“Only most of the time?”
“My liking of a challenge is indirectly proportional to the amount of bondage I’m in.”
The three men chuckled.
“Is that so?” I asked, and without waiting for a response, tickled her side.
She yelped and twisted, stepping on part of the peg-covered mat. “Ouch.” She moved back into position, but doing so made the ropes shift. “Oh.”
I tickled her again. “Bit of a predicament, wouldn’t you say?”
She only sucked in a breath, but she still couldn’t hold position. Poor Abby was so very ticklish. I took another feather and started tickling her with both.
I ran them down her back, around her waist, and under her arms. Just as I thought, Abby squirmed and danced, trying to get away from one feather, which only sent her into the path of the other. And each time she moved, the rope I’d placed around her clit had to be driving her crazy.
I decided to arouse her even more and circled her nipples while tickling right where the rope rubbed that supersensitive spot.
“You like that?” I asked.
“Oh yes, Master.”
“You know our guests are watching you get turned on by my two feathers?”
“And the rope, Master.”
I tickled her again so it moved against her. “Right, we can’t forget the rope.”
I fell into a rhythm, which allowed her to drift into subspace. Soon, I had her swaying back and forth and before too long, she wasn’t even trying to stay on her toes. Her feet were on the pegs and she moaned in bliss every so often.
“What color are you, Abby?” I asked.
“Green, Sir.”
“Shall I continue?”
“Mmm,” she hummed, and swayed, causing the rope to hit a new spot. “Oh!”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Master.” She sounded dreamy. “If it pleases you.”
I ran the feather down her side. She hummed and tried to get closer. Apparently, that shifted the ropes in a way they hadn’t rubbed before and she sighed and began rocking back and forth again.
“None of that, now,” I chided. “You don’t have permission to come.”
“Verflucht,” she said, which I guessed was a curse word. But she stopped rocking.
I knew she’d start with the German at some point and I wanted to play with her mind a bit. So I glanced to my side and nodded at Cole.
“Watch your language. I know more German than you,” he said.
“Entschuldigung, Herr,” she said in apology.
“I was mentored in Germany by the most badass Dom you can imagine.”
She swallowed a laugh at his accidental reference to the nickname given to him by submissives who’d played with him.
“Let’s just say I know all the German words,” Cole said.
She stopped trying to make the ropes move and went back to gently swaying. I kept her in subspace for a few more minutes and then began tickling her less and less. Her movements slowed and finally, I set the feathers down and unbuckled her arms from the cross. She dropped to her feet with an “Ouch!”
I immediately picked her up and carried her over the pegs until we reached a thick rug I’d placed on the platform. There I gently put her back on her feet while I undid the ropes. She let out a deep breath as they fell away from her.
“Move your legs, if you need to,” I said. Though the sensation of the rope had been pleasurable while she was in the scene, she’d probably be in some discomfort once it was over.
“Do I need to massage your legs?” I asked.
“No, Master.”
When I set up our new playroom, one of the things I’d done differently from our playroom in New York was add a large aftercare area. I’d furnished it with a plush couch and minifridge stocked with juice and bottled water. The night before, I’d set out a large blanket, and once we sat down, I draped it over her.
The three men took their cue to leave the play area. I’d told them earlier to wait for us in the kitchen and Abby had laid out snacks for them to enjoy.
Once they were gone, I turned my entire focus on her. One of our aftercare routines involved me rubbing her feet, so this was familiar and calming for both of us. She sighed as I took a foot in my hand. It was red on the bottom, but while the skin was tender, it wasn’t broken. I massaged a soothing lotion into her arch, gently moving down to her toes and across the ball of her foot.
“You have the most amazing hands, Master,” she said. “I’ve told you this before, yes?”
I kissed her big toe. “You have, my lovely. But feel free to tell me again.”
“Your hands are amazing, Master.”
“You’re pretty amazing, too.” I slowly worked the lotion into her skin and took a pair of supersoft socks I had waiting. I slipped one of them onto her foot.
“Makes me feel a bit like Cinderella,” she joked as I placed that foot down and motioned for her to give me her other one.
“Does that make me Prince Charming?”
She brushed her hand down my arm. “You’ll always be my Prince Charming.”
We shared a smile as I cared for her other foot. Reconnecting like this after a scene always made us closer. Usually, we’d take our time and even curl up in bed for a catnap, but since we had guests, I thought it was time to make our way out of the playroom.
“Can we go check on the kids before we head to the kitchen, Master?” she asked.
“Of course. Are you ready to go now, or do you want to wait a bit longer?”
“I can go now.”
I stood up and helped her into the outfit she’d brought down earlier. While we got her dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, I watched for any sign that would tell me her feet were in too much pain. Satisfied she was okay, I took her hand and we went to pop in on the kids.
Lynne, Elizabeth, and Henry were in what we called the nursery. It was really just the children’s playroom, but neither Abby nor I was comfortable calling it that. Lynne and Elizabeth were playing house in the large dollhouse my cousin, Jackson, and I had made for her last birthday. Henry was pushing his dump trucks and tractors around. Abby giggled when she saw he had one of Elizabeth’s dolls on top of the tractor, acting as if she were driving. Nothing like doing farm work in a silver cocktail dress.
I knocked on the doorframe. Elizabeth turned and, seeing us, hopped up and ran over to give us hugs. “Mommy! Daddy! Lynne is fun. Can she stay? For always?”
I kissed the top of her head. “We’ll see. Are you playing dolls?”
“Yes, I’m the mommy, Lynne’s the little girl, and Henry’s the daddy. But he won’t play with the boy doll, so Lynne’s being the daddy, too.”
Henry picked up the silverly clad doll and nodded. “Pretty.”
“You can’t wear a fancy dress on a tractor,” Elizabeth told her brother.
He held the doll to his chest. “Mine!”
“Just let him play,” Abby said. “At least he’s not throwing