Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  I shake my head.

  "Answer me. In words, please. Do you want to leave, or do you want to stay?"

  "I want to stay, Sir."

  "Right." He turns and locks the door, sliding the bolts on again. "Grab your shoes and follow me."

  He doesn't wait to see if I'm obeying him, just marches off in the direction of the side entrance where I first saw him. I scramble to retrieve my boots from beside the sofa and trot after him. He is waiting for me beyond the door, at the foot of a flight of stairs.

  "My apartment is up there. We'll talk, then I'll decide whether or not to give you what you seem to be after. You, of course, will be free to leave at any time. Shall we?" He gestures up the stairs.

  I squeeze past him in the narrow hallway and make my way up to the first floor. I flinch at the scrape of the lock as he secures the door to the shop, but my mind is made up. It has been for weeks now. His footsteps follow me. I hesitate at the top.

  "Straight ahead, first door on the left."

  I proceed as directed, and find myself in Mr McCain's open-plan lounge. The place is modern, quite masculine in appearance, and much tidier than my own flat ever was. Two long, chocolate-coloured leather sofas face each other across a rug decorated with an ethnic, geometric pattern. It looks expensive. The floor is solid wood, highly polished. A glass-topped dining table with six padded chairs stands behind the sofas, and beyond that is the kitchen area. No stray coffee cups or discarded magazines litter the place, no dirty laundry piled in front of the washing machine, no shoes or other paraphernalia scattered across the floor. A huge flat-screen TV adorns one wall, and bookcases are on the opposite one. Maybe the decision to live over a bookstore reflects his other interests. Despite the somewhat austere quality of the place, it still manages to feel warm, and welcoming.

  "Nice apartment." I turn to him, offer him a smile.

  It is not returned. Instead he passes me to sprawl on one of the sofas. He stares up at me, his expression impassive.

  He hasn't invited me to sit, but I do anyway. My relatively brief time in the BDSM lifestyle has taught me enough to know it's customary to wait to be asked, but my knees are turning to jelly. I'm trying to recall just why this seemed such a great idea yesterday, or even this morning.

  "So, Miss Hawkins, or can I call you Rose?" He lifts one enquiring eyebrow.

  I nod. "Yes, Sir. Rose is fine."

  "You're calling me Sir. You did downstairs, too. Is that a legacy from school?"

  "I suppose so, but ..."

  "Sir's fine for this, too, or you can call me Iain if you prefer. Unless I do decide to scene with you, then it will most definitely be Sir."

  "I understand. Thank you. Iain."

  "So, where were we? Ah, yes. Tell me, Rose, how did you know I'm a Dom?"

  "I saw you, at the Darkroom. It was about three weeks ago. You were sceneing with a submissive called Maria. Her Dom was there too..."

  "Okay, right. I remember that evening. I don't recall seeing you, though."

  "No, I was on the other side of the dungeon, with my friend. But I watched you, and I remembered you from school. I recognised you straight away."

  "Why didn't you speak to me then? After the scene?"

  "I didn't want to, not then. I had no idea what to say. I just – I was aroused by what I'd seen, and what I remembered of you at school. I wanted—"

  "You wanted a spanking?"

  "Yes, I suppose I did. But I was a bit stunned at seeing you again, and I didn't know what to say. So I went home, and kicked myself for not approaching you."

  "I would probably have said no. You do realise that?"

  I did half-expect a refusal, but still, to hear it stated out loud, stings me into some sort of protest.

  "Why? Why would you refuse? Are you still going to?"

  "I prefer to scene with subs who I know. It's simpler, safer."

  "You could get to know me. I'm nice." Despite my attempt at assertiveness I detect a note of defensiveness in my voice. Come to think of it, Mr McCain always did have the power to intimidate me.

  He smiles, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes. "Are you? Yes, I expect you are and I could get to know you, certainly. Is the Darkroom a place you go regularly then?"

  "Yes. At least, it was."

  "Was?"

  "I'm moving away. Soon. Tomorrow, in fact. So I needed to come and find you, before I go, and ask if you might... you know."

  "Spank you? Is that all you want?"

  "Well, not really. But it would be up to you to decide. If we do scene together, I mean, you'd decide what would happen. What you would use."

  "I see." His expression suggests he doesn't see, not quite. "So, this sense of urgency – where are you going?"

  "America. I have a new job, in New York. I fly tomorrow."

  "Ah, I did wonder why you were carrying your passport so readily to hand. But Rose, you have no need to rush into anything here. There's a really active BDSM scene in New York, too, and all the spankings you could dream of. I could even recommend a couple of places if you like."

  "I would appreciate that, but I still want this. I want it from you, Sir."

  "Why? Why me, especially?"

  "I wanted you ten years ago, at school. But, as you say, off limits. When I saw you the other week, it all just came flooding back, the attraction, just as powerful as before, maybe more so because now I understand what it is. I know what I want, and that you can provide it."

  He regards me for several long moments, his brow furrowing. "How long have you been in the lifestyle?"

  "Not long. At least, I've not been active for long. I think I always knew I liked kink, though."

  "Have you tried other clubs, apart from the Darkroom?"

  "A couple. But I like the Darkroom best."

  "And spankings? Have you been spanked much, so far?"

  "Not as much as I would have liked, if I'm honest. I usually find someone and just sort of ask. No one else has turned me down. Not yet."

  His expression alters, softens just a little. "Congratulations, Miss Hawkins. Even so, I bet that takes some doing. No regular Dom, then?"

  "No, Sir."

  "That card, may I have it please?"

  I'm thrown off kilter by the sudden change in direction. "You want it back?"

  "Of course. It is for me, isn't it?"

  "Yes, Sir." I fish around in my bag, find the card and pass it to him. "I'm embarrassed now. It seemed a good idea at the time."

  He slants a wry grin in my direction, under his eyebrows. "I can't remember when I last got a Valentine's card. I'm flattered, and I like it."

  "You do? Not too cheesy?"

  "I didn't say that." He opens the card and reads out loud the message inside. "Rose's are red. I repeat, Rose's what?"

  "It was just a joke. Silly, really. I meant to sort of post the card through your letter box, with my mobile number. I never expected to be actually there when you read it."

  "Well since you have no mobile, because you dropped it in the toilet, I guess it's just as well we are discussing this face to face. So, Rose's what? Nipples? Pussy lips? Something else?

  "Oh, God." I writhe in my seat, mortified.

  "Answer me, please. Which parts of you, specifically, are red?"

  Well, my face is, that much I can say with certainty. I feel the hot flush creep up from my neck; my cheeks are burning. I can't believe I actually wrote that, and now he's calling me on it. "Sir, Mr McCain, please..." I lean forward, bury my face in my hands.

  "Either answer me or, if you prefer, you can show me."

  I jerk my head up and meet his eyes. His expression is amused, and... something else. Something deeper, more compelling. He looks sexy, and very, very serious.

  "Show you? Does that mean that you're not turning me down? You will scene with me?"

  "You've gone to a lot of trouble to set this up, Rose. I would not want you to leave disappointed."

  "Here? Now?"

  "Here and now
is where we find ourselves, so yes."

  "But, I need to get ready. I didn't bring any clothes with me, or, or anything."

  He quirks his lip in a sardonic smile. "I prefer my subs naked. You could be ready in moments."

  "But, but—"

  “Just how much do you really want this, Rose?" He leans forward, his tone low as he holds my gaze.

  "A lot, Sir. I want it a lot."

  "So—"

  Whatever he would have said is interrupted by a long, low growl from my stomach. I clutch my middle, wondering if I could get any more embarrassed. I expect I could, though it's difficult to imagine right now. "I'm so sorry. I skipped breakfast, then I was locked in the shop at lunchtime."

  "When did you last eat, then, Rose?"

  "Yesterday evening. I think."

  "Right, here's the deal. You go and take a shower, or a bath if you prefer. Do whatever constitutes 'getting ready' as far as you're concerned. My bathroom is at your disposal, and you should find everything you'll need in there. I'm going to sort out something for you to eat, and once you're fed and watered I'll strap you to my spanking bench and we'll make a start. How does that sound?"

  I gape at him, stunned. "You have a spanking bench? Here?"

  That sardonic grin again, then, "I have everything we're going to need and more. So, we have a deal?"

  Do we? Too right we bloody do! "Yes Sir, thank you. I think. I don't want to put you to any trouble, though. About the food I mean."

  "It's no trouble, Rose. In fact, I think I might actually enjoy this evening as much as you will. While you're showering and eating you can also be deciding if you have any hard limits you'd like to share with me. What's your safe word?"

  "The usual, Sir. Red."

  "Good choice, we all know where we stand. Are you vegetarian?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Right, I think I have some chicken in the fridge. I’ll rustle up a sandwich for you." He stands up and strolls across to the kitchen end of the room. "Please get a move on, Rose. I don't like to be kept waiting."

  Forty minutes later I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in Iain McCain's dark blue towelling bathrobe. He must be at least a foot taller than me, so the hem trails along the floor. I have tied the belt tight around my waist, though I know modesty is somewhat misplaced here. My skin is creamed and all excess hair removed. His bathroom did indeed contain all I could possibly need. I suspect he entertains submissives in his home fairly often. The clue is in the spanking bench I suppose.

  I feel pampered, a little decadent, and ravenously hungry as I make my way across the apartment. I find my host in his spotless kitchen stacking his dishwasher. My mum would approve.

  He glances at me as I come in, and smiles, the expression reassuring. I'm not scared, far from it, but certainly nervous. I appreciate his warmth, his relaxed attitude. Iain will be strict later, uncompromising, and that's what I want from him. When we adopt our Dom and sub roles, when he assumes control and I give it up, the game really starts.

  The atmosphere of a club is sort of detached, and the fetish gear I always choose to wear when I play further isolates my kink from my real, everyday life. I find that easier, less demanding. Less personal, perhaps. This situation, here in Iain's apartment, is very personal indeed: intimate, even. Sharing a meal together, borrowing a Dom's clothes – this is quite outside my experience. This is more like a relationship than a scene, and not what I came here expecting.

  It's sort of pleasant, though. I return his smile and perch on a high stool to watch the preparations. As well as the sandwich which is ready and waiting for me, he is chopping lettuce and slicing tomatoes. I’m to have a salad as well. My stomach starts up its chorus again.

  Iain straightens and treats me to that sexy grin of his again. "Ten minutes. Can you hold out that long?"

  "Yes, I think so. Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "You can tell me your hard limits. Would you like some tea? Or coffee?"

  I find his matter of fact approach a little disconcerting, but go with the flow. "Tea, please. I don't like being gagged, or blindfolded. Not sure about caning, really. I've never tried it."

  "Is caning a possible, or a definite no?"

  I think for a few moments. "A possible."

  "Okay. If anything happens that you really don't want, use your safe word. If you want to take a break at any time, that's fine too. I wouldn't gag a sub for our first scene, in any case. I need to hear what you have to say, the sounds you make. The same with a blindfold –I want to see the pain, and the pleasure, in your eyes. That's how I'll be able to gauge your responses, and know what's happening for you."

  I meet his gaze and discern confidence there, a self-assured authority that reassures me. I am in excellent hands. "Everyone says you're a good Dom. Hard, skilled, very experienced. I trust you."

  "I trust me, too, but I still intend to be careful with you. Is there anything else you want me to know?"

  "I don't think so."

  "I have some questions for you. Are you pregnant, or could you be?"

  "No, Sir. Why do you ask?"

  "I have my reasons. Any medical conditions I should know about? Heart problems, or a pacemaker, for example?"

  "No, Sir, nothing like that. I'm fine. Honestly."

  "Good. What about contraception? Are you on the pill?"

  "Yes, Sir. And I have medical records to prove I'm clean. In my bag."

  "How very forward-looking of you, given that you arrived here otherwise unprepared. I can supply the same. Do you want to look?"

  "No, I believe you, Sir. Do you want to see mine?"

  He treats me to a lecherous grin. "No Rose, I don't. At least, not your medical certificates. Do you want me to touch you? Apart from the impact play itself?"

  "Touch me?"

  "You'll be nude, draped across my spanking bench. It will be easy to touch you, to fuck you. And I will, if you want that, but not otherwise. Is this about sex for you, or is the spanking enough on its own?"

  I stare at him. It's a good question, an excellent question, in fact. Every other time I've been spanked, it was in the semi-public setting of a BDSM club. On each occasion the Dom touched me, brought me to orgasm and, of course, I liked that. But none of them fucked me. That seemed fine, for then. Not so much, now.

  "It is about the sex, Sir."

  "So?"

  "So I'd like you to fuck me. If that's what you want, too, of course."

  He inclines his head. "Of course. And you know you can change your mind at any time. There'll be no coercion, no overstepping the boundaries."

  "I don't want boundaries. I want it all." And I do, I really do. My pussy is already weeping, convulsing as my arousal builds, just from discussing what is to happen. He hasn't laid a hand on me yet, and I'm already half way to climaxing here on his kitchen stool.

  Iain places a cup of tea on the worktop beside me then, unexpectedly, leans in to brush my lips with his. "We're going to have a good time together, you and I. I confess you took me by surprise downstairs, but I'm glad you brought my Valentine's card in person, little Rose Hawkins from form 11M.

  "I'm not little now."

  "You are, but not in any way that would be a problem."

  "Not like before. At school."

  "Exactly."

  "You said you fancied me then. Was that allowed?" When did I get to be so daring? Or so picky?

  His expression is hard, stern as he considers my question. "I couldn't help fancying you. Most of the male staff probably did, and maybe some of the females, too. As I recall, you were gorgeous, with a sensual allure I suspect you had no idea of at the time. You were sexy as hell, but that was just biology, and I had no control over it. What I did control was how I behaved. I was your teacher and, yes, that did come with clear rules. I was also a Dom, back then, just as I am now. In this lifestyle it's all about consent, and fifteen-year-old girls cannot consent. However much you might have smiled and wiggled your very spankable little bottom at me,
there was no way you could have properly understood what you were getting into. I'm not interested in taking advantage of naive, vulnerable children, I never was. My submissives are always willing, always consenting. You were a child then. Now, you are not."

  "I see. That was... noble of you. Very principled."

  "Not noble, though I am a man of strong principles, I hope. I believe a good Dom has to be. I am demanding though, and uncompromising. I know what I want. As do you, it would seem."

  I meet his steely gaze again. "Yes, Sir. I do." The impact of my words is perhaps undermined by the insistent growl of my empty stomach.

  Iain's expression softens into a broad smile. He is dazzling, utterly beautiful in that moment. "Sit at the table before you expire with hunger. I'll bring the food over."

  I could gaze at Iain McCain all day, but I drag myself away and do as I'm told.

  Chapter Four

  "Are you full?"

  "Yes. Thank you, Sir, that was delicious." The meal long since finished, I push away my empty teacup.

  "You're welcome. Now for the main event."

  "Yes, Sir." I swivel my head as I peer around the spacious dining room and adjacent living area.

  "Have you lost something?"

  "I was wondering... You said you have a spanking bench, Sir."

  "Ah, so eager. I like that in a submissive. It's in my bedroom. Everything is set up in there, ready for you. I was busy while you soaked in the bath." He pauses, one eyebrow raised. I guess this is my last chance to make a run for it. I have no intention of doing any such thing. He continues. "That door, over there."

  I turn in the direction indicated. "Should I?"

  "Yes, please. Wait for me beside the spanking bench. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

  I stand and walk across the room. At the bedroom door, I pause for a moment to offer him a smile. I'm going for the confident, self-assured look, though I’m not at all sure it works.

  He doesn't return the smile. He just watches me, his features impassive. Gone is the pleasant, affable companion of only a few minutes ago. Instead I am facing a man who is pure Dom: controlling, stern, exuding alpha male authority. He stands, leans against the edge of the table, his arms folded. My stomach does a little flip and I recall a saying my mother is fond of.