Page 52 of Gideon
My cock pulsed in my hand, growing harder as my balls tightened against my body. I imagined tying her legs in a beautiful futomomo tie, a spreader bar hooked between her knees to keep her open for my touch and my torture. I could picture her dripping wet pussy open for all to see as I teased her little clit, and she screamed above the crowd’s murmurings.
That thought pushed me over the edge as I braced myself against the shower wall and shot my load against the tiles. I panted heavily as I regained my composure, finishing my shower quickly and throwing on a pair of black jeans. I forewent the shirt, knowing that I would not be needing it soon, anyway.
As I entered the kitchen, I saw two plates set at the tiny table, two cinnamon rolls perched on each with a light orange drizzle covering the steaming baked goods.
“Why is it orange?” I asked in confusion, pulling out my chair and sitting opposite of her.
“Why are you a pain in the ass?” she quipped right back, shrugging as she took a bite of her roll. I smirked at her, taking a bite of my own.
“Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, this is amazing. What the fuck is it?” I groaned as the flavors exploded over my tongue. The depth of the cinnamon combined with the spark of citrus from what seemed to be an orange creme glaze had me melting in my seat and wishing I had about a dozen more of these to eat.
“You certainly come up with the most inventive curses, Gideon,” she chastised with a smile.
“It’s been a thing between Ollie and I for years,” I shrugged, stuffing my face with yet another bite. “These are seriously amazing. What exactly are these?”
“Orange cinnamon rolls. Normal cinnamon rolls, but you add orange zest into the dough. For the glaze, it’s a normal cream cheese glaze, but I added orange zest, a little of the juice, cinnamon and a pinch of cardamom,” she explained between bites.
“Orange cinnamon rolls,” I mused, taking in another giant forkful. “Should be called death by sex, if you ask me.” She just about spit out her bite at my musings.
“Why in the hell would you call them that?” she sputtered.
“Because they are as good as sex and are likely to kill me.” I shrugged with a cheeky grin. She simply shook her head at me as we both settled into silence, enjoying the strange but delicious dinner she had prepared for us.
After we had seen to the dishes and had both taken a moment to just digest, I was ready for the real excitement of the day to begin.
“Naomi, I want to talk to you for a minute,” I started, offering her my hand and leading her back to the small table against the wall.
“Is everything okay?” she asked warily, eyeing me with caution.
“Yes. I want to talk to you about having a scene.” I watched as her breath caught with the barest hint of a gasp.
“A scene? With rope?” she asked. While her voice had the faint sounds of trepidation, her eyes sparkled with interest and excitement.
“Yes. Well, sort of. I want to introduce you to bondage the right way. Tonight.” I watched her eyes pop open wide and a smile slowly spread over her face, lighting her features up beautifully. “Would you like that?”
To her credit, she did not immediately answer. She thought over her answer before she looked back at me with the purest, most natural smile.
“Yes. Absolutely yes.” I knew this wasn’t an easy decision for her, but I was so fucking proud of her for taking this step.
“Do you remember the safewords we discussed yesterday?” I asked her, taking her hand in mine.
“Yes. Red, yellow, and green,” she answered without reservation. I quirked an eyebrow at her, hoping she would remember the most important piece of that discussion. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she remembered. “And I will not hesitate to use them.”
“Good girl,” I smirked sinisterly. The way her pupils dilated and her jaw slackened told me all I needed to know. Still, I wanted to hear the words. “Would you like to begin?”
“Yes,” she barely breathed out.
“Good. I am going to go gather a few items. I would like for you to do a few things for me. First, meet me in the bedroom. Second, remove your clothes and put on that peach nightdress you own. The one with the thin straps.” I watched her eyes dance with confusion and excitement at my words. The little peach shift had been a gift to her from her mother. Something simple and nice to wear on her wedding night. It was by far my favorite item she owned in that regard. It was as modest as the rest, but the simple fabric clung to her body like water and was breathtaking against her fair skin.
“The last thing I would like you to do tonight is call me by a different name,” I explained, watching her expressions carefully.
“A different name?” she questioned with a furrowed brow.
“Yes. It’s called an honorific,” I explained.
“What do you want me to call you?” The clear and sassy hesitancy in her voice made me chuckle.
“Nothing all that strange. Sir or Mister would work just fine, but that is open to discussion,” I explained. I had been called both in scenes in the past. Daddy was just… not me, and Master was far too serious for my personality and style of kink. Mister worked well for newer partners, and Sir was a classic.
