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Myfanwy rose gracefully and settled herself on the low stool Martha had placed in the middle of the room. She placed her hands on the side and lifted her shoulders, displaying herself for her Mistress. Martha stood in front of her and traced a finger over her cleavage. She bent and unbuttoned the tiny buttons of the busk, opening the corset to expose her breasts and thick nipples. She bent her head and sucked hard, drawing her nipple deep into her mouth before grazing it with her teeth. Myfanwy shifted in the chair, arching her back to push more of herself into her Mistress’s mouth. Martha raised her hand and pinched Myfanwy’s other nipple. The needy noises Myfanwy made as Martha tormented her made her clit hard. She pulled back and lavished her attention on her other nipple, forcing more soft moans from Myfanwy.

  She picked up a low melt candle from the side table before she pulled her lighter from her pocket and rolled the flint. The flame jumped, and she lit the candle. She placed the lighter back in her pocket. “Hold your breasts up for me.”

  Myfanwy lifted her heavy breasts in her hands and held them out like an offering. She pushed them together, creating a compelling cleavage. Martha tilted the candle, and the hot wax splashed over Myfanwy’s skin. The sharp intake of her breath made desire pool between Martha’s legs.

  She waited until the wax cooled before she tilted the candle again. Pouring a thin line of liquid wax over Myfanwy’s breasts, she drew a longer squeal from Myfanwy. She pressed her legs together and shifted on the stool. Her nipples were thick and hard. Martha tilted the candle again, pouring the wax in a pattern as she moved the candle back and forth over Myfanwy’s skin. No scream this time, a soft whimper of desire, and panting as Myfanwy gave over to the pain her Mistress gave. Martha set the candle aside. She bent over and leaned down and flicked away a spot of candle wax with her nail. The skin beneath the wax a bright red. Myfanwy groaned as Martha worked slowly, removing the wax.

  When she had finished, she pressed her lips to the red spots and over the pattern she had made on her skin. “Lower your hands. Hold the sides of the stool.” Myfanwy obeyed, and Martha tongued Myfanwy’s nipple before she lifted her head and pulled a nipple clamp from her pocket. The custom-made clamps were thick silver filigree with a weighted medallion bearing Martha’s initials. She placed one on Myfanwy’s nipple and tightened the clamp so it would not slip. She did the same with the other. Myfanwy panted. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the stool. Martha tipped the weight with her finger, and it swung freely. Myfanwy pressed her legs together, and Martha pushed her hand under her skirt and shoved her thighs apart. Her thighs were slick, and her lack of panties made it easy for Martha to tease her clit.

  Myfanwy shifted and spread her legs for her Mistress. Martha rubbed her clit with the pad of her thumb, two fingers just inside Myfanwy’s velvet center.

  A deep groan shook her body as Martha tapped the other weight, setting them both swinging. The light in the room reflected off the medallions as they swung from the clamps. Myfanwy’s nipples were a claret color, the tips swollen from the clamps. Martha pushed deeper, slipping another finger inside.

  Myfanwy panted, her breath ragged. “Please, Mistress. Let me come for you. Please.” Her arms were trembling as she shook with the effort not to come. Martha was ruthless as she fucked her, urging her toward the pinnacle of pleasure, knowing her body like her own. She pushed Myfanwy to the edge and then over, her own need driving her. “Come for me, sweet girl. Give me what’s mine.”

  Myfanwy came, with sharp cries and deep groans as she lifted her hips to meet Martha’s thrusts. “Oh yes, Mistress. Please fuck me. More.”

  “Greedy girl.” Martha rocked forward, gripping the back of the stool for leverage, and thrust another finger inside and sped up her stokes. She fucked her deep, curling her fingers up to draw profound sighs and moans from Myfanwy. The motion set the weights swinging, and Myfanwy came again, her body clenching around Martha’s fingers. With her other hand Martha clasped one of the clamps and snatched it free. Myfanwy screamed and clenched harder around Martha’s fingers. She panted, and when Martha freed her other nipple she came again silently, her mouth a perfect O. Martha watched and waited until her body had relaxed. She pulled her fingers free.

  Martha tugged Myfanwy’s head back and kissed her throat and mouth. She opened her pants and let them fall to her knees and straddled Myfanwy on the stool. She brought Myfanwy’s mouth to her hard clit. Myfanwy pressed her tongue deep and licked and sucked. She rolled her tongue over her clit, making Martha buck her hips. She came with a shout and held her in place, taking what she needed, what Myfanwy was desperate to give.

  THEY ARRIVED AT Lucia’s room exactly at eight o’clock. Martha held Myfanwy’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of her knuckles in an attempt to soothe her, sensing her nervousness. Their time together beforehand had been the connection they both needed to embark on whatever Lucia had planned for them. Martha knocked on the door.

  Lucia opened the door and raked her gaze over them both. The small hairs on the back of Martha’s neck tickled as they stood up. Myfanwy gripped Martha’s hand tighter.

  Lucia favored them with a half smile. “I suppose this where I should say enter freely and of your own will.”

  Martha laughed at the horror movie reference, grateful for Lucia’s attempt to break the tension. Myfanwy relaxed her grip on Martha’s hand. Lucia lifted her hand, palm open, and Martha took it and followed her as Lucia led them both inside. Myfanwy followed close on Martha’s heels. Lucia led them to the middle of the room before she dropped Martha’s hand. She went back to the door and locked it. The click of the lock as it settled in place made Martha’s heart race. She licked her lower lip.

  Lucia was dressed in a lavender gown. The satin shimmered as she moved, and the long slit in the front skirt showed off glimpses of her elegant thighs. Black pumps completed her outfit and gave her a height advantage, forcing Martha to look up to meet her gaze. A straight-backed leather armchair was set close to the fireplace. A small braided rug covered the floor next to the chair. A fire blazed in the room’s gas hearth and the room was warm.

  Martha had dressed in black trousers and a white tailored shirt for the short walk to Lucia’s room. Myfanwy’s corset was splattered with the remnants of their wax play. A battered trunk was open near the closet. Large skeins of creamy white and light-brown rope filled one side. Smaller bundles of thinner, brightly colored rope were stored in neat rows on the other end. Desire, thick and heavy, wove its way through Martha as she studied the thick coils of white cotton rope arranged on the side table next to a large pair of bandage scissors. Martha missed the edge the open butterfly knife had added to their encounter at The Stone Hearth. She pressed her thighs together against the flow of want soaking her briefs.

  Lucia pursed her lips. “Myfanwy, are you here of your own choosing?”

  Myfanwy raised her chin and met Lucia’s gaze. “Yes, Mistress, and with my Mistress’s approval.” Her posture and her tone were respectful but left no doubt about her loyalty. Martha had to work to suppress her smile at her words. My Myfanwy. Mine. Always.

  Lucia held her gaze. “Understood.” She ignored Martha, focusing on Myfanwy’s eyes. “What are your hard limits?”

  Myfanwy tilted her head. “No breath play. No extreme humiliation, name-calling and such, no race play, no scat, no water sports, Mistress.”

  Lucia narrowed her eyes. “Pain? Edge play?”

  Myfanwy smiled, for the first time since they had entered the room. Her voice was strong with an underlying challenge. “No limits, Mistress.”

  Lucia’s eyes glinted, and her mouth pulled into a feral smile. “Call me Miss. Safe word?”

  Myfanwy lowered her head and focused her gaze on the floor. “Yes, Miss. Cake, Miss.”

  Martha wiped her damp palms on the front of her trousers. A trickle of sweat ran between her shoulder blades as she watched their exchange.

  Lucia pointed to the small rug next to the armchair. “Kneel there, Myfanwy.”

 
Myfanwy walked to the rug and lowered herself to her knees before she sat back on her heels, her hands resting on the top of her thighs palms up in the pose of the House. Martha heart ached with pride at her submissive’s performance. Perfect. She is perfect. And mine. Even if she doesn’t wear my collar.

  Lucia turned her attention to Martha. “I understand certain conventions need to be maintained outside of my suite. But in the future when you come to my rooms, you will come dressed for play, not business.” Lucia grasped Martha’s shirt with both hands and ripped it open, her movement fast. Buttons flew and skittered across the room. Martha shivered as Lucia dragged the edge of her fingernail along the swell of her breasts. “Strip.”

  Lucia sat down in the chair to watch as Martha took off her clothes. Her fingers trembled as she folded her torn shirt neatly before she toed off her shoes. She sensed Lucia’s gaze on her and her impatience. She took off her trousers and briefs and added her tank top to the pile. She stood naked before Lucia and clasped her hands behind her back.

  Lucia crossed her legs, and the split in the gown fell open to reveal the sensuous shape of her thighs. “I’ll ask you the same. What are your hard limits?”

  Lucia’s movement had given Martha a glimpse of her body and the dark curls between her legs, and she struggled to focus on her words. Breathe. Focus. Obey. Serve. Martha met her gaze. “No scat, or water sports. No race play. No extreme humiliation, Miss.”

  “And your safe word hasn’t changed, has it? Not since last week?”

  Martha flushed. “No, Miss.”

  Martha heard the small gasp Myfanwy was unable to suppress. She watched from under her lashes as Lucia rested her hand on Myfanwy’s shoulder. “Shh. My protective one. This is a safe space. You are under my care. I’ll keep you both safe.” She saw Myfanwy’s chest rise as she took a deep breath and settled under Lucia’s touch.

  “Come to me, properly.” Lucia sat back in the armchair as regal as a queen.

  Martha lowered her gaze and bent her knees and crawled to her Miss, desire pooling in her gut and wetting her thighs. She lowered her head to the floor, barely stopping herself from kissing the toe of the black pumps she wore. Not without permission.

  Lucia touched the toe of her shoe to Martha’s shoulder. “Eyes to me. Both of you.”

  Martha sat back on her heels. She risked a quick glance at Myfanwy’s face before she met Lucia’s gaze.

  “What we do here is for us. No one else. It is between us and us alone. Do we all agree?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Myfanwy answered first, her voice strong.

  “Yes, Miss,” Martha answered, her gaze fixed on Lucia’s eyes and the strength and promise she saw there.

  “Good.” She stood up. “Martha in the chair. Myfanwy with me.”

  She led Myfanwy to the table set out with the ropes. Martha sat as she was directed, the leather warm on her skin.

  She watched as Myfanwy listened to Lucia, her voice so low Martha only saw her lips move. Myfanwy’s back was to her and she admired her figure, how the corset ties highlighted her broad back and the way it nipped in her waist to set off her wide hips and thick shoulders. They turned to her. Lucia carried a large skein of white rope, and Myfanwy held a matching one. Lucia placed her skein on the small rug. Myfanwy unwound the rope and dropped the bulk of it to the floor. She fixed her gaze on Martha’s eyes. Lucia stood next to her as Myfanwy ran the rope through her hands. She gathered it in loose coils as she passed it through her fingers and over her palm. Martha glanced at Lucia. She stood with her arms folded, observing Myfanwy. She looked at Martha and raised a brow, a warning in her eyes. Martha quickly shifted her attention back to Myfanwy’s face as she focused on completing her task. She finished gathering the rope in her hand and looked to Lucia.

  “Very good. Go stand on the right side of Martha. Face me.” She turned and walked to the side of the room and rolled a wood-framed round mirror in front of Martha. The mirror was large enough to allow Martha to see herself and Myfanwy.

  Lucia began the same process with the rope in her hand. Martha shifted her gaze to the mirror and watched as Lucia’s hands passed over the rope. The slow, deliberate way she touched the coils made her squirm. She panted, anxious to feel the rope on her skin. She trembled and pressed her legs together, her desire flowing freely.

  Lucia finished and came to stand next to Martha. She held her gaze in the mirror. “Mirrors are funny things. We see what we want to see in them, no matter how things are in life.” She slid her hand down and pinched Martha’s nipple. The pain focused her. The effect of watching her Mistress touch her, the vision of her own vulnerability, gave her the sense of being stripped to her soul. She glanced at Myfanwy’s face in the mirror. Her eyes were dark, worry and concern showing on her features. Martha watched in the glass as Lucia reached over and touched Myfanwy’s chin, drawing her gaze.

  “Look at her face. Is she distressed?” Lucia directed Myfanwy with a soft voice, commanding yet kind.

  Myfanwy’s eyes locked on Martha’s reflection in the mirror, and Martha opened her eyes wide, showing her beloved she was okay with the scene.

  Myfanwy answered Lucia but kept her gaze fixed on Martha’s face. “No, Miss.”

  Lucia rested her hand on Myfanwy’s shoulder. “Imagine us spinning a cocoon around her, and when we’re done, her spirit will emerge. She’ll be free. Free to be as she wants to be, free to be herself. She’ll be safe with us.” She held the end of the rope in one hand. “Follow me on the opposite side. Keep the coils smooth, the tension the same.” Lucia lowered herself to her knees. She looked up and met Martha’s gaze in the mirror. “Spread your legs.”

  Martha flushed and opened her legs, the mirror showing her glistening center. Lucia smiled and tilted her head. “So wet for me already.” She reached between Martha’s legs and touched a finger to her clit while she held her gaze. “My greedy pet.”

  Martha moaned and lifted her hips toward Lucia’s hand, anxious for more of her touch. A sharp pinch on the inside of her thigh made her gasp, and she settled. Breathe. Focus. Obey. Serve.

  Lucia tied the end of the rope to the leg of the chair on her side. Myfanwy did the same, the concern on her face replaced by concentration. Martha watched as they worked. Myfanwy copied Lucia’s movements. The sensation of the rope encasing her as they wrapped her legs and bound her to the chair ramped up her excitement. Contained. Safe. Controlled.

  “Stop below her knee, make it even with my side.”

  Myfanwy obeyed and sat back on her heels. She held the rope in her hand, keeping tension on it. Martha watched her face as she shifted her gaze to the space between Martha’s legs. Her tongue slid over her lower lip, and the open desire in her expression made Martha’s gut clench.

  Lucia traced a finger over the slick skin on the inside of Martha’s thigh, stopping short of the wet heat between her legs. Martha groaned but held back, not moving. Her legs were spread wide. The pressure from the evenly spaced coils of rope added to her feeling of being confined. The sensation comforted her and excited her in a swirling mix of emotions. Each coil was an extension of Lucia, her touch, her control, her care. Lucia finished her side and tied the length of rope off. She moved to Myfanwy’s side of the chair and checked her work. She pulled and tugged in a few spots and straightened a coil before she tied it off the line.

  “Eyes on the mirror, pet. Keep your hands on the arms of the chair.” Lucia’s face was severe in the mirror, her eyes dark with desire.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Lucia stood up and wrapped her hand in Myfanwy’ s hair and forced her to rise to her feet. Releasing her hair, she cupped the back of Myfanwy’s neck and pulled her close. Martha watched them in the mirror. Myfanwy reacted to Lucia’s strong grip, her breath shifting, and Lucia kissed the side of her neck and brought her lips close to her ear. “A very good first job, my reluctant one. But we’re not finished yet.” She unbuttoned the top two buttons of the busk, exposing the fullness of Myfanwy’s breasts. Th
e edge of her nipples was visible. Martha stared, entranced by their interaction.

  Lucia lowered her head and licked a trail down Myfanwy’s chest before she sank her teeth into the soft flesh there, drawing a deep moan from Myfanwy. “I think you need a bit of an attitude adjustment. Martha, eyes on the mirror. Do not turn around or close your eyes.” Her voice was full of calculated menace as she closed her hand on the back of Myfanwy’s neck to guide her away from Martha. They moved out of Martha’s line of sight, and she was left with her own reflection. The sounds of soft murmuring, the whisper of kisses, the harsh slap of a hard hand on bare skin, mixed with Myfanwy’s soft groans and cry of release, sent a sharp wave of want through Martha as she imagined what Lucia was doing to Myfanwy. She kept her gaze fixed on the mirror as she had been ordered, fighting the urge to turn and watch them. Her clit ached with need, and the temptation to touch herself was overwhelming. She gripped the chair arms, her knuckles white with effort. Sweat stung her eyes, and she lost all sense of time as she struggled to obey Lucia’s orders.

  When they returned, Lucia stroked her shoulder before she pressed a kiss to her temple, rewarding her and letting her know she was pleased with her. Myfanwy’s face was flushed, her eyes bright. She avoided Martha’s gaze. Look at me, please. Let me see you, Myfanwy. Let me see you are okay with this. Martha wouldn’t say her safe word for herself, but she would say it in a minute if she thought Myfanwy was distressed, knowing she would not use it if she thought Martha wanted her to continue. Her mind was consumed with fear for Myfanwy. She shifted in the chair and chewed her lip, uncertain and afraid.

  Lucia returned and handed Myfanwy another skein of rope. “As before. I ran this before you arrived, so I know the rope is safe. This time we’ll do her arms. Keep the tension firm but not too tight.” She tied off her skein to the arm of the chair before she began wrapping the coils of soft white rope around Martha’s arms. Myfanwy did as she was directed. She kept her eyes on her work, avoiding Martha’s gaze. A flare of panic lit in Martha’s chest as she realized she would be even more vulnerable, completely at Lucia’s mercy. Her hands clutched the smooth wood of the chair, her fingers wet with sweat. She closed her eyes and worked to control her breathing.