On His Terms (9 page)

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes.”

“I’d like you to release your conceptions. Crying means something different to you than it does to me.” He moved one of his hands from her shoulder to her hair. He smoothed strands back from her forehead. “I frankly like it when my trainees cry. To me it signifies she’s giving over some sort of control. It can mean she’s hurt, chastised, or that she’s enjoying the experience. I’ve found it can mean there’s some sort of emotional change going on inside her. It’s real and it’s honest, and I appreciate it when it happens. Tears can be cathartic. You can embrace them or pretend to be brave.” He flattened one palm against the back of her head. “But pretending to be brave will get in your way of embracing everything you’re hoping to find.”

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, Sir,” she admitted.

“Understandable. I recommend we end the evening early.”

“I thought we’d be together longer.”

“That was my original plan. But I want you to take some time to think about what you want and what you’re hoping to achieve through training. I want you to think about whether you’re doing this for you or whether you’re doing it simply to hook a man you think you like.”

“I—”

“Hear me out.” He held her tighter. “Doing this for anyone other than yourself will result in failure. That’s not a judgement, that’s a fact. Submission can be emotionally fraught. Make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying it, is there, Sir? I didn’t know I liked scallops until I had one at a party.”

“We’re not exactly talking apples to apples,” he said with a grin.

“You’re disappointed in me, Sir.” She swallowed again.

He shook his head. “You will never disappoint me. There’s a reason you chose your defiant behaviour. You should consider why that is. I expect you to need to work through things. Almost all subs do.” Liz had been the exception. When she found something he hated, she did it over and over. “Before I release you from the collar and send you home, I’d like you to do the kneeling and standing exercise that I had instructed before your spanking. Of course, you’re free to safe word and leave immediately.” He could not and would not allow her tantrum to thwart his will.

“I’ll finish,” she whispered.

He released her.

She walked across the room, and he liked the sight of the fading red stripes left by his tawse.

He picked up his cane and went to stand near her. Because of the collar, she couldn’t look away. No matter how badly she hated the thing, he decided he would continue to use it if she came back. And that was the big question. Would she return?

As she went through her motions, he gently used the cane to reposition her. “Remain standing,” he said when she was finally finished. She was perspiring, and her breaths were a little laboured. “I’d like you to remain here,” he said, “for less than sixty seconds. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Some subs had a mental mindfuck if they were left alone, and he knew of some Doms who would use that as a punishment to exploit emotions. He wasn’t a big fan of it, but he saw its purpose.

He went upstairs to the master bedroom to grab a tube of arnica. When he returned, he bent down behind her. “You only have a couple of minor welts on the backs of your thighs.” He dabbed some cream onto each mark then used his fingertip to cover the reddened areas. “Take this home with you, and put on a bit more before bed. I doubt you’ll bruise, however. You take the strap well.” That would be good news for her, if she chose to continue her training.

“Thank you for doing that, and for the instruction, Sir.”

“My pleasure,” he told her as he stood. He’d forgotten how much he really enjoyed interacting with a sub.

He placed the tube of arnica next to her purse then returned to unclip her wrists. “You’ll want to stretch, very gently, and maybe rotate your shoulders.”

She did so, then he unbuckled the collar.

“Thank you, Sir.” She placed her hands at her sides. “This feels a bit awkward.”

“This?” he asked.

“Ending the evening prematurely. Me being naked. The way I am questioning everything I thought I wanted.”

“I’ll get you a bottle of water from the kitchen,” he said, leaving her alone to dress…or not. He’d let her set their direction.

When he returned to the living room, she was perched on the arm of the couch, fully dressed, back in control.

He handed her the drink, and she uncapped it with a shaky hand.

She took a sip and looked up at him. “If we continue, will I have to wear that…thing again?”

“What is your objection to the posture collar?” He took a seat in his wing-backed chair.

“I don’t like having my hands and motions restricted like that.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated.

“I find it to be an excellent training tool. If you thought about it objectively, you’d agree. So why do you hate having your motions restricted? Consider your answer. The first night, at the Den, you told me that you like to be tied up. Then when I attached you to the wall, you didn’t do well with it.”

She took another drink. “I think it’s not necessarily about restricting my movements.”

“Please. Go on.”

“I guess I like to meet people as equals. When I can’t move around freely, I don’t feel equal. I’m also accustomed to communicating by nodding. I like to be able to lower my head. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” He was glad she’d chosen to leave. She had a lot to think through. “If you elect to continue training, I will use the collar often for the reasons you outlined. It will reinforce your subservience along with my desire for you not to hide. I expect answers to my questions. Nodding allows you a way to avoid being verbal.”

“What if I put it on my limits list?”

“You are free to do so. Is it uncomfortable? Too big? Too small?”

“No,” she admitted, tilting her head and looking up at him through her lashes, a coyness the collar wouldn’t permit.

“Think about it,” he encouraged. “Will you have similar objections if I tie you to my bed? To a St Andrew’s cross? Why did you enjoy the experience before playing with me?”

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Not right now. If you come back, I will certainly want to discuss it.” He stood. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She re-capped the bottle, then placed it on the side table. She picked up her purse and unclipped her keys from a small hook inside the biggest compartment.

“You’re organised,” he said.

“I don’t like to misplace things.” She placed the tube of ointment in an outside pocket.

It was then that he comprehended. “You like to be in control.” Everything she did was precise, from the way she folded her clothes, to the way she’d placed her utensils at dinner, to the deliberate way she attached her keys and put everything in its place.

“Are you calling me a control freak?”

“Are you one?” he countered, not responding to her defensiveness.

“Some people might say that.”

“Tell me again about your first experiences with BDSM, when you were tied up.”

“I liked it.” She paused. “It wasn’t strict,” she admitted. “I could get out of it.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head then, apparently catching herself, said, “No. Knowing I could get out of it made it possible for me to tolerate it.” She opened her eyes wide.

“The thing is, Chelsea, no matter how strict the bondage, you can always get out of it with your safe word. The difference is how you think about it.”

“But I could get out of it just by moving my hands.”

“Your way of thinking has more to do with it than anything else,” he countered.

“But I was also being whipped.”

“I spanked you,” he pointed out. “The only difference,” he said again, “is your thought process. I question your commitment. I encourage you to just enjoy an occasional scene, something to spice up your sex life. Give up the submission idea. You’re not suited for it.”

She set her chin at a mutinous angle.

“You just proved my point,” he said. And in a way, that was a pity. He’d enjoyed his time with her, and he was sorry to see it end.

Chapter Five

Well, shit.
She exhaled, gripping the car’s steering wheel so tight that her knuckles whitened.

Chelsea had spent days trying to get Master Alexander’s attention. When he hadn’t called her after their night together at the Den, she’d telephoned Sara and asked Sara to put her in touch with some Doms, figuring that Master Alexander would hear about it. Chelsea had gambled that he would search her out.

She was accustomed to getting what she wanted. Her sights were set on landing him as a trainer. She
had
to have a trainer. Last weekend, she’d seen Master Evan C at another party. She’d approached him, and he’d asked if she knew more than she had the last time he saw her. When she’d shaken her head, he’d called her a poser. And he hadn’t responded to a single solicitation she’d sent outlining how You’re The Star could help him get ahead.

That was when she’d taken more drastic measures to ensure Master Alexander trained her.

When his name had shown up on her caller identification, she’d smiled.

Mission accomplished.

As usual.

But the evening they’d just spent together hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped.

It was as if he saw her deepest fears and exploited them, leaving her a confused wreck. Through her discussions with him and Gregorio at the Den, she knew there was more to this submissive thing than an occasional mind-blowing experience. She thought she’d understood the need to focus on her Dom’s pleasures.

When she played with Master Alexander, though, everything became a jumble of emotional angst.

At home, she paced the confines of the apartment until she was afraid she’d wear a path in the hardwood floors. Sleep would be impossible until she’d sorted through the evening’s events.

With a sigh, she changed into her swimsuit. Her apartment complex had some niceties, including indoor and outdoor pool facilities. She found water to be relaxing as well as restorative, and she did a lot of her best thinking in the bath as well as the building’s hot tub. But as she was leaving her unit, she caught sight of the welts in the mirror.

She froze for a moment, remembering the way he’d effortlessly picked her up and deposited her across his lap for a brutal spanking.

It had been nothing like her previous, albeit limited, experiences.

The tawse had stung. It hadn’t been fun or arousing. It had been punishment, pure and simple, a painful, awful expression of his displeasure. She’d hated it. She had felt as if she would drown in her humiliation, and she’d been pissed off that he was treating her that way, like she was an errant pupil. Gregorio had told her that subs were corrected all the time. In theory, that was fine. But enduring it was another thing entirely.

She grabbed a long terrycloth robe from the closet and fiercely knotted the belt at her waist. With any luck, no one else would be using the hot tub.

Other than a couple of teenage boys who were horsing around in the deep end of the pool, she had the area to herself.

She turned on the jets to drown out their noise, then removed the robe and sank in deep, letting the water bubble around her chest. Eventually, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

Yeah, she was pissed off. And if she were honest, she’d admit she was as angry with herself as she was with Master Alexander.

He’d given her everything she said she wanted. And damn him, he made her question the course she’d set for herself. She hated that he was right, that she had some serious thinking to do.

Why couldn’t things be simpler?

She replayed their evening. Once she’d got past the discomfort of having him place her dinner order, she had enjoyed the experience of being cared for. Her entire life, she and her mother had fought and struggled for their place in the world. She’d never relaxed and drank her wine while someone else handled the details. And he’d done a good job, soliciting opinions and ensuring her needs were met.

It had been better than she’d expected, and she’d had to remind herself she was being trained, rather than on a date.

At his house, the message had been clear. She wasn’t his submissive. She was simply someone who had hired him to do a job.

He’d treated her as if she were chattel, rather than a respected equal.

She opened her eyes.

When she’d set her course, she’d had the idea that it would be a lot of fun. They would have two weeks together that would include some sex, a whole lot of arousal, a few orgasms, being tied up, and some beatings. They’d try some wild and wonderful things that she’d only read about and, hopefully, some she’d never even heard of.

She hadn’t anticipated that it would include things she found humiliating. What was worst about that was that she hadn’t known ahead of time that she’d find anything upsetting. That first night, they’d talked about limits. She’d been honest that she didn’t think she had any. But that was before physical acts caused unexpected responses.

If she were honest with herself, she would also admit she hadn’t expected it to be so much work. Holding up her arms, kneeling, being spanked and restrained taxed her body.

This whole thing was frustrating. She kept intellectualising the process of submission. But it turned out the more she thought she knew, the more she realised she still had to learn. It was as if once she understood something, there was another layer to be explored.

Several more teens came down to the pool area, and so she went back upstairs. As she showered, she remembered him asking if she was a control freak. She shampooed her hair and considered the question. She supposed the description fit.

She took down the handheld showerhead and rinsed off. Being a control freak probably didn’t make a good sub.

She’d read about subs who were naturals and others who embraced it after learning about it. She was definitely in the latter category, if she could get there at all.

Despite her hesitations, even after her problems this evening, she was drawn to certain things. And she’d liked it a whole lot more at the Den when he’d fucked her and brought her to orgasm. There was an intimacy about the way they interacted that she’d found lacking in her previous relationships.