The Switch (6 page)

“Strip.”

Here?
was his first reaction, and he
knew it must have shown on his face, because her eyes narrowed at
him.

Minutes later, his boots and every bit of
his costume were in a neatly stacked and folded pile in front of
her apartment door. He would have felt like a complete dipshit if
not for the way she circled him now.

“Fingers laced behind your neck,” she
commanded softly. “And legs apart.”

Something inside of him went hot and liquid
as he complied. He’d seen others treated this way at the club, but
had yet to find someone with whom he felt comfortable enough
himself. Now… now his own vulnerability slid through him like a
drug, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was standing
bare-assed naked in her apartment hallway.

She circled him once more, and Grayson found
himself hungering for her touch – a single finger, anywhere. But it
never came. When she came back into his line of sight, she toed his
pile of clothes and stepped aside.

“Pick them up.”

He felt her eyes on his backside as he bent
over. A smile pulled his lips and he jutted his ass out just a
little bit. She rewarded him with a quick snap on his left butt
cheek.

“Hey!” The sudden sting made him jump and
stumble.

Her eyebrows raised. “That wasn’t an
invitation?” she asked in a mocking tone.

A sarcastic quip came to his tongue, but she
was clearly not joking. Straightening his back and looking down, he
answered contritely, “Only if it pleases you.”

Her soft hum was almost inaudible as she ran
a gloved hand over the skin she’d just swatted. The softness of her
touch against his stinging flesh made his insides shiver, but then
it was gone.

“We will try this again,” she said
coolly.

This time, he simply picked up his stack of
clothing and waited.

Good lord, but he was beautiful. Marion
couldn’t remember ever being so turned on by the sight of a naked
body.

Granted, she’d been in a state of
semi-arousal all evening. But now, with him standing before her in
her hallway, completely nude and open to her will… she was wet.
Completely wet and heavy with heat.

It would be hours before she gave either of
them satisfaction, which made it all the more sweet. That didn’t do
much for the sudden urge she had to run her tongue over the ridges
of his abdominal muscles, though. And, holy sweet Shiva, but he had
a package. Her mouth fairly watered at the ways she would torment
him.

Turning away, she used the few seconds it
took to unlock her apartment and disarm the security system to
collect herself.
Only one night
. Nothing more than a
birthday gift from a close friend. Her last scan of his client file
had shown that, for whatever reason, he’d barely used his
membership at
Ten
beyond observation and non-sexual
submission. She was simply here to rectify that. It was the least
she could do, considering he’d probably be terminating his contract
after tonight. Good business, that’s all it was.

Right.

Wordlessly, she led him through the entrance
and the living room to the bedroom suite in the back of the living
space.

“Place your belongings there,” she said,
pointing to the chest in the corner. “You may use the bathroom if
you need to, but you may not ‘relieve’ that.” She indicated his
pretty desperate-looking hard-on.

While Grayson ‘freshened up,’ Marion took a
mental inventory and went over her plans for their evening, making
adjustments here and there. She already discovered he wasn’t a fan
of the crop.

At least, not for switching purposes,
she thought wryly. But that would change soon enough.

The large, antique dresser held a collection
of items she’d picked out earlier, but now she reconsidered,
shifting a few things around for easier access. Behind her, she
heard the bathroom door open, the light switch off.

“Knees,” she said, not turning around. The
soft thump of him complying sent a thrum of heat through her belly,
giving her pause. With a slow, deep inhale, she attempted to reel
herself in.

You’re here to fulfill his needs
, she
reminded herself as she fingered the buttery braid of leather wound
around the handle of her crop.

Grayson
leaned back on his heels and waited. At first, he kept his eyes
dutifully trained on the silk braided rug beneath his knees. As the
silence unfurled into the warmly lit room, however, he allowed his
gaze to sneak across the floor and up the back of his new
mistress.

This wasn’t ‘Marion,’ after all. At least,
not the Marion he knew. That Marion was usually found in jeans and
an old college sweatshirt, or a Bruins jersey. Oh, she knew how to
be a sex-pot when it called for it. But he couldn’t remember the
last time he’d seen her in a skirt, much less those five-inch
stilettos that had him suddenly considering a foot fetish.

He couldn’t reconcile it quickly enough.
He’d always wanted ‘his’ Marion, but this - god, this was a whole
different situation entirely. No one woman could be this utterly
perfect for him. How was this even possible?

“Eyes down, Jones.”

Fuck.

Her footfalls were silent, but he watched
her approach out of his periphery, his pulse thumping almost in
time with each step. She stopped when her toes were barely an inch
from his knee.

Fingers slid through his hair, stroking his
scalp and cradling his head like the possession he was. His body
reacted before his brain could catch up; a soft, sweet echo of need
heated his nerves and loosened his spine quicker than the Scotch
had earlier.

“You’re just racking up the punishments,
aren’t you, pet?” she said, her thumb tracing the edge of his ear
before pulling away.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered without
thought.

“Why is that?”

Huh?
He blinked at the floor.

“Because I’m a bad boy?” he replied dumbly.
He thought it was a given that submissives acted out because they
craved the punishment. Wasn’t that the point?

A soft chuckle on a breath as she cupped his
chin. Only when she tilted his face upwards and commanded him to
look, did he obey.

“Because you’re a ‘bad boy who needs to be
punished’?” She gave a cluck of disapproval. “I determine when you
are punished and how, Grayson. And I need no reason, other than it
pleases me to see your skin change color for me. Now, why don’t you
give me your honest answer?”

Her eyes held him in place for a long
moment, cool and deep and slightly narrowed at the corners. Again,
he was thrown off-balance as he tried to assimilate both versions
of Marion McKellan. Her grip on his chin tightened as she lifted
her face expectantly.

“I - I can’t,” he gasped.

This brought a frown.

“Can’t? Can’t what?”

“I don’t know!” He closed his eyes.
Something frantic and mortifyingly uncertain was flailing around
inside his chest.

“Look at me, Grayson.” Her voice was steel
quiet now. “Either open your eyes or say your safe word.”

Apple.

No.

His eyes snapped open with the sudden
realization - she wanted him to submit. Not only physically, but
mentally. Maybe even emotionally. Jesus, the woman never did
anything halfway, did she? He smirked.

“You don’t really want it that easy, do
you?” he said.

Her lips pressed together in a tight line,
but he saw a spark of something flicker in her eyes before she
released him.

“Kneel up.” She swatted his flank lightly
with the tip of her riding crop.

Grayson did his best to move quickly but
calmly. Physically, he didn’t care for lashings. But the way he saw
it, that was kind of the point. Unless you got off from spankings,
of course, in which case it wasn’t much of a punishment. Then
again, if he went by Marion’s words, punishments were no longer a
cause-and-effect thing.

He had no idea what was coming next.
Uncertainty tightened in his chest. Under that, a low-simmering
thrill.

Well, shit.
She’d barely touched him
and he was already a mess.

A rich, low chuckle interrupted his
thoughts.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you think so
hard, pet. Hands and knees.”

When had she ever seen him hard, he
wondered? Had she watched him at the club? The thought almost
derailed him, but he did as told, teeth clenching slightly as she
moved to stand behind him. His cock bobbed freely, still thick and
heavy with need.

“Apart.” The point of a foot nudged between
his thighs just above his knees.

As he edged his stance wider, the sudden,
cool air against his testicles made him very aware of his
vulnerability. Instead of dampening his arousal, it fed it. His
fingertips pressed into the uneven texture of the rug beneath
them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the
first touch, and it took a second to realize it wasn’t her finger
stroking a portentous caress across the skin of his sac. A short
whisper of air dragged in between his teeth as he wrestled his
apprehension. This was Marion, he told himself. Domme or no, she
would never bring him actual harm.

The flap of leather continued its trail up
his backside, feathering along his crack, then up, over, and around
to rest against his butt cheek.

“You don’t care for lashings.” It wasn’t a
question. “Yet it’s not on your list of hard limits.”

“No, ma’am.”

The first swat didn’t even suggest a
sting.

“I have a theory about that.”

The next was barely harder than the first.
He didn’t respond or ask what her theory was, but waited as the tip
of her riding crop fluttered a series of pats over his ass. As
striking as the sight of it was, he’d never actually been
disciplined with a crop before. Some of the more seasoned
submissives had spoken of it in awe or terror. Some even claimed it
was worse than caning. This, however, was--

Snap.

He bit off an expletive, grunting through
his closed lips. It wasn’t that hard of a strike, but it stung,
sharp and precise, heat radiating from that needle-bright spot like
the echoes of a wasp-sting. Then the cool, intimate touch of her
finger soothing that bite. Grayson inhaled a shaky breath as he
realized that was the first she’d touched him, flesh-to-flesh, all
evening.

“People draw different things from the
experience, depending on how it’s administered.”

A hard, quick pinch, then a slap. It was
ludicrous, embarrassing, arousing. And somehow it eased the mark,
like scratching an itch.

“Some are in it for the pain,” she
continued, her touch trailing over the arc of his buttock and down.
“Others are moved by the punishment aspect, fully accepting and
relishing in the physically unpleasant experience, because with it
comes humiliation, shame, and eventually absolution. And, of
course, there are so many varying degrees of physical
sensation.”

Did she expect an answer? He wasn’t even
sure he knew what the question was. In fact, the further her
fingers drifted, the less his brain seemed to function. His eyelids
grew heavy and he found himself inching into her touch, knees
edging apart, fingers curling into the rug.

“There we go,” Marion said quietly, cupping
his sac for just an instant before letting go. He barely managed to
not groan in frustration.

“You may rest your forehead on the floor,”
she said in a clear tone. His senses went on alert as it became
evident she was standing upright again, behind him and to his
right. “But you will remain in this position until I release you.
Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hummed and bounced the tip of her crop
against his bottom. At first, it felt like an idle sort of gesture,
like tapping a pen against a tabletop. But then she did it again,
and again - that loose thrum of soft leather kissing his flesh.

He frowned at his hands, disappointment and
confusion setting in.

“Mistress?” he dared to ask.

She stopped and sighed. Her voice was laced
with disappointment when she spoke. “Another punishment, Grayson.
You are not to speak unless asked a question or given permission.
Apart from your safe word, that is.”

The thrumming resumed, but quicker,
steadier, and slightly harder. It piqued his senses at first. When
it didn’t move beyond that rhythm, however, he grew impatient. His
knees were already tiring from their odd angle, and he found
himself wanting... something, although he couldn’t pinpoint just
what.

Without intending to, he shifted a
little.

The blow was sharp and snake-quick, landing
on his other butt cheek, probably a mirrored match to the first
one. His breath hitched, but then something odd happened. The
unpleasant, fiery sting he expected didn’t come; instead, the
striking point blossomed into a frisson of pleasure that crackled
through his nerve endings.

Goose bumps broke out along his arms and
scalp. A low, thick pulse of need rolled through him, settling in
his groin.

What in the ever loving hell was
that?
he thought dully.

Meanwhile, Marion had gone back to those
rhythmic taps, peppering his ass and upper thighs like some kind of
twisted pastry chef. Every few seconds, the tip of her crop would
contact those tender points she’d actually punished, and a spark of
heat would ricochet through him again.

It wasn’t long before his forehead pressed
against the rug, the angle baring more of his ass to his mistress.
A warm flush was spreading through his bottom, the heat deepening
and feeding something he never thought possible.

Dear god, he actually wanted more.

She answered his silent plea with a third
brutal slap, and he was shocked to feel his dick give a hard jerk.
Christ - how could he be getting off on this? It wasn’t like he
hadn’t given it a try at the club. And it wasn’t just because this
was Marion, either. Nothing they’d done to him at
Ten
came
close to this.