Free Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel by Molly Weatherfield Page A

bastard Edmund than your crippled
Richard-tall, with his pointy cowboy boots, hair in a severe
little ponytail, and cold, pale blue eyes. Oh, and a surprisingly small, pretty, sensual mouth.

    But I was probably pushing my luck, checking him out as
openly as I suspected I was. He was starting to look annoyed,
so I read a story or two in the book. And then I was dazzled
by the bright beautiful sunlight as the plane swung out over
the Mediterranean. I pressed my nose against the window. I'd
never been to Greece. I knew this wasn't a sightseeing trip,
but I was still getting excited.
    And you could see a lot from the smaller plane that took us
to Mr. Constant's island. Beautiful, fierce, rocky landscape
in the shimmering sea. There was an open four-wheel drive
car parked at the airstrip. We drove through a small villagewomen in black with kerchiefs peering at us as we passed.
When we came to a low stone wall, Stefan stopped the car
and told me to take off all my clothes except my boots. He
clasped my hands behind my back and told me to kneel up
on the back seat. He attached the leash to my collar, hooking
it to one of the door handles.
    He drove quickly on the bumpy gravel roads. People
passed on their ways here and there, leading horses, or herds
of goats. I guessed they worked for Mr. Constant or used his
land. Two teenage boys who were repairing a bit of wall at the
side of the road looked up and laughed uproariously, gesturing broadly with their hands. And about five minutes later, the road stopped, and Stefan led me the last bit of way on
foot, over a little rise, to a corral.

    No one greeted us. A small figure in black and a naked
boy were all I could see at first in the glaring sunshine,
against the cruel blue of the sky. I was panting a bit; Stefan
had been dragging me along quickly. But now he quickly
unhooked my leash and shoved me forward. I think he'd
hoped that I'd go sprawling, without the use of my hands
to break my fall. I cried out, staggered, shifting my balance wildly, calling on all my will to keep me upright, and
miraculously succeeding. It all happened very quickly, but
it got the momentary attention of the pair in the ring. And
just quickly enough for me to catch a detailed glimpse
of them.
    First, the smaller figure. My trainer, I guessed. But had
Mr. Constant ever said it was a woman? Well, I thought, he'd
never said it wasn't. No reason for me to have imaginedas I had-some big, hunky guy. But in the moment while I
struggled to keep my balance, I watched her lip curl as she
watched me frantically shifting my weight. She knew her job.
No need for big hunky guys around here.
    She was maybe five foot two, pumped, wiry, with sharp
black eyes that contrasted with her pale skin and whitish
buzz cut. Her jeans and sleeveless T-shirt were black too, and
the very abstract tattoos on her impressive deltoids looked
like unreadable pre-Columbian designs. The tattoos were all
black, except for the red eyes on the narrow, realistically rendered snake that wound around her left wrist.
    Stefan pushed me to my knees and looped my leash
around a fence post. "I'm leaving, Annie," he called. She
turned, grunted, and turned back to the sweaty panting boy.

    And I did too. I mean, it was difficult not to want to look
at him forever. The muscles bunched with exertion under his
tanned skin were long, neat-looking dancer's muscles. He was
shining with sweat, his chest rising and falling, but he was
also intent on following her instructions, as he pranced and
capered to the snaps of the riding crop in her right hand, the
tugs at his reins with her left. His cock was erect, you could
tell that he liked this. He tossed his head, bowed it, snorted
behind the bridle that distorted his mouth. It was pony dressage, and he was very, very good.
    But I have to admit that what most fascinated me was the
long tail he wore. It was of bright chestnut horsehair, to complement the thick, wavy,