by Tabatha Kiss
He scoffs. “And I wouldn’t need to if you had a cell phone like everyone else, man.”
“What do you want, Alex?”
“An update would be nice,” he says. “You ran off yesterday with a light bulb burning up your ass. Figured you might have some good news this morning.”
I give the room another cautionary glance, sensing movement a few desks over. My eyes flick toward Nora’s office. “Not yet,” I say. “I told you I need a few days.”
“For what?”
I drop my head. “If I can’t get it here, then I have to get it there.”
“Where’s there? Her house?”
“Yes.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
I sigh. “Okay, genius. How exactly would you secure an invite to an attractive, single woman’s private residence?”
He pauses for several seconds. Then, I hear a quick inhale. “Ohhh—”
“Fucking moron,” I mutter with rolling eyes.
“Taking one for the team.” He laughs. “I like it.”
“Other way around, actually,” I say. “It might take some convincing, hence the few days. So, don’t call me here again. I’ll call you.”
“Tick-tock, buddy. Our buyers aren’t exactly patient.”
Nora steps out of her office carrying an empty coffee mug, something I’ve seen dozens of times before but I can’t pry my attention away from it this time. She rushes off toward the break room for a refill. Her hips swish in the most perfect way as she walks with her head high and back straight. Strong and confident Nora Payne.
I want to ruin her.
I want to see her with bruises on her nipples and rug-burn on her knees.
I want to watch her plead for release while I have my way with her.
“You still there, man?”
I swallow. “Yeah. I’ll call you soon.”
I hang up the phone, happy to focus my attention on Nora again. She leaves the break room with a fresh cup of steaming coffee. That dick from creative has intercepted her. He waves his tablet in her face, making her pick and choose between holiday logo designs but Nora obviously just wants to sit down and enjoy that coffee for five fucking minutes.
Then, for a brief second, she looks at me instead.
Her eyes draw to me, locking with mine. I feel a deep, stabbing pang in my chest but it doesn’t hurt. It just tickles, like a silent secret between friends.
She doesn’t linger for very long. She shifts forward again and she continues on back to her office out of my eye-line.
Eight o’clock.
That time yesterday, I had her in my arms. Limp and breathless Nora Payne.
That time tonight, I’ll have her begging for it. Eager and submissive Nora Payne…
I like the sound of that.
Twelve
Nora
“Hey there, newbie!”
I run into Roger the second I walk through the entrance of The Red Brick Road. He stares down at me, still obscured from head-to-toe in that black latex, but I find the concept a little less menacing the more I see him.
“Hey, Roger.” I pause. “Can I ask you a question?”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “Sure.”
“How do you breathe in that thing?” I ask.
He leans down. “I don’t.” I raise a concerned brow and he laughs. “Well, not well, anyway. But that’s part of the fun.”
I squint. “You’re one kinky dude, Roger.”
“Yeah, look who’s talking, newbie.” He raises a finger and flicks the white handkerchief around my neck. “One day here and you’re already owned. So, who’s the lucky Dom?” His head rises. “Oh, I see.”
“Keep moving, Roger.”
I flinch at the deep voice behind me. I turn to find Clive lingering over my shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest. Shadows fall beneath his brow, obscuring his eyes so only the slightest blue shines through at me and Roger.
Roger laughs and raises his hands in surrender. “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Snow,” he says with amusement. “I didn’t realize she was yours.”
“She’s not,” Clive says. “She’s just not your type.”
Roger’s head turns down to look at me again. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
I frown at the rejection. “Why not?”
Clive takes my arm. “You don’t want to know.”
“No, he’s right,” Roger says. “I would wreck you and your tight, little—”
“Roger.”
His gloved arms rise again. “I’m going. I’m going.” He salutes me. “See you around, newbie.”
I blink with confusion as Roger disappears into the small crowd near the couches. “My tight, little what?” I ask Clive.
His lips twitch. “Honestly… it could go either way.”
I wince. “Yeesh.”
He extends his hand to me. “Shall we?”
I take it without hesitation and his strong fingers lock around mine. It feels safe, but several hairs on the back of my neck stand up as he leads me to the stairs. I make eye contact with a few as we ascend, some of which look from me to Clive and back again, flashing me a quick nod of approval. Thanks, I guess.
We reach the top and I grow a little more nervous with the number of people up here. My heart pounds as I recreate that embarrassing moment from the other night in my head. Is Clive taking me to a cross again? I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if I never am again.
Clive and I continue, only we don’t head toward one of the unoccupied crosses or punishment benches...
He’s leading me to the third floor.
Anything goes, Melanie said. If this floor’s a-rockin’...
I must have slowed down because Clive looks back at me over his shoulder. His grip never ceases on my hand and he draws me forward, holding me close as he guides me up.
We reach the landing and I stop. I haven’t been up here before. It’s dark, nearly pitch black save the hot pink fluorescent bulbs above each door, except for the one on the far right. It’s also silent. Dead silent, unlike the constantly moving world downstairs.
Goosebumps curl up my spine, holding me in place.
“There,” Clive says. He points to the room with no light and I start walking that way, dragging my feet a little as he gives my hand a light tug.
I stop at the door and Clive pushes it open, casually stepping to the side to let me in first. When I don’t move, he releases my hand and walks in alone.
I could leave now. He’s giving me that choice but I feel a presence in my gut, a nervous sway I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. It’s pushing me to go in and embrace a new experience.
I step forward, driven by an urge I can’t say no to.
“Close the door.”
I do as he says, taking one task at a time. Closing a door. That’s easy.
“Lock it.”
Yes! I can do that, too...
I turn the lock and the pink light above the door flickers on. I guess that means occupied.
I take a look around. It’s a small space. One room with a kitchenette and an attached bathroom. A closet in the corner.A few armchairs sit around but the main furniture is the large table set up in the center of the room.
“Was this an apartment?” I ask.
“Once upon a time,” he says. “This whole place was an apartment building before. You couldn’t tell?”
I picture the layout downstairs and nod. “It’s very obvious now,” I say, chuckling.
“All the walls were knocked out on the ground floor,” he explains. “The second floor kept the rooms but no doors. And these...”
“Rented by the hour,” I recall.
“I figured you’d want somewhere more private after what happened downstairs before,” he says, his eyes soft on me.
“That’s...” I nod, “a safe assumption. Thank you.”
“Safe, sane, and consensual. That’s the law around here.”
“Good
law.”
He extends his hand. “Jacket?”
“Thank you.” I push my jacket back over my shoulders, letting it fall to my hands. When I look up again, I catch him checking out my short, red dress but he looks away quickly. “You said a nice skirt, but…”
“It’s perfect,” he says, taking my jacket toward the closet in the corner.
Clive slides his own jacket off and my gaze locks on his arms. His shirt sits tightly around his large biceps. I recall the feel of his strong, toned chest beneath my fingers. He held me up in the air as if I weighed nothing at all.
I swallow hard.
He opens the closet in the corner and reaches in for a hanger. My eyes widen at the array of leashes, floggers, and chains hanging on the back of the door. He abandons his jacket inside but keeps the door wide-open, almost as if to tempt me.
“Clive, what are we doing here?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Not right away.
“Whatever you want,” he finally says, passively shrugging.
“Isn’t that my line?” I quip.
“There’s a lot of misconceptions about this lifestyle,” he says. “One is that the Dom is always in control. They make the rules. They force their sub to do what they want. That’s not true.”
My brow furrows. “It’s not?”
“The sub makes the rules,” he says. “The sub puts boundaries on what their Dom can or can’t do. One word from their mouth ends it in an instant. In that way, the sub is actually the one in control the whole time.”
I flinch in disappointment. Control. Isn’t that the one thing I wanted to give up for an hour? The main reason why I’m so damn stressed out all the time?
“Oh,” I mutter.
“But…” he steps forward and tilts his head, “you have to trust that your Dom will follow your directives. Once you’re restrained, you have to entrust yourself to them. Your pleasure, your pain, your life will be in their hands. Do you think you can do that?”
I lean back. Something about that just stops me cold. But in a really good way.
“Might take some time,” I say.
“As it should. Who do you trust the most in the whole world?”
“My friends.”
He nods. “And how long have you known them?”
“Ten years, at least.”
“Now compare that to Clive the bubbling temp who fucks up your paperwork,” he jokes.
I laugh. “I see what you mean.”
“Trust is earned. It’s consensual. No one trusts by demand. You ever do that thing where you fall backward and another person catches you?”
I look down. “Quite recently, actually.”
He smiles and gestures around. “Then, you and I are already on our way. That’s what this whole place is. Just one big trust fall. The more you do it, the stronger the bond. Is this making sense?”
“I think so...” I bite my cheek. “So, what did Roger mean before?”
“Oh, you’ll have to be more specific,” he jokes. “That guy says some weird shit.”
I laugh. “I mean, he said I was owned. What does that mean?”
He gestures to the handkerchief. “That’s what this is supposed to be,” he says. “When you’re owned that means you have a Dom… and they don’t like to share.”
I run a finger around the lip of the cloth. “So, you own me?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It’s just a hanky. I gave you that to help you feel more comfortable around here and keep guys like Roger from getting too handsy. Not to possess you. But…” He looks me in the eye, bewitching me with those soft, blue eyes. “Down the line. Who knows? We’re just learning the basics here.”
I take a breath. “Right.”
“I want to try an experiment,” he says, his lips curling. “Something that should ease you in without being too overwhelming.”
“So, not strapping me to a St. Andrew’s cross and flogging me in front of strangers until I pass out, then?”
Clive shakes his head. “No. It’s just the two of us up here.”
“And it’s supposed to make me trust you?”
He smiles. “I hope so.”
I inhale slowly, forcing my breath to fill my lungs to the top. “All right,” I say, letting it back out. “Let’s experiment.”
His eyes fall from my face to my breasts, quickly bouncing away as he turns toward the closet. “Lay your palms on the table,” he says.
Clive moves toward the open closet as a quick shiver rides up my back. I look at the table in the center of the room, suddenly noticing the gold metal rings hanging down from the corners, and wonder what I signed up for. He said it himself, though. One word from me and it all ends.
Assuming I can trust him.
I step forward and place my palms down on the cold surface.
Clive slides a black riding crop from its place on the closet door. “Don’t move your hands,” he says, walking back over and standing at on opposite side to face me. He curls his hand around the crop’s handle with a tight, white-knuckle grip. “If you move your hands, you will be punished. Sound easy enough?”
“Punished?” I ask.
“Punished,” he simply says.
I shift slightly into a more comfortable stance. “Okay—”
He slaps the back of my left hand with the crop, sending fire up my wrist.
I wince. “Ow!”
“I said don’t move your hands.”
“I didn’t move my hands.”
“You lifted the end of your pinky.”
I laugh. “Oh, come on—”
He hits me again, this time on the right wrist. “You twitched your thumb,” he says.
“Not on purpose!” I gasp.
“Control yourself, Ms. Payne.”
I take a breath, my eyes bouncing from him to my hands and back to that damn crop. His own eyes move constantly, staring hard at my hands with sharp precision to make sure I obey.
Punished. Makes perfect sense now.
After a minute, he takes a step to the left and begins rounding the table, each step creaking the old floor beneath him. I isolate my focus into my hands to keep them still, even as I crane my neck to watch him move.
“Eyes forward,” he tells me as he wanders behind my back.
I look ahead, using my sense of hearing to keep a fix on him. The crop’s tip eases around me and he gently caresses my arm from the elbow down. I keep still, fighting the ticklish feeling beneath my skin.
“Good girl,” he says, slightly growling.
“Thank you, Mr. Snow.”
“Hm,” he hums, the quickest laugh.
He reverses his path, moving the crop up my arm toward my armpit. The closer it gets, the more my skin responds and I fight to stop from twitching.
“That’s cheating,” I say with a chuckle.
“No, that’s the experiment,” he says. He rests his free hand on my right hip. “You try to stay still... and I make that impossible.”
Thirteen
Nora
The crop grazes my armpit, causing an involuntary spasm in my elbow, and my left hand lurches off the table.
Clive immediately slaps the back of my hand, this time harder than before. I cringe, biting my lip at the sharp, stinging pain. I rest my hand back down but it trembles on the table’s surface.
He moves his touch up my waist, slowly crawling around my body to rest just beneath my breasts. Warm pleasure tingles me from the places he touches, completely neutralizing any pain my brain thinks I felt. I can hardly even remember it.
I look at my hands. Steady as rocks.
Clive slides his boot between my feet on the floor and nudges them apart. I put my weight in my hands and shift my legs wider.
“More,” he demands.
I take another step out, putting tension on my skirt.
“If I go too far, say wait,” he says, reminding me. “If you want to stop, say stop.”
My teeth chatter. “What are you going to do?”<
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His hand falls from my belly and slips down my leg to hook the hem of my dress.
The riding crop touches my ankle and I flinch, quickly remembering that it’s still there. He slides it up my calf to my knee, tapping between them twice as it inches underneath.
“Clive?”
The crop slaps on the table next to my hand. “Mr. Snow,” he corrects me.
“What are you going to do, Mr. Snow?” I ask again.
He pinches my chin and draws my head back. “I’m going make you move your hands,” he whispers.
“Yeah, but how—”
His lips envelope mine and I drop the question. The heat of his kiss makes my ankles sway and I lose all sense of what I was doing. I kiss him back, reaching upward to touch him on the back of his neck.
He snatches my wrist in mid-air and slams it back down to the table before I even realize my mistake.
I brace myself for the quick sting of his crop. With pinched eyes, I wait, counting the seconds until it’s all over with but... it doesn’t happen.
I crack one eye open as the crop’s tip grazes the back of my guilty hand.
“That’s how,” Clive whispers in my ear. “I’m going to touch you, Ms. Payne. I’m going to touch every inch of your body just so I can say I have.”
I take a gasping breath. “Are you going to...”
The question falls but he figures out the rest of it. “Would you try to stop me if I did?” he asks.
I quiver, feeling his front pressed against my back and the hard bulge digging into my ass.
“I want you to think,” he says. “Think of all the things that could happen right now, every single possibility. I want you to tell me what you wouldn’t allow. These are your hard limits.”
I furrow my brow. My mind is running a mile a second. I can hardly keep up with my pulse. “Can I have an example?” I ask.
“Can I put a knife to your skin and draw blood?”
“No!” I cringe. “God, no!”
“Well, that’s a hard limit. No blood play.”
“Obviously.” I pause. “Do people really do that?”
“Yes.”
I peek back. “Do you like to do that?”
He shakes his head and I sigh with relief. “Not my thing,” he adds. “Can I smack you? Let’s say the face?”