and everyone keeps their clothes on. The class lasts an hour, but I figure with travel and setup, it’ll take about two hours of your time.”

Sadie rubbed a hand over her eyes. “What time does it start?”

“Two o’clock. Are you interested?”

“I don’t know yet. Gimme a minute.”

“Take your time,” he said and fell silent.

Sadie tried to think. She knew if she said no, he’d accept it, no questions asked. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It had been a week since they’d played in James and Amanda’s basement, and she was feeling…antsy. Her bruises had healed, all evidence of the scene erased by the passage of time, and it bummed her out every time she looked in the mirror. It was always a bit of a let-down when marks faded after a hard scene, but she always knew there were more to come. The next scene, the next spanking. The next Dom. But it was unlikely she’d ever wear Jack’s marks again, and for reasons she refused to examine too closely, the knowledge was disheartening.

An hour’s worth of fully clothed bondage wasn’t going to get her a bruised butt or teeth marks on her nipples, but it was better than nothing. She’d been horny since she’d woken up alone on Sunday morning, and her vast and varied collection of porn and sex toys hadn’t done much to take the edge off. Maybe an afternoon of being tied up—even an R rated version—would be the catalyst for finally finding some relief.

“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” he said, as though he’d known all along she would. “Wear comfortable clothes, preferably something with some stretch, and leave your hair down. I’ll pick you up at one-thirty.”

“Fine,” she said, hiding her rising excitement behind a cool, disaffected tone. She felt like the sun had just come out after a long and heavy rain, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Make sure you eat something at least an hour before. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yes, Boss,” she said, and since he couldn’t see her, stuck her tongue out. “Anything else?”

He just chuckled. “Don’t be late.”

He disconnected without another word, and Sadie rolled her eyes. “Goodbye to you, too,” she muttered and fought her way out of the covers and hurried into the bathroom to pee.

“It’s a demo,” she reminded herself as she washed her hands. “Just another demo, and no big deal at all.”

Then she grinned at her reflection. “But I’ll shave anyway.”

* * * *

Four hours later, Sadie was lying on the floor in a hogtie while Jack circled the room, checking on everyone’s practice ties.

She was pretty comfortable. The carpet was nice and thick, and the leggings she’d worn were snug but stretchy so nothing was pinching, and though he’d gathered her hair in a ponytail and attached it to the ropes holding her wrists and ankles, she had enough slack to lay her cheek on the pillow someone had thoughtfully tucked under her head.

There were half a dozen couples in the class, most of them in their thirties or forties, and their enthusiasm was charming. And she had to admit, Jack was a good teacher. He was calm and clear in his instructions, and he answered questions or made corrections with patience, kindness and humor—no Resting Dick Face to be seen.

She still wasn’t used to him smiling. It was weird, but she couldn’t say she didn’t like it.

She wiggled a little on the floor, flexing her hands to keep the blood flowing. He hadn’t tied her very tight, the ropes just snug enough to keep her in the hog-tie position, and she could feel the knots when she ran her fingertips over the ropes. For a moment she toyed with the idea of trying to get out of them, just to see what he'd do, then discarded the idea with a sigh. This wasn’t a scene, and it wasn’t about her.

“You doing okay down there?” Jack asked, and she looked up to see him crouched in front of her.

He wore all black, jeans and a Henley with the sleeves shoved to his elbows, and his hair was tied back in his habitual man bun. He’d had a beard trim sometime in the last week, and when he smiled, she could all but count his teeth.

---