No one at practice asked why we both had damp hair that night, or why when I hit a few sour notes, Thayre didn't correct me. In the end, I'm sure they knew, and if not, they would soon. Keeping our personal lives a secret while kissing behind closed doors was bad enough, and it was getting increasingly difficult to choose between sex and music.
By the third week of practice, Thayre invited me to pack a few things to keep at his place so we could get me caught up with everyone else. But when we weren't practicing or writing something new, we were like this—me submitting to Thayre, on my knees, in what would've been his guest room if not for the unusual furniture. The first time Thayre had let me in his guestroom, I found myself staring and completely in awe with what he'd managed to get away with.
Similar to the sound studio, his guest room was meant for one thing and one thing only—being a Dom, and doing it well. I always thought kneeling with my hands cuffed behind my back while Bret flogged me was pretty hardcore, but Thayre proved me wrong.
At the far end of the room, he'd set up a massage table, and beside it, a dresser which held a series of towels along with a robe he'd usually have me wear after one of our sessions. But the most interesting piece of decor had to be his Saint Andrew's Cross which stood along one of the sidewalls. There were other things as well, like the extra mattress in the corner, a small fridge which he always had full of water and quick snacks, as well as two sets of cuffs he'd fashioned into the cross itself.
"You ready for this?" Thayre asked, stopping me once I was in the center of the room.
"Like you wouldn't believe." I rolled my shoulders back. "I've been looking forward to this all day."
"Take everything off and do your stretches," Thayre instructed, stepping away from me to grab a few things out of the bottom of his dresser. He returned moments later with a blindfold, ball gag and one of his softer floggers. "Tell me your safe words."
"Yellow to slow down. Red if I need you to stop, Sir."
"Good girl. Go on and stand in front of the cross—facing it."
The cool wood beneath my feet groaned as I approached the cross, and like the few times before this, I spread out my arms and legs so they were parallel with the same on the cross. Thayre brushed my hair over one shoulder and kissed the nape of my neck, forcing my mind to go blank. I knew what was coming next, and yet the anticipation was as strong as ever.
He lifted my arm, closing the leather cuff around my wrist before doing the same thing to the other one. He squeezed my fingers, offered a nod of approval when they weren't cold, then worked on cuffing my ankles.
"I smell you," he said as I pulled against my restraints, which kept me from touching myself or getting any closer to him than he wanted me to. "A little eager tonight, aren't we?" Behind me, he wrapped one hand around my waist, and I moaned when he parted my pussy lips with the other one. "Look at that—you're already wet. I bet I could slide in right now, couldn't I?"
I nodded.
"Oh, but you'd enjoy that too much, and I'm not quite ready yet."
I can help you get ready. Not hung up like this I couldn't. I whimpered, seeking his warmth when he pulled away from me.
He came around in front of me, standing in the small gap between the wall and the cross. "You know what this is, don't you?" He held up the ball gag and smiled. "But it isn't meant to silence you, now is it?"
I shook my head. "No, Sir."
It was something Thayre had brought up shortly after practice a few weeks ago. I not only censored myself when it came to explicit language, I damn near held my breath long enough to pass out to keep from screaming. The ball gag had holes it in, and was meant to keep my mouth open so I could breathe. No doubt we'd be testing the sound barrier again.
Thayre circled me. Walked behind me and, very carefully, put the ball gag in place. It wasn't uncomfortable, and if it weren't for the occasional drooling on my part, it wouldn't have been bad at all. Still, I had yet to get used to screaming—to letting go, but I was close.
He covered my eyes with the blindfold, not that it would matter in a few minutes. Once he started the rhythm of leather on my back, my eyes would close on their own.
"Are you okay?"
"Mm hmm."
"Are you uncomfortable?"
Shook my head.
"You'll let me know if you need me to stop, won't you?"
Nodded again.
He handed me a tennis ball, which I was expected to drop in place of a safe word, if I ever needed to. I held it tight, and listening to Thayre's footsteps, I focused on where he was in the room. For a long, anxious moment, he didn't move at all. I tried to sense him mentally, but aside from the cuffs around my ankles and wrists, I couldn't be sure of much else.
I exhaled as he let the tails of the flogger slide over my collarbone. My shoulders. My chest. He drew it away from me, and I arched my back, waiting, begging for him to strike me. He did, but barely, the tails of the flogger feeling more like a breath of wind than anything else.
I growled around my frustration and bit at the ball gag. Fucking hit me. I needed to feel the sting. The rush of endorphins. The burning pain of flesh that had been hit one too many times.
The tails whisked past my right shoulder. Hit my left hard enough for it to have the millisecond of a bite before fading again. I wrapped my free hand around the chain connecting that cuff to the cross, straining against it as Thayre struck me again, as gently as before.
Come on!
I fisted my hands. Gripped at the tennis ball. By now, my shoulders were probably a very light shade of pink, but all Thayre's strikes did was frustrate me. I wanted to escape. To fly higher. To lose myself under wave after wave of pain-filled bliss.
The tails struck me again. Harder. Faster. I bowed my head. Closed my eyes. And as the hint of euphoria tingled at the front of my mind, I let go of everything but that tennis ball. The last thing I wanted—needed—was to drop the ball and for the entire scene to end much too soon.
Right on the cusp of falling into subspace, I focused on the ball. On the sting of skin. On nothing at all. The room fell silent. And every time the tails of the flogger hit my back, I felt them a little less. Craved them even more.
Then, all at once, tails clawed at my shoulders, so hard they forced tears into my eyes. I moaned. Whimpered when the feeling stopped. Somewhere in my mind, I knew Thayre hadn't let up on the flogging, but I couldn't feel a damned thing. Instead, the gentle thud of what may have been leather sent jolts of electricity to my clit.
I cried out. Let my head drop. Relied on the cuffs around my wrists to hold me up as my knees threatened to buckle under my weightlessness. Time slowed, lurched, then stopped completely.
Lips cooler than my skin kissed the side of my neck, forcing me to draw in a breath that was as cold and stung my lungs as much as the flogger had done to my back.
Fingers pinched at my nipples. Tugged and pulled on them until the hint of pain drew a groan out of me.
Thayre then parted my pussy lips, moaning against my ear. "You're fucking soaked. You little pain slut."
I wanted more. To feel everything and nothing at all. I couldn't speak, and I didn't dare let go of that damned ball.
He'd flogged me long and hard enough to send me into subspace, but not nearly enough to keep me there. No doubt this session had left my back pink, but whatever marks the tails had made would likely be gone by morning. He'd only ever flogged me hard enough to break the skin once, and while I'd asked he do it again, so long as we were practicing twice a week, he wouldn't allow it.
"I don't like the idea of you being too stiff and sore to play," he explained when I first asked him about it. And his need for a first violinist was far too great for either of us to give in to my submission. My wants, or my needs.
"Moyra."
I blinked, even though I still couldn't see. Cocked my head to the side to show him I was listening.
"I asked you if you'd like me to fuck you."
Oh god, yes. Please, fuck me. Please. I nodded the best I could. Pulled at the cuffs that, right now, were the only things holding me up.
He circled my clit with his fingertips. Parted my pussy lips.
Placed both hands on my hips and thrust deep inside. My eyes flew open, but I couldn't see a damned thing. I gasped. Tried to cry out, but my breath was lost somewhere behind the ball gag, deep within my lungs.
I moaned each time he hit my G-spot, and as I did, his thrusts became more frequent. Fluid while increasing their tempo every. Damn. Time.
"That's a good girl. Let it all out. Sing for me, Songbird. Sing."
I bit the gag. Moaned. My legs and arms shook.
Sweat cooled my skin, but inside I was burning up. Fire on my clit. Along my spine. Deep within me. Thayre shortened his strokes. It felt as though he wasn't moving at all.
Sharp nails bit into my hips, sending bits of electricity all through me like a Tesla coil.
He removed my gag the same moment I let go of the tennis ball. Whether or not he took it as a safe word was lost to me. I don't think I'd ever come so hard and fast. My mind was all over the place, and yet, nowhere at all. I was floating. Sinking. Turning sideways as the pressure around my wrists and ankles released.
I want to say I was moving, carried off somewhere, but hell if I could open my eyes let alone draw a breath.
Something soft and warm hugged my shoulders, but once something cool hit the palm of my hand, I opened my eyes. Thayre was beside me, holding on to a water bottle until I could hold it myself.
I hadn't realized I was thirsty until the first drop of moisture hit my tongue. I drank over three quarters of the bottle, then handed it to Thayre.
He put the cap on, then disrobed me. "Go on and lie on your stomach so I can treat your back."
I nodded, then lay face down on the massage table. Rolling my shoulders again, I could feel some stiffness in the muscles of my back. I probably didn't need any cream, but Thayre never let me walk away without a thorough massage first.
He covered my hips and legs with the robe he had removed earlier, to keep me warm as he massaged my shoulders. No doubt the endorphins would wear off soon, and when they did, I'd be a shivering mess. But in the meantime, I rested my head on my arms and let him work.
The click of a bottle held my attention long enough to hear him warm the oil in his hands. The moment his palms hit my skin, I was in heaven. I had yet to return from orbit, and at least right now, endorphins aside, it would be a slow descent.
"I put my notice in at Kimber's," I said after a while, mentally following the up and down sweep of his oil-slicked hands on my back.
"Oh?" Thayre's voice strained as he worked out a knot under my right shoulder blade. "You think that's wise?"
I was about to shrug, but thought better of it. "I gave Jay a month to find a replacement. That will leave me open a few weeks before Webster. As it is right now, between working his insane hours and practice, I can't seem to get enough sleep."
"I noticed." When I didn't respond, he continued. "You're restless when you do sleep."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. I'm usually awake anyway. Too much going on in my head."
I drew in a deep breath, smiling from the eucalyptus and spearmint Thayre was spreading all over my tired muscles. I lifted my head to glance over my shoulder. "I have enough saved up for now. Jay never would've given me the time off for Webster anyway. May as well concentrate on my music and worry about finding a better, less taxing job once we return from New York."
"You mean so long as you need one."
"Yeah."
Thayre had spoken to me more than once about staying with the orchestra full-time, but until I saw how things panned out once we returned from New York, I decided to focus on the possibility of needing something aside from my music. And as far as my submission was concerned, at least once we finished playing, I'd rather not have to choose between subbing for Thayre or playing in front of hundreds of strangers.
But it might pay well.
And that's what I was worried about.
"Relax," Thayre said, pressing on my shoulder until I took a breath and, as directed, stopped thinking of anything else.
Rest now. Worry later.
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.