Page 17 of Submitting to Slade

“What?”

“Your safe word is kangaroo. If you want to stop at any time, you say kangaroo, and everything ends immediately.”

“E-everything?” She seems panicked by the thought.

“If you just need me to slow things down, you say Horton.”

“Horton,” she repeats.

“What are your words, Skye?”

“Kangaroo and Horton.”

“Which one means stop?”

“Kangaroo. And Horton means slow down.”

“Good girl,” I croon, proud of her. As far as safe words go, I’ll probably be answering to fucking Dr. Seuss when I die for daring to use this shit, but they’re something I know she’ll remember. “Now, strip.”

She gulps audibly.

“Now, Skye. If I have to ask again, it’ll be with my hand on your ass.”

“You didn’t ask in the first place!” she cries.

I take a step toward her, growling a warning.

She immediately grabs the hem of her sweater, yanking it off over her head. I groan as soon as the damn thing hits the floor, and I see her tits practically spilling out of the lace demi-cups of her blue bra. Goddamn, she’s beautiful.

She slaps her hair out of her face, huffing at me. She doesn’t try to cover herself though. Instead, she stands proudly, not in the least ashamed of her soft body or partial nudity. She doesn’t have a damn thing to be ashamed of. She’s gorgeous, soft and lush everywhere.

“Now, the bra.”

She reaches behind her back to unhook it, letting it fall down her arms before she catches it at the last minute, holding it to her chest. Mischief dances in her eyes as she slowly peels it away from her skin.

My mouth waters at the sight of her hard, pink nipples. I palm my cock through my pants, not even trying to hide the effect she has on me. I want her to know.

Her hands tremble as she slides them down her body, eager to remove her pants for me.

“Did I tell you to do that yet, Who?”

“Yes. You told me to strip.”

“Leave the pants on for a minute.” I meet her gaze. “Pinch your nipples for me. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re all alone.”

Pink climbs into her cheeks. She hesitates for a brief moment.

“One,” I growl.

Her hands fly to her tits. She cups them, lifting them together as her thumbs brush her hard nipples. Her eyes stay locked on my face as she teases us both before pinching the hard little buds between her thumb and forefinger.

Her head falls back on a moan.

I grind my palm against my cock, planting my feet to keep myself from launching at her. Fucking hell. I don’t have nearly the control I thought I did. She’s barely even started, and I’m already hanging on by a thread, eager to get my hands on her and teach her exactly what it is she wants so badly.

“Pants,” I rasp. “Get your fucking pants off.”

She kicks her ballet flats off, sending one flying across the room. “Oops.”

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