Tymber Dalton - The Denim Dom

“That makes sense, Sir.”

“We like that restaurant. It’s nice being able to sit down and chat with them. We can talk about our vanilla lives and we can talk about our BDSM lives. They’re very close friends I can trust in either situation not to reveal my secrets to others. Most of the people here in the dungeon who know me, if they even know what I do for a living, it’s that I’m in IT, and that’s it. I don’t give my last name to most of them. They don’t know the company, they don’t even know what city I work or live in. And that’s the way I want to keep it.”

She frowned. “Are you afraid of someone trying to blackmail you?”

“Not really. I’m more afraid of what I do here as play getting back to my employer and it causing trouble for me with them.”

“Do you think it would?”

“I don’t know. The teaching, that’s different. No one’s getting naked and I’m not teaching anything overtly sexual. So I’m teaching a negotiation class at FetCon. My last name isn’t listed anywhere on the program, and neither is my picture.” He shrugged. “It’s a human relations and communication class. The skills can be applied to a variety of situations. They’d be hard-pressed to use that against me. Ditto the whip and rope classes. But I’d rather not have curious employees showing up here out of the blue in numbers to see if there’s anything else I do.”

“Have you ever run into any coworkers here?”

“No. I did once at an event in Tampa, but he was also an upper manager and more than happy to look the other way. We’ve never talked about it, and won’t talk about it.”

“Could you lose your job for this?”

“Only if it caused problems at work. The more separation between the two, the happier I am. I don’t talk about my private life at work at all. There are people who can and have lost their jobs by being outed, though.”

He accurately interpreted her sudden nerves. “Don’t worry, pet. I wouldn’t take a chance if I thought there was a concern.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You let me do all the worrying tonight,” he quietly said. “I want you to relax and let go. I want you to take off your reporter’s hat and let me be in charge. All right?”

Something about his low, steady tone proved damn near hypnotic to her. “Yes, Sir.”

He smiled. “That’s my good girl.”

* * *

Tony wasn’t sure if he wanted to scene early with her, or wait and tease her for a while and do it later. The former would mean less people around to potentially make her nervous.

The latter meant the evening might end sooner if he wore her out and she wanted to go home.

That was something he didn’t want to happen. He wanted to steal as much time with her as he possibly could.

He pulled the leather cuffs from his bag. “Wrists, pet.”

It tickled him that she held out her hands without hesitation.

After quickly buckling the cuffs around her wrists, he pointed at the floor. She immediately knelt in front of him.

I’m going to be in damn misery all night. Her immediate compliance had hardened his cock again. “When I ask you for a color tonight, regardless of what we’re doing, even if we’re standing and talking, I want you to give me either green, yellow, or red. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Where are we now? Give me a color.”

“Green, Sir.”

He couldn’t resist stroking the top of her head. Her eyes fell closed and she rested her forehead against his thigh, a content look on her face.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was a concrete floor and he didn’t want her knees to start hurting, he’d gladly stand there all night just like that, with the warmth of her flesh melting through his denim jeans and scorching his flesh. Her hair felt silky slipping through his fingers.

“Such a good girl,” he softly said. Reluctantly, he gently tapped the top of her head. “Stand up, pet.”

She did.

“For tonight, pet, here are my other rules. If you need to go to the bathroom, or you need a drink, or you get hungry, you ask me for permission first. Understand?” He watched her eyes for any sign he was pushing her too hard, too fast, being too strict.

His cock wanted him to scruff the back of her neck and drag her home for sexy, private play.

He shoved that thought away.

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

He opted to wait to scene with her. He tried to tell himself he wanted to give her a chance to watch other people scening, maybe see a few things she might like to try, but he knew that was a lie.

He didn’t want to see the night end any sooner than it had to.

He laced his fingers through hers and they made the rounds of both the play area and the social area. He introduced her as his submissive and made no mention of her job. He didn’t want her slipping back into a work headspace when he could see how much she obviously enjoyed subspace

After two hours, they’d watched Seth and Leah play, as well as Ross and Loren. Apparently Tilly and Cris weren’t playing that night, but Landry topped a couple of different people. Tony checked in with her and got nothing but green in reply. He paid close attention to how she watched other scenes play out, what she seemed interested in, what seemed to turn her off, and made sure to pick her brain about her feelings.

When his preferred bench in the far corner came up available, Tony decided he’d delayed enough. He led Shayla over to it and had her sit down. “You stay here. I’ll be right back with my bag.”

Shayla’s throat suddenly went dry. This is really happening.

She felt her cheek with the back of her hand. She knew as hot as her face felt, it had to be bright red. But barely anyone seemed to pay attention to her sitting there.

Tony returned with his things and pointed at the floor.

Running on instinct, she dropped to her knees and resisted the urge to stare at the floor.

He stroked her hair. “How’s my pet?”

“Green, Sir.” If a racing pulse, cold sweat, and dry throat are green, I’m peachy.

“Good girl. I’m going to get my things ready. Do you need to use the bathroom?”

She’d gone maybe ten minutes earlier and didn’t feel right using that as an excuse to stall. “No, Sir.”

“Okay.”

He opened the bag and cane tube. He rearranged a few things in his bag and laid out several implements from the cane tube on the inside of the open top of the bag. He also draped a large towel over the bench and pulled out several lengths of pink rope.

Once he had everything ready, he held out a hand to her to help her to her feet. In his other hand he held the blindfold he’d used on her earlier. He led her over to the end of the bench and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Give me your thong, pet.”

Her cheeks still ablaze, she reached under her sundress and pulled it off and handed it to him.

“Good girl.” He buckled the blindfold on her and placed her hands on the bench. “Climb on.” He helped her get positioned the way he wanted her. Then he quickly bound her arms to the bench with the rope, using the cuffs as well. He followed by binding her ankles and calves to the bench.

When he told her to test the restraints, she could barely move.

She sensed him squat in front of her. “Remember, I will be the only one touching you, pet. The only hands you’ll feel on you will be mine. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“How are you?”

“Green, Sir.”

He kissed her forehead, sending a gentle shiver of anticipation through her. “Good girl.”

She sensed him move away again. She startled a little at the feel of him working her skirt up, pulling it out of the way and bunching the material on her back, leaving her bare and exposed from the waist down.

And still she knew her cunt was wet, embarrassingly so. Her clit throbbed and from her position on the bench she now understood why Valerie had been trying to rub herself into an orgasm the week before.

Shut. Brain. Off.

He started massaging her with his strong, warm hands, simultaneously relaxing her and driving her need even higher. Now she comprehended why he’d said he would refuse to broaden the limits of a scene in the middle of it.

Hell, if he asked to fuck me right now, I’d gladly let him.

The thought scared and thrilled her at the same time.

The first light, stinging slap brought her mind sharply back into focus on the scene and what Tony was doing to her. He alternated slapping her ass cheeks, back and forth, gradually increasing in force until the warmth turned into an itchy sting that soon transitioned into a borderline-painful smack.

He stopped, rubbing her ass, kneading her flesh with both hands. “Where are we, pet?”

“Green, Sir,” she mumbled.

“Good girl.”

He disappeared for a moment. When he returned, she felt him drape something along her ass and legs. “Floggers, pet. Relax and enjoy it.” He apparently had two of them and soon set a rhythm that made her want to melt into the bench. The definition of thuddy completely clarified in her mind as he worked up and down her body with them.

She suddenly wished she was totally naked on the bench, so she could feel the suede falls all over her back and shoulders and not through the fabric of her sundress.

After several minutes of that he switched to a different set of floggers. She immediately felt the difference. While still thuddy, the falls on these were heavier, stiffer, and delivered a little more bite with each impact.

That ceased. Both his hands made contact with her ass cheeks at the same time, a hard, stinging blow that made her yip and strain a little against her bonds.

His voice had grown deeper, commanding. “Color, pet.”

“Green, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

She felt something flat and cool against her ass. “Time to step things up a little, pet.” One of his hands pressed down in the center of her back at the same time he delivered a stingy blow with what was obviously a paddle. She let out a startled screech, but he pressed down harder on her back. “Take it for me or safeword, pet.” The blows continued, varying in location all over her ass and the backs of her thighs, ranging in strength from light to hard and stingy enough to make her cry out and try to twist away from him.

He started a crescendo of blows she thought she’d have to safeword over when he suddenly stopped, leaving her gasping for breath and trying to process it.

His hands returned. He gently stroked her flesh, soothing the sting away. Cool air from the room brushed against her pussy and she realized just how wet she was. If it wasn’t for the towel, she’d likely have a puddle forming under her.

She sensed him walk around in front of her again. His voice whispered in her ear. “Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing great.”

Inside her, a switch she’d never been aware existed flipped open. A wave of desire to please him, to make him happy and keep the praise coming flooded through her entire being. She no longer cared what he did or how much it hurt, if it meant he’d keep saying that to her in that same, damn, delicious tone of voice.

She’d take every last bit of it.

He kissed her forehead before disappearing again. A moment later he laid something hard and thin across her ass. “Riding crop, pet.”

He started lightly at first, working up and down her ass and thighs and even the backs of her lower legs. He increased the impacts until she was yelping with every blow, straining and pulling, her struggles only serving to increase the friction against her clit.

He stopped, a laugh reaching her ears. “Squirmy pet. Give me a color.”

“Green, Sir,” she gasped.

“Good girl.” He paused and she felt him circling her midsection with several loops of rope, tightening it and securing her even more firmly to the bench. “That will keep you still.”

Then he picked up where he left off with the riding crop. His strokes came from everywhere, keeping her guessing where he’d strike next, even a few of them lightly flicking her clit and making her jump as well as gasp with pleasure.

He stopped and she wondered where the next blows would land.

Then, they didn’t.

She had a few more seconds to wonder about this when she felt something pressed against her labia, stroking up and down. She groaned and tried to lift her hips but the rope held her down.