The
Wild
Rose sat on a bluff overlooking a stunning view of
Earlier
they’d gotten off work, going their separate ways to pack;
Grissom had left her
a list and a few gentle suggestions for the upcoming weekend. Sara was
amused
to see among them good walking shoes, a pair of sunglasses and a new,
clean
pillowcase. Fortunately all those items were easy to find, and within
ninety
minutes, Grissom was at her door when she opened it. His gaze swept
over her
approvingly from dark green crepe tank top to linen slacks. Sara
returned the
favor, admiring his grey pullover sweater and jeans. He wore a black
suede
jacket and his sunglasses were parked in the thick curls on the top of
his
head.
“Almost
completely dressed,” he told her, reaching into his pocket.
Sara looked herself
over, wondering what was wrong when his hand came out, holding the
white
leather collar. Sara drew in a breath, her brows drawing together in
silent
protest, but Grissom held her gaze.
“I—“
“You.
Mine
to remold in dress, deportment and desires. Perfection starts
here.”
He
stepped
forward, pressing the slim band of soft white leather around her
throat,
buckling it loosely. The silver loop in the front was bare, and Sara
reached up
to finger it. Grissom brushed his cheek to hers as he pulled back.
“Nice—“
he
murmured, and from the other pocket pulled out a tiny glass charm with
a peach
colored silk rose imbedded within it. The charm hung on a small locking
loop;
Grissom bent and fastened it to the collar then stood back to study the
effect.
Sara tried to look down at it, and he watched her struggle for a moment
before
adding “There ARE a few mirrors in the car.”
Caught
in
her moment of vanity and curiosity, Sara made a moue and he smiled,
mostly to
himself. They carried her bags out to the car and set them in the back,
then
drove off in the warming light of a new day, arriving at the far side
of
Sara
climbed
out of the car and glanced at Grissom, who was already unloading
suitcases. The
conversation on the ride over had been light; Grissom had turned away
every
attempt she’d made to ask about the weekend.
“The
element
of surprise, Sara. We both need more of it in our private
lives.” Was the only
answer he’d given. As she stood, stretching, a large grey and
white haystack
headed down from the front porch of the
Setting
the
bags down in the middle of the gravel path, Grissom held out the back
of his
hand to the Old English sheepdog, who snuffled it. Immediately a pink
tongue
the size of a washcloth flicked out, slurping happily, and Sara snorted
as
Grissom winced a little. He patted the dog gently, however, and was
rewarded
when the back end of the animal indicated something was wagging under
the
masses of shaggy hair. Sara moved forward, was inspected as well, and
also
tasted. Her flavor seemed to appeal to the sheepdog over
Grissom’s and he
licked her far more enthusiastically.
“We
need to
get moving—he’s making me jealous,”
Grissom commented, rising and picking up
the suitcases once more. Sara parked her sunglasses on her head and
followed
him, wondering if the dog would round out the procession. He did,
trailing
happily after her up the white wooden steps of the wraparound porch.
There were
white wicker armchairs with green cushions here, and hanging baskets of
Carefully
Grissom opened the screen door and walked into the foyer of the Wild
Rose,
carefully taking in the décor with a small smile. Chintz
drapes, rose-colored
fabrics, china knickknacks in dark glass and mahogany
cabinets—the entire
sitting room looked as if it was out of a production of Lady
Windemere’s Fan. On
the floral wallpaper, round portraits of formally dressed men and women
hung
amid collections of butterflies and cross-stitched samplers.
“Colonel
Coventry, who have you rounded up now?” chirped a cheery
voice in an elegantly
British accent. This came from the woman behind the polished oak
counter along
the far wall beyond the sitting room. Sara noted the woman was barely
up to
Grissom’s shoulder, and looked almost birdlike with her
bright eyes and
fluttering hands. She wore her white hair in a tight bun pierced with
long
sticks. On her lean frame was a pale cream sweater over a frilly white
blouse
and plaid skirt, and glasses rested on her chest, held there by a
beaded chain.
She looked up at Grissom, taking in his appearance approvingly for a
moment,
and dropped a neat little curtsey.
“Oh
my, you
must be our booking for the Ivy Cottage. Mr. Grissom, isn’t
it?”
“You’re
correct. Have I the pleasure of addressing Ms. Snowe?” he
asked politely.
“One
of
them,” the woman admitted forthrightly. “Gwendolyn
Snowe. You’ve made very good
time from the city, very good time. Phoebe is out at the moment, but
the
cottage is all ready for you.”
“Wonderful,”
Grissom intoned, taking the pen she held out to him. Sara moved closer,
and
Gwendolyn Snowe studied her as well, beaming a bright smile of welcome
and
revealing teeth so white and brilliant they could only be false.
“Oh
your
chosen companion is stunning. I must say my dear; green is definitely
your color.
Sets off your eyes beautifully.”
“Uh,
Thanks,” Sara murmured, a little taken aback by the
compliment. Grissom peeked
over his shoulder at her, his tender glance so quick she might have
missed it
if she hadn’t been looking in his direction. Gwendolyn Snowe
gestured to the
counter, and Sara spied the guest book. Old fashioned and imposing, it
sat on a
swiveling wooden stand, and Grissom held out the pen to her.
“Your
turn.”
He told her in a whisper. She looked down at his bold signature and
added her
own under it, her face going red as she did so. Sara fought her
embarrassment;
this was the twenty first century for crying out loud, but the sweet
illicitness of checking into a hotel with a man still lingered in her
thoughts
and was now recorded on the page of the Wild Rose guest book. Gwendolyn
was
talking softly to Grissom.
“
. . .
Certain needs of course.
I’m so glad that
darling Mr. Kanahoe referred you to us. He’s been one of our
favorites. And
now, let me show you to your cottage.”
So
saying,
she led the way out of the main room and back through the front door;
she
pointed down a private gravel road that led down and towards
“The
cottage
is about ten minutes’ walk, rather isolated, but definitely
one with all the
amenities. Let me hitch up the colonel and we‘ll be on our
way.” She opened a
little shed and pulled out a blue dog cart with red roses painted on
it.
Immediately Colonel Coventry bounded over, giving every indication of
delight.
Sara watched Gwendolyn hitch the dog up, and load the suitcases into
the cart
with amazement.
“I
hope you
don’t mind . . . the colonel is very fond of his cart. He
often takes the
linens around for me, as well the groceries,” the older woman
explained.
Cheerfully Colonel Coventry set off at a dignified pace, the little
cart
rattling along behind him. Gwendolyn walked at his right, leading the
way, and
Sara followed with Grissom, amused at the sight.
The
air was
still cool, and wonderful scents rode on it: pine, meadow grass mostly.
They
walked along. Impulsively, Sara reached for Grissom’s hand.
Startled, he looked
down as her fingers intertwined with his, and for a moment his
expression
looked wary. But he tightened his grip, then squeezed very gently, and
Sara
fell into step beside him, feeling the odd tug and slackening of their
hands as
they walked along. Grissom’s was big around hers and warm.
She liked the size
of it, and the powerful gentleness it exerted.
A
cottage
came into view as they rounded the bend of the road, and Sara felt a
little
thrill rise up in her chest. It was small and freestanding, framed
between two
tall oaks and facing the lake. Grissom looked at her for a moment,
feeling her
reaction through the pressure of her hand in his. A frisson of
anticipation
shot through him, and he thought of some of the items packed away in
his
suitcase.
The dog cart slowed down at
they reached the steps up to the cottage; Gwendolyn Snowe turned to
smile at
them.
“Ivy
Cottage
is the most secluded of our three outlying rooms, very restful. You
have a full
bath, an outdoor tub, cable access, a queen-sized bed and several other
amenities to insure a lovely weekend,” she told them as she
waved away
Grissom’s offer to help and carefully heaved the suitcases up
onto the
trellis-lined porch. The Colonel attempted to wag his puff tail again
as Sara
brushed by him and mounted the steps. They creaked a little. Gwendolyn
handed a
key ring to Grissom and dropped another little half-curtsy, which
amused Sara
though she hid it. The sight of the tiny British woman treating Grissom
as if
he were some visiting dignitary tickled her; as if somehow the
innkeeper sensed
. . . . no. It wasn’t possible, she firmly told herself.
Grissom
climbed the stairs and let his gaze turn to take in the view of the
lake. It
glittered in the midmorning light, serene and majestic, this part of it
quietly
free of tourists or boaters. Sara breathed in a sigh.
“Gorgeous—too
bad we’ll end up sleeping through it.”
“A
man must
have his creature comforts,” Grissom observed. He handed Sara
the keys, and she
tugged open the screen door to work the lock, feeling suddenly
dry-mouthed and
shy. When the door opened, she stepped aside to let him carry the
suitcases in,
then followed him, looking around.
Grissom
was
pleased. The cottage kept to a very English look with white-plastered
walls and
low wooden beamed ceilings. The carpet underfoot was a soft sage, and
here in
the front room, the furniture was again floral, with daisies being the
theme. A
sturdy brick fireplace and hearth were the centerpiece of the room, and
over in
the tiny kitchen, the appliances were a darker green. Sara
didn’t quite coo,
but he could tell the cottage impressed her. He walked through the
front room
and to the wooden framed door beyond it, pushing it open to look inside.
The
bed
dominated the little room, the window sheers, duvet, dust ruffles and
canopy
all a field of delicate daisies. The walls here were a soft, soft
yellow, and
Grissom’s mouth twitched a little as he carried the suitcases
in. Sara was
wandering in the other room, possibly towards the kitchen, so he took a
swift
moment to examine the bed. Fingers slid down the nearest post of the
canopy,
seeking, seeking—finding. Grissom smiled as he touched the
heavy metal ring set
into the post, felt the scarf tucked there. He looked up, and near the
top of
the canopy, and another ring, the nearly the same color as the dark
wood stood
out after a moment of searching.
If
things
worked out the way he planned, he’d owe Damian quite a
thank-you note.
“That
kitchen is absolutely tiny, Grissom. I’ve seen bigger ones in
dollhouses—oh
wow. Is that a canopy bed?” Sara murmured, approaching
silently on the thick
carpet. He nodded, feeling her brush his shoulder as she stood next to
him.
“Adds
a sort
of elegance. And if the roof leaks, we’re covered,”
he commented. Sara reached
out and touched one of the posts that rose up; it was carved with long
ivy
vines, cunningly done in spirals around it. She leaned forward, and to
Grissom’s amusement, sniffed it.
“Hint
of
lemon oil. This thing’s polished.”
“Zara
. . .”
She heard the tone of his voice, felt it reach through the still
atmosphere of
the bedroom to wrap around her like a caress. Pleasure and anticipation
welled
up, making her heartbeat a little faster. She paused, and very gently
Grissom’s
hand touched the back of her neck.
It
was a
soft, slow caress, intimate and at the same time such a deliberate
action.
Grissom had touched her before, but not here, and not in this way; his
hand
sliding from her white collar down between her shoulder blades, passing
over
each delicate knob of spine as if to memorize it. Sara held still,
letting the
shiver turn inward with delight.
“Sir,”
came
her low response. He drew in a sigh and Sara felt Grissom come up
behind her.
His breath on the back of her neck right where his caress had started,
felt
hot. Her entire body was aware of him, and the anticipation of his
touch almost
hurt, it was so strong.
“What
do you
do to get ready for bed?” came his low question. Sara tried
to think.
“Um,
I
usually have breakfast, and get into pajamas and climb in,”
she told him. His
two strong hands slid around her hips, moving under the crepe top to
caress the
sensitive skin. Sara forced herself to hold still against that touch
too.
“Have
you
eaten?”
“Y-yes.”
“So
have I,”
Grissom admitted, pulling her back against him. He let his hands toy
along her
muscled stomach, sliding on the skin, enjoying the freedom to feel
Sara’s body.
He felt her tension under his fingers, the rise of gooseflesh under the
skim of
his hands. He didn’t slide them lower; instead he nuzzled
behind her ear,
breathing in the warm sweetness. “So to bed with us. Where
are your pajamas?”
That
last
remark startled her; Sara shifted to look at him. Up close the blue of
his eyes
seemed a hundred times more intense, and she could feel the warmth
radiating
off his face. She grinned a little uncertainly.
“I
. . .
didn’t bring any.”
They
both
pondered that for a long, pulsing moment. Sara saw his pupils darken,
felt his
grip tighten.
“Ah.
Good
thing I brought you some then, isn’t it, Zara?”
The
grin
became a frown.
*** ***
***
Grissom
rather liked having Sara brush his teeth for him; body service was one
of the
best perks about domination. She was pinned between him and the
bathroom
counter, concentrating carefully at working the brush with precision
over the
tops of his lower molars, trying not to laugh. He took the cup of water
from
her and leaned past her to spit in the basin of the old-fashioned
freestanding
porcelain sink. She resumed when he leaned back, aware of his arms on
either
side of her caging her in.
“Your
teeth
look good, Sir.” She observed. He arched an eyebrow and Sara
bared her own
teeth, gesturing for him to imitate her. He did, and she ran the brush
back and
forth across the front, finishing the ablutions. Once more Grissom
rinsed, and
looked at himself in the mirror over Sara’s shoulder.
“Good.”
He
murmured. Sara closed her eyes at the feel of him pressing close. Her
nearly bare
ass was on the cold porcelain, and the front of her hips were pinned by
his,
with the soft flannel of his bottoms between the two of them.
God
she was
turned on. Grissom in blue and white striped flannel should NOT be
doing this
to her. Not with him in pajamas, checking her handiwork on his teeth
for crying
out loud! And yet, being this close and doing simple things was driving
her
crazy. She’d combed his hair, washed his face, brushed his
teeth, working
quietly and deliberately as he let her attend to him.
He
straightened up and took in a deep, happy breath. “Very good.
You may tend to
your own needs and come to bed. “
It
was on
the tip of her tongue to say something flippant, but curiosity and
desire got
the better of her, and Sara nodded as he stepped out and closed the
door. She
turned to look at herself in the oval mirror, blinking at herself and
her
outfit.
Grissom
had
indeed packed—pajamas--for her. She now wore a thin little
silk thong of bright
blue, with strings that tied at the hips. And the rest of it! A thin
baby tee
of blue transparent material that was a good as going topless. She
noted her
nipples were already standing stiffly against the material, which
actually felt
very nice on her skin.
Sara
washed
her face and brushed, glad that she and Grissom actually used the same
brand of
toothpaste. She rinsed and checked herself again in the mirror, feeling
the hot
tingles building up again. Bed with Grissom. Yes, this sounded very,
very good.
He
was under
the covers when she stepped out, and the room was in semidarkness since
he’d
drawn the curtain on the only window. Sara slipped in, feeling the
coolness of
the sheets with a shiver. She reached for Grissom, seeking his warmth,
anxious
to touch him once more. She shifted closer, and he laughed a little.
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.
It
could be because you’re hardly wearing anything. That tiny
top and those
panties can’t be very warm.” He murmured as he
rolled to his side to face her.
Sara lay back, sensing his mood and eager to follow along.
“Put your hands
under your bottom, and don’t move.”
She
made a
soft sound of agreement, shifting until her hands here there and she
was lying
on the backs of them.
He flipped the
covers back and propped up on one elbow, resting his chin in his hand,
looking
down at her.
“Poor
little
Zara, nearly naked in her master’s bed. Barely a scrap or two
of clothing on.
And her pretty collar of course.” Grissom reached his free
hand up and touched
the slim band of white leather, stroking it a moment. Sara shivered,
right down
to her toes. Slowly he slid his hand down her throat and up the perky
slope of
her breast nearest him until his fingers touched her nipple, rubbing it
very,
very lightly through the shadow thin material. Lying there, Sara drank
in the
sensations coursing through her. Holding back was hard; the urge to
just grab
Grissom and roll on top of him was damned near overwhelming, but she
knew she
was supposed to wait.
God,
submission was tough when it came to sex, she decided.
Grissom
saw
her expression and laughed softly. He pinched the nipple ever so
slightly,
rolling it between his finger and thumb and the added pressure made her
moan a
little.
“You
have
such sensual breasts. Every time you’ve come to work without
a bra, I’ve
noticed. The soft shift of them under your shirt when you move, the
sight of
your hard nipples clearly outlined against the thin fabric of your
shirts,
Zara. I used to fantasize about pinning you up against the side of the
Sara
squeezed her thighs together hard, her eyes closed against this sensual
onslaught. His hand shifted to cup the other breast, fingers spreading
as his
thumb circled the aching point.
“I’d
bet I’m
not the only man you’ve excited with these breasts.
I’m sure they’ve all
wondered and fantasized about these warm sweet beauties, Zara. And
there are so
many men at work. All focusing on thoughts of your naked breasts and
what
they’d do to them if they could.”
Sara
fought
a whimper deep in her throat at that image. Ohh God he was right. Of
course he
was right, she dizzily thought. Her nipples were harder than ever,
aching now,
and Grissom was cruel enough to lighten his touch, his hand moving in
circles
on her flat stomach instead. She restlessly shifted her hips, feeling
the
syrupy heat of arousal dampening her thong.
“Shhhhh.
We
need to go to sleep, honey. They really are delectable tits and later,
if you
are a good girl, I’ll lick them all over, but right now we
need rest.”
Sara’s
eyes
opened and she turned to glare at him, but her anger shifted as she
caught his
expression. Grissom didn’t look amused. His mouth was pursed
in a disapproving
way, and his glance wasn’t on her body, as she’d
assumed, but on her face. For
the first time a little hint of fear flashed through her mind.
“I
know
best, and my word is law, Zara. You are forbidden to touch yourself and
from
that look it’s clear I can’t trust you as much as
I’d like. Take your shirt
off.”
Sara
did so
with alacrity, hoping he’d play with her breasts again, and
slightly worried
that he wouldn’t. Grissom was throwing her off-balance now,
and every sense was
alert. He took the thin gauzy teeshirt and sat up. Carefully, he
twisted it
into a long strand of material, almost a cord.
“Your
hands.”
Sara
sat up
and held them out, wondering what the hell he was up to.
Grissom
swiftly looped the material around
her wrists and tied it, tugging hard and knotting it firmly.
Sara’s mouth went
slack with surprise, but Grissom cupped the back of her neck and pulled
her
into a kiss, deep and demanding, and helpless now, she responded to it
on pure
hungry instinct, her tied hands trapped between their bodies. He pulled
back,
breathing hard for a moment.
“My
word is
law,” he repeated. “You cannot touch any part of
your beautiful body without my
permission. Put your arms around my neck and we’ll sleep that
way.”
“Sir
. . .”
Sara muttered unhappily, her arousal and frustration evident in her
tone. She
slid her tied hands over his head, feeling the heat and hardness of his
body
and amazingly just the mildest of physical contact after all that
teasing talk
soothed her. Grissom lay back down, pulling her so she lay half on his
chest,
half at his side. The fact that she was naked now except for the tiny
thong,
rubbing up against him felt erotically primitive. Feeling daring, Sara
slid her
leg over his thigh, pleased to nudge the thick rise of his shaft
through the
flannel.
In
the
semi-darkness, Grissom growled a little, the arm underneath her
tightened
around her small waist.
“Lie
still
and don’t make it worse for yourself, Zara.” Even
as he said it, his hand slid
to cup one warm cheek of her ass, and Sara deliberately ground herself
against
his hip. Heat and pressure and the scent of warm Grissom; she laid her
face
against his bare chest, rubbing her cheek along the smooth skin there.
Her hips
rocked against his leg, stroking shamelessly now. She muffled her sigh
against
his chest. Grissom’s hand on her ass tightened, pulling her
harder against him.
“You’re
very
close to earning yourself a spanking, Miss, pleasuring yourself on me
that
way,” he breathed into her hair. Sara barely heard him; she
writhed against his
hard thigh as the slick tension of the damp thong and her own
overcharged
senses grew tighter and tighter. Desperately she wanted to touch him,
but her
bound hands looped around his neck made that impossible. Her body was
overheating and between her legs, she felt the wanton swell of her
mound
eagerly pressing against Grissom’s thigh. His hand squeezed
her ass, and the
other cupped her throat, tilting her face up to his as blindly he
kissed her.
Sara sucked in his tongue; their teeth clashed, and with a low sweet
groan deep
into Grissom’s mouth she came, her skin flushing as waves of
heat and chill
rolled through her.
He
let Sara
catch her breath, resting on him, her heart rate dropping a bit as she
lay
there, damp and fragrant. It hadn’t been easy to hold back,
but it was worth
it; Grissom knew he could handle delaying his own needs to let hers be
met. And
oh the feel of her wriggling on him, willfully masturbating against his
thigh .
. . wild and sweet and strong. Sara was no shrinking violet, and the
thought
delighted him.
“You’ve
defied, me, Zara.” He whispered softly. Sara shifted a little
guiltily, raising
her tousled head. She looked into his eyes, and her face still held the
soft
blush of orgasm.
“I’m
sorry,
Sir. I was . . . tempted beyond reason.” She justified in a
low tone, amused at
how formal she sounded. Her entire body felt loose and boneless, and
she wanted
to drift off to sleep, even though a pang of guilt still bothered her.
She
couldn’t tell if Grissom was still hard.
She
found
out.
He
sighed,
and pulling the blankets off of the two of them shifted her, pulling
Sara on
top of him; the thick throb of his cock pressed hard between them
against her
pubic bone. Grissom slid his hands down, tugging and untying. Sara gave
a
little yelp as he spread his thighs. He tugged her thong away, and
lifted her
slightly; with a sudden thrust, his bared cock was trapped in the warm
smoothness
between her thighs. Sara tried to part her legs, but Grissom clamped
his big
hands on her ass and gave a low growl. He kept her legs closed, trapped
between
his strong flannel-covered thighs.
“No.
You
don’t deserve to be taken, Zara, not after willfully
disobeying my order to
sleep. So, if you can’t wear silk, you’ll wear
pearls.”
Sara
pressed
the side of her face to his, feeling the brush of his beard and closed
her eyes
as her excitement flared again. Grissom slid his cock between her
thighs, and she
tightened them, using the muscles and soft inner skin to caress his
prick as he
lifted her hips and pumped her against him. The slippery slide of that
hot,
thick shaft pushing between her bare thighs made her whimper a little,
even
though she’d already come. He gave a hungry sigh.
“Stroke
me,
squeeze me—“ His hands slid to her hips, gripping
them hard, pulling them down
against his body as he thrust up. Sara heard his heavy breathing, could
feel
his big body tense under hers. Long sweet moments of that heated
friction made
him throb, and although her arms were still trapped around his neck,
Sara
twisted, grinding lustfully against him, making Grissom groan a long
low note
of animal pleasure. “Make me come honey, do it, so close, oh
Christ sooo close
. . “ he hissed, rocking hard.
Sara
was
again too. She turned her face and softly licked his cheek. In the
softest
voice she could manage, she whispered,
“Maaaster . .
.”
With
a
grunt, Grissom bucked hard, hips rising off the bed, lifting her as his
cock
erupted, his searing pulses spurting along the insides of her thighs,
coating
them, making them slipperier with each thrust. Sara felt the spatter
along the
backs of her thighs as well, and on her ass; it was amazingly erotic
and wild
and she licked his cheek, whimpering as her body shuddered and throbbed
through
another orgasm.
They
lay
together, insensate for a while, not speaking but hovering in the
aftermath of
that grey lovely semi-consciousness. Sara loved the smell of
Grissom’s body;
the sweat and semen and salt. With a purr of satisfaction, she settled
down on
him, feeling him laugh very softly.
“We’re
going
to be glued together for a while, honey. Sorry about that, but
I’m too tired to
get up and wash.”
“Shhhh.
Sleep now. Wash later.” She murmured, kissing his neck.
Grissom sighed and slid
an arm around her, feeling content and pleased.
The bedside clock read 11:24,
and outside, the bright daylight hours
passed unnoticed by the slumbering occupants of the cottage.
*** ***
***
Grissom
woke
first, and carefully disentangled Sara from his neck. He noted that
they’d
gotten almost seven hours of sleep, and that she was still dead to the
world,
her hair in a glossy tangled nest around her head. Carefully, inch by
inch he
shifted away from her, pleased to hear her little whimper of loss as he
managed
to slip free of her and slide out of the bed.
Wincing
but
smug at the tacky feel of his pajamas, he took care of his bladder in
the
bathroom and checked out the shower. The tub was a shorter
old-fashioned one
with a hand held shower on a hook on the wall. Grissom approved. He
showered
and dressed as quietly as he could, amused that Sara slept through it
all, and
took care with his choice of clothing.
As
he
privately predicted it was the smell of coffee that finally woke her
up, and as
she came out of the bedroom, clutching his discarded shirt to herself
in her
still-tied hands and sleepily smiling, she stopped at the sight of him
in the
living room. Grissom sipped his coffee, and looked at her; she shifted
her
weight from one leg to the other, uncertain of what to do.
“Come
here,
Zara, and kneel, honey,” he murmured softly. Sara quivered a
little, then with
a slight sense of relief, did. Gracefully, she strode over and folded
onto the
carpet, amused and a bit self-conscious. Grissom held the cup out and
let her
sip from it, and the rich flavor sent a jolt of pleasure through her
frame. She
sat back on her heels, still clutching the shirt.
“Drop
it.”
Her
look was
a bit rebellious, but Grissom waited until she’d done as he
requested, then
smiled gently at the sight of her sleek elegant nudity. He leaned
forward and
began to untie her hands, pulling the knot out of the cloth.
“Good girl. This
doesn’t get you out of tonight’s spanking but
I’m glad to see you’re learning
to follow directions without balking. You need to get dressed, and
quickly
because we’re going out to dinner. I want you in your rose
corset set, one of
the black dresses and ready by my side in forty minutes, honey. And for
every minute
over that time limit, you WILL be punished.”
Sara
rubbed
her wrists and shot a worried look at his watch.
“But—“
“Later.
You
have only 39 minutes now.” Grissom sipped his coffee again,
waving her away. As
she rose and turned, he eyed the sweet shift of her ass and smiled more
warmly.
Oh
he would
definitely get her in the end.
