“I know, baby. I’ve seen how you yank your hair out every time you put on a turtleneck.”
She smiled softly, then looked back at the mask. “It looks a bit like a superhero mask.”
“It does a little, except no eye holes.”
“So I can’t see.” She grimaced.
“That’s right.” He wouldn’t add platitudes or try and pretend this wouldn’t be hard for her.
He stroked her hair one more time before saying, “Close your eyes.”
Cessie held his gaze for a long moment before lowering her lids.
Leon gathered the bottom half of the hood in his hands, stretching out the nylon, and then pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. He settled the collar around her neck, then reached back through the slit and pulled her hair free so it wasn’t trapped against her skin.
With that done, he adjusted the blindfold piece so it sat perfectly over her eyes.
The blindfold and straps were sewn into the base hood, but the side straps also met in a buckle at the back, with the decorative top straps connecting to those side pieces. He buckled the strap, pulling the blindfold tight.
Cessie blew out a slow, deliberate breath, her fingers pressing harder into his knees.
Leon gently gripped her wrist—not a restraint but a connection—as he sat back and looked at her.
She looked soft and vulnerable, and that dual urge to abuse and protect her rose in him. The ability to hold that duality is what allowed him to be a Dom.
The front to back straps mimicked the look of the real falconry hoods he’d studied. The reality of her wearing it was better than what he could have hoped for, because not only was she naked except for the jesses and hood, she was willing—willing to travel all this way to be with him. Willing to experiment with this odd type of play. To trust him enough to try it.
“Stand up.”
He gently gripped her upper arm as she pushed to her feet, using her hands on his knees for support. The bells chimed as she moved.
Once she was standing, he gripped her wrist, keeping them connected with physical touch.
Her head twisted side to side, searching blindly. He probably shouldn’t have found that hot, but fuck it, he did.
He nudged her back a step and rose to his feet.
The moment he was standing, she pressed herself against him. He gave her the comfort and safety she was seeking with murmured words of praise and long strokes of his hand down her back.
When she stopped trembling, he took her hands in his “It’s time for dinner.”
“Open.”
Cessie opened her mouth and he placed a morsel of food against her lower lip. She gently took it from his hand with her teeth.
Olive tapenade on a cracker.
The first few bites had been hard. She kept jerking back in reaction to having an unknown food item placed into her mouth. She couldn’t see it, didn’t get to touch it.
Finally, she’d relaxed enough to realize this could be fun. A game she played—trying to guess what he’d give her next, then trying to figure out what it was based on the smell before she got it onto her tongue and tasted it.
Her everyday meals were some sort of grain bowl with a protein, fat, and roasted or raw veggies. It was easy to meal prep those ingredients and then parcel them out into to-go containers. With those, every bite had a bit of everything, and no single ingredient stood out as the primary flavor.
Plus, they were fuel foods, with flavor a consideration, but not the primary focus.
This was entirely different. She was savoring each bite, tasting that item in isolation unless it was something like the tapenade that needed a bit of bread or a cracker as a vehicle for consumption.
She’d had soft brie and sharp cheddar. Bell peppers, cucumber, and strawberries. Chunks of chicken that tasted like they’d been grilled.
