Santa, Sir

Piece by Piece

Ronan's POV

I moved to the straps suspended above the bench. I took one down, the leather soft, well-worn. I brought it to her, securing her wrist to a point on the bench. Then the other wrist. Her arms were stretched slightly above her head, her body completely open, completely mine.

She made no sound, no struggle. Only a slight tremble in her hands, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

"Your control," I stated, my fingers caressing her bare back, tracing the line of her spine. "Is mine."

Then, I reached for a small, silver crop. It was slender, with a soft thud at the tip. Not for pain, but for sharp, precise sensation. I brought it to her skin, just below her shoulder blade.

Tap.

A small gasp escaped her.

Tap. Tap.

The rhythm was slow, deliberate. Each touch is a question, an affirmation. Her muscles tensed, then softened, adjusting to the new sensation.

"Breathe, Katie," I instructed, my voice a steady anchor. "Focus on the sensations. Let them consume you."

The taps became slightly firmer, moving down her spine, across her ribs, each point a new awakening. She was quiet, almost eerily so, except for the soft gasps that punctuated her rapid breathing.

"What do you feel, sub?" I asked, my voice low.

A long pause. Then, "Everywhere. And… nothing. Just… this." Her voice was breathy, almost a whisper.

"Good," I said, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. "That is the beginning. The surrender to sensation. The letting go of thought."

I moved the crop along her bare skin, finding new pathways, new reactions. The soft thudding sound filled the room, punctuated by her gasps, her shallow breaths. The air itself felt thick, charged with her vulnerability, her desire.

Her body writhed subtly, a slow, sensual undulation against the bench. Her hips lifted, a silent plea, an instinctive response.

I leaned down, my lips brushing against her ear. "You ask for more, sub," I whispered. "Show me. Tell me. What do you want?"

A tremor ran through her. "I…" She struggled for words, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I don't know. I just… want."

"That is enough for now," I murmured, my hand leaving her back, moving to the smooth, cool skin of her inner thigh, the bare skin revealed by the upward slide of her jeans. My fingers brushed against the sensitive skin, just near the apex of her legs.

She arched her back, a loud gasp tearing from her throat. Her body tensed, trembling.

"Tell me, sub," I commanded, my voice rough with desire, with the thrill of her surrender. "What do you feel now?"

"Hot," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "So… hot. And… empty."

"I will fill you, Katie," I promised, my fingers moving with deliberate slowness, exploring, teasing. "But first, you must learn to empty yourself. To let go of everything but this moment. This feeling."

I continued my slow, methodical exploration, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, then pulling back, testing her limits, her patience, her capacity for sensation. Each moment was a negotiation, a dance between my control and her inherent desire. She was a quick study, her body learning to anticipate, to respond, to yearn.

The room throbbed with the intensity of our connection. The scent of her, subtle and intoxicating, filled my senses. She was a canvas, and I, the artist, was painting sensations upon her skin, creating a masterpiece of surrender.

This was no performance. This was real. And in this realness, in the quiet, desperate honesty of her responses, I found a depth of satisfaction, a profound sense of purpose, I hadn't known existed. I was thankful that she was blindfolded because she flipped a switch in me. Katie was becoming more than a contract.

The game, it seemed, had only just begun. And I knew, with a certainty that vibrated through my very bones, that Katie O'Connell, my resilient, defiant, utterly willing sub, was ready to play. And ready to win.

Even though we had just spent several hours in my playroom, I feel like our night flew by too quickly. She fit far better than I had anticipated.

Katie looked at me and bit her bottom lip. “Katie, is there something you want to ask?”

She let out a breath. “What does it feel like for you when your sub surrenders?”

Not many subs have ever asked me that. I guessed they thought it gave me some sick thrill. I took her hand and traced circles on her palm as I spoke. “Satisfaction, pride, and a sense of wholeness. Surrender is the greatest gift a sub can give their Dom because it fills that empty space within them.”

“Oh. I guess it's nice I could give that to you,” she replies as she looks away.

I use my free hand to turn her face toward me. “No shame. Ask.”

“Could you give me a gift like that?” she asks timidly.

“What would you do if I did?” Her whole body flushes. I chuckle. “When you figure that out, we can revisit this topic. Now it was time for the last bit of your aftercare. “