“Remember your safe word, Ivone,” Jamison said, interrupting her thoughts. “This is both a lesson and a punishment.”
The whip cracked and whistled as it came down on her back, her buttocks and thighs. Again and again it sang through the air, and Ivone breathed through the sting, the burn, the pain. Jamison laid the strokes on her back with precision and intensified the ones nearer her waist and across her buttocks, just as she would have asked him to do had she needed to. When the lash curled around her thighs and close to her sex, Ivone whimpered and tried to rock into them. She felt the tears soaking the blindfold. This was what she needed, and he seemed to know. This was finishing what the paddling had started. When he came around to lash her breasts and her belly, then the tops of her thighs, Ivone was already in a different headspace. It was far deeper than her earlier experience, and it took her away.
* * * *
Jamison was breathing and sweating heavily, and not just from the effort of whipping this woman. She was truly gorgeous on the cross, and he wanted to stripe every inch of her. He knew she was already in subspace and that he could push her higher without ever hearing her safe word. It was his responsibility to ensure her safety and, while he felt another tinge of resentment, as she drew him ever closer, Jamison tipped her head back and pulled off the blindfold until she opened her eyes and looked into his. She was some time returning and, when she did, the expression in her eyes and the inference of the smile that curved her lips wrapped him up in layers of unfamiliar emotion. Jamison crushed her mouth against his and explored her with his tongue until he needed air. He pulled away, nearly gasping for breath, and checked her condition.
“Where are you, Ivone?” he asked.
“I’m green, fine, Sir,” she breathed.
Jamison couldn’t wait. He needed to fuck her immediately, if not sooner. He fumbled the ties loose and took her sagging weight into his arms, spinning to carry her into his bedroom. He placed her on his bed and worked his leathers off, watching as she writhed in sensation against the cool sheets. Her stripes needed care, but his need was greater. The sight of the dildo distracted him for a moment. He pulled it out and cast it away, then nearly threw himself down beside her and rolled her to lie on top of him to spare her back. He lifted her, her legs falling to straddle his hips, and slammed her down on his erection, watching her breasts bounce and her head fall back as she screamed at the invasion. Such was his need that he lifted and brought her down on him again and again without feeling her weight, his muscles rejoicing in the effort. She felt so malleable in his hands that he was able to keep at it until she roused and began to follow his movements. Ivone started to ride him, her hands now bracing her against his chest, so he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping them but leaving the nipples alone, recognizing how sore they had to be. She whimpered at his touch and increased her movements, frantic now. Jamison slid a hand down to find her clit and rubbed it in time to his strokes. He urged her to climax. Ivone arched back and then clenched him. He felt his seed hit her cervix and bathe them both. No condom, no need. The club ensured the sexual health of its members, and he didn’t care if Ivone wasn’t on birth control. He was never having a layer of latex between them again.
What the fuck? As the pleasure of his climax faded, Jamison entertained some sobering thoughts. How many rules had he broken tonight? He forced himself to get up, carefully sliding Ivone onto her belly from where she had collapsed on his chest.
He took the topical anesthetic from the bedside drawer and tended to her stripes. The skin of her back had a tiny split in two places near the bottom of her ribs, and he winced. While he didn’t think Ivone would protest, especially given their placement and the fact that any scarring would be nonexistent, he found he didn’t want to make this woman bleed, unless she pushed him with her need for it. Jamison prided himself on his skill with the whip, and he recognized that he had been pushed tonight, except it was also of his own making, a slip in his control because of this emotional thing he was resisting to the best of his ability. He carefully drifted the top sheet over Ivone and settled beside her to watch her sleep. She would need something to wear in the morning unless the housekeeper was given the day off. John would accept Ivone naked, but Jamison didn’t know if Joyce would be so understanding. She was relatively new, and while had to know of Jamison’s pursuits, especially as she cleaned his playroom, seeing a naked woman at his feet was a slightly different story. He wouldn’t tolerate attitude from Joyce, but Ivone seemed sensitive, and he couldn’t have her feeling uncomfortable. If only Eleanor hadn’t retired. Jamison didn’t notice that he had already begun to think of Ivone as being a fixture in his household. Ivone accepted the aftercare, probably exhausted after the evening’s events. She didn’t move, and clearly fell asleep immediately, her breaths little puffs of sound.
Chapter Three
Jamison opened his eyes and felt a soft, warm presence at his side. So he had slept after all despite the earlier catnap at the club. He usually had trouble sleeping and wondered if Ivone’s presence comforted him somehow, immediately dismissing the thought as frivolous. Ivone was asleep on her belly, just as he had left her. He wanted to fuck her again, despite getting off three times the previous evening and in the early hours of the morning. He drew back the sheet to check her back and noted that she was in good shape. He wouldn’t risk rolling her over and causing her discomfort however, so he reached under her waist and drew her up to her knees, resting her shoulders and head on the mattress. He was between her thighs, and pushing up inside of her before she was fully awake, his entry aided by his own seed, deposited the night before. He couldn’t make himself don a condom after failing to use one the last time. In for a penny, in for a pound.
* * * *
Ivone came awake just as Jamison thrust inside of her, and she gasped at the intrusion. The man must be part satyr. And he wasn’t using a condom again, the arrogant prick. That kind of attitude disappointed her. Yes, Doms were in charge, often arrogant, but were still expected to have their subs’ best interests at heart. The Club always checked sexual health, but birth control was left to the individuals as a matter course. He hadn’t even asked if she was protected. What was that about? This had been a time of firsts, and Ivone wondered if Jamison was as confused as she was. They communicated on a very deep level, but both had ignored the basics. It was like lightning had struck and fried their brains. She suddenly realized that Jamison had ceased his movements and was tense above her.
“What is it?” he asked. “I expect you to receive me no matter when I need you.”
Ivone bit back a sarcastic response. She was hoping that Jamison was what she wanted and that he could continue to give her what she needed. He had made an incredibly good start last night. The question was if she could do the same for him. There was that cold part in him again, espoused by his arrogance, in the colder light of day. She thought quickly, trying to formulate an answer that would enlighten him, but he had already pulled out of her and gone into the bathroom. Okay then, it was done. She already knew that about him. She had refused him without answering and few Doms took that kind of rejection, but especially this one. And a play night was just that. It was over. It had been an absolutely and totally incredible experience, one she would never forget, but it was done. Ivone was no stranger to disappointment and rejection, but she sighed and tried to ignore the incredibly desolate feeling that came over her.
Wincing, she slipped out of bed and went to the bedroom door, the sounds of the shower masking her movements. The man who had opened the front door to them last night had hung up her coat, which held her bankcard, cash, ID and keys, although he hadn’t acknowledged her. That was okay. She was a sub, and Jamison would have had his reasons. Strange how she knew that already. The possible slight didn’t really affect her well being, if indeed it had been a slight. She had felt no censure from the older man. But now she had to find the coat and a phone in order to call a cab, and she was stark naked. She grabbed up Jamison’
s shirt from where he had flung it on the floor in his haste to fuck her. There, another reason to be glad this didn’t work out. He was a slob. The white material draped her nearly to her calves, and the cuffs, even turned back twice, totally covered her hands. It felt like she was walking in a tent, but it rubbed her back and Ivone winced. No doubt she would have a few longer lasting reminders of her time with Jamison.
* * * *
Jamison showered, stroking himself to release, pushing away the thought of Ivone as he did so. He had found her flaw, just as he knew he would. She wasn’t totally submissive, or at least not as submissive as he required her to be. She hadn’t welcomed him that morning. He had read her body language as refusal and then she had the temerity to ignore his query. He reluctantly conceded that he had displaced his question with an immediate demand and hadn’t given her time to answer. Fuck, he was conflicted. In the cold light of morning, his brain was telling him to run, to keep his distance, that Ivone was dangerous to his status quo. But another part of him, and not his cock, although it, too, was extremely interested, fairly screamed for him to go and talk with her. With her, not to her. He wanted to get to know her as a person just as he had considered pulling back her layers last night. Physically she was perfect for him. She seemed able to meet all his dark needs as he thought he could meet hers. This felt right, and he then grudgingly admitted to himself that he felt a frisson of emotional fear. Fear that he could lose her. Perhaps he could ask her again what made her tense against him this morning. God, what if he had inadvertently hurt her wounds? Ivone liked harsh discipline, that he knew. She could also take punishment, of that he had proof. But he had made her bleed, not that she had complained or used her safe word. And maybe the pain had caused her to be less than accepting of him this morning. Jamison finished his ablutions, not a man to avoid completing a task, but moved right along. He briskly toweled off and then pulled on his robe, striding back into the bedroom.
She was gone. Fuck, the little wench was gone. And she had no clothes. Joyce would be here. This was so not a good start for them. He tore down the hall and found her in John’s arms at the front door. Well, John actually had one arm around her, supportive-like, but a wave of anger swept over him. John was more than an employee, he was a friend, and his friend was cuddling Jamison’s woman.
John’s eyes met his, and Jamison stopped dead in his tracks. Holy shit, John was looking at him with disappointment and a touch of anger. Ivone was already turning his household on its head. He knew she was bad news, standing there in his shirt, looking like a little girl immersed in her mother’s wedding gown. He must have had a brain aneurysm in the night. A wedding gown. He was delusional. This had to stop.
“What is going on here?” he heard himself ask, in a melodramatic tone he remembered from some B movie.
John spoke over Ivone’s head, for she refused to look at him.
“I found Ms. Mendes-Rodrigues in the front closet, sir, searching for her coat. If you recall, you brought her home last night, uh, uncovered, and she can hardly leave without it. I called her a cab, and when I tried to help her on with her coat, I noticed blood on her, uh, your shirt.”
Jamison winced and knew John saw it. That, then, was the reason for his disappointment and anger. It looked as though Jamison had abused Ivone and then kicked her out. John knew that his employer wouldn’t do such a thing and couldn’t imagine this scene taking place, so John was taking care of Ivone and stalling for an explanation.
John continued, “I have been imploring Ms. Mendes-Rodrigues to stay and allow you to tend to her and then take her home as any gentleman would, but she became upset.”
So Ivone had brought out John’s protective side. No surprise, for she looked so fragile. He needed to get her out of his house before she did any more damage to his well-ordered life, except he couldn’t get his head around her walking out the door forever.
“I’ll see to things, thank you, John,” he managed, in a calm, uninflected tone. “Please have Joyce serve breakfast in fifteen minutes.”
When John nodded gravely and hung Ivone’s coat back up before making his way toward the kitchen, Jamison moved to take her arm. She was rigid in his grasp, and when she looked up at him, he nearly backed away from the strong emotion he saw there. She was angry, but behind that Jamison saw hurt, something that made his heart cringe.
“Let go of me,” she said coldly. “Call me a cab and give me my coat.”
“You will come back to my bedroom so that I can look at those stripes, Ivone. Then you will shower, and I’ll find something for you to wear to breakfast. I’ll take you wherever you need to go afterwards. But you won’t cause John any more concern, do you understand?”
Ivone stood tall, and dragged her arm from his grasp.
“You stay away from me. I’ll have breakfast for your man’s sake. He is a gentleman and very kind. But you keep your distance or I won’t be responsible for what happens. Do you understand me, you jerk?”
She was gaining her equilibrium back and hiding her pain from him. Jamison was both relieved and bothered. He didn’t want to cause this woman that kind of pain, never wanted to see it stand in her eyes again. He was distracted from his musing by a huff and a stamp of Ivone’s foot. He then wanted to laugh. He rarely laughed. He felt like a big dog being nipped at by a tiny puppy. He should be tanning her ass for the way she had just spoken to him, but found himself understanding that he had hurt her, offended her in some manner, broken the rules. So therefore the rules no longer bound her, and she could speak to him as she saw fit. He inclined his head and stepped aside for her to pass him and followed her back to the master bath. She pulled his shirt over her head, but not before he saw the tiny spots of blood on it. He reached out to position her in a manner to allow him to check her ribs, but she eluded him and fixed him with a look that actually made his balls draw up.
“Back off. If you want to make yourself useful, find me something to wear that one of your other women left behind. Maybe you can match the hair tie.” Ivone slammed the bathroom door in his face.
* * * *
Ivone hunkered under the shower after pulling her hair up with an elastic she found wrapped around a package of Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet. She fought tears and knew that she had overreacted. She was actually horrified that she had spoken to a Dom in that manner. She was a trained sub for God’s sake. And she had no call to imply that she was just another one of his women. What had come over her? Well, he had, for one thing, and in more ways than one. He was too complex, running hot and cold, wanting her then pushing her away. She wasn’t a robot. It was too much, too fast, she thought. The idea of never seeing him again made her stomach hurt, and she rubbed it with the loofah in an attempt to assuage the throbbing.
When Jamison had taken himself off to the shower, Ivone believed she had taken herself under control after Jamison rejected her. After pleasuring her with punishment, fucking her senseless and showing her off to a stranger, all of which she had really liked. It had only been one night and a truly memorable experience. One night wasn’t long enough to feel what she was feeling. So she had slunk down the hallways in reverse order and found the closet. One more minute would have given her the time to slip into her coat and shoes and be out the door. Maybe even thirty seconds. Finding a cab would have been tough, but she would have managed. But then that nice John had come along. He immediately noticed the telltale blood spots, like someone with x-ray eyes. They were nothing really. She had just irritated two little stripes by rubbing them with the shirt fabric. But John was worried for her and couldn’t believe that Jamison had allowed her to just leave without breakfast, or even calling her a cab.
She had almost convinced him that it was okay, and hopefully hidden the tears standing in her eyes, when Jamison came along like some dark character from a stupid comic book. No way did she want to cause trouble between him and that nice John, but he wasn’t getting another chance to hurt her again either. Boy, how that rejection had stung.
She stepped out and dried off, and pulled off the elastic, grimacing as it took some strands with it, and pushed her hair into some semblance of order. She scrubbed her teeth with a finger anointed with toothpaste and spat vehemently into the sink. Now to face him, the prick. Her simmering anger served to hold the sadness at bay.
* * * *
Jamison lounged in a chair, watching the bathroom door. She made him so hard. He thought he had wanted a compliant woman surely, not a little spitfire, although he knew she would be regretting her outburst given her training. He needed to find out what he had done wrong and correct it, then correct her. He had decided that she wasn’t leaving. He was vaguely aware that he had lost control of himself, eschewed his training, but he didn’t care. It felt quite exhilarating. They would take the weekend to determine where this would go. He had found a pair of black tights, pant things his sister had left on her last visit, and a flowered shirt Eleanor had set aside for rags. No undergarments. There was simply nothing else available that would come close to fitting her. Jamison managed to hide a smile at the thought of seeing Ivone’s face when she saw what there was to wear. His other women indeed. Surely she didn’t consider herself to be just another woman? Couldn’t she feel this thing between them? Was that what had upset her? Did she think the display in the car last night made her something less, cheapened her, and not made her the hottest thing ever in his eyes? They were going to talk after breakfast if he had to use the machine to help convince her. It could go for hours and he idly wondered how many orgasms Ivone could take before she opened up to him. Once he’d had her again of course.
Young, Allyson - Reason [Club Pleasure 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 4