The Sage and Surrender
by damaged_domThe door clicked shut behind Geeia, and the sound seemed to swallow the rest of the world. The air hit her first—warm, thick with the herbal bite of burning sage, and something else underneath, someth
about 1 hour ago
•long read•intense intensityThe door clicked shut behind Geeia, and the sound seemed to swallow the rest of the world. The air hit her first—warm, thick with the herbal bite of burning sage, and something else underneath, something darker that made her skin prickle beneath her clothes. Medieval-style pillar candles stood in iron sconces along the stone-look walls, their flames swaying in a rhythm that had nothing to do with wind. The room breathed.
Bodein leaned against one of the bedposts, arms crossed, watching her take it all in. His dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, and his eyes—that strange shifting color that she could never quite name, somewhere between storm-grey and moss-green tonight—held a glint of pure, unhurried mischief. He wore black linen trousers and nothing else, his chest bare and relaxed, as if he'd been waiting for hours without a shred of impatience.
“You’re staring at the straps,” he said.
Geeia’s gaze snapped away from the leather cuffs dangling from the bed’s corner beams. Her catacomb-black hair swung forward, hiding the flush crawling up her throat. “I wasn’t.”
“Liar.” His mouth curved, that cheeky expression she knew too well. “Take off your shoes.”
Not a request. The words landed low in her belly. She toed off her boots, her fingers clumsy on the laces, hyperaware of every sound—the soft thud of leather hitting the floor, the whisper of her own breathing, the faint crackle of candlewicks. The dark oak bed loomed behind him, massive and immovable, its black and purple sheets rumpled just enough to suggest someone had already lain there, waiting. The posts rose like silent sentinels, each one fitted with iron rings and straps that hung with patient, deliberate intent.
Bodein pushed off the post and walked toward her, bare feet silent on the worn Persian rug. At six-foot-one, he had to tilt his head down to meet her eyes, and he did it slowly, deliberately, letting the height difference register. Geeia’s pulse hammered in her throat. She was five-nine, not small by any measure, but the way he looked at her made her feel compressed, concentrated, reduced to pure sensation.
“You remember the last time,” he said. Not a question.
She nodded. The memories flooded back unbidden—his hands pinning her wrists, that same sage scent, the way his eyes had locked onto hers while she fell apart, refusing to let her hide from a single second of it. The room had an aura, she’d thought then, something that seeped through her skin and loosened her grip on resistance. She felt it now, stronger than before, a gravitational pull toward surrender.
“Good.” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckle grazing her cheekbone. “Then you know how this works. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But if you stay, you do what I say.”
Geeia’s lips parted. Her voice came out thinner than she intended. “I’m staying.”
His eyes flickered, a flash of heat breaking through the nonchalant mask. “Clothes off. Fold them on the chest by the door. Then come stand at the foot of the bed.”
She moved before she’d consciously decided to obey, her body already aligned with the room’s quiet command. Her sweater lifted over her head, catching briefly on her hair, and she heard him exhale a soft laugh—not mocking, just amused at her eagerness. Her jeans required a shimmy, her thick ass and thighs making the denim cling stubbornly until she worked them down. The bra went next, then the plain black cotton briefs she suddenly wished were something lacier, something that would have made his eyebrows rise when she peeled them off.
When she turned back, naked, the candlelight painting gold across her pale skin, Bodein hadn’t moved. But his expression had shifted. The cheekiness was still there, but it was hungrier now, sharpened at the edges.
“Come here.”
She walked to the foot of the bed, the rug fibers rough against her soles, and stood where he pointed. The bedframe rose before her, the leather straps at eye level, close enough to touch. She didn’t. Not without permission.
Bodein circled her once, slowly, his gaze dragging over her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass. He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his chest without quite touching. Her skin tightened in anticipation.
“You have no idea,” he murmured near her ear, “how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
His hand landed on her hip. Just rested there, heavy and warm, his thumb tracing a lazy arc over the top of her ass cheek. Geeia’s breath stuttered. She swayed backward instinctively, seeking more contact, and he clicked his tongue.
“Ah. No. You don’t move unless I move you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.” His thumb pressed deeper, digging into the muscle. “You’ll get what you want. But on my time.”
The minutes that followed were a masterclass in torment. He touched her everywhere except where she needed it—the nape of her neck, the insides of her wrists, the backs of her knees, the delicate skin just below her navel. By the time he finally cupped her breast, Geeia was trembling, her nipples so tight they ached. He rolled one between his thumb and forefinger, watching her face, and she let out a sound that was half moan, half whimper.
“Look at me,” he said.
She forced her eyes open, met that shifting gaze. His pupils had blown wide, dark swallowing color. He pinched harder, and she gasped but held his stare, her jaw tight.
“Good girl.”
The praise hit her like a drug. Her knees weakened. Bodein caught her elbow, steadying her, then guided her onto the bed. The sheets were cool against her back, the purple so deep it looked black in the candlelight. He positioned her in the center, arms above her head, and she felt the leather wrap around her left wrist before she could process what was happening. A soft tug, a metallic click, and she was anchored to the bedpost.
“Too tight?”
She tested the strap. It held firm but didn’t bite. “No.”
“Good.” He secured her other wrist, then stepped back to admire his work. Geeia lay spread before him, arms stretched overhead, her breasts rising and falling with each quickening breath. The vulnerability was absolute, and instead of panic, she felt a strange, liquid calm settle over her. The room’s aura had her now, cradling her in its dark embrace.
Bodein shed his trousers. His cock sprang free, thick and already slick at the tip, and Geeia’s mouth watered at the sight. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs, and leaned down to kiss her for the first time that night. It wasn’t gentle. His tongue pushed past her lips, demanding, and she gave him everything, arching up as much as the restraints allowed.
He broke the kiss and moved lower, trailing his mouth down her throat, between her breasts, over her stomach. When he reached her hips, he paused, his breath hot against her mound.
“Spread your legs.”
She obeyed, bending her knees and letting them fall open. Bodein settled between them, his shoulders pushing her thighs wider, and then his mouth was on her and the world went white-hot. He licked into her with slow, devastating precision, his tongue flat and then pointed, circling her clit without quite touching it until she was writhing against the sheets.
“Please,” she heard herself say. “Please, Bodein, fuck—”
He pulled back just enough to speak. “Please what?”
“Please let me come.”
“Not yet.” He dipped his head again, and this time his tongue slid lower, teasing the tight ring of her ass. Geeia’s whole body jerked. They hadn’t done this before—she’d mentioned it once, a whispered confession in the dark after their last encounter, and he’d filed it away, apparently, saved it for this exact moment.
“Relax,” he murmured against her skin. “Just feel it.”
His tongue circled, wet and warm, pressing just enough to make her gasp but never breaching. The sensation was alien and electric, sending shocks up her spine that tangled with the ache in her clit. He kept at it for what felt like hours, alternating between soft flicks and firm pressure, never pushing inside, just teasing the possibility until she was babbling nonsense into the pillows.
“That’s enough of that,” he said finally, and she nearly sobbed with relief and frustration. “For now.”
He crawled up her body, and she saw his cock bobbing heavy and dark, veins prominent along the shaft. He positioned himself at her entrance but didn’t push in, just rocked against her, coating himself in her wetness.
“You want this?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want your cock inside me. Please. I’m begging you.”
His eyes locked onto hers, that intense, unblinking stare that made her feel flayed open. “Not yet.”
The denial was exquisite torture. He slid back down and put his mouth on her clit again, this time with purpose, two fingers pushing inside her while his tongue worked relentlessly. The combination was too much—the stretch of his fingers, the wet heat of his mouth, the leather biting into her wrists every time she pulled against the restraints.
Her orgasm built like a wave pulling back from shore, gathering everything into itself before crashing forward. She came with a cry that broke into a whimper, her thighs clamping around his head, her hips bucking against his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just rode her through it until the spasms faded into helpless trembling.
“Beautiful,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now. I want your throat.”
He released the straps, and she sat up on shaky arms, her muscles liquid. Bodein leaned back against the headboard, his cock standing proud, and she crawled to him, understanding exactly what he wanted. She positioned herself between his legs and took him into her mouth without preamble, hollowing her cheeks, taking him as deep as she could.
He groaned, his hand fisting in her hair. “Eyes on me.”
She looked up, her lips stretched around his shaft, and held his gaze. His jaw was tight, his chest heaving, the nonchalant mask finally cracking. She worked him with her tongue, her hand gripping the base where her mouth couldn’t reach, and watched the pleasure break across his face in waves.
“Enough.” His voice was ragged. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
He pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the foot of the bed. Her hands found the dark oak frame, gripping it for support, and she felt him position himself behind her. His cock nudged her entrance, and then he pushed in, one long, slow thrust that filled her completely.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
“That’s the idea.”
He moved with deep, grinding strokes, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. The angle was devastating, hitting spots inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes. Geeia pushed back to meet each thrust, her ass slapping against his thighs, the sound obscene and perfect in the candlelit room.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking all of it. Such a good fucking girl.”
She was close again, impossibly, the pressure building at the base of her spine. Bodein reached around and found her clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched his rhythm, and she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, stronger than the first, wrenching a scream from her throat that dissolved into broken whimpers.
He followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips slamming home one last time as he emptied himself inside her. They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, the scent of sage and sex hanging heavy in the air.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Bodein laughed, a low, satisfied rumble.
“You’re going to feel that tomorrow.”
Geeia turned her head, her cheek pressed to the rumpled purple sheets. “Good. I want to.”
He grinned, that cheeky expression back in full force, and reached over to brush the hair from her face. “Next time, we try the straps on your ankles too.”
Her stomach flipped. “Next time?”
“Obviously.” He kissed her forehead, surprisingly gentle. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Outside the room, the world had kept spinning, but inside, in the flickering dark, Geeia smiled and let herself sink deeper into the bed, already wondering what other memories this room would hold.
Bodein leaned against one of the bedposts, arms crossed, watching her take it all in. His dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, and his eyes—that strange shifting color that she could never quite name, somewhere between storm-grey and moss-green tonight—held a glint of pure, unhurried mischief. He wore black linen trousers and nothing else, his chest bare and relaxed, as if he'd been waiting for hours without a shred of impatience.
“You’re staring at the straps,” he said.
Geeia’s gaze snapped away from the leather cuffs dangling from the bed’s corner beams. Her catacomb-black hair swung forward, hiding the flush crawling up her throat. “I wasn’t.”
“Liar.” His mouth curved, that cheeky expression she knew too well. “Take off your shoes.”
Not a request. The words landed low in her belly. She toed off her boots, her fingers clumsy on the laces, hyperaware of every sound—the soft thud of leather hitting the floor, the whisper of her own breathing, the faint crackle of candlewicks. The dark oak bed loomed behind him, massive and immovable, its black and purple sheets rumpled just enough to suggest someone had already lain there, waiting. The posts rose like silent sentinels, each one fitted with iron rings and straps that hung with patient, deliberate intent.
Bodein pushed off the post and walked toward her, bare feet silent on the worn Persian rug. At six-foot-one, he had to tilt his head down to meet her eyes, and he did it slowly, deliberately, letting the height difference register. Geeia’s pulse hammered in her throat. She was five-nine, not small by any measure, but the way he looked at her made her feel compressed, concentrated, reduced to pure sensation.
“You remember the last time,” he said. Not a question.
She nodded. The memories flooded back unbidden—his hands pinning her wrists, that same sage scent, the way his eyes had locked onto hers while she fell apart, refusing to let her hide from a single second of it. The room had an aura, she’d thought then, something that seeped through her skin and loosened her grip on resistance. She felt it now, stronger than before, a gravitational pull toward surrender.
“Good.” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckle grazing her cheekbone. “Then you know how this works. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But if you stay, you do what I say.”
Geeia’s lips parted. Her voice came out thinner than she intended. “I’m staying.”
His eyes flickered, a flash of heat breaking through the nonchalant mask. “Clothes off. Fold them on the chest by the door. Then come stand at the foot of the bed.”
She moved before she’d consciously decided to obey, her body already aligned with the room’s quiet command. Her sweater lifted over her head, catching briefly on her hair, and she heard him exhale a soft laugh—not mocking, just amused at her eagerness. Her jeans required a shimmy, her thick ass and thighs making the denim cling stubbornly until she worked them down. The bra went next, then the plain black cotton briefs she suddenly wished were something lacier, something that would have made his eyebrows rise when she peeled them off.
When she turned back, naked, the candlelight painting gold across her pale skin, Bodein hadn’t moved. But his expression had shifted. The cheekiness was still there, but it was hungrier now, sharpened at the edges.
“Come here.”
She walked to the foot of the bed, the rug fibers rough against her soles, and stood where he pointed. The bedframe rose before her, the leather straps at eye level, close enough to touch. She didn’t. Not without permission.
Bodein circled her once, slowly, his gaze dragging over her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass. He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his chest without quite touching. Her skin tightened in anticipation.
“You have no idea,” he murmured near her ear, “how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
His hand landed on her hip. Just rested there, heavy and warm, his thumb tracing a lazy arc over the top of her ass cheek. Geeia’s breath stuttered. She swayed backward instinctively, seeking more contact, and he clicked his tongue.
“Ah. No. You don’t move unless I move you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.” His thumb pressed deeper, digging into the muscle. “You’ll get what you want. But on my time.”
The minutes that followed were a masterclass in torment. He touched her everywhere except where she needed it—the nape of her neck, the insides of her wrists, the backs of her knees, the delicate skin just below her navel. By the time he finally cupped her breast, Geeia was trembling, her nipples so tight they ached. He rolled one between his thumb and forefinger, watching her face, and she let out a sound that was half moan, half whimper.
“Look at me,” he said.
She forced her eyes open, met that shifting gaze. His pupils had blown wide, dark swallowing color. He pinched harder, and she gasped but held his stare, her jaw tight.
“Good girl.”
The praise hit her like a drug. Her knees weakened. Bodein caught her elbow, steadying her, then guided her onto the bed. The sheets were cool against her back, the purple so deep it looked black in the candlelight. He positioned her in the center, arms above her head, and she felt the leather wrap around her left wrist before she could process what was happening. A soft tug, a metallic click, and she was anchored to the bedpost.
“Too tight?”
She tested the strap. It held firm but didn’t bite. “No.”
“Good.” He secured her other wrist, then stepped back to admire his work. Geeia lay spread before him, arms stretched overhead, her breasts rising and falling with each quickening breath. The vulnerability was absolute, and instead of panic, she felt a strange, liquid calm settle over her. The room’s aura had her now, cradling her in its dark embrace.
Bodein shed his trousers. His cock sprang free, thick and already slick at the tip, and Geeia’s mouth watered at the sight. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs, and leaned down to kiss her for the first time that night. It wasn’t gentle. His tongue pushed past her lips, demanding, and she gave him everything, arching up as much as the restraints allowed.
He broke the kiss and moved lower, trailing his mouth down her throat, between her breasts, over her stomach. When he reached her hips, he paused, his breath hot against her mound.
“Spread your legs.”
She obeyed, bending her knees and letting them fall open. Bodein settled between them, his shoulders pushing her thighs wider, and then his mouth was on her and the world went white-hot. He licked into her with slow, devastating precision, his tongue flat and then pointed, circling her clit without quite touching it until she was writhing against the sheets.
“Please,” she heard herself say. “Please, Bodein, fuck—”
He pulled back just enough to speak. “Please what?”
“Please let me come.”
“Not yet.” He dipped his head again, and this time his tongue slid lower, teasing the tight ring of her ass. Geeia’s whole body jerked. They hadn’t done this before—she’d mentioned it once, a whispered confession in the dark after their last encounter, and he’d filed it away, apparently, saved it for this exact moment.
“Relax,” he murmured against her skin. “Just feel it.”
His tongue circled, wet and warm, pressing just enough to make her gasp but never breaching. The sensation was alien and electric, sending shocks up her spine that tangled with the ache in her clit. He kept at it for what felt like hours, alternating between soft flicks and firm pressure, never pushing inside, just teasing the possibility until she was babbling nonsense into the pillows.
“That’s enough of that,” he said finally, and she nearly sobbed with relief and frustration. “For now.”
He crawled up her body, and she saw his cock bobbing heavy and dark, veins prominent along the shaft. He positioned himself at her entrance but didn’t push in, just rocked against her, coating himself in her wetness.
“You want this?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want your cock inside me. Please. I’m begging you.”
His eyes locked onto hers, that intense, unblinking stare that made her feel flayed open. “Not yet.”
The denial was exquisite torture. He slid back down and put his mouth on her clit again, this time with purpose, two fingers pushing inside her while his tongue worked relentlessly. The combination was too much—the stretch of his fingers, the wet heat of his mouth, the leather biting into her wrists every time she pulled against the restraints.
Her orgasm built like a wave pulling back from shore, gathering everything into itself before crashing forward. She came with a cry that broke into a whimper, her thighs clamping around his head, her hips bucking against his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just rode her through it until the spasms faded into helpless trembling.
“Beautiful,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now. I want your throat.”
He released the straps, and she sat up on shaky arms, her muscles liquid. Bodein leaned back against the headboard, his cock standing proud, and she crawled to him, understanding exactly what he wanted. She positioned herself between his legs and took him into her mouth without preamble, hollowing her cheeks, taking him as deep as she could.
He groaned, his hand fisting in her hair. “Eyes on me.”
She looked up, her lips stretched around his shaft, and held his gaze. His jaw was tight, his chest heaving, the nonchalant mask finally cracking. She worked him with her tongue, her hand gripping the base where her mouth couldn’t reach, and watched the pleasure break across his face in waves.
“Enough.” His voice was ragged. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
He pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the foot of the bed. Her hands found the dark oak frame, gripping it for support, and she felt him position himself behind her. His cock nudged her entrance, and then he pushed in, one long, slow thrust that filled her completely.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
“That’s the idea.”
He moved with deep, grinding strokes, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. The angle was devastating, hitting spots inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes. Geeia pushed back to meet each thrust, her ass slapping against his thighs, the sound obscene and perfect in the candlelit room.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking all of it. Such a good fucking girl.”
She was close again, impossibly, the pressure building at the base of her spine. Bodein reached around and found her clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched his rhythm, and she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, stronger than the first, wrenching a scream from her throat that dissolved into broken whimpers.
He followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips slamming home one last time as he emptied himself inside her. They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, the scent of sage and sex hanging heavy in the air.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Bodein laughed, a low, satisfied rumble.
“You’re going to feel that tomorrow.”
Geeia turned her head, her cheek pressed to the rumpled purple sheets. “Good. I want to.”
He grinned, that cheeky expression back in full force, and reached over to brush the hair from her face. “Next time, we try the straps on your ankles too.”
Her stomach flipped. “Next time?”
“Obviously.” He kissed her forehead, surprisingly gentle. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Outside the room, the world had kept spinning, but inside, in the flickering dark, Geeia smiled and let herself sink deeper into the bed, already wondering what other memories this room would hold.