Free Pound of Flesh by Lolita Lopez Page B

mischievous
smile curving her lips. Just as quickly, the smirk vanished and she
disappeared around the corner.
    Max could only shake his head in amusement.
Sometimes he wondered just what, exactly, made Violet the way she
was. What made her crave domination and pain? What spurred her
toward such sweet submission? For that matter, what made him want
to take control, to dominate his lover? Where had the undeniable
urge to bind and beat and torture (albeit sensually) come from?
    He doubted they’d ever find the answers to
those questions. His childhood, like Violet’s, had been rather
idyllic. There had been no violence or shame or any other oddness
that might have predisposed him to darker sexual penchants. Not
that he put much stock in pop psychology’s view of BDSM and its
possible childhood triggers. Max, like many others in the
lifestyle, reasoned he was born this way. He was simply wired to
find pleasure differently than most.
    Max took his time upstairs, changing out of
his wrinkled clothes and into more comfortable jeans and a t-shirt,
rather than following close on Violet’s heels. He wanted her to
wait, to let her imagination run wild as she envisioned all kinds
of punishments. The spanking horse had been placed strategically in
their playroom. She would have a perfect view of their wall of
pain, as they laughingly called it. Straps, floggers, crops,
slappers, paddles, canes and switches all hung in their proper
places.
    Knowing Violet, she was probably dripping wet
with anticipation by now. Nothing made her hotter than the thought
of the painful kiss of leather against her bare ass.
    He made his way downstairs and through the
living room, his bare feet silent against the carpet. He paused in
the doorway of the kitchen and shook his head at the mess. In the
morning, Max would set Violet to work cleaning the house from top
to bottom. She’d be naked of course. Maybe he’d add another layer
of punishment and wedge a butt plug between her cheeks.
    Scrubbing the floor, naked on all fours with
a silicone phallus stretching her ass wide open, would teach her a
good lesson about cleanliness and rules.
    Max opened the fridge in search of something
cold to drink and smiled. There, on the top shelf, sat a pitcher of
freshly brewed tea. He had no doubt it was mixed as precisely as he
liked it, with a little bit of sweetened lemonade to flavor the
orange pekoe tea. Just another simple reminder of Violet’s love for
him.
    She’d engineered a slovenly scene sure to
earn her the ass whooping of a lifetime but had still taken the
time to mix up his favorite concoction. It was a small thing,
really, but it spoke volumes about Violet.
    He grabbed the pitcher and filled a glass
with ice before sloshing the cold tea over the frozen cubes. The
pitcher went back in the fridge. Glass in hand, Max crossed the
kitchen to the basement door. The hinges squeaked as he drew the
door open. He winced at the grating noise and made a mental note to
give the hinges a shot of lubricant. His footsteps were silent as
he descended the carpeted stairs to the fully finished
basement.
    Unlike a lot of playrooms, this one had been
decorated in muted earth tones. There were no red velvet drapes or
wrought iron sconces or exposed stone walls. Max had never been
fond of the dungeon look. He had friends who enjoyed that kind of
ambience but he’d always found it rather distracting. Luckily
Violet shared his appreciation for the calm décor. She’d happily
selected the brown leather sofa and wide, low chair along with
complementing lamps, end tables and framed erotic art in sepia and
black and white.
    Reinforced suspension hooks hung from the
ceiling. An assortment of ropes, D-rings, spreader bars, scissors
and other necessities for Shibari-style rope bondage were hidden
away in an armoire. The lower drawers held an assortment of gags,
blindfolds, cuffs, dildos, vibrators, condoms, gloves, lubricants,
wet wipes and hand towels. He and Violet were past the