by Aya DeAniege
“But—” I said, with a throbbing need between my legs.
“I should have called it—” Mr. Wrightworth frowned at me, his eyes narrowing as he considered me. “What’s wrong?”
“Please, Master,” I said.
Mr. Wrightworth was silent a long moment before something seemed to occur to him.
“Darling, deary, do you need something?” he asked as his hand slipped between my legs.
I gasped as his fingers found their target. It wasn’t just found, his fingers moved in a clockwise motion, then moved counter clockwise. I knew I couldn’t expect him to know how I would like to be touched. With a hesitant hand, I reached for Mr. Wrightworth’s hand between my legs. He stiffened at my touch.
Our eyes met as I showed him what I liked. Then I shuddered and bit my bottom lip.
Why didn’t he just make me do it myself?
“That’s it, Darling,” he said, edging closer. His other arm wrapped around me as his fingers worked deftly, voice dropping ever so slightly as his hot breath flowed over my ear. “Come for me.”
Mr. Wrightworth’s voice shook slightly. His tone caught between command and pleading. Every bit of me trembled at his words. I wanted to do as he commanded.
“Come for me,” he growled.
That I respond to.
I cried out my release. Mr. Wrightworth held me as I spasmed. The incredible fog of orgasm washed over me. He held me a moment longer, then pulled away.
“Now I’m ending the scene,” he said. “Probably should have stopped it when I first mentioned, but I couldn’t resist making you mewl.”
I dragged in several breaths, trying to steady myself before I spoke.
“Why?” I asked, wondering if I had messed up somehow.
“I went off script, shouldn’t have done that,” he grumbled. “I’m going to lift you now, and take you into the bedroom. You will let me.”
I whined when he lifted me, my back hurting once more. He carried me into the bedroom and set me on the bed gently. Mr. Wrightworth left the room as I struggled to get my body to work the way I wanted. It wasn’t necessarily that I was in pain, it was that everything wanted to fall asleep. The pain was causing a problem where I couldn’t reach behind me to unzip the dress.
Mr. Wrightworth came back into the room with a bottle of water, half a sandwich on a plate, and a bottle of pills. He sat beside me.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to unzip,” I said.
He muttered a curse and set the items on the side table before he reached behind me and unzipped the dress. Mr. Wrightworth slid around me, his hands roving over my back.
“That’s not good,” he muttered. “I’ll call Nicole in the morning, some of the swelling will hopefully have gone down. I forgot women have zippers on their clothing. Stand for me.”
“Dunno if I can,” I said.
Mr. Wrightworth moved around me and picked up the bottle, then the water. He took two pills out and opened the bottle. Under Mr. Wrightworth’s watchful eyes I took both pills. When I tried to hand the bottle back, he pushed it gently towards my lips.
“Trust me. You need to hydrate.”
I gulped the water. Having drunk almost half the bottle, I handed it back to Mr. Wrightworth. He set the bottle on the side table.
It was painfully difficult, but we got the dress off of me without having to cut it off. With the dress in one hand, Mr. Wrightworth handed me the half sandwich and walked off. I ate single-mindedly, only looking up once I had finished.
Mr. Wrightworth stood before me, having showered while I ate.
He looked utterly exhausted.
“Did you drink water?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Yes, and ate the other half of that sandwich,” he replied quietly. “I also took a pill myself. Whipping you pulled some muscles in my back that weren’t ready to be pulled like that.”
“We should sleep,” I said, looking to the bed I sat on.
He made a sound and walked around the bed. As he did so, I climbed under the blankets and laid on my belly. My back wouldn’t have made sleeping any other way comfortable. Mr. Wrightworth slid into bed beside me. He pressed close to me, one of his legs hooking over mine.
“Sorry we can’t spoon,” I said with a groan as he set a hand gently on the middle of my back.
“That’s my fault,” Mr. Wrightworth murmured. “Don’t worry about that, just focus on sleep.”
I didn’t have to focus on anything. The activities of the scene and then the pain killers did all the work of pushing me over the edge into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Fourteen
When I woke the next morning, Mr. Wrightworth was in the kitchen making waffles.
Waffles.
I sniffed at the air and stopped beside him, watching the way he tensed at my presence.
Waffles always smell so delicious, and I hadn’t had a proper waffle since Nathaniel’s place. The cafeteria had something like a waffle, a frozen circle that was a great deal smaller than a real waffle. They toasted it as you watched. Those waffles weren’t bad, but nothing compared to a real waffle the size of a dinner plate and slathered with real butter and whipped cream.
“I love waffles,” I said.
“I figured you might,” he said with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nicole will come over shortly.”
“You’re upset about something,” I said, deciding just to get it out in the open.
“I am, yes,” he responded, turning to the cupboard to pull out a plate. “I heard they concluded the review while I was away, which was fine. This morning I was informed that your contract was terminated.”
“What?” I squeaked out, hand gripping the counter tight to keep upright.
A cold washed over me. Every bit of strength I had drained away as Mr. Wrightworth set the plate beside the waffle maker and finally turned to me.
“Your contract was terminated shortly after the review.”
Black clawed the edges of my vision. All I could think of was how I must have done wrong. Had Nathaniel heard about my playing with Mr. Wrightworth? Was that why he had terminated the contract? I struggled to take in a breath, but it seemed my lungs had forgotten how to work.
“Darling, what’s—”
I fainted.
When I came to, there was something disgusting under my nose. I grimaced and pulled away, only to find myself on the floor. Mr. Wrightworth stood behind Nicole, looking mildly worried. There was a red colouring to one of his cheeks, across his cheekbone.
“Now,” Nicole snapped, turning her head towards Mr. Wrightworth. “You want to try that again, properly this time?”
“The Program heads terminated your contract, not Nathaniel,” Mr. Wrightworth said to me. “They did it because of our relationship. They believe that if you are still bound by contract to Nathaniel, but also seeing me, it sends a conflicting message. So the contract was terminated.”
“And the civil suit?” Nicole asked pointedly as she helped me to my feet.
“Was thrown out of court,” Mr. Wrightworth said, picking up two plates and setting one on his arm to take the third. “The judge said that while Nathaniel has a contract which allows his father to take his possessions, your contract states that you were under Nathaniel’s protection, as all contracts do. Which meant that Nathaniel’s father could not just take you, especially after he denied his father the ability to do so. No contractee can be taken by anyone else because of a previous contract.”
“And?” Nicole demanded.
“It can wait, Nicole,” he said sternly, walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
Nicole tugged me along with her as she followed him. “I think you lost that option when you made the poor girl faint.”
Mr. Wrightworth growled as he set the plates on the table. Along with the plates, which had a waffle on each, there was a platter with diced potatoes and even bacon. There were two glasses in fron
t of each plate along with a mug waiting. Two were empty, and the third had tea for me.
I sat at my place and gulped as my mouth watered.
“Fine,” Mr. Wrightworth snapped, sitting across from me. I looked up at his hazel eyes, wondering how long this conversation would take. I really wanted to eat. My stomach protested loudly, which made him sigh. “You’ve read the contract, which means you know that I cannot press charges against Albert.”
“You want me to,” I said.
“I’m not even allowed to press charges on your behalf, which is what I would typically do,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
“I’ll press charges, fuck that, fuck him, let him rot in fucking jail!” I shouted, then put a hand over my mouth, surprised by my outburst.
Mr. Wrightworth considered me from across the table. “I want her head on a fucking platter.”
“How?” I asked, understanding that he meant Mayfair.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, picking up his fork. “I’m sure it’ll come to me.”
We ate in silence, though I noticed that Nicole kept making eyes at both Mr. Wrightworth and me. There was an amused look on her face every time Mr. Wrightworth glanced up at me, as if she knew something we didn’t know.
When Mr. Wrightworth set his fork down, so did Nicole. She hadn’t finished her waffle, but she also didn’t seem concerned by the wasted food.
“Are you a rich person, or a poor person?” I asked as Mr. Wrightworth cleared the table.
“Poor rich,” Nicole said with a small smile as she picked up her mug. “It’s not just the extremely rich and extremely poor. My grandparents lost their fortune. My brothers are living in a slum at the moment, having been stupid and incurred a debt they couldn’t just repay with a job. Morons.
“So...” Nicole motioned at the table and frowned up at Mr. Wrightworth.
“You were a spoiled rich bitch,” Mr. Wrightworth responded, taking my plate from me. “She is a well-mannered guest. I didn’t even have to tell her to shut up, she just did.”
“Damn, but she’s a submissive, I’m not,” Nicole said with a head shake.
“You’re whatever I say that you are.”
“I’m not playing today,” Nicole growled out through gritted teeth. “That strip you took off me might be mildly infected.”
“You’re the one who wants to dabble in knife play,” Mr. Wrightworth said, walking back into the kitchen.
“Fucking hurts,” Nicole muttered under her breath. She stood and sighed, then raised her voice, “I’m going to take her to the bathroom and take a look at her back.”
“All right,” Mr. Wrighworth called from the kitchen.
Nicole made a motion, and I followed her into the bathroom. She closed the door, then locked it.
“You’ll have to take your shirt off,” she said, pulling a towel from the rack.
“I’m not wearing a bra,” I protested.
“Trust me, I know,” she said, holding the towel out to me. “What happened last night? You sound hoarse.”
“I... I may have poked the sadist,” I said, pulling my shirt off as I spoke. I used the towel to cover myself as Nicole gaped at me. “He asked me to. Said I should keep hold of the anger because he wanted to beat it out of me.”
“That’s a warning, not a dare,” she said, lowering her voice as she walked away from the door. “What did you do, Isabella?”
“Izzy,” I corrected for the millionth time.
“What did you do?” Nicole repeated, walking around me.
“I fought him, didn’t make it easy to do what he wanted,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Nicole as she stared at my back.
“And yet you have not been flayed,” she said, an annoyed edge to her voice. “Others have poked the sadists before. Do you know what happened to those people? Of course not.
“They tag team anyone who fucks with them. If they get you alone in a room with just them, be afraid, very afraid.”
“He asked for it,” I sighed out, then whimpered when Nicole touched my back. “He wasn’t angry with me.”
“Did it end in you coming?” Nicole asked.
“Yes,” I said.
The woman swore. “What the fuck are you two doing?”
“What is your problem, Nicole?” I demanded, turning to glare at her. “Why do you have a problem with everything I do? With everything he does? If he wants to face fuck me and I consent to it, it’s none of your damned business, okay?”
“He face—” Nicole stopped suddenly and raised a hand as if to stop me. She shook her head and frowned. “He did not face fuck you.”
“Why do you think I’m hoarse? From screaming? Don’t you think the neighbours would have heard that?”
“Oh my God, he face fucked you.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“Mr. Wrightworth is gay, and he’s performing sexual acts with you,” Nicole said, jabbing a finger at me. “I don’t get it. What is so special about you, that the two of them are head over heels over you. It’s ridiculous. There are men and women throwing themselves at the feet of the sadists, many of whom are real masochists, yet it’s you they’re chewing on.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No, I’m not—fuck,” Nicole muttered, then crossed her arms. “Maybe, a little bit. Of converting Mr. Wrightworth. If you turn him? I’m jumping on that man and never letting go.”
“I don’t think he’s changing sides,” I said.
“No, like he said, it’s probably just you,” she grumbled. She was quiet a moment. Then her face fell, she looked utterly devastated. “He did something different. Did he tell you it was going to happen beforehand?”
“Well, he said I’d end up kneeling and begging for forgiveness,” I said.
“If it were planned, he would tell you very specifically that it was happening,” Nicole said. “Which meant that he went off script.”
“That’s what he said. What is going off script?” I asked.
Nicole drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out. “He didn’t plan to do what he did, which means that the breakfast and calling me over to check on you isn’t part of your aftercare. It’s a part of his aftercare.”
“What?” I asked.
“Doms can drop just like subs can, except it’s a little different. He’s probably pacing outside the door right now, thinking he went too far with you. That he crossed a line.”
“But he was the one who ended the scene.”
“That’s him calling yellow,” Nicole said, paling slightly. “Okay, okay, we can do this.”
I watched as the woman chewed on the edge of her nail and frowned. She seemed caught in thought as she looked around the bathroom. Her blue eyes moved down me. I got the feeling, watching Nicole, that Mr. Wrightworth either didn’t usually drop, or there was someone else he typically called if he did.
Nathaniel, maybe? I dimly recalled a comment in the church during my first visit. Of Nathaniel saying Mr. Wrightworth was his first call, if he dropped. That could very easily go both ways.
“All right, let’s do this,” she said, motioning up and down me. “You need to shower. It’ll help with the back a little bit. Then, after you’ve showered, you’ll come out, and we’ll all watch a movie together. No topics he wouldn’t want to discuss. Like... Nathaniel or the contract. Unless he brings it up. You will cuddle up to him, make sure to thank him for last night at some point. So everyone knows it was play, and he didn’t actually hurt you.”
“It wasn’t exactly painful.”
Nicole frowned at me, looking down and up me again. “Maybe you are a masochist.”
“A masochist who is sometimes a little,” I muttered.
“Who called you a little?” Nicole asked.
“Mr. Wrightworth said I was behaving like a little before we started playing,” I responded.
“We had just met a little on the other end of the spectrum...” Nicole muttered. “Let’s try you in his lap, sleeping or pretending to sleep a
nd see how that goes.”
“How is that helpful?” I asked.
“Would you sleep in the lap of a man who had hurt you?” Nicole countered. “Because I wouldn’t be anywhere near such a person. Later today we’ll talk about massages, and I’ll position you to give him one.”
“I don’t know how to.”
“Perfect, I can teach you how and use him as the example,” Nicole patted me on the shoulder as she spoke. “Shower, I’ll get you some clothing, then we’ll see about him. Don’t mention it, never mention it. If anything is alluded to, pretend the aftercare is for you. Doms don’t like feeling vulnerable, especially around more than one person.”
“Then why did he call you?” I asked. “Wouldn’t he want to keep it private?”
“Mr. Wrightworth always calls me when he feels unstable. We watch a movie, do the whole friend thing. Shower, now.”
I watched Nicole leave, then sighed. I turned my attention to the shower and gritted my teeth. The reason I hadn’t gone immediately to shower in the morning was because of my back. I had been able to ignore the pain through breakfast because I had something else to focus on.
Alone in the bathroom, I could feel every ache and pain through my back and shoulders. The idea of being hit with hot water didn’t make me feel any better.
With a grumble, I dropped the towel and headed for the shower. The hot water hurt, but also helped me relax. I washed for much longer than I needed to before I shut off the shower and stepped out. After drying, I found a set of clothing by the door in which I dressed.
I ventured out of the bathroom, afraid of what I’d find.
What I found was a great deal more disturbing than the kinky stuff that had been going through my head.
Mr. Wrightworth and Nicole were sitting in the living room debating what movie we should watch. There was popcorn sitting on the coffee table and a chocolate bar sitting beside it, ripped open with a bit missing.
I went to Mr. Wrightworth’s side and wrapped myself over him as he stiffened. Ever so slowly his arm lowered over my shoulders and pulled me closer.
“Back hurts,” I said. “But otherwise last night was...” I struggled for the word I wanted to use. It suddenly seemed so far away. “Feelings.”