“I wish I could go on and on. But I only booked this room for an hour. And there’s a lot to be said in this game for starting slow and building up.”
“Game?”
“Yeah. You know. It’s supposed to be fun.” He gave her a crooked downward look.
“It’s science experiments. Fun science.” Ailish thought of childhood lectures at the Royal Society involving balloons and ice cream. This wasn’t quite the same thing.
“If you don’t enjoy it, we don’t have to do it.”
“I do. I do enjoy it. I enjoy it too much.”
Don’t be needy, Ailish. Take it in the spirit it’s intended. Sex with a twist. Take your fun and run.
“Well, the cafe upstairs is full of men who’d be happy to carry on what I’ve started,” said Rod idly.
Ailish’s chest tightened. I don’t want those other men.
“But I’d be very miffed if you did that. Because I own you, remember.”
She laughed, a mite hysterically. Why on earth was she so relieved and delighted to hear a man say that he owned her? What kind of medieval wormhole had her sexual self fallen into?
But there it was. That was what she wanted to hear. There was no way of changing it.
“So I suppose, much as it pains me to say it, you’ll have to run home and tend to yourself. Shall I make another booking?”
“What, here?”
“Yes, here.”
“We could…I have a place…”
“For now,” said Rod firmly, “I think neutral territory is best. If the time comes when we both feel able to move beyond that, we can sort that out later.” He kissed her nose. “Don’t look so crestfallen. It’s my responsibility—not as the Dom, as the seasoned player—to see that you’re protected. Running before you can walk is never a good idea.”
“You’re right,” conceded Ailish. “It’s just like me to jump into things without knowing if I’m ready.” She smiled weakly. “Thank God one of us is sensible, eh?”
“I don’t know about that. It’s just experience talking. I haven’t always had this much control of myself.”
“Really? You’d like to do more tonight?”
“God, yes. My body, my cock, my, um, my heart, I suppose, would love to take you home and tie you up and keep you there indefinitely. But my brain says that would be illegal, and also very impractical. So I’ll content myself with a date and time from you and some nice memories to sustain me until then.”
Ailish beamed, optimism restored.
“The weekend’s good for me,” she said.
“Ah, me too. Saturday afternoon, then?”
“Saturday afternoon.”
Chapter Four
Twice a week, every week, Ailish and Rod met in the downstairs rooms at Kinky Cupcake. Each time, a different experiment was performed. By the end of the month, Ailish had found out a number of things. How many orgasms she could experience in a row during cunnilingus (four). How many inches of Rod’s cock she could fit into her mouth without gagging (six). How heavy nipple clamps had to be before the pain became unbearable (not heavy at all). It was Ailish’s responsibility to type up a report of each experiment. The first few had been forwarded to Rod for his sole perusal, but the latest instruction was for her to copy the email to the staff at Kinky Cupcake for them to post on their blog.
Ailish sat back and proofread her first public report, relieved that it would be anonymous, but still tingling at the idea that this would be available for anyone and everyone over the age of eighteen to read for their titillation and pleasure.
“A Comparison of the Effects of a Caning With and Without a Warm-Up.” Was that a good title? Did it condense the entire body of research effectively and give the reader an idea of what to expect? Ailish thought it did. She moved on to the Abstract.
“This experiment aims to compare and contrast the relative effects of a caning on the bare female bottom when administered with and without a warm-up. On two separate occasions, six strokes of the cane were applied to the subject’s posterior. On the first occasion, the caning was given on an unprepared target, whereas the second was only administered after a thorough warm-up with a number of additional implements. The hypothesis that there would be a qualitative difference in the level of pain was shown to be correct in this instance.”
Wasn’t it just? Ailish squirmed in her computer chair, still suffering the effects of Rod’s rod. Her glance jumped downward, to the Introduction.
“The optimum manner of caning a submissive has long been a matter of debate in the BDSM community and can ultimately only be a matter of mutual taste and agreement. However, the experimenter in this instance was keen to establish a qualitative difference in the pain experienced by the submissive when a caning is administered to prepared and unprepared skin. He hypothesised that, despite the longer duration of the disciplinary scenario, the pain experienced after a thorough warm-up would be less intense and more easily borne than that endured by the subject during a ‘cold caning’ i.e. a caning applied without a warm-up.
“There is much prior research to bear this out…”
Ailish’s introduction went on to quote blogs and online spanking manuals at some length. She took pride in her attention to detail and wanted Rod to approve of her efforts. Satisfied at last that she had covered every angle, she moved on to the bit that made her suck her teeth and tense her gluteal muscles. Ouch. The Method.
“On the first occasion, the subject was made to lower her knickers and bend over a chair with her palms flat on the seat. The experimenter considered binding her to the chair, but the subject felt this would be unnecessary and she would be able to accept the strokes without recourse to restraint.
“The experimenter chose a rattan cane of lighter weight, bearing in mind the subject’s relative inexperience in this arena. After examining the subject’s bottom to ensure no prior bruising or other confounding variables, he applied the cane with moderate force across the centre of the buttocks. He repeated this six times, landing each subsequent stroke approximately half an inch lower than its predecessor. The subject’s reaction to the physical sensation produced was…”
Ailish grimaced. She had thought long and hard about what the word might be to describe her reaction to the cold-caning. There had been screams and pleas and jumping up from her position to grab her bottom—but no use of the safeword.
“…notable. One week later, the experiment was repeated. The subject assumed an identical position and the same cane was used, but this time the experimenter prepared her with five minutes of moderate hand-spanking, followed by twenty strokes of a medium-weight leather strap. Once he judged that her bottom was red and sore enough to proceed, he took the cane and dealt six strokes in the manner outlined above. The subject’s reaction was, once more, of pain and discomfort.”
Damn right, thought Ailish, snorting a little at ‘discomfort’. It was like calling the Wars of the Roses a ‘fracas’. Next came the Results.
“When asked to rate the pain on a scale of one to ten after the first caning, the subject’s reply was ‘sixty-eight thousand’. When asked to provide some adjectives to describe it, she supplied the words ‘ferocious’, ‘burning’ and ‘unforgettable’. The experimenter observed that she was in obvious pain, needing to stand up and clutch at the affected area on three separate occasions and requiring a great deal of reassurance and positive reinforcement in order to continue. Three days later, the subject reported that her bottom still bore the welts and only now was sitting becoming marginally less uncomfortable.
“On the second occasion, the pain was rated ‘ten plus’. The adjectives supplied included ‘horrible’, ‘painful’ and ‘very sore’. The experimenter’s observations differed from the first run—the subject was able to maintain her position and, though she vocalised clear discomfort, the reaction was less extreme on every level. However, at the three-day check, she remained sore, as in the first instance.”
She shook her head, tightened her
sphincter, and moved on to the Discussion.
“It seems that the cold caning provides a pain that is more intense at the time and point of contact than that delivered to the ready-prepared bottom. However, one additional reason for this might be that the subject’s cold caning was also her first experience of the cane. The effect of familiarity and knowledge of what to expect might have diminished the strength of her response to the follow-up. In conclusion, the results seem to point to the validity of the hypothesis, but the experiment needs to be repeated, just to back them up.”
Ailish scowled at Rod’s conclusion, squirming again at the thought of two more canings in her not-too-distant future. She checked the acknowledgements—Kinky Cupcake and the Capital Disciplinarians, who made and sold the cane and strap Rod had used—and hit send.
Then she stood, hearing Jax’s voice yelling at her from downstairs to hurry up if she wanted to make it to the pub in time for the quiz.
Ah, the monthly Big Money version of the pub quiz. The first since Ailish and Rod had met. As their relationship was still strictly under wraps, Ailish was nervous about facing Rod at the bar of the local pub in the company of her flatmates. Would they suspect anything? Would she be able to act naturally in a normal social situation, knowing that the man who had placed the cane welts on her bottom was sitting a few feet away?
Hastily touching up her lipstick, Ailish drifted into an alternative version of her life—one in which she was going to the quiz with Rod, as his acknowledged partner. How would that be? She imagined the faces of her friends, if they ever found out about the strange little arrangement she had with the quiz fiend. Already they had been teasing her about seeing him again, referring to him as her ‘pet geek’.
She shook her head, put the lipstick in her purse and headed down, where her friends waited, full of good cheer and enthusiasm for the night ahead.
“Have you been hard at work swallowing the encyclopedia?” asked Jax sternly as they sauntered down the street towards the corner alehouse. “We need another win this month. The food cupboard’s bare.”
“Hey, don’t leave it all to me,” protested Ailish. “I’m not the only person with a memory and an education.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one with the freaky total recall,” said Jax. “You and your mate, The Scientist.”
“He isn’t my mate,” said Ailish uneasily. He’s my lover. Or is he? What can I call him? Not a lover, more a…oh, I give up. One question I can’t answer.
“He’d like to be, though,” said Karen with a chortle. “I bet you any money.”
“We don’t have any money to bet with,” Jax reminded her. “The entrance fee and one drink each will clean me out.”
“It’s okay, I went to the cash point earlier,” said Ailish, trying not to let her gaze flick over to where Rod had sat before as they turned the corner into the noisy, boozy warmth of the pub.
She couldn’t help herself, though, and her gaze drifted to the corner Rod had occupied, her heart lurching with disappointment when she found it empty.
Are you crazy? You’ve been hoping he won’t come all day. Now it looks as if your wish might be granted, you feel crushed. Make up your mind, girl.
But it didn’t seem to have much to do with her mind.
“He’s at the bar,” said Jax nudging Ailish’s ribs so that she gasped with pain. “Damn him. Why does he have to come every time? Couldn’t he have a break now and again—give the rest of us a chance?”
Ailish’s heart, fresh from its slump down into the pit of her stomach, leapt back up to hammer against her ribs as she followed Jax’s line of sight to where Rod stood, iPhone in hand, staring down at the screen while he waited for his beer.
“I’ll get the drinks in,” said Ailish faintly, but Jax made it her business to accompany her while the others bagged a table.
Ailish squeezed into the cluster of customers next to Rod, Jax at her shoulder.
He must have smelt her perfume or something, because he looked down at her immediately, turning to take in Jax’s presence, smiling rather wickedly at them both.
“Sorry,” he said, pressing the screen on his phone. “Didn’t see you come in. I just had an email, you see.”
Ailish bit her lip and tensed. Jax seemed fascinated by Rod, in an ‘It talks!’ kind of way and was staring at him.
“Very interesting email,” he continued, the mysterious smile still playing on his lips. “About a scientific experiment.”
Ailish tried to keep her breathing regular, looking away from Jax to conceal the blush that inflamed her cheeks. Thank goodness the barman was heading her way. She hid her confusion by ordering the drinks, letting Jax carry on the conversation in her stead.
“Well, since you’re a scientist,” said Jax, seemingly lost for words, “I suppose you do a lot of experiments.”
“Oh yes, I do. All the time. I have this excellent lab partner at the moment. I couldn’t do any of them without her.”
Ailish felt him nudge her foot with his. Her limbs weakened. How much of this could she take before blurting out the truth?
“So what kind of scientist are you?”
“A good one.” Grinning, he took his pint of beer and swanned off to his alcove.
Ailish picked up the drinks in trembling fingers and breathed again.
“Arrogant sod!” exclaimed Jax, helping her with the glasses and bottles. “A good one. What a prick.”
Oh dear. I suppose I’ll never be able to invite him round to the house. If I wanted to, that is… Do I want to?
Another unanswerable question. It was a relief when the quizmaster began asking more conventional ones, such as the date of the Battle of Waterloo and the highest mountain range in Africa.
Ailish knuckled down, ignoring Rod, concentrating on her friends and shoring up her reputation. But Rod won by two points, and the prize money was handed over to him, amid much gnashing of teeth from Jax and the rest of the crew.
“He likes you, Ail, get him to buy us all a drink,” urged Karen.
“No way,” muttered Ailish. “Let’s just go home.”
She seized her handbag, preparing to flee, but Rod was on his way over, a victory beam lighting up his face.
“It’s good to have real opposition at last,” he said, looming over the table, brandishing a handful of fivers. “This could easily have been yours. Will you let me buy you all a drink?”
Jax nearly leapt up and snapped at his hand, dog-style, while the others nodded and gushed words of thanks.
Ailish fetched him a chair, her heart racing, while he went to get the drinks in. When he returned, he sat directly opposite Ailish, took one sip of his pint and spoke.
“I know there have been been a lot of questions to answer tonight, but I have one more. It’s for Ailish.”
She nearly dropped her glass in confusion and laughed incredulously.
Her three friends had all leant forward, hanging on Rod’s words, their faces doing a poor job of hiding their joyful fascination.
What are you doing? Ailish pleaded with her eyes. If you have a question, can’t you email or text it to me? In private?
Rod wilfully misconstrued, or else ignored, her signals.
“Ailish,” he said, “will you go out with me?”
Jax tried to suppress an inelegant snort, while Karen’s hand flew to her mouth.
“What? You mean, like…a date?”
“A yes or no will be fine. I do mean, like, a date. Cinema, gig, walk in the park, whatever you prefer.”
Ailish could see her flatmates’ brains whirring, storing away his strange abrupt words to quote over and over, amid much hilarity, back at the flat. She wanted to slap them, but equally, she wanted to slap Rod. What on earth was making him do this, here, in front of everyone? She wanted to say yes, but…
“I’m quite busy at the moment,” she hated herself for saying.
“Ah, a no, then,” said Rod, seemingly without rancour. “I’ll see you.” And with that, he rose
, leaving his almost-full pint glass on the table, and left.
The flatmates burst into squeals and loud exclamations of ‘no way!’ and ‘oh my God!’
“I can’t believe you turned him down,” said Jax with a droll eyeroll, signifying irony. “How could you?”
“Shit,” said Ailish faintly. “I feel like shit. I can’t do this. I’m going.”
She grabbed her coat and pushed through the post-quiz crowds, fighting her way to the door, but by the time she reached the pavement, Rod had disappeared.
His phone was switched off, and it wasn’t until the next morning she received a reply to her frantic text—‘Need 2 talk 2 u. Can we meet @ KC 2moro? Pls! Love A xxx’
A terse ‘OK, six p.m.’ brought a heaving sigh of relief to her chest as she sat at her desk, so much so that a concerned Jax offered to make her a cup of tea.
“No, no, I’m fine,” she muttered. “It’s okay.”
“If you’re sure,” trilled Jax, flitting away again, but before she was out of earshot, Ailish called her back over.
“Listen, Jax.”
“Yes, dear heart?”
“You know The Scientist.”
“Not as well as you could, if you played your cards right,” she said with a giggle.
“Yeah, about that. What’s wrong with him exactly?”
Jax stopped in her tracks, staring. “What’s wrong with him? What’s right with him? He’s a geek with no manners or social skills and really weird taste in clothes. I mean, that scarf! Does he think he’s Dr Who or what?”
“I like Dr Who. And besides, if he had no manners, why would he have bought us all drinks with his winnings?”
Jax’s voice dropped and she moved closer to Ailish, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, love. If you want to…go for it. Are you serious, though? Are you trying to wind me up?”
Ailish swallowed. “I like him,” she said. “He’s…different.”
Jax cackled gleefully. “He’s certainly that. You’re serious, aren’t you? Wow.”
“I think he deserves a chance, that’s all. We’re always accusing people of being shallow and then what do I do? Reject a man because of his dress sense. That’s shallow. I don’t want to be like that.”
Subspace Page 22