On His Terms (8 page)

He wondered if she was stalling.

“Shall we?” He headed up the three steps to the wraparound porch. As he unlocked the heavy wooden door, she wrapped her arms around her middle, despite the mild evening weather. “After you.”

Inside, she gasped. “I hate to be rude, and I know this isn’t protocol, but do you mind if I have a look around? This would be a perfect location for a charity fundraiser,” she said.

“Do you ever stop?”

“Are you kidding me?” she countered. “This house was designed for entertaining.”

When the remodel had been completed, he’d envisioned hosting parties for business associates, here, along with an occasional lifestyle function. That she saw what he did intrigued him. “You can place your purse there,” he said.

“Would you like me to take off my shoes?”

“It’s not necessary. Yet.” But he appreciated her asking. He showed her the study, then the living room with its gas fireplace and stone hearth. He drew the curtains before heading towards the dining room, then the kitchen.

The largest chunk of his funds had been spent on this part of the house, ripping down walls, opening the space, adding a glassed-in breakfast nook. Since he didn’t eat at home much, he took Marcus’ word that the appliances were a chef’s dream.

“I love the combination of classic and contemporary throughout the whole place,” she said, running her fingers over the granite counters. “It really works. Seriously, Sir, you have to let me plan a party here.”

Alex appreciated her enthusiasm. What he wouldn’t have given for Liz to have fallen in love with the house like Chelsea seemed to. “There’s a media centre downstairs,” he said. “And the bedrooms are upstairs.”

As if she were a guest rather than a sub who’d be screaming within half an hour, he gave her a tour of the upper story, including the master suite.

“You weren’t kidding about the hook in the footboard of your bed,” she said while rubbing her forearms.

“I don’t joke about things like that. Now, go down to the living room. Strip. Leave your clothing and shoes near your purse. If the room is cold, there’s a switch on the wall for the fireplace. I want you kneeling, facing the window.”

She looked up at him. The air seemed to sizzle. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. Even the way she said it sounded submissive. Her tone as well as her volume had changed.

Without another word, she left. He went into the cupboard in the master closet and selected two instructional pieces, along with a tawse designed by Master Marcus Cavendish. Fancifully, Marcus had etched a dollar symbol into the leather, in honour of the first million-dollar deal Alex had brokered.

When he no longer heard sounds coming from downstairs, he joined her. He placed his belongings on a claw-footed end table, then rearranged a few things, waiting a long time before saying anything, testing her resolve. “Very nice,” he said. She was kneeling up the way he’d instructed that night at the Den.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Louder.”

She took a breath. “Thank you, Sir.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Inspect.” He was pleased when she stood, her head up, looking straight ahead to the window. She placed her hands behind her head and thrust out her breasts. Finally she spread her legs. “You remembered.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She continued to look ahead even as he closed the distance. He walked around her a couple of times, and she remained perfectly in position. “And you shaved your cunt,” he observed.

“I did, Sir.”

“Mind if I see how good of a job you did?”

“Please go ahead, Sir.”

He ran his hand over her bare mound, then slipped a finger between her folds. “Smooth,” he said. “No stray hairs.”

“You won’t be needing the tweezers, Sir?”

“Not today.” He dropped his hand. He knew she had expectations about how this procedure would work, so he changed it up. “Turn around and show me your ass.”

She drew her eyebrows together for only a second to indicate her confusion, then she turned and bent to grab her ankles.

“Spread your cheeks.”

She struggled a bit for balance as she complied.

“I want you to put a small plug up there every morning while you shower and get ready for work.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Kneel up.”

Her motions were slow and somewhat exaggerated. “You’re struggling to do things, which tells me you haven’t been practising. And that makes me question your commitment. I prefer to see your motions be flawless and elegant.”

“I apologise, Sir.”

“No need. I’ll ensure you have plenty of time to practise, beginning now. Return to your former position, where you’re showing me your ass, and then kneel up. Then go from kneel up to showing me your ass. We’ll begin with twelve repetitions.” He took a seat in a wingback arm chair and watched.

She’d turned on the fireplace, so a fine sheen of perspiration began to dot her back as she moved through the exercise.

“Stop thinking,” he told her. “I shouldn’t be able to hear you at all.”

She went through another couple, and she seemed more natural.

“That’s much better. Do you feel the difference?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.”

By the end, her form began to suffer again. “When your training has finished, I expect you to be able to move with ease, from standing to kneeling, or from lying to kneeling. Any combination you can think of, such as from lying to showing your ass. Mix it up. Make sure you’re comfortable in your body. That means I require you to practise when we are not together. I recommend several times per day.”

“I understand, Sir.”

He stood. “We discussed your posture several times.”

Her green eyes were wide, and a bit of fear danced in them. “Am I going to be punished, Sir?”

“No. You will be instructed,” he said. “We will reinforce the lesson as many times as necessary. I prefer to punish you for flagrant disregard of the rules. For example, now that you know you are required to practise moving between your positions, not doing so is reason for punishment.” He picked up one of the items from the side table and showed it to her. “This is called a posture collar. It will keep your head and shoulders straight at all times. You will wear this tonight. Going forward, anytime you need correction, you’ll fetch it for me. Stand with your hands behind your back. Feet shoulder-width apart.”

She didn’t blink as she stood in position.

“This is one of my favourites. It’s strict, but not terribly uncomfortable.” He showed her the wide collar. “This is padded, for your chin to rest on.” He expected her to argue, but she remained silent. “Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He wrapped the stiff leather around her throat then moved behind her to secure its two metal buckles. He checked the fit before tightening more. “How is that?”

“Fine.”

“Look down.”

Instinctively she attempted to lower her chin. The collar restricted her movement.

“How is it, now?” he asked.

“Effective, Sir.”

“There’s a mirror over there. Go.”

She reached up to touch the collar’s three D-rings.

“I can attach a leash or secure your wrists, or tie you to any number of things.”

“It’s…it’s a bit frightening, Sir.”

“Please tell me your safe word.” He was watching her reflection in the mirror, and he saw her wrinkle her nose.

“Parsley.”

“Use that word to stop the scene at any time. If you’re just a bit scared, you are welcome to ask to talk or use the word slow.” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. Damn, she had beauty that appealed to him on a primal level. He wanted her. Her eyes hid nothing, and he saw a mixture of desire and trust beneath the apprehension. For a moment, before he harnessed his thoughts, he thought about fucking her hard, and her grabbing hold of him as she surrendered. She was not his, he reminded himself ruthlessly. He’d screwed up once before. With Chelsea, he’d keep his emotional distance. “Return to the centre of the room and practise kneeling up from the inspect position. Do it ten times. You may use the rug.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You recalled your manners,” he said. “Kneeling on the hardwood was uncomfortable, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So you understand that a rug is a luxury.”

“I do.”

“I’m glad you recognise that,” he said. “Always remember to thank your Dom when he or she allows you a comfort.”

“I will. Thank you, again, Sir.”

He released her. As she slowly walked towards the rug, her hips swayed seductively. The wide collar had changed her normal gait. Keeping her in it permanently was a definite consideration.

On her bare feet, she crossed the room. He noticed she’d painted her toenails. If he remembered correctly, and it was possible he didn’t, they’d been a coral colour at the Den. Tonight they were a fire-engine red. He was taken aback by how erotic it looked. His preference was for mile-high heels, but this woman was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Forcing himself to focus, he picked up the rattan cane. She stumbled when she saw his approach. “I am not intending to use this for punishment,” he assured her. “I prefer canes for instruction or for sensual play. I do not rule it out for correction, if necessary, but I would not surprise you with it.”

“I appreciate that, Sir.”

“But you can repeat that one. The idea is for you to be able to do what you need to, despite distractions. Focus.” He stood close to her. He breathed in her scent, one that had haunted him since their night at the Den. Her body smelt slightly of vanilla, something light and fresh that could attract men from a ten-state region. But more intoxicating, it was layered with the heady scent of feminine arousal.

Once she had finished the sequence, he said, “Extend your hands.” He attached fabric cuffs to her wrists then fastened those to the D-rings on her collar. “Another dozen.”

“I won’t be able to balance as well, and my legs are getting a bit cramped.”

“In that case, we’ll make it two dozen,” he amended.

“I…”

He cocked one eyebrow.

She set her jaw and glared. “No.”

He picked her up. She squirmed and squealed as he carried her to the chair. Since her arms were confined, manoeuvring her was more tricky than normal, but he managed to sit and get her body across his lap in a single, fluid move.

“Sir!”

“Generally I warm up a sub’s skin before striking her. But this is meant as instant behaviour correction. I do not tolerate defiance. Think about this the next time you choose to be wilful.” He reached for the tawse and used his legs to trap her lower body. He knew she was in an uncomfortable position, and being unable to brace her upper body had to be disconcerting. But he didn’t allow any of those thoughts to dissuade him. “You’ll receive eight spanks for your insolence, and you’ll be grateful it isn’t more.”

She screamed as he laid the heavy forked leather strap across the backs of her thighs. He gave her no time to absorb the blow or reflect on it before laying it to her again and again.

When he was finished, her ass and the backs of her legs were coloured an angry red. “Any questions?” he asked.

“No.”

“Anything else to add?”

“Thank you, Sir.” Venom dripped from her voice.

He helped her to stand. “Now, naughty sub, you can perform your exercise or you can get dressed and go home. I have no energy for someone who intends to waste my time.” Rather than let her go, he held her around the waist.

Tears swam in her eyes, but he refused to let her emotion soften him. He’d spanked her hard to teach her a lesson.

He released her long enough to stand himself, then he took her by the shoulders.

“I hated that,” she said.

“Because?”

“It felt so impersonal, Sir.”

“It was meant that way, Chelsea.”

“And…”

“Go on.”

“This collar, and the way my wrists are attached…”

“I’m listening.”

“It just…” She looked up at him.

The moisture in her eyes made the green appear more startling. He waited. She frowned, then scowled. She blinked to erase the tears, and he saw her try to reach for her face, only to have the bondage restrict her movements. This woman bore little resemblance to the one who’d approached him so determinedly at the Den. She was softer, more vulnerable, but he also saw her internal confusion about what that meant to her.

“You were right. I wasn’t prepared for it to be this difficult.”

He nodded. “It takes a tremendous strength to subject yourself to someone else’s will.” At times, being a Dom, especially a trainer, wasn’t easy, either. It could be an emotional minefield, and he sure as hell wasn’t perfect and didn’t always make the right choices. His failed relationship with Liz reinforced that. “You have a safe word and a way to slow things down. You never have to do anything you don’t want to. And you can end things at any time,” he reminded her.

She sighed.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful, with your red behind and your tears.”

“I’ve never felt more humiliated, with my tears, and knowing I was punished for failing.”

“You were not punished for failing,” he said, digging his fingers into her reassuringly. He considered having her kneel or sit, but decided to allow her to stand while she sorted through the feelings from the spanking. “You were punished for your attitude.”

“But if I had practised more—”

“Practised at all,” he corrected.

She tried to nod, but the rigid leather around her throat wouldn’t let her. He saw the frustration on her face. This, more than anything he could have possibly done, gave her a taste of what true submission was like. He saw her struggle and silently vowed to hold her until she admitted defeat or triumphed over her internal conflicts.

“If I had practised at all, I would be better at the whole kneeling thing.”

“That part concerns me less than your defiance.”

“I get that.” She swallowed deeply. “At least I think I do. Until now, no one has ever seen me cry.”

He believed that. “I’m honoured that you’re not hiding that.”

“I’m freaking trying to, Sir.”

He smiled, appreciating her honesty. “So not being able to wipe your eyes is as difficult as the tears themselves, and maybe harder than being spanked?”