by Aya DeAniege
“Then go set up,” I said. “I need to find something I can move easily in.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“What?” I asked.
“Could you wear the dress from the party?”
“That has a collar on it.”
“I like the colours.”
“I'll see what's appropriate,” I said before I went back into my bedroom.
Agreeing to wear what he wanted me to wear might have given him too much control. At least, from my perspective, it would have.
I went through every dress in my wardrobe before selecting a black and blue one with a skirt that flared when I twirled. It wasn't a summer dress, but certainly wasn't a fifties style dress either. It wasn't fancy enough to be used for formal dinners, but Nathaniel had started to slip in a few more expensive dresses for me to wear on Sundays to meetings. With the dress on—and only the dress—I ran my hands through my hair and then left my bedroom, headed for the playroom.
Slipping into the room, I was surprised.
Nathaniel had stripped down to his underwear and was kneeling in the middle of the area at the front of the room. His eyes were down, hands on his legs. It was that waiting and ready position that he had taken in the sub room so many months before, except without the suit to look out of place.
Such a firm body, kneeling and at the ready for me. I could have asked anything of him, and he would have obeyed, even then. But he had a need, so I resisted the strong urge to make him do what went through my mind.
I had such dirty thoughts...
Trying not to clear my throat, because half the work was not to show what I wanted, I moved to the open ottoman Nathaniel had positioned near the door. I pulled out a pair of manacles and slipped my hand through them and back out easily. They were far too large for me.
In another ottoman near the bed were the items meant for me.
I took the manacles to Nathaniel and bent over, making certain not to kneel myself.
As I put on the first, Nathaniel said, “Talk to me, please.”
It's funny how you don't notice those little things until someone else points them out. Everything that was done to me, Nathaniel narrated. His father hadn't, and I think that helped me separate the two of them.
“I don't know what I'm going to do to you," I murmured. "I don't have it all figured out. Yet. I'll just have to beat you until you forget about my mistakes. To start, I'm going to tie you up."
I had to stop for just a moment before my brain did a little skitter. Tying Nathaniel up was as far as I ever got when I tried to plan play sessions on my own.
Pulling away, I cleared my throat.
“On the bed.”
“Yes...” Nathaniel trailed off and looked up at me. I saw the silent question, one which I was asking myself as he watched me.
“Isabella,” I said firmly.
He was the one who first used that. I didn't like the sound of Ma'am and Madame didn't feel quite right. I didn't see it as Madonna did, but I knew that the term Madame didn't fit with me well. I was fairly certain that I wasn't the only dominant who would respond to their name during play instead of a title.
“Yes, Isabella.”
I watched as he stood and moved to the bed.
“Face up,” I said.
I caught the hitch in his breath, only because it appeared Nathaniel had been in the midst of sighing as his breath came to a stop. He laid on the bed face up, in the middle of it. I followed him and slid the empty manacle through the headboard and place it over Nathaniel's free hand.
Nathaniel pulled experimentally at the manacles. When he reached the end of his freedom, when the manacles tugged at his wrists, my heart skipped a beat.
“Do that again,” I said.
He pulled at the manacles.
“Can you get free?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely, Isabella.”
I had a man tied to my bed. He was attractive, and he drove me wild.
I can do whatever I want to him.
With a smile and a sigh, I straddled him, a hand running down his chest. My skirts settled around him, to either side, drifting softly as I adjusted, making small sounds with each breath Nathaniel took.
“Izzy?” he asked.
“Shut up and let me do this.”
I kissed him as my hand slid between our bodies. My fingers trailed down his stomach, slipping into his underwear. I gripped him boldly as my tongue delved into his mouth. The heat of him in my hand, the strength of his firmness. This man was bound to please me.
“Stop!" he said suddenly, yelping when my hand gripped tighter instinctively. "You have to stop, or I'll come."
With a huff, I pulled away.
“Right, you're trained to tell me," I growled. "That's good but annoying."
I had been warned that he might not be able to control that if he hadn't been triggered to rise in the first place. I also knew that I wasn't exactly firm and domly, so I didn't expect him to have perfect control.
I slid off the bed and went to the ottoman at the end of it. While there, I bent over, hiding my face as I pretended to contemplate the contents. I knew how much that anticipation made me writhe. I hoped it had the same effect on Nathaniel.
Pulling out a crop, I returned to the bed. I stood at the side, eyes roving over the gorgeous man I had tied and waiting for me. His eyes were on the crop for only a moment before he seemed to look at some place over my right shoulder. Without being able to see the floor, it was the most respectful place for his eyes to sit.
Though, I also would have accepted them settling on my breasts.
I struck him as hard as I could on his leg. Thanks to practice since the last time I had used the crop on him, I caught him only with the tip of it. The sound of the crop cracking against his skin was satisfying. The instantly red mark on the skin brought a flush of excitement. I wanted to strike him again and again.
“Does that change things?”
“No,” Nathaniel said with a half-laugh, his green eyes aflame as he watched me. “No, by God, you're hot.”
I bit the inside of my mouth in annoyance, to keep from saying something stupid.
“I am not hot!” I snapped finally, smacking him again.
Then I did it again because it felt good. I climbed on top of Nathaniel and grabbed a handful of hair, dragging his head back. Turning his head like that bared his throat to me. I could have bit him then, and probably should have.
“You will never call me hot again. I am beautiful.”
“Yes, Isabella.”
“Say it.”
Nathaniel smiled at me. “You are beautiful, Isabella.”
I ran the crop up his chest. Just the tip, mind you, and then just the edge of that. Watching as he shuddered caused a twinge.
The feeling wasn't unlike when Nathaniel had handled me that first day, but there was something different about it, and then the fire that followed it.
“Are you going to be good?” I asked.
The man twitched on the bed, tugging quickly on the bonds that held him. I smiled as I straddled him once more. His surprise was evident as I bent down and captured his lips in a small, practically chaste kiss.
“Was that a good twitch?”
“Surprised,” he whimpered.
“How would you like to be inside me as I told you how good you are?” I purred out.
“Please,” he begged.
I leaned back and grabbed Nathaniel's underwear. He made a small, quick sound.
“What?” I demanded.
“Those, uh, those don't rip off," he said. "I put scissors in the bedside table."
I pulled his underwear down and off, frowning at him as he sighed out. It was a relieved sort of sound. To not have underwear ripped off, I could appreciate. What I didn't understand was why he thought I would cut them off instead of pulling them down and off like a normal, sane person would.
“So no cock torture?” I asked. “'Cause I'd love me some cock torture.”
There was a moment of silence as Nathaniel stared up at the ceiling. I could almost see him weighing the options and considering. Because I could tell that he was seriously considering whether or not he might be comfortable with my smart assed suggestion, I bit back the laugh that wanted to escape.
“Not today, but I'll trade you that for an electric wand.”
“An electric wand on my privates?" I asked.
“No, just in general,” he said with a shake of his head.
Suddenly we were negotiating mid-improvised scene. Given the fact that the scene hadn't been planned out beforehand, it seemed completely natural.
“Suppose can't say no unless I try it," I said with a shrug. "For now, though..." I grasped him firmly and sighed out. "I just don't know..."
I bent down and licked him experimentally, drawing out a whimper. With a small laugh, I bit my bottom lip and sat up. I kept my grip firm as I raised myself up. I straddled him, my skirts shifting and making their quiet noises once more. Making eye contact, I brought myself down, taking him into myself. With a moan, I held myself there, then brought myself up and back down.
There was no helping the moans that came from my mouth. I enjoyed what I did to him and would never deny it. Riding him as he tugged at the manacles was the highlight of my entire month.
“Let me touch you,” he begged.
“No,” I said, bending down to catch his bottom lip with my teeth.
I nipped him playfully as I continued to move. My hands tangled in my hair, needing a new sensation. I was so used to being touched as I had sex, it was alien to me to ride Nathaniel and not have his hands all over me.
“Oh, oh, Nathaniel.”
He swore. “Izzy, let me come.”
“No,” I said. “Not until I do.”
“Yes, Isabella. Just unbind me.”
“No,” I said, pausing.
“Unbind me so I can make you come.”
Tempting, so very tempting. I placed my hands on his shoulders and put as much pressure as I could manage on them, holding him still as I moved my hips and watched the desperation in his eyes.
“No,” I said huskily. “I'm going to ride you until I come, then you can. Understand?”
“Yes, Isabella.”
I bit my lip, focusing on what I was doing.
It's much easier to do that when Nathaniel has me tied and begging.
I tumbled over that edge by accident, but I kept moving as I finally realized that Nathaniel was begging me, and had been for some time.
“Are you going to be good for me?” I asked in that perfect tone, still moving as I bent down and captured Nathaniel's lips.
He cried out, and I took the opportunity to thrust my tongue into his mouth. My hips stilled as a roiling something flooded my limbs. I paused there for just a moment before collapsing to the side and draping a leg over Nathaniel's legs.
“Izzy,” Nathaniel murmured sleepily. “Untie me, please.”
I sat up and undid first one, then the other manacle. The second he was free, Nathaniel had a hand around my throat, pinning me to the bed. My hands latched onto his arm, struggling for a moment before I realized that he wasn't putting pressure on my throat.
“I prefer a more predatory nature,” he whispered.
“We all stumble,” I said.
“I know that, and for a stumble that was...” he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, “delightful. You can stumble, I encourage it. But that doesn't mean I will ever completely turn off, and you know what I saw?”
I shivered as his hand tightened just slightly.
“Please, Sir.”
“I'm here for you Darling, no matter what. Next time we play, though, I want you to tie me and beat me the way I've beaten you. Let's go through the motions so that you can have a starting point."
“You didn't give me a starting point.”
“No, because I wanted to see where you'd go. I did like that. Though it's frustrating for me, to not be able to lay my hands on you.” His free hand flowed down my side, then slipped under my skirt and up my leg. “To not be able to feel you shudder and shiver at my touch.”
His hand released my throat. Nathaniel draped himself around me and made a small sound as he pressed close.
“You like having a male tied,” he murmured sleepily.
“I do, it seems to excite me.”
“That's good. Were you serious about the cock torture?”
“I don't think so. Everything involving pain and genitalia just makes me squeamish. What about that electric wand you mentioned?”
“It's like the toy you like, except it gives off electricity. It's fun. It is, but everyone's reaction to electricity is different. Some people develop more static than others, that sort of thing. Like you said, you need to try something before saying no."
“And you've tried cock torture?”
“Well, I wouldn't normally say this sort of thing right now, but fuck Mayfair.”
“So no to cock and ball torture?”
“I don't enjoy it,” Nathaniel said with a shrug.
“I don't enjoy being whipped,” I said quietly. “Is it like that?”
“What do you mean, like that?”
“Mr. Wrightworth didn't tell you about that? I thought you two told each other everything,” I said. I looked at Nathaniel and watched as he shook his head. “After he visited your father last, he came back upset. I baited him and then submitted, let him whip me. I don't like it but...”
“There's something about taking the pain your dominant needs to give,” Nathaniel sighed out.
“Yeah, there is.”
We were both quiet for a while.
“I don't think cock torture is like that for me," Nathaniel said. "I think it's a hard limit. Unless you don't want to have sex with me, then go for it. Because after you do that, there's no way I can be useful."
“We kind of messed up the session," I said.
“That's okay,” Nathaniel said with a chuckle.
“You ever rip my underwear off. I'll strangle you with them," I said. "I might not have been a girly woman, but I heard stories from others and their men tried to rip things off, and it just hurt."
“Edible underwear.”
“That's a thing? Of course, that's a thing, what am I saying? Electric wands, and pegging toys are a thing, of course, someone would make edible underwear."
“Being confident as you talk is such a turn on,” Nathaniel said.
“I know,” I said. “I'm new.”
“I'm just coaching, not judging. I want you to stumble with me. It's adorable. I try to narrate what I'm doing. Once you have a handle on that, you can change the narration. Tell them you're going to hit them, but don't."
“Isn't that gas-lighting, in a way?”
“Maybe. I should think about that. But I do love the way you twitch, expecting me to strike you.”
Chapter Seventeen
If you had a chance to face your abuser, what would you ask?
Why? Why me? Why all of us?
Women of different body types, different features, from different backgrounds. I was the only one not missed by my family. If I had been taken from the slum, my family probably would have assumed that I wandered off to die like countless others.
The women had varying degrees of experience that would have either allowed or kept them from taking contracts with the Program. Their families reported them missing when they had gone missing. They had scoured the slums for their daughters, but no trace of them could be found.
Without a body, genetic debt cannot be spread to others in the family, as happened when a family member died. A family also couldn't mourn without a body. The debt of those women would have resided in limbo until their families paid off the genetic debt. Then the debt of the missing would be added on top.
The genetic profiling took about twenty years to bring about and work al
l the bugs out of it. After it had been introduced, crimes against women dropped something like seventy percent. With everyone's genetic profile recorded by the government, there was no hiding who assaulted you, all you had to do was scratch their faces or arms.
Some had begun making bodies disappear altogether. That was when the new law was brought in. Poor folk combed slums when loved ones disappeared.
If someone 'wandered off' they were given forty-eight hours to either get it out of their system or do what they had to do, and then the search began.
Those other women were reported missing minutes after they were supposed to be home from wherever they had gone when they were picked up.
For whatever reason, Albert Edwards decided to take the stand. Upon hearing that, I began to shut down. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but that I knew no one else would ask. Each question I came up with devolved inside my mind to my shouting at him and him just laughing as he had that day in Nathaniel's rooms, when we had first met.
I was so distracted that I missed Albert taking the stand and the first question. It wasn't until Albert answered, that I snapped out of my daze.
“They all wanted it, they all consented to it.”
“Even to death?” the prosecutor asked.
The defense hadn't asked anything at all, simply allowed Albert to take the stand. It was a ballsy move, one he was probably certain would pay off.
“Yes, it's the ultimate act of submission. I need only reference you to death contracts for your answer, I suppose.”
Death contracts are consensual, both parties agree. Over half the time, the deed isn't even done because both realize, at that necessary moment, that that is not what they want from life. Some contracts are even falsified.
The Program chose to offer a contract at all times to draw in those who are suicidal because their options in their slum were few or none. They would then offer the poor person a contract of a different nature.
“Just to be clear for the court record, you do not deny raping, torturing, and murdering these women?"
“They consented. The Program doles out contracts such as those all the time. So why am I on trial for participating in what a government funded program peddles to the masses?”