“Let’s keep your clothes on tonight,” Asbjörn says as he drops his armful of toys onto the floor. “I think we’ve already reached the right amount of uncomfortable.” He flips my hair behind my shoulders, then lingers on my neck, studying my brown tresses. “Maybe I should braid this, so it won’t get in your face.” He considers for a moment, then reaches down for the cuffs. “But let’s start with these. Hold out your right hand.”
He opens one of the thick leather cuffs, and my pulse speeds up as I lift my right hand. A strange, dizzy sensation goes through my brain as he wraps the leather around my wrist and fastens the buckle. I blink a couple of times and try to keep my breath steady, but the sensation intensifies when he makes me lift my other hand and the leather kisses my wrist.
Trying to distract myself and clear my head, I study the many armbands on his wrists. Wide pieces of leather, some made of metal, some of braided leather. One like Lea’s. Except he has two silver beads and both have different symbols from hers.
“What do those mean?” I ask, nodding to his right wrist.
“Which one?” He gestures to the many armbands there, and the sight of the visible veins on his strong hand stirs a fluttery sensation in my belly.
“The silver beads on the woven leather band.”
He points to one rune—?. “This one. It symbolizes strength and endurance. It’s the symbol of the bull.Uruz.”
That makes sense. Asbjörn is not only physically powerful with all his well-toned muscles, broad and tall build, but I also sense a strength in his eyes and in the patient way he naturally takes control.
He points to the other rune. “This one is journey.Raidho.”
“What kind of journey are you on?”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek. “Shh, no more questions—no more talking. Just give in. Let me guide you.”
Swallowing hard, I nod.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly.
I draw a long, shuddery breath and let my eyes drift shut on my exhale.
“Good girl,” he praises, and my knees soften, my brain letting go, just a little. Stepping behind me, he wraps his hands around my upper arms, slowly turns me, and steers me forward until my torso connects with the cool leather of the cross.
I open my eyes and focus on the black leather and the red wall. Then I watch Asbjörn lift my hands, one at a time, and attach the cuffs to chains hanging from the top of the cross, using carabiners. There are no locks—not on the cuffs or the hooks—but I don’t think I could get free even if I tried. And when Asbjörn strokes the back of his hand down my spine, I know that I don’t want to.
My eyes drift shut again, and my breaths come deeper as I soak up the comforting touch. It calms the jitter of nerves that has become a constant buzzing inside me—a buzzing that rattles me in a surprisingly titillating way.
“Lean your head back,” he says after a minute of soothing strokes. Then he starts braiding my hair. Deft fingers start at the very top of my head, gathering strands of hair into what I think must be a French braid.
“Do you remember the club safeword?” he asks while he works on my hair.
“Um, raven.”
“Good. Keep that tucked at the front of your brain. That is your safeword. Say it anytime, and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. I’ll keep a close eye on you, but I don’t know your reactions, so I need you to promise that you’ll say the word if you need me to stop.”
I draw a shuddery breath and nod. “I’ll say it.” Something tells me I won’t need it, but the way he stresses it makes me feel safe.
He finishes the braid by adding a hairband. “There we go. No hair will get in the way now.” He leans down to grab something, then rests a hand at the top of my back. His touch has a steadying effect, and it pulls me a bit further into a floaty sense of safety.
“I’m gonna start with the light flogger,” he says. “Just softly. Then we’ll see how you take it and if we need to go harder.” His hand holding the flogger slides down to the hem of my black dress. “Is it okay if I lift this? It will feel better if there aren’t too many layers.”
My shoulders lift with a deep breath as I steady myself, then nod.
He bunches my tight dress up around my waist, leaving only my thin pantyhose protecting my ass. Then he steps back and swings the flogger.
I startle at the first strike, expecting some sort of pain. But he’s right. It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s just like a soft slap that awakens my nerves and pulls my attention to the area.
“You okay?” he asks, his hand returning to rest on my back.
Widening my stance a bit, I lean into the cross, and a small smile stretches my lips. This is exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about. Trapped at the hands of a powerful man. And I must admit that the age difference only adds another layer that I didn’t know would excite me. “I’m good.”
He swings the flogger again, and this time, I simply soak up the sensation without resistance. He continues at a steady pace, and the sensation builds. But it never hurts. It’s more like a warmth that accumulates beneath my skin and buzzes in my nerves. It’s soothing, even, and I sink into an almost meditative state.
