Archive of Our Own

Tom waited by the front door for Shannon, watching through the glass so he could open it before she even rang the bell. She looked small, engulfed in a raincoat that had to be second hand, or a hand-me-down, a good long coat but too big for her, and now dotted with rain.

He held the door open as she stepped in, trying to shake off the water on the mat.

"Sorry about that, it just suddenly started pouring. I didn't have time to get my umbrella out."

"It's alright." He looked down as he took her coat. She was wearing heels he'd never seen her wear before-- black, patent leather, with a high spike. When he'd told her to wear heels he'd been expecting her usual low stacked heels, some dark earth toned leather, not these. As he looked up he realized she'd tried to turn the tables on him, and it wasn’t just the shoes.

She was fluffing out her hair as he took her in-- sleek gray skirt, white shirt with a deep neck, and stockings. Actual fucking stockings by the look of them. He would have bet anything that his Shannon didn't own a pair of hold-ups, let alone stockings, before this.

When she smiled at him it was small, but he could tell she was holding back, trying not to gloat. He took a deep breath, determined that she wouldn't have the satisfaction.

"Did you take the tube?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to take the stairs in these." She lifted one foot to display the shoe, reaching back to adjust the strap around her ankle, steady all the while. "I took a cab."

"Good idea." The wet concrete of the stairs and the crowds would have been a dangerous combination, considering that he was fairly sure she'd never worn the shoes out before. The thought of her buying them, then practicing, warmed him, and he struggled to focus again. They had a plan for who was going to be in charge, and she could test him, but letting her win would be letting her down.

He led her up the stairs to the living room. The coffee table had been moved against the wall, and now the only thing in the center of the room was a single high backed kitchen chair. He let her look at it for a moment, then held out his hand.

"Take off your shirt."

She unbuttoned it slowly, but not so slowly as to be another test, just care with the tight new buttonholes. She shrugged it off her shoulders, catching it as it fell behind her, revealing the black lace that he'd barely been able to see through the fabric. It was flimsy, delicate, not like the practical things she usually wore. He took her shirt in his hand and laid it over the back of the sofa.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the kitchen chair. "Keep your knees together."

She did as she was told, keeping her hands folded in her lap. She was covering her stomach, the little place where her skin folded around her navel, and lower, the press of her waistband into her skin.

"Put your hands at your sides," he said, watching as she moved, just quickly enough not to arouse his ire. She left her hands pressed against the outsides of her thighs, palms in, visibly trying to hold her stomach in.

He stood next to her, cupping her chin in his hand for a moment, then running his hand down her throat, over the lace covered center of her bra, and over her stomach, pressing in to her soft skin and the harder muscle underneath.

"You're beautiful. Stop worrying." It was a command he knew she couldn't absolutely follow, nor could he check to be sure. He took her hands, set them back on her thighs, palms down, just resting, trying to take the strain off her shoulders. "Did you have a good day?"

She seemed startled by the question. "It was alright. Some good things. Some frustrating things."

He stood behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders, then started working his thumbs into the muscle just at the top of her back, down into the inside of each shoulder blade. "Is there anything you need to talk about right now?"

She shook her head, letting her neck bend forward as he worked over her muscles harder. "No. Not right now."

He let her sit like that for a few moments longer, then pressed on the curve of the middle of her back, urging her to sit up straight again. He unclasped her bra, smoothed the straps down her arms, and tossed it to the sofa where her shirt was, then reached around her, arms to either side, and gently lifted her breasts, holding one in each hand.

"I want you to hold yourself like this," he said, letting go as she brought her hands up. He walked around to her front to look at her. "Perfect." He sat down on the arm of the sofa, just watching her.

He smiled, pleased and proud as she continued to look at him, her knees close together, heels together, those shoes pointed straight at him.

"Now take your thumbs and run them over the top of your breasts." He watched as she complied, knowing just what he meant, sweeping her thumbs down towards her nipples, barely grasping them between thumb and the side of her forefinger. "Next time, pinch yourself hard."

Her lips parted as she started breathing through her mouth, but she did as she was told, barely blinking, the center of each thumbnail turning white as she squeezed, though the position of her hands didn't make for the best leverage.

"Adjust your hands so you can really pinch yourself next time," Tom said, watching as she shifted her hands, looking to him for approval. She'd turned her hands so her fingertips rested just under each nipple, pressing up into the softer skin of her areola and lifting the nipples so they stood up. "Perfect."

She swept her thumbs forward, and he watched the flesh between her fingers turn red, straining against the pressure. She let go, rubbing her thumbs back up the white skin of her breasts, then swept them forward again without being told. He hadn't, after all, told her to stop.

"This time, pull on them."

She looked down for a fraction of a second, then back at him as she did as she was told, skin stretching just slightly, the curve of each breast pulling down and back even as her hands pulled outwards, towards him.

"Harder. I've seen you do it harder than that."

She licked her lips and looked down, but did as he'd said, her wrists bent as she stretched herself.

"Look at me."

She looked up with her eyes first, then lifted her head, eyes wide, visibly struggling to keep looking at his face as she pulled at her nipples, fingertips turning white as she squeezed.

"Relax for a moment."

She returned her hands to their cupped states, but her nipples clearly showed the signs that they'd been roughly handled, standing out, red fading to pink as she rested.

"Now, do it again, hard as you can."

She breathed quicker at that demand, grasped herself between the tip of her thumb and the bent knuckle of each index finger, the better to pull with, leaning forward even though it was she who was doing all the pulling. "Keep going. Don't stop."

She looked away again, and he stood up, reaching out to her as he stood in front of her, toe to toe.

His first impulse was to grasp her jaw, thumb near her chin. That was the easiest way to control the angle of a person's head, but when he started to reach for her the smooth surface of her face stopped him, skin more delicate than the last person he remembered handling thus. He reached out with both hands, framed her face, heels of his hands together under her chin, gently tipping her head back so that she had to look at him.

"Look at me," he said, tone soft but unmistakably expecting obedience.

"Yes Tom." Her words came out as one whisper, as if she couldn't bear not to say his name. He let his fingertips pet along the soft skin next to her eyes.

"Better. Pinch hard, one more time."

He couldn't see her hands, his line of sight obscured by his own arms, but he could see the resolve in her eyes, the tightening of the space between her brows even as she didn't draw them together, no untoward outward sign, only tiny changes.

"Let go. Let your hands rest."

She set her hands on her thighs again, and he let go of her face, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small nipple clamp.

It was a simple clamp, one hinge, one spring, tips flat and coated generously in latex, no teeth, no sharp edges, and only one pressure. Pulling on it would not tighten it and it was the work of less than a second to take it away. He held it hidden in his hand as he brought it to her breast, caught her looking down.

"Look at me." He held still until she did as he told her, eyes fixed on his. "Tilt your head back." She did, the ceiling the only thing directly in front of her face, needed to look down to look at him, now, peering at him through half closed lids. "Keep looking at me."

He lifted her breast in his hand, gently pinching the nipple that was already hard and standing out beautifully. He rolled it in his fingers, just for a moment, then brought his other hand, the one with the clamp in it, up, ready to fix it on her.

She kept looking at him, eyes wide, and now wet, not crying, not nearly, but emotion making them glassy. Her breathing was quick, shallow pants, and her cheeks were red, far more flushed than when he'd been commanding her to touch herself.

"You're afraid," he said, the realization hitting him. "What are you afraid of?" She'd come in fully knowing that she would feel pain, but not be harmed. Where was this fear coming from, suddenly?

"You've got something in your hand, but I can't see it." Her voice was steady but thin, as if she had barely enough breath to get the words out.

Tom turned the clamp over in his fingers, considering. He'd had no intention of showing it to her beforehand-- it was relatively innocuous looking, for one thing. For another, not seeing it could heighten the sense of anticipation, even apprehension, but he hadn't intended her to be so acutely afraid.

"It's a clamp," he said, wondering if that would be enough, if knowing it wasn't a sharp would put her mind at ease, even though they'd already agreed that there would be nothing of that nature.

"Please let me see it." She pressed her lips together, breathing through her nose, blinking fast, trying to keep her composure.

"Hold out your hand."

She lifted her left hand, holding it up towards his right, where he was still holding the clamp, but she didn't take her eyes off of his face. He took her hand in both of his, pinched up the skin on the back of it, and set the clamp on it, letting it spring shut. She flinched, then relaxed-- it was tight, but not to the point of cutting into her skin at the edges, not even close, and she had to feel that.

"Go ahead and look," he told her, lowering her hand so it was in a comfortable place for her to incline her head. He rocked the metal back and forth, stretching her skin, then pinched it together at the end, opening it, and her skin flattened out at once, the barest impression of two half circles all that was left. "Did it hurt?"

She shook her head. "It was just tight."

"It's meant to provide pressure, and weight," he said. "It will hurt a little when I get around to taking them off, but not for long. Not so much that I can't kiss it better."

She smiled, visibly relieved, more by seeing it than anything.

"Watch," he said, taking her breast in hand, pinching her nipple taut, then hovering the wide open clamp over it. He moved forward until the tips of the clamp were pressing into her breast, wanting a good deep bite, no risk of them sliding off, then let go, slowly this time, letting the pressure build until it was closed.

She breathed faster again, not quite panting, but she looked intrigued, not fearful. She looked up at him as he let go, searching.

"Good job, sweetheart." He cupped the back of her head and bent forward to kiss her forehead. When he stood up she was sitting straighter, shoulders back, just rotated a bit, nearly presenting her unadorned breast to him.

"Sweet girl," he couldn't help telling her, aware that he was repeating himself, now, as he teased her to a taut peak before slipping on the clamp. They were the simplest kind and he could already see her tiring of them, but for now they felt strange to her. He bumped his fingers against both at once, lifting the weight and letting it fall, then twisting them gently, watching her shiver.

"Stand up." He took her hands, led her away from the chair so they could trade places. When he sat he reached out and began searching for the zipper. She turned, hesitant at first, but continuing as he guided her, finding it hidden in a seam, clever tailoring indeed. He unzipped it, let it fall to the ground.

The black suspender belt served only to outline her curves, accentuating them in the best way possible. He ran his finger just under the lace, lifting it from where it had already marked her skin with delicate red indentations.

"Bend over, and pick up your skirt," he said. She stepped out of the circle of fabric, kept her feet together as she bent forward, her hand gracefully sweeping the fabric up as she stood. He rested his hand on the swell of her closest buttock, feeling the muscle shift as she stood. "Well done. Bring it to the sofa, then wait there."

She walked away from him and he watched her move, sway to her hips accentuated many times over by the high heels, legs elongated by the thin black line down each stocking.

Her shoulders tensed as he looked, then relaxed, deliberate, and he was proud of her for correcting herself. Her hands were still at her sides, fingers just curled naturally. He took in the furrow of her spine, shadowed to gray, set off by the dark black of her suspender belt, a thin line of black just visible at the top of her arse, disappearing, and he smiled, knowing that before this she had certainly never worn a thong.

"Turn around."

She carefully crossed her left foot over her right, then turned smoothly on the balls of her feet, and he shook his head slowly, grinning, unable to help himself.

She looked at a spot just over his head, though that was an effect of posture more than avoidance. He let his eyes linger on her in a way that he rarely had a chance to, consuming the sight of her without interruption or movement. The shallow furrow between her breasts was slightly damp, the base of her neck, too, and the inward curve of each cheek bone beneath her eyes. The curve of her stomach ended where the suspender belt bit into her hips, lace laid artfully over that gentle softness, and beneath there was a small triangle of sheer black fabric, darker at the apex, and he wondered if she were already wet enough to have soaked through the flimsy cloth.

"Walk back to me."

She looked directly at him, then, a sense of keeping her balance present in the set of her shoulders, the deliberate placement of her feet, but it was not hesitant, nor ordinary. She didn't stomp as if she were on a runway, but she didn't mince in the manner of women unaccustomed to high heels, either. She stopped when her knees were an inch from his, looking down at him.

"Who taught you how to walk in those?" he asked, hand reaching out to feel the back of her thigh, the edge of the stocking just resting against her skin, the subtle ridge of the seam there.

"Edward." Her mouth quirked up for a fraction of a second, then settled. "Does it show that I was taught by a drag queen?"

"Only in the best way." He took his hand away reluctantly, still deciding where to take her next. The triangle between her legs was tantalizingly close, and clearly damp, but he held back.

He slouched in the chair, just a bit, letting his knees slide forward and out, just missing her as he moved. If he led her to their room he could sit on the edge of the bed, and she could keep her arms or legs on the mattress even if he put her over his knees. That would be more comfortable, but he wanted her to feel the weight of the clamps pulling on her breasts. He could have sat on the corner of the bed, just her legs supported, then, but as he continued to enjoy the sight of her he decided that today, at least, she was simply meant to be bent over.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the chain that went with the clamps, then carefully threaded the little rings on each end through the s-shaped hooks on each one. She took a deep breath as he took his hand away, her body taking all the weight of the chain as it hung down, brushing against her stomach.

"Come stand next to me," he said, indicating his right side. He guided her to turn towards him, hand on the small of her back, pushing until her legs were touching the chair and the side of his thigh. "I want you to bend over so you're lying across my lap. You can hold on to the bar on the bottom of the chair." He held his left arm out and she rested her hand on it as she bent forward, different from lying across his lap on the bed, as there was nothing for her to rest her knees on. She managed to lower herself gracefully, though, shaking a bit as she realized she wasn't able to keep her feet on the floor, his left arm cinching around her waist as she held onto the rung of the chair.

He spread his knees a bit more, giving her more to lean against. He ran his hand down the curve of her ass, over each stocking, to the bend of her knee, her feet crossed in the air, legs bent. She felt steady, for now, well balanced, but he knew that if she had to, if she was told, she'd be able to get her feet under her, especially with the extra height that the heels afforded her.

"Straighten your legs." He ran his hand down the back of her thigh, watching as she tried to put her feet on the floor, back bending , hips lifting up as she strained. Her feet touched, barely, but not comfortably-- he could feel the tension in the back of her leg, imagined the strain on her knee. He tightened his arm around her waist, trying to give her some sense of security, but the tension didn't leave her. He frowned, wondering why it didn't work, then realized his mistake.

"Stand up," he said trying to speak gently, now, even though it was a simple command. "Careful." It wasn't likely that she'd get a head rush from such a short time over his knees, but it was possible.

She stood steadily, just to his right, as when she'd begun. He stood up and held out his hand, squeezing hers when she set her hand in his.

"We're going to do this on the couch instead," he said.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head emphatically. "You did fine. You're just not as tall as," he nearly faltered. "I thought you were. My mistake."

In the short walk to the sofa he chastised himself for even thinking about Ben, had himself back in hand by the time he sat down near the corner. "Knees here," he said, patting his free side. She knelt next to him, her back straight. The chain hung down between her breasts, just barely brushing against her stomach. He lifted the weight in his hand, then let it fall, watching the small adjustments her face made at that, the relief and the tiny shock of it falling again. "Lean over me, hands on the arm," he said. She did, settling down as he pushed firmly on her tailbone, legs sliding back as she settled in to lay flat over him, her folded arms resting on the padded arm of the sofa. He'd wanted the chain between her breasts to hang free, but this was a more sustainable position, for both of them.

The black suspender belt was vivid against her skin. He let himself trace the edge of it, following the sharply scalloped edges where it dipped down, clips holding her stockings up with shining ribbons. He pressed down against her crease, letting his fingers follow the thin strip of fabric that rested there, holding her tighter as she squirmed when he kept pressing forward, the damp heat tantalizing against his fingertips.

"You know what happens now," he said, palm cupped over the curve of her ass, as if he were taking a measure of her. "You know you like this." Though she was facing away from him he could see her nodding vigorously.

He watched the rise and fall of her shoulders, breath coming quicker as he kept rubbing his hand against her skin, hard enough to warm her. She was moving under him, subtle shifts, nothing as bold as pushing back into his hand, smart enough to know that he'd delay everything if she did.

When he couldn't wait anymore he pulled back and brought his hand down twice, just where her where her ass met her thighs, soft sensitive skin, nice and symmetrical. He kept his other arm tight around her waist, cinching her in, but she didn't try to get away, even when he struck harder, hand seeking out the thinner places over her bones, tempering himself just enough not to truly hurt her.

Having her across his lap was almost too much, with her face hidden. She was so perfectly laid out, no leverage in her arms the way she was leaning against the arm of the sofa. The want inside him, to slap her ass faster and harder, until his arm burned, to reach up underneath her and squeeze and pinch anything he could touch simmered just underneath his own skin, tempered by the thought of the way things would be better in the long run, if they did it right, if he built her up nice and slow. He kept his hand just shy of true symmetry, letting her guess, her outside hip easier to reach. He let his hand land there four or five times in a row, building up a nice red spot, the heat apparent even to his numbing palm.

"Turn your head," he said, finally. 'I want to see your face." He held on to her ass, hard, fingers digging into the curve of her skin, not even anchoring himself against her bones. Her own hands couldn't have held so much, and while he'd always enjoyed handling Ben roughly, too, it was different with her, knowing that he was definitely stronger, would always be stronger than her, no chance that she could ever overpower him. The only way she could overpower him would be if she told him to stop-- and that tempered the strength of his hand, too, the fact that he didn't want to stop at all.

She hitched her shoulders up, rested her elbows on the arm of the sofa, giving herself room to prop her chin on her shoulder..

The side of her face was red from lying against the firm fabric, but her eyes were clear. He licked his lips, let his mouth open a bit as if he were about to speak, then slapped her hard, fingers coming down on the top of her thigh where she'd feel it not as a thud but a sting. She gasped, eyes flying open wider, having attuned her attention towards his voice and received something altogether different.

"Alright?" He rubbed her skin lightly, only increasing the heat she was feeling, knew it had to be prickling through her.

"I'm good." She shifted in his lap, her hips rubbing against his crotch, but not attempting to titillate. He could feel her sweating under the band of his arm around her middle, saw the furrow of her spine growing just that much darker. His own jeans felt hot, too tight, and not only because of his cock pushing against the zipper. He loosened his arm, held on to her hips with both hands.

"Kneel next to me again," he said, sliding his hand underneath her, brushing against her belly. She twitched when he touched her there, and he pressed his hand in, staring her down, daring her to say something. She had never forbidden it, only shied away from his touch there, curling up or rolling away. She couldn't have thought that he wouldn't notice, but she'd never spoken of it, never asked him not too. Now, with the precedence of his desire so clearly spelled out, he took it as his right to run his hand slowly from the edge of the garter belt up to her chest, sliding along the damp thin skin between her breasts, thumb catching on the chain for a moment before he let his hand rest against her sternum, fingertips just dipping into the notch at the base of her throat. He guided her up as she pushed herself off the arm of the sofa, steadied her as she knelt next to him again.

The chain had left a pattern in her skin, pink and indented. He ran his fingernail along the marks over her ribs, smiling up at her.

"Do you like that?" She was leaning into it, though perhaps he was just scratching an itch.

"I do." She was watching his fingers play over the marks, watched as he picked up the chain and tried to press it back in, the links not quite lining up, a new fainter pattern impressed over the old one. He gave up and simply traced the chain itself, the full weight of his hand taken up by the slack as he rested between her breasts, clamps straining against her skin.

He took his hand away reluctantly as he stood, looking down at her. She had crossed her ankles, the long heels nearly clicking together. Her posture was impeccable, hands steady at her sides, the curve of her spine perfect, pale white skin set off now not only by the black undergarments but by the red places on her ass as well. The contrast could be better, though, and he hadn't quite had his fill of that particular pleasure, palms itching to feel her again.

"Put your hands down on the cushion, there," he said, pointing to the edge of the cushion he'd just been sitting on. She did so gracefully,, heels of her hands sinking in as she wrapped her fingers around the upholstery, lengthening herself as much as she could. Her back dipped a bit, chest swaying down just enough to let the chain brush against the sofa, slack taken up. He pressed two fingers against her breastbone, watched as she shifted her whole spine to raise her chest up, her chin lifting, too, in that moment.

"Gorgeous," he said, softly, not intending to praise her but letting it slip out. He traced the shadows on her back from her scapula to her spine, pressing down on the shiny smooth fabric around her waist, slipping his fingers underneath to search for the top of her thong. It was flimsy, compared to the rest of the fabric, felt like it would rip if wrapped around his fist. He let his fingers follow it, skimming over the narrow ribbon nestled just inside her cleft, letting his knuckles brush rough against the warm pink skin on either side. He kept going, tracing between her thighs, pushing up under the lace edge.

His fingers slid instantly, damp on smooth skin, and he pushed further under the fabric, glad she couldn't see his face as his mouth fell open.

"When?" He stroked the soft mound, skin yielding under his fingers, no matter which way he pressed, no scratch or rasp, absolutely and completely bare.

"Yesterday," she said, breath hitching as he let his fingers dip into the crease, pressing back up, opening her as much as he could in that tight spot.

"How? Who did this for you?"

"I went to a salon." She had reached up to grip the arm of the couch, her head thrown back, overcompensating, rather than burying her head in her arms.

He pushed his hand between her legs, heel of his hand resting against her pubic bone as his fingers curled against her soft flesh, pushing in, folds parting under the pressure, slipping as he rocked back and forth. The thought of her, his sweet, private girl, tolerating a stranger touching her, even hurting her a little, and for his benefit, stunned him, though this wasn't the time to praise her overmuch. That could come later. For now he contented himself with trying to reach as much of her skin as he could, fingers drawing broader and broader patterns, straining to trace every inch of her. His arm was cramped, twisted, the position too awkward to hold, and he took his hand away reluctantly.

Standing up he had the leverage that he'd missed when she'd been over his lap. He traced the pinkest part of her bottom with his hand, lining himself up, then pulled back and struck her over the thickest part of the muscle, where her body could absorb the force but still feel the sting. His hand, still damp from her juices, smacked against her skin. She didn’t move away from him, but the curve of her back deepened, stomach dipping low, but her chest still held high, chain swinging freely.

"Straighten out," he told her, and she followed his command without asking what he meant, elbows resting on the arm of the sofa. He put one foot up on the cushion behind her, positioning himself more carefully for this next, having decided she could take two more on each cheek, skin blossoming pink, nearing red, a good persistent burn but little chance that she'd actually bruise.

When he smacked her for the last time she whimpered, and he looked over to where the chain was swinging, wondered if it was the heat of the skin on her ass or something else that had prompted the noise.

"Stand up." He stood near her shoulders, offering her his arm to lean on. She accepted, the heels an adjustment after so much time on her hands and knees.

"You're good to walk?" The chain was tempting, but any fun he might have had leading her along with it would, for now, be all too tempered by her fear.

She nodded and he led her to the bedroom, stopping halfway between the door and the bed.

"Face me." She turned around, more slowly than before, small steps, now, instead of the more graceful twist.

He held his hand flat against her stomach, pushing in, claiming her as he had before, then slid down, fingers skimming over the thin edge of the belt, then slipping under the thin fabric of the pants. The narrow ribbons along each side of the little triangle of fabric had bitten into her skin, and he found himself taking it in both hands, lowering himself to his knees as he pulled it down.

The room was silent except for the tiny click of her heels against the floor as she parted her feet further, slide of fabric on skin, and her breathing, louder since he'd sunk to the floor. He tipped his head to hide his smile as he pushed the scrap of fabric to her feet, leaving it just slightly stretched between her ankles.

He slid the back of each hand up the insides of her legs, framing her mound, pushing her outer lips together until there was the barest hint of pink from where they parted. Leaning close he let his nose brush against her, reveling in how absolutely smooth the skin was, her scent still there, combination of salt and the warm scent of clean skin, faint hint of simple soap, and the deeper biting scent that was just her, sharp tang hitting him in the back of his throat as he breathed deep. He held on to her thighs, hands wrapping around her legs until he had a thumb near each hip, fingers reaching up towards her bottom, digging in hard enough to let her know he was prepared to hold her up, if need be, then licked her, one firm press of the tip of his tongue against her cleft.

She jerked in his hands, then steadied herself, her breath loud as she waited for his next move. He pressed in harder, kneeling up higher, lips traveling lushly over her smooth pink flesh, nudging her inner lips from side to side before parting them with a precise swipe of his tongue. She tilted her hips, leaning against his hands, trusting him to hold her. He pulled his elbows in tighter, pressing her legs together even as he kept pressing his face up in.

Being fucked with his tongue wasn't likely to bring her off or even get her close, but he knew that she liked the intense immediacy of it, having a part of him inside her without being stretched. She'd tried to explain, once, how it felt, his tongue already wet and soft, sliding in like it belonged there. It was a strain for him, folds touching the sides of his mouth, tongue reaching. He knelt up and pressed his face closer, felt her jump when his beard rasped against her skin.

"Hold yourself open," he said, pulling his head back. Her hands were swift, fingers resting nearly at her slit then pulling back, laying herself open, flushed inner lips seeming to converge at her clit. He fixed his mouth there, first licking, then sucking, pulling back until the barest hint of the hood was left between his lips, struggling to hold on. She swayed in his hands, pressing ever closer to his face, then pulling back, an uneasy balance. He tightened his fingers to the point of almost certain bruising, holding her hips steady while he licked her, the little gather of soft flesh at the entrance to her cunt impossible not to compare to the petals on a rose, parting and smoothing out into one silken surface as he worked her over.

The floor against his knees was the only thing that brought him back, and the sound of her heels against the wood. It was too easy to get lost in the pleasure of feeling every inch of her. He pulled back, then gently brought each small swollen inner lip into his mouth, sucking hard as he pulled his head back, letting them lengthen before he released them, glistening and pink, framing her as he sat back against his heels.

"Good," he told her, stroking her wrist, letting her know it was alright to let go.

He slid his hands down the backs of her legs, tracing the seam to where it disappeared behind the firm leather of the cuff at the top of the shoe, where the ribbon of her thong was hung up on it. He leaned close to pluck it free, then kissed the back of her ankle, biting gently against the silk, sliding his tongue up the seam even as he lifted her foot with his hand, brushing the thong aside. He nipped at the white skin at the top of her stocking, a thin stripe of unmarked skin between her stocking and the reddened skin of her ass, then turned to her other leg, maneuvering his body so he was kneeling just behind her, hands around the front of her thighs now.

He bit, again, teeth sinking deeper, sucking until warmth seemed to blossom under his mouth, then moved on, licking down the seam, this time, hands tracing her legs as he did. His tongue hit the firm strap of her shoe, unexpected taste of leather in his mouth, and he pulled back. He stood, taking her hands in his.

"Up on the bed." He'd already turned the covers down, watched as she winced when she sat on the sheets, smooth but not smooth enough against her skin. She looked at him hesitantly before she swung her feet up onto the bed.

"Leave your shoes on," he said. She used her hands to slide herself into the center of the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. He knelt beside her, tugging gently on the chain between her breasts, his other hand on the small of her back, easing her down until she was lying against the pillows.

"A little further," he said, shifting the pillow along with her until there was a good foot between her head and the headboard. He lifted her right hand, pressed the back of her wrist against the cool metal, and watched her as she settled into it, shoulder muscles relaxing, the wing of her scapula dropping back into the mattress from where she'd hunched it up to lift her arm. The longer he held her hand there the more she seemed to get the picture, that she wasn't meant to be holding her hand up at all but letting him do it for her. He sighed with satisfaction, glad that he didn't have to spell it out. He set her hand back down on her stomach, her fingers curling as he reached into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out the cuffs.

They were new, a little smaller than the previous ones he’d bought years ago, and softer, lined with a thin layer of sheepskin. He ran his thumb along the edge of the cuff. It wouldn't have hurt her overmuch to have the edge of the leather against her skin, but they weren't softened with use at all, and besides, this first time was supposed to be more about her feeling secure than trapped. In time she might need or even appreciate the gentle reminder of the bite of the cuff against her skin, but not now. He picked up her right hand again and fastened the cuff, running his fingertip around the edge nearest her hand, sure that it wasn't too tight. Against the metal slat the carabiner clip made a soft clicking noise, but it was coated in rubber, just enough to keep the noise to a minimum, and keep from scarring up his bed. He slowly moved her hand back and forth, showing her the range of motion she did have, the way she could slide to the next cross bar in either direction, but she was the most comfortable, apparently, where he had placed her, muscles in her arm relaxing once he'd let go. He cuffed her other hand, gratified to notice that she relaxed into it even more quickly, though her eyes were closed the entire time.

"You don't have to close your eyes," he said, touching the side of her face.

"I know."

"Open them." It was possible that she was distancing herself from something she didn't like, and with them closed he just couldn't tell. Her eyes were bright but clear, her pupils big, but not as wide as he'd ever seen them. He traced his fingers down the sensitive inside of her arm, dragged them over the edge of her exposed arm pit, skimmed over the side of her breast until his fingers hit the metal clamp on her nipple. He held it in his fingers, twisted it slowly, watching a half circle of the chain wrap around it. The only change in her expression was her mouth opening, breathing deeper as she endured it.

"Good." He let go, scratched the damp skin between her breasts, dragged his hand down the center of her stomach, lying flatter now that she was on her back but she still twisted away from him, or started to, her left hip just barely lifting up off the bed as she began to squirm, stopping as his hand stopped, breath faster and shallower when he continued tracing his way down.

Her vulva was nearly irresistible, something he had to touch, even if that wasn't his main goal right at the moment. He traced around it, not daring to give in, then back up her stomach to her throat, letting his finger rest in the hollow there. While he'd been touching her stomach her feet had been kicking, a steady restless motion, almost as if she were pedaling a bike.

"We have to do something about these." Reaching back he grabbed an ankle, fixing his fingers around it as hard as he could, the muscles of her calf and achilles cord hard against his hand, fingers not quite meeting. She flexed her foot and the leather of her shoe scratched against the side of his thumb. He pushed down as hard as he could into the bed until she stilled, then picked her foot up, bending her knee back until the heel of her shoe was resting against the back of her thigh, pointed edges just scraping against pink skin. "Like this?" Tying her ankles had been a vague idea, something he'd played with the idea of, but he hadn't made a firm plan. Treading carefully, now, outside of his own comfort zone of knowing what move was next, he reached over to the drawer and pulled out the ankle cuffs, larger versions of the ones on her wrists. It would do no harm to fasten them on, let her feel them, even if she wasn't tethered to anything.

The shoes had thin cuffs of their own, doubtless as much to evoke the very idea as to hold them to her feet. Fastening the cuffs over them might press the buckle into her skin, or, less worrisome, might have ruined the stockings, and he did want to see them again. He set the cuff aside and carefully undid the buckle on her shoe, working the strap open, then sliding it off her foot, letting his fingertips drag along her insole.

Her foot jerked up, her entire body twisting away from him, foot pointing. She'd said that tickling was ok, even laughed at him when he'd pressed the issue, as if she couldn't imagine why it would have to be spelled out, like the places he was allowed to strike and how hard. He thought she might be getting it, now, as his fingers danced up the sole of her foot, jagged breath giving way to a whimper. He held her leg more firmly, fastened the cuff on, and moved to her other one. The shoe came off as easily, and this time he grasped her foot firmly as he smoothed her stocking back down, her leg still jerking away, but without the desperate pleading noise she had made with the first. The second cuff on, he had to decide where to tie her.

The way she was lying suggested the foot board, and he picked his points carefully, not too close together, but not far apart enough to strain her, either. The rope was smooth in his hands, cool, the way only cotton was, and he thought about dragging it over her skin so she could see how nice it was, really, but the parts of her that were easily reached were still covered in silk. He worked quickly, standing up from the edge of the bed when he was finished and walking away just far enough to look back at her.

Her hair had fanned out on the pillow, spilling around her face, highlighting how fair she was, even against the white sheets. With her fingers wrapped around the thin bars of the headboard he could almost forget that it was actually the cuffs that held her there. The chain between her breasts had slipped off to one side, sliding against the right side of her ribs as she breathed, and her legs, now spread, left the inner joints of her hips stretched, exposed, the soft damp skin completely unmarked. He felt over dressed, suddenly, no longer needing his jeans and shirt to mark which one of them was submitting, as it was so obviously her. He stood at the foot of the bed, leaned his hands on the rail there, resisting the urge to touch his cock, though the heat under his skin was almost like a burn.

She was moving a bit, her shoulders rocking back and forth just enough to test how much freedom she had. She let go of the headboard, let her hands go limp, and started sliding down towards the foot of the bed, her feet extending until her toes were touching the footboard. In order to get that far, though, she had extended her arms over her head, tendons straining at her shoulders, fingertips barely brushing against the headboard. She'd left the pillow behind, only her hair still touching it.

She tried to bring her feet together, but he'd chosen well enough for that not to happen. He'd left the slack in the ropes on purpose, not wanting her arms to be stretched, but there was no way that she was going to be able to get her thighs to close. Realizing that, she tried to move back up the bed, but there was no strength in her arms, with them extended so far, and pushing her feet against the footboard only gained her a few inches, until she was stuck in the middle, pillow behind her shoulders, skin rubbing against the linen.

Tom walked round to the side of the bed, took the pillow out from behind her shoulders, and set it against the headboard again, then gathered up her hair from where it had been caught under her shoulders, working it into a single ponytail in his hand. He twisted it slowly, pulling just enough to make the gather tidy, then laid the twist over her shoulder, working his other arm under her back.

"Do you want your elbows bent again?"

She nodded, digging in her heels to help him push her back up towards the head of the bed. He set her head on the pillow, slid his hand behind the back of her head one more time to smooth out her hair.

"It's better like this, isn't it?" He gently brushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead, then let his hand trail down her throat, between her breasts, were he picked up the chain, slowly lifting it until it made a perfect triangle, breasts pulled taut as he held it over one finger. "I know what I'm doing." She watched the twisting chain as he tightened it around his finger, not moving his hand down, letting her body take up the strain. He held still, feeling the pullback. A little more and one nipple would slip free, pinched viciously at the end, to be sure. He lowered his hand, letting the chain pool on her chest, bright against the pink flush that covered her chest.

He reached back, not looking, only remembering her proportions, and pressed one finger between her folds, slipping between her lips instantly, slick and hot.

"You get so wet when I hurt you a little," he said, mock thoughtful, as if it were the first time it had ever occurred to him. He carefully moved back, maneuvered over her tied leg, and settled himself between her knees, pushing his finger in to her, easy, slick and smooth. A second followed and he pushed in deeper, feeling her tiny inner folds evening out to something smooth as glass, slick and hot, yielding but strong, constant pressure against his fingers. He bumped against her cervix, gently traced the outside of it, moving just enough to slip behind, deepest softest part of her, the webs between his fingers straining against her, then swooped up, pushing hard against the curve of muscle just beyond his reach. Her eyes were closed, again, fingers grasping at the bars on the bed, her stomach muscles contracting down, trying to push back against his hand, perhaps. He slid his fingers out, then back in, graceless and easy, constant gentle suck of her against his hand making something throb inside him, cock hard and heavy in front of him, waiting. He could wait, but it wasn't easy, now, feeling just how she opened up for him even as she was taut around him. He slid back, worked a third finger in, twisting his hand, watching the pink ring around his fingers thin and stretch when he moved. She pushed her hips down to meet him, trying to put him where she wanted. He let his thumb brush over her clit, lazy and imprecise. She whimpered again, maybe realizing that now she wouldn't be able to reach down and touch herself while they were fucking. He thought about that as he turned his hand, tried to be more accurate, the tip of his thumb teasing the loose hood, thin skin moving lush and slick over the inner firmness. Her hands stilled, maybe relieved that he wasn't going to make her wait overlong.

He tilted his hand down, pulled away from her slowly, the urge to just throw his legs over hers, fuck her into the mattress almost overwhelming, but he knew that without the leverage to be able to tilt her hips up at least a little, without being able to push her legs back, there was precious little chance that it would be good for her as well as him. He reached back and undid the knots that secured her ankles, knelt between her legs as he pushed them up and back, nothing but his own hands holding her in place now.

He put his forearm across the back of both knees, holding her in place while he inspected her straps, running a finger under each one. Her skin had turned pink, indented, the pattern of the ribbon and buckles embossed on her now. He lifted one strap, pulled it back and let it snap down, adding a line of red almost instantly to the pink mark it had already left.

She cried out, her body shaking once, but not pulling away from him. He held his arm even more firmly against the back of her knees, bending her in half, and did the same to each strap he could reach, pulling them one after the other like strings on an instrument, slapping his hand lightly against her pussy as he knelt in front of her, raising just a little more color in her already swollen lips.

Tom kept his hands on the backs of her thighs, holding her open, pushing her back so her tailbone was just up off the bed. He bent forward, back curving him into a tight ball in that small space to lick her again, tongue making broad stripes over her pink warmed skin, working inward to where she was soft and open, pliant against the tip of his tongue. He let himself wander, biting at the back of her thigh, teeth scraping against taut skin, then looked up at her. Her eyes were still open, though she was looking up, not straining to look down at him. He adjusted his grip on her legs as he knelt in front of her and she did look, watching as he lifted her knees up one by one, her right knee over his left shoulder, left knee over his arm.

The first brush of his cock against her was torture, the desire to push straight in to her overwhelming, made worse by the knowledge that he could, by the rules of this game. She was his to do with as he pleased until the moment she said stop. He gritted his teeth and thought about her, all sweet trust and excitement over this new thing. The thought of hurting her with his hands, slapping and pinching strong skin over curved muscle was nothing, but the thought of hurting her where she was already so vulnerable, the thought of hurting her with his cock was unacceptable. He steadied himself with the back of his hand and made his face implacable as he pushed in.

She was hot, not just warm, but hot, the push of her skin against him echoing the stretch she had to be feeling. He hadn't played with his fingers in her as much as they usually did, and she wasn't controlling where her legs were. The difference was astonishing, and despite himself it made him want to temper his movements. He watched her eyes carefully, waiting for them to tighten, for the wrinkle to appear between her eyebrows that meant she was in pain, but even as he kept pushing inward, faster than usual but not forceful, it never appeared.

She looked surprised, when he didn't pause, when he pushed against the first little nudge of resistance, tilting first his own hips and then pushing against her to maneuver her around rather than slowing. It worked, the combination of the change in angle and the pressure of him moving slowly but insistently forward, and he was seated in her, sac brushing against her arse, far more quickly than usual.

It wasn't enough, suddenly, wasn't deep or firm enough. He leaned forward, chest pushing against her thighs, bending her in half as his hands slotted into the backs of her knees, holding her open, bending her, literally, to his whim. It was almost enough, and he had to close his eyes for a moment when she pushed her shoulders into the bed, trying to lift herself closer to him, trying to give him more when he was already taking as much as he dared.

"Shhh." He shushed her even though she'd hardly been making a sound, his hand sliding down to her hip and pushing her back into the bed. She didn't quite relax, but she wasn't straining against the headboard any longer, his weight holding her to the bed as he settled over her. He pulled back and slid in once, lowering his head to nuzzle at the side of her neck, lifting his head to speak into her ear.

"Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head, her breath loud enough in her throat that he suspected she couldn't have spoken clearly if she wanted to.

"Are you sure?" He thrust back in harder, moving his hips in a slow circle once he was deep inside her, feeling her stretch against him. Her eyes widened, but she shook her head.

"Alright." As he pressed closer he straightened his legs, letting her take his weight more fully, only his feet still on the bed. He lowered his hand from her hip to the mattress for balance, almost wishing that she had her hands free so he didn't have to worry so much about what would happen if he fell to one side, but that would have defeated the purpose of the entire thing. Glancing at her one more time he found her wide-eyed but without any obvious signs of pain. He pushed himself up and let himself fall, seated back in her with a thud that seemed to shake through both of them. She gasped, sudden high pitched sound, not quite her voice but not just her breath. As he rested for a moment she pushed back against him, her hands wrapped around the slats of the bed to get more traction. He smiled slowly, hardly daring to believe that what he wanted was lining up with not only what she would tolerate, but what she wanted as well.

It was a delicate balance, sometimes, the line between holding her so tight that she couldn't help but feel secure, like he had everything in hand, and giving in and taking what he wanted because, after all, she had explicitly told him that he could. The fact that it was coming together felt good inside his head, a warm fuzziness that seemed to wrap around his brain. He leaned close and kissed the side of her neck as he adjusted his arms, cupping her shoulders while he kept her knees over his forearms. It was a stretch for him, and for her, he was sure, but she was limp under him, allowing it, rocking back and forth as he held still for just one more moment.

When he moved he groaned out loud, deep and feral, knew that she couldn't help but hear him with his mouth so close to her face. He allowed himself to close his eyes for the first few strokes, each thrust feeling good enough that the only thing he could think about was the next one, straining from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock to get closer, deeper, to feel the deep thumping reverberation of their connection all through his body, the heat that built up between them swirling around the center of his chest, heating him from the inside.

He let his knees settle to the bed again as he leaned over her, aware that he was talking nonsense at her ear but unable to stop himself.

"You feel so good, you're so beautiful, you fucking beauty, I love you." He bit the side of her neck, the upward curve of her shoulder where her arm reached up, leaned to the side and nipped at the tender skin on her arm.

He pulled back as she started making short high choked-off noises, stared down at her face, eyes wide open, wondering if she was going to start crying. He didn't slow himself, didn't change other than to watch her, one hand brushing the hair away from her face so he could see her more clearly wondering if that was how she was going to let go of some of the pressure she had to feel building in herself as well.

She managed to form words as a flush crept up over her throat and face; he realized she wasn't crying but coming as she tightened around him in sudden fierce moments, shuddering as she let him go, his cock moving inside her all the while.

"Oh God," she said as he stared down at her, fascinated. It wasn't like her to actually talk, but she kept saying it, though her voice was high and thin enough that after the first it didn't make sense anymore. Her hands twisted in the cuffs as much as they could, her fingers splaying out as if she was trying to catch something. He leaned his weight on her even more heavily, her body jumping against his as he did, slipping his hand flat against her stomach and pushing down, coaxing her along.

He had his eyes closed with the effort but knew that it had worked by the long pulsing clench of her against him, the shaking rattling sound of her pulling on the headboard, her stuttering breath against the side of his face. He slid his hand away and stroked up the pale curve of her arm, then the other, feeling her fingers clench at his for a moment and then let go, echoing the aftershocks he could feel inside her.

This was the test of whether or not she could take him being entirely in control. Every time she came she pushed him away, even pushed herself away if she was touching herself. He'd never seen her allow any push to see if there was something good on the other side. She made that warbling sound in her throat again, her eyes focusing as she looked at him. He held her gaze, waiting for the word, steeling himself to obey her if she told him to slow down or stop, as long as she used the right language.

She didn't speak at first, and he couldn't stop himself from speaking over the silence.

"You can take this. Come on sweetheart."

"Please slow down." She bit down on her lip as she looked away, too far gone to be engaging in any artifice, but it worked, nonetheless. He didn't even consider ignoring the request, not this time. He sat up, taking some of the pressure off of her, slowed his thrusts to a gentler rocking, not letting her entirely off the hook, but not pushing her past the point of tolerable pain either.

He slid one hand up the inside of her thigh, ran his thumb along the slick swollen edge of her pussy, worked it towards her center, stroking the pad of his thumb over her clit in time with his thrusts. She relaxed against her pillow, still breathing through her mouth, but far easier, eyes focused on him rather than staring at the ceiling. He watched her carefully, feeling them drift into far more familiar waters which, while pleasant, hadn't been his original destination.

She started tightening her stomach muscles, straining her biceps against the headboard, pushing then pulling, lengthening herself as she deliberately clenched herself around him. It was working, the teetering sense of urgency in him threatening to take them both down as she chased something that was right on the edge of her perception, and he leaned forward, trapping her clit between them as he slipped his hand away.

"You're looking far too focused right now," he said, soft but clear. Her eyes immediately jumped to his hand, sliding up her side. He grasped the clamp that held on to her left nipple, pulled a little, twisted it from side to side. She watched, curious, unalarmed when he put his fingers on either side of the clamp to push it open.

He moved quickly once he did, pulling it free and tossing it gently to the side so the chain hung down her right side, still attached to that breast. She shouted in surprise when she felt the pain of her nipple filling up with blood again, the sudden delayed sense of pinching followed by the throbbing of flesh receiving circulation again. He leaned forward, taking her breast in his mouth, sucking hard enough to allay some of that throb, then brushing his tongue against her warm thin skin as he let the pressure recede, gentling her down from the throbbing.

"Ready for the other one?" He pinched her gently, fingers sliding on slick skin, after he took his mouth away.

She nodded, her fingers twirling and splaying again. He waited a longer moment this time, letting her feel the way the throb built up once the clamp was off, the way her nipple felt like it was twice its normal size, though to all appearances it was hardly bigger than usual. He held her other breast firm in his hand as he leaned forward, sucking hard this time, less soothing than confusing, rutting against her as he felt his own orgasm finally building just beyond his control, a solid heat from the base of his spine that spread all through him.

He pressed his chest against her, arms wrapping around her back even as he looked at her arms, made sure he wasn't pulling her shoulders too acutely. She had her elbows flexed, just a little, enough to get the feel that she was struggling against something, her hips twisting under him, grinding her clit against the hard ridge of his pelvic bone.

He looked down at her face, almost too close to focus on. His breathing was the loudest thing in the room now, almost grunting as she managed to pull him closer, her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Come on," she said, her voice shaking, but clear. "You can fuck me harder than that."

He laughed, low and sudden, almost disbelieving that she was still trying to challenge him. He adjusted his arms, elbows planted on the bed to either side of her, his head hanging low next to hers.

He held himself in her, deep, pushing steady and firm against her warmth as he waited for her to take it back. "If you can't take this, you'd better tell me."

She gasped as he pulled back, but didn't protest as he let his hips swing back into her, feet planted on the bed, her cunt the center of everything as he moved as if against a fulcrum, unstoppable, sweat trickling down the side of his face as he let himself move the way he wished. His ears were attuned to her voice, waiting for her to stop him, but the only thing he heard were her short gasps, then a deeper tone, almost a sob in her throat.

He forced himself to look at her, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring as she tried to breathe hard with her mouth closed. When her mouth opened her eyes flew open too, staring, unseeing, at the ceiling as she moaned, one long wavering note after another.

There was a change that came over him, the inevitability of his orgasm complete, sensation rolling over him and through him as she shook under him, her legs falling off his back, the cuffs rattling loud against the slats of the bed, her own breath sounding like it was being forced from her. He buried his head in the curve of her shoulder, muffling his own grunting moan as he came, lifting his head for breath as he felt himself spurt inside her again, then once more, weakly, as he rested his head on the top of her arm.

She opened her eyes and rolled her head towards him, gently tapping her forehead against his. He leaned against her for a moment, then realized that she was probably uncomfortable with his head pressed against her bound arm. He pushed himself up on his arms, leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were soft, warm and pliant, her face as wet and hot as if she had been crying. He kissed her cheek, then looked at her more carefully. Her eyes were clear, not red, and there were no distinct tracks on her face, only the dampness of sweat. He licked his lips, tasting her salt.

He pulled back carefully, guiding himself out of her with one hand, tender, and sure that she was as well. She sighed when he slipped free, but made no indication that she was hurting. He held himself over her, nestled against her as he kissed the curve of each breast, the smooth flat plane of her sternum between them. He licked the sweat from her skin, pleased that she didn't chide him or try to shy away, even lifting her chin when he licked against her neck.

He took his weight off her slowly, a knee to either side of her, then reached up and held her hands.

"Are you ready to sit up?"

She nodded, her hair a tangled storm against the pillow. He swung himself off to one side, leaned up and unhooked her from the headboard, then scooped an arm around her shoulders and got her to sitting against the headboard, a pillow behind her back.

"How are you doing?" He pulled the sheet over her legs and watched as she settled her hands in her lap, the cuffs making her wrists look dainty.

"I'm good." She smiled at him, but her voice was rough, dry. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the bottle of water he'd put there hours ago. He opened it and held it to her mouth, one hand cupping the back of her head. She didn't even lift her hands to help, and he smiled to himself as he put it back.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" He felt anxious, waiting for her reply. He had been careful, and he knew she wasn't permanently or even seriously hurt but even so he didn't want her to associate this sort of scene with a lasting lingering pain.

She rolled her shoulders, stretched her back, her breasts pointing forward in a way he knew wasn't meant to be provocative but that he enjoyed nonetheless. She shifted her legs, thinking. "I'm a little sore, but it's not bad, not all that different from other times. My shoulders are a little sore but it just feels like I've been working out, not really hurting."

"Good." He offered her the water again and she drank it, sweetly passive, drinking as long as he held it there.

She had a faint blush on her cheeks as she looked up at him when he put the bottle back. "I'm glad you pushed me like that."

"Yeah?" He uncovered one of her legs and carefully undid her suspenders, rolled her stocking down, took off the ankle cuff with its trailing rope and pulled the stocking off her foot, not even teasing her arch. He covered her bare leg, setting her things on the table. "What did you like about it?" He uncovered her other leg, fingers resting on the suspender clips as he waited for her to answer him.

The blush deepened, and he wondered if she was ever going to be able to lie or prevaricate to him. "I liked that you didn't stop after I came, even though normally I would have told you to stop. It was almost like I never really stopped coming, it was there, faintly," she stroked one hand, heavy with the cuff, up the middle of her stomach, trying to describe where it was, her voice faltering.

"Good," he said, letting her off the hook. He removed the other cuff and stocking. In time she'd be comfortable telling him everything, but for now, this was more than he could usually get her to say. "Do you want to sit on the edge of the bed?"

"Yeah, I don't feel dizzy at all," she said, moving easily to the edge of the bed, her legs bare again as she sat with them hanging down.

"Stand up then, I'll get your belt off of you."

She stood, but held on to him as he slid the suspender belt down over her hips, lifting one foot at a time to get it off of her. He set it on the table with the rest of her underthings, smiling as he took in the sight of her, entirely bare except for the cuffs, standing at the side of the bed. He took her right hand in both of his, then turned her so her arm was rotated, her palm facing her back. She let him move her, even held her left hand back towards him, thinking he was taking the cuffs off. He stood just behind her, her hands in his, and clipped the cuffs together with the same clips that had held them to the bed.

He only had to take one step to see her face, her mouth a perfect o of surprise.

"What?" he said, feigning innocence as he traced one finger down the center of her chest. "You didn't think I was done, did you?"

He held on to her upper arms and pushed down, gently. "Sit down." She stumbled, predictably-- no one ever guessed how much they relied on their arms when doing something as simple as sitting on the edge of a bed-- but he held her steady, not moving until she was still, her hands just barely touching the mattress behind her.

He didn't look at her as he removed the ropes from the ankle cuffs, just kept her in his peripheral vision as he knelt down in front of her with them. She held still while he fastened the first one on, then even lifted her foot for him for the second one. He smiled up at her, caressing the back of her leg, then reached past her, grabbing a thin pillow from the top of the bed.

He set it on the floor and grasped her arms again, urging her forward. She held back, not fighting him, exactly, but close, leaning away from her own center of gravity. He finally got her to stand up, in front of the pillow, tugged on her arm.

"Kneel down," he said, pushing her just a little. He sank down to the floor with her when she went, a controlled crouch, still holding on to her.

He was nearly out of her sight, though, off to one side and behind her. She settled on her knees, her thighs straight in line with her chest, head high. Suddenly he remembered her telling him about growing up, mass every Sunday, and he wondered if he'd chosen wisely. Still, she held herself well, her breathing deep and even as she stared straight ahead.

He pulled on her hands, gently, his other hand rubbing down the front of one thigh. "Relax. Sit back." He eased her down until she was kneeling with her legs folded, her ass just barely resting on her heels. It was easy to slip the clasp apart from between her hands, to trade clips so that each wrist was attached to an ankle.

She tried to adjust herself, tried to kneel up straight, but her arms didn't have enough length. She sat down again, but something about that posture didn't seem quite right to her either. He stood behind her and watched as she figured out that her choices were either to sit back on her heels or to rise up into a kneel halfway between that and the position she would have taken in a church, not comfortable by a long shot. She settled back down, looking from side to side, but not behind her, as if she'd been told not to.

He pulled on his trousers and did them up, moving without a care as to how much noise he was making. He pulled on a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, buttoning it up but leaving it untucked, sitting on the edge of the bed as he fastened the cuffs. When he looked down at her she had closed her eyes, or she was looking down at the floor, but she looked up when she felt him looking at her. The smile she favored him with was tiny, and unsure, a look he'd barely ever seen on her face. He cupped her chin in his hand, leaned over to kiss her, thumb brushing against her cheekbone.

"You've gone all quiet."

She kept looking at him, eyes wide open, bright enough that he was sure she heard and saw everything that was in front of her, but she was quiet for so long that he thought about telling her that she had to speak.

"I just feel quiet." Her voice was strong, but slow, and she closed her eyes after she'd said it, leaning her head on his knee.

Her hair was soft, damp at her temples, and he combed his fingers through it, stopping when he came to an actual tangle on the back of her head, just lifting the mass of her hair off her neck, holding it up so she could feel the cooler air of the room on her nape. She shivered, and he smoothed his hand over that skin, trying to warm her again.

The shiver convinced him; she'd had enough. He lifted her head up gently, hand slid under her cheek, and kissed her again, one finger under her chin to keep her head up as he pulled away. He crouched down beside her to undo her bonds, but she didn't move right away, and he wondered if he'd miscalculated, if her legs had gone to sleep.

"Can you stand up?" She nodded, lifting her arms up to him as he stood. He held his arms down, helping her up, steadying her when she stood half on and half off the pillow. He sat her on the edge of the bed, and climbed into the bed behind her, pulling her against him as he sat against the headboard.

When he pulled the comforter up over her she reached for the edge of it, pulling it right up to her neck. Tom reached under it to take her hands out one by one, taking the cuffs off and setting them aside. She turned toward him and leaned against his chest, one hand curled around his neck.

"You ready to be done?" he asked, hand rubbing her back through the blanket.

"Yeah." She toyed with the edge of his collar. "How long was I down there?"

"On the floor? About four, maybe five minutes."

She let out a long breath, not really a sigh. "It felt like a lot longer."

He caught her hand in his, fingers lacing with hers as he brushed his thumb against her wrist. The cuffs hadn't even left the faintest mark. "Was that bad?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't uncomfortable." She paused. "I wasn't more uncomfortable than you intended for me to be." He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, glad that she couldn't see him in that moment. "It just felt like time was passing really, really slowly. Like, I'd breathe, and I'd realize, wow, I don't remember the last time I did that."

He kissed the top of her head again, considering, surprised with himself that he hadn't noticed that she'd slipped that far away, that quickly. "Could you have told me to stop?" He shifted her to one side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, so he could look at her.

"You mean did I remember the safeword? Yeah, I remembered it but it didn't occur to me to use it. It's not like I was in pain or even annoyed. If you'd started something I didn't want I would have used it." He searched her face for any sign that she doubted herself, but she looked merely thoughtful.

She traced the edge of his shirt, running her fingers along his neck. He tilted his head up to give her more room and she traced the soft skin of his throat, hooking her fingers over his chin to bring his face back towards her. Her touch was soft, but he followed.

"Are you going somewhere?" Her question didn't quite make sense, until he realized she was looking at his shirt.

"No, I'm staying right here." He wrapped the blanket closer around her shoulders. "I just wanted to get dressed, is all."

"Ok, good." She settled against him, still, but with an air of restlessness. He wasn't surprised when a few moments later she was kicking her feet under the sheet. "Can you take those off of me?"

He slid himself down the bed and took her legs one by one out from under the sheet, taking the cuffs off and setting them aside. He rubbed each leg firmly, heel of his hand pressing up her shin, before he covered her up again.

"I don't feel them as much," she said, looking over at where he'd set them on the bedside table. "Except for when you had my hands attached to them."

"Naturally. I think maybe they feel more like something you're used to, like the edge of a high boot."

"That might be it." She had reached out and taken one of the cuffs off the table, was handling it, stretching it open and letting it close over her wrist without buckling it. She turned her wrist side to side, considering. "I liked that a lot, but if you'd asked me if I'd like it, I think I would have said no."

"Interesting." He took the cuff away from her gently, set it with the others and pushed them into the drawer on the table. He didn't want her to be afraid of them, the way she had been with the clamp she couldn't see, but it wouldn't do to have her handling them too casually just yet, either. He glanced at the collection of them in the drawer for a moment before he turned back to her.

"So, when people have those thick leather cuff bracelets, is it to bring back that feeling of being cuffed, do you think?”

"Sometimes," he said, considering. Other than a few photoshoots he'd never had much time for the accoutrements of what was supposedly his lifestyle, and Ben surely wouldn't ever wear something so outre for a man of his age and class. Years ago there had been people who had been kind enough to teach him how to get what he wanted and not completely destroy himself or anyone else in the process, and some of them had been fond of leather as an accent, but he had never stopped to think of their motivations. "Many more are probably doing it for some sort of look."

She looked stricken. "I might have been guilty of that, once."

"Did you have a couple of spikey bracelets?" he asked, guessing, his hands wrapping loosely around her wrists.

"Yeah, and looking back at some of my fashion choices I think there might have been a bit of a mixed message. I had this thin black collar I wore whenever I was out stomping around in my docs. I was such a cliche."

"How is that a mixed message?" he asked, his fingers tracing a thin line across the front of her neck. A sudden thought of what she would have looked like had he been able to attach her neck to her heels presented itself and he shivered, just for a moment.

"It was just, everyone had one, then. Or enough people did."

"And no one ever questioned you?"

She had her head resting on his shoulder again. "No one ever questioned me about anything," she said. "When I was in London I was an American and anything I did out of the ordinary was written off as must be because she's an American, and when I was in America I was that girl from London, and pretty much anything I did was presumed to be cooler thanks to that. The late nineties were an excellent time to be trans-Atlantic. The whole Cool Brittania thing didn't wind down in the US until at least 2000."

He put his arms around her, holding her closer. He'd felt like he didn't belong entirely in London nor was he at home with his mother's people in the north, but it was nothing to how she'd lived a life literally divided between two continents. He wasn't sure what to say, if she wanted to go further down that particular path, or if it had only been mentioned in passing.

She brought her hand up from under the covers, touched her own neck where he'd been tracing lines across her throat earlier. "I wouldn't mind wearing one again." She spoke quietly, but the words were a jolt right to the core of him, and she felt him jump at the thought. He watched as a slow satisfied smile spread across her face, all the more complacent for the fact that her eyes were closed.

"You sly thing." He caught her hand as she was spider-walking it across his chest, held it tight. "Always trying to turn the tables on me."

"At least I'm subtle."

"You are, at that."

Her hand, at first just walking over his chest, started to pluck at his shirt, restless, her legs moving under the covers.

"Did you want to get up?"

She sighed and picked up her head, let it fall back against his chest. "I don't know what I want right now."

He swept a lock of hair off the side of her face, gathered her hair back in a loose ponytail and held it there, trying to guess. "Do you want a bath?"

She shook her head. "Shower, though." She sat up. "I feel like I should shower."

"Do you want me to come with you?" He ran his hands down her back, letting her lean on him a bit.

"I want you to come with me, but not get in with me," she said.

“That we can do.”

Tom leaned against the edge of the tub, his hip cushioned by the bath mat.

"You're awfully quiet in there." Shannon had been standing with her back to the spray for a good three minutes, at a guess, without saying anything for a while now.

"I know."

Tom fidgeted, standing up and staring at the dim shadow of her that he could make out through the shower curtain.

"Come in if you're worried, but you're not stealing my warms."

"Right." He pulled off his clothes, left them hanging over the clothes hamper, and got in at the back of the tub. She looked up at him, her shoulders curled forward so the spray was hitting right between her shoulder blades. "Does your back hurt?"

"Not really. It's just sore." She rolled her shoulders back and stood up, tilting her head back so the water washed over her forehead.

"Turn around, I'll wash your back," he offered.

She stepped back and adjusted the shower head so it was hitting her clavicle, her face free of the water as she stood, waiting for him. He covered his hands with her shower gel and rubbed his thumbs hard against the inside of her scapulae, pushing down on the obvious tense spots in her muscles. "You're not used to having your arms over your head for that long," he said as he kept working at them. Maybe next time you won't pull on the headboard so hard, he thought, but didn't voice it, wiser at the last moment than to say anything that she might take as criticism of how she'd done. If she was truly bothered by the strain she'd change, or tell him it was out of the question, and if she wasn't, if the ache and pull was nothing more than evidence of a job well done, then she'd do it again.

"True. Maybe I should limber up next time." She laughed softly as he eased his hands down, pressing firmly against the firm ridges of muscle on either side of her spine. He worked his way back up, sliding up the back of her neck to where her trapezius cupped the back of her skull, thumbs working there up under the fall of her hair. She was well developed but not overly so, and he lost himself for a few moments wondering which particular part of the many regimens he'd been subject to would get someone ready for that sort of specific activity.

"If you like," he finally said, hands grasping her shoulders and pulling back gently. She hummed her approval, even leaned forward a little to get a firmer pull. He pulled her against his chest, looping his arms up under hers and pulling back, lifting slightly until her feet were barely touching the floor. His feet were firm on the floor, barely damp, but he didn't dare lift her entirely, not in the shower.

"That's lovely," she sighed. She turned around, reaching up to brush her hand against the side of his face, sluicing the water drops off his beard. "Now you've got me feeling bad for you, all cold and wet over there."

"Don't feel too bad for me." He reached for her shampoo, eyebrows raised, and she turned around, letting him wash her hair. When the suds were worked through he grasped her hair and wrapped it around his hand, pulling slow and steady as she leaned back, letting go when she sighed deeply.

She stayed quiet as she rinsed her hair, turning back to him afterwards and leaning on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. He held her carefully, slippery and warm in his arms.

"Did you want conditioner?"

She shook her head. "Going to use the leave in one. I'm not going to dry my hair tonight."

"You mean you're going to use mine." He couldn't help but laugh when she glared up at him, yelping when she nipped at the sensitive skin just under the curve of his shoulder.

"You got me hooked."

He held her tighter and turned them around slowly, the warm humid air starting to make him feel just the slightest bit faint. "First one's free, baby," he teased her as he opened the curtain at the back of the tub, the cooler air a relief against his face. "You ready to get out?"

She nodded, held on to him as she stepped out onto the bathmat. She found the towel he'd set on the edge of the sink for her and wrapped it around herself.

"Do you mind if I stay in for a minute?"

She shook her head. "It's not like I was going to share when I was in there."

He washed himself quickly, just rinsing off, really. "Someday we'll have a shower that is well big enough for the both of us."

She was so quiet that he stuck his head out of the curtain to check on her, but she was just standing in front of the mirror, running a wide toothed comb through her hair. She caught his eye in the mirror and turned to look at him.

"Hmmm? Well, until then, I'm going to continue to be merciless in my habit of not sharing."

"Fair enough." He ducked back in and finished quickly, stood there after the tap was turned off, trying to shake off some of the water as he knew he'd have to walk out to the linen closet to get a towel.

When he stepped out though Shannon was just walking back into the washroom with a towel in her hand. "Knew you didn't have one," she said as she passed it to him.

"Thanks." He dried himself off and pulled on his clothes. She was still wrapped in her towel, working the conditioner through the ends of her hair. She caught him watching her.

"You know all of my feminine secrets," she sighed dramatically.

"This one you stole from me though," he pointed out.

"True." She ran her fingers through the top of her hair, getting the rest of the conditioner off, letting some of her hair fall over her face so she had to look through it to see him, shrinking down against the edge of the vanity as she looked up, her voice softer than usual. "What else are you going to teach me?"

It was so transparent, and yet his mouth went dry for a moment, and though it was only a fraction of a second before he had his face under control again she saw it. Her satisfied look was all the confirmation he needed.

"When are you going to stop doing that?" he asked.

"When it stops working." She let him pull her into a tight hug, and he didn't let her go as he walked them across the washroom, into the bedroom where he gently pushed her down on to the edge of the bed, going to her shelf in the wardrobe to pull out the clothes he'd set aside hours earlier. She smiled when she saw them, her yoga bottoms, camisole, and a soft cardigan, not quite pyjamas, but clearly not clothes for leaving the house in.

She dressed herself quickly and followed him to the kitchen where she sat herself at the high table, toes curled around the chair rung. She tucked her cardigan snugly around herself, pulled the sleeves down over her hands, but then she sat still, hands resting on the table top. He kept looking at her over his shoulder, wondering for how long she was going to be willing to be so quiet, unoccupied. She almost always had something in her hands, if not a pencil or a pen then a book, even her phone. This couldn't last, but he found that it made him feel peaceful too, as if everything was right where it should be.

"I didn't cook anything," he admitted. "I got sushi before you came." He set the white containers on the worktop, opening them so they could warm just a bit. "Do you want soup?"

"That'd be nice." She'd folded her arms on the table and rested her head there, turned to watch him as he poured the container of miso soup into the saucepan on the stove.

He brought her a glass of water and stood behind her as he set it down.

"I'm not dehydrated, why do you keep giving me water?" she asked, amused, but picked it up and drank anyway. Tom pointedly did not smirk at her when she drained half of it in one go.

"It's good for you." He put his arms around her shoulders and held her against his chest while they waited for the soup to heat up, and she rested her head heavy against the front of his shoulder, still but alert. There were times when he felt like her energy made a sound, like the crackling of a fire, just under her skin. She was always driven to think about the next thing to create, the next step to take in a task, and to see her so still was rare. He kissed the top of her head as he tore himself away, couldn’t stop glancing back at her as he prepared their meal. When he returned with her soup she tilted her head up towards him after he’d set it down, the perfect angle for him to kiss her. He lingered as the kiss ended, resting his forehead against hers, utterly content.