The Exhibitionist

  “You did so well with Master Johnson. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  I stood silently, allowing us both to bask in our roles. It had to be difficult to submit to a different Dominant. Especially since I had been her first. She needed to know how much she pleased me. How proud I was that she went through the session with Cole, was even going so far as to be ready to let him cane her because she understood that I’d given my consent.

  It had been hard as hell, watching her react to Cole’s insistence that she sit in the chair. But I wanted her to experience what he offered. I knew it would be something she would find fascinating and think about for a long time, and write about. Whether she liked it or decided not to experience anything similar again, the session today would aid in her continuing journey of self-discovery and serve to make her stronger. And that would make us both stronger.

  “You pleased me today, Abigail, so I’m going to reward you for being such a good girl.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  I gave a slight chuckle. “Make no mistake about it, I’ll be getting something out of your reward, too.”

  Though her head was bowed, I could hear the smile in her voice. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Master.”

  Hours later as she slept in my arms, I tried to plan for what I would do if this need of hers continued. If I didn’t plan, there might come a time I couldn’t meet her needs. It was hard for me to even think that, much less envision it happening.

  The problem was solely with me. I didn’t like another Dom controlling Abby and it didn’t matter if it was a training session, a demo, or whatever you wanted to call it. The last few months had taught me I didn’t like sharing her. It did nothing but remind me why I had made the rule that I wouldn’t share my collared submissive. And if that made me a possessive, jealous dumb-ass … well, I was a possessive, jealous dumb-ass.

  We didn’t have another demo scheduled any time soon. The tri-state was having a workshop weekend they’d invited me to speak at. That was about a month away, though. But I did have my own playroom and could set up my own demo.

  Lynne was due to come by over the weekend to meet the kids and talk with us. If everything went well, we could possibly have her watch Elizabeth and Henry the following weekend. She could keep them occupied or take them out somewhere while we were in the playroom.

  Feeling a bit calmer and more at ease, I finally closed my eyes and allowed myself to sleep.

  The next day at work, I made a list of who I’d invite to our demo. Not Simon this time, not with Lynne potentially in the house. That was an awkward situation we didn’t need. I tapped my pen against the desk. Maybe Cole in Simon’s place? I could invite Luke DeVaan and Jeff, and have them observe the two of us in the playroom, maybe ask them to be part of the scene in a nonsexual way. Three would be enough. The playroom wasn’t that big, after all.

  With that decided, I brainstormed about what to do. Abby had spent some time over the last few days writing about the mental play we’d done, but I didn’t want to do another mental-only scene. What I wanted to do was combine mental and physical play. Give her a little of both and see how she responded.

  I formed a skeleton plan in my mind and then called her. She answered on the second ring and we chatted briefly before I explained my purpose in calling.

  “I have an assignment for you,” I said. “You can either do it in your notebook or post it on the blog, but you have forty-eight hours to complete it.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  I didn’t give her assignments very often, but in this case, the topic and writing would serve to add to the mental aspect of the upcoming session.

  “I hope you find it interesting. I think it’s certainly an entertaining topic.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  I chuckled. “The topic is predicament bondage.”

  With predicament bondage, I’d bind her in such a way that any movement would cause some sort of consequence. We’d done it a few times, but not often at all. Now that I’d put the idea in her head, she’d know we’d be doing a scene with it soon. And if I guessed correctly, she’d spend a lot of time wondering if the consequences would be painful or pleasurable.

  “I know what you’re doing, you know,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re mind-fucking me, aren’t you?”

  “I am, Abby. And the funny thing is, even though you know it’s a mind-fuck, it’s still working.”

  She muttered something under her breath and I laughed.

  “See you in a few hours,” I said.

  As I suspected, she was very excited about inviting the men over to watch. I wondered if I was helping or hurting her by setting up this session and feeding this growing need of hers. But it was hard for me to deny her anything, and if she wanted public play, I wouldn’t be a good Dom if I didn’t meet that need.

  To further get her into the right frame of mind, I had her set up the playroom the morning of our session. Lynne had hit it off great with the kids the previous weekend and they were excited she was coming over again. The new house was large and I’d designed it so that the playroom was as far from the children’s wing as possible. Everything was separate, but I had installed both an intercom system and a security system so we would be notified, even in the playroom, if something was wrong or someone needed us.

  Five minutes before the men were due to arrive, I sent Abby to the playroom to wait. We found her kneeling as I’d directed when the four of us stepped inside. I waved the men over to the three chairs I’d arranged for them, then walked over to Abby.

  “Tell the gentlemen your safe words, Abigail.”

  “Red, yellow, and green, Master.”

  “Very nice. Stand for me, please.”

  She slowly stood to her feet. Her breathing had taken on the panting sounds she made when she was aroused, and though her head was bowed, I knew if I looked into her eyes, they would be lust-filled. She enjoyed playing in front of an audience, but just how much she liked it struck me in the chest.

  “You’re already so turned on you can hardly stand it, can you?”

  “Yes, Master,” she confirmed.

  “Going to show these men what a good submissive you are?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I have no doubts, my lovely. You’ve never disappointed me before.”

  I could see her body nearly humming with my praise.

  I looked over the area she’d set up for our scene. As per my instructions, a St. Andrew’s cross stood in the center of the room. All but a tiny circle of the floor surrounding the cross was covered in sharp points. Not sharp enough to break her skin, but it would be painful if she stepped on them. Not a problem if she could somehow find a way to remain in the small circle.

  I would ensure that she couldn’t.

  When she moved the ropes between her legs, it would rub against her clit, which I knew she’d like. Being bound with a rope that excited her clit wasn’t new to her, but being bound like that in a predicament situation was.

  Once she was bound to my satisfaction, I led her to the tiny circle that was clear in front of the large wooden X. The circle was so tiny she had to stand on her toes. One by one, I bound her arms above her head, allowing enough slack to let her drop to her flat feet if she needed.

  Then I turned to speak to the men. “We haven’t done many scenes with predicament bondage, so this is relatively new for Abigail. It’s not going to be comfortable for long being on her toes like that. But if she drops to her feet, she’ll be standing on the sharp pegs. Plus, I’ve bound her with rope in such a way as to provide stimulation with every move.” I turned back to her. “Are the ropes okay? Not too tight on your arms?”

  “I’m as comfortable as can be expected, Master.”

  He turned back to the group. “Now we could just sit here and watch her, waiting for her to grow tired of standing on her toes. But she can have a bit of a stubborn streak, so I t
hink I’ll provide some incentive for her to move.”

  I was willing to bet they thought I’d flog her, or maybe use the cane. But when I went to my cabinets and pulled out a long feather, they laughed. Abby couldn’t see it from her angle, so I moved closer to her.

  “Personally, I think it’s a lot more fun to use something other than pain to entice her to move. Of course, she may not agree.” I held up the feather so she could see.

  Abby groaned. She probably wished I’d use a flogger; she was incredibly ticklish.

  “Are you ticklish?” I asked her for the benefit of the watching men.

  “Yes, Master. Very.”

  “Mmm,” I hummed. “This will be quite the challenge for you, then, won’t it?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “But you like a challenge, don’t you?”

  “Most of the time, Master.”

  “Only most of the time?”

  “My liking of a challenge is indirectly proportional to the amount of bondage I’m in.”

  The three men chuckled.

  “Is that so?” I asked, and without waiting for a response, tickled her side.

  She yelped and twisted, stepping on part of the peg-covered mat. “Ouch.” She moved back into position, but doing so made the ropes shift. “Oh.”

  I tickled her again. “Bit of a predicament, wouldn’t you say?”

  She only sucked in a breath, but she still couldn’t hold position. Poor Abby was so very ticklish. I took another feather and started tickling her with both.

  I ran them down her back, around her waist, and under her arms. Just as I thought, Abby squirmed and danced, trying to get away from one feather, which only sent her into the path of the other. And each time she moved, the rope I’d placed around her clit had to be driving her crazy.

  I decided to arouse her even more and circled her nipples while tickling right where the rope rubbed that supersensitive spot.

  “You like that?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, Master.”

  “You know our guests are watching you get turned on by my two feathers?”

  “And the rope, Master.”

  I tickled her again so it moved against her. “Right, we can’t forget the rope.”

  I fell into a rhythm, which allowed her to drift into subspace. Soon, I had her swaying back and forth and before too long, she wasn’t even trying to stay on her toes. Her feet were on the pegs and she moaned in bliss every so often.

  “What color are you, Abby?” I asked.

  “Green, Sir.”

  “Shall I continue?”

  “Mmm,” she hummed, and swayed, causing the rope to hit a new spot. “Oh!”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, Master.” She sounded dreamy. “If it pleases you.”

  I ran the feather down her side. She hummed and tried to get closer. Apparently, that shifted the ropes in a way they hadn’t rubbed before and she sighed and began rocking back and forth again.

  “None of that, now,” I chided. “You don’t have permission to come.”

  “Verflucht,” she said, which I guessed was a curse word. But she stopped rocking.

  I knew she’d start with the German at some point and I wanted to play with her mind a bit. So I glanced to my side and nodded at Cole.

  “Watch your language. I know more German than you,” he said.

  “Entschuldigung, Herr,” she said in apology.

  “I was mentored in Germany by the most badass Dom you can imagine.”

  She swallowed a laugh at his accidental reference to the nickname given to him by submissives who’d played with him.

  “Let’s just say I know all the German words,” Cole said.

  She stopped trying to make the ropes move and went back to gently swaying. I kept her in subspace for a few more minutes and then began tickling her less and less. Her movements slowed and finally, I set the feathers down and unbuckled her arms from the cross. She dropped to her feet with an “Ouch!”

  I immediately picked her up and carried her over the pegs until we reached a thick rug I’d placed on the platform. There I gently put her back on her feet while I undid the ropes. She let out a deep breath as they fell away from her.

  “Move your legs, if you need to,” I said. Though the sensation of the rope had been pleasurable while she was in the scene, she’d probably be in some discomfort once it was over.

  “Do I need to massage your legs?” I asked.

  “No, Master.”

  When I set up our new playroom, one of the things I’d done differently from our playroom in New York was add a large aftercare area. I’d furnished it with a plush couch and minifridge stocked with juice and bottled water. The night before, I’d set out a large blanket, and once we sat down, I draped it over her.

  The three men took their cue to leave the play area. I’d told them earlier to wait for us in the kitchen and Abby had laid out snacks for them to enjoy.

  Once they were gone, I turned my entire focus on her. One of our aftercare routines involved me rubbing her feet, so this was familiar and calming for both of us. She sighed as I took a foot in my hand. It was red on the bottom, but while the skin was tender, it wasn’t broken. I massaged a soothing lotion into her arch, gently moving down to her toes and across the ball of her foot.

  “You have the most amazing hands, Master,” she said. “I’ve told you this before, yes?”

  I kissed her big toe. “You have, my lovely. But feel free to tell me again.”

  “Your hands are amazing, Master.”

  “You’re pretty amazing, too.” I slowly worked the lotion into her skin and took a pair of supersoft socks I had waiting. I slipped one of them onto her foot.

  “Makes me feel a bit like Cinderella,” she joked as I placed that foot down and motioned for her to give me her other one.

  “Does that make me Prince Charming?”

  She brushed her hand down my arm. “You’ll always be my Prince Charming.”

  We shared a smile as I cared for her other foot. Reconnecting like this after a scene always made us closer. Usually, we’d take our time and even curl up in bed for a catnap, but since we had guests, I thought it was time to make our way out of the playroom.

  “Can we go check on the kids before we head to the kitchen, Master?” she asked.

  “Of course. Are you ready to go now, or do you want to wait a bit longer?”

  “I can go now.”

  I stood up and helped her into the outfit she’d brought down earlier. While we got her dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, I watched for any sign that would tell me her feet were in too much pain. Satisfied she was okay, I took her hand and we went to pop in on the kids.

  Lynne, Elizabeth, and Henry were in what we called the nursery. It was really just the children’s playroom, but neither Abby nor I was comfortable calling it that. Lynne and Elizabeth were playing house in the large dollhouse my cousin, Jackson, and I had made for her last birthday. Henry was pushing his dump trucks and tractors around. Abby giggled when she saw he had one of Elizabeth’s dolls on top of the tractor, acting as if she were driving. Nothing like doing farm work in a silver cocktail dress.

  I knocked on the doorframe. Elizabeth turned and, seeing us, hopped up and ran over to give us hugs. “Mommy! Daddy! Lynne is fun. Can she stay? For always?”

  I kissed the top of her head. “We’ll see. Are you playing dolls?”

  “Yes, I’m the mommy, Lynne’s the little girl, and Henry’s the daddy. But he won’t play with the boy doll, so Lynne’s being the daddy, too.”

  Henry picked up the silverly clad doll and nodded. “Pretty.”

  “You can’t wear a fancy dress on a tractor,” Elizabeth told her brother.

  He held the doll to his chest. “Mine!”

  “Just let him play,” Abby said. “At least he’s not throwing