by Dark, Raven
“Before we do the scene, we need to talk. And you need to fill out that form.”
She took the form from her purse, fishing out a pen. After a moment looking over the limitations sheet, Gwen widened her eyes.
“Wow. I’ve seen dozens of these to file them, but I never actually read one.” She looked over the long list of things people might do in any scene.
Flogging. Whipping. Gagging. Her brows climbed at a question further down. “Do I like being hit? Seriously?”
Archer nodded. “Yes, and take it seriously. We may be here for a class exercise, but there are no jokes when it comes to limits. If you indicate on that sheet you’re willing to do something, in the eyes of the club, I have the right to do it to you.”
She twisted her hands, bouncing her knee. “And if I say I don’t like something?”
“If you make it a hard limit, I can’t do it, ever. If you make it a soft limit, I can work with you to make it something I can do.”
When she bounced her knee faster, Archer’s eyes hardened and he set his fingers on it. He barely touched her, but with that look, the single gesture was as affective as if he’d ordered her to stop. Her knee stilled and the strangest heat coiled in her belly.
She stared at him. “If you’re out of practice, you don’t seem like it.”
He smiled, but nodded at the form, silently commanding her to fill it out.
For the next few minutes, he went over some of the activities on the sheet, what they were, how they worked. He told her his limitations, most things that involved anything entering any part of him.
“I still don’t see how anyone can like being hit.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine the idea of attacking someone unprovoked.”
“There is no such thing as abnormal in the BDSM world, Gwen, as long as it’s kept within the rules. Safe, sane and consensual. Getting off on being hit isn’t that strange.”
She looked up from the sheet at him. He watched her too intently. “You… Seriously?”
“Sometimes, yes.” His tone was soft, his eyes dark. “I like when they fight.”
“Oh, you mean like karate? You like fighters.”
His mouth turned up in a wicked smile that made her insides quiver. An odd playful light flashed in his eyes. “Not what I mean, no. I like the adrenaline rush when they fight.”
Gwen scrunched her brows, but he just chuckled and didn’t elaborate. “No more questions from you for now. My turn.”
She finished the limits sheet and handed it to him, but her head spun. The prospect of aggression from him scared her, but why, when he spoke of it in that authoritative, experienced voice, did the idea of his hand slapping her cheek, the sting of his palm across her skin send a frisson of heat through her core? She shook the image off and forced herself to focus on what Archer was saying.
“For the next few hours, the rules of the game are simple. I try to make you mad enough to become aggressive, and you stand up for yourself. The game ends when you are able to respond without thinking about it.”
“Make me mad how?” Her voice shook.
“Gwen, we’ll work through this together, okay? Trust me, I won’t let any harm come to you.”
She nodded. Amazing how easily he reassured her. “What will you do, Master?”
He sat forward on the couch. “Well, for starters.” He took up her sheet. “Why did you put a question mark beside name calling?”
She shrugged. “Because I’ve never really thought about this.”
“Does it turn you on?”
“I can’t imagine why it would.” She shook her head, baffled. Memories of being called names by bullies in school sliced at her thoughts, and she shoved them down. Why would anyone be turned on by that?
“Well, for the purposes of this exercise, it’s perfect.” He reached out, touching her knee with his fingertips again, and his eyes locked with hers. She was bouncing it again. She stilled and flushed.
“Sorry, Master.”
“Here’s the game. We’ll go slow and start with calling you names.”
She stared. “So… you’re gonna spend the whole night here insulting me?”
“Yes. I’ll drill into you, put you down, rip you to pieces. And you.” He tapped her knee. “You’re going to get aggressive, say no, make me stop any way you have to. I’ll keep doing it until you stand up to me. Then the game ends, and I start over, until it becomes second nature.”
Gwen drew a long breath, pushing both hands through her hair. The idea of him being so combative with her unsettled her. It was just an act, role play, but still. Could she handle it? She made herself look at him. The gentleness, the tenderness in his eyes surprised her. His fingers were still there, barely touching her knee. The single touch grounded her, comforted her somehow. Still…
“Master Archer…”
“Sir.”
“Huh?”
He smiled at her confusion. “In the dojo, I’m your sensei. Here, I’m your Dom. Let’s make this easy and keep it separate. Here, use Sir. Outside of scenes, and when not in training, just call me Archer.”
“Right, Yes, Sir. Look… Sir. Nick wasn’t kidding. There’s a reason I’m not a business person. I’m not good at taking control, or at being aggressive.”
“Gwen, stop.” He put his fingers under her chin lifting it up until she met his gaze. She sighed, but silenced. “I’m telling you, you are capable of more than you think. With hard work, if you’re committed to the training, we will get you there. One day, when you need to be able to stand up for yourself, you will.”
She let out a shaking breath. Self doubts and anxiety whirled like a storm through her, but the assurance, the support and encouragement urged her to obey. It gave her hope.
“Ok,” she nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“Good. Remember, if at any point, the scene becomes too much, you say “red,” and the scene itself ends. We’re done for the day. If you say “stop”, it will signal to me that you’re fighting back, and that’s what we want.”
“Right.” They were really gonna do this. Damn it. When Ace or her father got confrontational with her, she could barely think to speak. Tear her up, Archer had said. How would she manage this without falling apart?
She stood up, trying to release pent up energy. “Should we get started now? Sir?”
His eyes studied her, and she looked away. His hand snaked out, seizing her arm. When her eyes widened, he loosened his grip and stood. He was so close she could feel his hot breath on her face.
“Not just yet. There are a few rules. In this place, most subs are told to lower their eyes. I want you to look at me until I say otherwise.” Once more, he tipped her chin up until her eyes met his.
Oh, those eyes. Like steel.
“Look away without permission, and there will be consequences.”
“Wh…what consequences?” Why did her stomach heat at the threat in his words?
“Your eyes lower without permission…” His gaze went to her hands and he clasped them. Stilling them with his grip, “…or you fidget, and you get one of them.” He pointed down at one of the stages.
Her face paled. “The whip?”
“No, the crop.” When she rolled her eyes upward, he laid his hand over hers again, but gently this time. The warmth soothed her. “It’ll only be light slaps. Enough to sting, but not enough to make you howl. I may hurt you Gwen, within the limits you set out, but never harm. Promise.”
The tenderness in his eyes made her wonder where the abrasive Archer she knew had gone. Was he kidding? What made him think he wasn’t good with the sensitive stuff?
What he said sank in. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Asking her to stop fidgeting was like asking her not to breathe. She’d always done it. Her hands would be red by the time they left tonight. Why did that thought make her pussy ache?
Gwen drew a last shaky breath and nodded. He shouldered his bag and led her down the stairs to the main floor. Weaved through the crowds watching the scenes, and l
ed her up three steps to a stage. Gwen caught the tail end of Nick explaining to those around the stage about the scene, telling them that if they chose to stay and watch, to enjoy themselves. Nick came across the stage and clapped Archer on the shoulder, and squeezed Gwen’s hand before going down the stairs. Archer crossed the stage, set the bag down, then opened it and pulled out a crop. He turned to face her, holding it between his hands at each end.
Gwen loosened her limbs and tried to shake out the nervousness. Her gaze darted around the perimeter of the stage, to the silent crowd taking it all in. She swallowed. Her hands twisted, and already, a smile pulled at his lips as he looked at them. She glanced at the crop, threw her hands behind her, and made herself look into his eyes.
“You ready?” A mischievous light flashed in his gaze.
God, everyone was watching. She could feel their eyes on her. “No, but you can start.”
He chuckled. Backed up, taking position in the middle of the stage. Then, with the swiftness of a light switch turned off, his face went deadpan, cold, relentless, and without emotion.
“Good, now come here so I can show you what happens to a coward in my class.”
7
Too Much
For a few seconds after he said them, Archer’s words sent heat rushing through her veins. Standing in the middle of a BDSM club, the atmosphere already charged with sexual energy and a crop in his huge fists, the threat in his words sent sexy images through her mind.
Until the accuracy of them set in. He hadn’t said she was a bad student. He’d said she was a coward. That single word tapped into her worst fear. It zeroed in on everything that, in the eyes of her family, made her weak. Her awkwardness, her shyness and her quiet disposition.
Her cowardice.
The insult was too real. The desire his words awakened a moment ago slid away. Archer stalked toward her. His eyes narrowed, mouth turning down in that scowl he’d worn the first time she’d seen him. His long treads ate up the space between them with a predatory smoothness, until he stopped right in front of her.
“Did you hear what I said, coward?”
“Master Arch… I… I mean, Sir…” she inched aside, his closeness suddenly claustrophobic. Why wouldn’t the words come?
The crop in Archer’s grip shot up. Slapping her on the side of the arm with a thwack. The light sting zinged across her skin, leaving a confusing mix of sudden heat and humiliation.
“No. Stay there. You aren’t getting away from me, little one.”
Gwen froze. Little one. Crap. She’d gotten in over her head here.
“Master Archer, please don’t say that. I’m not…”
“Why? It’s what you are.” His voice stayed low, predatory as he circled her slowly, a wolf ready to tear her to shreds.
Something close to panic tightened every muscle in her body. “Master Archer, please don’t…”
“Sir, coward. Don’t make me tell you again.” He stopped behind her. And the leather tip of the crop slowly ran over her hand, a caress that somehow heated her skin, even while it heightened the nervousness riding her.
Archer prowled around her again, this time stopping behind her. For a moment, he said nothing. What was he doing? The sounds of the club filtered in over her thundering heart. A woman crying out in violent climax, the smack of leather on flesh, a man’s harsh laugh ringing out. Archer didn’t reappear.
“Sir, what are you doing?” The inability to see him sent her anxiety through the roof. She moved to turn around, to face him.
The crop came down on her shoulder, sending a hot sting across the skin through her shirt, the impact snapping in her ear and making her jump. When she moved her head, his huge hand clamped on the top of it, locking it in place.
“What did I say, coward?”
“Sir, I was…”
“What. Did. I. Say?” He put his face around the side, in hers, his cruel expression too dark, too close. She flinched, pulling her face away and he grabbed her chin between his fingers, holding it still. “Don’t move. If I have to tell you again, you’re going to get it.”
Get it? A new kind of tightness coiled in her muscles. Would he punish her in some way more severe than the crop? Why the hell did the thought of him doing so send a low heat spreading though her belly? The sting of the crop on her hand and shoulder took a whole new meaning.
“Sorry, Sir, I was just…”
“Are you afraid of me, Gwen?”
She looked away.
Archer put his face in hers, jerking her chin around. He brought the crop up so the tip slapped across her cheek. Not hard, but it startled her. He’d promised if she looked away…
“Answer me. I said are you afraid of me?”
“No, Sir.” She hated the sullenness of her voice, and the emotions that roiled in her. She got the oddest feeling the way he’d swatted her could have been incredibly arousing, but his tone, the darkness of his words killed any desire easily.
“I think you are.” He released her roughly and stepped back.
Everything in Gwen tensed. Her legs screamed at her to bolt off the stage. She caught her hands trembling and twisted them.
“Hands.” Archer slapped the crop across the back of one hand, a light flick that nonetheless brought the same sharp sting as before. She yelped and stared at the redness on her skin, then at him. The urge to snap at him reared, but something kept the words frozen in her throat. She pressed her lips together and put her hands to the sides.
“Look at you.” His mouth turned up in a sneer. “Look at you, standing there, shaking like a leaf, trying not to run.”
Oh god, his voice oozed loathing. His tone reminded her too much of the way her father, the way Ace got when she failed to measure up. Her fists tightened.
“Sir, please, call me something else. Not that…”
“You want to run, don’t you?” He stalked closer, ignoring her words. “Five minutes in, and you’re ready to fold. You’re nothing but a snivelling, yellow-bellied wimp.”
Gwen froze. Memories flooded her and she closed her eyes. Ground her teeth. Everything in her screamed to snap at him, to end this, but she couldn’t form the words.
She caught herself looking away too late.
The crop slapped her cheek, sending a sting spreading across the skin, sharp and hot. He seized her chin, lifting it until she met his eyes. “Look away again and the next one’s gonna really hurt.”
“Sorry.” Again, sullen. Her hands twisted.
Another slap, this one white hot across the back of her hands. She yelped and he put his face in hers again. “Make me tell you again, and I’ll tie those fucking hands behind your back. Do you understand me?”
Something boiling in her flashed to the surface. “Yes! Yes, ok? Get the hell off.”
A wolfish smile crawled over his mouth, sending dread though her. “Ohh. There it is. Little Gwen’s got her bitch bone on.”
Was he making fun of her?
“So, you think you’re all tough now, standing up to me?”
The momentary bravery froze over, just like that. Damn it.
“Answer me. Do you think you’re tough?”
She huffed and looked away. Then her face paled and she snapped her gaze back to him too late. “No. I don’t. I…”
The crop headed for her face and she moved aside, flinching, Archer dropped the crop to the floor and snatched her arm. She stilled and he grabbed her chin again. “You look away, you deal with the consequences.” When she tried to pull from him, his fingers dug into her jaw. “If you’re gonna pull away, I’ll tie you to something and really show you what this thing can do.”
A myriad of emotions pricked at her like sharp glass and she shook her head. “Wait, Archer. Stop.”
“What did you say?” He tipped her chin up further, putting his face to close to hers his nose almost touched. “It stops when I say. Come here.” He shoved her toward the floor, hard enough to make her stumble. “Look at you. You can’t even walk properly.�
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“Archer…”
“Come on. Show me how tough you are.” Another shove. “You know what you are?”
Yet another shove.
“You’re nothing.” Her jaw dropped and he grinned wolfishly. “That’s right, Gwen. Jelly-bellied…”
“Stop it.”
“…snivelling, whiny…”
“Archer, stop.”
“… good for nothing little…”
This time she exploded in a bolt of rage. Gwen shoved him hard in the chest. “Archer, stop it!”
Archer staggered backward, bracing himself with one leg behind him. Surprise registered in his eyes, and for a moment, she thought he was going to come at her again. Then his harsh expression softened and he took her shoulders gently. “There.” Soft. “That’s what I want to see, little one.” He took her face in his hands. “Attitude.”
The praise sent a bolt of relief through her. It was over. But the words he’d said still washed over her. And a wave of humiliation threatened to drown her. It flooded in all at once, suddenly too much. Everything he said hit home, brought to mind too many arguments where she’d left her family’s house torn apart and in tatters.
“Gwen, are you okay?” Archer framed her face with his warm palms. The gentleness in his eyes made the pain in her heart all the more poignant. He hadn’t meant what he said, but her family did. She’d stood up to him, but she’d never be able to stop it when it came to them.
She covered her mouth, a shaky sound escaping. She tried to keep it down, but the sob bubbled up anyway.
“Arch… Sir… I’m sorry. I just, I…” She shook her head, wishing she could explain. But she didn’t have to.
Archer’s huge hands grasped her shoulders and he drew her to him, firm against his chest. “C’mere.” He enveloped her, pressing his warmth to her. Gwen stiffened at first, but relaxed as he tightened his hold on her.
Eyes stinging, she slid her arms around him. Then, as his palms made soothing notions over her back, his head resting on hers, the need for his closeness became too strong to ignore. She squeezed him, burying her face in his chest.