He waited.
“I eventually learned to do the one thing my therapist had suggested: I learned to comfort myself.” She gave a wry smile. “I decided I didn’t want a permanent relationship, either BDSM or vanilla.”
“There’s a difference between comforting yourself and shutting others out.” But he understood a lot more. She’d been vulnerable, and her dom had turned his back. No wonder she lacked trust. He had his work cut out for him.
“I still had urges, though,” she admitted. “A friend had heard about Zones, and I attended a theme night. I played with one of the members, and I liked it. I especially enjoyed the fact that I could go home by myself at the end of the night.”
“No strings.”
“No attachments. I could get a beating, feel better, and I didn’t have to give anything of myself. I was working as a bookkeeper at a large firm, but I figured I could make more money working for myself. So I eventually left. But I was still playing at Zones, and I wanted more social time than I was getting working by myself. It turns out I missed the watercooler conversation and being part of a team. But I still didn’t want to go back to corporate America. So when I learned about an opening at Zones, I applied. You know the rest. I worked my way up from a part-time receptionist position to professional submissive. Which, as you pointed out, I’m not very good at.” She took a breath. “You found me out. I have to admit, until now, I’ve been in it more for the beatings than for the feeling of submission.”
“Until now?” This time, when she tried to pull away, he gave her hand a squeeze, but he allowed her to put some distance between them.
“There’s something about what you bring out in me…”
He waited, but she said nothing further, evidently waging an internal battle, deciding how much to trust him. “Until now, I didn’t want a submissive,” he admitted. Wading into this open discussion was uncomfortable even for him. It made him appreciate her willingness even more.
She met his gaze. “Especially one who isn’t very good at it.”
“That may be part of the appeal.”
“How soon until you leave?” she asked.
He frowned at her. “Leave?”
“You told me you travel a lot. Master Marcus said you wouldn’t be in the US for very long. I don’t know much about what you do. But it’s some sort of civilian contractor job, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It can be, yeah.”
“Now who’s being evasive?”
“I don’t like to talk about what I do.”
“Neither do I,” she countered.
“Fair enough,” he said. She was right; she definitely wasn’t good at the submissive thing. “The military is outsourcing some jobs that used to be handled by soldiers. I did a stint in the military after college, but I wasn’t well suited to the life.”
“But you like the danger. You thrive on it? Can’t imagine life without it?”
His gaze sharpened and he looked at her intently. “Now who’s psychoanalyzing whom?”
“You’re right,” she said with a shrug, not seeming at all intimidated by his tone. “I have no right to do that.”
“I’m leaving in a few weeks,” he said. “For three months.”
To his shock, she smiled. Obviously she’d meant it when she said his travel schedule appealed to her. Jeanine, his ex, had been the opposite. She’d been needy and pouty. Instead of helping him pack, she’d hidden things he intended to take. She was supposed to have driven him to the airport one time but disappeared with the car. He had no doubt Alani would pack for him, drive him to the airport, and blow him a kiss before speeding away.
“Then this…this time together is limited. So we should make the most of it.”
For the first time ever in a relationship, a woman unsettled him. She would be involved with him
because
he was leaving? It made it safer for her?
He wasn’t sure he liked the way she was reacting.
“Spank me, Sir?”
“Who’s the dom, Alani?”
“You, Sir. But you did ask me to be honest about what I wanted and needed.”
“I’ll meet you in the bedroom in twenty minutes. In the meantime, you’ll find an enema under the sink in the master bathroom.”
Her lips parted. “An enema, Sir?”
“Unless you’d like me to administer it, figure it out.” He pushed back from the table. “Crawl to the bedroom,” he told her.
She gracefully stood and then lowered herself to the floor.
He gripped the chair back and watched her leave the room. The relationship—such as it was—with this sub had become significantly more complicated. He supposed he should appreciate her; after all, he’d found clingy women unappealing. But an unaccustomed feeling of possessiveness clawed at him, spurring relentlessly.
He paced the floor before harnessing the energy and forced himself to fill the sink and wash the dishes.
The feminine scent of her seemed to linger. He’d enjoyed last night’s demonstration at the club, then the way she’d been so perfect back here. More than he thought he would, he’d liked waking up next to her and sliding his hard dick into her hot cunt. He’d appreciated the way she’d opened up to him. But he didn’t fool himself. What they had was sex, sadism, and masochism with a little dash of forced submission. Nothing more. She’d made that abundantly clear.
His cock appreciated that, even if his ego didn’t.
His cell phone vibrated on the counter, and he scowled. A call at seven o’clock on Sunday morning meant only one thing. He checked the display, confirming the caller identification.
His boss.
So much for R & R.
So much for time with the lovely little sub in his bathroom.
Alani debated what to do. She’d taken the hated enema and then a quick shower before wrapping herself in a big, fluffy white towel.
The man was a contradiction. His furnishings were sparse but high-end, and the few items he kept around were luxurious rather than utilitarian.
She found a blow-dryer under the sink. Since he kept his hair close-cut, she doubted he had much use for the beauty appliance, so she figured someone must have left it there. She told herself it didn’t matter. He could have a dozen women—subs—who spent the night, and it didn’t change a thing. The two of them didn’t have a relationship. He could fuck whoever he wanted.
But she was lying to herself.
She gritted her teeth against the unaccustomed and unwelcome feeling of jealousy. Determinedly she finger-combed her hair as she dried it.
After she was done, she retracted the cord and put the blow-dryer back.
She heard the rich tones of Master Nathaniel’s voice coming from the kitchen. Since she didn’t hear any other voices, she assumed he was on the phone and that he didn’t have visitors.
She could, and probably should wait for him, naked, in the bedroom.
But she wasn’t particularly burdened with the need to mind her own business, despite the fact he’d given specific instructions to meet him in the bedroom.
She walked toward the kitchen, and as she got closer dropped to her knees and crawled the rest of the way.
He raised his brow in acknowledgment when she entered the kitchen, but he continued his conversation. A furrow was buried between his brows, and his shoulder blades were drawn together tightly. Whatever the call was about, it obviously wasn’t good.
She knelt up in the middle of the room, spreading her thighs far apart.
Deliberately hoping to distract him, she sucked her index finger into her mouth. She was very much aware of him watching her.
She moved her damp finger across her clit.
He turned his back to her. “Yeah,” he said, ignoring her. “I understand.” He listened for a few more seconds before ending the call.
He put his phone on the counter, then faced her. He folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Finish what you started.”
“Sir?”
He rested his hips against the countertop. “Masturbate. Hump your hand. I want to see you move and writhe and get into it. Give me a show.”
Now she was embarrassed. It was one thing to touch herself just to get his attention; it was another to behave so wantonly in the middle of his kitchen.
“You took an enema?”
“Yes, Sir. I did.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Then also finger-fuck your ass.”
Her ass?
“Get it ready for me.”
She’d never played with her own hole. He was a master at shocking her. No matter what she tried to get the upper hand, he was ahead of her. She’d been hoping to distract him, to make him want her, but he seemed all but disinterested.
“Now!”
She played with her pussy with her right hand, and she drew some of the moisture toward her ass to use as lubrication. She twisted awkwardly so that she could work her ass and her pussy at the same time.
Kukae. This was more difficult than she could have imagined. She felt awkward rather than sensual as he watched her play with her rear.
She closed her eyes, trying to find a rhythm.
“Better,” he said.
His approval made her try harder. She desperately wanted to please this man.
“I said I wanted a show, Alani. Give it to me.”
She gyrated her hips; she played with her breasts. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. She closed her eyes and moaned, pretending Master Nathaniel were touching her.
She surrendered to the only thing that mattered, pleasing her dom.
“Do not come,” he told her.
“Yes, Sir.” Of course, now that he’d told her that, an orgasm began to build. She jerked her hips reflexively. Her clit became a hardened little nub. She rubbed it frantically. She worked a finger in and out of her anal whorl. She wanted…
“Stop.”
Exhaling in frustration, dragged back to reality, she dropped her hands to her sides. She kept her gaze downcast. Her entire body throbbed. She wanted, needed release. He had to have known what he’d done to her. Curse him a dozen times.
“Did you crawl all the way here from the bedroom?”
“What?”
His abrupt change made her blink. She’d been on the verge of a powerful orgasm, and her blood still pounded. He wanted to talk about whether she’d walked or crawled from the bedroom?
With infinite patience, as if he were setting a trap, he asked, “Did you get on your hands and knees in the bedroom and crawl to the kitchen? Or did you crawl from the hallway?”
She thought fast. Had he seen her? Did he know, one way or the other? Should she tell the truth? Or could she manage to lie to him without betraying herself?
“A lie will ultimately be found out, Alani.”
She had no idea how he’d know, but he watched her reactions intently. She didn’t doubt his statement. “No,” she admitted. “I walked most of the way, Sir.”
“Because I wouldn’t know the difference. Because you thought it would be okay to be disobedient? No harm, no foul?”
“Correct, Sir,” she said, the earlier flutter of arousal being replaced with tendrils of fear. His face was unreadable, but his body language was fierce, as if he were restraining his power and reactions.
“I appreciate the fact you told the truth. That will make your punishment less severe.”
“Punishment, Sir?”
“I don’t like being manipulated, Alani.”
“Sir?”
“You should have waited for me. Even if you had come to the kitchen, you should have entered quietly and in the proper position instead of playing with yourself like a naughty, horny slut.”
“Sir, I am a naughty, horny slut.” In a whisper, she added, “But only for you.” She noticed he was becoming aroused. His dick pressed against his jeans. She might be in trouble, and maybe she’d earn a spanking, and that was what she really wanted. “I was only trying to distract you. Your call seemed as if it were bothering you.”
He dropped his arms. “What
I
want,” he said, “is for you to behave as a proper submissive. Crawl unless given permission to walk.”
She winced. It had seemed pointless to crawl across the house, but he was right—she wasn’t behaving as a proper submissive.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
After she complied, he added, “Stay exactly where you are. I mean exactly. Do not kneel back.”
He pushed away from the counter and walked past her. She exhaled a shaky little breath. The man confounded her. Her pussy was still damp; her nipples were hard. She wanted to be touched.
Her knees grew tired. Her muscles became fatigued. Even though the heater cycled, her skin felt chilled. How long did he plan to leave her here?
She wished he’d just practice corporal punishment. Leaving her alone like this was torture.
She scowled and considered grabbing her clothes and calling a taxi.
But she didn’t.
Ultimately, she realized, she wanted to be a sub, and not just any sub—
his
sub. She wanted to be handled the way he handled her, treated the uncompromising way he treated her. Under his tutelage, she relaxed, settled down.
She heard sounds of his movement but had no idea what he was doing.
She stayed in position. On the clock, she watched the seconds drag into minutes. She’d been there, behaving, for almost a quarter of an hour when he finally returned.
“Get on all fours.”
He spoke quietly but firmly. There was no arguing with the command in his voice.
He moved her hair to one side, and she felt him fasten a collar around her neck. She momentarily stiffened in surprise. But then she sighed with relief, realizing this represented nothing more than his brand of bondage.
“We’re going into the guest room. Back toward the master but turn right where you’d turn left. You’re going to crawl.”
He crouched in front of her. He held up a leash. “Just so you don’t forget in future,” he said.
She swallowed. More than any man she’d been with, he made sure the punishment fit the crime.
He attached the leash to her collar. She blushed from embarrassment.
He moved back behind her and slapped her right flank. “Move.”
She was hyperaware of her movements as she crawled toward the back bedroom. The lead was fairly long, and he allowed all the slack to be taken out before following her.
“You’ll remember to crawl in future, unless given permission to do otherwise?”