by Maren Smith
She wasn’t his submissive, but she did her best to obey by slowing her breathing and scrubbing the tears from her face with her wrist. In a shaky voice, she muttered, “I h-hate being a g-guest.”
He hid a smile in her soft hair. “Truth, love. I’d much rather have a roommate, and I really don’t like having to punish you. So, if you’re ready to pay attention to the rules, then I’m willing to make the kitchen once more your own.”
She made no move to get up off his lap.
Although he did stop rocking, he made no move to let her go.
“Is that it?” she finally asked, her voice trembling and small. “Aren’t y-you going to do… more?”
He craned in an attempt to better see her face. “Is more required in order to get my point across?”
Snuggling into his chest, Kitty shook her head, but her eyebrows were pulling into a frown that was more confusion than temper. “No,” she said, but with a wary reluctance that made him think otherwise.
He studied her closely. “Kitty, love. Is more required?”
Her fingers plucked at the collar of his shirt. Her breaths were quickening again, the rise and fall of her chest turning shallow and afraid. “Wh-what would you do if it was?”
A slow thump of pure longing pulsed once in the pit of his belly, the echo of it drifting all the way down into the base of his cock. In that moment, all he could feel was the warmth and pressure of her bottom in his lap. “That depends on what you need.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. She didn’t shake her head, but he knew she wanted to.
“Do you need closure?” he asked, letting his fingertips play softly down her spine.
Her fingers picked and picked at one another and she didn’t answer. She dropped her gaze to stare fixedly at his neck.
“Do you need to know that you’re okay, or maybe that you and I are okay?”
A corner of her mouth lifted. She tried to laugh, but it was a shaky ghost of a thing and died almost the moment it was born.
“I’m okay,” she said, but there was no confidence in it and he could tell by her flick of a glance before she dropped her gaze again that she neither meant it nor believed it. “Of course, I’m okay.”
When she pushed slightly against him, he let her go far enough for her to sit upright. She made no move to leave his lap. Her fingers, no longer picking at her nails, wrung together tight enough to make her skin turn red.
“But... you know, for the sake of argument, if I wasn’t... o-okay, I-I mean...” She swallowed hard before she could make herself finish. “What would you do?”
A dozen options immediately flowed through his brain, filling his thoughts and bringing that pulse back to the base of his cock with low-thumping vengeance.
“Ask me.” He tried hard to pretend it was perfectly normal that his voice should come out sounding as husky as it did. “We can find out what happens together.”
She shivered. Her thin face was haunted, twin parts reluctance and fear, but the tips of her breasts had spiked into peaks that he could see thrusting against the fabric of her t-shirt. Tiny, pinchable nubs that seemed to be reaching out to him, and which took every ounce of will that he possessed to leave entirely unmolested.
She licked her lips, the bedeviling pink tip of her tongue hiding itself away again and his own suddenly aching to give chase.
Her eyes locked with his, and in them he could read all the fears and regrets that would not be abated, ever, for as long as her experiences consisted only of Ethen and his cruelties. “Please,” she whispered.
He chucked her gently under the chin, so very proud of her for finding the courage.
“You know your safeword,” Noah told her. “Can I trust you to use it if you need to?”
Again, her eyebrows quirked together, as if she couldn’t understand why he would even give her the option.
“This isn’t a punishment, love. I’ve done everything I’m going to do in that regard. This, what we’re doing now, is closure. It’s relief, a chance for you to banish whatever guilt might remain and to know that my feelings for you haven’t changed.” As if he had a right to any feelings for her at all. Noah tried not to think about that. “Kitty, can I trust you to use your safeword if you need to?”
She breathed in, bracing herself. “I promise.”
His pride in her blossomed even bigger. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming, but he locked it back and instead said, “You made a mistake, but the mistake has been corrected. What’s Rule Number Eight?”
“I don’t get to punish me.”
“Why not?”
She tried to look away, but he caught her chin and brought her eyes right back to his.
“Why not?” he softly repeated.
“B-because that’s your job?”
Noah wasn’t sure if she was more afraid that she might have answered that wrong, or that she might be answering right. What he did know was the rush of pleasure that fed into him when he thought about accepting that responsibility. He patted her hip. “Yes, it is. Stand up.”
She shivered again and, hands twisting with intensifying desperation, she climbed to her feet.
“That is the first thing we’re going to stop.” He pointed at the ferocity with which she was strangling her own fingers. She looked down at them in surprise and then quickly took a hasty step back when he stood. “What are my limits?”
Her face underwent a metamorphosis of shock. “I-I-I…”
Noah stopped her, certain she wasn’t in any kind of headspace to tell him. If she’d never been allowed to have limits before, it was entirely possible she might not even know what they were. Fine. He could walk that line. “Take your clothes off. If you aren’t comfortable being naked, you may keep your bra and panties on. But first, I want you to eat a little and have a sip of tea. If your stomach doesn’t feel settled, sit down in your chair until it does. That’s going to be our signal. If at any time you start to feel sick, sit down. If at any time you start to feel scared or want to stop, use your safeword, all right?”
She nodded and Noah left the room. He went through the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom. His play bag was in the closet. He dropped it on the bed before unzipping it and pulling out layers of contents. His floggers were on top, each set neatly encased in a long sock to keep the falls tidy. Beneath that was his bag of sensation toys—his clamps, needles, Wartenburg wheel, and wax kit. Mentally he made a tally of what was safe to use, what was suggestive, and what might walk the line or push her past her comfort zone.
How close to that line should he take her, he wondered. What would it take to banish Ethen’s touch and forever replace it in her mind with that of someone who valued her worth, both as a person and a submissive?
He pulled out a pair of cuffs. The Velcro set that attached wrists to thighs. No locks or chains required, and if panic happened, they released fast. Those went in his safe pile, along with a hair tie. In the suggestive pile, he put his baggy of nipple clamps and weights, and a small leather paddle. After a lot of internal battling, he dug to the bottom where he found his box of anal plugs and the vibrating wand, with its simple set of three variable speeds—low, medium, and according to the last submissive he’d used it on, oh-my-God. Those he put in the walk-the-line pile.
Pausing, Noah looked over his selection. Nothing in here was anything he would have considered severe. Nor was it anything he would have considered more than play. Oh sure, the paddle could be used hard enough to cause real pain. Depending on where he put the clamps, those could too. But that wasn’t his intention. Right now, the only thing that mattered to him was showing Kitty how to find her way back from the darkness now that her punishment was done. This was all about giving her ease, letting her know that she truly was safe and that she had nothing to fear from him.
Because she did have nothing to fear from him, right? He looked down at himself and the high standing erection that had, over the course of the last few minutes, turned the front of his jea
ns into a full-on bulge. He had to adjust himself. A few minutes later, he did it again.
“You’re keeping it in your pants,” he told himself sternly. He’d never be mistaken for a saint, not in any religion. Hell, he couldn’t count the number of women he’d enjoyed on his many vacations. Some he was pretty sure had never told him their real names. But this wasn’t that kind of situation, and Kitty had enough complications in her life without adding his cock into the mix.
Just play, he told himself. Give her release. Let her feel cared for.
Perfectly, one-hundred-percent cared for, perhaps for the first time in the whole of her submissive life.
Don’t get attached, mate, he told himself. She wasn’t a permanent fixture here. She wasn’t going to stay. No matter what, don’t get attached.
He never in a million years would have thought he’d need to give himself this cautionary pep talk. An unrepentant matchmaker everywhere he went, and here he was telling himself not to fall in love. Not with a damaged submissive, who wasn’t a citizen of his country and who would not be staying.
The only problem was, he already suspected it might be a little too late.
Chapter 10
Kitty took off her shirt, folded it with OCD compact neatness and put it on the table. Then she moved it further down to the end, in case Noah should need the space. And then she tucked it out of sight on the seat of a chair behind the table, because looking at it made her feel nervous. And she was already so very nervous.
What had she done? What had she just let herself in for? Would he really stop if she asked? Ethen never had. Ethen didn’t believe in safewords, or at least he didn’t acknowledge them. It was his way every day, and her job was to submit. What if she just made the biggest mistake of her life?
Kitty hugged her arms, rubbing her bare flesh and telling herself that Noah wasn’t Ethen. Over the last week, she’d seen that over and over again, but she was still afraid. And what she was afraid of most right now was the giant unknown of what Noah might do now that she’d asked him—practically begged him, after saying his form of punishment wasn’t punishment enough, for heaven’s sake; how stupid could she be?—to hurt her.
The words were out. They couldn’t be recalled, and the worst part was, she wasn’t entirely sure she would take them back even if she could. Awful as his punishment had been—awful in a way that didn’t put so much as a bruise or long-lasting welt on her—everything inside of her was pushing for more. She was frightened right now, yes, but she had to know. She had to know the worst that Noah could and would dish out. She had to know the full and terrible extent of how much he would hurt her. If she’d learned anything from her time with Ethen, Kitty now knew the importance of knowing first-hand exactly what the dom she was with was capable of.
In the back room, she heard his footsteps moving across the bare floor. She had to hurry and finish undressing. Take your clothes off. If you aren’t comfortable being naked, you may keep your bra and panties on. Or at least, that was what he’d said. He’d also said this wasn’t a punishment. The real test, she knew, wasn’t in what he said, but what he did once he came back out here.
Kitty shivered again, but still her hands dropped to the waist of her jeans. She took them off, folding them with the same ridiculous care as her shirt before tucking them out of sight on the discrete pile she’d made. She took her socks off, tucking them into her shoes and pushing those under the chair and out of the way. Then she stood there, in nothing but her hand-me-down bra and underwear, feeling stupid. She ought to take them off. Submissives should always be naked and available for their doms, always. To do anything less was to invite terrible discipline, but Noah had said… but did he mean it? Dared she test him to find out?
Her skin crawled. She didn’t want to test anyone. Take them off, take them off, take them off… It was the mantra that ran through her head on a perpetual loop for the entire time that she stood frozen in ill-thought-out defiance. She couldn’t even say she didn’t know how ill-thought-out it was. Defiance was what had got her locked in the Box for two days. She’d dared once to tell Ethen no.
Stop thinking about it. Stop making the comparison. Noah wasn’t Ethen, why wasn’t that the chant playing its merciless loop in her brain?
Chills broke out across her shoulders, running down both arms as the unmistakable tromp of Noah’s boots came down the hallway. She hugged herself tighter, instantly regretting her decision to remain partially clothed. Intensely regretting requesting this of him at all, and yet just standing there, doing nothing to correct either mistake right up until Noah came back through the kitchen and into the dining room. He had a minor armload of toys, all of which burned themselves into her brain with ominous dread. Most were toys, but Ethen had once hurt her with a plastic straw, so it really didn’t matter to her what he brought out. Anything could be made a punishment.
“Did you eat at least two crackers?” Noah set his armload on the table. He didn’t dump them in a pile, but took the time to spread them out, allowing each implement its own space.
“Yes, Sir.” She hoped he didn’t ask her to eat any more. She honestly didn’t think she could hold down one bite more without her stomach rejecting all out of sheer nerves.
“Did you have a sip of tea?” He looked in her cup, noting it was half empty.
“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t think she could handle any more of that, either.
“Good girl.” Laying the last item on the table, he stepped back to give her open access. “Take a look at everything I’ve brought. If there is an item you do not want used during this session I want you to point it out.”
Don’t tell him, the ghosts of her past whispered. If he knows, he’ll be sure to use them.
Pressing her sweaty palms to her thighs, she looked over what he’d brought. The restraints made her swallow hard. Her bottom clenched at the sight of the paddle, but it was nothing like Ethen’s punishment paddle. It was small, made of leather, engraved on the back with an ornate rose and thorns. Her knees almost buckled over the butt plug, and just that fast, she was back in Ethen’s play room, tied over the wooden horse, screaming and shaking as Ethen slowly worked her open on the plug he only ever used when he was in a mood to hear screams.
Don’t think about it. Noah wasn’t him, and the plug he’d put on the table, while not the smallest she’d ever seen, certainly wasn’t huge. It was metal, though. With a very narrow neck and a pink jeweled base.
“It’s fine,” she whispered, her legs already beginning to shake. That butt plug meant she’d have to take her clothes all the way off. So… he truly hadn’t meant to give her a choice. Sick to her stomach, she reached behind her to unhook her bra.
“Stop,” Noah ordered, the steely authority of his tone snapping at her. Suddenly he seemed a little taller, a little broader in the shoulders, and whole lot stronger, particularly when he frowned like this. “I told you to present yourself in the way that made you comfortable. You followed my orders and your request is now my limit to follow. But from the moment I entered this room, our scene began. That means I am in charge now, and you will do as you are told or there will be consequences. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t have the strength or the courage even to swallow. She was shaking, every inch of her trembling all the way down to her very core.
“Did I tell you to remove your clothes?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Then your clothes stay on. One more time, I want you to look at the items I’ve brought. I may or may not use any or all of them during the course of our scene. So I want you to be very sure that you are okay with everything on this table. If you are not okay with it, I am ordering you to point it out right now.”
She looked at them again. None of them were strangers to her; most evoked anything but fond memories, but it felt so very wrong for a submissive to tell her dom what he could or could not use. She wove her fingers tight before her, clasped her hands tight and stayed silent.
“A
ll right,” he said, a glitter darkening the depths of his knowing stare. “Let’s begin.”
Pulling out a chair, he took the Velcro restraints off the table and sat down. “Wrists,” he said, laying one across his knee and opening the other. He waited, his blue stare burrowing into her until she extended her arm.
After police-issue handcuffs, zipties, and piano wire once (which had cut her skin), having him put Velcro on her seemed a very novice thing for him to do and yet there was no denying the firmness of the grip. It hugged her wrist. It hugged her thigh even tighter when he wrapped the strap around her, putting his hand right up between her legs as he adjusted how the restraint lay as it ran through the crease between her limb and panty-clad pussy. The caress of his hand there was at once impersonal and electrifying. She almost closed her eyes, her body reacting to it with near desperate hunger.
“Hand,” he said again, as if that faint scrap of his knuckle across her crotch were too common for him to take note of. For her, it raised chills all over again, only these felt different than before. They danced up through her belly and into her breasts, whereas before, they’d prickled like spider legs across her back. Both left her shivering as she offered her left hand.
With both her hands now strapped to her thighs, he stood and picked up the hair tie. Her chills became dervish dancers, moving through her faster and faster as he stepped behind her, but the comb of his fingers as he pulled her long brown hair back from her face felt almost… loverly. Ponytails were handles to a dom. There were a lot of things a submissive could be made to do with her hair grasped tight in the hands of a controlling man. And yet, in spite of herself, Kitty relaxed.