An open lock, p.15
An Open Lock, page 15
He nods, his long fingers slowly creeping higher.
“Um,” I hedge. “Can I go get something?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “You keep forgetting your manners and I like having you right here.”
“Please, sir,” I pout grumpily, already sick of this particular rule. “I need to get the rules I wrote down.”
“We already have rules, Olivia,” Ian sighs heavily. I swear his hand actually twitches with the need to spank me.
“Not ones I've agreed to,” I remind him pointedly. I've kept my hands on his shoulders since he carried me and I'm trying hard to keep still because he doesn't usually let me touch him and I quite enjoy his tight form beneath my fingers.
“Fine,” his gaze darkens and he removes his hands. “You have ten seconds.”
I don't bother asking if he's seriously going to time me because Ian doesn't really do anything other than serious.
I sprint to my flat and into my room to grab the sheet of paper as fast as my legs will carry me.
“Twenty,” he announces as I dive onto the sofa next to him.
I groan into my hands because there's a smirk in his voice.
“Can you wait until later?” I grumble. “I haven't technically agreed to let you spank me yet.”
His eyes light up in amusement. “We wouldn't be having this conversation if you weren't about to.”
I glare with full venom because I dislike it when he's right.
“But I'll add those ten to the others and we'll do that later.”
“Others?” I pout, too distracted by that snippet of information to protest as he pulls me onto his lap once more, ensuring I'm straddling him so he can return his hands to my thighs,
“I'm getting impatient, Olivia. Set your terms so I can say no and fuck you.”
“Wow, you're not even going to pretend to listen to my rules?” I spurt exasperatedly.
“I'm teasing, Olivia, lighten up,” E manages a small smile rather than his usual smirk.
I spend an extra second glaring at him, but decide it's fruitless to argue with him and begin reading through my copious edits of his notes.
“Rule one, is fine. ‘Stop’ ends everything. I agree to that.”
He nods, pulling the hem of my address up and out the way and shamelessly ripping a huge hole in my beautiful sheer tights.
“Go on,” he encourages, completely unconcerned that these tights cost eleven pounds.
I grit my teeth and continue. “Rule two: an hour to answer your text is unreasonable.”
“How so?” He sighs with disinterest, far too intent on his continued attempt to remove my tights in several pieces.
“I have a job and a life,” I grind my teeth, slightly tempted to clamber off his knee in protest, but then he might stop stroking my thighs.
“And?”
“And you're being unreasonable. You just want more excuses to punish me,” I snap.
He smirks. “Two hours.”
“Three,” I protest, glaring daggers into those cold blue eyes.
“Two,” he growls. “Don't test me, Olivia.”
Fine. Whatever. I got him to double the timeframe. I'm winning ground so I move on.
“Rule three is fine. I won't sleep with anybody else. I want a provision in there for you as well. If this is exclusive it works both ways.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “You belong to me, Olivia.”
“And you don't belong to me?” I question exasperatedly.
“No. That's not how this works,” he tightens his grip around my thighs as though he senses I'm likely to bolt.
“Then this agreement isn't going to work,” I tell him simply. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“You're being a child. I'm not going to sleep with you if I'm not enough for you, E.”
“You're more than enough, Olivia,” he sits up, bringing his face close to mine. “The rules are for my benefit, not yours.”
“That's not fair,” I protest, trying to push away from him, but finding him an immovable force.
“Neither is life,” he shrugs.
“If you don't let me go, I'm going to scream,” I warn, sick and tired of the constant back and forth.
“Stop,” he raises his voice and I immediately still from the way his body stiffens. His eyes grow dark as he quickly switches our position. He places me on the sofa beneath him, pinning me with his body weight.
“You're making this harder than it needs to be. You're fighting me for control, Olivia. You won't win. Let's get this over with. Once you agree to follow the rules, I promise I'll bring you to new heights of pleasure, but I'm sick to fucking death of your shit.”
“I can't be one of many, E,” my lower lip trembles.
“I only want you,” he lowers his face to mine, capturing my lower lip in a gentle kiss. “If that changes, I will tell you immediately and we can reassess our agreement.”
I nod in acknowledgement. At least that's something. So he isn't sleeping with anybody else right now and doesn't plan to? Fine. I'll find out as soon as he loses interest in me and we can both move on.
“Rule four?” He prompts, relaxing slightly.
He lowers his mouth to mine again and offers a tender kiss. It's an apology. I know he's aware that I'm finding this hard; that he's pushing my boundaries with very little reward. The fact that he is so keenly aware of my emotions is the only reason I push through.
“Rule four is fine. No issues,” I reply in a small voice.
“Five,” he prompts, dropping small, butterfly kisses to my neckline, holding his weight stable above me.
“I'm capable of picking my own underwear,” I grumble, struggling to keep my sullen mood from my tone of voice.
“You may have proved that today,” he smirks against my skin. “But that rule can stay for now.”
His tone is final and I know he isn't willing to compromise and I'm already exhausted from bickering with him.
“Rule six is fine too,” I sigh, moving on as E's mouth travels to the neckline of my dress and flutters over my collar bone. “Your pleasure comes first.”
He murmurs his approval against my cleavage, tugging the fabric down to reveal my beautiful new bra.
“Rule seven,” I choke slightly as his lips brush my nipple through the fabric. “I'm working on it, sir.”
I feel him chuckle against me, obviously well aware of my inability to address him so formally.
“Not when we're in public though,” I add as I attempt to read through my notes whilst he distracts me so competently.
“Granted.”
Finally, a bit of compromise.
“Rule eight: Fine, I shall come only when given permission,” I roll my eyes at this ridiculous rule. I don't see why it'll be a problem. He hasn't exactly been stingy.
“Don't roll your eyes, it's disrespectful,” he growls, nipping at my tender flesh.
I squirm uncomfortably. “Sorry, sir.”
“You will be if you do it again.”
I clear my throat. “Rule nine: I'll be open and honest. Will you?”
“As much as I need to be,” he shrugs, leaning back so he can pull my dress up to my waistline. “I don't lie.”
I smile, somewhat less stressed than I was before we started this conversation. At least he's not being completely unreasonable. Only mostly unreasonable.
“And rule ten: I need clarification as to what punishment means, sir.”
“Why?” Ian looks up at me whilst his lips ghost over my stomach.
“Because I might not like it,” I insist, letting the exhausted sheet of paper fall to the floor.
“That's what rule one is for,” he reminds me.
“What if I don't like it, but don't want to end the agreement?” I try to still his head so he pays attention, but he captures my hands and pins them to my chest.
“Then you have to make that call, endure it or end it. This is a very simple arrangement, Olivia.”
He reminds me that the ultimate power is mine. If I don't want to do something then I end the agreement. Simple as.
“Are we done now? Do you agree to everything?” E demands, maintaining his firm grip on my wrists.
“Yes, sir,” I murmur, sensing the importance of that one simple word and how it might change my life.
“Thank fuck,” he breathes out, capturing my mouth with his own and caressing my tongue in deep, forceful swathes.
The message is clear. I officially belong to him now.
Chapter 18
As E pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes which glimmers menacingly. I swallow thickly, wondering just what I’ve gotten myself into.
He unfolds his weight from above me, his imposing height towering over me.
“Stand,” he orders, no hint of emotion in his voice.
I do as I’m told, chewing nervously on my lip. I stand before him, my hair in chaotic tendrils around my neck, tussled by his eager kisses. I look up at him – a man on a mission – standing obediently as he quickly rids me of all but my new, lacy underwear.
“I’m going to talk you though everything we do, Olivia,” E whispers against my neck. “I’m going to take my time learning every millimetre of your body and I’m going to use that knowledge to bring you pleasure and anguish.”
I whimper in anticipation of what that could mean for me. Everything with E is two-sided. The soft and gentle vs the intimidating and scary. The warm and relaxed vs the cold and commanding. The pleasure vs the pain.
He takes my hand in his and leads me to the punching bag. I’m momentarily confused until he lifts the heavy sack from the hook on the ceiling. I know from my self-defence classes that those things weigh a tonne, and he lifts it with such ease. His strength relative to mine should add to his intimidating presence, but it doesn’t. He’s never used that strength against me with malice, nor has he scared me with the threat of force.
“Stand here,” he points to the spot right beneath the ceiling hook.
I do as I’m told, assuming I’m about to be bound and kept in place somehow. I resist rolling my eyes because he’s done the tying me up thing already. He promised me new experiences.
I’m left standing mostly naked as he disappears from the room. Whatever he’s doing must take a while because my skin is goose bumped with cold by the time he comes back.
When he comes close, his eyes immediately scan my body, noting the way I’ve wrapped my arms around myself.
“You’ll warm up soon,” he assures me, knocking the thermostat up a couple of notches with the hand that isn’t carrying a bundle of leather and metal.
“What are you going to do to me, sir?” I focus not on the temperature, but on the evil looking devices.
He holds out the items for me to see, encouraging me to touch them. There are a pair of leather cuffs with a woollen lining, bound in the middle by a foot long piece of solid steel links. There’s a similar length of leather with a broad eye mask, and a short length of chain with square shapes on either end. I’m not sure what it is and I look up at Ian with a question in my eyes.
“I’ll explain as I go,” he tells me again, obviously irritated at having to repeat himself. “Give me your hands, Olivia.” His voice is gentle, but carries a hint of urgency.
I offer my hands freely, remembering the bundle of excitement in my core when he bound my wrists with his tie. There’s something strangely freeing about being bound and helpless; it is freedom from the need to make decisions; freedom from doubt; freedom from embarrassment.
It’s a connection I’d never have made previously, but one that fits into a strange set of logic in a previously unexplored depth of my psyche.
“I’m going to lift you up for a second,” he informs me. “Don’t worry, your feet will touch the floor.”
I wasn’t worried about that until he said it, but I let him wrap his left arm around my waist because I don’t have a choice. He uses his right hand to loop the chain binding my wrist cuffs around the ceiling hook. Lowering me to the ground, slowly, he doesn’t release my weight until he’s certain my toes are on the ground,
“Does that hurt your arms?” He slowly strokes from the inside of my elbow to the curve of my breast.”
“No, sir,” I answer with a small smile because I’m well aware that he’s being gentle and cautious with me, and I am thankful for it.
“Good,” he smiles contentedly, but then the smile turns to a smirk and my skin shivers from the cool aura of control as it darkens and adopts a hue of warning.
I’m only just realising quite how much control I’m giving up. He could do literally anything to me in this state. He has free access to my whole body and E is a scary man. So, why am I not scared?
I shouldn’t trust this man as much as I do. He’s a relative stranger and I’m given him free reign over my body, but he’s scaring me less and less each time we meet.
Beginning at the juncture of my cuff to my wrist, E trails his long fingers down my arms. His pace is leisurely, but his eyes are focussed intently on their exploration. He seems to fixate only on the parts of my body which I would consider uninteresting in this context. My waistline, the backs of my knees, the dip of my spine.
My chest is heaving in anticipation and he’s yet to so much as glance at my breasts or the wetness which is soaking my lovely lace knickers.
“Do you want me to touch you, Olivia?” He purrs, his eyes a darker shade of blue and burning with something I don’t care to analyse too deeply for fear that it may scare me away.
“Yes, sir,” I murmur.
“Beg.”
I grit my teeth and whisper. “Touch me please, sir.”
I squirm away as far as I can as he sharply tweaks my nipple. “Pathetic,” he growls menacingly. “Try again.”
I frown because I’m not quite sure what he wants from me. “Sir, please touch me.”
This time he lands a slap to my ass and I glare venomously, confused and slightly irritated. If he tied me up here just to torture me, he has got another thing coming.
“I said beg, not ask,” he reprimands me.
I feel acutely embarrassed by the notion of begging and pleading somebody to touch me when I’m helplessly bound like this.
I’m sure my discomfort is evident on my face and E sees it. His reaction is to remove my glasses, and put the blindfold over my eyes, ensuring it fits snugly.
“Where do you want me to touch you, Olivia?” His breath whispers against my neck. I can feel his warmth behind me.
“My breasts,” I gasp as his hands settle on my waist, their firm grip surprisingly reassuring.
“Like this?” He cups a breast in each hand.
No, not at all like that. I frown behind my blindfold. My skin tingles with the need for him to take advantage of the free reign I’m given him. I want him to assert himself, to take what I’m offering.
“No?” He reminds me that he’s expecting an answer.
“I want more, sir. Please,” I repeat, finding it slightly easier to speak openly because the blindfold is a mask of comfort. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me.
“Tell me what you want,” he insists, returning his hands to my waist and gently tickling the sensitive skin.
My back arches backwards towards his warmth, balancing on the tips of my toes to get closer. He takes a step back; a clear sign that he is in command here and I only get to touch him if he decides to let me.
“I want more,” I repeat, a note of frustration in my tone. “Squeeze my breasts. Please, sir.”
I mentally cringe as I speak, but his gentle teasing has me desperate. I need more; I need a build up to release.
“Like this?” He prompts, gently manipulating the tender mounds in the same way a virgin might.
“Harder,” I whine. “Please, sir!”
I almost feel him smirk as he firmly grabs my breasts, squeezing them with shocking force. I whimper in shock and it is borderline painful, but I still moan in pleasure.
“Thank you, sir,” I gasp quickly, wanting to keep him in a favourable mood because he might stop otherwise.
“Good girl,” he soothes, pressing a hot kiss to my neck before he pulls away.
¨The air around me grows suddenly chilled as he withdraws, but his heat quickly rounds to my front, capturing my nipples in his cruel fingers.
Instead of his usual tweaking, however, he gently rolls my sensitive nips, sending shockwaves down my spine and leaving my hips bucking against thin air.
“Your nipples are highly responsive. Are they sensitive?” He questions far too casually.
“Yes, sir.”
I hear him hum pensively before the metallic jangle of something in his hands wins out.
“I’m going to clamp your nipples,” he tells me as if that’s a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to do.
“No, please,” I blurt because I don’t like that idea. I don’t like it at all.
He slaps my breast – hard – twice.
“When I want you to speak, you will know,” he reprimands me with a smirk in his voice. “I will gag you if you neglect to address me properly again.”
“Sorry, sir,” my sad whimpers are pathetic. I guess I don’t have much of a choice. If he wants to clamp me, he will. That doesn’t stop me from disliking the idea, but I need to try and get used to the role of a submissive. I need to play the part.
The metal is surprisingly warm as I feel it come into contact with my skin. I’m hardly eager to feel pain, but I can’t move away from him enough to make any real distance. I whimper as I feel the clamp starting to tighten, but I am surprised by the fact that it doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I anticipated. By the time he’s screwed both clamps into place, it feels mostly like he’s loosely holding onto my nipples with his fingers.
The pinching feeling grows slightly as he releases the heavy chain which binds them, but it’s still not really what I would call painful.
“Open your mouth,” he orders, his fingers teasing my breasts as they rub over my tightly pulled nipples.
I do as commanded and quickly find a length of rope against my tongue.
“Bite down. If you let go without instruction, you will be punished. Do you understand?” He speaks calmly and evenly, ensuring I’m with him every step of the way.
