Kelly Jamieson - TamingTara

She reached for the hem of the stretchy dress and eased it up her thighs. He stepped back to watch, his eyes hot and hungry. As always with him, she felt sexy and desired, and she wriggled her hips as she tugged the dress up over them, over her breasts and off. She stood before him in white lace panties and bra. Her nipples tingled and tightened and she ran her hands over the top curves of her breasts, down over her stomach.

His eyes darkened.

“Love the white lace,” he said, his voice smoky. “Are your panties wet, Tara?”

“I…I don’t know.” Of course she knew. She’d been aching between her legs since she’d seen Joe and sucked on his cock.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You know you’re wet.”

She bit her lip.

“Lying is a punishable offense,” he continued. “You know that. Don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Come here.” He moved toward the St. Andrews cross, silhouetted black against the shiny blue wall. She followed him, eying the chains gleaming silver and blue in the lights.

Her pussy clenched and she trembled inside. What was he going to do? Joe followed her, helped position her on the cross, facing away from him, legs apart, then fastened her ankles to the cross. Her chest tightened. Then he lifted her arms one by one and fastened them too with cuffs around her wrists attached to the chains.

“Let me see,” he murmured, sliding his hand over her ass, then between her legs, cupping her pussy over the sheer lace. “Oh yeah, you’re wet. Your panties are soaked, Tara.”

She gave a nod.

“Did sucking my cock make you wet?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Does being restrained make you wet?”

She swallowed. “Yes.” She was totally at his mercy—and a rush of dark pleasure rose inside her.

His hands played with her butt, teasing, stroking, making her shiver and shake and ache with need.

“Hmm. Need these panties off.” And with a sharp wrench, he ripped them right off her. Oh. Dear. God. Liquid heat gushed between her legs.

A hand landed on her ass. She jolted.

“Your body is mine to pleasure or punish as I see fit,” he growled. Another heavy caress heated her flesh. Being totally under his control, while terrifying, only escalated the sensation, intensified the pleasure.

“Feel it?” he murmured. “Wait for it.”

He gave her another tap and heat bloomed over her flesh. The next smack was harder—he’d picked up the wooden paddle she’d seen lying beside the cross.

A series of taps had every nerve ending flaring to life, pain coursing through her body as her ass burned up. Everything inside her tightened into a coil of pleasure so intense it almost wasn’t bearable. Thoughts flew out of her head and her body went limp, suspended on the cross. She gave herself over to sensation, soaked up the heat, let the pain become thick, heavy pleasure, absorbed the helplessness and transformed it into strength.

The knowledge that he could do anything to her at that moment, that she was completely vulnerable, was also transforming. Because as she gave herself up to it, she knew with utter certainty that she trusted him. Completely, totally, with utmost faith that he would not hurt her.

She existed in a hazy glow of pleasure and pain, floating. The rhythm of the taps on her buttocks spread into a shimmer of heat, a blur of thoughts.

He stopped. Her body pulsed with heat and energy as she waited, anticipated…

A soft trickle of a touch slid up her spine. It took a few seconds for her to realize he was licking her. His tongue drew wet strokes across each shoulder and his teeth bit the muscle there, so gently, so softly. She twitched hard. He kissed the nape of her neck, tenderly drawing her hair aside. Ripples of exquisite pleasure slid over her.

He kissed his way back down her spine, pressing a lingering kiss right at the base where she was so sensitive. She shivered.

Gentle hands stroked over her, down her back, over her ass, down her thighs. Back up, he dipped between with probing fingers, right where she ached. Her pussy tightened, her clit straining. And when his fingers brushed over her, tremors started deep inside her. Was it okay to come? Is that what he wanted?

“Yes,” he whispered as if reading her mind. “Come, Tara. Let go.”

The humming intensified, everything inside pulling up tight and hard, higher, harder into a sharp point of exquisite ecstasy that shattered into a starburst of colors behind her closed lids. Her body limp, she sank into the restraints.

“You’re mine,” he said from behind her, voice gruff. “Mine to take—to punish, torment, to pleasure.”

“Yes.”

His words whispered over her like a soothing caress, The pleasure he gave tore down her barriers, the ones she’d clung to so fiercely, but his words reassured. She felt safe, felt protected, felt understood. His words stripped away very last remnant of the walls she’d erected and made her his.

“Christ,” he muttered. He stopped and her body throbbed, drifting on a high of submission. “Christ. I…I’ll be back.”

She heard rapid footsteps, then the door closing.

Silence enfolded her. She couldn’t feel her own body anymore, just heat, just shifting, floating warmth. Where had he gone? Why? He’d just left her here, restrained and helpless.

Borne along by sensation, she let go, thoughts drifting through her mind like wisps of smoke. If she trusted him with this—her body, her soul—she had to trust him with everything. He would never do anything to harm the company. She knew it on an instinctive, primal level, that his innate honesty and intelligence, the sense of responsibility and the compassion he’d demonstrated to her over and over, would never be compromised.

He would never try to take it away from her. And she knew too the reason that knowledge made her so sad was because she didn’t want him to leave. She was in love with him, and the fact that this was a short-term stopover for him was like a knife stabbing into her heart, more painful than the slap of the paddle on her ass.

Whatever he told Grandpa about her plan would be honest and would be the best thing for the company. If he didn’t support it, it would be for good reason and she’d have to work harder. If he did support it, it would be justified.

Bound and helpless, euphoric with pain, she felt free. Free to just feel. Free to feel the amazing heights she flew to, free and secure enough with herself to admit she didn’t want to do it all on her own. That submitting to Joe meant strength, not selling out. That by admitting she wanted him, needed him, she wasn’t betraying her true self—it was her true self. Tara felt connected with herself in a way she never had before, connected with an inner part of herself she had been denying for so long.

Her thoughts all came together with crystal clarity and for the first time she recognized the truth in what Joe had tried to tell her—by submitting to him, she had power over him.

Submission was truly freedom and love and—she realized with awe—power.

She had no idea how long she floated on a euphoric shimmer, lost in her wandering thoughts and feelings, until Joe returned. Hands unfastened her wrists and ankles, turned her. Her head fell back against the cross and Joe rubbed her wrists, lifted them to his mouth and kissed them tenderly. He laid his hands on her aching shoulders, warm and heavy, massaging tense muscles with bone-melting strokes.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.” And she was. She felt safe, loved, certain he would take care of her. She opened her eyes and sought his. Was he okay though? “Where did you go? Why did you leave me?”

“Christ, Tara.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the pallet on the floor, then laid her gently on the mattress. “I had to leave, I was losing control.” He shook his head, his mouth a grim line. “Nobody’s ever got me that close to the edge before.”