"You're enjoying this too much," Chrishell said, her voice breathless but edged with amusement. The silk ropes around her wrists pulled taut as she shifted her weight, the lace of her corset catching the dim crimson light like spilled wine on satin.

Rueben adjusted the leather harness across his chest, the buckles clicking softly. His thumb brushed the coiled whip at his thigh—not a threat, just a habit, like checking for keys before leaving the house. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he replied, his voice low, almost conversational.

The dungeon wasn't real, of course. Or at least, not in the way most people would define "real." The chains on the walls were props, the stone walls actually soundproofed drywall, and the crimson light came from a $30 LED strip they'd stuck haphazardly along the baseboards. But none of that mattered when Chrishell arched her back just so, when the tension between them crackled like static before a storm.

Rueben exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, the way he always did when weighing a decision. The coiled whip stayed untouched at his thigh. Instead, he reached for the small wooden box on the side table, its lacquered surface catching the LED glow like wet ink. Inside rested a single item: an antique key, heavy and cold.

"Remember our deal," he said, holding it up between them. The key swung slightly, pendulum-like. "Safeword still the same?"

Chrishell's breath hitched, not from fear, but anticipation. She rolled her shoulders against the silk ropes, testing their give. "Do I look like I want to tap out?" The corner of her mouth twitched. "Though if you're stalling for inspiration, I *do* have suggestions."

Rueben moved like a shadow given form—fluid, deliberate, and utterly silent until he chose not to be. The blindfold was silk, black as the space between stars, and he secured it with a knot that wouldn't slip but wouldn't pull her hair either. His fingertips lingered for a heartbeat at her temples, the only warning before the cool metal of the clamps kissed each nipple. He twisted the screws incrementally, gauging her reaction by the hitch of her breath, the involuntary jerk of her wrists against the silk ropes.

"Enlighten me, darling," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "What kind of suggestions were you going to make?" The words were warm, amused, but underneath ran a current of something darker, a challenge, an invitation to play harder.

Chrishell exhaled through parted lips, her body arching subtly into the bite of the clamps. "I was thinking," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her thighs, "you've been neglecting the flogger." She tilted her head back, blindfolded gaze aimed somewhere past his shoulder. "The one with the suede tails. It leaves such pretty marks."

The flogger landed with a sharp crack—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make Chrishell's breath stutter. Rueben watched the welt rise, a thin red line across pale flesh, and traced it with his fingertips before dragging the flogger’s weighted tails down her spine again. The metal beads sewn into each suede strip left faint trails of pressure, like cold fingertips mapping her skin. "You didn't mention the *new* part," he murmured, circling her slowly. "When did you have time to shop?"

Chrishell laughed, the sound catching as he flicked the flogger against the back of her thigh. "Online," she admitted, rolling her shoulders against the ropes. "Two-day shipping. You left your card on the dresser last week."

Rueben paused. The flogger’s tails draped over her hipbone, swaying slightly. "Cheeky," he said, and brought it down again—this time higher, the beads catching the curve of her ass with a sting that made her jerk forward. The silk ropes creaked. He admired the crisscrossing marks, the way her skin flushed under the attention. "Should I be concerned about what else you’ve been ordering?"

The flogger cracked again, this time diagonally across the marks it had already made, and Chrishell's gasp dissolved into a low, throaty laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunted, her voice breathless but edged with mischief. The ropes groaned as she twisted her wrists, not to escape, but to press herself more firmly against the next strike.

Rueben exhaled a soft chuckle, circling her like a predator savoring the chase. He let the flogger’s tails trail down the back of her knee, the beads whispering against her skin before he snapped them away again. "I think I will," he murmured, pausing to drag the cool metal of the clamps’ chains along her collarbone. "But later." With a quick twist of his fingers, he tightened the screws another fraction, watching her breath hitch. "Right now, you're a little busy."

Chrishell’s head tipped back, her lips parting around a soundless gasp as the pressure bloomed into a sharp, sweet ache. The blindfold hid her eyes, but the flush spreading down her chest betrayed her. Rueben traced it with the flogger’s handle, following the path of a bead of sweat sliding between her breasts. "Still full of suggestions?" he asked, his voice dropping into something darker, more intimate.

The flogger’s handle traced a slow, deliberate path down her sternum, pausing just above the dip of her navel. Chrishell’s ribs expanded with each shallow breath, the corset’s laces straining slightly. Rueben could see the pulse in her throat, rapid but steady—excitement, not fear. He tapped the handle against her hipbone, a silent question. Her answering smirk was all the permission he needed.

The next strike landed diagonally across her thighs, the suede tails hissing through the air before biting into skin. Chrishell’s back arched, her shoulders pressing into the silk ropes as the sting reverberated through her. Rueben waited, watching the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the way her fingers curled and uncurled against nothing. "Color?" he murmured, though he already knew the answer.

"Green," she breathed, her voice rough at the edges. "Always green."

His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back firmly. "Green what?" The words were velvet-wrapped steel, his breath hot against her exposed throat. The blindfold shifted slightly with the motion, but didn't slip—Rueben had tied it to stay.

Chrishell's lips parted on a gasp that wasn't entirely from the sting in her scalp. The clamps pulled taut with the angle of her head, sending fresh sparks down her nerves. "Green as in," Her voice broke as he tightened his grip fractionally. "as in *go*, you bastard."

Rueben's laugh was a dark, pleased thing. He released her hair just enough to let her head fall forward again, only to catch her chin with his other hand, tilting her face up toward him despite the blindfold. "That's what I thought," he murmured. The flogger's tails whispered against her inner thigh—a promise, not a strike—before he stepped back.

Rueben's lips brushed the shell of her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the clamps or the flogger marks. "Tell me, my Chrishell," he murmured, the words velvet-soft but edged with something darker, "who was the man you were with yesterday?" His teeth grazed her earlobe—not a bite, just the ghost of pressure.

Chrishell went utterly still beneath him, the playful tension in her muscles freezing into something sharper. The blindfold hid her eyes, but the sudden hitch in her breath, the way her pulse jumped against his fingertips where they still cupped her chin—Rueben didn't need to see her face to know he'd struck true. The silence stretched, thick and electric, until she finally exhaled a shaky laugh. "Oh, *that's* why you're being extra vicious tonight." Her voice wavered between amusement and something Rueben couldn't quite place, defiance? Guilt?

He didn't pull away. Instead, he let his free hand trail down her side, fingertips skimming the welts left by the flogger. "Answer the question." The command was quiet, almost conversational, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

Rueben's fist tightened in her hair, the silk of her blindfold pressing harder against her temples. "I saw you with him," he murmured, lips brushing the curve of her ear like a lover's confession. His voice dropped lower, rougher. "His hand was on your ass. Who is he?" The last three words came out sharp as the flogger’s bite, though his grip didn’t waver—controlled, deliberate. Chrishell could feel the coiled tension in his fingers, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly against her neck. This wasn’t part of the scene. This was something else.

Chrishell swallowed, her throat working against the sudden dryness. The clamps pinched sharply with the angle of her head, the chain between them swaying against her sternum. "Just a client," she breathed, but her wrists twisted in the silk ropes—not fighting, not escaping, just *reacting*. Ruebin knew her too well. He exhaled, slow and measured, his breath warm against her jaw.

"A client," he repeated, voice flat. His free hand dragged down her spine, fingers tracing the raised welts left by the flogger, pausing at the small of her back where her skin still hummed from the last strike. "The kind who gets handsy in public?" The question was deceptively light, but his thumb dug into the base of her spine, pressing just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Did you fuck him?" Rueben's voice was silk over steel, the question punctuated by the sudden bite of his teeth against the tendon of her neck—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make her gasp. His fingers tightened imperceptibly in her hair, not pulling, just *holding*, the threat of it vibrating in the air between them like a plucked guitar string.

Chrishell's breath came sharp and shallow, the clamps tugging with each inhalation. The blindfold absorbed the first frantic flutter of her lashes, but nothing could hide the way her pulse hammered against Rueben's palm where it still cupped her jaw. For a heartbeat, she considered lying. Then the flogger's handle pressed cold and unyielding against the inside of her thigh, and she exhaled a ragged laugh. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Rueben went still behind her—not the controlled stillness of before, but something darker, more visceral. The flogger's handle traced upward, pausing just shy of where she wanted it most. "Try me," he murmured, and this time his teeth found the curve of her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to steal her breath.

Chrishell's laugh was breathless, half-formed—caught somewhere between defiance and surrender. She arched her back, pressing into the bite of Ruebin's teeth as the flogger's handle teased higher. "No," she admitted, the word barely more than a whisper. "I didn't fuck him." Her hips twitched forward, chasing the pressure of the flogger, but Ruebin withdrew it just as quickly, leaving her suspended in the ache of denial.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Rueben's grip on her hair loosened slightly, his thumb brushing along her jawline in a gesture that might have been tender if not for the sharpness of his next words. "But you wanted to." It wasn't a question.

Chrishell exhaled sharply, her wrists twisting in the silk ropes. "He was—" She bit off the words as Rueben's fingers dug into her hip, his other hand still holding her blindfolded face tilted toward him. The clamps pulled taut with the motion, sending a fresh wave of sensation through her. "He was attractive," she conceded, her voice uneven. "But that's all."

Rueben's hand slid over her throat, pressing just enough to make her pulse hammer against his palm. The pressure wasn't enough to cut off her air—not yet—but the threat vibrated in the silence between them like a plucked string. "If I ever found out you cheated on me," he murmured, voice so low it barely disturbed the air, "I will kill you." His fingers flexed, a promise more than a squeeze, before he closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. The blindfold hid Chrishell's expression, but her rapid breaths fogged against his wrist. "I swear I will kill you, Chrishell. You belong to me."

The words hung there, raw and unvarnished, and for a heartbeat, the dungeon's illusion of control wavered. The LED strips flickered—just a power surge, probably—but in the crimson dim, it felt like the room itself had shuddered. Chrishell's laugh, when it came, was breathless but edged with something sharper than fear. "You'd miss me too much," she taunted, her voice hoarse from the pressure at her throat. Her hips rolled forward, seeking friction, seeking *him*, even as Rueben's grip tightened fractionally in warning.

He released her throat abruptly, his palm sliding down to brace against her sternum instead, fingers splayed over the chain linking the clamps. "Try me," he said, almost conversational. The flogger's handle traced the curve of her ribs, following the path of a bead of sweat. "You think I wouldn't?" His teeth grazed her shoulder again, this time harder, and Chrishell's gasp dissolved into a moan as the pain bled into pleasure.

His fingers twisted the clamp mercilessly, the sudden bite of pressure wrenching a sharp, broken sound from Chrishell's throat. Rueben moaned against the damp skin of her neck—not in pleasure, but in something darker, possessive. "You're my property," he growled, teeth scraping her pulse point. "If I see or hear of anyone touching you again, I will *straight out* kill you both. Do you understand me?" The words were rough, barely shaped, like gravel dragged over silk.

Chrishell's breath came in shallow gasps, her body taut beneath his grip. The blindfold hid her eyes, but the flush creeping down her chest, the way her lips trembled—Rueben didn't need to see her face to know the effect his words had. She swallowed hard, her throat working against the phantom pressure of his earlier grip. "I—" Her voice cracked. Rueben twisted the clamp again, just enough to steal her breath, and she arched against him with a whimper. "I understand," she gasped, the admission ripped from her.

Rueben exhaled, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Good." The word was a caress, a threat, a promise. His free hand trailed down her side, fingers skimming the welts left by the flogger, pausing at the dip of her waist. "Because I *like* you alive," he murmured, almost conversational now, as if discussing the weather. His thumb pressed into the bruise forming on her hip, relishing her sharp inhale. "Mostly."

Rueben stood up, the leather harness creaking softly as he moved. He circled her once—slow, deliberate—before stopping directly in front of her. The crimson LED light caught the sharp angles of his jaw, the unreadable darkness in his eyes. His fingers hooked under the edge of the blindfold, and with a single, fluid motion, he pulled it away. Chrishell blinked against the sudden light, her pupils dilating as they adjusted. Rueben didn’t speak. He just looked down at her, his expression unreadable, his thumb brushing the dampness from her lower lip.

"Open your mouth."

The command was quiet, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. Chrishell hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before parting her lips. Rueben's fingers traced the line of her jaw, then dipped lower, tilting her chin up further. His other hand worked the buckle of his pants, the leather sighing as it loosened. The sound of his zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet room.

He slid his cock out, already half-hard, the flushed tip brushing against Chrishell’s bottom lip. "You know what to do, don’t you?" His voice was low, rougher than before, the words curling around her like smoke.

Chrishell exhaled through her nose, her breath warm against his skin. She didn’t answer—just leaned forward, her tongue darting out to trace the underside of him, slow and deliberate. Rueben's fingers tightened in her hair, not pulling, just holding, his grip a silent warning. She took him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth, her tongue pressing flat against the vein running along his length. The silk ropes creaked as her wrists twisted, not to escape, but to press herself closer.

Rueben groaned, low and rough, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His free hand braced against the wall behind her, fingers splaying against the drywall as if to steady himself. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise dark and sticky as honey. His thumb brushed her cheek, feeling the stretch of her lips around him. "But don’t get cocky."

The silk ropes bit deeper into Chrishell's wrists as she swallowed him down, her throat working around him with practiced ease. Rueben's breath hitched—just once—before he regained control, his fingers tightening in her hair like a vice. "Slow," he growled, his voice fraying at the edges. The single word was a command, a plea, a barely contained threat. Chrishell obeyed, pulling back until only the head of his cock rested on her tongue, her breath warm and uneven against his skin.

Rueben's thumb traced the damp corner of her mouth, his other hand still fisted in her hair. "You’re good at this," he observed, his tone deceptively casual. The flogger lay discarded on the floor, its suede tails coiled like a sleeping serpent. "Too good." His hips jerked forward without warning, forcing himself deeper into her throat. Chrishell’s gag reflex kicked in instantly, her body tensing against the ropes, but Rueben held her in place, his grip unyielding. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, spilling over as she fought to breathe through her nose.

He pulled back just as abruptly, letting her gasp for air, her chest heaving. The clamps swayed with the motion, the chain between them glinting in the crimson light. Rueben dragged the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, smearing the moisture there. "Who taught you?" The question was quiet, almost conversational, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

Chrishell's breath hitched around him, her lips swollen and slick. She pulled back just enough to speak, the words wet and ragged against his skin. "You did, Master," she murmured, her tongue darting out to catch the bitter-salt taste of him. "Showed me how you like it." Her teeth grazed the sensitive underside—not enough to hurt, just enough to make his hips jerk. "Am I pleasing you, Sir?" The honorific dripped from her like honey, thick and deliberate.

Rueben's hand tightened in her hair, his knuckles brushing the silk blindfold still tangled in her curls. He didn't answer—not with words. Instead, he pushed forward again, his cock sliding deep into her throat, and this time he didn't pull back. Chrishell's gag reflex spasmed, her nails digging into her own palms where they were bound, but she held still. Held *open*. Tears streaked her cheeks, catching the crimson light like shattered stained glass.

When he finally withdrew, her gasp was ragged, her chest heaving. Rueben traced the spit-slick curve of her lower lip with his thumb. "You're learning," he allowed, his voice rough. The praise felt like a blade wrapped in velvet—sweet, but with an edge that could draw blood. His other hand released her hair, sliding down to cup her jaw instead, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make her pulse jump against them.

Rueben's grip shifted suddenly—one hand still tangled in her hair, the other seizing her hip with enough force to bruise. He yanked her backward off her knees, the silk ropes biting into her wrists as she fell forward, catching herself on her elbows just before her face hit the floor. The corset's boning dug into her ribs with the impact, stealing her breath. Then his hands were on her ass, fingers hooking into the lace-edged panties she'd worn specifically for him to destroy. The fabric tore like wet paper, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Cold air hit her exposed skin an instant before his palm did—a sharp, stinging slap that left her gasping.

He didn't bother with a preamble. One hand braced against the small of her back, pressing her down into the floor, while the other guided himself into her with a single, brutal thrust. Chrishell's cry fractured into a moan as he filled her, the stretch bordering on pain—but pain had always been her favorite color. Rueben's hips met her ass with a wet smack, his harness creaking as he withdrew only to slam back in, setting a punishing rhythm from the first stroke. The chain between the clamps swayed wildly with each impact, the metal links clicking against her sternum.

"Look at you," Rueben growled, his voice ragged at the edges. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip, surely leaving marks. "Taking it like you were made for me." Another thrust, deeper this time, and Chrishell's elbows buckled, her cheek pressing into the cool floor. The position arched her back further, giving him better access, and Rueben groaned his approval. One hand slid up her spine, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades to hold her down. "Because you *were*," he added, punctuating the words with a snap of his hips that made her see stars.

Chrishell became breathless—not from the force of Rueben's thrusts, though they punched the air from her lungs with each snap of his hips—but from the sudden, searing realization that he *meant* it. The violence in his grip, the raw possessiveness in his voice, the way his teeth had scraped her pulse point like a claim. This wasn't playacting anymore. The dungeon's props and LED lights faded into irrelevance; the only things real were the heat of his body driving into hers and the cold floor beneath her cheek.

Her wrists twisted in the silk ropes, not to escape, but to *feel* the bite of them, to remind herself she was still tethered to something. Rueben's hand fisted in her hair again, yanking her head back to expose the column of her throat. His breath hit her skin in ragged bursts, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. "You feel that?" he growled, punctuating the question with a thrust so deep it made her vision blur. "That's mine. All of it." His free hand slid around her hip, fingers pressing bruising-hard into the softness of her belly, as if he could reach inside and claim even her breath.

Chrishell's moan shattered into a gasp as Rueben twisted the clamps' chain around his fingers, pulling taut until the metal links bit into her skin. The dual sensation—his cock stretching her to the brink, the sharp tug at her nipples- left her dizzy, her thighs trembling against the floor. She tried to speak, but all that escaped was a broken syllable, half his name, half a plea. Rueben chuckled darkly, his hips never stuttering. "Use your words, darling," he murmured, though his own voice was frayed at the edges. "Or don't. I like you like this, speechless. Helpless. *Mine*."

Chrishell's fingers scrabbled at the floor, her nails leaving faint crescent marks on the polished wood beneath her. The corset's laces dug into her ribs with each ragged inhale, the silk ropes creaking ominously as she arched back into RuebEn's next thrust. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half laugh—as his teeth found the nape of her neck.

"Fuck," she gasped, the word mangled by the way her body jerked forward when his palm landed sharply between her shoulder blades. The impact reverberated through her, the sting blending seamlessly with the pleasure coiling low in her belly. Rueben's answering growl vibrated against her spine, his fingers tightening in her hair just shy of painful.

He slowed abruptly, his cock dragging against her inner walls with deliberate, excruciating friction. Chrishell whimpered, her hips canting backward instinctively, seeking the rhythm he'd denied her. Rueben's chuckle was dark, pleased. "Impatient," he murmured, his free hand skating down her side to grip her hipbone. His thumb pressed into the fresh bruise there, the pressure just shy of breaking skin. "But you'll wait for it, won't you?"

Rueben's palm cracked against her ass with a sound like wet leather snapping taut—once, twice, the impacts landing a fraction too slow for her to brace between them. Chrishell gasped into the floorboards, her hips jerking forward instinctively, only to be dragged back by his grip on her waist. The third strike landed diagonally across the first two, overlapping the reddening skin, and her thighs trembled against the wood. By the fourth, she'd stopped trying to muffle her cries; the fifth sent her arching up against him, the silk ropes biting into her wrists as she pressed back into the sting like a cat seeking sunlight.

His hand lingered on the heated skin afterward, fingers splaying to span the width of her ass as if measuring the territory he'd marked. Rueben exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate—the way he did when admiring a fresh tattoo or a well-balanced knife. "Beautiful,"  thumb pressing into the crease where her thigh met her cheek, relishing the way her breath hitched. The word wasn't praise so much as an observation: the welts rising under his touch, the way her skin flushed the exact shade of the LED strips casting the room in bloody light.

Chrishell twisted her wrists in the ropes, testing their give. The silk held firm, the knots Rueben had tied hours ago (while humming some godawful pop song under his breath) refusing to budge. She huffed a laugh into the floorboards. "You're enjoying this too much," she managed, voice ragged at the edges.

Rueben's answering chuckle was low, dangerous. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her sweat-slicked back, the harness’s straps digging into her skin. His lips brushed her ear, the words barely more than a vibration. “You say that like it’s a problem.” His hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, the drag of his cock inside her maddening.

Chrishell’s breath hitched, her body tightening around him. The ropes groaned as she arched, seeking more, but Rueben held her down with a hand between her shoulder blades. “Stay,” he commanded, voice rough. His other hand trailed down her spine, fingers skimming the fresh welts from the flogger before gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She whimpered, a sound that was half protest, half plea, but he ignored it. Instead, he pulled out entirely, leaving her empty and shaking. The sudden absence was worse than any strike. Chrishell twisted her head to glare over her shoulder, but Rueben was already moving, his footsteps deliberate. The flogger’s tails whispered against the floor as he picked it up, the beads clinking softly.

The flogger's tails whispered against Chrishell's thigh—not a strike, just the ghost of contact, the beads cold against her overheated skin. Ruebin circled her slowly, the harness straps creaking with each measured step. "You're impatient," he murmured, pausing to drag the flogger's handle down the curve of her spine. The metal left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "But we're not rushing this."

Chrishell exhaled through her nose, her cheek still pressed to the floor. The silk ropes had loosened slightly with her struggles, but not enough to matter. She flexed her fingers, nails scraping the wood. "Says the man who just fucked me into the floor," she shot back, voice hoarse but edged with that familiar defiance.

Rueben's laugh was a dark, pleased thing. He tapped the flogger against her ass—once, twice—the suede tails landing with just enough force to make her jerk. "And I'll do it again," he promised, his voice dropping into something rougher. "But first—" The flogger cracked against her thighs, the beads biting in a starburst of pain. Chrishell's gasp dissolved into a moan as the sensation rippled through her, the ache blending seamlessly with the throbbing between her legs.

The flogger's tails curled lazily against Chrishell's inner thigh, the beads clicking together like a predator's teeth before the strike. Ruebin's voice, when it came, was silk wrapped around a blade. "His name." Not a question—a demand.

Chrishell's laugh hitched as the flogger's handle pressed higher, tracing the damp crease of her thigh. "Which one?" The taunt slipped out before she could stop it, reckless even for her. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Rueben's fingers tangled in her hair, wrenching her head back until her throat arched like a bowstring. His breath scorched her ear. "Try again."

The flogger's handle pressed harder against her inner thigh, the metal beads cold as ice against her overheated skin. Chrishell's breath came in shallow gasps, her pulse hammering wildly where Rueben's fingers still gripped her hair. The blindfold had slipped slightly, revealing a sliver of her dilated pupils—just enough for him to see the flicker of defiance still burning there.

"James," she admitted finally, her voice ragged. "His name was James." The words tasted like surrender, but her hips rocked forward against the flogger's handle anyway—testing, teasing. Rueben's grip tightened instantly, his free hand pressing between her shoulder blades to pin her more firmly against the floor.

"James," Rueben repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like something foul. The flogger's tails hissed through the air before landing diagonally across her ass, the beads biting deep. Chrishell's cry fractured into a moan as the pain blossomed into pleasure, her body arching instinctively into the strike. Rueben watched the flush spread across her skin, his own breath coming faster now. "Did he touch you like this?"

The flogger's handle traced slow circles against the back of Chrishell's thigh, the metal beads clicking together like dice before a bad roll. Rueben exhaled through his nose—a controlled, dangerous sound—before pressing the handle harder against the damp skin where her thigh met her ass. "Answer me."

Chrishell's wrists twisted in the silk ropes, her breath hitching as the clamps swayed with the movement. The blindfold had slipped enough to reveal one dilated pupil, black with arousal despite the tension threading through her muscles. "He bought me a drink," she admitted, voice rough. The flogger's handle paused mid-circle. "Put his hand on my waist when he handed it to me." Her hips rocked forward slightly—instinct or defiance, Rueben couldn't tell. "That's all."

Rueben's knuckles whitened around the flogger. The silence stretched taut between them, broken only by the creak of leather as he shifted his stance. Then, with a sharp twist of his wrist, he brought the flogger down diagonally across both thighs in a single, brutal strike. Chrishell gasped, her spine arching as the beads bit deep, but Ruebin was already moving—dropping the flogger to grip her hips with both hands, yanking her back onto his cock in one fluid motion.

The impact drove the breath from Chrishell's lungs, her cry dissolving into a choked moan as Rueben buried himself to the hilt. His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave bruises, his hips snapping forward with none of the measured restraint from before. The silk ropes groaned as she arched back against him, her thighs trembling against the floorboards. Rueben's breath scorched the nape of her neck—hot, uneven—before his teeth found the tendon there, biting down just shy of breaking skin.

Chrishell's gasp fractured into a broken laugh. "Jealousy looks good on you," she taunted, though the words wavered as he withdrew almost completely before slamming back in. The angle was brutal, deliberate, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside her with every thrust. Her fingers scrabbled against the floor, nails leaving pale crescents in the wood.

Rueben's hand fisted in her hair again, wrenching her head back until her throat stretched taut beneath his lips. "Shut up," he growled, the command rough-edged with something darker than anger. His hips stuttered when her inner muscles clenched around him; whether consciously or not, he couldn't tell, and his grip tightened in warning. "Unless you want me to stop."

His fingers slid beneath her, calloused fingertips finding her clit with the precision of a safecracker twisting a dial. The sudden contact wrenched a gasp from Chrishell's throat—sharp, startled—her hips jerking forward against the floor. Rueben's laugh was dark velvet against her spine as he circled the swollen bud with agonizing slowness, his cock still buried deep inside her.

"Look at you,"  his free hand splaying across the small of her back to pin her down as she writhed. The silk ropes creaked ominously with her movements, the knots holding fast. "Desperate." His thumb pressed harder, the pad rubbing in tight circles that made her vision blur. The dual sensation, his cock stretching her, his fingers teasing—left her trembling, her thighs slick with sweat where they pressed against the floorboards.

Chrishell's breath came in ragged bursts, her forehead pressed to the cool wood. She tried to speak, but all that escaped was a broken moan as Rueben crooked his fingers just so, the heel of his palm grinding against her with each thrust. The clamps swayed wildly, the chain clicking against her sternum in time with their movements.

"Is this what you want, Chrishell?" Rueben's voice was a low rasp against her ear, his teeth grazing the shell of it as his fingers tightened around her throat—not choking, just *claiming*. The flogger lay forgotten beside them, its tails coiled like a spent serpent. "Is this what you wanted all along? To be dominated?" His hips rolled forward with deliberate slowness, the drag of his cock inside her maddening. "Or did you just want to see how far I'd go?"

Chrishell's laugh was ragged, her wrists twisting in the silk ropes. The blindfold had slipped completely now, pooling around her neck like a collar. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips swollen from his earlier attentions. "Both," she admitted, the word cracking open between them like an overripe fruit. Her hips arched back into his next thrust, her body betraying her long before her mouth ever could. "Always both."

Rueben exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing against her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his palm, the rapid flutter of it like a trapped bird. "You're a fucking menace," he growled, but there was no heat left in it, just a weary sort of admiration. His free hand slid down her spine, fingers tracing the welts left by the flogger before gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises. "You knew exactly what you were doing with that client."

The clamps swayed violently as Rueben's hips snapped forward, driving Chrishell's cheek harder against the floorboards. She could taste the wood grain on her tongue, splintered oak, and the ghost of lemon polish, as he pulled her hair taut like a rein, forcing her spine into a deeper arch.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice raw at the edges. His thumb pressed against her windpipe, not cutting off air but mapping the vibrations of her vocal cords as she spoke.

Chrishell's laugh was breathless, fraying at the edges. "I knew," she gasped, her hips rolling back to meet his thrust. The silk ropes groaned as she twisted against them, the friction burning most sweetly. "Knew you'd—*fuck*—knew you'd lose it." Her throat worked against his palm as she swallowed. "Knew you'd fuck me like this."

Rueben pulled out with deliberate slowness, his cock dragging against Chrishell's inner walls until the tip finally caught on her rim before popping free with a filthy sound. She shuddered beneath him, her thighs trembling against the floorboards. The sudden emptiness was worse than any strike, a hollow ache that made her hips jerk backward instinctively, seeking friction that wasn't there.

Behind her, Rueben chuckled darkly. The harness straps creaked as he settled onto his haunches, his palm rasping against his own length in rough strokes. Chrishell twisted her head to peer over her shoulder, her breath catching at the sight, his biceps flexing with each movement, his cock glistening with her arousal, his gaze locked on the mess he'd made of her.

The first spurt hit high on her ass cheek, hot and sudden. Chrishell gasped, her fingers scrabbling against the wood. Rueben groaned through clenched teeth as the next landed across the small of her back, painting sticky streaks over the floggers' fading marks. He worked himself through it, his grip tightening at the base until the last pulses spilled over her hipbones, dripping slowly and thick down her thigh.

Rueben laughed, a low, rough sound that vibrated through the humid air between them. He pulled his pants up with deliberate slowness, the zipper's rasp loud in the sudden quiet of the room. Chrishell's breath hitched as he stepped over the torn remnants of her panties, his boots scuffing against the floorboards with each measured stride.

"Done?" she echoed, her voice raw. The ropes groaned as she twisted her wrists, testing, always testing, but the knots held firm. Rueben crouched beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell the salt and sweat clinging to him. His fingers brushed a damp curl from her forehead, the touch incongruously gentle after everything.

"For tonight," he confirmed, thumb tracing the swell of her lower lip. His gaze dropped to the mess he'd left on her back, the come already cooling in sticky trails down her thigh. "You'll stay here until I come back." A pause. The LED strips flickered again, casting his face in shifting crimson shadows. "*If* I come back."

Chrishell yelled, "No, no, you can't do this, I haven't even climaxed, Ruebin, Ruebin, get back here!" Her voice cracked on his name, raw from earlier screams and the lingering press of his palm against her throat. The door clicked shut behind him with finality, no slam, just the quiet snick of a lock engaging. The sound was worse than any dramatic exit. Cold air prickled against the sweat-dampened skin of her back, the drying streaks of his release tightening like a second skin.

Ruebin relished the thought, sipping on his drink.