His Perfect Submissive

by Alyssa Aaron

  She parted her lips on a sigh, allowing his tongue access to her mouth as his hands slid beneath her hair and blazed a path of warmth up her neck and over her shoulders. He massaged away the tension that pooled at the base of her skull and between her shoulder blades.

  Finally he lifted his mouth from hers. “Trust me Kara?” he asked softly as he gazed into her eyes.

  "S-Slade—” She sighed, dipping her chin to avoid the heat and sexual knowledge that blazed in his eyes.

  He took her chin and gently raised it until she was forced to meet his gaze. “You were going to stop hiding from me, remember?” he asked.

  She raised her gaze and nodded slowly. “I do trust you, more than I've trusted anyone in a long time.” She swallowed hard as a lump swelled in her throat. “I just—” She sighed. “The idea of being spanked—” She drew a deep breath. “It really scares me."

  "I know it does, honey. And I know you're still having a hard time trusting me about it."

  She nodded. “I don't understand why you can't not—” She sucked air, her head swimming. “What I mean is if—if—um—Why can't you just agree not to s-spank me. Unless—unless spanking is something you need—um—sexually.” She swallowed hard and stared over his shoulder at the rocky ground as nervousness gnawed in her gut. “Is it—sexual for you?"

  Slade sighed. “That's a pretty loaded question honey. Are you sure you are really ready for the answer?"

  Kara was silent, indecision gnawing at her gut. She wasn't sure about anything, except that she wanted him to take care of her, to protect her, to continue to treat her with gentleness and tenderness. She wanted to bend to his will, to yield to him, to submit, but she wanted to do it because she trusted him, not because he would spank her if she didn't.

  Slade could feel the tension coiled in her body as he stroked her shoulders.

  "Dominance is sexual for me Kara.” He sighed wondering if she had enough experience to understand. “Your submission and your obedience is important. When I ask you to do something and you do it for no reason other than because I have asked you I respond sexually. I've never been anything but up front with you about wanting your submission and obedience."

  "I know.” The words whispered out of her carrying an almost tangible thread of shame that cut him to the quick. He hadn't intended to shame her.

  He sighed. He'd been a dominant for a long time and had played with several experienced submissives over the years. In all that time he'd never been caught so flat-footed with a submissive. Normally he could read a woman's expression and know whether she needed more or less, whether he needed to demand more or whether he needed to pull back.

  Kara left him uncertain what she needed from him. She was such a mass of contradictions that reading her proved nearly impossible. She wanted to submit to him, had offered her submission, yet the idea of him spanking her as part of that submission had frightened her to the point that she had fallen back into the nervous habit of speaking in broken sentences and had nearly begged him to promise not to spank her.

  She had asked him whether spanking was sexual for him. From another submissive that question would have been a request for information that he would have answered with brutal candor. But with Kara, he wasn't sure whether the truth would be helpful or whether it would make her more nervous and more afraid.

  In the end he opted for honesty, believing in his gut that honest communication was the crucial foundation between a dominant and a submissive.

  "Having the right to spank you when you've messed up is a sexual turn on for me. Actually spanking you would be more like sexual intoxication."

  She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I don't understand, what's so great about it."

  Slade smiled at the tone of frustration and stroked her cheek as he tipped her face upward so he could read her expressions more easily. “To begin with you have a beautiful round bottom that's perfect for spanking.” He launched the words and watched her face for reaction. He was rewarded as a soft blush crept up her cheeks. “I would enjoy turning it a nice bright pink. I would enjoy hearing the sounds you made as I spanked you and I'd like hearing you plead with me to stop."

  He watched her blush deepen and noted the increase in her respirations as he stroked the pad of his thumb over her lips. He watched as her eyes took on a glazed dreamy expression and her lips parted to admit the tip of his thumb which she moistened with a swirl of her tongue.

  A sharp shaft of desire shot through him and his body hardened as he imagined the swirl of her tongue on his cock instead. He calmed his breathing and pulled his thumb from the gentle suction of her mouth.

  Hmmm—so she's afraid of being spanked, but not immune to the sensuality of the act he surmised.

  "More than any of that I would love teaching you, honey."

  He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the frown line that marred her otherwise perfect forehead. “If I were to spank you I would show you how blurry the line between pain and pleasure can be. He kissed her, nibbling at her lips until she sighed and kissed him back.

  She shivered.

  "For now I know you are afraid of me spanking you so, for the time being, unless you completely disregard an order I won't spank you—deal?"

  A sigh whispered past her lips as she nodded. Slade felt the tension she'd been holding onto slowly melt. He wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her against the brisk wind that had picked up so that it blew cold lashes across the lake. “Feel better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He held her for a long time, letting peace and quiet lull him as his palm slid silently up and down the length of her back. She felt like heaven nestled against him, her face resting trustingly against his chest, the sweet smell of her hair teasing his senses.

  After a long time he drew a deep breath hating himself for the question even before he uttered it. “Kara?” He made his voice soft and non-threatening.

  "Hmm?” Her voice was soft and sweet against his chest.

  His gut twisted. “Will you tell me about the rape?"

  Chapter 15

  His request sounded stark and cold with her warmth pooled against him yet he knew he needed to know the specifics of what had happened to her, otherwise he risked saying or doing something that would hurt her.

  She shivered, burying her face more deeply against him.

  "Kara? Honey? It's important that I know what happened. You've promised your submission. That means I need to know anything that could potentially hurt you so I don't ask you to do something that would be painful for you.” He stroked her back and pulled her closer, dropping kisses on the top of her head.

  He felt her emotional distance in spite of the fact that she remained huddled against him seeming needier than he'd ever seen her.

  He wished there was enough physical closeness and enough emotional support to make the retelling not hurt, but deep down he knew that it would be painful for her. It would probably always be painful for her, but he wanted the pain of it out of the way.

  He wished again that he had taken more time to get to know her before their relationship became intimate. He would have liked the luxury of spreading his questions over weeks and months as he got to know her, as their intimacy deepened but their relationship had deepened dramatically in the aftermath of her panic attack.

  Her submission made it imperative that he know the details of the attack. His gut cringed. She had gifted him with sweetness and innocence and instead of showing her the pleasures of being his submissive he was going to make her recount the most painful and degrading moments of her life. It seemed ugly and unfair, yet, there was no way around it. He needed to know what had happened.

  He softened his voice “Baby, I need to know what happened so I don't hurt you again."

  "Please Slade. I don't want to remember.” Her voice was edged with fear and she clung to him.

  The memory of her fleeing from their bed, retching over the toilet as tears streaked her face, lashed at him like a knife.
“You do remember though. You remembered last night and it caused a panic attack.” He made his voice soft. Gentle. Purposely cajoling.

  She quivered. His body absorbed the tremor. He pulled her closer, and wrapped his arms more tightly around her, willing his body to comfort her.

  She was quiet, her face burrowed into his chest as if she could avoid the conversation by hiding her face. He continued to stroke her back and her hair, hoping his touch and his quiet gave her the comfort and security she needed.

  She was taut against him, her breaths even and measured as if she were mentally counting her way through each inhale and exhale.

  "He had a knife,” she said finally. Her voice was ragged with tension.

  He stroked her back but didn't urge her to say any more. He'd be patient, give her all the time she needed, the whole damned day if it took that long to help her get through it.

  "He took me to an abandoned house."

  "He was a stranger?"

  She nodded against his chest.

  "He kept me in the cellar. It was dark and I couldn't see anything.” She trembled against him.

  Sudden knowledge ricocheted through him carving a painful gash in his heart. She'd needed to have the light in the bathroom on because waking up in the darkness reminded her of her captivity.

  He rubbed her back, allowing her to fall into silence, not pushing her for more but giving her as much comfort and patience as he could.

  "It was completely dark, except for when he was there. When he came he brought a lantern and food. It was such a relief to have light and I was so hungry."

  She gulped in air. “He would force me to kiss—to—uhm—to kiss his—-” Slade squeezed his eyes shut. “—His private parts.” His arms tightened protectively around her. He nuzzled the top of her head and dropped kisses on the fragrant cloud of hair that tickled his nose. It wasn't enough to take away her pain, but he hoped she understood that he cared, that he wanted to make it better.

  She burrowed into his chest. “He made me—” He heard her audible intake of breath. “He made me suck—uhm—his—"

  "It's okay, I understand.” The image of smashing every bone in the bastard's face flashed in Slade's mind's eye. “Ii-if I had done it g-good enough he'd let me eat."

  She sucked air in deep gasps. He held her, rocking her silently. He felt the tears that oozed from her eyes and leaked onto his jacket.

  "The really dumb thing is, I almost looked forward to him coming.” Her voice was sad and tinged with shame.

  "There's nothing dumb about it. You were a child, alone in the dark and you were hungry. He brought light and food. You did what you needed to do to stay alive and get out.” He held her, stroking her back and shoulders.

  He allowed the silence to lengthen.

  "There was no way to even tell how much time passed,” she whispered after several minutes of silence.

  Slade's chest ached. He could only imagine what it must have been like for her. She'd been seven. He thought of his niece and imagined Kara at her age. At seven his niece was still afraid of the dark and needed to sleep with the door cracked and the hall light on when she stayed overnight.

  "It was eight days."

  Eight days. His stomach rolled at the thought of her in the basement prison for eight days. Just the thought of her alone in the dark made his skin crawl. The knowledge that the bastard had done more than just keep her locked in made his chest hurt.

  He stroked her hair and her back. “Were you blindfolded? Bound?"

  She shook her head pressing her face against his chest as she took a deep shuddering breath. “We—I was locked in. There weren't any windows and he locked the door. There was no way out."

  She sucked a deep breath. “I hated hearing the key scrape in the lock. I hated—” She shuddered against him. “I hated what he did. I hated...” She sucked a deep breath and continued in a rush, as if she couldn't wait to be finished. “I hated his weight on me, the way he pried my knees apart, the pain.” She sniffed against his chest, her body tense.

  Slade held her, hating the bastard who'd terrorized her and hating himself for making her revisit the whole ugly ordeal. He wished to God he knew how to go back and undo all the pain she'd endured during the eight days of hell.

  His heart ached. He had failed in his role as her dominant. Hadn't he just told her it was his job to figure out what she needed and give it to her? She'd been through hell and if he was honest he knew he'd put her through more. And for what? He didn't know what she needed and he didn't know how to give it to her.

  Guilt seeped through him. She'd begged him to not make her have sex that morning and he'd responded as if he'd known better than she what she needed. He'd insisted that he could make it better, that he could help her, heal her fear.

  He shuddered, remembering with self-contempt the way he'd played her body. He'd given her an orgasm. Big fucking deal, so I know what buttons to push to draw a physical response, he thought, remembering with disdain the pride he'd felt in his ability to pleasure her.

  He remembered the joy on her face when she'd realized she'd made love without having a panic attack and felt scorn for himself. No matter what else had happened, he'd taken advantage of her, pushed her, sweet-talked her into giving in without stopping to think of the emotional price she'd have to pay. He couldn't even claim he hadn't known about the rape then. He'd known.

  It hadn't seemed as real or as concrete then. He'd known it had happened and he'd known she was still emotionally fragile, but he hadn't really understood, what she'd been through.

  "He was big and heavy. I could hardly breathe when he was on top of me."

  She drew a shuddery breath. He felt the dampness of her tears through his jacket and knew his insistence that she tell him about the rape had ripped open old wounds. He'd made her cry. Again. She wasn't crying deep racking sobs, like the night before. Those he could have handled easier than the silent tears that worked their way through his coat and into his heart filling him with guilt and remorse at the way he had treated her.

  Sickness coiled in his gut. God, I've done nothing but hurt her. I've been hurting her from the beginning.

  "I fought and cried but it didn't matter, he just f-forced my legs apart and—and—” She sucked a deep breath and then another. “It didn't matter how much it hurt or how hard I fought.” She sighed.

  Bitterness rose in Slade's throat. “Shhh baby, it's alright.” His chest ached for what she had endured, both back then and at his own hands. The degradation and humiliation she must have felt when he'd held her head steady and thrust himself into her mouth gnawed at him, filling him with shame.

  "I wasn't strong enough—” Her voice was sad and thick with tears.

  "It wasn't your fault Kara,” he said stroking the back of her head and pressing her face against his chest.

  "I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't kick him hard enough to make him stop."

  "You were a child, honey.” He stroked her hair. “You couldn't be expected to fight off a grown man."

  Slade swallowed hard, his jaw aching from being clenched so tight. Sickness churned in his gut as he imagined her cowering in the dark on the smelly dirt floor. He imagined her alternately dreading the sadistic bastard's arrival and needing light and something to eat.

  The viciousness of what she'd been through chewed at him, stealing the air from his lungs and making him ache with pent up rage and the knowledge that his own behavior had added a level of pain he hadn't even begun to understand at the time.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he was wrong, but betting he wasn't as a sudden insight crashed through his brain. “Kara baby, did he—hit you—spank you?"

  She nodded wordlessly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as a new wave of tears trickled silently down her face.

  "God Kara—why didn't you tell me?” The words exited him in a half whisper half groan. He stroked her head, her back, and her shoulders, needing to ease the pain his lack of understanding had caused. “I
s that why you were so worried about the spankings, honey?” He sighed. “Why didn't you just tell me. I would have understood. We would have dealt with it."

  "What he did wasn't spanking, at least not spanking like—like you talked about it.” She sucked in a deep breath. “He hit me as hard as he could with his belt. He wanted to hurt me. I know it's not the same thing.” She looked up at him her eyelashes still wet with tears, the paths of her tears still wet on her face.

  He held her tightly, amazement coursing through him. She had every reason to hate him, and yet she trusted him, trusted his description of spanking more than she trusted her own experience of what it had been like. The knowledge shook him to his core, making him feel at once utterly dominant and unworthy of the submission she had granted him.

  In spite of all his talk of a dominant knowing what a submissive needed and providing it he knew he had failed her. Her despair the night before had been so deep and so raw that it had taken her most of the night to shake free of the grip it had held on her. Then he'd urged her into making love in the morning; never stopping to think it might actually add pain rather than relieve it.

  What a jerk. What a fucking jackass, he swore at himself.

  His hand knotted in her hair holding her against his chest as he silently went over the ways he'd hurt her and made silent amends for his bullish behavior.

  He wished there was some way to go back and start over. If he could do it again he would do everything so damn differently. He would not force her into marriage. He would not tell her he wanted an obedient wife and he damn sure wouldn't have mentioned the possibility of punishing her.

  If he could start over he'd ease her into his lifestyle slowly, introducing her to dominance and submission gradually as she got to know him and as he got to know her.

  Hell. It was no wonder she'd been terrified of him. He hadn't done anything to make his desires palatable to someone like her who had suffered pain and degradation at the hands of a man who had used his strength to overwhelm her meager resistance.

  He remembered the fear in her expression, the tremors that had worked through her as they'd recited their vows.