Sara felt her sense of panic rising as she checked the bedside clock and struggled yet again with the satin around her waist. Only two minutes left, and the stupid corset was proving impossible as a one-person job. She tugged on it, moving the binder in place around her ribs, but all too aware of the loose strings hanging down her back. The black dress was laid out on the bed, still waiting, and she sighed in frustration.

 

“Let me help.” came Grissom’s soft voice. She looked over her shoulder at him standing in the bedroom doorway, his gaze on her warm and expectant.

 

He looked wonderful in his silver framed glasses, a black suit, grey shirt and matching tie with a small white tie tack. Sara squirmed at the sight of a tiny silver hoop earring in his left lobe, wondering how he always managed to surprise her.  She gave a little nod, her emotions warring within her; she’d wanted so much to be perfect, and yet unless he helped, she’d never get the corset laced up. Grissom walked over and touched the nearest bedpost, motioning to it.

 

“Here. Think Gone with the Wind, Zara and hold on.”

 

That made her grin a bit; Sara stepped forward and wrapped her hands around the solid heft of the vine-carved post. Grissom moved behind her and she felt him pick up the stays in one hand. Curious, she looked over her shoulder at him, and saw his fingers holding the strings between them, almost as if they were reins. He stroked the flat silk ties for a moment, then looked up and caught her gaze.

 

“Ah the sultry beauty of erotic discomfort, Miss. Putting your luscious body on display for my personal pleasure is the ultimate ego trip for me. To know that under your dress you’re laced up, barely clothed and impatiently waiting for my touch is delightful. When I pull--“ and he did, one long, slow steady draw that Sara felt as the corset began to firm up around her, “I wrap my very lust around you, honey. Bind you in satin as my toy; my pet, my pretty, pretty plaything.”

 

Sara gripped the bedpost, not quite gasping; the corset was snug but not impossibly so. She felt her breasts rise into voluptuous mounds over the top of the satin, felt the padded support firmly encage her ribs. Grissom tied the strings up in a magnificent butterfly knot. Bending, he brushed his beard along her bare shoulder and sighed as his hands slid around her satin covered waist.

 

“So tempted to just keep you in just this and the garter belt, but I need you to wear panties tonight. Maybe another night I’ll have you naked underneath, hmmm?”

 

“I could go without, Sir,” she volunteered a bit breathlessly, glad she’d put them on over the garter belt. Grissom laughed and picked up the dress from the bed, gently unzipping it and holding it out; reluctantly Sara slid her arms into it and let the material settle around her. Black velvet and lined in satin, the dress had a princess neckline and three-quarter sleeves, and clung to her. Sara smoothed it down, pleased at how the corset helped shape it. Grissom watched her primp for a moment. He dropped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the ruby and silver collar, letting it dangle in the light.

 

“Silver for moonlight, rubies for warmth and passion,” he told her as he unbuckled the white leather collar from her throat. Sara held still as the cool links of the silver slid around her neck. Grissom took the loops in his index fingers and tugged, pulling her closer. His probing kiss filled her mouth, made her hungry for more, and Sara hummed a little with pleasure. He broke off and sighed, shifting to kiss her forehead as he snapped a lock on the loops.

 

Sara could see it wasn’t the silver heart this time. Instead, a tiny padlock with an engraved old English letter S dangled from her collar.

 

“S is for Sir. And Slave. And slow, succulent sex,” he teased. His arms slipped around her, hiking her skirt up from the back, and the warm caress of his hands over her panties made Sara squirm with pleasure. She looked down and realized what his tie tack was with a shock.

 

It was the little plug of wax from her belly button. Grissom had mounted it in a tiny glass bubble; he followed her gaze and smiled.

 

“A souvenir of a special night. I DID say I was keeping it. And now it’s your turn to keep something for me—“

 

As he said this, Grissom slid something cool and heavy into the back of her panties. It dropped down between her legs, and Sara jumped, surprised. Grissom chuckled.

 

“My wallet. Leather, which absorbs heat and scent. You’ll guard it between your thighs, anointing it with your musk, keeping it safe and warm for me, Zara. And when I need to pay the bill, I’ll reach down under the table and retrieve it from you.”

 

Sara twitched, surprised, intrigued and slightly embarrassed. At the same time, the cool touch of the wallet along the softness of her fur made her almost laugh. Grissom let the skirt of the dress drop down again, and smoothed it, then backed up a step and looked at her. Sara felt self-conscious about the smooth weight between her hips, but managed to smile back.

 

“Dinner.” He told her softly, “And after that, a dessert to remember.”

 

***   ***  ***

 

It was an Italian restaurant, small and elegant, overlooking the lake. Sara drank in the rich scents of oregano and tomato as they were led to their table on the deck and seated. A single candle flickered in the breeze off the water, but the night was warm. Sara was surprised when Grissom took her menu away from her, but remembering the collar around her neck she merely sat back and waited to see what he could do. Sitting was only slightly uncomfortable; between the corset and the wallet she was keenly aware of her body in ways she never had been before.

 

Grissom leaned back and watched HER; the glow of the candle reflected off his glasses and flickered off his hoop earring. His expression was intent, and slightly melancholy, so Sara smiled at him in an attempt to lighten his mood.

 

“A penny for your thoughts—“ she offered gently. He managed a tiny smirk in return and deepened his attention on her.

 

“Tell me one of your fantasies, Zara. What do you indulge in across the theater of your mind?”

 

She felt the heat cross her face as she choked for a second, and saw his smirk deepen ever so slightly. Determined not to let Grissom faze her, she batted her eyes for a moment, then cleared her throat.

 

“I used to fantasize about Sir Francis Drake landing on the beach near my parent’s B&B and carrying me off to his ship, the Golden Hind,” she offered. Grissom arched an eyebrow at her and she continued, a laugh in her voice. “Oh yeah. Legend has it that he landed in Tiburon, Marin County, back about three hundred years ago. My high school history book showed an engraving of him—he looked pretty hot. Scruff, earring, rascally twinkle in his eye.”

 

“Absconded by a privateer. Intriguing. Why not a pirate?” Grissom inquired. Sara shrugged, one elegant shoulder going up in answer.

 

“Too . . . unsanitary. I guess I assumed all those Elizabethan ruffles and doublets would be a lot cleaner than pirate togs. I mean, I’m all for a natural kinda guy, but—“

 

The waiter sailed over then, nodding his head deferentially at Grissom and flashing Sara a quick, apologetic smile.

 

“Good evening, my name is Ted and I have the honor of serving you tonight. Would you like to hear Il Drago Rosso’s house specials?”

 

“Yes.” Grissom told him. Carefully the thin pony-tailed waiter described a mouthwatering veal picatta. When he was done, Grissom asked gently, “And your vegetarian offerings?”

 

“Pasta Primavera with seasonal vegetables, vegetarian lasagna and Minestrone ala Drago Rosso.”

 

Grissom ordered the veal for himself and the lasagna for Sara, along with a bottle of Pinot Grigio, then settled back once the waiter nodded and took the menus. Sara cleared her throat, shifting a little on the lump of the wallet under her.

 

“And you?”

 

“Yes?” Grissom’s expression made it clear he knew perfectly well that she was referring to their interrupted discussion, but was going to draw the question out from her. She shot him a soft glance from her lowered lashes.

 

“What’s one of YOUR fantasies, Sir?” she asked in a low, intense voice, her curiosity mingled with trepidation. He gave a gentle smile and rubbed his bottom lip with one finger.

 

“In keeping with the historical theme, I wanted to be a judge at the Salem witch trials. The idea of having a demure little Puritan girl stripping for me so I could inspect her naked body for signs of witchcraft was one of my indulgences.”

 

Sara felt a little rush through her frame at that image, sensing Grissom fitting the role of stern Colonial judge all too well. She met his glance and gave a slow nod.

 

“That is so . . . you. Austere and yet sensual. I don’t know how you keep doing that, but you do.”

 

He looked both pleased and confused, but was saved from comment by the return of Ted, who had him inspect the wine, approve of it, and take the first poured sip. Once Grissom had nodded, the waiter filled their glasses and glided away. Grissom’s fingers caressed the stem of his glass. The soft sounds of the lake filled the silence for a moment, and then he spoke.

 

“I like order, and control over what I CAN control, Zara. Rules and structure appeal to me because they impose sense onto society. At the same time, I know underneath the surface of things, we are all very primitive beings. Our cruelties and lusts and drives come through in acceptable and unacceptable ways. So rather than have my darker nature seek outlets that frighten even me, I choose to impose an order on them as well. I take my drives and indulge them in ways that satisfy my uncivilized side.”

 

Sara nodded slowly. She thought back to the darker moments of her own life, to passions and impulses and raw times that still rose up to haunt her now and then and sighed. Grissom shot her a questioning look and she turned to meet his gaze.

 

“You act out what you feel in an arena of safety then. The rules and rituals are as much to indulge you as they are to protect me.”

 

“OR, to protect me and indulge YOU, Zara. I’ve seen the killing lust in your eyes, the flare of hate and the agony of despair. You have drives as strong as mine, honey. As dangerous as mine.”

 

They were both silent for a while, but Grissom reached over and touched her hand, feeling the coolness of her fingers. Trustingly, Sara turned her hand up and he stroked his touch into the softness of her palm.

 

Ted returned with two steaming plates; Sara felt her stomach growl a little and grinned crookedly. Grissom drew in a deep appreciative breath over his veal. By unspoken agreement, they nodded once at each other and began eating.

 

There was something about being outdoors that played on the senses, Sara thought with pleasure. The food was more flavorful, the wine richer. She shifted once more, feeling the smooth press of the wallet and grinned to herself. Across from her, Grissom watched with an amused air. He knew perfectly well why Sara was squirming a bit, and it inwardly delighted him that she was willing to play along with the lighter lessons as well as the more serious ones. He sensed she hadn’t given herself permission to play much in her life and he was determined to change that a bit.

 

They ate at a leisurely pace, making small talk and enjoying each other’s company, albeit with the careful constraint to stay aware of their Game in word and gesture. Sara appreciated the courtliness of Grissom’s conduct more than she wanted to admit; despite being very much a modern self-sufficient woman, it was interesting to accept the deference and manners he’d had ingrained into him.

 

By the time they’d finished their meal both of them were feeling pleasantly but not overly, full. Sara sighed happily and watched Ted returned with two elegant boxes neatly packaging the unfinished portions of both dinners. The wine was nearly empty now, and the soft warmth of it filled her limbs and outlook with a tingle of sweetness. Grissom leaned forward over the table, his earring catching the light.

 

“Time,” he rumbled, “To begin paying, honey.”

 

Sara blinked, and then his meaning dawned on her in a flush to her cheeks. She bit her lip as Grissom scooted his chair around and slid an arm around the back of hers. He nuzzled her ear very gently, his warm breath making her want to wriggle.

 

“I take it you want your . . . wallet?”

 

“Yes. I’ll just help myself—“ so saying he leaned forward and dropped his free hand into her lap, languorously tugging up the hem of her skirt under the tablecloth and out of sight. Sara rocked a little, gripping the table as Grissom’s fingers pulled the hem up over her thighs, then slid up her stocking to reach the warmth between her thighs. Dexterously he slid his hand into her panties and waited. Sara tensed, blinking and feeling her pulse jump as his touch simply stroked the soft nest of fur between her legs.

 

“Um . . . . wallet?” she whispered, face flushing. He caught her gaze and held it; a moment of serene confidence before he smiled ever so slightly.

 

“Shhhhh. I’m sitting here in a public place with my hand on your soft little pussy, Zara. This is a moment I’ve fantasized about for YEARS,” he confessed in a tone that made her blood heat. Sara did shiver at that, and as she did, Grissom deftly slid his hand down to cup her gently, then pluck the wallet out from under her and slide it free in one smooth move up and out.

 

He shifted away from her with reluctance.

 

Sara watched him open it, pulling an American Express card and setting it on the tiny silver tray that had discreetly appeared on the far edge of the table. Grissom stroked the wallet, and then shot her a mischievous smile.

 

“Still warm.”

 

***   ***   ***

 

The tiny cottage looked almost serene in the moonlight; and the butterflies of anticipation fluttered in Grissom’s belly as he carefully unlocked the front door, then ushered Sara inside. Neither of them had remembered to leave a light on, so the entire place was dark, and mysterious. Sara hesitated just inside the door, even though there was just enough visibility to navigate without hitting any furniture. Grissom stepped in behind and closed the door, the creak the only noise in the velvety night.

 

“This is a little . . . creepy,” Sara whispered over her shoulder. Behind her, Grissom caught her shoulders, fitting his palms to them as he began to steer her towards the bedroom.

 

“Shhh. Only wonderful things are going to happen here, Zara,” he chided. They stepped into the bedroom and the pressure of Grissom’s hands tightened as he gently pressed her against the wall next to the door. “Close your eyes, stand here until I tell you otherwise,” he directed in a tone not to be argued with. Sara nodded and did, feeling the cool plaster behind her. She concentrated on sounds, and heard things—the scratch and flare of a match, followed a few seconds later by Grissom’s puff of breath. The rattle of a drawer opening. The soft little thumps of things being dropped on the bedspread . . . oh the urge to open her eyes was nearly overwhelming!

 

Grissom watched Sara struggle with herself and smiled. She was behaving, following his request; but it was hard for her. Curiosity, and a hint of fear were evident on her face even as her eyes stayed closed. He deliberately walked past her, brushing against her skirt to see her shiver as he reached for the buttons of the CD player. A second later the room was filled with the soft strains of Pavane for a Dead Princess, and Sara turned her face towards the music. Grissom circled around her, stepping much more lightly this time, and softly spoke her name.

 

“Open your eyes, Zara.”

 

Sara did, blinking a little. Two candles stood on each nightstand flanking the canopy bed, their light muted and golden. She glanced at Grissom, and then at the bed, biting her lips as she did so. He looked familiar. The things on the bedspread however . . . Grissom reached out to catch her chin and force her gaze back to his, holding it patiently.

 

“Ah-ah. Here and now, the only thing you should be focusing on is me. I need your attention here, where it belongs.”

 

“Sir.” came her frustrated little acknowledgment. Grissom nodded.

 

“Good. Take your dress off and hang it up.”

 

Slowly, Sara stepped away from him and did, letting the velvet dress slide off of her in one slow sensual ‘whoosh’ of fabric down her body. She bent, a little awkwardly because of the corset, and scooped it up, carefully placing it on a padded hanger in the closet. Every action felt magnified, and deliberate; Sara found herself dry-mouthed and more awkward than usual, and the intense blue gaze from Grissom didn’t help at all. He wasn’t smiling, and a sort of heat radiated from him, the kind of heat that made her feel very soft and urgent between her thighs.

 

 Carefully she hung the dress up and stepped back in front of him. Both of them waited a second or two, Sara feeling very self-conscious in her corset, garter belt and panties; Grissom gave a slightly impatient sigh.

 

“Now my coat and tie.”

 

Sara’s eyes flickered at his slightly gruff manner, but she undid the knot and slid the tie off, carefully draping it over her forearm as she helped Grissom out of his jacket. He undid his collar buttons as she put the coat on a hangar and looped the tie around the shoulders.  Grissom shook his head.

 

“We’ll need the tie, honey.”

 

“We will?” she blurted before she could stop herself. Grissom held out one big hand, and she pulled the tie off the hanger, handing it to him as she blushed. Grissom took it and let his hand drop, then watched as she hung up the coat, returning to stand in front of him once again. Part of her wanted to look behind him, at the bed and what lay on it, but she fought that desire and kept her gaze on his face.

 

Grissom for his part was fighting hard not to laugh. Nothing about this moment was even remotely frightening, yet Sara looked like a fawn in the headlights of a truck. He reached out to cup the side of her face, and trustingly her eyelids fluttered as she rubbed against his palm a tiny bit, the velvet of her cheek arousing him deeply.

 

“Tell me, pretty one, why are you going to be spanked?” he asked in a low and playful voice. Sara’s eyes opened and her mouth pursed gently.

 

“Because . . . I did some . . . inappropriate rubbing?” she tried to sound regretful, but the curve of her mouth at the memories betrayed her. Grissom nodded.

 

“After you’d been warned. That was . . . unacceptable. When you wear my collar, you have no rights of your own, Zara. You give them all to me until the Game ends or your use your safeword. And because neither of those happened this morning, I have no choice but to punish you for your willful disobedience. Are you ready to face the consequences of your defiance?” his voice was soothing and mild as he asked this, the same sort of tone he’d use asking about paperwork, or if traffic was bad somewhere. Sara fought a giggle.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Grissom drew a mental breath, knowing it was time to tighten the focus on the mood.  He swiftly dropped his hand to Sara’s shoulder and spun her around, then took her arms and crossed her wrists behind the small of her back, tying them there. He moved so quickly, so silently that Sara barely registered her constraint until the loops tightened. She tugged, and rocked forward, but Grissom finished the elaborate bow and slid a hand over her shoulder, cupping her chin.

 

“Shhhhhh. We’ve only just begun. Look—“ he pointed to the dresser against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Sara realized the mirror over it was wide enough and low enough to show most of the room, and certainly both of them standing there. Grissom moved behind her, his big hands on her bare shoulders, his beard lightly scraping the side of her neck as Sara watched and felt him at the same time. The tiny hoop in his ear caught the light and glittered.

 

“Long and lean and lovely. But not scared. Too defiantly sure of herself to ever be scared. And yet . . .” he turned his face and kissed the smooth shoulder under his lips. Sara’s eyelids fluttered as the whiskery heat of that kiss shot pure lust through her. Grissom bared his teeth and nipped; she quivered, surprised but not hurt. In fact, the unexpected move made her blood surge a bit. He chuckled and straightened again, kissing her ear this time, and the image of them in the mirror; she in her rose colored corset, arms behind her, and Grissom in his unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks, struck Sara as unexpectedly lovely.

 

“Come—“ Guiding her by the elbow, Grissom led her back and around to the side of the bed and let her look at the items on the daisy bedspread. Sara tugged a little at her tied wrists as she noted them and their incongruity: a wire whisk, a ping pong paddle, a wooden hairbrush, a rubber cake spatula, and near them, three little plastic bottles, unlabeled, but filled with liquids in different colors. A green one, a red one and an orange one.

 

“Uh . . . Gr—Sir?” she managed to pack a world of concern in that single word, turning her face to look at him. Grissom bent forward and languidly kissed her, one hand slipping behind her head, bringing her to him, and Sara opened her mouth under his eagerly. His tongue toyed with hers, demanding attention, and Sara groaned a little at how it teased until he broke off the kiss and smiled at her.

 

“You are as always, sweet as sin. I want you to choose your tool of punishment, Zara. One of these four or my hand, the decision is yours. They all inflict a different feel, stings of various thrill and heat, so choose carefully.”

 

Sara jerked her head back to look at the collection, biting her lip as she did so. Her shoulders tensed as she asked, “And the bottles . . . Sir?”

 

“Call them—enhancers. One burns, one cools, and one soothes. Again, your choice, as always.” Grissom finished, watching her. Sara lifted her shoulders and looked back to the bedspread. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror’s reflection, noting the dangle of the grey tie behind her back, the gleam of her dark hair in the candlelight. The music played on, softly, and she let her gaze turn to the tools as she shifted, feeling fresh heat between her legs.

 

“Your hand,” she decided firmly. Sara caught Grissom’s tender smile and answered it with one of her own as he nodded.

 

“Tactile to the core. Hungry for kiss of skin to skin, oh yes. I can do this—“ he rumbled. Sara heard the thickness of desire in his voice and felt her nipples stiffen at that sound. Grissom picked up the tools and carefully set them on the nightstand near the candle, then took the bottles and held them up to her. “Pick a color.”

 

Feeling reckless she drew in a shuddery breath. “Red, please. Definitely red.”

 

Grissom closed his eyes. The lust within him was surging hard now, making it difficult to concentrate on being slow and calm. The beast was there, just under the surface, unbuckling its collar, and he had to take a deep breath to regain control. He carefully set the orange and green bottles down, then turned back to Sara, gripping the red one tightly.

 

“Take off your panties.”

 

She’d half-expected that request, but still, to hear it from Grissom’s mouth, low and urgent, sent a surge through her system. Sara struggled, trying to hook her fingers on the elastic behind her, but with tied hands it was difficult. She squirmed a little, knowing she probably presented a funny picture. Grissom did chuckle. He reached over with his free hand, pinching the edge of lace on her hip. He tugged.

 

The tiny rose material reluctantly began to slide down, catching on the edges of the garter belt, and Grissom shifted his touch to the other side until her panties were just above her stocking-covered knees.

 

“Zara, look over your shoulder—“ he directed in a slightly hoarse tone. She did, seeing her long back through the corset lacing in the mirror, her tied hands and rounded ass, the little scrap of underwear clinging to her knees. Sara felt her pulse beat harder, her nipples rucker tightly as the evocative image.

 

“Such a naughty picture you make, Zara. I love seeing your panties just halfway down, and your lovely ass naked for me. Come here.”

 

He sat on the edge of the bed and indicated his lap; Sara stepped over and awkwardly bent down across his strong thighs, trying to keep her balance. It was tough; with her hands behind her she had no way of bracing herself, but Grissom gripped her waist and encouraged her to relax, shifting her until she felt a bit more comfortable. She couldn’t hold still—the air on her bare ass, the tightness of the corset, the feel and masculine scent of Grissom under her—all of this was threatening a sensory overload, and Sara knew her body was tensing, throbbing in deep places. She wanted to kiss him, to feel him push deeply into her.

 

Grissom’s hand slid into her hair and very, very gently tugged her head up—Sara looked across the room into the mirror once more, seeing herself over Grissom’s lap, ass up, wide-eyed and trembling. The corset pushed her breasts into sweet globes bulging over the top of it, making her collar jingle. He let go of her hair.

 

“Watch.”

 

Gently he stroked one hand over her ass, a light touch, but enough to send a shiver through her. With the other, he flipped open the cap of the red bottle, and poured some of the ruby liquid onto her. It hit right in the cleft of her bottom, running north and south; Sara yelped at the sensation.

 

Cool, ticklish . . .

 

Grissom set the bottle down. The hand closest to her head slid under her chest in a strong, supportive grip that she relaxed against, feeling the brace. The other hand slid over her butt, smearing the liquid lovingly over the globes of her ass, spreading it evenly around. Sara moaned.

 

“In a minute you’ll feel it, honey. This ass is gorgeous, Miss. I long for, lust for this ass.” he growled. The touch of his hand sliding over slickened skin drew another moan from her, and Sara felt behind it, heat.

 

Heat. The sensation grew everywhere he touched, the soft bite of menthol, warming her bottom, making her breathe hard. Grissom felt her struggle a bit and tightened his grip, not harshly, but firmly. His fingers cupped around the curve of her ass, sliding along the backs of her thighs and between them, only touching her legs and going no higher.

 

“Ohh! It’s hot!” she gasped, feeling a little betrayed. Grissom gave a little grunt of agreement. When he’d spread the oil around evenly, he merely stroked her bottom, rubbing it in deeper. Sara felt the hard prod of his cock against her stomach, even through the corset and his trousers, straining hard, and the incendiary moment caught up with her as she began to roll her hip in serious anticipation.

 

“S-Sir—“ came her husky moan. Grissom closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. He brought his hand down at the perfect angle, catching the blow right on the sweet curve of her rump, letting it sting. Sara yelped, lurching forward on his lap. He held her with his other arm, sliding the hand until he could hook a thumb into the corset between her breasts and anchor it.

 

“Five more strokes, Miss Zara. My handprints will bloom across your bottom . . .” he promised in a strained voice. Sara tensed, fighting the burn that was sinking into her ass even as he spoke. It hurt, but not as much as it infuriated her hungers. Gritting her teeth, she bit back a whimper as the second blow dropped swiftly, the smack of it loud over the classical music. Sara lifted her head to look in the mirror.

 

She looked . . . possessed. Big wild eyes, tousled hair, breasts pushing hard against the corset, and Grissom’s hand between them. Turning her face she pressed a kiss to his arm and felt his cock throb hard under her as he bit back an oath.

 

Another smack, lower, marking her thighs and for a moment, sending a delicious plunge of heat right through her pussy. Sara sucked in a breath, thrilled and blushing, feeling the entire tenor of the spanking change. God, to be smacked there again, please, yes . . .  She tried to lift her ass higher, making Grissom laugh. He dropped another slap, teasingly centered above where she wanted it, and Sara growled.

 

The fire all along her backside was maddening, making her nerves sing. She wanted Grissom, wanted him so much that her stomach clenched hard.

 

“Two more, honey. Hard or soft?” he asked in a gentle voice.

 

“Hard. And . . . right!” she demanded, knowing that didn’t make any sense, but hoping, praying Grissom would know what she meant. His hand sailed down, hitting the sweet bottom curve of her ass, sending that wonderful jolt of heat through her once more, one that made her groan as she felt her body shamelessly clench with the searing flood of pleasure.

 

“Sir, again, please, again!”

 

The last blow landed perfectly, and this time Grissom left his hand on her bottom, the heat trapped between his palm and her ass, intense enough to burn and throb. Sara felt tears fall, feeling as if every cell in her body wanted to be fucked, to be squeezed and plundered.  She groaned. Grissom shifted her off of his lap, then gently pushed her forward to rest her torso on the edge of the bed as he moved behind her.

 

“Want you,” came his rasp, low and urgent. Sara turned her head, looking in the mirror at Grissom looming behind her, his big hands sliding over her reddened ass. “Taking you—“ he opened his tenting slacks and let his cock jut out. Gripping it, he used the blunt head of it probe between her stocking-covered thighs. Sara spread her legs eagerly, arching her back, fighting the tie around her wrists.

 

“Please, yes, please!” She cried as Grissom yanked her hips up and plunged into her slick folds. Their groans echoed in the room, loud and hungry; deep. Sara bit the bedspread under her chin, as she felt her body gratefully take the sweet solid shove of Grissom’s cock into her. Each juicy thrust squelched; Sara felt every vein, every ridge of it moving within her, stroking her walls and making the burn go deep.

 

Her body bounced a little under the power of his thrusts, and she managed to turn her head to watch in the mirror. The sight of Grissom still dressed, his hands on her glowing ass, burying himself deeply in her was enough to make her come. Sara shuddered joyously, clenching around him, wave after luscious wave of pleasure wracking her long frame. Dimly she lost track of anything but his growled shout as Grissom slammed himself into her hips, pinning her on the bed, his hot hungry weight a welcome blanket of pressure.

 

***   ***   ***

 

He washed her in the shower later, carefully, rinsing away the last traces of diluted menthol and kissing her skin from feet to temples. Sara let him, sensing a humbled gratitude in his slow administrations. Grissom left the silver collar on her. he dried her off in the big fluffy towels, then scooped her up and carried her to the living room and set her on the sofa.

 

The gas jets of the fireplace worked perfectly, and within a short while they were comfortably entwined on the sofa. Sara fed him spoonfuls of cherries in chocolate ice cream, reaching around as she rested against his broad, bare back.

 

“How did you know this was my favorite ice cream?”

 

“I’m your master. I know all, honey.”

 

“Really? All?”

 

“Most. Observation, inquiry and hypothesis.”

 

“Very . . . scientific of you. You’re a highly intelligent Master.”

 

“Thank you. More please.”

 

“A hungry, intelligent Master. Didn’t we just have dinner a few hours ago?”

 

“Ah, but think of the calories we’ve burned very recently. And those we’re about to burn. You did bring good walking shoes didn’t you?”

 

“Uh, yeah—“

 

“Wonderful. You and are going out on the lake tonight. It should be a perfect night for what I have in mind.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Fishing.”

 

“Ah. At least I won’t need sunscreen.”

 

“You might need mosquito repellant though, since you’ll be topless.”

 

“Gr—SIR!”

 

“Shhhhh. Fifteen minutes, Zara. Jeans, shoes and pretty collar. Everything else stays here.”