The Strip - Max

44 / Control

My eyes scanned the cabinet full of leather bits and pieces while I contemplated what was to come. I nodded my reply then brought my gaze to his. Mr. Brock's hands were once again on my hips, urging me to close the gap between us.

"Millie will hate me," I said as my eyes twitched between that cabinet and my best friend's father. In reality, I didn't give a shit about what she might think. I had a best friend named Millie for about a month when I was five. I was devastated when she moved away but believed we would remain besties forever. She had my address but never wrote. I never saw or heard from her but clung to the idea that we would someday reunite, right up until I was six. I had only ever seen her father once before they moved away. He was handsome but didn't seem very nice. The version of Millie's dad that stood in front of me was the best-friend's-dad-of-my-dreams, and what naught dreams they were. I'm sure there was some deep-seated reason for choosing the name Millie for that roleplay scenario. I thought I might bring it up with Marley the next time I saw her.

"Millie must never find out," Mr. Brock replied. "But let's not concern ourselves with that right now."

"Okay," I responded with a half step forward.

"Bridget, do you remember what I said? Who has the ultimate control here?"

"You?"

"No, Bridget," he said firmly. "You do. I will choose what I wish to do, and I will assert myself on you the way I choose. You will be under my control, but with one word from you, I will stop."

"One word?"

"Yes. Pick a word. Your safe word."

"Cheese?" I hummed after a moment of contemplation.

"That's too close to please. Try something that you would never imagine saying here. And try to pick something that can't be confused with another word if something is in your mouth."

"What would be in my mouth?" I asked with feigned innocence. "Would toast work?"

Mr. Brock thought for a moment, then nodded. "Toast works."

Mr. Brock placed a finger under my chin and tilted my head up so my gaze was directly upon his eyes, not the timid upward glances that made it clear I was being submissive.

"Bridget, look directly at me when you answer this. Do you submit yourself to me?"

I nodded my reply, but he insisted on words. "Yes, I do." For a brief moment I slipped out of that room and imagined saying those three words at an altar.

"I'm going to put one of these cuffs on your wrist. Just to let you have a feel for it. You can change your mind if it is too much for you," he said as he reached into the cabinet and removed a strip of leather with black eyelets and buckles that glimmered under the lights of the room.

My heart raced as Mr. Brock wrapped the leather around my left wrist and worked the end through the glossy black chrome buckle. It felt heavier on my arm than its actual weight. My eyes were fixated on it as its counterpart was removed from the cabinet. A silent exchange was followed by the feeling of the second cuff being secured around my right wrist.

"How does that feel?" he asked, holding my hands in a soft grip.

There was something different about the feeling of those cuffs on my wrists even before they were tethered to any fixture. And it was more than just the man that had put them on me that defined what they meant and set them apart from any previous experience I had with being bound. Something stirred deep within me. Something that wasn't simply arousal within a kinky role play scenario.

Two ropes were removed from the cabinet and loosely tied to metal loops on the cuffs. I was guided backwards to the foot of the bed, then watched as the end of the rope on my left was pulled through a loop on the bed post. The other rope was threaded through a similar fitting on the other post while both of my arms hung at my sides. After that moment, my arm wouldn't move unless he willed it.