A Reluctant Witch in The Land of BDSM: Shame and Delight at His Hands

He pulls the cord that runs from my wrists up through a pulley above my head. My arms rise higher and I feel the low ache in my shoulders flame up in protest. I'm on the tips of my toes now, my calves are starting to burn and I can't help it if every time he makes an adjustment I only get wetter.


I should've known better, being who I am. Or, maybe, that's the reason why I didn't see this coming. Too close, too blind to remark what should have been obvious from the start.


The pulley creaks with my weight and a quiet whimper escapes through my lips. I bite down any other sound that might try to get by my guard. The master is exigent and will only make me pay if I don't follow his rules to the letter.


He doesn't notice, though, as he ties off the thin rope at a little T post thing. It reminds me of something I once saw on a sailboat, only smaller, and that seems just about right for this guy. A sailboat type...no, a yacht type of guy. He has it written all over him, with his broad chest and heavy arms. I've never seen anyone with shoulders so square. It's as if he was press formed in a mold destined to turn out lovely men. Which is what he is. Lovely, gorgeous, take your pick of whatever man candy euphemism strikes your fancy. He's all that and then some.


He bends down now and slides his hand down across my bare belly. It's flat and tight. I bust my ass at the gym and skip the pasta. The price to pay for abs that make men want to touch me, to lick me up and down like a lollipop.


He keeps going down with his hand and slips it in between my thighs, pausing just for a moment at my aching, wet epicenter. He knows I'm turned on, but refuses me and my needs, sliding his hand down my legs instead. At my ankles are a pair of leather straps that he buckles around each, cinching them in tight before finally descending to the tiny platform where I'm standing. I didn't notice before but it's actually two platforms that he unlatches and pushes apart. They follow the track of the half circle rail mounted to the wall behind me. The effect is that suddenly my legs are spread wide open and there's nothing I can do about it.


Do I care that much? It's hard to say. On one hand, what I went through yesterday with him at the controls was awful. He made me feel like absolute shit. On the other hand, I came back today, didn't I? Yeah, I did.


I think it's because he's just that beautiful. And, I use that word, beautiful, for a reason, because it isn't often that it applies well to men. Men are handsome, or rugged, or built. But this guy...he has it all. He owns the company I work for, he's built like the wet dream of a Greek goddess, and, right now, at this very moment, I'm what he's thinking about. I'm at the center of his every intention and filling his lovely green eyes with lust. And all of that's just fine except for one thing.


He's the devil.


There he is before me, perfect in so many ways...but the devil, just the same. You don't think you're ever going to meet the devil, right? That it takes a dark circle of naked worshippers off on some hill in the woods. It has to be at night, the moon up high and full, and the wind whispering of foul portents. There should be some blood letting first, then everyone whips themselves into a frenzied orgy that is meant to call up the dark one.


Only the devil takes so many forms. I know this. I am my mother's daughter, after all. But the only thing I had to do was to ask for a meeting with the boss. Mistake? You tell me once I get done with this story....