She knelt in front of him, and, like she had yesterday, she noticed the raw, ugly wound on his thigh. Unthinkingly, she kissed him there. He dug his hand into her hair and held her firmly.
“Iraq,” he explained. “I was the lucky one.”
A hero.
More than any man she’d ever been with, more than any person she’d ever been with, Ethan knew pain, understood the emotion of it, she realised. No matter what he subjected her to, it was nothing close to what he’d endured.
More than ever, she wanted to please him, and pleasing him would give her tremendous pleasure. “Let me clean your cock.” Softly, she added, “Please.”
He released his powerful grip on her.
He was shaven, and the image was erotic. With more enthusiasm than she’d ever had for giving head, she licked and teased the head of his penis, lapping at the drops of pre-ejaculate. More than mastering her, he’d humbled her.
She cleaned all of her pussy juices from him, and then started to suck him deeper into her mouth, asking for the gift of his orgasm.
“Alana,” he said. “You’re the submissive.”
“Right. I mean, yes, Master.” But she cupped and squeezed his testicles. Then she placed a fingertip in that sensitive area between his scrotum and anus.
“Slave.”
Her mouth was too full of Master’s cock to answer.
He arched his back slightly, giving her greater access. After long minutes, he gripped her hair again, and it was the first time he had come close to losing any sort of control.
She smiled, proud of herself.
The cold tile beneath her knees didn’t matter, nor did the throbbing pain from her two meetings with a leather belt and Mater’s hand. She forgot about jet lag and being tired and being pushed to the emotional edge, so far out of her element. The only thing that mattered was this moment and pleasuring Ethan.
When he came, she sucked every drop from him and then swallowed it.
She looked up at him and saw him grinning at her. “That’s definitely an area you don’t need a lot of instruction.”
Her heart thudded and skipped. She hung on every bit of approval from this man as she never had from another.
She was learning what it was like to be a sub. And she wanted more.
He did push her, as he promised, as he threatened. But there’d been nothing she couldn’t take. He combined the right amount of force with tempered reserve to push past her barriers. And she hadn’t been sorry yet.
She was learning to trust him.
“I believe you were in the middle of something when I interrupted?”
“Not really. Thomas was just making me practice standing from a kneeling position.”
Ethan captured her chin. His eyes that had been so warm were now chilled. “And you think there’s anything more important?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want you to be perfectly trained in every way. We’re already a couple of days into the amount of time you committed. Can you imagine there’s anything more important than you doing those things I require of you?”
Shamed, she dropped her head, and apologised. “I had done fifty of the two hundred Thomas instructed me to do.”
“Good. Now you can begin again.”
When would she learn?
Dismissed, she returned to the bench. She lowered the knee pad and practiced kneeling and standing, no easy task with how exhausted her mind and body were, and how conscious she was of the dried cum on her back.
She heard no sounds behind her, so she didn’t know if Ethan was watching while she went through her paces. Probably not, she decided. He knew she hated isolation, so he had probably added that to her lesson.
“No feeling sorry for yourself.”
So he was still there!
Strangely giddy, she went back to her exercises, concentrating on each motion.
She wanted to practice, wanted to get better, wanted him to be pleased with her.
Her senses were overwhelmed.
If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she wanted to be pushed. That was why she’d sought him out. All the other Doms she’d played with let her off the hook. She used a namby-pamby safe word, flowers, and got out of anything that pushed her outside her comfort zone.
Anal sex?
Flowers.
Enema?
Flowers.
Homoerotic sex?
Flowers.
Gag?
Flowers, flowers, flowers!
And the truth was, most of them, she wanted to try.
Spanking?
Oh, yes. Yes, master, yes.
But Ethan would have nothing of that.
He saw through her tactics, saw what even she had cowardly refused to identify. If she used her safe word with him, she’d be on an aeroplane.
Instead of scaring her, the thought liberated her.
She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide.
And in the time remaining, she could choose to experience all those things she’d dare fantasise about.
“Good. Now one hundred more, where you rise from being bent over the bench.”
She’d reached five hundred?
She’d been so carried away, so lost in her thoughts of him, of the understanding that she could be honest with herself, that she hadn’t noticed any pain in her muscles.
Alana stood in front of the bench. She gracefully bent over, adjusting her feet inward, grasping the sides. She allowed her hair to reach the floor before bringing herself erect again.
“Spread your legs a little farther apart next time.”
“Yes, Master.”
She did.
And she thought about being draped over it while he fucked her. Her skin was still damp where he’d ejaculated on her back, and the reminder made the memory even more stark and real.
She wanted this, all of it, every succulent, delicious, frightening, pulse-pounding moment of it.
“You have an hour to freshen up,” he told her. “Then join me back down here.”
She finished her final exercise, and then turned. He was almost out of the room. It was unseemly, but she called out to him. “Master!”
He stopped and turned back, dark brows raised over dark grey eyes. Damn, he was hot. How was she supposed to go and find someone else after him?
“Thank you. Thank you for the instruction. Thank you for fucking me.”
“There’s hope for you.”
“A lot?”
“Some.” But he smiled. His weight on the cane again, he left the room.
* * * *
“Before you leave, Alana, all your training will culminate into a single scene where each one of your limits will be tested in a brief amount of time. We’ll see how much you’ve learned, and we’ll see how good you are at mastering yourself.”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Ethan was seated in one of the wing chairs, his fingers pressed together, steepled.
Before him, on her knees, hands behind her neck, head tipped slightly back, legs parted, naked and submissive, she was very much aware of his power. It didn’t come from his physical prowess, it was deeper than that. He wore an air of command. It didn’t matter where he was or what he did, this man would always lead.
The floor beneath her was cold and hard, but she chose to focus on Ethan, his words, his expectations. It made everything more tolerable. Damn if he wasn’t right about that, too.
“By mastering yourself,” he said, “I mean that you put my needs, wants, and desires above your own. If we’re successful in our two weeks together, you’ll know that I am watching your every reaction. I will know when you’re at your limit, I will know when you’re past them, and I will know just how far past them I can go. If you master yourself, you will know, at a deep level, even if you’re feeling scared or uncertain, that I’m always thinking of you, that your safety and well-being is the most important thing to me.”
&n
bsp; “You mean you’ve got my back.”
He laughed. “I suppose you could say that.”
“And that means it’s safe for me to let go of my own inhibitions,” she said quietly, recognising the truth of her own words.
“If we’re going to be successful, inhibitions are an option you can’t afford.”
She nodded.
“Everything you fear, everything you like, it will all be brought to a head in a single afternoon.”
Everything?
All the things from her this scares me list? All of the confessions of, I don’t want to admit it, but… Every yes?
He tapped his index fingers together rhythmically, just in front of his mouth. “When I train subs, I generally like a month with them. The training can progress at a slower pace, and there’s more time for attention to the finer details, like serving others. Of course, you’ll have the opportunity with Thomas and Celia, but it’s not the same as being thrown into a situation where you know no one and don’t know what to expect. But we only have a fortnight, and it will have to do.”
She shuddered. She wasn’t sure, though, if it was from fear or anticipation. “You’re preparing me for it.”
“You wanted the complete experience.”
“I did. I do.”
He continued, “The experience will only be as good as you allow it to be. As I was saying, the most important thing you can learn while you’re here is to master yourself. Mastering yourself also means that you’re able to serve as your own coach, you’ll tell yourself to breathe when you’re in an uncomfortable situation. You’ll develop your own techniques to conquer fear and panic, maybe practise a mantra of sorts that you can focus on when you’re starting to freak out.”
“Freak out? Is that a technical BDSM term?”
“Cheeky wench. Tell me about gags?”
She blanched. She wasn’t sure why she kept trying to be a smart ass with him, she always ended up on the losing end. “I listed that gags are one of those things that actually do freak me out, didn’t I?”
“Pushes your limits, I believe was the way you put it.”
“I haven’t actually ever been gagged,” she admitted.
“Not because they weren’t tempted, I’m sure.”
She stuck her tongue out.
“But because none of your other Doms would push you.”
“Well… Yes. And because my mouth isn’t available for other things then.” She smiled. But she doubted she’d convinced him.
“Do you realise, Alana, that when I’m fucking you, and when you want to be fucked, your language is more coarse?”
She frowned. “Really?”
“And when you’re having a discussion with me, you’re more coy? And coyness is not acceptable in my subs. Repeat your sentence more directly.”
She flushed. Good girls didn’t use bad language. Her mother had taught her that. Her father had reinforced it when she’d said “hell” when she’d been twelve. He dragged her by the arm into the bathroom and used the bath soap to wash her mouth out. She’d gotten over it in bed, but, evidently, not out of it.
She tried again because he demanded it and because she wanted to say it. “If there’s a gag in my mouth, master can’t receive a blow job.”
“Skull fuck,” he corrected.
Her stomach was a mass of knotted tension as she repeated his words. “If there’s a gag in my mouth, master can’t skull fuck me.”
“He can if the gag’s a dental dam.”
The blood drained from her face. She felt it.
He wouldn’t.
That was on her absolutely not list.
“Am I right?”
If he was watching her closely, if he’d read her list, he knew the impact of his statement. “Yes, Master. You’re right. If I was wearing a dental dam, I could be skull fucked.”
“Stand and go to the sideboard. Open the drawer.”
She was hesitant, but she didn’t let Master see that. Hoping that he would think she was just practicing her grace skills, she took an extra few seconds crossing the room. Last time she’d opened the drawer, evil little metal clamps had glinted at her. She wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience.
Slowly, she drew the drawer open.
She gasped.
So much for mastering her reactions.
Two ball gags were in the drawer, laid out next to one another. One was significantly larger than the other. But, diabolical man that he was, he’d placed a dental dam there, too.
“Fetch the smallest gag.”
Thank God.
She grabbed it and slammed the drawer shut. His laugh proved he knew what she was about.
“Kneel in front of me.”
She did and offered him the gag.
“What’s your hesitation with the gag?”
No prevarication. The words echoed in her ears, as if he’d uttered them aloud. Once again, he demanded access to her innermost thoughts.
“It’s more than just being unable to talk,” she admitted, “although that frightens me. I can’t tell you to stop.”
“You have a signal.”
“I know, but…”
“And a gag muffles sound, it won’t eliminate it entirely. It’ll keep your screams down.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said dryly.
He smiled. “Some subs find them liberating.”
“How so?”
“You can let go. You can scream.”
“But they look stupid,” she continued. “I saw a woman at the club wearing one. She looked ridiculous, this big red ball stuck in her mouth.”
“So you’ll look foolish. What else?”
She swallowed. “They make you drool.”
“They do.”
“Sometimes I wish you’d argue with me.” She drummed her fingers against her thighs. “You told me the clamps would hurt. You told me I’ll drool in that thing.”
“Both true.”
“But… It’s unseemly.”
“Says who?”
“Drool is not attractive.” If she wouldn’t have been in trouble for it, she would have folded her arms across her chest.
“Being gagged is a symbol of your submission, drool or no drool.”
She glared at it.
“Open your mouth.”
“I…”
“Open your mouth, sub.”
Chapter Ten
Panic flashed through her.
“Show me your safe signal.”
Her gaze fixated on the red ball nestled in his palm. Against the size of his hand, it didn’t look so bad. And it wasn’t nearly as horrendous as the other instruments of torture she’d just seen in the drawer.
She raised her index finger.
“Lie across my lap.”
“What?” And what about the gag?
He said nothing, instead, he just arched a brow in that terrifying way.
Slowly, she stood.
“Between my legs.”
This was new.
“Turn sideways.”
He guided her into position. Rather than lying across his entire lap, she was to rest her weight on his uninjured leg. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the slight scratch of his wool trousers beneath her stomach.
Her fingers skimmed the floor for balance and her hair fell forward across her face.
“I notice you didn’t have to be told twice to do something you want to do.”
Her heart was thudding.
“Now if we can get you to behave that way when you’re told to do something you don’t want to do.”
He moved his other leg closer.
She was, in effect, trapped.
She’d thought he was protecting his leg. He was imprisoning her.
Uncomfortably, she shifted.
He stroked her buttocks tenderly.
Instead of calming her, the motion unsettled her. She knew he liked to warm her up for a spanking so she didn’t bruise. Anticipation unfurled. Alana’s breaths came in short bu
rsts, like a butterfly’s wings beating. She wanted this. Hungered for it.
Her pussy moistened, and when he wordlessly urged her legs apart with one of his hands, she surrendered completely, totally. She arched her back. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please?”
“Finger me.”
When he didn’t respond, she tried again, “Finger my cunt, Master.”
He did, sliding one finger into her moist heat, then pulling it out again.
She moaned.
When he re-entered her, it was with two fingers. She shifted a bit to accommodate him more, urging him deeper.
He finger fucked her until her breaths were more like desperate gasps.
In and out.
Again.
And again.
Faster and faster.
Then he stopped completely.
The first painful slap to the back of her legs was so hard, so unexpected that it stole her breath. She tossed her head back and forth.
“Now open your mouth.”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate.
She was upside down across his lap, and she felt him move her hair aside and then try to force the gag into her mouth. She started to protest… “Mas—” The rest of the word was cut off as he shoved the gag in her mouth. She shook her head, trying to spit the awful thing out, hating the texture, hating the way it tasted, hating the horrible scent of the rubber. “No.” Her protest was muffled behind the rubber ball.
He slapped her right thigh, hard.
She thrashed about, desperate to escape.
He slapped her again. “Control yourself.” Ethan firmly held the ball deep in her mouth. He impaled three fingers of his other hand in her vagina.
He’d switched from lover to Dominator with dizzying speed, leaving her confused. Confused and intimidated.
“Breathe,” he told her. “Unless you’d rather I stuff the bigger gag in your mouth?”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of him sliding his fingers in and out of her pussy.
The sensation of arousal overrode everything, even the momentary fear.
Between his fingers, the pressure of his leg trapping her, the force of the ball in her mouth, she was completely subdued.
Signed, Sealed & Delivered Page 9