Ice Queen
Chapter Seven

Before she could recover her wits and try to re-weld her considerable shields in place, he bent and lifted her up in his arms, guiding her arm so it was around his neck.
Her other hand stayed curled in his shirt front as he lifted her, turned and moved out of the living area toward the wide staircase to the second landing.
"What are you doing? Why are you - "
"Carrying you."
"Put me down." Her voice was weak, her body still moving with sexy convulsive shudders that made his cock even harder.
"That's 'Put me down, Master', and it should have a please at the front and a question mark at the end."
Marguerite ground her teeth. "Would you please put me down?"
"No. Just hold on."
She tightened her grip but realized immediately she was quite safe. She'd never thought of herself as a woman who could be carried, because of her height and just...
Well, because it had never occurred to her. Since he wouldn't release her she was forced to experience being held in a man's arms, a man apparently strong and balanced enough to carry her up the stairs two at a time with nary a break in pace. It put her body in close proximity to his, of course. Her arm around his neck, her side pressed against him and the cloth of her open shirt crumpled in between. Her breasts were still bare, such that he was indulging himself in a thorough study of their liberal movements caused by his strides.
"You should keep your eyes on the road," she said, noting how far up the stairs they were.
"Marguerite, in another minute, I'm going to gag you."
"I thought we'd already covered restraints."
"First off, there may be overlap in the requirements that will bring restraints into play again. Second, a gag is not a restraint. It's a life-saving device to keep me from strangling you. Hush now."
"My suitcase - "
"Robert put it in our room."
"Our room. What - " She closed her eyes at his look. Sucking in a deep breath, she made a concentrated effort to try and conform to the rules. "May I ask a question?"
"You may."
"Why would we be sharing a bedroom?"
"You know the answer to that. Being a sub is about being available to your Master's desires at all times."
She would be sharing the same room with him, possibly the same bed. And while she'd laid down the rule of no sex, how could she have anticipated or even framed a rule of "no intimacy"? She would have been better off allowing sex and then perhaps he wouldn't have put so much effort into the other. Or perhaps the best way to have avoided the trap was not to have faced the hunter at all.
He took her into a bathroom large enough to be a master bedroom. With its separate sauna and hot tub it reminded her of the kind of bathhouse the Romans might have favored. Towels stacked next to a tray covered by a hand towel drew her attention to a shallow square tub filled with steaming water about three feet deep. He lowered her to her feet as effortlessly as he had lifted her and she found she needed to hold on to him a moment to steady herself, the aftereffects of the orgasm still affecting her.
"I'm going to undress you and lay you in that pool, massage your muscles with the jets." He drew her forward and uncovered the tray, revealing a gleaming line of shaving implements, lotions and creams. "And when you're lying there relaxed, I'll spread your legs and shave your pussy. Make it smooth for my touch. Preparing and handling a sub's body intimately is a critical part of being a submissive and a pleasure to a Master."
He was sure she had no idea she'd gone as white as a sheet. Calling on the streak of ruthlessness that he'd employed before in the face of a sub's fear, he used it now with calculated, benevolent intent. Knowing the woman in his bathroom was off balance because the world she'd known was tilting on its axis, he was determined to have her tumble safely into his hands.
"Think about your subs. Those preparations you've chosen to do yourself.
Understanding what they were feeling as they submitted to your touch, knowing everything you did to them was your Will. Because it brought you pleasure and them pleasure as well. All right?"
She nodded, a bare movement, her gaze on something distant. Using a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. "Unlike some Masters, Marguerite, remember, I want you to always look at me when I speak at you."
When she raised her lashes, those clear pale eyes focused on his. His heart lurched at the visible attempt to keep panic under wraps. This was more than a Domme wary or even anxious about losing control. From her violent reaction at the table, he knew it sincerely frightened her.
Taking both of her hands, he held them, encasing ice in warmth. Letting her feel the pressure of his fingers. "I'm going to undress you now. You'll stay still, only moving when I tell you that you have permission to move. Tell me you understand." She nodded again, a quick jerk.
When he unbuttoned her cuffs and took the shirt off then the bra, Marguerite couldn't help but notice the gentle strength of his hands. She often shied away from being touched by adults, though she could manage the casual cordial touches that typified Southern relations in her tearoom with clients like Mrs. Allen. The few times a man had touched her she'd been neutral about it, uncertain or decidedly uncomfortable.
This felt different, this slow glide of skin over skin, again that heat sinking into her, the power that could take her over, force her physically to do what she didn't think she wanted to do.
Her unfastened trousers were low on her hips and he slipped those down her legs, circling her hips with one arm to steady her, his palm comfortably braced on her buttock as he removed her shoes.
While she did prepare her subs herself to a certain extent, she knew that he was aware she mainly focused on restraints. This intimacy she did not do. She usually had her subs undress themselves if they were not already restrained but oddly it did not seem servile for him to be attending to it. It felt like he'd taken the reins from her and was handling everything. Keeping it personal.
When he took her slacks over her feet she had nowhere but his shoulders to place her hands for balance, so she cupped one palm over the solid bone and muscle, feeling the fabric of his shirt, the shift of his body as he removed her panties. His thumbs slid intimately into the crease between thigh and pubis, making her feel the slick moisture there because of the startling climax he had pulled from her body. It wouldn't happen again. He'd caught her off guard. Her experiencing sexual pleasure wasn't one of the requirements and she needed to exercise better control. He probably thought her a poor Mistress, so quickly gotten off.
Why did she care what he thought? And why was she vacillating between professional pride and female vulnerability?
"You're thinking so hard there's smoke coming out of your ears." He rubbed his thumb over her clit, making her gasp. "You're still swollen there. You'll arouse again in no time. You're so beautiful, angel."
She blinked, surprised. She hadn't anticipated romance but it was in his face and voice as he looked at her. The sternness of a Master was in the set of his jaw and eyes, the resolution. That, along with the proprietary gaze he directed over her body created resentment but she knew that was knee-jerk and likely based on fear. Below that was something else, something that left her a little breathless and weak-kneed, an altogether perplexing reaction for her.
His gaze descended, lingered on the ragged scar just below her knee, an oblong, rough-edged mark.
"Looks like a bone came through there." He went lower, to the second one at her shin. "And there." His fingers touched it. "Part your thighs for me." Determined not to hesitate, she took one step out, as rigid as a soldier. But it seemed her muscles could not help tensing as his touch followed the inside line of her thigh.
She had to will herself not to clamp her thighs shut. "Clasp your hands behind your back, Marguerite."
The classic sub pose, allowing the Master unimpeded access to touch anything he wished. Legs spread, arms self-restrained and out of the way. His thumb and forefinger gently pinched her clit again, then he combed through the soft down of clipped hair over her pussy, his attention traveling up to her breasts, now tilted up from his ordered pose.
"You'll be lovely shaved."
"Why is it that men like a woman's pussy so bare?"
"To see it better, of course. And because a woman reacts so much more intensely when the skin is exposed to the least amount of friction. You keep yours nicely trimmed, though. Why do you, since you rarely take your clothes off at The Zone?"
"I...I like the way it feels. Shorter."
"Hmm. Well, it's about to be not only short but gone." When he pressed a control, she watched amazed as a stone square slab rose up in the center of the bathing pool until it was about six inches from the surface of the water. There were eye bolts embedded along the sides. Then he drew a full head mask from between two of the bathing towels. The mask only had one opening, for the mouth.
"When I lay you down on that tablet, I'll put this on you and bind your legs, arms and upper torso securely using those bolts." His voice was mild, inexorable, his eyes pinning her in place. "Once I have you immobilized with the mask on, I'll tilt the stone tablet so your head and upper body just past the breasts will be below the surface of the water. Your hips, pussy and ass will be just above it, elevated so I can do a better job of removing the hair." He picked up a soft rubber tube and mouthpiece. "This will allow you to breathe."
She stared at him. "Well, I guess when I said do it all at once..." She broke off, took a step back. Then another. "I... No. Please don't make me do this." Her fingers curled into fists, ready to fight, to claw, to do whatever needed to be done.
He sat down, a hip on the edge of the bathing pool, studied her with an expression that was far too compassionate. "You're not a prisoner here."
"Yes, I am. Because I know I have to do this as long as you're asking it. But if you don't ask, I don't have to." I won't have failed. I'm not a coward.
He nodded. "I can see how you'd see it that way. But Marguerite, listen to me. I know how hard this is for you. It seems daunting, terrible. But remember what we talked about earlier, what this whole weekend is about?"
"Letting go of control."
"Yes. But more importantly it's about trust. I have to keep reminding you of that.
Learning that you can trust your Master. Can you trust me?" She opened her hands, drew in a breath. He waited on her. Gave her the time and space to pull it all back together, steady herself. At length, she lifted her gaze to his.
"I want to."
"All right, then." Tyler resisted the overwhelming urge to draw her into his arms, hold her close until she realized she didn't always have to manage her fear alone. "I'm going to do a little more explaining. I didn't choose this idly, or to make you panic. The whole process I described centers you on just one sensation. Physical touch. You're aware of your total helplessness. The only thing that tells you what's happening is my touch on your body. And gradually your thoughts will float away and there will only be sensation. When that happens, your fear will float away. You'll start to feel pleasure in that stillness. 'God is in the silence'," he reminded her. "It was your scroll that made me think of it."
"In the empty space," she murmured.
"You can do this, because you aren't doing it alone. I won't leave you for a second.
You'll feel no pain. You'll sense nothing but my hands on you, your Master's hands your only focus."
She closed her eyes so she could say it, a child's question. "You won't leave me there?"
"You have my word, angel." He touched her mouth with his fingers and she opened her eyes to find him in front of her. "I won't be more than two feet from you at any time. I swear."
"You're not doing the things I expected. Making me call you Master, get on my knees and suck your cock."
He winced. "Is that how you do it with your subs? Just strip, let me tie you up and I'll torment you until I get you off?"
She looked startled, then inclined her head. "Touche."
"That said, with male subs it is likely more physical," he acknowledged. "What they want is simpler. They don't necessarily play a lot of games with themselves about sex. Women are more emotionally complex. Sometimes they don't know what it is they want until they feel it, and it can change from session to session." He smiled. "It makes being a heterosexual Master very challenging.
"There's a time and a place for passion, the rise of possession in its rougher forms.
But a submissive's surrender is a sweet, sweet gift. And perhaps a male sub comes to it in a more primal state. Most Masters enjoy the process of wooing, of winning that gift.
And every woman is different."
"You must think I'm incredibly foolish and weak."
"Anything but." And he said it with an instant fierceness that warmed the chill inside her. "Marguerite, most Masters and Mistresses face this training with trepidation.
They slog through, maybe enjoy some aspects of it, but they're always uncomfortable with giving up their control. You're obviously terrified at a bone-deep, phobic level.
And yet here you are, doing it anyway. In my book, that's damn brave. And your opening up to me specifically means a great deal. Come on then." He took one of her cold hands in his. "It will be all right."
Such a simple reassurance but one she held to as he guided her to the side of the tub and picked up the head mask. "Lift your arms and twist your hair up so it will be tucked in and won't get wet."
He reached out as she complied, ran a hand down her side, over her hip. "You're lovely, Marguerite. I'm hard just looking at you, just breathing in your scent. Put your arms at your sides now."
It was silly but the sensual compliment did reassure her, warm her. He eased the hood down over her head, laced it securely so she felt the restriction on her neck, the sides of her head, nose and ears. Darkness descended and noise became muffled but discernible, which she knew would end when he had her head under the water.
"Tyler?"
"I'm here. Stand where you are and don't move. I'm sitting on the edge of the tub, just looking at you. Your breasts, the nipples drawn up hard and firm. Your soft cunt, long legs. Those pink lips of your mouth and your sex, making me thinking of stretching either or both with my cock. You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."
He caressed her pussy and she gasped at the surprise of not hearing or seeing him coming. And at the fact that his words had made her wet again, despite her trepidation.
"Tyler. I can't handle...hands in the dark."
Taking both of her hands, Tyler let her feel his grip, warm and sure. "They're my hands. Me. Only me. And it won't be dark for long, I promise. Trust me." Carefully, as he would guide a wild animal, he brought her to the side of the tub.
The paleness of her skin, the long legs, the faint tremor through her breasts as she moved and an ass that he could pet and stroke forever until she was writhing with the stimulus. It all had him suppressing a groan. He wanted to bury himself in her wet heat, again and again. He'd like to spend a week on each feature. He wanted to devour her whole, now.
To rein in his passion, to serve her best, he turned her so her back was facing him.
So he could see more clearly the marks she hadn't wanted him to see or ask about. The marks he'd felt when he removed her shirt. Small circles, two lines of them going up either side of her spinal column. At her shoulder blades they arced out and curled over and under like a hideous Art Deco rendering of angel wings.
Perhaps another person would have thought, based on her performance with Brendan, that she liked ritual scarification. So much that she would subject herself to well over sixty separate burns. But Tyler knew what he was looking at, understood it now because of her reluctant admission. I can't handle hands...in the dark. And because he knew what a cigarette burn looked like.
Submissives often dealt with a lot of emotional baggage during the first rough steps of learning to relinquish control as they craved to do. At some point in her life, she'd had control wrested from her, repeatedly.
And she wondered if he thought her foolish and weak? Her courage humbled him beyond words, as did the faith she didn't even realize she'd offered him by choosing him to fulfill this requirement.
It looked like the pattern wasn't finished. While balanced, it was obvious the inflictor had spaced the burns so the design would fill in over time.
"You said you wouldn't ask." Her voice came into the pregnant silence.
"I haven't. Just tell me one thing. Is the son of a bitch dead?" Her body tensed and he ran his hands up her arms, gentling her. "Don't answer, sweetheart. I promised no questions. I withdraw it." But he'd make it his business to find out, to make sure whoever had done this to her was no longer a threat. He would prove himself worthy of her faith.
"I could just be into burns."
"If that were true, you would shiver with pleasure when I touch you there. Instead you go cold and still, like a corpse."
His arm went around her back and under her knees. He lifted her, setting her down on the marble surface of the square center of the pool. "That stream you're feeling is warm water flowing over the marble from small openings all along the edges." Easing her back, he laid her head down and straightened her arms.
"Hold on to these." He threaded her fingers beneath a metal bar embedded at the left and right corners just above her head so her arms were stretched out to either side, at an angle just above the height of her shoulders.
Marguerite felt the cuffs come down, snap into place over her wrists and was glad for the bars to curl her hands around.
"I'm here, Marguerite. Don't forget that." His hands were on her legs now, spreading her thighs about two feet apart. Then the thigh restraints were locked down.
Next came a band beneath her breasts, which pushed them up. He added a restraint above her breasts, compressing them. Another strap tightened securely at the waist. Her ankles were also cuffed down and now she had no mobility except her head. Almost as soon as she had the thought, she felt his hands at her neck. He buckled a strap loosely around it and then apparently clipped it to two restraining hooks on either side. He performed the same process across her forehead. Now she could no longer lift her head.
"Tyler..." Her breath was moist against the edges of the mouth opening of the mask.
His hand lowered to toy with her right breast, caress the nipple, making her want to squirm against...something. But her legs were spread. The only thing touching them was air.
"Tyler."
"Yes, Marguerite." The voice of a Master, implacable, aroused.
"You didn't say anything about..." She stopped, started over. "Why did you restrain my head?"
"Because I intend to pleasure you often while you're being shaved. When you go under water, you'll be holding a tube in your mouth for air. If you should turn your head from side to side you might drop it or dip it in the water. The fit of the mask keeps the water from coming in and getting up your nose if you're relatively still. I'm going to start lowering your upper body. Your hips will elevate as your head goes underwater.
You won't be able to hear me but just remember to breathe through your mouth. If you're in distress, I have a control that will release all restraints simultaneously and bring the tablet up. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She wondered if she was ever going to be able to stop trembling.
He bent, placed his lips on her bare abdomen just below the point of her rib cage.
He lingered there, stimulating the area with his lips and tongue. When he rubbed his cheek against her, she found the gesture reassuring.
He moved closer to her head and his jeans brushed against her fingertips. When he laid his hand over hers and pressed the backs of her fingers against him, she felt his hard cock beneath the denim. "That's what looking at you naked and spread like this does to me."
She straightened her fingertips, felt the ridge of his head, prominent against the fabric. She could do this. She would. And with an unexpected feeling she refused to define as guilt or confusion, she realized that she could do it only because he was the one here, the one doing it.
"When your head first goes under you may feel a moment of claustrophobia. Just take deep, slow breaths through the tube. It's important that you obey me in this, obey me in all things now. You'll focus all your attention on my touch. There will be nothing but my hands in your awareness. No fear."
"How do I tell you if something is wrong, if I need to stop?"
"I'll be watching you very closely." Tyler knew a safe word or gesture would do her no good at this juncture because everything was panicking her. He gazed at her body, vibrating with hyper-excited nerves. Her lips, the only visible feature of her face, repeatedly pressing together, moistening. Her arms, restrained out so he had access to the beautiful curves of her breasts rising above the fragile network of ribs, her legs spread open. He wondered what it would be like to keep her this way forever, at a level of arousal that would make her come again and again. Leave all her fears and worries behind. It was the first time in a long time that he'd had to fight so hard against a desire to keep the woman who had agreed to submit to him. He wasn't sure if he completely had her agreement but he was going to do his best in this session to convince her that forever could be a very pleasurable word.
"Open your mouth."
He inserted the mouthpiece of the air tube in between her teeth. "Bite down. Not too hard. You just need to hold it a moment." He buckled the elastic band around her head. Her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, he saw. He heard the rasping sound of air coming in and out of the tube.
It was an advanced level for anyone, not just a person who resisted loss of control to the degree she did. He didn't know what instinct was driving him to push her into such an extreme sensory deprivation session so quickly, except that he'd told her the truth.
That, perversely, the experience could help calm a nervous sub once she was immersed in the stillness of the water. However, if he didn't get her there soon, she might genuinely panic and his heart wouldn't hold out against her distress.
He also knew if he didn't start shaving her soon, change his focus, he was going to be eating her pussy until her breath became downright asthmatic, her teeth biting into the hard rubber of the tube like a rabid dog, her silken muscles rippling along his thrusting tongue. What he really wanted was to take his trousers down and drive into her, ignore the rules. He pressed the controls.
The upper part of the tablet began to sink into the floor, taking her body down, down. The water rose to her ears, the side of her face under the mask. He watched her muscles tighten in panic, then she was immersed. He forced himself to keep her going until her body was at a forty-five degree angle and about five inches of the tube was visible. The water wavered over her, creating a beautiful mermaid image before his eyes. Her lips pressed hard on the tube but he knew she'd ease up when she realized that the straps would hold it in place without her tiring her jaw.
When he pressed another control, the section beneath her calves began to descend, a separate jointed piece of the tablet. It gave him the ability to draw a tall stool into the shallow water in the channel below her feet, move between her spread legs to her knees and study the delectable pussy completely available to him. It also gave him a clear view of her sloped out beneath him. He turned on the audio system of the room and the soft notes of Claire de Lune began as he picked up his razor and the apple-scented skin gell he'd chosen. He hoped it suited her tastes, as much as her tea choice had suited his.