“I’m getting a baseline for the colour and temperature of your skin,” he explains. “Your limbs might feel a bit cold while you’re bound, but that’s normal.”
“I’ve been bound before,” I remind him.
“With cuffs?”
I nod.
“But not rope?”
“No.”
“Then trust me when I tell you it’s a different experience. Would you make a fist, please?”
I do as he asks.
He closes his hand around mine, his grip surprisingly firm. “Now, open your fist.”
I look at him doubtfully. I can tell he’s strong, even though he might not look it. I fight against the resistance of his hand to open mine.
“I’m checking your strength,” Gabe explains as he motions for me to repeat the process with my left hand. “I’ll ask you to do this every once in a while during the bondage session. That way I’ll know if I’m trapping any nerves.”
“Wouldn’t I know if you were?”
“Sometimes, but not always.” He grabs a stool and pats it. “You might feel a tingling sensation, but you might not. Which is why it’s my job, as the rigger, to check in on you regularly.” He kneels and touches my laces. “May I?”
I nod.
After he’s taken my boots off, he threads his fingers together and puts his hands against the soles of my feet. “Push.”
I obey, first with my right leg, then my left.
“You need to look out for yourself too. If you feel any tingling or numbness, you need to tell me straight away.”
“I can do that.”
“The same if you feel any pain, coldness, or a burning sensation anywhere. I need to know.” The way he says the last four words—slowly, commandingly—sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“I will,” I promise in a breathy whisper.
“If you need out of the rope for any reason, tell me.”
I nod.
“It’s okay to need to get out,” he assures me. “I want to create art, butnothingis more important to me than you feeling safe, comfortable, and happy with what I’m doing to you.”
My stomach flutters.
“Please read this. If you’re happy with everything, sign it, and we’ll get started.” He hands me the clipboard.
Other than the questions he’s already asked me, it’s a fairly standard release form. It’s also got a waiver clause on it. By signing, I’m agreeing to waive the right to sue him if I’m injured because I don’t use my safe words. I’m happy with all of it, so I sign and date it, then give it back to Gabe.
“Why don’t you go and get ready?” Calvin suggests. “Feel free to take a shower.”
I do shower, not because I need to, but because I want to smell nice for both men. It’s daft, and I know it, but I want to find ways to make them smile. Once I’m dry, I slip into the white thong I brought with me. It doesn’t leave anything to the imagination and sits low enough on my hips that it reveals I haven’t waxed everywhere. It’s made from ridiculously soft lace in a floral pattern that’s shaped to hug my cock and balls. The lace is scalloped over my leg, and a thin strip of elastic sits along my crack. It’s sexy and practical. I hope Gabe approves.
When I return to the studio, Gabe and Calvin are sitting on stools, talking and laughing. Damn, they’re sexy together. I catch my breath as my brain helpfully supplies an image of me sandwiched between the two men. I take a couple of breaths, controlling my body so I don’t sport an erection; it’s one of the first modelling skills I was taught, and it’s come in pretty handy.
“Wow,” Gabe says.
