by Alison Tyler
“Yes, Alex.”
“You have the belt?”
I headed toward the living room, the leather in my hands. “Yes, Alex.”
“Good girl,” he grinned at me, enjoying himself as always. “Now assume the position.”
Chapter Twenty:
Take This Longin
I did. He wouldn’t give a command more than twice. And although I’m a curious little kitty, I wasn’t anxious to find out what would happen if I tested this rule. That was something I’d save for a different day, a day when I craved attention.
Quickly, I handed over Jack’s belt and then turned around and bent forward, hands on my ankles. I knew exactly how he liked me, and I would show him obedience right now. As one more effort to apologize for the intricate trick I’d played on him. Besides, I was starting to understand the depth of his connection with Jack. I knew my life would be far easier if Alex were an ally rather than an enemy. At the moment, we seemed to be at a neutral ground. He no longer seemed as angry as he had at first, yet we weren’t back to being friends. If we’d ever been friends.
He flipped my little plaid skirt up in the rear and then stood back from me. I could easily visualize him in my head, doubling the belt, deciding where to strike, how hard to start. I wondered why Jack wanted me thrashed, especially since I had done everything according to the photos—at least I thought I had, anyway. Had Alex seen something amiss in my outfit? Was there a photo clue I hadn’t found? One that would have explained another step in the morning’s procedure? After two blows, Alex answered my unspoken question.
“This was for me,” he said. “Jack said to use my discretion. I could punish you or not, according to my whims.” The pain was muted by my panties, but the leather stung nonetheless. “And you look so hungry when you’re holding a belt in your hands. It’s hard to refuse that image.”
Did I? Was I like some adult, female version of Oliver? Holding out a belt instead of a bowl? Please, Sir, may I have another? Perhaps, but no matter what, I was never calling Alex “Sir.”
“Count them out for me,” Alex said, and I felt his fingers sliding my panties down my thighs. He’d given me the first few as a mere warm-up. Now, he was going to punish me for real—leather on skin. I hoped he couldn’t tell that I was growing aroused.
Alex struck me hard and quick, so quick that I had a difficult time keeping up with the counting, which gave him a reason to add several strokes at the end. The leather landed louder on my naked skin than it had over the fabric of my panties, and even the sound managed to turn me on. I wished Jack were punishing me instead of Alex, but I couldn’t hide from myself the fact that I had been jonesing for some sort of relief—or release—since I’d found the initial photograph.
Yet as he cut into me, I knew he wasn’t using the belt on my hide for my pleasure. He was doing it for his. Because clearly, Alex wasn’t going to forgive me for my indiscretion. I don’t know what upset him more. The fact that I’d asked him to lie for me. Or the fact that I’d tricked Jack with Elizabeth, playing a game to make Jack worry. But I also didn’t know what type of girl Alex thought I should be. Did he really think Jack wanted someone perfect? Someone who never pressed boundaries, who never put up a fight? How fun would it be for a Dom to punish some docile meek mouse? (And after being a docile, meek mouse for years with Byron, I wasn’t going to let that happen again.)
Still, when Alex dropped the belt, I understood that he had decided not to work me too severely—which was a bit of a worry. Was he leaving the big job for Jack? Whatever his reason, he gave me more than twenty good strokes, then flipped my skirt back down and told me to stand.
“You know where we’re going?”
“Yeah.”
“And why?”
Now, I shook my head.
“But you could guess.”
“It’s a piercing studio. I’m not an idiot.”
Alex gave me a look that seemed to say, “We’ll see.”
Alex drove me to the piercing boutique, but he didn’t walk up the stairs with me. I left the car and headed in on my own, and when I opened the door to the studio, there was Jack. Waiting. Ready.
I remembered a Howard Stern show I’d seen, in which this gorgeous goth girl had told the world that when she’d gotten her clit pierced she’d come like a jackhammer. The sound bite was forever in my head, but I didn’t want to experience that myself. Somehow, tattoos are easier for me than piercings. That doesn’t make any sense, I know. Tattoos are far more permanent.
Jack was in a discussion with one of the employees, and I saw him gesture to a jewelry display close by. Then he came toward me and put his arms around me. “You liked the game?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“And you found all the clues?”
I nodded.
He flipped me around without warning, lifted my skirt, and then slid my panties down slightly. I flushed instantly cherry, knowing that the man he’d been talking to now had a clear view of my ass.
“Then why did Alex have to whip you?”
“He didn’t have to. He just did.”
Jack laughed, a low sound that told me he understood exactly what I meant, and that he’d known from the start that Alex wouldn’t let an opportunity like that go by.
“Go choose,” he said next, pointing to the same display he’d been perusing with the employee. “Show me what you like.”
But when I went over to look at the rings, I felt dizzy. I didn’t want to do this. Yes, I thought piercings were sexy. I’d loved running my tongue over the ones on a former beau’s chest. But I didn’t want any for myself. And I wondered how I might explain that to Jack. Explain in a way that didn’t make him think I was being stubborn for no reason.
The clerk was busy showcasing the various ring sizes, when I turned around to look at Jack, now talking to a pretty, multi-pierced multi-tattooed chicklet, another employee.
“Jack—”
He came to my side, but not in a hurry. He thought I’d found something I liked.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“It’s not that painful,” the clerk assured me, and Jack laughed again, knowing that the concept of how much it might (or might not) hurt wasn’t what was bothering me.
Kindly, Jack took me to a corner of the store. “What’s the problem?” he asked, and I could see his mind working. He’d taken off work somehow in this crazy-busy week, and he’d set this scenario up to thrill me. And I was balking at the gift. I could see more than that. Jack liked the idea of me lifting my shirt, revealing my breasts to a stranger who would—simply through the nature of the business—cause me pain. He wanted to see me wince or bite my lip. He wanted to see me squirm. And later, after I’d healed, Jack was going to pull on those hoops with his teeth, tug on them, torment me in a brand-new way. And even if all of that sounded delightful to me, I couldn’t do it.
“I don’t want to.”
He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to see inside of me. How crazy is it that I would have pointed to a design on the wall at Sunset Strip Tattoo in a heartbeat. That I would have revealed whatever body part Jack craved, that I would have taken the pain as I had in the past, as if it were nothing. (I know that people have totally different thresholds. I took Elizabeth for her first tattoo. She wanted a cross with rosary beads on her ankle, and she had this idea of filling the cross in to look like stained glass. But after the mere outline of the design, she stopped, unable to continue. I’ve had tattoos done on that same area, and it’s not as if I didn’t feel a thing, but I didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, as Liz did.)
“You don’t want—”
“I don’t want to be pierced.”
He didn’t even hesitate. He simply said thank you to the employees and led me down the stairs. There was no anger in his face, no pressure to “do it for him.” Alex seemed surprised to see us back so early, but Jack didn’t say a word to him. He gave me a kiss, warm and sweet, and then pulled an envelope from his pocket. �
�I have to get back to work,” he said. “I’ll meet you later. Alex will tell me which one you choose.”
When I got back into the car, I opened the envelope. There were three more Polaroids inside.
The game continued…
Chapter Twenty–One:
This Is the Picture
Jack wasn’t angry. I could tell. The request at the piercing parlor was not the sort of command for which he expected obedience. Submitting to piercing was far different from being told to bend over for a spanking. Or to lift my skirt to show him the marks Alex had left. Or to drop to my knees and part my lips.
And yet…
Alex was smirking, as if he had known from the start that I wouldn’t be able to go through with the whole thing. His expression made me feel uneasy. I was fairly sure he’d seen the pictures in the envelope, but I didn’t hand them over right away, didn’t show him what I was looking at. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, which he must have guessed, because he slowly unbuttoned the front of his neatly pressed ocean-blue dress shirt, showing me his pierced nipples.
Had he sported the rings in at the club? Or were they new? And if they were new, had Jack gone with him to watch him get pierced? Jealousy flamed through me. Was Jack branding both of his slaves? The thought twisted my stomach, and although I was fairly sure that if I asked, Alex would share the information I craved, I refused to give him the chance.
His smile broadened. He actually winked at me before buttoning the shirt back up.
The urge to fight with him grew stronger, but Alex still had Jack’s belt with him, and I had the feeling that if I fought with him, he’d use it.
Instead, I did my best to ignore him entirely—as if I were all alone in the car—and I shuffled the pictures over and over, trying to figure out what to do. What to choose. Trying to understand what the photos meant.
Photo number one was of a famous sex toy store up on Sunset. If I picked that one, did that mean I had to select something in the store? Something for me to wear, or something for Jack to use on me?
The second picture was of the salon where I’d worked for a very short time before moving in with Jack.
The final picture was of a restaurant.
None of the photos seemed to go together. And none of them seemed to match the concept of piercing in the slightest. I had thought that if I didn’t go through with the first choice, there would be similar options—somewhat similar, anyway. A tattoo was the first thing that came to mind. But what was Jack offering instead? A shopping spree? A haircut? A meal?
“You can go to the store first, or hit the salon. It’s up to you,” Alex said, evenly. Clearly, he knew exactly what I held in my hands.
“What am I supposed to do at the salon?”
“You’ll see, won’t you?”
“You’re a lot of help,” I snarled, unable to stop myself. Alex wasn’t making this day any easier.
My mood didn’t appear to affect his at all. He gave me a winning smile, then touched Jack’s belt. “Watch yourself. I’ve got carte blanche today,” he said.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Give me a reason,” he said, “any reason at all.” His smile had clicked off. “Because you know what, little girl? I’m dying to take you out of the car, bend you over the hood, and whip you right here.” His voice took on an even more menacing tone. “And you know Jack’s going to be checking later, checking to see exactly how you misbehaved. I’ve had enough of your attitude for today. Don’t test my patience any longer.”
I sat quietly after that, understanding that Alex could do what he said even if I were on my very best behavior, but deciding not to give him a reason.
“So you’ve chosen?” Alex said, glaring at me.
“Yes, Alex. I’ll go to the salon.”
I wondered as I walked up the stairs whether this would have been the natural progression of events had I gone through with the piercing. Was a haircut always on the books for me? Or would this have been cancelled had I done what Jack requested? I probably would never find out, I decided, as I presented myself at the desk. Jack must have booked one stylist all day long in order to have him open when I showed up. I knew the expense of that sort of whim, and I felt awed as one of my former coworkers led me to Matteo’s station. He was one of the most elite in the building.
“Jack’s made a request,” Matteo told me, and he had the same look on his face that Alex had. A look I took to mean that he knew something I didn’t.
“Yes?”
“And he wants me to cut you with your back to the mirror.”
I looked into his eyes. That meant I wouldn’t know the results until Matteo was finished. I’d have the whole duration of the cut to imagine what was happening. But this was different from being pierced. No matter what—hair grows back. Did I trust Jack? That was the real question.
“Fine,” I said, and Matteo’s expression changed slightly. He seemed impressed that I hadn’t asked any additional questions, hadn’t tried to get him to tell me what was going to happen.
After being shampooed, I was back in the chair, facing Matteo, who paid no attention to me at all while he worked. He was intent, but I could tell that my hair was changing drastically simply by the amount that fell to the floor around me. He didn’t spin me around until after the blow-dry, and what I saw was almost surreal. I’d come into the salon with hair that reached between my shoulder blades. Now, I had a bob, sleek and chic, yes, but about nine inches shorter. I closed my eyes for a moment then opened them again, slowly.
“Do you like it?” Matteo asked, ruffling my hair with his hand, looking at me with a critical eye—not seeing me, only my hair.
I nodded. “Yes.” It was one of those moments of enlightenment, when I realized exactly how well Jack knew me. He had chosen this cut for me, and it worked. I looked like a different person, sophisticated, yet sexy.
Matteo kissed me on both cheeks and then swept the draped cloth off my shoulders, releasing me.
Back in the car, I couldn’t stop touching my hair, running my fingers up the back of my neck. I felt so much more exposed without the curtain of hair I was used to. Alex still had that smile on his face, and finally I said, “What?”
“If you’d refused, Jack told me to use this,” he said, and he popped open the glove box, revealing the type of razor men use to shave their heads.
I shuddered but didn’t say a word.
It was time for the next stop.
Chapter Twenty–Two:
Carte Blanche
I wasn’t a virgin. Not to this location, anyway. I’d been to this sex toy store before, on a first date with a guy during the summer Byron and I went out but before we were exclusive. It had been for a laugh then, both of us pointing at the different devices (penile pumps and pocket pussies) and giggling helplessly. And although we’d made out in the man’s car, we hadn’t bought anything. Perhaps it wasn’t the best first-date location.
But shopping there with Alex was something else. As might have been expected, he spent most of the time admiring the displays of punishment devices: paddles, floggers, slappers, crops, and canes. When I tried to get him to tell me what I was supposed to do in the place, he said lightly, “Bend over and let me try this one out.”
“Come on, Alex. What does Jack want?” I tried my best to be flirtatious, but Alex didn’t fall for my friendly act.
“He wants you to be smart enough to figure it out for yourself.” He waved a mean-looking implement called a prison strap in the air. “Now bend over.”
There were a few customers in the store on this weekday afternoon—some girls in a corner buying for a bachelorette party, I guessed. Alex’s eyes said to obey, and I offered my rear to him, bending over only slightly. He didn’t think much of that. He pushed me forward firmly, so that I had to catch the edge of the nearest table to keep my balance, flicked up my skirt with the tip of the device, and then slapped the weapon hard against my seat. And although I flushed instantly,
I had a feeling the clerk had seen worse than this. Nobody said a thing to us, and Alex happily placed his purchase on the counter before returning to peruse the rest of the wares.
But what about me? What was I supposed to do? The photo simply showed the exterior of the building. There had been no other clues.
When I walked past a mirror on the wall, I caught my reflection and stopped. The new haircut was divine. I knew that. Striking enough to make me want to look over and over. Matteo’s expertise had actually transformed me. I looked like a different person. This had happened to me once before. When I got to college, I was supremely shy. I’d had an unforgettable summer vacation—and several summer romances—in Europe, but being back again with my peers cowed me. I’ve never been able to blend easily with people my own age, and I wound up falling back into my earlier bad habits—wearing skinny blue jeans and oversized bowling shirts and oxfords. Letting my hair fall into my eyes. Forgoing makeup. Hiding.
Until one afternoon when three bored sorority girls on my floor decided to do a makeover for me. It was more than halfway through the school year when they blow-dried my hair, getting it out of my eyes for once. They added the lightest wash of cosmetics, chocolate eyeliner, a few coats of mascara, and pale berry lipstick. And then one poured me into her tightest little black dress and paraded me around the floor.
And none of the boys recognized me.
I’d been their neighbor for months, had eaten in the dining hall with them, attended classes with them, hung out in their rooms while they got drunk. I’m not making this up. They thought I was a different girl.
That’s what I looked like now. A different girl.
And I understood. Jack wanted me to dress myself. To come up with some new outfit. To surprise him at the restaurant he’d chosen.
I returned to the part of the store filled with assorted clothes generally found on strippers or lingerie models. But in and around the feather-trimmed nighties and lace-edged boyshorts were several wearable-in-real-life pieces. While Alex was lost in his world of pain among the canes and the crops, I grabbed several dresses, slacks, and skirts and headed to the tiny room in the back, behind the leopard-print curtain, to try on my choices.