She leaned back in her chair and regarded me coolly, a challenge in her eyes. "Make me."
And we were off. I stood, knocking my chair over. Her eyes went wide with fear and lust; she'd rarely seen me angry. I wasn't now, not really, but the illusion was important. "Safeword."
"Wha- what?"
"Your. Safeword. So I know when to stop." I rounded the table and pulled her to her feet.
"I, ah, I-- "
My finger traced down her cheek. "So, silly little slut wants to play with fire, and she doesn't even know how to keep from getting burned?" My hand went gently to her throat. "Pick a word. Something you'll remember. One I can't mistake for something else."
"I, ah, um... rutabaga?" I tried very hard not to laugh.
"So if I squeeze your throat too tight, you say?"
I squeezed gently and she yelped,
