Page 62 of Brass
“Tonight is Kinky Sex 101, and it begins with you showing me exactly how well you can follow instructions.”
Her breath catches, anticipation and arousal plain in her expression. I reach down, cupping her face in my palm, thumb tracing her lower lip in silent approval.
“The first lesson,” I continue, keeping my voice level despite the desire coursing through me, “is that submission is a gift you choose to give. One I don’t take lightly.”
She leans into my touch, understanding dawning in her eyes. “And the second lesson?”
My lips curve in a smile that’s equal parts promise and warning. “The second lesson is that a good submissive knows when to speak and when to listen.” I apply gentle pressure to her lip with my thumb. “Right now, it’s time to listen.”
She nods, settling more comfortably on her knees, waiting for instruction. The trust in her posture, in her acceptance, is humbling. A responsibility I intend to honor with every action that follows.
“Before we begin properly, we need to establish boundaries.” I maintain eye contact with her, keeping her focused on my words. “A safe word. Something you’ll say if anything becomes too much, too intense, too uncomfortable. Something that immediately stops whatever is happening.”
“Phoenix,” she suggests without hesitation, the word carrying its weight between us. The very thing that brought us together.
“Phoenix,” I repeat, cementing the choice. “Say it if you need to stop for any reason. No questions asked, no judgment. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I step back slightly, creating space between us. “Now, I want you to show me how well that mouth of yours can be used for something other than arguing with me.”
Her lips part on a small exhale, anticipation plain in her expression. “Yes, Sir.”
TWENTY-TWO
Ryan
The submissionin those two words—from a woman who has fought me on every directive since the subway platform—is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. More powerful than any fantasy, more affecting than last night’s passion.
I unbuckle my belt, slow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust to what’s happening. Her eyes follow every movement, pupils dilated with arousal rather than fear. When I free myself, her gaze is hungry, eager.
“Hands behind your back,” I instruct, watching as she complies immediately. “Keep them there unless I say otherwise.” I step closer, guiding her with a hand in her hair. “Show me what you can do.”
She takes me into her mouth with unexpected confidence, a skill that sends a jolt of both pleasure and something darker through me. Not jealousy, exactly, but possessiveness. A determination to erase the memory of anyone who came before me.
I control the pace with my grip on her hair, not rough but firm. Guiding. Teaching. Showing her precisely what I want. Her responsiveness is immediate—adapting to each subtle cue,learning my preferences with the same keen observation she applies to everything.
“Look at me,” I command, needing to see her eyes as she serves me this way.
She obeys, gaze lifting to meet mine without hesitation. The connection intensifies everything—the physical sensation, the emotional impact, the power exchange happening between us. This isn’t just sex. This is communication on a level I’ve rarely experienced.
When I’m close to the edge, I pull back, denying myself release. Not yet. This night is about exploration and discovery, about teaching her what she’s capable of. My pleasure is secondary to that goal.
“Enough.” I help her to her feet, steadying her when she wobbles slightly. “You learn quickly.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks at the praise. “I have a good teacher.”
I smile at that—a genuine smile, unguarded in a way few ever see. “We’ve barely begun.” Leading her to the bed, I guide her to lie in the center. “Arms above your head, crossed at the wrists.”
Again, she complies without hesitation, stretching out before me in a position of complete vulnerability. Trust given freely. Power surrendered willingly.
I retrieve the cotton rope from my purchases and uncoil it. “This is for restraint, but more importantly, for the sensation it creates.” I let the fibers trail across her arm, watching as goosebumps rise in their wake. “The awareness of being bound. The freedom that comes from having choice temporarily removed.”
Her breathing quickens as I begin binding her wrists—secure enough to restrain, loose enough to ensure circulation. Each loop, each knot, is performed with methodical attention to both aesthetic and function.
“How does that feel?” I ask when I’ve finished, her wrists now secured to the headboard with artful knots.
She tests the restraints, finding just enough give to be comfortable but not enough to escape. “Good. Different. I’ve never…”
