“Yes, he is, isn’t he? But he’s mine, just like you are.” He kissed her again, gently. “If you call him that again, I will tell.”
She wriggled back into his fingers to feel how they penetrated her. Deep. She sighed. “Sorry. And thank you, sir, for forgiving me.” Then she kissed him back, so thoroughly that nothing back there hurt at all.
Theo removed his fingers and drew a squiggly line of wetness over her buttock and up her spine.
Smack!
“Ouch! Four!” Maybe I can put chili powder in Dankyo’s uniforms.
Five more smacks of the flogger—enough to make her legs quiver and sweat pool in the small of her back—then Dankyo was done. Panting, she heard him walk away. Loop after loop Theo unraveled, releasing her from all the ropes except the ones around her chest.
“Finished, dearest. Come here.” He helped her upright, steadying her when her legs shook. With her breasts still bound, the press of her rigid nipples onto his shirt made her squeak. He squeezed her bottom.
“Ouch.” But it wasn’t all ouch. The way his hands massaged her ass was sending out all sorts of interesting signals. She squirmed against his coat and subtly shifted until her legs were either side of his trouser-clad thigh, so it pressed onto her mound just right.
Theo chuckled and reached up to pull on her ponytail, so she couldn’t help but tilt her head back and meet his eyes. He wiggled her head a little side to side. “I see what you’re doing, Claire. My trousers are going to need cleaning.”
Despite the chastisement in his words, embarrassment refused to surface. He didn’t mind at all. Neither did she. She’d do it again just so she could stare up into his gray eyes and hear the mellow timbre of his voice. The way he said Claire sank right into her and traveled to her heart. He hadn’t gotten her to say those three words, but she did love him.
“Thank you, Theo.”
“No more thanking. We’re done. Even.”
Relief flooded her. For days she’d been existing with the weight of all her lies on her shoulders. Done. When he let go of her hair, she snuggled in right up next to his solid chest, pressed her nose into his shirt, and breathed, just breathed.
“Thank you.” Oops. The words had come out so naturally, she’d not had time to stop them.
“Claire.” Exasperation showed in his voice.
Uh-oh. “Sorry.” She sucked her lower lip onto her teeth, didn’t dare blink. Maybe she could hide in his coat.
“You know, I have an idea. Your little derriere looks so delightful all red like this.” He patted her ass lightly. “There’s a paddle on the wall over there that has a cogwheel shape cut into the middle. Since your bottom needs to be white to show it up, I’ll have to wait for the redness to go; then we’ll try it out.”
Strangely, the idea excited her.
Six months later
Claire wandered through the shop. Hinchcliff and Co. never failed to surprise her with the variety of goods on display. Something new turned up every visit. This time, she kinked her neck back to see properly—it was an inflatable dirigible in the shape of a penis hanging from the ceiling. She shook her head and prayed Theo wasn’t planning on buying that.
For months she’d been doing her job, off and on, as his bodyguard. Without a weapon belt, her waist felt wrong. No weight—it damn well imbalanced her. At least the pastel green dress had a quick-tearaway skirt, so if someone bad turned up, she could get her legs free for action real fast. Theo hadn’t said no to that. The lack of underwear he’d insisted on, though. She frowned, wondering what he planned, as she squeezed past the phallus of the knight on the way up the three steps to the next level. Someone had hung a key chain on the steel dick. She grinned. At least the knight was still here. Some things never changed.
“Found you.” Theo gently settled his hand on the back of her neck. “Hands on the sofa, please, bottom up.”
She almost turned to protest but didn’t. By now obedience to Theo’s orders was close to ingrained. Even if some of them were embarrassing, surprising…
Like a match under a bonfire, excitement flickered. Gray-haired, distinguished, Mr. Hinchcliff, the proprietor of the shop, watched with arms folded, face impassive, as she leaned over the armrest of the maroon sofa and put her hands flat on the seat.
Bottom up, he’d said. Striving to stop the blush rushing to her face, Claire tilted up her bottom. He was going to spank her; she just knew it. Why here? Why now? The back of her dress was flipped up, and air cooled her skin, slid like mist between her legs, where wetness already gathered.
She shivered. Whatever his reason, she couldn’t help her reaction. Did he know how someone watching made everything so much more enthralling?