Page 93 of Coiled Tight
Another thing to remember was that my brain didn’t stop wandering from one idea to another just because it had been promised the good kind of endorphins in return. Not a lot of fun, to be honest.
“Can you bend forward so you’re holding on to your ankles?”
I frowned. It was a combination of the request and the fact that processing words was harder when all I was focusing on was the twisted knots at the end of each strand of leather and how they’d feel once he started letting go. Every Dom started slow, and I had a feeling Saúl would start even slower. It had to be part of his deal as a Sadist, the one who needed to trust his masochist first.
The one whoknewme.
This wasn’t the time to come to the realization that he was the first Dom I’d been with who actually did, was it?
It’s fine.
Just deep breaths.
It’s all good.
“No promises on keeping my balance.”
It wasn’t the sexiest, but no one could say I wasn’t honest.
The corners of Saúl’s lips twitched up. I’d be using the faint gesture against him for as long as I could realistically milk it. He liked my honesty, but he didn’t go immediately into Daddy mode. That was my experience with other Doms, and why Daddies had stayed as a fantasy that would never be realized.
Sadly, he went back to business two seconds later, eyesscanning the room. It was rather bare, not going to lie. A run-of-the-mill office in an old house. Nothing like Damian’s basement or the kind of secret playroom I’d fantasized about when he confessed the office was where he worked on his leather commissions.
There were a couple more discreet spanking benches tucked to the side, and a work station where a bookshelf used to be—based on the marks on the wall—but there was nothing kinky about the rest of the space. Other than, you know, the floggers and paddles resting on the desk.
“What if I move the bench, and you lean against it length-wise, then drape over? You can hold on to the feet to feel supported.”
Did I mention I was terrible at visualizing shit? If you needed someone to come up with a million fatalistic scenarios, I was your person. But visualizing the real-life, present-time shit?
Yeah, miss me with it.
Still, I guessed it could work.
“My ankles would be strapped in?”
I scrunched up my nose. I kind of wanted to ask why I couldn’t just be on the bench like a normal masochist, but it was probably too early for that kind of button pushing. I could have some restraint.
“I don’t think the straps reach that low.” Daddy moved to get the bench off the wall as he spoke. “You’re new to this type of flogger, so I’d rather take extra steps to make sure your lower back is protected.”
Oh.
Oooooh.
See? Not giving him sass paid off.
I was not going to get emotional over basic risk assessments and safety steps that should be the bare minimum, but I wasn’t made of stone, either.
“Okay. Yeah, that can work.”
It would make more sense when I got in position—or when he got me in the position he wanted, since I was still struggling to get it.
Huh.
It turned out that it wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought. My legs were taller than the height of the bench Saúl had picked, so when I bent over, the tip of my cock grazed the padded leather of the bench, and most of my lower back was inclined, out of the way of the flogger.
Having my head upside down was kind of disorienting, but I liked the rush of blood, another sensation that added up.
Besides, this was better than when I was tied up upside down to a cross. The blood rush was easier to reverse.
