Knight Nostalgia

by Joey W. Hill

  He circled her waist with one strong arm and turned them both, so he was sitting up, feet on the floor, and she was over his knees.

  “You know better,” he admonished, and the hair brush she’d left sitting on the nightstand landed with a solid whack against her buttocks. It was his favorite way of spanking her, except for his hand.

  She bit back a yelp, strangled on moans as he gave her an even more vigorous than usual punishment with the brush, caressing her cunt in between strokes. During the last few hits, he slid his fingers into her, so she was squeezing down on him. When he removed his hand, she was so in need of release tears were in her eyes. He kissed them away, laid her on the bed, kissed her mouth gently, soothed her down with those magic hands and told her how she was an amazing submissive, and how lucky a Master he was. How proud he was of her.

  He knew the emotional always held more sway over her than the physical, even when she was at the very edge of that pinnacle. She curled in his arms, stopped shuddering at length, and was content, knowing she’d pleased him by not climaxing. Building the response he wanted to unleash on Friday.

  She did find herself thinking about what he’d meant, though, about this being a delayed first anniversary gift. Why had he waited?

  She would find out. No reason to think about it too much. To think too much about anything. Not that her telling herself that ever did much good when a concern decided to take root and spread out thorns.

  No, that wasn’t true. She’d gotten much better at taking a mental spade to those thoughts and digging them out. Even if she never seemed to get all the roots, she was successful more often than not these days, trimming them down so they couldn’t infiltrate every aspect of her life.

  The next day, she felt the lingering burn of that punishment on her ass whenever she had to sit during physical therapy. Thank Goddess, it was Friday, but the minutes ticked by so slowly. Work helped, her clients keeping her busy and distracted, and Sally gave her a wonderful massage at lunch time that helped her muscles relax, even if her mind didn’t. Once she arrived at home, it felt like the clock was going backwards. She followed his direction, however, doing a little gardening, reading until she fell asleep, and then eating a light dinner before soaking in the grotto.

  The closer it came to the time she would head for the K&A tower, the more stimulated she felt by the lightest brush of anything against her skin. She had no concentration. He’d left her three envelopes of instructions and a go-bag on the bed. Each one had a note on it as to when she was supposed to open it. The first envelope was the only one she was allowed to open at home.

  Wear whatever is easy to take off, gorgeous sub. You won’t be wearing it long.

  The paper seemed to hold a hint of his scent as she brought it to her nose. She imagined him writing it, the fall of dark hair over his brow as he concentrated. She was always tempted to stroke her fingers through those soft strands during such a moment. A thought which brought back to mind his departure this morning, when he’d given her a melting heat level kiss, full of promise. His hands had roamed over her as he’d pressed her up against the wall by the door, his tongue teasing hers, teeth catching her bottom lip.

  “I hate you,” she said, when he released her and picked up his briefcase. A sexy grin that made her want to bite his lips was his answer.

  She donned slacks and a blouse, a variation of what she wore to work. It was comfortable and, more importantly, easy to shed. Then, finally, she was in her car and on her way to the New Orleans business district, allowing enough time to navigate the remains of Friday rush hour traffic.

  All the way there, she struggled to focus on her driving, and mildly regretted telling Jon she preferred to drive rather than have him send a car. Normally, she didn’t feel like her blood was about to burn through her skin like paper and turn her into living flame while she was negotiating traffic.

  When she finally pulled into the parking deck, her heart was thumping, her mind full of imaginings of what would happen when she stepped off the elevator at the executive floor of Kensington & Associates.

  The sun was setting. Tonight it would be clear, she knew. Which meant the stars would be out, with a sliver of moon. A romantic night. A perfect New Orleans night.

  After she found a parking spot, she opened the cream-colored paper of the second note. He could have sent the messages to her phone, but when it came to things like that, her hi-tech inventor always went old-school. And romantic. Her lips curved when daisy petals tumbled out of the folded paper onto her lap.

  When you get off the elevator, your only identity is that of my submissive. You will not speak unless addressed by me or one of the other Masters. Go to the ladies’ room, and stand directly in front of the mirror. Take off everything but your collar, and put on the robe I’ve left you. They’re in the go-bag. Leave the robe open.

  I know you’re wet for me, sweet girl. Don’t do anything to change that. There are four gifts from the others in a box on the table. Put them on. Then come to the board room, where you will circle the table once, showing all of us how beautiful you are. After that, you will kneel by the door until you are commanded to do otherwise.

  I love you.

  It didn’t surprise her that he would add that at the end, a reminder and a promise. She ran her fingers over the words, picked up the daisy petals and touched them to her lips, enjoying the silken feel of the slender pieces.

  As far as being wet, he was right; she’d spent the day half-aroused. Now his instructions took her all the way there. Her body quivered with anticipation, the desire to be touched. Commanded.

  Leaving the car, she went to the elevator, entering the family code that would take her to the top floor. Family. She took a breath. She was part of this rather unusual family of Dominants and submissives, whose interactions with one another would likely be considered wrong by others. She thought about how she felt with Jon, however, and knew those other people’s truths were not hers.

  She’d had no worries about being on the parking deck at night, alone except for the few cars that had been there. She recognized Ben’s Mercedes Roadster, Matt’s BMW. Lucas had likely biked into work and would take a company car home. Jon’s vehicle was there, a sporty thing that was a hydrogen fueled prototype. Ironically, it was parked next to Peter’s gas-guzzling Hummer, making her smile.

  But more than the reassuring evidence of their presence, she wasn’t worried, because K&A security was top notch. There were eyes on the cameras positioned around the deck. Anyone up to no good was sent on their way with a clear understanding that they would not be returning. A homeless person who took refuge in the parking garage was courteously escorted to the shelter run by members of Dana’s church, and given a bed for the night, as well as access to whatever resources they were willing to accept.

  That thought caused an additional smile in her heart. Matt Kensington was known as a hard businessman. There was a ruthlessness to him that could give a girl curled toes, but he and the men who worked with him were generous with the blessings they’d achieved, never hesitating to act for those less fortunate who needed a hand getting back on their feet.

  The elevator doors opened. She was looking at Janet’s desk, empty this time of night, but left as neatly ordered as she’d expect from Matt’s terrifyingly efficient admin. Janet was also a Mistress, a popular one, at their local preferred BDSM club, Progeny. But Savannah said Janet wasn’t involved with anyone outside the club, no personal attachments. Rachel wondered who might change that. Yes, she was a hopeless romantic, but she couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to find love, or at least staying open to the possibility, if it presented itself.

  She heard male voices drifting down the hall. A husky laugh—Peter’s—came from the board room. She heard Matt respond—she couldn’t make out words, but when Jon and Lucas jumped in with their own input and Ben laughed as well, all of those different timbres ran velvet over her skin. They also set off butterflies in her stomach that fluttered right up int
o her chest. They were men whose voices carried those elements that would attract a woman’s attention. Masculine, confident, resonating alpha. But also kind and intelligent.

  Standing there in the dim light projected by the off hours power saving fixtures, she was listening to men she was here to serve. Masters who would be treating her as a submissive from the second she crossed their threshold tonight. It added another quality to their voices, stripping off some of the top layers to a more primal level that made those butterflies become more manic.

  Not in a bad way. It was the type of anxiety that tightened her body, readied it, and called forth the need in her that had stayed unmet so long. It could surge forth so powerfully, take her over, sometimes in bad ways. But that had been before Jon, when she had no compass for it, no way to channel it, so it had been chaotic energy, no control or direction. He’d been the missing piece, providing both of those things. Understanding the depth of her need, he’d engineered this tonight. Another chance to step deeper into this world, leave the debris of the past, the condemnations and judgments, even further behind.

  Those condemnations and judgments hadn’t been easy to shake. Cole’s truth, that her desire to be a submissive was wrong and sick, still clung to her at times, dragging her down. Even now, after several years of marriage, every time Jon gave her a new room to visit in this world, she’d find herself hesitating at the threshold just like this. Warring between excitement and dark fear, where a part of her wanted to retreat, curl up and burrow, take cover before she could fail, disappoint.

  Yet that was also the moment he’d extend a hand, take hers, the pressure and warmth of his fingers, the look in his dark blue eyes, driving away those fears, reinforcing what he’d told her in so many ways, spoken and unspoken, since they’d met.

  Words that she found when she opened his third note, though she kept her ear tuned for Jon’s voice. Rose petals fell out of that one. He’d told her to open it here, when she was standing in the front office area. His intuition was uncanny, and one of the great reassurances of her life.

  The only way you can disappoint me, sweet girl, is if you don’t follow your heart. Your own desires. I fucking love watching you get lost in those. It’s my favorite thing, and I love it when you surprise yourself.

  He cursed rarely, so when he used it as an emphasis, it had impact. Closing her eyes, she stood with the note clasped in her hands, all her senses reaching out to the voices in the board room, one in particular. She needed to go to the ladies’ room and prepare, but Jon’s own note had to told her to follow her heart and desires, and she wanted to use that sensory input to take her even further from her fears, from anything that would detract from this amazing, possibly once-in-a-lifetime experience he’d prepared for her.

  Then a different sound came from the room. A sharp thwack, followed by a woman’s moan. Rachel’s eyes opened, her fingers tightening on the paper. She knew it had to be Dana. Another thwack, another soft cry. Rachel swayed on her feet, eyes half closing again, as she got lost in that music. It took almost no thought to imagine herself in whatever position Dana was in, being paddled, for that was what she was almost sure was making that impact sound.

  Her phone made the raindrops sound that told her she had a text. It pulled her out of her reverie and, when she removed it from her pocket to look at it, the words spiked a delicious ball of anticipation into her lower belly.

  You’re making your Master wait, Rachel. That’s not a good idea.

  She moved toward to the ladies’ room. As she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, she was met with a faint, airy fragrance like clean linen. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the wide counter and Garden District watercolor scenes on the walls. A couch provided a place for a woman to sit if needed.

  Remembering the instructions, Rachel moved to the mirror. But not before she noticed the shoebox-sized enamel box sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. A folded card on top of the box said simply “Our gifts.”

  She wanted to take a closer look, but she needed to follow Jon’s instructions in order. As she set down her car keys on the counter, she noticed there were two temporary web cams mounted on either side of the mirror and angled right where she was standing.

  Stand directly before the mirror…

  She was being watched, and she knew exactly by whom. Wetting her lips, she began to unbutton her blouse. It was hard for her fingers not to shake as she imagined—no, not imagined, not if it was truly happening—five male sets of eyes watching her every move.

  She shrugged out of it, but slowly, letting the silky fabric whisper down her arms. Putting her hands behind herself to unhook her bra, she released it and shifted her shoulders, a slight shimmy, to get it to tumble off her breasts. When she undressed alone, it was functional, quick. But she remembered how Jon had looked at her when she took off the nightgown by untying the ribbons and slipping those little buttons.

  She suppressed the knee jerk part of her that was self-conscious, urging her to hurry. Her Master was watching. His friends, all Masters, were watching. She was here for their pleasure, and more than that, she wanted to give them pleasure. Make her Master proud.

  So she kept her back straight and head up, displaying her generous breasts to their best advantage. She wiggled out of her slacks, turning around when she bent over to pick them up, drop them on the arm of the couch. Pivoting back to face the mirror, she looked at her body. Jon liked it when she did that, really looked at herself. She was yoga-toned, but not thin like Dana. She was a Renaissance painting, with D-breasts and generous hips, a round backside. Lifting her arms to release her hair, she shook her head and let the thick blond locks tumble down onto her now bare shoulders. Jon loved her hair. He also loved it when she did that, because it made her D-breasts quiver.

  Last article of clothing. Hiding a mischievous smile, she sat down on the couch, still in view of the mirror cams when she perched on the edge, on the point of her buttocks. As she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties, she drew her legs up, knees bent, toes pointed to the floor. Tightening her core, she slid the panties up and over her knees, letting them fall off her toes. Then she bent to pick them up. The crotch panel was soaked through.

  She obeyed her Master’s directive and didn’t staunch her dampness with the container of thick tissues on the counter. Instead, she laid the panties next to them.

  She didn’t wear her collar at work, which only emphasized its significance when she put it on like this. She removed the velvet pouch from the go-bag, and loosened the drawstrings to slip the collar free. The band of silver wire was bound by gold posts. It also had a sapphire pendant, bound by wire, that nestled in the hollow of her throat when the collar was clasped snugly around her neck.

  As she did that, she felt that lovely, dense stillness descend upon her. Her nipples became tauter, her body flushed. She lifted her hair to ensure she hadn’t caught any strands in the collar, then let it drop, the locks falling with a feathery touch across her shoulders again.

  Pulling out the robe, she shook it out and found it was a lovely ivory color. When she slipped it on, the fabric was so soft it clung to her breasts and hips, and so sheer it showed the dark smudge of her nipples. It only came to mid-thigh.

  Leaving it open, she moved to the coffee table, bringing the box back to the counter in front of the mirror. It might be the size of a shoebox, but they’d never use something so mundane. The enamel top of the box was a colorful garden scene, a 3D molding of different flowers. When she opened it, she found it was a music box. Along the top ledge of the lined interior was a strip of tiny enamel flowers. A small flock of butterflies, created with dyed pieces of silk and attached with thin pieces of wire, arced and spun over the flowers as the music played. It was a classical piece she didn’t recognize but which evoked spring days and the smell of sunlight and earth.

  She loved her gardening, so the box was an enchanting gift, probably picked out by Jon. She let her gaze fall to the content
s in the box’s well, and her eyes widened, her lips parting.

  The first thing she saw was a pair of jeweled nipple clamps. Green-gray glittering stones that matched her eyes, mixed with silver scrolled beads, dangled below the rubber grippers. There was a note attached to them that she reached in and picked up to bring closer, the beads sliding against her knuckles.

  Put these on only snugly enough to fit. Making them tighter is the privilege of a Master, not a sub. No name, but she knew they were from Peter. Each K&A man had their particular “specialty,” when it came to pleasuring a woman, though each was more than capable of taking care of her from head to toe. Peter’s was breasts.

  A chain connected the clamps. There was also a chain attached to the middle of that chain, and she realized from the clip at the end it was intended to loop around her collar. It could be shortened as much as desired by reattaching it to any point in the chain. She imagined the pull on her nipples from that and pushed down a little frisson of fear. Peter liked to put clover clamps on Dana, which were painful and she hated as much as loved.

  But no one would do anything to Rachel more than she could handle. Her Master knew her, knew what her limits were.

  Aware that she was still under scrutiny, she lifted the first clamp. To fit them, she needed to pinch and roll her nipple. Given her current, aroused state, she had to stifle a moan at the spear of sensation that resulted, increasing as she turned the little screw the required number of turns to hold it in place.

  After she did the same with the other, she looked at herself in the mirror again. Her nipples were turning a deeper rose from the compression, the sparkling chain draped between them. She connected the other chain to the base of her collar, forming a glittering web over her upper body.