City Of Need

🔥 28 ❤️‍🔥 Cake Walk

Rosy

I'm still giggling as we walk through the front door of my apartment. London's face is a picture of annoyance. But he lost fair and square, so now he has to take the consequences.

I walk through the living room and into the devastated kitchen. It still smells
of smoke. I hold out my hands and say, 'This will be my prize Sir.'

'What do you mean?' He frowns.

'I want you to paint my kitchen.'

A laugh bursts from him, 'You want me to paint your kitchen? That's it?'

'What did you think I was gonna do?'

'God, I have no idea. I thought you'd want to reverse the rules. Go all Domme on me!'

'Domme you? Are you kidding? Why would I want to do that?'

I'm a player, I don't show my cards. I don't tell London that him painting my kitchen means I don't owe my sister a favour. It also means I don't have to have Mac hanging around my kitchen doing that thing he does of making everyone fall in love with him. Bastard. I've learned my lesson there.

London clears his throat and says. 'Because, Roxy Wilde, that is what you're like. You get off on being in control. Even when you're not in control you're in control.'

'Pot, kettle,' I say. Pointing first at myself and then at him. 'Painting this kitchen will be your job for the next 24 hours.'

'Fine,' he grumbles. But I can tell he's relieved. There's something underneath London Ramona's skin. Something unsettled. Some fear of losing control. Me testing that control by doming him is not something I want to do.

The worry on his face on the cab ride here got me wondering. Why did he leave The States? What happened to him there that he had to come all the way to London to get a break? No one gives that up without good reason.

He smiles at me, that wolfish grin of his back in place now he knows what's happening. 'I'll paint your kitchen Baby. But I won't be able to buy the paint till the morning. I wonder what we can do to pass the time...'

*

Fifteen minutes ago we were in the kitchen. How did we get from sparing there, to me being shackled to a wooden cross in this bloody basement?

I pull at the restraints on my wrists. They don't budge. My arms are above my head. I'm completely naked, except for my collar. I move my ankles one at a time, testing those restraints, but again they don't budge.

'You remember the safe word?' He asks.

'Yes Sir.'

'Good girl. And what do you do if you can't speak?'

'Click my fingers Sir,' I say rolling my eyes, because why so we have to go through the same questions every bloody time?

'Roxy,' he snaps, 'Did you just roll your eyes at me?'

'No,' I say innocently and bat my lashes.

'Yes you did. Don't make it worse by lying.'

I try and shrug but it's hard to do with my damn arms stretched above my head.

'Really? You're really shrugging your shoulders. Oh Baby you are pushing your luck tonight.'

'Yeah, well...' I mutter. 'I don't even know why I'm here. I'm the one that won the game.'

He closes the space between us and bites the lobe of my ear gently. 'You're here, because you want to be here.'

My nipples immediately pebble and I blush as goosebumps erupt across my skin. He's not wrong. I need him to be back in control. If I keep worrying about things that may have gone wrong for him I'm going to start caring a little too much. This is a five week thing, not some sweet romance. That's not what I want.

'What do you want, Baby Doll?'

I frown, confused. What does he mean? Surely it should be him telling me what I want. What do I want anyway? A good time? Pain? Pleasure? Agony? Love? Wait - what? What did I just think? Love - what the hell. That is not what I want.

He stares intently at my eyes, then my lips, then his eyes roam down to my breasts, then back up to my eyes. I start to squirm. He still hasn't touched me and I need him to touch me.

'I'm waiting for an answer,' he smiles darkly.

'You... your hands... on something that will make me feel... something harsh...'

'You need to feel pain?'

I nod.

'Yes, I know,' he says and he almost sounds sympathetic. 'You want me to take all your thoughts away don't you?'

'Yes..'

'Yes what?' He says sharply.

'Yes Sir.'

He walks to the shelves that line the basement. His eyes scanning all the instruments of torture. They land on the crop.

'That won't be enough.' I whisper my words but still he hears me.

He spins around, is that anger in his eyes or lust? 'Are you telling me what to do Roxy?'

'No, I just meant, I need more.'

He takes the crop from the shelf and walks back to me.

'Don't try to top me, Baby Doll.'

'I wasn't.' The chains of the wrist restraints jangle as I shrug again.

'Oh, Baby, you really are in trouble now.' His eyes are back on my mouth, my breasts, they land on my pussy. 'I'll show you how harsh the crop can be.'

Fuck, no... does he mean... is he going to strike my pussy? His eyes stay where they are as I try and close my legs and then he laughs. But the laugh holds no humour. It's a demonic thing. A controlling noise. Designed to make me feel as afraid as I have craved to feel. As controlled as I have pushed to be.

'Now how many strokes should I start out with?'

I know it's a rhetorical question. I know if I answer he'll add more strikes. So I keep silent.

'Cat got your tongue Baby?'

I shake my head determined not to fall into his trap.

'Ah, ok. I see. You're playing it safe. Very sensible. In that case we'll start with five strikes.'

I grin inwardly. Five strikes with a crop is easy. I can do that in my sleep. 'This is going to be a cake walk.' London's eyes scorch mine and I realize too late - Oh crap, I said that out loud...