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spend most of his life fifteen thousand kilometers away?
    “Yes Sir.” Her back straightened and he thought he saw a
trace of a smile, and genuine pleasure in saying the formulaic words.
    “I’ll be right back.”
    Ten meters away there was a pile of blue cushions. There
were other piles of them scattered around the club. They’d been a feature of
Indigo for most of its existence, nearly a decade now, after a group of subs
decided they were tired of being asked to kneel on the floor and wanted some
comfort. A dark-blue once, they were now faded and grayish, but still very
functional. He got the best-looking one of the lot and brought it back with
him. He set it at Zoe’s feet.
    She started to kneel on it and then stopped, straightened
and looked at him. “Is that for me, Sir?”
    “Yes. You may kneel.”
    She nodded and knelt on the pillow, facing him. She spread
her legs, hesitantly for a moment, but at a nod from him she spread them
farther until her knees were farther apart than her shoulders were wide. To
sustain that position for long took practice, and strain showed on her face,
more than he wanted but he wasn’t about to repudiate her sacrifice by telling
her not to. The hem of her dress rose on her thighs, revealing soft, creamy
flesh, black panties and a scar on her thigh. She pulled it back over the scar.
    He crouched next to her and pushed the dress back up an
inch. “How’d you get this?” He didn’t want to make her relive bad experiences,
but he did want to know what ghosts haunted her.
    “Knife, Sir. For crying out during a scene.”
    Fucking hell. “If you cry out during a scene with me,
you’ll get a warm hug and a hungry kiss.” He feathered his fingers over the
inside of her thigh, neither avoiding nor seeking out the scar.
    He was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and the heady
scent of a woman aroused. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You’re a beautiful woman,
Zoe. You deserve to feel good.”
    “I’m damaged goods, I’m afraid.” Her hands fluttered, as if
she was not sure what to do with them.
    “No damage that matters, or that can’t heal. Put your hands
behind your back, and hold one wrist with the other hand.”
    He watched as she obeyed and her chest pushed out as her
shoulders went back. His cock responded, and he had to remind himself not to go
too fast or rough with her.
    “You’re soft and lovely.” Her brushed the side of her breast
with his knuckle, then slid his other hand farther up her thigh. The back of
his hand rubbed against her panties and they were very damp. “You clearly don’t
need pain to be aroused.”
    “No Sir.” She let out a breath and smiled as if she was
relieved to discover it.
    Around them the partygoers bustled, chatted and played, but
he shut them out to focus on Zoe.
    “So you’re not really a masochist,” he told her softly, his lips
an inch from hers. “And you’re not a simple bottom, or you’d have wanted to
negotiate exactly what we were going to do, rather than just where your limits
were. Which leads me to the conclusion that you’re a submissive, and that, at
least, that bastard didn’t manage to beat out of you.”
    She looked up at him as if she’d been caught out, although
he didn’t think he was saying anything that wasn’t obvious. “We’ve talked a lot
about what you don’t like, Zoe, it’s time we talked about what you do enjoy.
You like having your thighs stroked. Do you like it when I rub you through your
panties?” He cupped her crotch and rocked his hand on her vulva.
    “Yes.” She sounded out of breath.
    “Yes what?”
    “Yes Sir.”
    “You like calling me Sir, don’t you? Is that as hot for you
as it is for me? Because it’s really hot for me, having my hands between your
legs and you calling me Sir.” She was staring there, so he spread his legs a
few inches, his eyes fixed on her but sure she could see the bulge in his
jeans.
    “It turns me on that it turns you on, Sir.”
    He palmed her