Blue Desire Read Online Free PDF

had probably increased Kradle’s reputation for being one of the hardest-rocking live acts around. She’d
accepted his apology and vouched for him in a half dozen interviews.
    “You
can leave them on unless they’re hurting your feet. This cross is probably best
for someone a little taller, so you can use the extra help.”
    She
blinked. One out of three doms liked her barefoot.
The other two thought heels were sexy. That was what it came down to every
time. Either Brett was very smooth with the explanations, or he was a very
different kind of man indeed.
    She
unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled out of them. They had been tight when she’d
gotten them and were tighter now, and it was hard to do it gracefully. As she
struggled she wished she’d worn something else. A skirt,
maybe. But she liked the way she looked in black denim. It was slimming.
Short skirts showed off her too-thick thighs, and long ones looked frumpy.
    Once
she’d peeled them over her boots, she turned to face the cross, but Brett
stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Not so fast,” he said. “I want to see
you first.” He helped the blouse the rest of the way, sliding it off her arms,
and then stepped back. He wasn’t sneaking a peek, like most guys did. He looked
her over from head to toe and back again as if it were the most natural thing
in the world for him to ogle her and for her to stand there in her underwear
and let him. Objectification. That’s what her feminist
friends would call it, and Kat considered herself a feminist. So why was she
pulling her tummy in and arching her back for him? She didn’t know, but his
gaze was making her tingle.
    “You’re
a fine-looking woman, Katrina. Very lovely. Now let’s
see if we can redden that ass.” He grinned. “Face the frame and put your arms
up.”
    She
turned. He was right about the cross. Her breasts would have been squeezed if
she’d been lower, or pressed oddly against the wood. As it was, they nestled
nicely in between the upper arms. She stretched her arms up and spread her
legs, making her body an X to match the shape of the cross. She wondered if
he’d watch her ass, bared by the blue thong she wore, the way he’d looked over
her tits. She hoped he liked it. And oddly, she found herself wanting that for its own sake, not because he’d be more eager about flogging
her.
    He
wrapped cuffs around her wrists. The cuffs were padded, comfortable, and
buckled on. Then he bent down and did the same to her ankles. “Thank you, Sir,”
she said and wondered why she’d said it. When she said she wasn’t on her game
tonight, it was an understatement. She was losing track of the fact that it was
a game and acting as if it was real. Method acting. Maybe
I’m method acting.
    He
clipped a chain to the cuff on her left wrist, then attached it to the nearby eyebolt with a carabiner .
Then he walked around her with the chain, attached it to the other side the
same way, and then to her right cuff. She couldn’t have broken the heavy steel
links if she’d been Samson, and when she pulled at them, they clanked. A
nervous tremor went through her, as if for a moment she’d been transported to
some dark medieval dungeon. Ropes had never had that kind of effect on her, and
certainly Velcro cuffs and nylon webbing hadn’t either. She jerked her hands
again and got more clanking. She could feel the weight of the chain too,
hanging from her wrists when she tried to move them closer to the eyebolts.
Intellectually, she knew it was as safe as any other bondage she’d experienced.
It wouldn’t stop her from yelling the club safe word if she needed to. The carabiners would take less time to detach than a rope would
to untie or cut. The heavy buckles on the cuffs wouldn’t take more than
fraction of a second longer to undo. Yet this felt more real, somehow. She
could almost believe she really couldn’t get away, which was delicious and
scary.
    He
gave her ankles the same treatment, but this time