The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please, Book 4)

by Ward, Deena

  He cleared his throat, ran a hand over my hair. “If you feel you must.”

  “I must.”

  “Then far be it from me to hold you back.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, and I pulled down his boxer briefs.

  Much later, I sent the poor man off to work with a rushed, sorry breakfast of a glass of orange juice and a slice of untoasted bread and butter.

  I don’t think he minded, though.

  Chapter 9

  Lawson, the chauffeur, opened the town car’s back door and I stepped onto the sidewalk. I knew right away where I was: the rear entrance to Private Residence. It was the nightclub where I met Michael, where the kink ball was held and where I performed a skit with the Hoytes in one of the display rooms. Private Residence and I had some history, and not all of it was good.

  I smoothed my skirt over my hips. I didn’t actually own anything that was rich tycoon casual, so I had to make do with normal person best, a stretchy little black dress a friend talked me into buying at a clearance sale early in the spring. I even sported a pair of semi-high heels. I thought I looked okay standing next to Gibson in his expensive sports coat and trousers.

  I had no idea what we were doing at Private Residence. Gibson gave away nothing on the ride over.

  He told Lawson that he’d call when we were ready to leave and the driver returned to the car and drove away.

  “I’m kind of nervous about this. I don’t know,” I said.

  Gibson leaned in close. “We’re going in the back way, but we’ll be coming out the front, so you have time to get settled into the idea. Right now, you won’t see many people where we’re going, okay?”

  I nodded, but I was still unsure.

  “Remember, you promised to try,” he said.

  I had. But still. If there was one place in the city where I was likeliest to be recognized from the damnable video, this had to be it. Of course, it was also the likeliest place where no one would care, which was a comfort.

  I considered begging off. After all, I’d had a long day, spent hours helping Paulina and Xavier clean up the picnic disaster area. I hadn’t minded doing it, had volunteered, my penance for skipping Paulina’s living picture thing.

  I only had time to snatch an hour-long nap late in the afternoon. Surely Gibson would understand that I was too tired to go through with whatever he had planned.

  I looked up at him, opened my mouth to tell him my lie. But I couldn’t lie. I had promised to try. “Okay, but tell me what we’re doing.”

  He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s get inside and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  I nodded, let him lead me inside a small entryway, past a beefy bouncer who nodded at Gibson, then through another door and into the building at large.

  This was the entrance we used the night of the kink ball, and it had been decorated gaily for that event. Tonight, though, the area was quiet, plain like an office building and peopled only by a lone older lady sitting at a desk.

  She greeted Gibson with a gush, fluttered around him before waving us toward the elevator. Once inside, Gibson pushed the button for the second floor.

  When the doors closed, he finally spoke. “We’re here to check out the training program. It’s for beginning submissives, like yourself.”

  I think my mouth moved but nothing came out. I was stunned.

  “A new class started end of last week, so it’s not too late to add you in, if you’re interested,” he said.

  “I’m not. Not at all.”

  “We’ll sit in on a class. You can see what it’s like and decide later. There’s no pressure to make a decision tonight.”

  I had so many feelings and thoughts bumping into each other that I couldn’t find an appropriate one to express first.

  The least appropriate one popped out. “Do you actually own this club?”

  I wasn’t sure where that came from, except that it was a frequently discussed topic between Elaine and I, and a question I’d long wanted answered.

  He answered smoothly, as if it weren’t a bizarre question. “I’m part owner with Xavier and Paulina, and another couple you don’t know, old friends of the Martins who run the place.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed.” Then came the question that was actually pertinent to the discussion. “Why are you trying to fob my training off on someone else?”

  This time, he showed surprise. “I’m not. I’d be nearby during all of your lessons. I wouldn’t ask you to be with people you didn’t know and trust, not without me there.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s great. But, why aren’t you training me, if I have to be trained? And I don’t get this whole training business anyway. I’m not a dog.”

  He spoke in a soothing tone that annoyed me. “Calm down. Take a few breaths. It’s going to be okay.”

  “You’re being condescending.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re panicking and need to calm down.”

  My pulse beat a quick rumble in my ears. I took a few breaths, tried to center myself. Then the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I snapped.

  “It’s okay. We’ll step over here and talk it out.”

  We went a short way down the hall into what looked like a waiting room. I was grateful there was no one else inside.

  Gibson motioned for me to sit on the sofa and he lowered himself beside me.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  And I did. Slowly, carefully.

  After a few minutes, Gibson spoke in careful tones. “Now, think carefully and tell me what it is that worries you the most about the idea of attending a training session.”

  I didn’t have to think for long. It wasn’t about the videos, or fear of exposure, or not wanting to be around other people, not at its core. It was simple. I didn’t want someone else to train me. I only wanted Gibson, and I was hurt that he was handing me off to another man.

  “Do you remember when you told me that you should send me for training here, but that you couldn’t do it because you didn’t want to be away from me? Do you remember that?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “So, why is it you want to be away from me now? I thought we were starting something.”

  “We are, Nonnie. I don’t want to be away from you. You’d attend classes at night, not stay on the premises full time.”

  “And you don’t want someone else to be with me?”

  “To be with you? Do you mean sexually? No, that’s not what training is about, not here anyway. I only want what’s best for you, and that includes what you want for yourself. I won’t demand anything of you, or expect you to participate just because I told you to. What you want is important. I’m simply asking the favor of showing you what a class is like. Then you can decide. Okay?”

  When he said it like that, it seemed reasonable.

  “Okay, I’ll watch one class,” I said, still disgruntled but willing to attempt reasonableness.

  “Good.”

  I got a partial good girl tingle. Damn, even when I was shaken up, a weak tingle still came through.

  We stood and I followed him out of the room and down the hall. He stopped before a set of double doors and knocked. A young woman opened the door, saw Gibson, and while giving a gushing greeting that put the older woman’s to shame, stepped aside to allow us into a small seating area which led onto another pair of doors. Gibson thanked the young woman and opened the inner doors, ushering me inside.

  It was a large room that resembled a small gymnasium, brightly lit by rows of florescent overhead lights. Pieces of assorted equipment were scattered around the room and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were for gymnastics. But I did know better.

  In spite of the kink equipment, there was no overt sexual aura in the room. The plain, off-white walls and flooring and the wooden bleachers along one wall certainly didn’t lend any sensuality to the place.

  There were some people mil
ling around, eight or nine women, and approximately the same number of men. They were scattered in clumps. Several of them looked up when Gibson and I entered and a tall, older man broke off his conversation to come greet Gibson.

  He was in his fifties, fit, in good shape, wearing a black leather vest and pants. He had plain features, yet had an allure to him, the nudge of attractive power I’d come to recognize.

  He held out his hand to Gibson. “You made it. Excellent.”

  They shook hands then Gibson gestured to me. “This is Nonnie Crawford. I spoke to you about her. She’s here to observe tonight. Nonnie, this is Master Porter. He’s in charge of the training programs here.”

  I shook his hand. His grip was strong and confident. We said we were pleased to meet one another then he gestured to the bleachers and told us to take a seat, that class would be starting momentarily.

  Gibson and I headed to the bleachers and climbed up to the top for the best view of the proceedings.

  “Everything okay?” Gibson asked once we sat down.

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  “I’d think we were going to watch a basketball game if it weren’t for the row of Saint Andrew’s crosses on the wall over there.”

  He grinned. “We haven’t been doing training for long. I admit the ambience could use some work.”

  Master Porter stepped onto a small stage and walked behind a podium. His voice carried easily in the room as he asked everyone to get in their places.

  I watched with interest as the groups split apart, some heading to the center of the room in front of the stage, others to the bleachers and the remaining few up onto the stage itself.

  Gibson explained that those on the floor were the students and the people coming over to the bleachers were dominants attending with the trainees. Two women and another man joined Master Porter on the stage. Gibson told me the man was an instructor in training, while one woman was an instructor and the other was Master Porter’s sub, who was used as an example for the trainees.

  When everyone was where they should be, Master Porter called the room to order. “Okay trainees. Class begins now. What’s the first thing expected of you?”

  A male sub raised his hand. Master Porter pointed at him.

  “Clothes, Sir,” the sub answered.

  “That’s correct. Proceed.”

  My eyebrows shot up as I watched all eight people quickly strip off their clothes as if they were in the privacy of their own bedrooms. I glanced at Gibson who was blatantly watching my reaction.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I whispered.

  “Keep an open mind,” was his quiet response.

  “Seriously? That’s what you have to say?”

  “Shh. Watch.”

  When the subs were thoroughly naked, including the example sub on the stage, the instructors stepped off the platform and strolled among their students.

  “Inspection position one,” Master Porter called out.

  The subs shuffled around. A few of them appeared to have no clue what to do, and looked to the example sub on the stage. They mimicked her stance, upright and tall, feet spread shoulder-width apart, hands locked behind necks, chests stuck out.

  The instructors murmured to their charges, made corrections to their stances with nudges and an occasional prod from the crops they carried.

  For the next ten minutes, the instructors called out different positions and the submissives struggled to remember and hold the poses properly. When they got to inspection pose number eight, I had a serious suspicion this stuff wasn’t for me.

  Inspection pose number eight involved bending down and grabbing your ankles while holding your head up and out, arching your back if you could. Here was a pose that left nothing to the imagination, and I remembered Gibson having me stand in a similar pose a long time ago. The thought of assuming this position in front of so many people was mortifying.

  “There’s no way I’m doing that,” I said in a low hiss.

  “Why not?”

  “It was bad enough when you had me do it in front of you. No way I could do it in here.”

  “I thought it would excite you.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “You enjoyed the auction didn’t you? And what about the Hoytes’ play? You were naked in front of strangers then.”

  Well damn. He had me there. He was right. But that was before. Before I learned there were consequences to flashing my naked self around willy nilly.

  “It’s safe here,” Gibson said. “Everyone has the same vulnerability. No one would be focused exclusively on you in a group like this.”

  “Okay, I can see that,” I admitted. “But that’s beside the point. It isn’t turning me on.”

  “Think about how it would feel to have others see you out there. How it would feel to have the instructors inspect you so minutely.”

  I tried. Nope. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “What if I told you it would excite me to see you in the class, out there exposed with the others?”

  I looked at the trainees trying to hold the revealing stance while the instructors poked at them. I imagined myself in their positions, pictured Gibson sitting in the stands, watching me, watching the instructors correct me. I gave a good deal of consideration to the likelihood of Gibson having a raging hard-on the entire while.

  I had to admit that I got a little kick down below with that thought, the beginnings of a little something.

  “Well, that could make a difference,” I said. “Might get me going.”

  “Might?”

  “Okay, would.”

  He smiled. “There’s no reason to stay then. Shall we go?”

  “No. Wait. What?”

  “I’m sorry. I told you I thought this might excite you. If it doesn’t, then there’s no point wasting time here.”

  “What about you, though? You said you’d like to see me out there.”

  “I didn’t say that. I only wondered if your feelings would change if it was sexy to me. And it’s not sexy to me, by the way. Or I should say, no sexier than anything else you might do that involves you being naked and bent over. Might as well bend you over doing something that you actually like to do.”

  A sharp spike zinged through my heart. I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “In that case, I want to stay.”

  He gave me a look which informed me he thought I was a little crazy. “If you want.”

  “I’m not saying I’m changing my mind. It’s just, now that I know I don’t have to do any of this stuff, I’m curious to see what happens next. That’s all. It’ll be furthering my education, a non-hands-on approach.”

  He smiled. “Fine with me.”

  I settled in beside him in a much better mood than before. I watched the trainees being put through their posing paces for another few minutes, then the instructors broke them into two groups, half of them following Master Porter and the instructor trainee to one side of the room, and the other half staying put with the female instructor, Mistress Jillian.

  Mistress Jillian was younger than me, with striking looks and a tall, leggy form showcased by shiny, thigh-high black boots. And it appeared those boots would be playing a pivotal role in that evening’s lessons.

  She called the subs forward, one at a time, and had them each lick and kiss her boots, even the soles. She was demanding, and wasn’t impressed with their efforts if the frequent crop whacking was anything to go by.

  I tried not to comment on the situation, but when Mistress Jillian made a man suck on the pointy heel of her boot immediately after a woman had been licking it, I couldn’t hold back.

  “That is SO unsanitary,” I whispered.

  “I think that’s part of what they like about it.”

  I shuddered. “Wow. You’re not into that, are you? Even if you are, tell me you aren’t, because there’s no way I’m licking your shoes.”

  “I’m not into it.”

  “Really? Or are you just saying that bec
ause I told you to?”

  “Really. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

  “God, I still don’t know if you’re placating me or what. Why did I tell you to lie to me?”

  He stifled a chuckle. “I promise you I’m telling the truth.”

  “Okay then, I guess I’ll believe you but, oh hell no. Look at that. Two of them licking at once. Makes me want to get out my hand sanitizer and step in to save them from themselves.”

  “They wouldn’t thank you for it.”

  “I could never do what they’re doing. What if one of those trainees didn’t want to do it?”

  “They’d use a safe word. Also, everyone fills out likes and dislikes forms before class begins, so the instructors have an idea of what’s what. The group was probably split with that in mind.”

  “Oh. Well.” I looked over at Master Porter’s group. Master Porter and the other instructor were seated in a pair of chairs while their four subs practiced delivering items to them. It appeared to be a lesson in grace.

  The subs knelt before the teachers, then after they were tapped on the shoulder, they rose to their feet and shuffled off to fetch whatever item they’d been told to get, then returned to the teacher and assumed the appropriate presentation position.

  I only knew that this was a lesson in graceful movement by watching Master Porter’s sub repeatedly show the trainees the best way to rise from a kneeling position, and the best way to descend. The trainees were awkward. I knew I would have been.

  It looked like hard work to me, yet I would have preferred it over boot worship lessons. Anyway, watching Master Porter’s pretty sub go through her motions was fascinating. She seemed a vision of poise, her nubile bare flesh, the easy flex of her muscles, the demure way she held her head, and the elegance in her hands when she offered up the item her master requested.

  Her lovely, humble inconspicuousness drew the eye more surely than if she had jumped up and down demanding attention. She was exquisite. I kept half an eye on Gibson to see if he was watching her. And he was, from time to time, but he didn’t watch her more than the others. I didn’t see how that was possible.