The Seduction Hypothesis Page 5

  “All you did was hint, you never came out and said ‘Hey Ben, I want to try this. Spank me!’ And after that one time you never tried again. Neither of us was blameless.”

  “Now you’re just trying to score points. It was never about who was at fault, and it wasn’t just about this. And I was happy with you.” She sipped her drink for courage, then added, “Remember, I wanted to do all that stuff with you.”

  “Look who I found in the lobby,” Samantha said, bouncing back to the table with Mitch in tow. “Sorry you didn’t get the full ten minutes, but we remembered we do have to get back to the booth. Poor Andy’s all alone.”

  Lindsey felt a blush climb up her face as Mitch handed over a thin sheaf of papers. She’d kept them waiting, bringing personal stuff into what was supposed to be a business talk. Well, sort of a business talk. And she hadn’t even made introductions.

  “Right. I’ll take a look at these and bring them by the booth when I’m done, that way y’all can get back to work. Oh, and this is Ben, by the way. A friend from home. Ben, this is Sadie—I mean Samantha, and her husband Mitch. They asked me to help with the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth because their usual Sub Red couldn’t make it.”

  Ben half stood, the booth making courtesy harder than usual, and shook hands. He didn’t look thrilled. “So what exactly are you asking her to do at the booth? Because I’ve seen part of your act over there and you take it pretty far.”

  “Ben.”

  Mitch leaned in a little, and Lindsey could have sworn he got bigger as she watched. More imposing. “Are you someone whose permission she needs?”

  Ben tried staring him down, but broke first because the facts weren’t on his side. “Not at the moment, no.” But he shot Lindsey a this-isn’t-over-yet look that made her melt into the seat, thighs first. Not at the moment, but I want that to change, he seemed to be suggesting. But she’d gotten in trouble before with making assumptions. With not being perfectly clear. So had he. Lindsey wasn’t ready to be that clear on this new development yet. She steeled herself against Ben’s gaze and the eyebrow of power, and tapped the pages together on the table briskly.

  “I’m going to my room to look these documents over. If I like what I see, I’ll sign and come back down to the booth in costume, ready to go. If not, or if I have questions, I’ll come down anyway and we’ll talk about it. Sound good?”

  Samantha and Mitchell agreed, thanking Lindsey again profusely on her way out of the bar. She escaped with her waivers before Ben had a chance to follow.

  * * *

  Ivan obviously knew his shit. It was almost daunting, the scope of the resources he’d managed to include in that one hasty email. Ben purchased two manual-style ebooks on BDSM, plus ebook versions of the back issues of Balls ‘n’ Chain. He paid an exorbitant amount for some extremely eye-opening niche market video porn, and waded through dozens of articles, blog posts and discussion threads over the course of a few hours.

  He expected to feel guilty and filthy, steeping himself in all that deviant information. And to some extent, he did. To a greater degree, it was liberating to discover that he wasn’t alone. It was okay to like this freaky shit. On the relative scale of things, his preferred perversions were still pretty minor. Even the guilt became a turn-on, once he decided to indulge its source. The filth had always turned him on.

  He knew that Lindsey would end up at the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth, in costume. He’d have bet any amount of money that she’d made up her mind before leaving that table. She wouldn’t be available to talk once she was doing that, and he wasn’t going to horn in on her once-in-a-lifetime experience. So he’d taken the rest of the afternoon off for research.

  And masturbation.

  And then more research. Then a bit more masturbation, followed by a final round of research that ended when Lin and Ed barreled back into the room, bursting with news about Lindsey’s transformation into the hottest booth babe at the convention.

  “Yeah, I already know.” As the pair waxed eloquent on the subject of Lindsey’s many charms, Ben continued to lounge on the bed, swiping pages over, pretending to read as he struggled to ignore the cell phone picture Lin was waving at him. “We talked about it in the bar earlier.”

  “That costume is amazing!”

  “Yeah.” Of course it was amazing. One of his jacking sessions had been prompted solely by picturing Lindsey as he flipped through the issue of Balls ‘n’ Chain where the infamous strappy dungeon outfit made its debut. She really did bear an uncanny resemblance to the character, so it wasn’t as though it took a lot of mental effort to visualize.

  Now, because he’d taken the edge off, he could consider more important things. Like putting together a Balls ‘n’ Chain costume of his own. It would take some doing, but there were two full days left before the costume contest. Plenty of time to work something out. For the moment, he tried to focus on his other important task, memorizing everything on the crib sheet he’d been developing. Key tips for fledgling Doms. When in doubt, make her wait, and establish a safe word before play. The most important fuck is the mind fuck. He had about a dozen things written down so far, but best of all, he thought he grasped the tone he needed to set. His mind was still reeling from all the new information, of course. But at least his dick had settled down. Somewhat.

  That night was the Steampunk Shindig, a steampunk/space western party extravaganza. The whole group planned to attend, in costume, and Ben started donning his faux Victorian togs as he pondered what approach to take with Lindsey.

  Ivan had sent him another email—possibly prompted by Cami—that suggested he treat his venture into BDSM as a science experiment. Ben was a historian at heart, but he liked the idea of using that theoretical framework. Forming hypotheses, testing things out, observing and making inferences. Drawing conclusions all over Lindsey’s hot little body.

  His first hypothesis, which he planned to start testing tonight, was that Lindsey got wet when he acted like a cross between Mister Spock and Professor Snape. If he could pull that off and sustain it, he’d be off to a strong start.

  “For science!” he muttered to himself, snapping his suspenders into place.

  “What?” Lin was dressed like a steampunk Borg. Creepy but effective. Ben knew there was an official Steampunk Borg Collective waiting downstairs for Lin to join them.

  “Nothing. Nice costume.”

  He tucked his crib sheet into the watch pocket of his trousers, laced up his Doc Martens, and donned his time-traveling bowler hat. He was as ready as he’d ever be.

  * * *

  “Middle school was never this bad. Seriously, it’s...ugh. Does he like me, or does he like me, like me? Yes, you can pull my cord. Not too hard.”

  Lindsey pasted on a smile as the tenth person of the evening clasped the handle on her chestplate and pulled the ripcord back, spinning the flywheel into motion to set her wings flapping.

  Cami, in a much simpler Victorian-style lady explorer’s costume, tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her pith helmet. “It really wasn’t like that. I think he was just curious, which you can’t really blame him for. He’s curious, you’re curious...”

  “He’s clueless, I’m self-conscious. This doesn’t sound like a match made in sexual heaven to me, Cams.”

  “If you say so. Wow, is that the guy from Chronicles from Beyond? Did you see the trailer? It looks like it’s going to be amazing. I want to go to the panel tomorrow.”

  “The special effects were unreal,” Lindsey agreed, thinking of the clip she’d seen for the newly announced science fiction show. “I don’t know about the dialog, though. Do you know who’s doing the writing?”

  As Cami rattled off some names and the bartender worked on her order, Lindsey sipped cheap white wine from a generic plastic cup and scanned the room, taking in the human scenery. The costumes ran the gamut from cheap efforts with spray-painted plastic gears affixed at random to works of functional, wearable mechanical art. There was a sepia photograph mood to the
whole affair, partly due to clever lighting but partly due to the prevalence of brown clothing. Even the rough-edged whimsicality of the live band had a certain period flair, though of precisely what period Lindsey couldn’t say. God knows it wasn’t Victorian, but it was fun anyway. Almost as much fun as she’d had at the booth that afternoon, becoming Sub Red for the first time. Even if she had just been handing out flyers and wrangling the fans in the line.

  “Can I have a yank, for old times’ sake?”

  She hadn’t seen him coming. Ben’s fingers were already wrapping around the handle of the ripcord, brushing against her bare sternum along the way. Instead of pulling, he held his hand there and looked toward Cami with a polite smile.

  “My cue to leave,” she said, lifting her hands to display a precariously balanced cluster of four cups. “Is Ivan still at the table, do you know?”

  “Last time I saw,” Ben confirmed, sidestepping to get out of the bar crush, while never taking his hand off Lindsey.

  When Cami disappeared into the crowd Ben directed his attention back to his captive steampunk fairy, scanning her up and down. Lindsey tried to see herself through his eyes. He’d seen earlier incarnations of the outfit, but she’d made changes since then. More accessories and a short fluffy skirt. Fishnets with a garter belt.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve had a parade of guys grabbing the front of your costume tonight.”

  “There’ve been girls, too,” Lindsey pointed out, trying to ignore the delightful sensation of his index finger sneaking up to stroke the sweat-damp skin at her neckline. “What are you doing, Ben?”

  “Continuing our conversation from earlier. Did you go to the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth?”

  She nodded, looking down at his hand for a second and wishing he’d move it. Either pull the cord or just give up the tease and go for a grope. She’d probably allow it; she was still keyed up enough from the afternoon’s excitement to excuse a few stupid decisions. “I did, yes.”

  “Enjoy yourself?”

  “Yep.” Seriously, what is he doing?

  “Did ‘Rick’ enjoy himself?”

  “Are you asking if I let him paddle me or something?” Even with the ridiculous contraption on his hat, Ben looked far from goofy. And nothing like his usual self. He looked serious and determined, and it was hot. A thought raced through Lindsey’s mind, a fleeting daydream of the spanking horse and hot, serious Ben with a flogger. The tops of her thighs started to feel warm and dangerously exposed in the tiny skirt and open-air stockings. “I’m surprised you didn’t come down and see for yourself.”

  “I was busy. Are you going to tell me?” He tipped her chin up with his other hand.

  “Maybe I want to know what you’re planning to do with that information.”

  “Maybe I want to become somebody whose permission you need.”

  A tug on her chest drew her attention, but he didn’t let her look down. It took her a second to realize he was slowly drawing the ripcord out, too slowly to spin the wheel, and wrapping it around his hand. Using it to hold her there. A shiver went through her, despite the heat of the crowded room. He grazed her chest with every turn of his hand around the cord, and it wasn’t nearly enough. She knew if she looked, her nipples would be showing through the flimsy lace bra and flimsier camisole she wore under her wing harness and leather cincher.

  “If you break my wing flapper this conversation comes to a halt.”

  A smile tried to work its way onto his face, but he clamped down on it with visible effort and shook his head, never taking his eyes off hers. “I won’t break it. And this conversation is not even close to over. Look at you, look how much you like this. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your pupils are so huge you look stoned. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

  Every girl’s dream, to have Mr. Wonderful come crawling back, right? Except he wasn’t most girls’ idea of Mr. Wonderful, exactly, and he wasn’t crawling. She wasn’t sure that was a dream of hers anyway. Crawling wouldn’t have been nearly as good as this...whatever Ben was doing now.

  “Did that guy paddle your ass? Or spank you, or flog you, or any other variation of that?”

  Lindsey shook her head against the tug of his fingers, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. She was breathing too fast, practically panting. If Ben slid a hand between her legs right now she’d go off like a bottle rocket.

  He seemed to give a lot of thought to what he said next, stating it slowly and clearly as though he wanted there to be no misunderstanding.

  “I can’t stop thinking about doing all that to you. Not just the spanking, either, a lot more. A lot. If anybody is going to do that stuff to you, I want it to be me. Nobody. Else.”

  She was so accustomed to thinking of him as cute, as harmless. The kind of man who would never hurt a fly. Softly focused, with his sandy hair and indeterminate hazel eyes, vacillating about his career. She’d never seen this version of him until last night’s assertive kiss, this razor-sharp Ben who knew what he wanted and seemed potentially ruthless about getting it.

  But still. “Just because you think that’s what I wanted you to do before?” The music shifted gears, growing louder, and the bass drum throbbed through her bones in a maddening primal beat.

  Ben shook his head and leaned closer, until their lips were almost touching. “No. Because the thought of putting you over my knee and smacking your perfect butt until it looks like my handprint’s tattooed on there makes me so hard I can barely walk. It made me hard before, too, but I was a fucking idiot and thought I had to feel guilty about getting turned on by shit like that. I’m willing to work on my guilt issues if you’re willing to let me take you up to that hotel room right now and violate you eight ways from Sunday.”

  Oh, oh, oh...

  “Does that hat let you travel in space as well as time? We’d get up there so much faster.”

  Chapter Six

  Ben’s grand vision of nailing Lindsey against the elevator wall was a complete nonstarter. They had company all the way up, people coming in and out, a few of them barely humanoid. Three other conventioneers got out on their floor, so even an extended grope in the hall was out of the question. They had to forbear, all the way into the room.

  The cardkey took half a dozen swipes to work, Lindsey’s fingers trembling harder with each attempt until Ben finally slipped it from her grasp and got the green light on his first try.

  Smooth. It might be the last smooth move he made all night, if his nerves were any indication. He was starting to wish he could have managed one more quick discussion with his johnson before the party, because it was hollering for attention despite all his earlier efforts.

  But he knew patience would pay off. Making Lindsey wait meant he had to wait, too, but it would make everything better for both of them. Delayed gratification is everybody’s friend. He had written that right on his crib sheet, so he wouldn’t forget.

  The door clicked shut behind them and he spun Lindsey back toward him, pulling her in and cupping her face. Her little whimper right before his lips landed on hers hit him in the gut, a punch of visceral need that went way beyond sex. He’d been so, so stupid to walk away from her. What the hell was he doing with his life?

  It wasn’t the time for self-examination, however. It was time for hungry, desperate kisses while Lindsey struggled out of her wings. Goggles and ray guns slid to the floor, then Lindsey’s leather belt thing and barely-there shirt and oh I missed that bra so much and fluffy excuse for a skirt.

  He stopped her at the garter belt. “Can the panties come off and that thing stay on?”

  She nodded and hooked her thumbs around the lacy hip straps, ready to push them down, but he nudged her hands out of the way and took over. A slow tease, kissing his way down her stomach then flicking his tongue under the lace waistband before he knelt, taking the panties all the way down. What God should he thank for the practicality of a girl who knew to wear the panties outside the garters? Because it was so much more pract
ical, but Lindsey was the only one he knew who seemed to wear them that way, not that his experience was all that extensive, and—

  “Oh, holy fuck, you actually did it.”

  The little steel balls gleamed among the folds of pink. She’d waxed everything, even though it wasn’t summer yet, and there was no mistaking the clit piercing for anything else. Entranced, he leaned in and pressed an almost reverent kiss there, marking his place for later. Even at that light pressure, a shiver ran through Lindsey’s frame and her hips flexed toward him, her fingers gripped his shoulders tighter. Ben looked up to see her eyes closed, lips parted, face flushed. Yearning. This time he knew what she wanted and wouldn’t disappoint her. Or he hoped he wouldn’t.

  Crib sheet. Priorities. Focus, dude. “You need a safe word.”

  She blinked, coming out of her haze a bit, and nodded. “Not fluffy purple unicorn, it’s too long.”

  He grinned, forgetting he was supposed to be all serious. Fluffy purple unicorn was Sub Red’s safe word, but Ben agreed it was too long to be practical. “OhfortheloveofgodstopbeforeIkillyou?”

  She whacked him on the shoulder, but only gently. “Red light.”

  Spock. Channel Mister Spock. He raised one eyebrow. “Red light. Fascinating.”

  Too much, she’s gonna catch on. If she did, she didn’t let it show. Ben stood and took a step back, eyeing her from head to toe. Taking his time, admiring her in her nearly transparent peach lace bra, and the black garter belt that held up slinky fishnets. Her sleek pussy, those dots of tempting silver...he needed to sit down soon, he was getting lightheaded. But he was also a glutton for punishment.

  “Take your boots off.”

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot.” She flopped on the bed, bent over and started to untie them, but he stopped her again with a slow shake of his head.

  “Not like that.” He walked over to the corner and pulled a chair away from the tiny table, turning it before sitting down to watch her.

  Lindsey blushed redder, almost to that blotchy point he knew she hated, and hesitantly lifted one foot to the bed, angling to face him as she untied the boot slowly. He could see everything, could even see she was already wet.