Page 14 of Obey

“I work at this club as one of the house dominants. If I am in any way inappropriate with you, my boss is Slade and I can give you both of our cards if it’d make you feel better. I can also hand you your phone in case you feel a need to call the cops.”

I’ve never had to be so overt with anyone to this extent before. I tend to negotiate terms of play, boundaries, aftercare,and part ways. She was very trusting to come down to the basement with me. Probably a stupid move on my part, but if we’re stuck here, it’s better to be downstairs than trying to find a comfortable place to sleep on the bar upstairs.

“Thank you.” Her voice is small. She places her wrists on the arms of the chair, looking up at me expectantly.

I’m a giant compared to her, and this space is comfortable to me. For her to capitulate in this moment takes some fucking balls.

I don’t know how I restrain myself from physically touching her as I strap her into the seat, other than to position her legs where I need them to be. When she’s secure, I tilt the seat back. Even though she’s expecting it, she gasps at the movement.

Her cheeks are pink, from the cold, or arousal, I’m not sure. The more I stare at her, the more beautiful she is to me. The intensity of her eyes, the slight wave to her hair I’d love to tangle my fingers in, the delicate Cupid’s bow lips. She’s exquisite.

“What would you do next if we were... uh... what did you call it? Playing?”

Endless possibilities flash through my head at her question. If we were playing, she’d be naked, and not bundled in layers of warm weather clothing, first and foremost.

I still haven’t touched her. I’m a good foot away from the chair, ready to intervene if she panics, but far enough away I hope she doesn’t feel crowded.

“It depends on who I’m with, and what they enjoy. For a brand new playmate...” My brain whirrs with ideas, short circuiting with the list of things I’d like to do to a woman like this. “Well, you’d be naked.”

Her cheeks darken as her eyes flicker away from mine. Part of me wants to get filthy with my words, see how red I can make her face, how uncomfortable I can make her, how much I canmake her squirm on the chair. The other part wants to kiss every inch of pinking skin to see what makes her tick.

This isn’t a good idea. Listing things I want to do to the annoying woman from the plane isn’t going to end with anything other than a case of blue balls, though it does put me in mind of using a gag.

She’s been quieter in the dungeon, but her chatter and oversharing from the plane and the car still ring in my ears. I can’t stop the smile spreading from my face as I turn to the shelves of toys.

Presenting a ball-gag to her has the shock impact I’m going for. Her eyes widen, her breath stops dead, and the pinkness in her cheeks quickly recedes as she pales. “Where does that go?”

I chuckle. She scowls. “Stop laughing at me. It’s a valid question.”

Since her arms are still free, for the moment. She flaps them out in annoyance. The crinkles between her eyebrows are cute as hell, but I don’t react. “It goes in your mouth.” I dangle the gag in front of her face, and she snaps her mouth shut. As expected, it doesn’t last long. I doubt it ever does.

“What for? What does it do? Why would I want a huge ball in my mouth? How can I tell you to stop if I can’t speak?” She gets paler, faster with her words, more frantic with each question, so I withdraw the gag and return it to the shelf.

“Do you want to be released from the restraints?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you want answers to the questions?”

She nods.

“To shut you up.”

Her wide eyes narrow, fear and curiosity giving way to the flames of fire I’ve seen glimpses of since I met her. “I’d shout louder.”

I bet she would.

“What happened to you to make you...? Why do you...? I don’t.”

Watching her brain short circuit might be my favorite part of our interaction so far. Each question causing a flash of something across her face.

“Sometimes nothing happened to make us this way, you know. We’re dirty fuckers with no damn good reason.” I revel in her flinch like my words smacked her face.

I fucking hate being judged; for my work, for my appearance, for my race, for my sexual deviances. This prissy little snob’s preconceptions make me want to get all up in her space and give her a lesson in my proclivities.

Many of us in the kink community are used to judgment, but something about it from this woman in particular irritates me more than usual. She doesn’t give off “better than you” vibes, but her words are charged with a deep lack of understanding I’m exhausted by.

People like what they like. We aren’t all tall, dark, and handsome billionaires with troubled pasts and unresolved trauma. It gets tiresome having to explain to people who don’t get it.