A Jade's Trick

by Lilly Black

  “I’m not doing a very good job of this,” he admits finally. “Just trust me when I say that this is a gift for us both, and I am fully committed to what it represents. Open it.”

  I pull, and the ribbon falls gracefully open on both sides of the box. Carefully lifting the lid and peeling back the tissue paper, on a bed of velvet rests a black leather riding crop with a tight helix of perfectly-set, clear stones covering the entire length of the handle. I pick it up and examine it, breathing in the scent of new leather, savoring the feel of it in my hands.

  “I don’t want another sub, Evan,” Cain says, his eyes fixed on me. “I want an equal. I want you.” I run my fingers over the gemstones as I wonder if it’s possible that I heard him right.

  “Evan?” Cain asks like a little boy awaiting a much anticipated, magnitudinous answer, but I can’t speak, afraid I’ll cry. Based on everything he’s told me about his past and his desires, my expectations of him allowing me power in the dungeon were at best false bravado, yet here he sits offering me equality.

  “Evan, say something.”

  “It’s…it’s beautiful,” I say, my lips melting into a smile. “It’s perfect.” Cain breathes an audible sigh of relief.

  “Do you mean it?” he asks.

  “Yes! I have no idea how to use it, but yes!”

  “I mean it, too,” he says, and for a long moment, we just sit there, lost in a new, deeper connection.

  I smack the riding crop against my leg to feel the sting as I contemplate how I’m going to learn to use correctly. I wonder how Cain learned to use the whips he uses, how he learned just where to strike me with that paddle to make it hurt and turn me on at the same time. I ask.

  “I’m not sure I want to have this conversation right now,” Cain says.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to risk pissing you off again.”

  “I don’t think anything could piss me off right now.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Cain asks.

  “Just answer the question,” I say.

  “There are places people can go to learn these things, but I learned through trial and error.”

  “Why would that piss me off?”

  “Because I tried it on Lucy.”

  Don’t get pissed. Don’t get pissed.

  “So you have had sex with Lucy?”

  “No, but we did bind and beat the hell the out of each other back in Berkeley. I wanted to know how it felt when I struck her, so everything I did to her, she did to me. Trust me. It wasn’t sexual.”

  “You just made me want to fuck you by paddling me. How is that not sexual?”

  “It’s different when you’re just trying to figure out how hard is too hard.”

  “Then how did you learn what you just did to me?”

  “Every woman is different, but I seem to have an innate talent, especially with you…the way your body reacts to my touch, it’s like you were made for me, Evan.” I cast my eyes downward, shy in the face of the compliment.

  “So when are you going to teach me how to use this on you?” I ask sheepishly.

  “I can’t teach you because what I do to you is not what you’ll do to me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Men and woman don’t always like things the same way,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say as I consider my options. “So can Lucy show me?”

  “What? Have Lucy train you? Perish the thought!”

  “Shut up!”

  “I’m going to leave that up to you, Evan,” Cain says. “Now, I really should get back to the office. Someone has to work to keep you in black leather.”

  “I’m not finished with you yet. I want to know what kind of jewelry store sells riding crops.” I just need more reassurance that this is indeed what he bought from Grohl’s.

  “One of the owners is an old friend. She arranged it, but I promise you the details were kept secret from everyone else in the shop.” I guess that explains why the receipt made Elizabeth jump to conclusions.

  “So the owner knows…”

  “She doesn’t know anything, but if she suspects, she’ll never say a word. I’m a very good client.”

  “And a very good boy,” I tease, slapping my palm with the riding crop. It makes a nice, crisp sound.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, little girl,” Cain says. “You still have a lot to learn before you are ready take control in here, and my challenge still stands.”

  Oh…that, I think with a snarl.

  “Then I guess you’ll be wielding this lovely implement of pain tonight.”

  “The riding crop is all yours, but unless you want to go home and try coming to the dungeon another time, I will be in control here tonight.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say as he heads toward the door, and compelled to reassure him once more, I walk over to him and kiss him deeply. “And no more fits. I promise.”

  “Then we’ll never speak of it again.” Cain kisses me quickly and opens the door. As I enjoy the thought of him going back to the office with my scent all over him, I realize I almost forgot to ask the most important question.

  “Wait!” I call out, popping my head out the door. “Why the change of heart?”

  “Because, Evan,” Cain says, turning back with a look that makes my heart race, “I want to experience you in every possible way.”

  Oh. Fuck. Me.

  “Has he always been like this?” I ask Lucy. After Cain left, I immediately began apologizing for my fit, but she wouldn’t hear it, pretending it never happened.

  “He always gets his way if that’s what you mean. Cain is a lot of bad things, Evan - controlling, stubborn, vicious - but he’s a great man. If you knew who I was when he found me…he saved my life.”

  “Saved your life?”

  “He’d save the whole world if he could.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You know, like he does through his businesses.”

  No, I don’t know. I have been embarrassingly negligent when it comes to leaning about his work.

  “Businesses?”

  “His company manages the businesses he owns, the hotel, commercial real estate like this building, but CTB’s principle function is rescuing family-run businesses on the verge of collapse. It would be more profitable to buy failing businesses for practically nothing and parcel out the assets, but Cain goes in and turns their fortune around. He’s saved tens of thousands of jobs in the past two years.”

  Like he did in San Jose…

  “I had no idea.”

  “I know. It’s one of the ways I could tell you weren’t like the others. They always wanted to know everything about his business and finances, but you don’t seem to care at all.” Then Lucy casts her eyes downward for a second, and when she looks back up, her expression suggests mischief and uncertainty.

  “Are you ready to go back behind the curtain?” she asks, and though I didn’t get all the answers I was hoping for, I am ready.

  Lucy picks up the silver remote, showing me how it works as she uses it to retract the curtains all the way around the room again. It controls everything - the lighting, the heat and air, the audio system. Earlier, there was only a series of small track lights illuminating the wall to the left where the whips hang, but now she turns all of the lights up for me. Along the right wall of the windowless room, beneath a series of individual, recessed spotlights are the various bondage scenes awaiting use, and the walls and floor are perfectly smooth, black concrete - like a raw, dark canvas upon which to paint beautiful nightmares and horrific fantasies

  There are silver shackles attached to the wall that appear to be measured for me, chains hanging from the ceiling through an eyelet, a St. Andrew’s Cross, a chair bolted to the floor, a spanking bench, and a padded table with a curved top. Then there is the centerpiece - the bondage table.

  Beneath a black, crystal chandelier, sitting three feet off the ground, the table is nearly seven feet long with hooks and eyelets down the
wooden sides beneath the padded, black leather top, and I shudder as I think about how close I am to being bound to it.

  When I’ve looked through all of the scenes, whips, and armoires, I know I’m ready, and I can’t wait to have Cain here with me in this dark paradise. I text him an invitation.

  As I look for something to wear, I sort through leather corsets and gowns that, though stunning, seem like the wardrobe of a Domme, not a sub, as if on some level Cain has known all along that he would eventually bow before me, but tonight I want to look the part of the perfect submissive.

  “Lucy” I call out. “What did his other submissives wear?”

  “They never had anything like what he has bought for you,” she says, joining me at the armoire. “They wore corsets with the tits out and things like that - really trashy.”

  “Is Cain into trashy?” I ask.

  “No, but it was appropriate for them.” It reminds me of a disturbing bit of advice I once heard my mother’s current husband give to his nephew.

  “Treat a lady like a whore and a whore like a lady,” I mutter.

  “What? No! No, no, no,” Lucy insists. “He treated them like whores because they were whores. They didn’t care about him. They only cared about money and status. They weren’t worthy.” Now I have a choice. I can believe her or let the lady/whore adage replay itself in my head until I make an ass of myself in front of Cain for the second time today. I choose to believe her.

  “So what should I wear, Lucy?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask,” she says, her eyes gleaming as she reaches into the armoire and pulls out a corset laced with satin ribbons.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I say, and she hands me a black leather g-string as she begins unlacing the corset. After I put it on, she takes over. The corset is boned and stiff up to the breast line with sleeves and a bra of supple leather that is tied in place with thin ribbons, and as Lucy laces the bra, I feel the back of her hand brush against my nipple, and I pray she can’t feel it harden through the thin leather. I tense, but if she noticed, she never acknowledges it, moving on to tighten the laces that go all the way up the back.

  “There,” she says as she ties a bow between my shoulder blades. “A lovely gift for Cain to unwrap.” The weirdness makes me laugh.

  “What else do I need?” I ask. “Stockings? Heels?” Cain does have a thing for me keeping my pumps on.

  “Not tonight. You look perfect,” she says. “Wait, there is one more thing.” She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a velvet jewelry box, opening it to reveal a platinum choker with an oval-cut onyx in the center surrounded by tiny diamonds.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “It’s my gift to you,” Lucy says.

  She bought me this? I think, not quite knowing how to feel about it.

  “I love Cain. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. No other woman could ever make him cut me out, but for you, Evan? For you he would cut out the entire world if you asked him,” she says, and I suddenly feel guilty for every thought I have had about wanting her gone.

  “I would never ask him to do that,” I say.

  “I know,” she says with smiling eyes.

  “Thank you, Lucy,” I say for more than just the necklace.

  “Come on. Let’s do your hair,” she says, and seeing her rush past the moment of gravity, I realize we probably have more in common than either of us ever thought.

  “Did you do this for all of Cain’s submissives?” I ask.

  “Fuck no,” she says with disgust as she pulls my hair up into an elegant updo using only a single clip to hold it in place. “Of course, not one of them ever had the balls to demand that I serve her before Cain,” she adds, and our laughter is cut short by the sound of the door opening. My breath catches.

  Cain is here.

  The Dungeon

  “Out, wench,” Cain orders Lucy with a playful smirk.

  “Have fun,” she whispers then hurries out the door. He approaches me purposefully as I stand by the armoire, and with my excitement and adulation for this man coursing through me, I feel exposed inside and out as I face him in this scant black leather while he is still fully clothed, wearing the suit he wore to work today, sans tie.

  “I’ve never seen you more beautiful, Evan,” he says before he whispers in my ear not to forget the safewords, and though I expect him to kiss me now like he normally would, instead he takes my hand in his, holding it high as he begins to lead me. Game on.

  Cain guides me to the bondage table and lifts me onto it, positioning me to sit with my back toward the head of the table, knees drawn up to my chest, my arms around them. He tells me to put my head down, but just as I am lowering it, he puts two fingers under my chin and lifts.

  “I don’t remember buying this,” he says, eyeing the choker.

  “Lucy gave it to me,” I say.

  “Lucy gave it to me, Sir,” he reminds me.

  Fine.

  “Lucy gave it to me, Sir,” I say, gritting my teeth.

  “It’s stunning,” he says, then he gently lowers my head, bidding me wait and keep my eyes to myself. I try, but I can’t stop trying to peek at him as he walks around the room collecting things from the wall of whips and the armoires behind me. I can’t tell which one until I hear the metal clips jingling and realize that he’s been in the armoire for cuffs and tethers. He brings everything back to the table, hanging it on the various hooks that line the wooden edges.

  “I said no peeking,” he reminds me sternly, giving me a quick smack on the leg before slipping a blindfold over my eyes. I broke the rule, so I suppose now we are no longer on the honor system because with the fur lining, I can’t see even the slightest glow from the dimmed chandelier above me. I have a flash of anxiety. If he turns the lights up, he could see my scars, and though they’re faint and would only differ in color if I were to get a tan, to me they may as well be thick red stripes all over my body. I try to push the thought away. I trust Cain, and I want this so much.

  Blind, I listen intently, trying to figure out what he’s doing, but there is only a long, torturous silence. When soft music finally begins to play, Portishead’s Only You recorded live at Roseland, I hear Cain with me again, disturbing the things that hang from the hooks, the tinkling of the clasps and the excitement of the unknown drenching the elastic strip of this g-string. Then I feel him behind me, standing at the head of the table. He puts his hands under my arms, pulling me to sit upright, flush against his now naked chest, and as he runs his hands up my thighs from my knees, I tremble.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he whispers as he takes my hair down. It falls over my shoulders as I hear the clip hit the concrete somewhere in the distance.

  “I want you up on your knees now, Evan,” he says. Though a command, it’s subtle, like he’s easing me into this, and as I comply, and I hear his footfalls, circling me like a predator with captive prey. I don’t understand why he’s doing it, but when he unexpectedly reaches out and pulls the ribbon on one of my sleeves, undoing the bow, not knowing exactly where he is or what he’ll do is a powerful turn on. The supple leather falls open to hang at the side of the corset, and though I sense him stopping on the other side and expect that he’ll do the same, he only lingers for a moment, the anticipation unbearable. When he stops in front me, I crinkle my nose and use my cheeks, trying to push the blindfold up for a peek, but it’s no use.

  “Do you think it’s wise to continue to break the rules, Evan?” Cain asks sternly, fixing my blindfold.

  “I just wanted to see you.”

  “I just wanted to see you, Sir,” he reminds me. I say it as I am bid, my voice full of defiance, then Cain is suddenly behind me, pushing me over onto all fours. His hand comes down hard on my ass cheek, which is still a little tender from earlier.

  “That was for trying to move the blindfold, and that is for your attitude.” He stings me again in the same spot, and though I cry out, it sounds much worse than it actually feels. I s
uppose he’s counting on me to have the sense to use the safewords because he does not even pause to contemplate the sound.

  “I want you to crawl forward toward the end of the table,” he commands as I sense him walking past me in the same direction. “Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

  I move cautiously until I reach the end and feel him against the top of my head. He positions me sitting on my knees and cuffs my wrists, attaching the cuffs together behind my back, then he pushes me forward. With my ass in the air, my bound wrists force me to rest my face sideways on the table to maintain the position. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and difficult to balance, but the possibilities thrill me as I wonder what he plans to do to me like this.

  I hope he fucks me.

  “So you want to see me?” Cain asks.

  “Yes, Sir,” I answer, forcing myself to play the game. It pains me more to call him Sir than it did to be paddled, but Cain rewards my cooperation by pushing my blindfold up slightly. From the odd position of my head, I can only see his cock straining against the zipper of black leather pants with an embossed, Celtic cross disappearing into the front pocket. He must have changed when it got so quiet earlier.

  “Unzip them,” he orders, the button undone and the zipper pull in my face. I give him a defiant scowl as I comply, carefully balancing as I lift my head enough to take the zipper in my teeth. I pull it down, finding it mercifully easy to manipulate, wishing I had my hands free to yank his pants off and feel him in my mouth, but Cain doesn’t give me a chance to do anything.

  He replaces my blindfold and walks to stand behind me, then I hear the sound of scissors opening and closing. He climbs onto the table with me, pulls on the elastic of my g-string, cuts it away, and drives his cock into me. I’ve never been so wet, and though my arms ache as he pulls me by the clips connecting my cuffs, I feel powerless yet strangely liberated, his cock a perfect, smooth work of art sculpted for the sole purpose of fucking me, making me cry out his name, screaming as agony collides with ecstasy.