Xtraordinary by Ruby Laska Read Free Book Online

He nodded approvingly and took it from her.
    â€œThank you, Chelsea. Now, please, if you would make yourself comfortable on the bed, I will join you in a moment. But first, take the lid off the box and look at what is inside.”
    Breathlessly, she lifted the fitted lid, setting it aside on the couch. Inside, she glimpsed shimmering sea blue silk. Straps and bits of lace identified underwear of some sort; curiously, it rested on a pile of clothespins, the old-fashioned wooden kind, strung on a coiled length of clothesline.
    She looked up at him sharply. The clothesline wasn’t strong enough to restrain her; where were the ropes he’d used before? And as for the clothespins, what did he intend to do with them?
    â€œI will gather a few more things. Make yourself ready. Remove your clothes, please, while you are waiting for me, and put on these.” He reached into the box and handed her the silk garments, the fabric slipping almost liquidly over his fingers.
    Thus dismissed, Chelsea got to her feet a second time and was about to leave the room when Ricardo stopped her with a hand on her thigh, his fingers closing around the denim of her jeans.
    â€œThere is one more thing. I would like you to go on your hands and knees.”
    Chelsea blinked, then looked incredulously at the hallway. Like the rest of the house, it was tiled in old, worn Saltillo tiles, the thick pottery creating a hard surface that would be punishing to her knees, not to mention humiliating.
    But…her body had responded to his shocking suggestion. Heat and blood rushed from her core, tingling along her nerve endings. Slowly, tentatively, she lowered herself to the ground until she was on all fours, the underwear grasped in one hand, looking over her shoulder at him.
    He nodded. “Right. Good. Now, off you go.”
    And so she crawled.
    It wasn’t a long distance; the house was compact and snug. The rug was soft and plush under her hands, but the tile was not. She could feel her face grow hot with mortification as she made her way down the hallway, her knees aching when they came in contact with the hard surface, one hand clutching the underwear carefully so that it didn’t touch the floor. She rounded the corner into the bedroom and, finally out of his sight, collapsed into a child’s pose, her forehead on the Navajo rug, her arms outstretched, her body tucked up small.
    And yet she knew she wouldn’t stop now. Whatever Ricardo asked of her next, she was ready for. The safe word he had given her— magnolia —flitted at the edges of her mind, and she knew she could call upon it if he pushed her too far.
    But so far, everything he had ordered her to do only made her more desperate for him.
    She pulled her shirt over her head and, remembering his predilection for order, folded it before laying it on an old caned missionary chair that sat next to the bed. Her jeans followed, then the plain black bra and panties. They were her best, but next to the silk pieces, they seemed unbearably dull and dowdy.
    She looked at the garments he’d given her more carefully. A lace-trimmed thong with only the tiniest triangle of silk to cover her pussy, and a balconette bra whose cups dipped coquettishly low. She took a breath and slipped them on.
    The thong cut tantalizingly into her ass and teased her pussy, and the bra cups barely covered her nipples. She tugged the straps this way and that experimentally but no matter what she did, the rosy edges of her areolae were still exposed, the stitching of the silk teasing maddeningly at her tender flesh.
    She was trying to figure out how to arrange herself on the bed, turning her legs from one side to the other and shuddering at the sensations caused by the silk sliding between her legs, when Ricardo came into the room. He stood leaning in the doorway, the wooden box resting on one hand, and watched her.
    She stilled, her legs awkwardly akimbo, and plucked at the bra, pointlessly.