Besieged: Stories from the Iron Druid Chronicles(55)

“I’m going to tie you up, Perun. I think you’ll like it. So what’s your safe word?”

“Um.” I try to think of something I would never say during sexy times. “Beefcake.”

Flidais looks at Zipper Woman and she nods, satisfied. “That’s good.”

“Who will be here later?” I ask Flidais, since she has not told me to be quiet again. But my question earns whip from crop and new command to be silent. Maybe person she waits for will be part of our play later. Maybe is surprise for me so she does not want to say.

Flidais says farewell to Zipper Woman and tugs gently on my chain. We walk around stage to left, taking in scenes, and some peoples who are watching turn to watch us. Flidais must turn down many invitations to play with us as we circle the stage. Is very polite.

When we get to far side opposite door, perhaps small bit to right, Flidais points with riding crop to strange wooden posts with cuffs and straps hanging from them. No: not cuffs like police have. These are wider and black steel. I remember now: Word is manacles.

“Let’s begin,” she says. “Stand in front of that, facing me.”

I feel my excitement start with only these words. The anticipation has been building, and now I am thinking most of our play will be anticipation too.

Since I am tall man, Flidais must adjust this thing to fit me. She must bend and stretch to do this, and some peoples are attracted. They begin to drift our way, leaving other scenes to watch what we do.

Flidais places my right wrist into manacles so my arm points northwest if I am person lying flat on compass. My left arm goes into other manacles pointing northeast. More manacles near floor lock around my legs above the ankle. My limbs are like chest harness now, shaped like X.

As she does this to ensure I cannot touch her, she is constantly touching me, her fingernails tracing with light pressure my arms and legs. And she tells me how I will be teased and turned on in front of all these people—more are gathering to watch—until I am ready to explode. But I must not—I cannot—until she gives me permission.

This happens mostly like she says it will. Mostly.

She opens front of jock and my arousal is very much plain. But her fingers never touch me after that. Is all talking and touching with riding crop. But not having control—the anticipation and surprise of where I will next be touched, and how, with a sting or a caress—is much more exciting than I would have thought. And I did not expect to have peoples watching or to see on faces how much they like it, and this feels good to me also.

While Flidais brings me to edge and keeps me there, I glimpse peoples behind watchers moving about on center stage. Short time later, strange man pushes to front of watchers, dressed in suit, no leather on except maybe shoes. He is not in Cuddle Dungeon for sexy times and does not look interested in me or Flidais or anyone. All the naked hotness is very boring to this man with white mustache all waxy at tips. He clears throat and says to Flidais, “She is here now and watching.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning her head only little bit to answer. He pushes back through crowd and disappears.

“Who—” I begin, but crop whacks me before I can say more.

“Never mind that now, Perun,” Flidais says. “I think you’ve been very good and deserve to let go now.” She drops the crop and presses herself against me, uses her hands, and is so different, so wanted, that I feel myself building to point of no return. Sparks light in my eyes, and electricity makes hairs on my body stand up. “Don’t you want to lose control? I want you to. These people want you to. You have permission. Come on.”

Is only seconds and shiver of ecstasy lights up spine, everything tightens, muscles clench, and then—nothing. Or, rather, something but not orgasm. Muscles go slack and I slump as much as manacles allow. They are in fact all that keeps me standing. All my strength is gone and head spins like pinwheel, colors firing in vision but all blurs, no shapes.

“Got you,” Flidais says, but does not sound like she talks to me. I feel her at my right leg, undoing manacle.

“What happens? Something wrong.” I try to remember safe word. “Cake!”

“Yes, we’re finished playing. Time to go hunting.”

Right leg free, my knee tries to flex and buckles. Other manacles keep me standing. Vision clears enough to see Flidais working on left leg, but blotchy like looking through window in rainstorm.

“Hunting what?”

“Hunting whoever just siphoned your energy at the point of orgasm.”

“Was it strange man in suit?”

“No, that was Aloysius MacBharrais, the Scots wizard.” She says like I should know the name. “He’s the one who told me there was a problem here.”

Left leg is free and I wobble like walking on noodle. Muscles do not want to work. Flidais notices. “Am I going to have to carry you?”

“I should maybe lie down and eat whole chicken. Maybe five.”

“No, Perun, we have to go after her,” she insists, unlocking left arm. I try not to fall, but I topple forward. Flidais pushes me back to post.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to lock knees and stay upright. Legs tremble beneath me. “Go after who?”

“The mad nymph who did this. She’s trackable now. She’s one of my daughter’s.”

“Fand sent nymph here?”