by Tabatha Kiss
“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 o
n 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?”
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?”
“No, I don’t want to stir up questions,” I answer. “Nothing on the face.”
He lays an open palm on my rear. “How about here?”
I tilt my head as my skin tingles. “That should be okay, I think...”
His hand falls away. “Keep thinking as I touch you. Let your mind wander, find your limits. If you think of something you’re unsure about and might want to try, that’s a soft limit.”
I nod. “All right.”
He slaps the back of my hand with the crop. “That was for earlier.”
I chuckle, feeling the pleasant pain in my wrist. “I was hoping you forgot...”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
He goes quiet and guides my face forward again. I stand firm, planting my palms and fingers against the table, and wait for further instruction.
Clive takes a short step back and I feel his eyes wander from my head to my toes. He taps the crop lightly against the left side of my neck and my mind flashes with possibility. His lips there, kissing me. Biting me. The crop glides up to my ear and travels along my hairline. He takes his other hand and lays it at the base of my neck, fanning out his fingers before combing them along my scalp. He gathers my hair in his fingers, gently pulling until the taut strands hurt.
He waits here, studying me for a reaction.
Say wait for too much. Stop to stop...
But I want more.
“Mr. Snow,” I say.
He gives me a quick, hard tug, yanking my head back.
I yelp in surprise, fighting the urge to twist and bring my hands up. My right wrist slips anyway and I grow tense, hoping he didn’t notice.
The crop smacks my fingertips. Guess not.
The pain fades as his lips caress my neck. His wild and warm breath fires up along my ear, sending goosebumps in all directions and I have to practically turn to stone to keep my hands from moving. A moan escapes the back of my throat and I sink a little further into his touch.
The crop moves down my neck and over my shoulder blades, coming to a stop at the back of my dress. Clive pinches the zipper and slowly guides it down. My instincts tell me to stop it before it falls off my breasts — but that’s what he wants me to do. He wants me to raise my hands and grab it so he can punish me again.
I ignore the instinct, letting it fall, and I hear that same, amused grunt fall from his lips. He lays the crop down on the table beside me but I don’t celebrate just yet. His hands start at my shoulders and move down my bare back. I close my eyes, feeling relaxed as his fingertips massage into me all the way down to the small of my back.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says.
I smile. I can’t hold it in. “Thank you,” I say.
“Your skin...” He moves his palms up and down my spine. “It’s like silk.”
“Uh-huh...” I bite my lip, my nether churning with heat.
“I want to turn it pink.”
He pushes the dress and it drops to my ankles.
“Would you like that?” he asks. He kisses the back of my neck, leaning in until I feel that thick bulge press into me again.
I sigh, the heat in me almost too much to control. “Yes,” I whisper.
He snatches the crop off the table, making me flinch. “How about a brand?” he asks, tapping my lower back with the crop. “Just burn my initials right here...”
“No,” I say.
He chuckles. “As I expected. Have you thought of anything?”
“I can barely think at all,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“Uh...” I clear my throat. “I’m standing in front of you practically naked... and you clearly have an erection.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No, it’s just... distracting.”
“I can control my urges, Ms. Payne. Can you?”
“Yes,” I say, playing it cool. “I can totally control my—”
His hand pushes between my thighs from behind and I tense up.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks.
I open my mouth but my words fade as his hand slowly inches upward. I lurch and my sweaty palms slip beneath my weight. I quickly straighten back up but I receive a hard rap on the knuckles for it and Clive chuckles softly to himself.
His hand reaches my panties. He lays a single finger along my crotch, lined up perfectly with my pussy lips.
“You’re wet,” he says.
“Yeah...”
“Were you expecting sex tonight?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
His finger moves back, gliding from my wetness to my ass. “Would you like me to fuck you, Ms. Payne?” he growls in my ear.
I hold my breath, feeling it rattling my lungs. My hands tremble and my toes curl. Blood pounds in my head as saliva builds beneath my tongue.
“Ms. Payne?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mr. Snow.”
Clive forces me forward, bending me over the table. My hands push forward but I don’t receive a whip for it. He lays the crop on the table and reaches for his zipper instead.
I lose myself, closing my eyes and counting the moments until I get what my body needs. I want him so badly, I could scream. I just might have to as soon as I feel him inside of me.
>
Oh, god. How much I want to scream.
Clive hooks my panties and pulls them down, exposing my ass completely. He guides the tip of his hard cock along my aching wetness, but he doesn’t push inside. He remains in control, content on teasing me instead.
“Is this what you want?” he asks.
I nod.
“Say it.”
His cock brushes against my anus and I let out a moan. “Yes, I want it.”
“You want it like this?” he asks. “You want me to fuck you, use you like some object?”
No. No, I don’t. I feel a resistance deep inside. I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to be thought of like that. I don’t want him to think of me like that...
“No,” I say.
He lays a warm hand on my back. “Good girl.”
I feel him take a step back and he stuffs his erection back into his pants.
“Stand up,” he tells me.
I push off the table, placing my palms back where they were from the start. “You don’t want to fuck me?” I ask.
“I do,” he says. “But not like this.”
I twist back to look over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Many Doms enjoy the view of their subs that way. Bent over and helpless.”
I catch a solemn expression on his face out of the corner of my eye. “And you don’t?” I ask.
“I have nothing against it as a rule, I just prefer something a little more... personal. When I do it that way, it always feels like I’m taking something from them, but when it’s like this—”
He grabs my arm and yanks me around to face him. With one quick movement, he hoists me up to sit on the table and spreads my legs. I forget all about my hands and the rules. I stare into his deep eyes instead, falling head over heels with every word he says.
“Like this,” he continues, “I can see every part of you. Your eyes, your breasts, your pussy… I’m not taking anything from you. You’re giving yourself to me.”
He cups my cheek and my tongue twitches as his thumb swipes my bottom lip. “Do you want to give yourself to me, Ms. Payne?” he whispers.
My chest heaves up and down. “Yes,” I say, my voice shaking.
Clive kisses me. His tongue touches my lips, begging to be let in. I part them and we taste each other. My senses explode as his hands roam my body and I moan from the depths of my gut.