Role Play (Silhouette Studios)

by Katana Collins

  I took another deep breath and pushed a section of dark brown hair out of Lucy’s face, tucking it behind her ear. My gaze flicked briefly to her plate, the food hardly touched. Then, sliding my hand into hers, I tugged her to her feet. I wrapped my hands around her waist, lifting Lucy up, and sitting her onto the top of the mahogany dining table. The same table Brie and I had shopped for together, a month after she moved in. “Take a bite of clams,” I said.

  The black frames of her glasses slid down the bridge of her scrunched nose and she pushed them back up with the tips of her fingers. “I told you, it’s cold.”

  “Then take a bite of the kale salad,” I said, losing patience. On one hand, Richard was spot on about this whole training a submissive thing. Her defiance was so fucking sexy. But it was sexy because I knew she’d give in to the pleasure soon enough. I could feel it radiating off of her. She wanted this. But even though it was in her nature, I didn’t want to push too hard. It was still her choice. She still had to say yes and consent for us to progress and move forward.

  “This is one of the things from the contract I’m not okay with—”

  “Lucy!” I boomed. “Take a goddamned bite of your food.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted a dark brow in my direction. Okay… good to know. Yelling will not get me very far.

  “Okay. Fine.” I lifted her fork and stabbed a piece of kale, holding it up to her pursed lips. “You have to eat, sweet girl.”

  “Red,” she snapped. I immediately dropped the fork to the plate, swallowing my sigh. She used the one phrase I was powerless against. Problem was, we hadn’t set our limits yet. All I wanted her to do was eat her fucking dinner. How in the hell was that a hard limit?

  “What if I heat it up for you?” I tried. “Or make you something else for dinner? I could make us grilled cheese or—”

  “Did I stutter, Ash?” She folded her arms, her knuckles going white as she clutched at her arms. “I didn’t say yellow. I said red. Dictating what I eat and when I eat is a hard limit for me.”

  I wanted to throw the fucking plate into the wall; watch it shatter like my goddamn patience. Instead, I stifled that destructive urge of mine—that stupid, primal aggression I always had. It was one of the better things being a Dom had taught me—how to cool my temper in tough situations. It wasn’t ideal, but with my subs, I couldn’t let my temper get the best of me. Ever. Especially in a scenario where a sub was using a safeword. Above all else, the experience had to be safe, sane, and consensual. “Can I ask why?”

  She nibbled at her top lip and her blanched knuckles loosened against her arms. “Does it matter?”

  Does it matter? Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. “It matters because I want to understand you better.”

  She lifted her eyes to the top corner of my dining room, deep in thought before she answered. “My dad used to dictate what my mom could eat. And then after he left, in some sort of cruel displacement, my mother started controlling my diet. I wasn’t allowed sugar. Very few carbs, and we had weekly weigh-ins where she would track my gains.” She shrugged in a seemingly nonchalant way that I saw right through. “Transference at its best.”

  Holy shit. I pulled back, feeling like an asshole. Her parents did that? That was fucked up. I had assumed food issues would come from an ex-boyfriend. Some piece of shit dude who only cared if her jeans got too tight, not whether or not she was being healthy. But a mother and father? My stomach squeezed for Lucy. Her mom and dad had been given a gift of parenthood and they just shat it away. It wasn’t fucking fair. “Why…” I had trouble finding my words. “Why would your mom do that after going through it herself?”

  Lucy took a deep breath, “I don’t want to go into the long history now, but she was very controlling. She thought she was helping me live healthier, but the truth was, because of her, I had—well, have—an incredibly unhealthy relationship with food. And now that I’m out from under that microscope, I can’t handle someone watching over what I eat again. I just… I can’t.”

  I was not expecting that. In a million years, I wouldn’t have expected that story to be in Lucy’s history. Even though she and Brie were so very different, they were also so much alike.

  Everything about this girl was screaming for me to run far, far away. To hit the brakes and reverse direction. Only, instead, I found myself with my foot pressing firmly against the accelerator, speeding right to her.

  Don’t run, Brie whispered.

  I took a deep breath. “I have a thing about food, too,” I admitted. “I need to know you’re eating and being healthy.”

  “Why?” she pushed. “Why can’t you just trust that I know my body and my health well enough to choose what nourishes me?”

  I swallowed. Tell her, Brie pushed. But I couldn’t. Instead, I answered, “Do you? Do you eat well? Full meals with protein and greens?”

  She went back to biting that lip of hers and shoved her glasses higher onto her nose even though they weren’t slipping. “I eat when I need to.”

  “Last night? When you were getting drunk with me at the bar… you admitted you hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Then, all you ate was that protein brownie I gave you in my car. Did you eat something more when you got home? Or was a brownie all you ate for dinner… after getting drunk?”

  She squirmed against the table, shifting those muscled thighs of hers back and forth and stared at her fingers, now knotted in her lap. “I needed sleep more than I needed food.”

  That’s what I thought. I ran my hands over my face and lowered into the chair in front of her. What the hell was I supposed to do now? What do you do when one of her hard limits intersected with one of your own? I needed to know she ate well. I fucking needed it. And she had emotionally abusive parents who had misguided ideas of what healthy looked like. I swallowed hard, a thought hitting me like a bucket of ice. Was that how I came across, too? Was I like Lucy’s mom? Misguided in this need to make sure my subs ate well and were healthy?

  “Look,” I started. “Here’s the thing. I’m not trying to control your eating. I promise you. I’m not trying to limit your calories or make it so you lose weight.” Even though I had just sat down, I kicked the chair back, standing upright and cupping her jaw to drive the point home. “You are gorgeous. Your body is perfect. You don’t need to change or lose weight. That’s not what that part of my contract is about. I just need to know you’re eating—and eating good, nutritious food. None of this juice diet shit.”

  One dark eyebrow lifted over even darker eyes. “Do I look like the kind of girl who juice diets?”

  I almost laughed. If I hadn’t been so fucking on edge and nervous and worried for her, I might have. “You look like a beautiful girl who is afraid to lose power and control because of your past. But I’m telling you, Lucy, that’s not my intention. Your safety and health are my intention. Always.”

  She swallowed and her pink tongue pushed through the tight seam of her lips, wetting them. “Those were my mom’s intentions, too. She did it out of love. But it still damaged me. Sometimes the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  Fuck. That was like a shiv to my heart. “I hear you. I acknowledge your feelings.” I paused, taking a moment to think of an alternative. “So, if you can promise me that you’ll eat three meals a day…” I paused, my eyes drifting closed briefly. “I promise to back off. But I am trusting you to be honest with me… and yourself. You don’t have to check in with me about eating or taking care of yourself. Because if you tell me you will be healthy, I will trust that you are doing so. Deal?”

  Outside, a car alarm went off somewhere in the distance and she whipped her head to the window, jumping with the noise. She remained like that, eyes cast out the window for a few moments, deep in thought.

  “What if I mess up?” Lucy asked. “Have an off-night again?”

  That was a damn good question. My instinct would be to punish her, but ultimately, that would do more harm than good for Lucy. Could I do that? Truly relinquish th
e control and trust my sub to be healthy and not punish when she isn’t? Because Lucy didn’t need a punishment when it came to food. She needed to be nurtured. Cared for. Supported. “I might be upset… I can’t help that reaction I have because of my personal history with food and eating. But… in terms of our BDSM scenes, that is something I will never punish you for. Scenes are playtime. Real life anger will never be taken into our scenes. Does that make sense?”

  She nodded. “I think so. So then, what kind of things will I get punished for?”

  “Being bratty for one,” I said, my smile spreading once more.

  “Oh boy…” she said. “That’s going to be a lot of punishments, then.”

  I relaxed a little as the playful banter returned. “I’m counting on it.”

  I crashed my lips against hers, diving my hands into her hair. I was instantly aroused and if I was being honest with myself, I had been since she kissed me with her pussy-coated lips. Her tongue sliced into my mouth, hot and silky and I sucked on it hard.

  A low groan rumbled against her delicate throat as I withdrew my mouth from hers.

  “Maybe we can make tonight’s dinner kind of fun,” I said, sitting back down in front of her.

  She eyed me cautiously, the intoxicating effects of my kiss wearing off and she pressed her mouth into a hard line. “Fun?”

  “Fun is the goal,” I said. “Fun is always the goal. With this game, there will be no punishments. But if you’re not enjoying it, you know the safewords. Feel free to use them if it’s too much.” I reached out, my knuckles skimming her abdomen as I slipped open the button of her jeans, leisurely tugging the zipper down. But inside? I felt anything but leisurely.

  “Oh,” she breathed, her eyes impossibly darkening. “That kind of fun.” Pressing her palms into the table, she lifted herself up as I slid her pants off, discarding them on the floor by my feet. She was in a different pair of panties now than earlier at lunch in the closet. These were silky lace and barely covered anything. Just the smallest strip of material concealing her ripe, swollen flesh—pink and ready for me. I brushed my forefinger down the length of her lace veiled-sex, and a shudder rocked through her body at my touch. The material between her legs was drenched. Saturated with arousal. Holy fuck. She was already soaked for me.

  My mouth turned up in a brief smile and I leaned in until my lips brushed against her ear. “Why don’t you take a bite of kale and see what happens?”

  She hesitated for only a brief moment before she leaned down, grabbing the fork and taking a bite. I waited, my lips centimeters from her flesh. I watched as she chewed quickly, swallowing her bite.

  I wrapped my lips around her ear, working my tongue in gentle circles and added pressure against her clit, stroking her through her panties. My teeth graze her ear, nibbling as I finished and pulled back to look at her. With my other hand, I wound her hair at the nape of her neck around my fist and gave it a tug so that her eyes popped open to look at me.

  Heat spiked in my body. Those brown eyes of hers were a rich, velvety brown and my cock grew painfully hard, not for the first time that day. With the continued strokes against her panty-clad clit, her breathing increased. “Why don’t you see what happens with another bite?”

  She scrambled to stab the fork into the kale once again—this time, chewing and swallowing faster. I smiled, flicking my fingers beneath the silky material of her panties and tugging it aside, revealing her swollen, pink sex. I swallowed my gasp at the sight—so fucking perfect. So fucking ready for me, I could practically see that gorgeous pussy quivering with need. It begged for a good cock. Instead, I ran my finger down the trimmed landing strip. Freshly shaved—not waxed. But that was okay. Waxing meant we would have had to wait. I couldn’t fucking wait. Not another second.

  I dipped my finger into her wet, heated desire, gathering her pussy juice on my finger before gliding up to her clit and circling it with increased pressure.

  She moaned, her legs spreading wider. “Yes,” she hissed. “Please, Ash.”

  I pinched her, the sharp movement a heavy contrast to the soft strokes. She gave out a yelp. “You call me ‘Sir,’ remember?”

  Her throat worked with a thick swallow.

  Not an acceptance. Not an acknowledgment. Brie had been so quick to call me Sir. To give herself over to me fully.

  The warring emotions battled inside of me and I couldn’t tell who the fuck was winning the war. Bitter memories of Brie, or the joy of helping Lucy find her way into this lifestyle. I couldn’t keep her. I knew that. No one would replace Brie—but I could give her the same gift Brie gave me when she trained me as a Dom. The gift of BDSM. The gift of release.

  And fuck, it was going to be good.

  “Another bite,” I growled. I wanted to do more to her. Wanted to make her feel so fucking good. But not without her earning it.

  She did as she was told, swallowing another bite. This time, I pushed a finger inside of her, her sweet sex clamping around it. So fucking wet and tight. I pumped that finger, watching as her pale face flushed the same perfect shade of pink as her pussy lips. She fell back, pushing her hips toward me like the greedy, sweet girl she was.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “Don’t you fucking come. Not until you finish eating the salad,” I demanded. “Another bite.”

  This time, she loaded her fork, taking a clam into her mouth. I pushed a second finger inside of her, pulsing them in and out while stroking her clit with my thumb. “Good girl,” I cooed and she melted, squeezing around my fingers. “You don’t have to eat the clams. I know they’re cold,” I said.

  But she didn’t listen, taking another bite. I leaned over, inhaling her sweet scent deeply before licking her clit in one firm stroke of my tongue. She cried out, her hands diving into my hair. Gripping me. Oh, fuck no.

  I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to halt the pleasure, halt the game for punishment, but I had to. Grabbing my hair? Hell no. Not if I didn’t say to do it. A night with me was like X-rated Simon Says. And if I didn’t tell her to grab my hair, then she better not. I removed my fingers from inside of her, leaning back in the chair.

  She sat there on my table, panting, red-faced, legs spread—a quivering, needy, swollen woman. “What—?”

  “You think you can dive your hands into my hair without permission? ‘Fraid not, sweet girl.”

  On the outside, I was completely composed. Leaning back casually, legs spread, my arm slung haphazardly on the arm of the dining chair. But inside, I was just as needy as she was. My cock was a fucking beast in my pants, screaming to be released.

  “I’m sorry,” she panted. “I didn’t know.”

  “And now you do,” I said. “Stand up.”

  She slid off the table, scrambling to her feet. I could actually see her knees shaking. The white t-shirt she wore slid up above her belly button and her flat, firm stomach trembled with a heavy breath.

  “Turn around. Bend over, palms on the table.”

  “Why?”

  I gnashed my teeth together. “Because you broke the rules. And because I said so.” I also shoved myself to my feet, moving close to her face as I said, “And because you know you fucking want to. And if you don’t want to, you know what to say, right?”

  She nodded and turned. Slowly, she bent, putting her hands to the table. “Eyes forward,” I said. Mostly because I couldn’t look into those brown eyes without wanting to shove my cock deep inside her.

  My breath turned shallow as I slid her panties down her thighs, revealing her tight ass and slick slit. I wanted to do more than just spank her. I wanted to feel my paddle slice through the air and smack into her tender flesh.

  I ran my finger up the back of her thigh, stopping just short of her curvy ass. But God I didn’t want to. Her opening spread just the tiniest bit for me in that position, wet and ready to be fucked. But I stopped. I pulled back, folding my arms to stop myself from touching her again. This was my favorite part. The best moment of any spa
nking. When I sat back and admired my sweet girl as she waited—sometimes not so patiently. I loved to see how long it would take her until she was squirming, aching for my touch—no matter how hard or soft that might be. And when it was soft, it usually primed her for something harder.

  So, I waited.

  And waited. Not even checking my watch. Several minutes passed. Long, tense minutes until Lucy snuck a peek over her shoulder at me. Naughty girl.

  “I said eyes forward,” I snapped. She narrowed her eyes defiantly, but did what I asked, jerking her head forward.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  A defensive growl tore from my mouth. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “You do if you want me to stay. If you want me to learn and enjoy the experience,” she threw right back at me. And it wasn’t the fact that she spoke back, but the fact that she was correct that left me speechless.

  Shit, in the moment, I completely forgot that I was supposed to be teaching her… training her. “I’m waiting,” I explained, “to build anticipation. It’s my favorite part… I hold out as long as I can because I love watching you squirm. The longer I wait, the more you will want what I give.”

  She paused. “Oh.”

  “Oh? That’s all I fucking get?”

  “Oh… kay?”

  Now she was just being a smartass. For that, I was going to make her wait even longer. Make that exquisite pussy of hers longingly clench, awaiting the strike of my hand.

  After another few minutes and several impatient sighs, I released her from her misery. Slowly, I dragged my fingers up the backs of her thighs, the weight of my touch, barely a feather. “What’s your favorite way to come, sweet girl?”

  “I—ah!” I brought my hand down hard on her ass, not holding back. Not like earlier on set. Hell, not even like in the closet. In the closet, I’d been rough, but not at full force. Even now, I wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  Her breath heaved, a ragged, heavy sound.