by Rachel Clark
And suddenly I want to get out of here. I have a million questions I want to ask and here inside the steamy, noise-filled atmosphere of a fetish club is just not the place. I squeeze his hand reflexively, not really certain how I can get his attention, but as always he’s attuned with my moods. He leans down.
“Yes, little sub?”
“Can we go now?”
“Are you using your safe word?” he asks with a frown on his face.
I shake my head quickly. “No. No, I just want to talk.”
He studies my face for a moment. “There’s one more scene I want to show you and then we can go.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I say, finally remembering I’m supposed to address him that way inside the club. He smiles, presses a kiss to my forehead again, and then leads me to the next scene.
Unlike the others we’ve been watching, this one seems to involve more role-playing. A man wearing office attire and a woman dressed demurely in a long skirt and white blouse seem to be in a small conference room of sorts. They glance around furtively like they have a secret to hide. “Finally,” the man says as he grabs the woman and starts kissing her ferociously. He’s dragging at her clothes, his hands roaming over her ass and up her back, one hand moving to settle on her hip as the other grips her breast. “I need you naked,” he says on a low growl.
“We don’t have time,” she answers breathlessly, glancing toward the closed door behind them.
“I know,” he says, but he drags her back into his arms and starts kissing her again. He has her shirt undone, her bra dragged down, and he’s licking her breast when the door flies open. They both startle, breaking apart as another man stalks into the room. At first he looks angry, but then he smiles and laughs.
“Newlyweds,” he mutters. “Fine, but if you’re going to use my conference room, I get to watch.”
Obviously the “newlywed husband” likes that idea.
“But first,” the new man says, sitting down on a large type of bench seat, “I’m going to spank my secretary’s ass while she sucks your cock.” The secretary shakes her head, pretending to be embarrassed. Her husband laughs, lifts her, and places her over her boss’s knee, and then shoves his cock into her mouth before she can protest. She moans and takes him deeper.
I can feel my own blood heating at the scenario, but instead of a husband and boss I’m substituting Doug and Lachlan. I can almost taste Lachlan’s cock as Doug lifts my skirt and drags my panties to my knees.
The scene in front of me unfolds exactly as the one in my imagination. The boss has his hand on her bare ass, rubbing over the soft skin a moment before landing a hard slap. I flinch at the noise, not in fear, but at the memory of my own spanking. I watch as the pink outline of a handprint appears on the woman’s pale flesh and moan softly as I realize that was what Doug watched as he covered my ass in hard slaps. I shiver with the secretary, sharing the incredible sensation of pain somehow morphing into pleasure. My knees wobble, threatening to dump me on the floor as memories and reality combine.
Doug notices, grins at my reaction, thankfully pulling me closer, holding me up.
“You are so fucking perfect,” he whispers as he half drags, half carries me out into the cool night air. He pins me against the side of his car, his rigid cock pressing against my aching, needy clit as he kisses me feverishly.
I’m clinging to him, shaking all over, practically on the verge of orgasm when he pulls back.
“Get in the car,” he orders as he wrenches the door open.
I quickly move to do as I’m told. Holy heavens. I didn’t even think it was possible to be this aroused while still fully clothed. He gets in the driver’s seat, frowns at me, then leans over to buckle my seat belt. He starts the car.
“Unzip your pants,” he orders. I don’t even think to object. His place isn’t far from here, but I’m desperate for some relief. At the very least not having the crotch of my jeans rubbing against my clit is a good thing. “Slide two fingers into your pussy.” I moan gratefully and push my hand into my panties, sinking two fingers into my pussy as far as they can go. “Fuck yourself, but don’t come.”
What the hell? Don’t come? I’m so close to orgasm I’m ready to shatter.
“Please?” I beg on a whimper as my fingers seem to move harder and faster all on their own.
“Don’t come,” Doug says without looking at me. He’s concentrating on the road—thank fuck—but I can’t seem to force my fingers to slow down. I’m so wet the squishing noise is filling the car and driving my arousal even higher.
I’m barely aware of our surroundings so I’m startled when he pulls the car into a parking space and turns off the engine. I recognize the parking garage under his building, but I’m too far gone to care. I can feel my orgasm starting, the free fall into bliss beginning. Doug growls, leans over, presses his hand against mine, grinding my palm against my clit and pushing my fingers deeper into my pussy.
I scream, shattering as my climax intensifies, the pleasant ripples of moments ago turning into gigantic waves of pleasure. I’m writhing against him, whimpering as the sensations just go on and on and on. He leans over me, taking my mouth savagely, thrusting his tongue, exploring me in ways I’ve only ever imagined before.
Finally liquid heat spills into my veins, the intense sensation making me feel like I’m falling. I grab ahold of Doug with my free hand, using all my strength to pull him closer. I’m still shaking when he lifts away from me, breaking the kiss. He grips my hand by the wrist, slowly pulling my fingers from my pussy.
“I told you not to come,” he says as he holds up my fingers showing the evidence of my disobedience.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I know I’ve let him down, but considering the intensity of my orgasm, I’m having a hard time regretting it.
“No you’re not,” he says with a slight laugh. “But you will be.”
* * * *
Doug knew he should be trying to slow things down. Yes, Lachlan had suggested he train her as a submissive. Yes, Lachlan knew that submissive training often included intercourse. And, yes, Lachlan had all but walked away from pursuing a relationship with the woman he loved. But Doug knew better than to get involved. Fuck, they hadn’t even discussed a trainee contract, yet he was a deep breath away from fucking her over the hood of his car in a shared parking garage.
He needed to get a grip.
“Get out of the car,” he ordered. She went to do up her jeans, but his soft growl stopped her. “Leave them undone. Naughty subs don’t get the privilege of being covered.”
“But people might see,” she said, glancing around the deserted garage worriedly. It was late enough that they were very likely alone, but she didn’t need to know that.
“You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me.”
He could see her deciding whether to play by his rules or call a halt. Impatient, annoyed at his own lack of control, he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and turned her to face him.
“Get out of the car as you are now, or say your safe word and I take you home.”
She nodded anxiously but moved her hand to the door handle.
“Good girl,” he said on a surge of relief. He could barely fathom what was happening between them, but he was pleased she was brave enough to find out.
Chapter Seven
I glance around furtively as Doug leads me into the elevator, his hand again firmly wrapped around the back of my neck. I’m very aware of the camera in the corner, and I press myself close to him hoping to block the view of anyone who might be watching. I’m not exactly naked, but it sure feels that way. For the first time in my life I’m happy to be carrying that few extra pounds I’ve always complained about. That additional layer of fat on my ass is probably the only thing keeping my jeans around my hips. I have no doubt Doug would make me leave them there if they dropped to my ankles.
He doesn’t say a word, just leads me to his apartment front door, opens it, and guides me through.
He leaves me standing in the foyer while he locks the door behind us.
“Drop your jeans and panties to your ankles.”
I go to take my shoes off, but his annoyed “leave them on” has me straightening quickly. I glance at him once before pushing my jeans and underwear to pool around my ankles. They’re a straight-leg design and there’s no way they’re coming off with my boots on. Apparently Doug knows that because he smiles, turns me, and then taps my naked ass.
“Last door on the left.”
I shuffle awkwardly, very aware now of that extra layer of fat on my ass, and no longer pleased by it. I know he’s watching my bottom jiggle as he follows me down the hall.
Finally, I get to the door he indicated and start to reach for the handle. But at the last moment I snatch my hand back. He didn’t say to go into the room. Only sent me to the door.
“Good girl,” he says as he reaches around me and opens the door. Once again he places a hand on the back of my neck and guides me into the middle of the room.
Fuck. This isn’t a bedroom.
Some of the items I recognize from the club we just visited. Some I’ve never seen before. Most seem to be handmade.
“As you can see,” he says, apparently following my line of sight, “I’ve put the wood-crafting skills my father and grandfather taught me to good use.”
Hell. Understatement.
The room is filled with handcrafted, highly polished, lovingly maintained spanking benches of various heights, a St. Andrew’s cross, something that looks almost like a type of rocking horse, and another stool that matches the two in the kitchen.
“You made all this?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“I did,” he says as he steps in front of me and starts to unbutton my shirt. He reaches around my back to undo my bra but instead of taking it off the conventional way he slides the straps down each arm and takes if off without removing my shirt. “I like this color on you.” He loosely ties the ends of the shirt together, pushing it up under my breasts so that they are on display.
He leaves me standing there as he moves over to a cupboard and retrieves several items. I don’t even hesitate when he holds out his hand. I simply put my wrist in his palm. He seems pleased, and I smile tentatively as he buckles a fur-lined leather cuff onto each arm. I’m a little more concerned when he pulls them behind me and clips them together, but I managed to breathe through the tiny bit of panic.
“Good girl,” he says as he drops to his knees in front of me and laves my nipple with the flat of his tongue. I writhe against him as he sucks and nibbles on the sensitive nub, but my knees buckle at the sudden onset of pain.
He steadies me, holding me upright as I gasp in agony.
“Breathe through it,” he orders in a tone I try desperately to obey. But I can’t. The pain is too intense. The agony blinding. Tears are pouring down my face as he pulls me into his embrace and holds me close. “It’s okay, baby,” he says soothingly. “It’s gone. I won’t put the other one on.”
The other one? Fuck.
“Sorry,” I whisper, embarrassed by my reaction. A week ago I’d been spanked and enjoyed every moment of the pain. I’ve already realized that I like things to hurt just a little, but I’ve never felt something so hideously excruciating in all my life—and there could have been two of them? Yikes!
“It’s okay, baby,” he says, caressing my breast soothingly until the pain settles into a dull throb. “Sometimes it’s just as simple as being overly sensitive on a particular day during your cycle.” He shrugs slightly. “And some women just have very sensitive nipples.”
It should feel very weird to be mostly naked, my hands fastened behind me, and cuddled into a man who’d just hurt me like that, but all I can feel is contentment.
I am definitely one strange woman.
“I think as punishments go, that was rather effective.”
“No shit,” I say breathlessly. He pushes me back onto my knees and gives me a stern look until I finally realize what I did wrong this time. “I mean, sorry, Sir. Thank you for my lesson.”
He gives me a smile. I’m actually just repeating something I heard one of the subs say to her Dom at the club, but it seems to fit the situation.
“Good girl,” he says, still rubbing over my sore breast. “We’ll try nipple clamps again another day, but for now we’ll save them for punishments.” I shudder all over. No way, now how, no fuck am I going through that again. Even the promise of the most amazing climax ever is not going to tempt me into a punishment like that.
He lifts me into his arms and settles into an extra large rocking chair. The gentle movement soothes me quickly, the pain in my breast finally receding to a manageable ache. Doug holds me for a long time. I didn’t even notice when he undid the clip holding the cuffs together, but I have my arms wrapped around his waist as I listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers filter through my hair as we just sit together quietly.
I see a silver chain with what I suspect is the nipple clamps he’d intended to use sitting on the bench beside us. I reach over and lift the offensive little piece of “jewelry” into my hand. He notices but doesn’t stop me.
“They’re beginner’s clamps,” he says as I open and close the little peg-like mechanism. They’re slightly curved. I assume that’s so they sort of wrap around the nipple without squeezing all that hard. I clip one onto my little finger and am surprised by how little it hurts. “I’ve never actually seen a sub react the way you did. If I hadn’t spanked you last week, I wouldn’t have believed you enjoy pain at all.”
I shake my head, confused by what had happened. “Maybe it was just the shock,” I suggest, still trying to understand how I can be such a wimp when it comes to my nipples.
“Maybe,” he says as he takes them from me and eases my head back onto his chest. “There are lots of different types. We can try some another day, but for now I think we need to talk about our contract.”
“Contract?” I ask stupidly. I know what contract he’s talking about but can honestly say I’ve never negotiated anything while sitting on a man’s lap with my pants around my ankles, my boobs hanging out, and a hand caressing my nipple.
“I believe training as a submissive will help you learn to cope with your panic attacks. We already know the pain of a spanking gives you something else to focus on, and helps you settle the endless thoughts in your head.”
“How do you know they’re endless?”
He gives me a light slap on the bottom. “Stop interrupting.” He waits for me to settle again before he continues. “We’ll also explore the use of restraints, floggers, and paddles. Submitting does different things for different people, but I think for you it will bring a type of clarity to your thoughts that you’re not really getting at the moment.”
“It’s only when I deal with people,” I say defensively. “My mind is perfectly fine when I’m working with numbers.”
“Have you ever wondered why?” he asks, still stroking his hand through my hair.
I shake my head against his chest. Until I blurted out the words, I hadn’t really given it much thought. There is just something about accounting and balancing spreadsheets that I find very soothing.
“My theory,” Doug says, “is that you’re comfortable with numbers because they’re always the same. One plus one always equals two. There is no variation. There is only one correct answer. So when you’re working with numbers and spreadsheets and double-entry accounting you can relax.”
I shrug. It makes sense and does explain my affinity for a job that most people consider rather boring. I like the fact that when everything is correct the whole thing balances.
“But with people there are no constants. The correct approach today can be the wrong approach tomorrow—even with the same person. I think a long time ago you started worrying about how you were perceived by other people, and that’s grown into the panic attacks you have today.” He strokes his hand over my back, tracing lower to gli
de over the curve of my ass. I’m a little bit distracted by the arousal he’s effortlessly creating in me, but I think I understand what he means.
“So I just want to be liked?”
“Mostly,” he says, “but you seem to have taken it a step further. You want to be liked by everyone so you second-guess everything you say and everything you do and afterward you replay it in your mind going over every nuance and every word and every expression until you work yourself into a heart-pounding, blood-curdling, stomach-churning panic.”
I nod, a little bewildered that he could be so accurate about me. To be honest the idea isn’t exactly new. I’ve often considered my ability to remember every fucking detail of a conversation one of my biggest problems, but I hadn’t really considered that my need to be polite to even the most obnoxious of people came from a much deeper issue. Caring about everyone’s opinion of me, and then making them all happy, was never going to be possible.
“How do you know me so well?” I ask because I have to understand how he can see me so accurately. We met only a week ago, but he seems to know more about me than even my closest friends—Lachlan included.
He sits me up so that I can see his face, and for a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer. But then he takes a deep breath and gives me a smile. “Because I used to do the exact same thing.”
“You did?” Okay, I know I sound like a starstruck kid talking to Santa Claus but I can’t help it. I didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who would understand. “But you seem so normal.”
He laughs at that, lifts me to my feet, and guides me face-first over a spanking bench.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a whole lot of people who wouldn’t call what I’m about to do normal.”
He clips my wrist cuffs to anchors in the floor, tucks my shirt up to expose my ass, and starts to slap me hard. Within moments I’m flying, my mind no longer part of my body, the pain just a catalyst propelling me into that contented place where nothing else matters but what my Dom wants.