by Aya DeAniege
“Is your time done?” Nathaniel asked finally.
“I think so,” I responded, hugging my arms to myself.
Normally that sort of thing lasted four or five days for me. I was surprised when Mr. Wrightworth had been right, as well as a little unnerved that he had known that. I was even more unsettled by the fact that the moment I had figured out that my time was done, in Nathaniel walked as if he had read my mind.
In reality, the IUD wasn't just a body-safe item that had been placed. It was a version of the one rich women used to skip their periods altogether. Doctors were good about explaining the risks and what to watch for, in case something goes wrong. They were not so great explaining the benefits of having that sort of birth control beyond the fact that it prevented unwanted pregnancy without drugs.
“Good,” Nathaniel responded. “Come with me.”
I hadn't eaten breakfast. I was, in fact, still in the black silk nightie. The same nightie I had used all three days because it was the only sleepwear I had. The silk nightie was thin and revealing. After the second day, I had been pretty certain it was supposed to be washed after one use.
I wasn't exactly eager to point that fact out because the servants had taken away my day clothing the night before to 'wash' them.
Except they had averted every question I had asked about when the clothing would be returned to me. I was afraid that if they took the nightie, I'd be left with nothing else to wear.
Nathaniel led me out of my rooms and deeper into the estate. After the third turn, I was lost. We stepped into a large room made up of white stone with pillars around the inside edges and huge windows on the outer walls. Natural light flooded into the room, altered only slightly by the gauzy curtains drawn across half of them.
“It's not the grand ballroom, but I do enjoy this room. There's much more character here than in the other one.”
He turned to me as if to ask what I thought of the grand ballroom. I stood still, struggling to comprehend the fact that there was a room larger than the one we were standing in.
Instead, I turned to the black piano sitting by the door and dumbly jabbed a finger towards it.
“Do you play?” I asked.
“I play several instruments, can dance, speak four languages, and paint to a moderate degree,” Nathaniel responded. “I don't like to idle time away, so I fill it with hobbies. Come into the light.”
I walked further into the room, stepping into the rays of sunlight. The light warmed me as only sunlight could.
Nathaniel watched me. His eyes roved over my body.
There was a noise behind me, a small click. When I tried to look over my shoulder, Nathaniel made a small sound at the back of his throat, keeping my attention on him as the servant behind me retreated.
I stood in mild confusion as Nathaniel walked behind me. He hadn't told me what to do, or how to behave. For some reason, the fact that I was still in a nightie didn't seem to bother him in the least.
He returned a moment later with a stool, which he set in front of me with a motion. Baffled, I stared back at him as he moved to my side.
“Right, I forget how little you know, what with you responding to the smallest motion like you're well trained,” he murmured, coming close to me. Nathaniel motioned over to the stool. “Strip and then stand on the stool.”
I hesitated, but only for a moment before I pulled the nightie over my head and dropped it to the floor. It didn't feel so strange to be naked after showering with Nathaniel for three days. The man walked in front of me slowly, working at the cuff of his shirt.
He unbuttoned one cuff and rolled it up to his elbow. Then he turned to the other and did the same.
Being naked while Nathaniel remained fully clothed was different. Not in a bad way, but still different. I felt self-conscious when his cold green eyes flowed over my form. Up and down, then back up to meet my eyes. My breath hitched in my throat when our eyes met.
The bathroom had been well lit, but Nathaniel had kept his eyes politely on my face or above my shoulders. If he did look me over, it was while my back was turned. I had yet to feel his eyes on me.
“Drop your hands,” Nathaniel said in a bored tone.
I hadn't even realized that I had covered myself with my hands. I dropped them to my sides, trying not to fidget as Nathaniel walked around me.
A finger grazed up my backside, over the curve of my hip, and then up my spine. I felt that touch all over. The trail blazed by the heat from the tip of Nathaniel's finger made me lose my train of thought. I shuddered under the touch. I couldn't help it.
“Good, or bad?” Nathaniel asked.
“Good,” I said, turning slightly to watch him as he came back around me.
Nathaniel nodded.
“I'm now going to ask you several things and give you commands. I need you to answer honestly so that I can learn a little more about your range. Understand?"
“I think so,” I responded with a frown.
“Good, reach down and touch your right foot with your right hand," Nathaniel said, then waited as I did as he commanded. "Now touch the left foot with the right hand. And left with left. Now right with left. Did you feel the pull down your bad leg when you touched the opposite foot with the hand?"
“Yes,” I said, straightening as I considered that pull.
I knew that the pull could be eased with stretching. My physiotherapist had told me as much during my time in the hospital but hadn't told me which stretches would help my leg the most. At that point, my best advice was from some oldsters who had hip problems, but even they could only offer so much. That information had been for arthritis of the hip.
It helped sometimes, but not often.
“Good,” he murmured again, motioning to my feet. “Spread your feet slightly, set your weight on both hips. You will be going to the gym with me. I've spent the last three days speaking with some trainers about the best way to approach your body type. We will work on the leg, on the hip, and on changing what little fat you have into muscle mass. This will help you build stamina, which will help with longer sessions.”
Fat? What fat?
“You will walk properly. That means on both feet. If I see you favouring your leg, I will cane both your legs until you do as I command you to."
“But it hurts,” I said.
“There's nothing medically wrong with your hip. That tells the trainers and physiotherapists I spoke to that the pain is in your head. You grew used to pain when it was there, so you fill it in when it's no longer present. At this point, the way you use the muscle is probably the cause of the pain.”
“Then why wouldn't the hospital tell me there was nothing wrong?” I asked. “They told me to be careful.”
“Pain is in the mind, perhaps you've forgotten what bodily pain is,” Nathaniel said calmly. The man hesitated for a moment, then walked around me, to whatever it was that the servant had brought in. “Keep your eyes forward.”
I looked out the windows, clenching my teeth as I wondered what exactly it was, that he was—
Before I registered anything, I was on the floor. It took a moment more to realize what had happened, and yet another moment longer for my body to get over the shock of it. My back exploded in pain, making breathing impossible. Struggling to get my lungs to work, I stared at the granite flooring.
I should not have been surprised that Nathaniel had struck me. He had said he would do as much.
Panting, I struggled to regain control as I raised my head, and his black shoes came into view. I trembled and looked up his legs. Nathaniel set a long stick on the floor, holding it as if it were a walking stick. His other hand slipped into his pocket as his green eyes studied me.
“That is bodily pain,” he said. “This is a cane. Good, or bad?”
“Bad,” I managed to get out.
I wanted to scream. The only thing that had stopped that sound was the lack of air to get the sound out. As I caught my breath, the scream died because I thought that was w
hat he wanted to hear, and I didn't want to give him what he wanted.
That first strike remained clear for years afterward. Like the first boy you have sex with, it is difficult to shake off the memory.
“Back on the stool.”
I pushed off the floor and got back on the stool. As I did so, I dared to steal a glance at the item the servant had brought in. There was a trolly with various items, most of which I didn't recognize the use of. One looked like a paddle, another a crop.
Taking only the barest glimpse of the trolley, I stepped onto the stool and faced the windows. I made eye contact with Nathaniel, who still stood directly in front of the stool.
The man smiled just slightly as he walked behind me. By that point, I understood to keep my eyes forward. I didn't see it, but I heard the whistling sound a moment before the cane struck me again across the shoulders. The strike drew a cry from my lips and brought tears to my eyes.
“I bet you thought I didn't see you look at the cart.”
How did he see that? I wasn't even facing him!
The pain of moments before was doubled. I bit down on the inside of my mouth and wiped the tears from my eyes before they could spill down my cheeks.
“Cane is for discipline. This one," there was a small sound, and then something struck one of my butt cheeks. It made me jump in place but didn't hurt as the cane had. "Is a crop. Good, or bad?"
I considered for a moment. It wasn't pain, no, but it did have a bit of a bite. I just couldn't put words to whether or not I liked the feel of it.
“I don't know,” I responded finally, unable to give a firm positive or negative response.
There was a quiet and another strike, to the other cheek. Both sides were something, yet indescribable at the same time.
My whole world balanced out. The small bite from the crop seemed to vanish as I stood there, in a daze.
“Good, or bad?” Nathaniel asked as I struggled to comprehend.
He hadn't hurt me. Nathaniel had placed and planned his strikes very carefully. It didn't just feel, either. There was a twinge in my stomach as Nathaniel walked around me.
His eyes warmed as they roved over my face.
“Excuse my reach,” Nathaniel said quietly.
I squeaked as his hand slid between my legs. A finger slid between my folds, drawing a startled sound from me as his finger probed ever deeper. The heat of a man's flesh hadn't been near me outside of a doctor's appointment in five years. I may have grabbed Nathaniel's wrist instinctively, but I wanted to keep his hand there, not to get it away.
“You're wet,” he purred.
“What?” I managed to get out.
“That's good,” Nathaniel said. “Though you didn't tremble until I struck the second side. Bend slightly,” he held out his left arm. “Over my arm. Good. Now, one,” I twitched as Nathaniel struck my backside with his open hand, “and two.” The second strike made me suck in a sharp breath.
There was a distinct heat between my legs.
I felt like I had just wet myself.
The terror of possibly having done such a thing made me straighten and reach between my legs despite the fact that Nathaniel's left arm was still against my stomach. I was surprised that there wasn't a flood of liquid down my legs.
“What just happened?” I asked, not expecting an answer.
Nathaniel's arm wrapped around me tightly. His free hand slid between my legs again, and two fingers thrust into me without warning.
And back out.
The fingers grazed over my most intimate place. As I gasped and shuddered, Nathaniel stayed focused. He watched me tremble against his arm and held me still.
The heat of his fingers against me was unbelievable. I knew what he was doing. Hadn't I done it a hundred times to myself? But his fingers seemed to know exactly where to push and when. The heat of his flesh did something that my own hand had never managed.
I moaned.
Nathaniel pulled away suddenly, almost causing me to stumble off the stool. As I struggled to come back to the present, he snapped a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wiped his fingers off.
“You aren't allowed to come,” Nathaniel said, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Though, you will come tonight before bed.”
“My room is off limits,” I said.
Nathaniel shrugged. "I said you'd have to come, not that it had to be in your room. Just remember, you're only allowed to come once."
I snorted. Full on, snort, followed by an awkward laugh. There was no way I believed any man—no matter how handsome he was, or how my body reacted when he laid his fingers on me—could make me come more than once. I couldn't make me come more than once.
“Only once," Nathaniel said sternly. As if I had laughed because I thought he was ridiculous for trying to tell me that once was enough. "Oh, that reminds me."
He disappeared behind me again.
“No, I wouldn't be able to do that more than once,” I said.
“Well, you shouldn't have made it that easy,” Nathaniel muttered, coming up behind me.
He tangled his hand in my hair and pulled until I whimpered. Bits of my scalp screamed in agony as he studied my face.
“If you braid your hair, the pull will be all over and not painful at all. I suggest you braid it for play,” Nathaniel released me suddenly and walked back to the trolley. “Turn your eyes to the ceiling and keep them there.”
I looked up. There was an unsettling moment as something firm slid between my legs. By then, I was wondering just how much time he was planning on spending between my legs.
And then it vibrated to life.
Nathaniel caught me as I jumped.
The feeling of the vibration was very different than the caress of Nathaniel's fingers, but it was just as effective, if not more so. In the moment it was pressed against me, I was on that edge and almost over. And then it was gone, and I was left whimpering with need as my belly roiled with something indescribable.
“That," Nathaniel brought the item up for me to see. It had a large rounded head and then a wand-shaped handle with several buttons on it. "Is a vibrator. Good, or bad?"
“Good,” I whimpered.
“Good, now,” Nathaniel said with a small smile. “If you ever come without my permission, this is what I will use on you. After I tie you up, I will bring you to the edge you are on. Then I will beat you with the cane until you are no longer on the edge. The whole process will repeat. Over. And over. Begging will not stop me.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I may allow you to beg forgiveness, but first I want you trained,” Nathaniel said with a small smile. “Begging will allow me special rights to create a scene I would like to play out.”
“And I won't like it?”
“That's not necessarily true,” Nathaniel murmured. “But there are some I know you won't like. You'll ride that edge all day. Tonight, as you come, I'd like it if you thought of me, but I will understand if you cling to some ritualized fantasy.”
“I don—” I didn't even get the full word out as my face seemed to light on fire.
So what if I always masturbate to the same thing? Does that make me wrong?
“I will break you of that fantasy,” Nathaniel said, walking behind me yet again. “I think that's enough toys for today. Wouldn't want to push you too far after I've already told you that you can't come. That would be rude of me, wouldn't it?”
“I think it would be, yes,” I responded.
Nathaniel chuckled. He came back around and stood before me, looking me over once more.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“...” like the question people asked in job interviews? Or what I thought of myself? Or the truth?
“How do you view yourself?” Nathaniel asked.
Again, I stared at him as if I were a daft fool with only half a brain.
“I don't know, I'm a woman," I said, looking down. It was at that moment the fact that I was naked caught
up with me. Embarrassed once more, I looked back up at Nathaniel and clenched my hands, but didn't move them. "I have a pair of boobs, and this is my height. I match your measurement specifications, why does it matter?"
What had Mr. Wrightworth said? That I had little to no self-worth?
My hands clenched a little tighter as I fought off tears.
“Why does that upset you?" Nathaniel asked, one finger raising to tap on his top lip as he considered me. "I thought poor folk didn't have the body image problems that rich folks do."
“Yeah, well, most poor folks don't get called worthless and useless because of an accident they didn't cause."
“The young man you were engaged to was the start of those words, no doubt,” Nathaniel muttered.
“Yes, but you can hardly blame him with his mother—” the words died in my throat as I stared at Nathaniel, mouth open. “How did you know that?”
“There is little that takes place in the slums which is not recorded and accessible at any time,” Nathaniel responded, his head tilting just slightly to the side, as if he were considering me from another angle. “I looked into what led you to this point, here. Standing on a stool before me. I know about your engagement. I know why you kneed the man who ran you over, I know why you called your teacher a cunt.”
“Everyone just focuses on that,” I muttered.
“I'm known to be a sadist in some circles, but using that word makes my balls shrivel,” Nathaniel said, actually sounding amused. “That's why everyone else focuses on the word. I focus on it because it's a good example of why I will at the very least try not to deprive you of sleep.”
“Because I might call you a cunt?” I asked boldly, but with the confusion obvious in my voice and a frown on my face.
“Or some term thereof,” he grumbled. “I also take it as a sign of your work ethic and loyalty.”
“I was fourteen. I wasn't working," I barked back.
Working before you were sixteen was illegal. A parent caught with children who were working was gagged and branded, then put into the stocks depending on how long the children were working. We didn't throw food or anything at those in the stocks, but you could always tell who was there through no real fault of their own.