****This chapter is going to be smutty. It might not be any good, but it is there nonetheless. And I do not feel bad. You have been warned.
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy. Now, when I let go of your wrists I want you to go into my bedroom and strip to your underwear, then lay flat on your back on my bed. I'll be in there in a moment." My hands begin to tingle as he releases his grip on my wrists, turning on his heel and heading towards the kitchen to get who knows what. I mentally argue with myself for about .5 seconds, wondering what he would do if I just locked myself in my room and went to bed. But honestly, I am kind of afraid of him. I know he would never hurt me, not even in his current state, but there are other ways to make a guy shake.
I have just reached the decision to ride this out and see what will happen when Mitch turns the corner and sees me still standing in the entryway. He freezes in his tracks and irritation dances across his features as my brow furrows at the items he's collected. In one hand he holds a cup of ice water and a washcloth, the other a bottle of chardonnay.
"You have specific instructions, yet you're still in the same place you were when I gave them to you. Am I going to have to carry you in there and put you over my knee?" His voice is hard, and he shows no sign of joking. I shake my head.
"What was that? I don't think I heard you correctly." He begins to take slow steps toward me, his head cocked to the side.
"No, sir."
"No, sir what?"
"No, sir I don't want you to bend me over your knee." I thought I would feel goofy saying that out loud, but the mental images it brings to mind make me want to do anything but laugh. He gives a curt nod, then heads off towards his room, me following close at his heels.
As soon as the door closes behind me, he instructs me to do as I was told earlier. Once I'm stretched out across his bed, he steps up beside me with his arms crossed, gaze raking over my exposed body.
"You're complacency is surprising, Scott. I honestly imagined you putting up more of a fight. Would you like to tell me why?" He reaches into the drawer of his bedside table, pulling out something I can only hope is not a pair of nipple clamps or something equally as demeaning.
"No, sir. I would not." This was apparently the wrong thing to say. He stops fiddling with whatever he pulled from his drawer and pins me with his gaze, holding his hand up in the small sliver of light from his window to reveal a set of Velcro straps.
"I was planning on being easy with you, Scott. But it seems to me that smart mouth of yours doesn't quite deserve easy yet. Stretch your hands above your head."
I swallow hard and do as I'm told. I hear the drawer open and close again, followed by a series of clicks...handcuffs? My suspicions are confirmed a second later when I feel cold metal constrict around my wrist, then the other cuff secured around the bedpost. Mitch walks around the bed and gives my other wrist the same treatment, loose enough to be bearable but tight enough to hurt if you pull too hard. Kirstie was right. Mitch is crazy.
"This is your first lesson: restraint. You've never had a major problem with it, but you will need to be better at it to proceed to the next lessons. I plan on spending one night on this, but it can carry into tomorrow morning if I think you need it. The rules are simple: you will not do anything but lie still unless I tell you otherwise. Any questions?" Why didn't I run away when I had the chance? I'm going to be so bad at this.
A snarky comment sits on the tip of my tongue, but I decide not to take any chances. "What about sounds, sir?"
"Sounds, but not words. I don't want to gag you but I will if I have to. Do you remember the panic word?" Ah, yes. The panic word.
