by Tabatha Kiss
“Hey,” I say, holding my breath.
He bites his cheek. “I have watched you wander around this place for almost thirty minutes,” he says.
“You’ve watched me?” I repeat.
“You go from room-to-room but you don’t talk to anybody, you don’t play, you just... watch. Are you a voyeur?”
I squint. “No, are you?”
He grips the edge of his jacket and pushes it aside, revealing the club’s emblem on his shirt and the bold letters beneath it that read SECURITY.
“It’s my job,” he says.
“Wait.” I laugh. “You work here?”
“Didn’t I mention that?”
“Uh, no,” I say. “You didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, I work here.”
“How many jobs do you have?”
“Three,” he answers.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, we can’t all be CEOs.” He smiles and glances at my neck. “I’m glad to see that’s coming in handy.”
“Well, it was working like a charm until about fifteen seconds ago,” I quip.
“Do you want me to piss off?” he asks with amused eyes.
“No. The familiar face is nice... even nicer now that I know you’re literally the muscle around here.”
“Well, good.”
I glance behind me, drawn to the sudden sound of a flogger and a woman’s grunt-like moan somewhere else on the floor but I can’t see through the crowd. “So, this seems like a fun gig,” I say.
“It certainly can be,” he says, shaking his head at the next area over. “Mostly just a lot of staring and cleaning. And keeping a close eye on singles, such as yourself...”
“Why, are we dangerous?”
“No, just vulnerable.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a safe place.”
“It is.” He nods. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”
“Do you worry about me?” I ask.
“Honestly, yes.” He clears his throat. “You took off out of here like a bat out of hell last time. I hoped you made it home all right.”
“I did. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats.
Again, I’m drawn to that woman’s deep groan. There’s a pleasure in it, one that entices and scares me all at once. I’ve never felt anything like that before.
The crowd shifts and for a brief second, I catch a glimpse of her face. Red and glistening with sweat. With pain and ecstasy, both at once.
“Pick one.”
I twitch back to Clive. “Excuse me?”
His eyes scan over my head to the corners of the room. “Pick one,” he says again.
“Pick one... what?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me with one edge of his smirk curling up.
My jaw drops. “You mean...” I point back. “The equipment? In the rooms? With the benches and the spanking?”
“Yes,” he says.
“For... you and me?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Ms. Payne, how do you expect to learn if you never crack open a book?”
“I’m your boss,” I stutter. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Not in here, you’re not.” He leans down. “Pick one.”
I hold my breath, locked in place under his intense, yet friendly, eyes.
I make a quick gesture at the unoccupied St. Andrew’s cross in the far corner. Clive looks over and smiles. I can’t be sure if he’s excited and amused. Maybe both.
Clive grabs my hand. “Come on,” he says.
He clings to me with hard, strong fingers and leads me across the floor. My chest twinges with slight pain as my heart pounds harder with each step we take toward the cross.
Clive looks back at me. His lips move but the words and sounds I hear don’t match up.
“What?” I ask, a bit too loudly.
He turns around. “What are your limits?” he repeats.
Right. Limits. Hard, soft. I try and recall the kinky shit Melanie told me but I can’t even hear my thoughts over my pulse pounding blood in my ears.
“Everything,” I joke.
Clive smirks and spins me around to face the cross. He guides my arms up and rests my open palms on it.
“Don’t move,” he says in my ear. “Keep your eyes forward. You look at nothing but the wall. Understand?”
I chuckle. “What?”
He tightens his grip on my wrists. “Understand?”
His voice travels down my spine. I swallow hard and look forward. “Yes,” I say. “I understand.”
Clive takes a step back, his hands dropping from mine. I almost look as he walks away but I stop myself. I’m not supposed to look away from the wall.
I stare straight ahead through the two wooden arms of the St. Andrews cross at the red brick wall behind it. Dozens of eyes stare at me, making the hairs on my neck stand straight up. I fight the urge to turn and look for myself. I fight the embarrassment bleeding out of my skin. I fight all of it in order to do as I’m told and—
Christ. This guy is one of my employees.
What the hell am I doing?
I drop my hands to my sides and turn around to leave.
“Where are you going?”
I gasp as I run right into Clive. His feet are planted on the floor and his arms are crossed over his chest.
How long was he standing there? How long was he watching me… waiting to see if I’d break?
I glance over his wide shoulders at the observers. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I say.
“Don’t look at them,” he says, calmly. “Look at me.”
“Clive—”
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes upward to connect with his.
“These people will not judge you,” he says. “No one thinks less of you for being inexperienced. They’re not here to make you think less of yourself… and neither am I.” He slides a single finger along the edge of my cheek. “You can leave if you choose to, Ms. Payne, but if you want to learn, I’m here to teach. You can trust me.”
My teeth chatter in my mouth, rocked by adrenaline, and I say the first thing that pops into my head.
“I want to stay.”
Clive nods. “Then, turn around… and place your palms back on the cross.”
I turn, slowly breathing as I do as he says. I raise my arms and put them back where they were before.
“May I touch you?” he asks behind me.
I nod, my neck jerking back. “Yes.”
“I’m going to remove your jacket, is that okay?”
I bite my lip. “Yes.”
“You can lower your hands,” he says as he slides his fingers over my shoulders, “but put them right back as soon as your jacket is off.”
I tremble as his hands glide down my arms, slowly drawing my jacket down to my wrists. I obey his words, instantly putting my hands back on the cross when I’m able to. My fingers touch the metal fasteners hanging down, meant for ropes and locks and other things, I imagine.
“I won’t restrain you,” he says, noticing everything. “Not this time.”
“This time?” I ask, my lips twitching.
He doesn’t answer or acknowledge the question. Instead, he lays a flogger down on the cross in front of me. “I’m going to use this on you,” he says. “It’s made for beginners. You can touch it.”
I take my right hand and run my fingers through the long strings. They’re thick and made of suede. Light, fluffy… nothing to be scared of.
“It won’t hurt unless I want it to,” he says, taking it from me. “But your body might react as if it does, at first.”
Another giggle shakes my chest. “You gonna give me a safe word?”
“If you want one.”
“I do.”
“Okay.” He dangles the flogger along my back, tickling me with a dozen tapping strings. “If I go too far, say wait. If you want to stop, say stop.”
“Simple.” I
chuckle. “And if I want more?”
“Say my name.”
I flinch, not expecting his mouth to be so close to my ear. He steps back and I take a sharp inhale to calm my racing pulse.
“Keep your hands up,” he says a few feet behind me. “Don’t move out of place and don’t forget to breathe.”
“People forget to—?” The flogger hits my back and I accidentally bite down. “Ouch.”
“I barely tapped you,” he says.
“I bit my tongue!”
He sighs. “Relax and stay quiet.”
I force my lips together, stifling my laugh. He hits me again, this time just a little bit harder. It really is just barely a tap. More like a tickle than a—
It hits again, this one more forceful and quick. I exhale hard, tensing up as he gives me another hit. He’s right. It doesn’t hurt but my body isn’t used to this. It keeps flinching and flexing, preparing for a pain that’s not— ouch!
Okay.
That one actually hurt.
My mouth sags and I gasp loudly as a bolt of pain fires down my left side. It fades quickly, sending heat throughout my core and I relish in the sensation.
“You felt that.” I hear Clive behind me, just mere inches from my neck. “Do you know why?”
I look back in confusion, prompting him to raise the flogger again. I spin forward in time for it to snap along my back. It hurts — but not as much as before.
“Did I say you could turn around?” he asks.
“No,” I answer.
“Then, don’t turn around.”
I fix my neck, holding still.
“Do you know why you felt that?” he asks me again.
I nod. “Because you wanted me to,” I answer, recalling his words from before.
“Good girl.” He taps me, light and fluffy, and it almost makes me smile. “Bad girl.”
He swipes me harder, making my knees lurch and I yelp in response.
“Understand?” he growls.
My voice shakes. “Yes,” I say.
“Say, I understand, Mr. Snow.”
A laugh rattles my ribs and I feel like a different person. His voice, his words. I can’t remember the last time someone else told me to do something — and I had to obey. It feels so new and unnatural, but completely free at the same time. I let go of everything — work and stress. I’ll let go of life itself if it means pleasing him.
“I understand,” I say, “Mr. Snow.”
Clive leaves several pleasant raps along my upper back. I close my eyes, lulled into a sense of security — even if it might be a false one. It’s an odd feeling. One of trust and encouragement but I still find myself bracing for anything.
He whips me harder. “Hands.”
I cringe, realizing far too late that my palms have slid down the cross. “Shit—” I murmur.
“What was that?” He leans over, his warm breath grazing my ear. “Did you just curse?”
I bite down, unsure whether or not I should speak. He hits me again and again, three times in rapid succession and my eyes sting with the threat of tears.
Dammit. What did he tell me?
Say wait if he goes too far.
Say stop to make him stop.
No, there was something else.
“Nora?”
Several bright bursts of light invade my vision and my knees give out beneath me.
Breathe.
He told me to breathe.
A strong arm wraps around my waist before I even touch the floor. Clive yanks me back up, hoisting me into the air and cradling me in both arms.
“Nora?”
His voice sounds faint and distant even though I can feel his lips moving on my cheek.
“Stop,” I murmur.
My eyes focus on his chiseled face as his smile stretches to one side.
“Way ahead of you,” he says with a laugh. “Are you okay?”
I glance around, squinting beneath the bright purple light. A larger crowd has gathered around to watch and I cringe in embarrassment. “Uh-huh…”
Clive looks up and nods at another man in a black shirt nearby. The man immediately starts waving people away, insisting that they give us our space.
“Come on,” Clive says, still carrying me. He walks us over to a bench against the nearest wall and he sits down beneath the dim, gray lights, keeping me close. “I didn’t think Ms. Nora Payne would have such a low tolerance.”
“I don’t,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I just… forgot to breathe.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “It’s all part of the learning process. I’m just happy I caught you in time.”
I look down, suddenly very aware of his hands on my body. He keeps one clenched beneath my knees with the other wrapped around my back, his fingers dangerously close to my breast.
And my hands — Oh, god. I’m touching his chest. It’s thick and flexed like some kind of… sports… person…
Athlete! That’s the word.
My mind starts to clear up and I look around the quiet corner of the room. We’re all by ourselves over here. Everyone else found something more interesting to watch, I guess. Or that’s just the kind of respect people treat you with around here. Either way, I’m happy they moved on.
I clear my throat. “Well, I can’t say I’ve been cradled like this in… twenty-five years, or so,” I joke.
“Didn’t want you to hit your head,” he says. He looks at the seat. “And I didn’t want to lay you down because I’m not sure when this bench was last cleaned, so…”
“Right. Smart.” I swallow hard, getting lost in those bright, blue eyes. How did I never notice before that they were blue? “I think I’m good now.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
I slide off his lap onto the bench and he lets me go. My body instantly wants his hands back. I almost feel unhinged without them. Like a ship with no anchor.
“Bathroom?” I ask.
Clive points toward the stairs. “First floor. Left of the entrance.”
“Thank you.”
I stand up, fighting the instant dizzy rush that plagues my head. He stands up with me but he doesn’t follow. I squeeze through the lump of people standing between me and the stairs. The only eyes I feel on me are his and the feeling stays in my skin even after I reach the bottom and throw open the ladies’ room door.
I duck into the farthest stall and lock it behind me. I remain standing, planting my back against the door and staring at the walls painted to look like red bricks.
What the hell just happened to me?
I’ve never passed out before. Ever. I’ve never even had an anxiety attack or a panic attack or any other of those things you see women go through in romantic comedies. I’ve never tripped and fallen in public. Things like that just don’t happen to me.
Until now, that is.
Strangely, though, the thing I’m more upset about is how much I’m not upset by all of this.
I don’t give a shit about passing out in front of strangers. I don’t care that I got flogged in front of them either.
No, the only thing I feel is a deep throbbing between my thighs begging me for more.
“Clive,” I whisper, involuntarily.
His voice in my ear. His hands on my body. The way he forced my hands up and placed them exactly where he wanted them. He didn’t even restrain me. I didn’t need to be. I wanted to go where he told me to go. I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to do to me.
Oh, Christ.
I flick the button on my pants, loosening it enough to slide my hand inside. With closed eyes, I touch myself. I rub the edge of my sensitive clit, teasing it to life and it doesn’t take long before I’m actively holding back moans.
The bathroom door opens and closes. I don’t stop. I ignore the sounds of running water and ripping paper towels. My mind replaces those with my own gasps and the flogger’s snap an
d Clive’s deep growl...
I come hard, harder than I have in weeks. My entire body tingles from head-to-toe. My knees nearly give out but I keep my free hand on the bar along the edge of the stall to keep myself up.
“Fuck,” I whisper, moaning through my teeth. I instantly regret saying it. I could be punished again for cursing.
I smile. “Fuck.”
I lay my head back, purposefully slamming it against the door. Something about this feels so wrong — masturbating in a public restroom aside.
I’m his boss.
He’s my employee.
This could end badly.
But only if I let it begin.
Eight
Clive
Well, that’s never happened to me before.
I’ve seen sub drop before but they’ve never literally dropped to the ground in front of me. At least I know my reflexes are still good.
My chest is still pounding. Seeing her — Nora Payne herself — facing a St. Andrew’s cross. Her hands raised above her head. They weren’t even tied. She kept them there, willingly obeying me. She wanted to submit to me.
She felt amazing in my arms. Her little body is tighter than I thought it’d be. Soft, pale skin beneath her clothes just waiting to be turned pink.
The bathroom door opens and some redhead walks out. I grit my teeth, honestly starting to get a little worried. Three other women have gone in and come back out since Nora rushed in there. Maybe I should grab Judy and ask her to go check on her.
Finally, the door swings open and I push off the wall. Nora stops the second she sees me standing by and her eyes drop to her shoes.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I just needed a minute.”
Her eyes refuse to lock on mine. She’s obviously not all right. Not yet.
“Hey—” I touch her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry. Trust me, these people have seen far worse.”
Her smile presses on, feigned as it may be. “Oh, no. I’m cool. I’m fine. Really.”
I hold out her jacket. “You forgot this up there…”
“Oh!” She takes it from me. “Thank you very much.”
We take a step back to keep from blocking the bathroom door. Nora nudges against me by accident and I catch the subtle scent of her perfume. It struck me earlier by the St. Andrew’s cross and my nose has been begging for another hit of it ever since.