Word count: 21,640
Special shoutout - Saudi Arabia readers; I've just come from spending several years there, and my guess is that there aren't that many people in that country who would read this type of thing - so I'm actually curious if I know you. My profile info on here may or may not be accurate, so don't judge by that. Talk to me?
A/N: Look what I have for you! This chapter should have what you're looking for. ;)
Guys, this was thirty-nine pages on Word. It's ridiculous. It's also ridiculous how long this took, but it's mostly because life has been very, very stressful recently and has gotten in the way. I know shit's serious when my shabby little movie theater job is what I'm most excited about every day. That being said, I really hope I did this justice, seeing as you've all been anticipating it so excitedly. Also, I may be out of communication for two/three days because of a stupid school camping trip that I'm trying very hard to avoid.
Part of the reason I've been so distracted is because I watched Would You Rather, which for some reason I have developed an unhealthy fascination with. I actually wrote a tiny fic for that if you'd like to check it out; it's still on its first chapter, and it's by no means my best work, but I'm hoping it'll be interesting.
For those of you who haven't seen it yet, Snow's new movie Dial A Prayer is totally worth a watch.
The tiny portion of a song mentioned here is Buttons by the Pussycat Dolls, but the version I have in my head is a slightly slower rendition of the version sung by All-Night Yahtzee in their 2014 ICCA set. One of the girls in it actually looks vaguely like Chloe, which helps.
Guest review on August 23rd - I'm glad that the switches are working for you. I agree; for some reason, in non BDSM fics, I see Aubrey as a total bottom, but when cuffs and whips enter the picture she's a domme all the way.
Anyways, I hope you like this one! Let me know your thoughts!
Teddie
Chloe's hands are wrapped around her mug of hot chocolate – Stacie's specialty, she's come to discover, flavored with vanilla and a pinch of nutmeg – and she's enjoying the warmth seeping through the ceramic into her palms. The heat's been cranked up since they woke and found it at a ridiculously low temperature, but it hasn't quite been on long enough for her to totally warm up, and it's freezing outside. Quite literally, according to the thermometer outside the kitchen window. They've only been up for about an hour and a half, and Stacie has so far expressed no fewer than eight times that anything below eighty degrees is for polar bears and crazy people, though she has had no adequate response every time Beca asks her why she's still living in New York if she hasn't yet grown a layer of white fur.
Privately, Chloe can't help but agree; having spent the majority of her life in the south, she's determined that she will never truly understand why anyone would voluntarily live in a climate where a minimum of four layers of fuzzy blankets is required in order to be able to sleep without fear of frostbite. That, and she will never get over the shock of seeing the prices on heating bills after November.
Either way, she's grateful for the heat of the mug she's holding, and looking across the counter at the way her companion is gripping her own cup like a lifeline, she can tell that Beca feels pretty much the same.
It's been about a week since their initial and spontaneous agreement outside Mark's apartment building, and since then it seems that there has been no end to Beca's efforts to make Chloe comfortable in her new home. She's been taken on at least three complete tours of the house, memorizing every nick and cranny of each room with the exception of the back bedroom, which Stacie ominously refers to as the Dungeon. Beca insists that it's nothing of the sort; if anything, she says, it ought to be referred to as the Safehouse, with all the precautions she's taken to make sure everything is properly tied down and bolted to the wall. (Chloe refuses to give Beca the satisfaction of admitting it, but hearing the brunette use phrases like 'tied down' and 'bolted to wall' in her husky morning voice over their morning cocoa makes her feel a twisty combination of nervous anticipation and irritation that she's still nervously anticipating).
It's Saturday morning, and a little earlier than Chloe would ideally like to be up, but Stacie had woken her at six with a shit-eating grin and far too much energy for before-sunrise activities, informing her that Beca had been up since four making lists and now needed Chloe's help. Chloe knew that already, having woken with Beca as the brunette rolled out of bed, but she doesn't need to tell Stacie that. She has her own room by this point, the spare a little ways down the hall from Beca's, but so far the only thing she's used it for is storing her clothing. The room is perfectly comfortable, but Chloe sees no reason to not-sleep in her own bed without Beca when she can be sleeping in Beca's bed with Beca.
Either way, she's up now, and sitting across the island from the brunette in question, who is indeed currently scribbling out yet another list that she won't permit Chloe to read. She claims that she's going shopping, but the intense concentration she's devoting to the task and Stacie's smirks as she scuttles back and forth searching for her work clothes give Chloe the feeling that she's not talking about groceries.
Her suspicions are proved accurate when Beca temporarily lays down the pen, pushing back her chair from the counter and nudging her glasses up her nose. (Chloe still holds firmly to her statement that they make the brunette look cute; Beca has so far ignored any mention of the conversation ever since Chloe's initial cooing when she first wore them to breakfast).
"Chlo, we have some things to discuss," she starts directly, as though preparing to get down to business. They progressed to nicknames somewhere around day three, making Stacie awww and clasp her hands in front of her like an enthusiastic aunt every time.
"I figured. You got up at four, Becs," she points out. They all know Beca's inability to rise before the sun, particularly on weekends, so she's known since Stacie woke her that something had to be up.
"We need to discuss the particulars of this . . . arrangement," Beca states simply. She doesn't beat around the bush – something that Chloe, who is hardly aware that there's even a bush to begin with, sincerely appreciates.
"You don't need to be so clinical, Becs; it's called a relationship." Beca rolls her eyes, and Chloe can't hold back a giggle at the way it looks behind her thick-framed glasses.
"Fine. Relationship. And stop laughing; you know they're just for reading. Don't make me put in contacts." Chloe's pout, while technically unfair, has the desired effect of making Beca choke a little on her cocoa, and she knows she's won. Beca glares at her over the rim of her cup.
"You're going to regret that, Chloe, when I can actually do something to counter your back talk," she warns, and Chloe swallows hard. She knows it isn't an idle threat; Beca has made several similar ones in the past few days, knowing that Chloe is getting antsy due to how long she's taking to arrange things and unwilling to let it go by without comment.
"As I was saying," Beca continues, smirking a little at the lost look on Chloe's face. "We have some details to discuss. For instance, comfort zones. What you are and are not okay with doing. Safewords. Things like that." Chloe nods, taking a sip of her drink to avoid answering when her throat still feels a little tight. She waits a minute before responding.
"What should my safeword be then?" she asks stoically, trying desperately to pretend like the previous discussion had had no effect on her whatsoever. Beca takes her glasses off and sets them down on the counter, folding her hands in front of her seriously.
"What do you think it should be? It needs to be something that you're comfortable using; that you'll remember and that won't get mixed up with anything else we're saying." Chloe bites the inside of her cheek, trying very hard not to consider what those other things they could be saying could be, and casts her mind around for an idea.
Unsurprisingly, her thoughts lead her to Beca, who is watching her intently, and as she sees stormy navy eyes flash with curiosity, with anticipation, it comes to her.
"Thunder," she blurts out without further consideration, causing Beca to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "I . . . yeah. Thunder." Beca raises her other eyebrow to match, but doesn't ask for an explanation, for which Chloe is grateful. She's gotten ridiculously comfortable with Beca in the short time that she's known her, but she doesn't feel like explaining why she chose the word. Not now. Beca's eyes are gorgeous; they're the first thing about her that captivated Chloe, and above all, they make her feel safe. They're deep and revealing, and Chloe can read in them every emotion that Beca doesn't express, that she can't express, and she can't help but feel that even with their strangely close relationship, she's not quite ready to reveal that she knows something that intimate.
They've grown close, closer than Chloe expected them to in such a short amount of time; she had expected it to plateau fairly quickly, perhaps after coming to know each other on a specific level, but it hasn't. They've only grown closer, and with an even more alarming rapidity as the days go by. It's an exponential growth, Chloe decides, and it works for them. Even though she failed every math class past fifth grade.
Regardless of their closeness, Chloe is eager to be having this conversation. She'd entertained a similar but much briefer, less detail-oriented discussion with Mark on her first day in his home, but it wasn't nearly the same. Beca is devoting a lot of time and energy and focus to making sure that this works for both of them, and she can't help but be appreciative. Mark only ever cared about what he had wanted to do, not about her limits, and even though she's known from the start that choosing Beca as her mistress is going to turn out to be a wonderful decision, she's been handed constant reminders over the past several days of just how wise of a choice it is.
"Thunder it is, then," Beca grants, and Chloe can see the concentration in her features as she files the information away. It warms her inside to see the dedication Beca is giving to this; it makes her feel important, and while she knows that Beca will never make her feel anything less than precious, it's still nice to witness.
"Let's start with the basics of what you're comfortable with doing," Beca continues seriously. Chloe shifts in her chair to get more comfortable, ready to begin. "Is bondage okay?" It's a mark of how comfortable she's gotten with Beca that Chloe doesn't turn red. She's an easy blusher, she's discovered in her time in this household, and it's a little embarrassing how quickly Beca can induce such a reaction.
"Beca, you found me bound and gagged; I'm pretty sure that – "
"I'm well aware of the state you were in at the time, Chloe," Beca interrupts sternly. "I'm asking you if you're comfortable with it." Chloe sucks in a breath, knowing that Beca has hit the nail on the head. She hadn't been comfortable with the position Mark had put her in. Part of her thinks it would make sense for that to translate to her likes and dislikes now, wondering if her previous discomfort would act as a deterrent in a new situation, but hearing Beca acknowledge it, she finds that she doesn't mind.
In fact, the thought of being bound at Beca's mercy definitely isn't an unpleasant one.
"Yes, I'm comfortable with it," she says softly, and Beca gives her an approving once-over.
"Thank you for answering me honestly. Now, what kind of restraints would you prefer? Leather cuffs, or handcuffs? Silk ties? Chains?" Beca isn't messing around with this conversation, and Chloe appreciates the thought that she's putting into it. Beca seems hell-bent on ensuring her complete comfort and enjoyment, and it's a nice feeling to know that her needs are being given so much attention.
"I . . . leather cuffs are fine; handcuffs make me feel funny," she admits. "I know it's not their purpose, but they always make me feel like I've actually done something wrong." Beca nods, scratching something out on the list in front of her. Chloe's dying to see what's written there, but she knows better than to snoop, even when it clearly has something to do with her. If Beca wants her to know, she'll tell her when the time is appropriate.
"No handcuffs, then. Silk ties and chains?"
"Ties work. Chains . . . I guess would be okay, but maybe not at first?" she tries tentatively. She'd thought before actively entering the lifestyle that she would be drawn to that, but Mark had never made her feel comfortable with it. She knows that Beca can, will, but she's not quite ready to have it reintroduced so soon. She wants to be completely comfortable with Beca at first; they can start to test boundaries once they've figured out the nuances of this relationship.
"Noted." Beca scribbles something down and then looks up to meet her gaze again, her navy eyes thoughtful. "While we're at it, how do you feel about wearing a collar?" Chloe feels her throat constrict at the thought. She has to swallow hard several times before answering.
"Collars – collars are good," she manages to choke out. Beca notes that down, and is opening her mouth to speak again when something occurs to Chloe. "Just – not too tight, please? Or too thick. Thick collars make me feel claustrophobic." Beca watches her intently for a moment, twiddling her pencil around her fingers.
"No breathplay, then, I'm assuming? Or gags?" she wonders. Chloe chokes a little bit on her cocoa again, inhaling the hot liquid so quickly that it scalds the roof of her mouth. Beca wordlessly pushes a water glass in her direction, and she gulps it down gratefully.
"No gags, please," she gasps out when she can speak again, eyes watering. "I . . . breathplay wouldn't be . . . maybe?" she says quietly. "I – I don't know." Beca eyes her thoughtfully, lips pursed the slightest bit in concentration.
"Why is that?" she asks after a moment. "Breathplay is much more intensive; gags wouldn't restrict your breathing, but being choked reduces your oxygen flow almost completely. What makes you comfortable with one and not the other?" It's not judgmental; Beca merely sounds curious, and Chloe knows that it's her duty to communicate clearly about things like this. She shrugs uncomfortably, not quite willing to meet Beca's questioning gaze.
"I . . . I'm not sure," she mumbles. "I just . . . I think I would feel . . . safer . . . with a person restricting my breathing. It's harder to get your attention if I'm gagged. Plus, I can keep myself quiet. Breathplay is . . . different. I've never done it before, but I've always been curious about it. Just maybe . . . not right away?" She doesn't really know how to decipher her own feelings right now; she can't deny that the thought of Beca choking her makes her feel fluttery inside, but despite their growing familiarity, she's not sure that she's ready to experience intimacy on that level yet. It can go in the bag with the chains, maybe, to be considered later on.
"Of course not right away," Beca soothes, appearing to understand her distress. She sweeps her thumb lightly across Chloe's knuckles in a calming gesture. "Even if you were totally comfortable with that, I don't think I would be, yet. I would be honored for you to place that kind of trust in me, and I would never abuse that privilege, but we don't have to talk about it now." Chloe lets out a grateful breath that she wasn't aware she was holding.
"Thank you," she murmurs, reaching out to catch Beca's hand briefly as it retreats. Beca grants her a smile.
"Of course, Chloe. That's what we're discussing this for," she says reassuringly, before brushing her hair out of her eyes and returning her attention to the list. "Are you comfortable wearing a blindfold?"
The nervous tension in Chloe's shoulders drops, and she appreciatively turns her thoughts to a more comfortable note.
"Of course."
"Spreader bars?"
"Sure."
"Saint Andrew's cross?"
"Not a problem."
"Shocks?"
"As long as it's not too painful."
"It won't be. Needles?"
"I – I guess. No blood though, please. Or anything permanent."
"Of course not. I would never leave a permanent mark. How about a suspension harness?"
"I have a fear of heights."
"That's a no, then." Beca scrawls something else out and looks up to meet Chloe's eyes. "Can you tell me off the top of your head anything you're not comfortable with?" she inquires. Chloe's eyes drop. She's never really gone into this before – Mark never exactly made a point of asking her what she was and was not comfortable with doing, with the exception of a few things as they came up. She'd never used her safeword with him, weighted with a distinct feeling that he would not be pleased with her inability to handle something. She knows she's pushed herself beyond her limits before, and seeing the focus and attentiveness in Beca's eyes, she doesn't want to repeat that. With Mark, it would have made her feel guilty to cop out of something that made her uncomfortable, but something tells her that with Beca to permit something that she isn't okay with would be a violation of trust.
"I . . . I, um . . ." Beca reaches under her jaw to lift her chin with a single fingertip. Her eyes are warm and concerned, and Chloe squirms a little at the heated glow the sight invokes in her chest.
"Chloe, I want you to be honest with me," is her sincere request. "I don't ever want to do anything that might make you uncomfortable. That's not the point of this. The point is to figure out a way of satisfying your needs and making you feel good, and that won't happen if you don't feel safe. I don't think I need to remind you that the first rule of this kind of relationship is that we both need to communicate with complete honesty." Chloe gazes back at her for a moment, simply allowing herself to get lost in the sincerity of Beca's eyes. She needs to clear her thoughts for a moment, and letting her mind float with the security of Beca's attentiveness supporting her is exactly what she needs.
After a minute, she shakes her head to clear it and lets out a long, shaky breath.
"Okay," she breathes. "I don't really know where to start, but I guess, um . . . no knives is the first obvious one," she starts, settling for something easy. "Blood makes me throw up, so nothing that will make me bleed. I really don't handle extreme heat well, so I guess no candle wax." Beca nods, writing furiously as she gestures Chloe to continue. "Um, ice is okay? I don't like being cold for a long period of time, but I kind of like the adrenaline rush, so that's okay. Just not a lot at once, or I'll start shivering and I won't be able to stop." Beca stops writing and looks up, curiosity evident in her expression.
"How about whips?" she asks. "Floggers, riding crops, that sort of thing?" This time, Chloe can't hold back a blush. She turns a delicate shade of red and squirms a little in her seat.
"Yeah, that's fine," she admits quietly. Beca watches her closely for a moment, intently examining something in her face. Chloe wonders what she's looking for; if she's searching for hesitance or discomfort that she suspects the redhead is concealing.
Beca should know better than that, even after such a short amount of time; Chloe can be tentative, but she can't fathom hiding something that Beca would consider so crucial to their dynamic.
"Chloe," Beca starts, and Chloe can tell from her tone that this is going to be a different kind of question. She's a little relieved, and also a little put out – part of her likes discussing details, especially when they revolve around something like this. "How much pain are you willing to experience?"
It's a viable question, an important one, and Chloe finds herself answering before her mind can really process it. When the recognition of that hits her, she realizes that even though they haven't started any sort of play, and likely won't for a while – at least until Beca deals with her mysterious lists – she's already slipping into her sub mindset. It used to make her nervous, with Mark, because there was always a lingering question in the back of her mind of why she could still submit to someone who clearly didn't have her best interests at heart.
With Beca, she finds that it does nothing except urge her on.
"A lot," she answers simply, and when she registers vaguely that she should probably be more specific for Beca's sake, she hastens to elaborate. "I don't like being left with a lot of marks, but some are all right. I'm not . . . overly into pain. Not to the extent that you'll have to watch me in case I let you go too far, but I enjoy it. But mostly I love to lose control. To be controlled. I love being helpless if I'm being treated well." It's a little more than Beca asked her to expose, but she feels like it's an appropriate thing to say given their situation. She knows that Beca will treat her well, and while it's hard for her to convey that trust in words, she figures that saying it in a simple fashion will suffice.
Beca is watching her with a look in her eyes that's a lot like desire, and when she speaks, her voice is strained with want.
"Then I will take your control, Chloe," is all that she says, but the expression in her eyes speaks of longing beyond anything Chloe has ever witnessed directed at her. It's a look that makes something pull tightly in her belly, and she yearns to touch, to press close and soak in their dual desire like sunshine all through her skin.
Her heartbeat stutters obnoxiously, and she realizes that whatever Beca has planned for her, she'll be lucky if she doesn't explode with anticipation while she waits for it to occur.
"I'd like for you to come shopping with me today," Beca says abruptly. Chloe's eyes snap back to her, and she sees that the list has been folded up and the pen laid aside. They're done, at least for now, and she can't help the excitement that rises in her throat at the thought that she's that much closer to becoming Beca's. The brunette is standing, tucking the paper into the pocket of her jeans with a businesslike attitude that Chloe isn't at all certain how to approach.
"Shopping?" It's the only response she can think of, too distracted by the way Beca's jeans hug her hips to do more than repeat her words back at her like a parrot. Beca shoots her an amused glance.
"Yes, Chloe. Shopping. There are some specific stores I need to visit, and you could use some clothes other than the few we picked up the other day. Plus, I was thinking that we could spend some time together afterwards – maybe have lunch, or take a walk somewhere. Does that sound agreeable?" She's smirking a little, like she knows what Chloe's response will be before the suggestion even registers, and as the thought of spending a little carefree time with Beca settles in her head, Chloe is forced to admit that's she probably does.
After all, why wouldn't she want to? So far the time they've spent together has been, while not stressful, driven and scheduled with a purpose. She's been shown around the house, taught how to cook a couple meals, and been settled in to her new room. She's even spent a couple nights watching movies with Stacie – Beca swears on her life that nothing can convince her to watch one, not even the promise of popcorn and Stacie's famous ginger cookies – but so far, she hasn't had any real down time with Beca, who has been absent for the most part during daylight hours, working. Chloe keeps forgetting that she has an actual job, as does Stacie, and the few times that she's been left alone in the house while they both go to work, it's forced her to think a little about maybe getting a job of her own again. Beca's promised to help her with that, in fact, once she feels ready to leave the house on her own, and they've had a few conversations about it, but despite all that, she's never spent time just with Beca, just for the purpose of spending time together.
When she considers what they're planning on diving into, she realizes that it's something they should probably get used to doing.
Chloe admires the snow-dusted lampposts and artistically arranged twinkling lights as they pull into a parking lot behind a block of high-end SoHo boutiques. Looking around at the signs designating every spot as reserved, she notices that the lot is private, and looks at Beca quizzically as they step from the car. The brunette gestures in a wide, sweeping movement, indicating the lot they're standing in and the two that flank it further down the street.
"These parking lots are reserved for well-known members of the community," she explains, beeping the locks and offering Chloe an arm to lead her down the icy sidewalk. "People like me don't tend to come here often, but when we do, we're known for our . . . generous contributions. We're very busy, so when we make an appearance, people like to make things easy for us." Chloe's features pinch into a puzzled frown.
"People like you? Why are people so eager to treat you well?" she wants to know. Beca chuckles lowly, guiding them around an ice patch.
"I've been a member of this community for seven years, Chloe," she clarifies. "I've had time to build up a decent reputation at the same time that I've gained a steady following as a music producer. Combine those two powers, and people see me as pretty influential."
Chloe stares at her in awe, not bothering to watch her feet. She knows Beca won't let her fall, and right now, she honestly can't do much more than gape at her in fascination.
"So you're hot shit?" It's by no means the most elegant way of phrasing it, and when she realizes what she's said, she feels a little contrite, but truthfully, it's about all she can manage in way of a retort.
Beca laughs, actually full-on laughs, tossing her head back and letting the sound ring out through the chilly air, and Chloe decides that it's the most beautiful thing she's ever heard. It's ridiculously cheesy and cliché, but it is; she can't help it. Beca is beautiful, and to see her so carefree makes Chloe's heart skip several beats.
"Yes, Chloe, I'm hot shit," the domme chuckles, sending an amused smile the redhead's way. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?" She's just teasing, and it's obvious, but her words spark a realization in Chloe, and suddenly, she's back to feeling curious.
"Yes, actually," she says abruptly, stopping in her tracks. Beca, who isn't expecting it, gets a little jolted as she tries to keep walking, and then turns with a frown. "You say you've been part of the community for seven years, but you're younger than I am – by a lot, actually. If you're only twenty-three, that means you started living the lifestyle when you were . . ."
"Sixteen. Yes, I was," Beca finishes for her, and suddenly, Chloe can't read her face as easily. She doesn't sound irritated, exactly, but there's a slight bit of tension behind her words that wasn't there before, and her expression is definitely closed off. Chloe feels a twinge of guilt when she realizes that it's probably due to sadness. Beca doesn't shut down when she's angry or uncomfortable; she speaks up and lets her opinions be known, so a memory must have been drudged up that's upsetting her in some way. Hastily, she tries to amend it; she doesn't want this day to be spent in awkwardness.
Besides, awkwardness is ridiculous considering what they're here for.
"I'm sorry if I've overstepped – " she starts to apologize, but Beca cuts her off with a brief shake of the head.
"Don't. It's all right; I'll tell you at some point. Just not right now – it's neither the time nor place to be having such a conversation," she says firmly, and Chloe registers a sense of relief to see that her usual domme persona has slid back into place. Maybe it's Beca's way of masking her feelings, but Chloe isn't one to comment. She's used to this Beca; she knows how to respond to her, and right now, feeling a little uneasy out in public, that's all she really needs.
"Sorry." She offers the domme her signature bright smile, reaching for her hand again. Beca only hesitates for a brief, almost unnoticeable second before returning the smile and resuming their stroll to the business side of the street.
The first thing Chloe notices is that while they may be in SoHo, this is not the touristy, expensive assortment of flower shops and clothing stores that she'd thought it to be at first glance. It's still elegant, and the block gives off an unmistakable air of sophistication, but it's a different sort of sophistication than what Chloe's used to seeing.
In her two years with Mark, the most she'd ever seen of the lifestyle in public was at dingy leather bars and fetish clubs where people covered less than they displayed and loud, dirty music blasted from inexpensive speakers. And even that hadn't been a common occurrence; he had preferred to keep her inside. He had never directly stated his shame at being seen with her in public, but she had always felt it hovering there like a conversation that didn't want to be had.
This scene is something entirely different, and nothing like she's ever pictured before. She never imagined that sex shops could look like high-end boutiques, but they do; the street is lined with them, and almost before she can register it, Beca's leading her into one like it's just another Abercrombie or Footlocker.
She barely has time to take in the scene when Beca gestures towards a bench beside the door and tells her to sit and wait, pressing a brief kiss to the top of her head as a pacifier before striding over to the counter where a woman sits flicking through a magazine, looking surprisingly more like a Vogue model than the owner of a sex shop.
"Lady B! So nice to see you out and about," is about all Chloe manages to catch of the exchange that follows, Beca's low reply blending into a mesh of sound that she can't quite make out from where she's sitting. A couple head nods are thrown in her direction, and curious eyes flicker up briefly from People to give her a once over, but she ignores the fact that they're discussing her in favor of taking in as much as she can from her current vantage point.
To her surprise, the shelves in front of her are lined with books. Granted, they're not of the sort that Chloe would feel comfortable displaying on her coffee table should family members come to visit, but as she eyes them curiously, she notes that some of them actually look tasteful. Not that she would read them, she tries to chide herself, although who is she kidding? She's sitting in a sex shop with a well-known, influential dominatrix to whom she has agreed to submit. She isn't exactly treading in the realm of vanilla.
To Chloe's surprise, she hardly has time to examine the covers of the books on the shelf in front of her. Within what seems to be only a moment, Beca is standing in front of her again, bag in hand and an expectant look on her face.
"Chloe? You ready to go?" The redhead nods, standing up and trying not to peer curiously into the bag that Beca's holding. She can't help glancing down briefly, however, and the moment she does, Beca sends her a pointed stare. She swallows hard and averts her eyes, obediently following the domme back onto the street.
They make it through several stores before lunchtime, and none are of the same strain as the first. Most are clothing stores, in which Beca insists on buying her an amount of clothing that isn't so much large as it is expensive. The brunette urges her into jeans and coats; sweaters, scarves, and yoga pants, and despite the fact that they're all under sophisticated brand names Chloe can't even begin to pronounce, the choices are practical, and she can tell that they're of good quality.
She promises at least twice to pay Beca back, but the domme waves it off, saying that it's the very least she can do, and doesn't Chloe want to please her?
(The answer is yes, wholeheartedly so, and Beca knows it, so she doesn't really have a viable reason to protest.)
By the time one thirty rolls around, they're seated in the corner of a cozy little café, eating sandwiches and discussing Stacie's turbulent relationship with Aubrey, both of whom, Chloe discovers, are professional dominatrices. She questions Beca as to the nuances of such as relationship; she doesn't understand how their relationship works when they're both so inclined to be dominant.
"They make it work somehow. I think that they don't actually let their relationship intersect with the lifestyle that much, seeing as they're both involved in it to such an extent already, but when they do, I'm under the impression that Aubrey has a tendency to take the lead. Stacie's more of a switch than she is, so it balances out," Beca explains, taking a sip of her cocoa. It's the second one of the day for both of them; normally Chloe wouldn't be so indulgent, but it's cold out, and Beca has been insisting that she let herself be pampered. It's been a long time since anyone has suggested that – it might even be the first time since leaving home nine years ago – so she doesn't exactly feel like complaining.
"What's a switch?" Beca raises an eyebrow in surprise.
"You've never encountered one?" At Chloe's shake of the head, she sets her mug down to properly explain. Beca uses her hands a lot when she's talking, Chloe has noticed, and she makes a mental note to ask the brunette about it someday. "A switch is someone who can function either as a domme or a submissive, depending on necessity, a relationship, or personal preference. Sometimes people will lean more to one side, but often it's a fairly equal balance. They're kind of like the bisexuals of the BDSM world," she says with a grin. Chloe returns it with a smile, but she takes the opportunity to ask Beca about something that's been on her mind for the past few days.
"Beca? Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot, Red," the brunette replies, leaning back casually in her chair. Chloe bites her lip nervously. She doesn't want to appear rude or upfront about it, but she's curious, and considering that they're heading into a form of a relationship, she'd really like to know the answer.
"Are you bi?" She's not prepared for Beca to laugh, but she does; a low, rumbling chuckle that makes Chloe feel like something is vibrating inside her bloodstream.
"Gayer than Ellen Page on Broadway," she smirks.
"Oh."
"I'm assuming you're bi?" Beca counters, peering over the rim of her mug. Chloe starts to nod, but then turns it into a shrug at the last second.
"I like people," she says simply. It earns her an approving nod and a mumble of something that sounds an awful lot like that's a shocker, but the room is loud, and Beca's mouth is half-full of sandwich, so she can't be totally sure.
She's gotten her mind onto a curious track, now, though, and it makes her spit out what she's been itching to ask all week.
"Beca?"
"Chloe," Beca deadpans, and Chloe laughs a little, but quickly sobers. She feels a nervous little quiver in her stomach at what she's about to ask. She doesn't want to push Beca, but then again, it's been a few days, and she's lying if she says she isn't getting a little desperate. That's not even when she considers the conversation they had this morning, which definitely kicked her impatience up a notch. They've both had time to think this over, to think it over and then rethink it, and honestly, she's starting to feel a bit antsy.
And more than a little turned on, if the tightening in her belly at the wink Beca throws her over her hot chocolate is anything to go by.
Unsure of how to phrase it without sounding either impatient or prudish, she blurts out, "When are we actually going to do this? Because it feels to me at this point like you're just stalling." She almost claps a hand over her mouth the second the words escape, because Beca's reaction is a combination of shocked and what looks a little bit like hurt, and it makes twisty tendrils of angst and guilt snake their way up her throat from somewhere the pit of her stomach. "I – I'm sorry, Beca; I – " Beca holds up a hand to stop her, eyes flashing a warning that she can't quite decipher.
"Chloe, stop. Don't apologize." She draws a deep, shuddering breath; it's uncharacteristically anxious of her, and it only serves to make Chloe feel worse about what she just said. Why can't she ever control her mouth?
"Beca – "
"Stop, Chloe; please. I know you must be feeling impatient, and probably a little confused about why I haven't done anything yet. That's my fault; I should be the one apologizing to you for that." She pauses for a moment, twisting her fingers together on the tabletop. Chloe wants to reach out and still them, soothe her angst, but she manages to resist. She wants to hear what Beca has to say.
"Go on." Beca looks up at her with pleading eyes. It's enough to settle Chloe and simultaneously rile her up, making her an uncomfortable combination of calm and fidgety.
"I've been unsure of how to handle this," she admits after a moment. "Part of the reason I haven't acted yet is because I really have been busy with work, and besides that, I needed to get everything prepared. That took a little time – as you can see, I've still been working on it today," she explains with a nod towards the mystery bag resting on the floor between their feet.
"Why do you not know how to handle it?" Chloe asks. "I thought you said you've been doing this for seven years; wouldn't you know how to do it all by now?" Beca hesitates; Chloe sees her gaze waver at the question, dancing back and forth between the tabletop and the floor as though uncertain where to settle.
She brings her eyes back up after a moment, eyebrows knit together with anxiety. When she speaks, it isn't what Chloe expects to hear.
"Will you go somewhere with me?"
Chloe is so surprised that she actually hesitates. When it looks as though she isn't going to respond, Beca toys with her fingers across the table, leaning forward to convey her urgency.
"Please?" And with that, Chloe's gone. A smile spreads across her face.
"Of course I will, Beca."
They're sitting on the hood of Beca's car like in John Hughes movie despite the freezing cold, parked up on an obscure overlook somewhere past the Bronx. It's got a classic view of the Manhattan skyline with a couple of miles of downtown lying between. They're completely alone, and if Chloe weren't absolutely positive that Beca isn't a mad-ax murderer, she might find reasonable cause for concern.
But she knows Beca, probably better than she should for only having met her a week ago, and right now, glancing at her surreptitiously whenever the opportunity presents itself, worry is the farthest thing from her mind. She's eager to hear what Beca has to say, though she recognizes that she was pushy earlier and doesn't want to make Beca uncomfortable. It's an old, familiar feeling, one that she recognizes from the years before she met Mark; an innate need to be persistent while simultaneously wanting to avoid causing real damage – a coexisting inclination to be punished and a need to avoid it, which is why, she figures, she's always been a sub.
Pushing down her growing curiosity, she waits patiently for Beca to speak.
"I've always been just a domme," is the way that Beca starts out, roughly half an hour after they've parked themselves somewhat comfortably on the hood of the car. She continues to stare straight ahead, but Chloe turns her whole body to face her attentively, eyeing her stoic expression inquisitively. After a moment, Beca turns her head slowly to stare impassively back. There's little expression in her gaze; nothing that Chloe can use to decipher what's running through her head.
"I've always had an established foundation of trust and respect with my subs," she continues slowly. "But I've always been just a domme. I've never felt anything for them beyond the necessary trust and commitment." Chloe's starting to understand, at least a little bit, where this is going, and she can't help but be a little amused. They're similar in so many ways, yet at the same time, they couldn't be more opposite.
"But now?" she probes gently, and Beca turns back to stare off into the haze of buildings and trees and distant skyscrapers.
"We have a bond," she says simply, but her body language, the way her posture is tight and rigid, betrays the existence of something more. Chloe watches her, sees the tenseness of her shoulders and back, and decides not to push her too far. She can't decide what she can say that won't be taken as either persistent or dispassionate, so she settles for a simple agreement.
"We do." They sit in silence for another few minutes, watching a flock of small birds fly aggressively in pursuit of a hawk.
"I don't know how to treat you because of that," Beca says slowly. She doesn't tear her gaze from the sky. She might not have intended her words to sound like a worried admission, but they do, and it makes Chloe instinctively move. Before she can really register what she's doing, she's scooted across the hood of the car to where Beca is sitting, her posture still stiff and concerned. Impulsively, she wraps her arms around the tense brunette and pulls her close, nuzzling into the warm spot where Beca's neck meets her shoulder. It's not a comforting embrace in the sense that she's cradling Beca; not the way a concerned significant other would, bending her body around Beca to make her feel safe. Rather, she's giving reassurance in the opposite sense, by displaying her own vulnerability and dependency. Instinctively, in the same way that she knows to run when a threat makes itself known, she knows that what Beca needs is to be shown that she is a source of security. Beca needs to feel Chloe curl herself willing into her body in a movement that speaks of trust and familiarity.
Chloe doesn't know how she knows it, but she senses that it will comfort Beca to know that she is a source of comfort for Chloe. She knows she's right when the brunette first stiffens, but then relaxes almost immediately, bringing up an arm to snuggle Chloe in closer to her warmth.
Together, their instincts make a pretty good team.
"That's the easiest part," Chloe breathes after a while, in response to Beca's earlier concern. She can feel the domme twitch a little at the feeling of her warm breath on her neck, and she smiles to herself at the reaction. At Beca's skeptical noise, she hums out a sound of reassurance. "Oh, totes. See, you just treat me like a submissive when I am one; the same way you would treat anybody. When I'm just being Chloe is the harder part, but we can let that grow and shape itself in whatever way it needs to."
She can feel Beca's uncertainty through her body language, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She's not going to let Beca pull away from her because of this; the way she's always seen it, relationships are something that can be needlessly complicated by emotions when in reality everything is so simple. "Beca, if I weren't going to be your submissive, you'd still have to deal with this, or run away. It's that simple. And if you decide you don't want me in any other way but as your sub, that's fine too. It wouldn't hinder that part of our relationship."
"I wouldn't want that," Beca says softly. Chloe pulls back to examine her face, which, she's unsurprised to see, has transformed into a patchwork of apprehensive emotion. Her eyes are deep and dark again, filled with some indescribable feeling that Chloe can only interpret if she lets her heart look instead of her eyes.
"You wouldn't want what?" Her voice is just as soft, gentle, sensing Beca's need to be spoken to soothingly at the moment, when all of her emotions are visible in her face.
"You to just be my sub," the brunette admits quietly, and Chloe can feel the tension gathering again in her shoulders. "I – I don't know what I want yet. I still need to figure that part out. But I want more than that." She sounds incredibly anxious, almost bordering on afraid. Chloe takes her by the shoulders, firmly yet gently, and stares purposefully into her eyes.
"You don't need to have it all figured out yet, Beca," she says calmly. "And we don't have to go looking for a label. We can just let it be what it's going to be – and it doesn't even have to be anything for now. We can figure it all out as we go; but for now, I am your sub. Which means that whatever else we're figuring out, I still belong to you."
Beca's breath hitches, and in less than a moment, Chloe finds herself on her back with Beca hovering over her, pressing warm, insistent kisses to her lips and cheeks and eyelids.
"You belong to me," is the echoed murmur, and Chloe feels her body warm all over. "You're mine, and I'm going to treasure you." Chloe gasps as she feels warm lips close over her earlobe, and then teeth – dragging sensually across tender skin, nipping at the line of her jaw. She doesn't know how it's possible to feel this much heat; it's flowing through her body like a life source, tangling in her hands and chest and pooling low in her belly. It's fierce and urgent, and Chloe suddenly feels the need to be closer, as close as she can possibly be. She reaches up, pressing fervent fingers into Beca's scalp, curling one leg around the brunette's to keep her there, hot and close and intimate. Beca's frame is heavy on her body, but it's a pleasant weight; it makes her feel secure and grounded and wanted.
Beca's mouth closes over her pulse point and sucks there, hard, and Chloe's letting loose with a guttural groan that she hadn't even known she was capable of making. It's still cold out, and she can feel the freezing air on her face, but her hands and legs and the rest of her body is warm with the weight of Beca's body and the heat of her reverent kisses. She's suddenly very aware of the hand that's splayed out on her side, cradling her ribcage, and the other that's tangled in her hair, Beca's arm wrapped around her to support her head as she leans up to meet her in a desperate, heated kiss. The brunette is so much smaller than she is, yet Chloe still feels enveloped by her, surrounded completely by her warmth.
After a long while, Beca pulls back to allow them both the opportunity to breathe. She tucks Chloe's face into her neck, automatically letting her searching out warmth. Her other arm slips around her back to cradle her close while she strokes red hair in a gentle, soothing gesture.
"You belong to me," Chloe hears her whisper again, and this time, the words are laced with a tone of wonder. She wants to pull away to look into her eyes, to search out hidden truths there, but Beca's arms around her are sure and warm, and she can't bring herself to break the embrace. "You belong to me, and I swear I'll do right by you." The words are murmured into her hair almost absently though with conviction, as though Beca is speaking more to herself than to Chloe.
They warm her all the same, and she can feel the reality of them sinking in the longer they lie there together. She's feeling heated, and needy, and desperate, and she's fairly certain that if Beca doesn't give in to her desires soon, they're both going to explode. Images swim behind her closed eyelids of gentle hands binding a collar around her throat, swollen lips pressing kisses to her jawline; casting away her every inhibition; surrendering the full force of her will to Beca's control. The thoughts flash up in her mind in rapid succession, and suddenly the slow-burning warmth she's been feeling building in her diaphragm has turned into a blazing heat so intense that she nearly gasps aloud. It's swift and powerful and overwhelming, and suddenly, she's singing.
It's the oddest reaction she's ever had, but some distant part of her understands. Whenever she got overwhelmed when she was younger – or even so recently as when she was in college – singing had always been her outlet. It had been her way of expressing what she was too overwhelmed to say. It's nice to know that she hasn't lost that part of herself, but this is a little ridiculous. She's practically burning up inside, and instead of expressing it in a simple way, like fuck me, Beca, please or take me home already, God damn it, she's singing, crooning the words into Beca's ear in a voice so low and husky she almost gives herself the shivers.
It's sultry and absurd, a bit like something that would happen in a movie, but she can't stop herself.
"I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe, but you keep frontin'; say what you're gonna do to me, but I ain't seen nothing." She feels Beca freeze on top of her, pulling back to look her in the eye. She keeps singing even once they've made contact, her gaze burning into Beca's, and Beca's eyes smouldering back with the force of something that Chloe knows has the capacity to utterly destroy her.
She keeps going, trailing a hand from Beca's jawline down her neck to swirl at her collarbone before sliding down her chest to her waist, where she curls it around a slender hipbone and gives a little tug.
"Baby can't you see how these clothes are fitting on me, and the heat coming from this beat; I'm about to blow; I don't think you know." She keeps it slow and sensual, toying slowly with a strand of Beca's hair, tightening her leg around the brunette's. She stares suggestively up at her, purposefully letting her eyes display her need, and tilting her hips up ever-so-slightly into the lithe figure above her, she feels Beca's control snap.
The domme rolls off of her so quickly that Chloe's eyes can hardly register the movement, but just as rapidly she's standing beside the car, tugging Chloe off the hood as she fumbles to pull her phone out of her pocket and dial. She opens the door and practically shoves Chloe in before racing around the front, stopping only to check that the redhead is safely buckled in as she starts the car, speaking instantly when her friend picks up on the second ring.
"Stacie, do you have plans with Aubrey tonight?" Chloe struggles to collect herself while Beca talks, straightening out her clothing and attempting to arrange her hair into some semblance of neatness. There's no real reason to, seeing as they're the only people they're likely to see before clothes are rendered unnecessary. "Make some," is Beca's sharp retort to whatever Stacie has to say, and then she hangs up, backing onto the road and taking off at a speed that, while still legal, leaves Chloe with the distinct impression that desperation is most of the weight on the gas pedal.
After several minutes of what feels like carefully controlled silence, Beca speaks. She seems to have calmed considerably, but Chloe can almost feel the need simmering below the surface. Her tone is moderate, but her words are brief, and Chloe knows that she's struggling to keep control.
"When we get home, you're going to go get ready in your room," she says calmly, flicking the left turn signal. "You're going to take a shower and do whatever else you need to in order to prepare while I get everything else ready. Make sure that whatever you're wearing is comfortable. But before that, you're going to come to the kitchen, where we'll both eat something nutritious. You're going to need your strength for what we're going to do tonight." Chloe feels a pleasant shiver tingle through her at the brunette's words. Beca seems to sense it, and glances over at her while she switches lanes.
"Chloe, if you don't want to do this, right now is your chance to say so," she says after a moment of scrutiny. "We'll go home and do something else, and we won't bring it up again. But," she continues, her voice low and serious. "If you do decide to go through with this, I want you to know that I have no intention of stopping tonight, unless, of course, you need to use your safeword for any reason." Chloe is shaking her head before Beca has even finished speaking. Her hands are both occupied, gripping onto the door and the side of her seat so that they don't go somewhere they shouldn't be while Beca is driving.
"No," she says firmly, and Beca doesn't remove her gaze from the road, but she raises an eyebrow questioningly.
"No, what, Chloe?" she asks expectantly.
"No. No, I won't stop. I mean; I want to do this. Tonight." She's quite proud of the fact that her voice only holds the slightest tremble. With the fire that's raging in her body right now, she's honestly surprised that she can even speak at all.
"You're absolutely positive?" Beca probes, and Chloe knows that she's asking for a good reason, but she can't help snapping a little bit.
"Yes, Beca, I'm positive," she hisses out, only to jolt back in surprise when a light smack is landed on the top of the hand that's nearest the center console.
"Watch your attitude," is all Beca says, but Chloe can hear the warning behind her words; the silent reminder that her persistence is for both of their sakes, and that she shouldn't be frustrated with something that is being done for her own wellbeing. It's also a slight reminder that from here on out tonight, Beca is in charge. Her domme persona is settling in, slipping over her like a mask that can't be removed till dawn.
It registers with Chloe that it isn't, though; it's not a mask or a slipcover; it's an element of personality that will be woven in with the warmth and care and affection she's been receiving to create a steady, genuine new presence.
When that fact makes itself known, she feels instant remorse, and folds her hands into her lap demurely, murmuring out a respectful, "I apologize." Beca glances back over at her, a mixture of a frown and smirk taking over her features.
"That will do, Chloe," she says approvingly, before returning to her earlier businesslike manner. "Tonight, you may call me ma'am or mistress, or anything else you prefer, with the exception of Beca. If you say my name after we enter the playroom, you will be punished. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Beca." They're still in the car, which means that Chloe can still call her by her name, and while she is eager to begin, she wants to hold on to that ability for just a little longer. A knowing smirk is sent her way, and she blushes for what feels like the millionth time since they've met. Hopefully, with her submissive side taking over later, that won't be an issue.
"Very good. Next, you will keep your eyes lowered respectfully unless I give you permission to make eye contact with me; is that understood?"
"I understand."
"You will do what I ask of you without protest unless you need to use your safeword. If you resist me or talk back, I will punish you. I will not gag you, but if I ask you to stay quiet, I will expect you to control yourself. Failure to follow any of my commands will earn you a punishment; obeying them will earn you pleasure. Going above and beyond my expectations will earn you something special. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you must use your safeword. I will not have you feeling unsafe or like you cannot trust me. In accordance with that, if I ask you a question, you must answer me honestly. If we cannot communicate effectively, this relationship is pointless. It is very important that you understand what I am saying to you right now. Do you understand me, Chloe?" Beca's voice has turned abruptly sterner than before, more so by several levels. It's clear to Chloe that she is deadly serious, and because of that, the redhead takes a moment to deeply consider everything that has just been said. She needs to honor Beca's dedication to this by not being flippant and agreeing with everything simply because she's desperate to begin.
After a long moment of thinking, she nods slowly. "Yes, Beca; I understand." Beca glances at her several times whenever it's safe, clearly trying to assess her level of honesty. Her gaze is hard and stern, and Chloe would shrink a little under it if she thought that it stemmed from anything other than pure dedication.
"Repeat to me what you understand."
"I will answer you honestly and use my safeword if I need to."
"Very good." Beca offers her a slight smile. "Now, is there anything that you would like to say to me beforehand?" Chloe considers for a moment. She returns her hands to the sides of her seat and grips the leather hard to keep herself from reaching out and touching Beca – the urge is nearly overwhelming, especially with so much heat and so little space between them.
"Thank you for doing this for me," she says softly, and as they halt at a red light, Beca turns fully in her seat for a moment to brush a light fingertip down her temple. Chloe shivers beneath the touch, feeling tiny sparks of electricity tingle out from the point where skin meets skin.
"This is for both of us," Beca tells her lowly. Her eyes dart back and forth between Chloe's for a moment. "But for what it's worth, you're very welcome." Her voice is soft enough, gentle enough, for Chloe to know that it's genuine. Of course it's genuine – Beca is genuine, more so than anyone else she has ever encountered.
Watching Beca as she drives, the firm grip of her hands on the wheel, and thinking of her concern, her attentiveness, and what she's coming to see as total, unmarred control, it hits Chloe that Beca is more than a good domme. She's wonderful.
For Chloe, who hasn't experienced that before, but who has longed for it since the day she knew it was possible, it's a revelation that only inflates her need. She gasps out loud at the force of it, feeling the fire rush through her body. Beca shoots her a frown of concern.
"Chloe? What's the matter?" Her grip tightens on the edge of her seat, so hard that her knuckles turn white.
"Take me home, please, Beca," is all she can manage to gasp out in her desperation, but from Beca's wide grin, and the way she shifts lanes to speed up as much as possible, Chloe knows that she's been heard.
It's definitely the shortest legal amount of time that anyone has ever taken to get from the Bronx all the way to Staten Island, but it still isn't fast enough. Chloe is nearly trembling with need by the time they reach the house; her hands shake as she struggles to unbuckle her seatbelt, and when she steps out of the car, her knees nearly give out. Beca takes enough pity on her to guide her into the house, but then she leaves her in the entryway, darting off to the back bedroom, presumably, to make last minute preparations. It is with great effort that Chloe manages to remember the instructions she has been given. She hurries into the kitchen and begins digging through the refrigerator, searching for a combination of healthy foods that will keep her energy level up for the next indefinite number of hours.
Beca returns fewer than ten minutes later, having arranged everything to her liking. It only takes her a moment of watching Chloe struggle to concoct a meal with trembling hands before she takes pity on her and steps up behind the redhead, hands closing over slender wrists.
"Slow down, honey," she breathes into warm skin. "You'd better let me handle the knife if you're going to be shaking that badly." A throaty whimper escapes Chloe at the feeling of Beca's lips so close to her ear, but she shakes it off, stepping back obediently and letting Beca finish preparing their food.
It doesn't take long to make; Beca may be good at appearing composed, but Chloe can see that behind her smooth movements and calm exterior, she's feeling just as antsy as Chloe is. The result is that within minutes, Chloe finds herself seated at the counter – only for the fact that Beca refuses to let her stand and eat – trying to consume her entire plate of food as rapidly as she can without choking. Surprisingly though, once she's gotten a bit of nourishment in her, her franticness abates a little bit. Her hands cease to tremble, and she can feel her heartbeat slow to a more regular pace.
She's needy and excited, but the near hysteria that's been consuming her for the past half hour has dissipated, leaving her body humming with quiet anticipation. She's not quite completely calm yet, though, and Beca seems to sense it, for she offers to clear their dishes while Chloe hurries off to her bedroom to get ready.
It's in the shower that she manages to calm herself the rest of the way. The cool water feels good on her heated skin, and she finds the sensation of droplets breaking on her shoulders to be infinitely soothing. She pauses for a few minutes once she's managed to rinse the shampoo from her hair, and leans contemplatively against the shower wall, soaking in the feeling and sound of the water falling.
It would be a lie to say that she isn't just the tiniest bit nervous. She knows that Beca will take care of her, but she doesn't really know what to expect from the brunette. It's been a long time since playing has made her feel good, and at first, she's the slightest bit worried that she's forgotten how to allow herself to feel pleasure.
But then the image comes to her of Beca, of her lips pressing fervently to her skin, of her hands all over her body, and she relaxes. Beca already makes her feel better than she thought it was possible to feel – she should have no fears that this experience won't be the same. If anything, it will be more so; Chloe has spent the past two years of her life as a submissive, but by the end, it hadn't been something that she had done for herself. It had been a duty, a chore, just as Mark's care of her had been to him, though even then it had been different; she had been obligated to remain what she was. It had been her place, her duty; it was almost as though it had been her lot in life.
Now, she's about to give herself up again, but this time, she's going to do it willingly. She's going to give everything to Beca; her trust, her control, her free will; she's about to completely hand over the reins to another human being, and for the first time since her initial weeks with Mark, she welcomes the promise of such a loss of control.
Her movements are steady as she blow-dries her hair, combing and teasing it into smooth, elegant curls. She debates her outfit choices carefully, not wishing to be upfront, but wanting to make herself pretty for Beca. She knows that they'll be off of her soon anyway, but she wants to give the impression of deliberateness; she wants Beca to know that she's considering this carefully. She wants be comfortable, but also a little enticing.
In the end, she goes for elegant; it's always been her default, and she's as comfortable in it as she is in her own skin. Sophistication has always been her forte.
She allows herself a little shudder when her thoughts swerve again to a naughtier level – the sophisticated one is about to act the complete opposite, and it makes her want to smirk even though Beca isn't there to see.
She ends up in a pair of skin-tight burgundy jeans and a dark navy fitted button down with three-quarter sleeves. Her hair she leaves down and flowing, and she refrains from going near her mascara. If this were a date night, she would spend some time fussing over makeup, but tonight, she knows better. She feels more comfortable without it, and she knows she doesn't need it.
Besides, something tells her that tonight is going to be intense, and if she's going to cry, she can't have mascara runs, now can she?
Once ready, she pauses for a moment before leaving the room. Beca hasn't come to ask when she'll be done, and she's grateful; she knows that the brunette is giving her one last chance for an out. If she decides right now that she doesn't want to bare herself the way that Beca will have her do tonight, she can put an end to it right now. They can curl up on the couch and watch a movie, to Beca's protests.
For a moment, considering the enormous vulnerability she is about to bare, she almost does it, but as she's debating, her eyes catch movement, and she looks up at her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
She takes in her own image with her brow furrowed in contemplation and curiosity. Her posture is straight, but not rigid – flexible, as though about to sink into a bow. Her eyes, even when examining herself, are downcast and demure. Looking at the way she holds herself, the manner in which she folds her hands together in front of her body, she can see her own submission practically waving back at her.
She looks, imagines her own body bowing in surrender at the feet of someone powerful and trustworthy, and she makes her decision.
She's always been told that she's got an open heart; that she is one of the rare people whose personality has an irresistible draw. She knows that she's friendly and open and empathetic, constantly feeling positive energy radiate from every corner of the universe, and she loves that about herself. But the reality of it is that sometimes she overwhelms herself, and then she feels sympathy for those whom she knows she is too much for.
When her own personality gets to be too much for her to handle, she needs a way to let go. She needs an outlet that can subdue that vibrant force, tame it and own it, take control of it so that she can have a break from trying to rein it in.
If Beca can offer her respite from that at the same time that she feeds her instinctive submissive inclinations, then she has nothing else to consider.
She glances in the mirror one last time, checking that everything is in place, and then she steps from the room and pads quietly down the hall in her bare feet to the back bedroom.
Beca is waiting for her at the end of the hall, two small objects in her hands. Chloe's breath catches as she takes in the domme's attire – while somewhat traditional, it gives off a vibe that is purely Beca, and to be honest, it's a little intoxicating. She's dressed in ripped leather pants and a dark crimson leather vest, with her hair swept up into a tight ponytail. Her eyes are edged with just a touch of eyeliner, but it's enough to make her look simultaneously enticing and severe. She's also a little taller due to the slightly heeled boots she's wearing, but her presence is so powerful that Chloe thinks she could be barefoot and it would still feel like she's towering over her.
She smiles as Chloe draws near, and the expression is so open and genuine that Chloe cannot help but return it. She stops several feet away, uncertain of what will constitute as a polite distance, and she waits.
"I wondered if you would come." Beca's voice is warm and solid, pure heat running through her veins, and it makes something in Chloe twist pleasantly.
"I thought about not doing it," she admits. Beca's smile only grows.
"I'm glad you did," she says warmly, and any lingering tension Chloe is holding completely vanishes. She raises her eyes as Beca straightens up and steps forward, holding out one of the items for Chloe to inspect. "This is for you," she says. "It took me some time to find one that wasn't too thick. I hope it's to your licking." Chloe accepts the collar in her hands and brings it up close to her face, inspecting the soft leather that, oddly enough, matches the color of her shirt. It has a single O-ring in the front, presumably to hook a lead into, and on the back, a small silver plate. Her name is engraved into the metal in graceful, swooping letters, and the intimacy of the gesture makes Chloe choke up.
She looks up at Beca with eyelids fluttering to keep sentimental tears at bay.
"Thank you," she whispers, running her fingers over the leather reverently. "It's perfect, Beca." She doesn't dare to say anything more for fear of losing her voice entirely, but Beca hears the emotion in her words and responds in kind.
"You're welcome, Chloe," she says gently, allowing the emotional girl a moment to gather herself before proceeding. "It's traditional for you to put it on yourself," she tells her. "Only I can take it off, but it's a symbol of trust and willingness for you to have the choice of giving yourself to me." Chloe draws a shuddering breath, looking down at the leather in her hands. This is it: her last chance to back out.
She doesn't hesitate for a moment before reaching up and buckling the collar around her neck.
The moment it's on, she feels the weight of her submission return full-force for the first time in longer than she cares to remember, and a tiny smile twitches at the corners of her lips at the familiar feeling of combined trust and surrender and vulnerability. She sinks to her knees without a conscious though of doing so and folds her hands in her lap, bowing her head and lowering her eyes to the floor.
Beca hadn't said anything to her about being required to kneel, but the action is as automatic as the motion of bringing air into her lungs. The feeling of overwhelming safety and fragility takes over, leaving her desire a distant need, and she lets out a tiny sigh of contentment.
Beca sucks in a sharp breath above her, and suddenly the domme is crouching in front of her, tilting her chin upwards with a fingertip.
"Chloe? Are you all right?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Why did you just kneel?" Beca's voice is filled with curiosity, and it makes Chloe frown the slightest bit as she answers with complete honesty.
"I didn't even think about it, Mistress. I just did it," she responds, keeping her eyes lowered.
"Are you okay to continue?" Beca sounds more awed than concerned, but she's careful to phrase the question in a way that doesn't make Chloe doubt her own actions.
"Yes, Mistress." The brunette smiles finally, and stands back up.
"Good. Stand, please, Chloe," she summons. Chloe rises obediently to her feet, though she keeps her eyes down. Beca's hands come into her line of sight, holding out two wrist cuffs of a light pastel blue that Chloe instinctively knows matches her eyes. She can see that they're long, about two-and-a-half inches when they will extend from her wrist towards the middle of her forearm. "Hold out your hands." She obeys, and Beca wraps the leather tenderly around her wrists and snaps them into place. She trails her fingertips gently over the backs of Chloe's hands as she retreats, and then abruptly, she takes a step back.
"Look at me, Chloe." Chloe raises her eyes immediately to see Beca eyeing her with a now critical gaze. After a moment, it softens slightly as she murmurs, "You look lovely."
"Thank you, Mistress," Chloe responds automatically. "As do you." She hears Beca chuckle before a finger is hooked into the ring in her collar and she's being tugged forward the slightest bit, closer to Beca's face.
"Very good, my pet. Now, are you ready?" Chloe draws a steadying breath.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Very well," Beca responds, releasing her grip. "Come with me." And then Chloe's being led gently into the room, a hand at her back to guide her and simultaneously lay claim to her as Beca's. Once inside, Beca shuts the door, and her other hand falls to cradle Chloe's cheek. The redhead nuzzles instinctively into the touch, enjoying the warmth and sense of security it offers. Immediately after she moves, it occurs to her that perhaps she shouldn't act without her Mistress's permission, but to her surprise, Beca pulls her in close, nestling her against her body in a gesture of possessiveness. A loving kiss is pressed to the crown of her head.
"My darling," Beca murmurs. Chloe can feel the movement of her lips against her hair. "I thought we could start with something simple to ease you into this. Does that sound good?" Chloe nods against her chest, content where she is, yet eager to begin.
"Yes, Mistress." Her words are fairly a sigh for the contentment that they breathe out. She feels Beca smile into her hair, and then the domme steps back, releasing her from her grasp.
"First, I would like you to take a look around," she says. "You may take as long as you'd like to examine things and get yourself acquainted with the room. I want you to be comfortable here. If you have any questions about something, please ask me." Chloe instantly misses the coziness of Beca's embrace, but she recognizes the effort that the brunette is putting into their time together. She is being careful to allow Chloe the availability of relaxation, and to ensure that the redhead feels secure. It is an offer that she gladly accepts.
She lifts her gaze from the floor and takes in the visual of the room before she moves, getting a sense of the space. It's smaller than the other bedrooms in the house, though not by a significant amount, and an even square. The floor is paneled with a dark wood around the edges, but lined for the most part with a deep crimson carpet, and the walls are a matching dark shade, though navy blue in color. There are no windows, as, Chloe knows, it is sandwiched between a bathroom and another small living area. The choice of this room, she presumes, is for privacy's sake.
The lack of windows does not darken the room entirely, but it's slightly dimmer than the rest of the house, light by a subtle glow of ceiling lights softer than the bright white ones in the living room and kitchen, and even in their bedrooms. It gives off a softer, hazier light that Chloe finds soothing. She isn't sure that she can handle stark, naked lighting. The glow of this room puts her at ease, which, when she considers it, is probably its purpose.
At the opposite end of the room is situated a four-poster bed with an overhanging canopy. Its frame is visibly sturdy, and above the headboard, two large iron rings are screwed into the wall. On the right-hand wall is a Saint Andrew's cross, flanked by a bench and a straight-backed chair on one side and a cabinet on the other. In the far left corner sits a dark indigo couch. The left-hand wall is decorated similarly to the right, lined with a large wardrobe – complete with drawers and closets – a bench slightly larger than the one opposite it, and another pair of rings. Between the closet and the bench is a door, which stands open to what Chloe can only presume is a bathroom.
Slowly, she takes a step forward.
"Go ahead, pet," is Beca's quiet encouragement. "You may look at anything you wish." And Chloe does.
She examines the room from top to bottom, running her fingers over the various bits of furniture in order to get a feel for the space. The bed is found to be exceedingly comfortable; more so, even, than Beca's. It's covered with a heavy down comforter; the sheets are crisp and scented vaguely with something that Chloe can only describe as the fresh smell that comes after rain. The Saint Andrew's cross is sturdy, so stable that Chloe knows it could safely hold someone roughly three times her weight.
She also discovers in her inspection that the cabinet on the right contains floggers, cuffs, and other instruments of the sort, but that the cupboard on the other side of the room is filled with fluffy towels; clean, soft pajamas; a hot water bottle; blankets; a thick robe – a shelf lined with bandages, Advil, and antiseptics. It even holds a small refrigerator stocked with fruit and bottled water.
She turns to Beca in confusion, though she keeps her eyes carefully down.
"Mistress?" Beca offers her a warm smile and steps forward, indicating the items in question.
"This is yours, sweetheart," is the explanation granted to her. "Keeping you healthy is of the utmost importance. It is reasonable to expect that we will get caught up in what we are doing, but that is no excuse to allow you to become hungry or dehydrated, and while you may desire pain, Chloe, being hurt and being injured are two very different things. You will be taken care of here; you will not be neglected, because the last thing I intend to do is cause my submissive harm."
It's all said steadily, so seriously that Chloe can actually feel the weight of her words in the air. She swallows to steady herself, feeling warmth build in her chest at the recognition of how beautifully she is going to be treated. Beca has known her for a mere week, and she's already more attentive and giving than Mark ever, ever was – she's never even been able to take such good care of herself before. It's a lot to take in, and looking around with no stable anchor, Chloe suddenly feels exceedingly lost.
Beca seems to sense how overwhelmed she's feeling; hastily, she crosses the small space to enfold Chloe once again in her arms, pressing one hand to the small of her back and curling the fingers of the other around the edges of her collar.
"Chloe, look at me," is the gentle command, and Chloe is overwhelmed enough that it takes a moment of consideration to obey. When she doesn't respond immediately, a finger taps insistently at the base of her spine. "Look at me, pet," Beca repeats, a little more forcefully, and Chloe hesitantly meets her gaze. A smile spreads across Beca's lips; the hand at Chloe's back tightens. "Such gorgeous eyes." Chloe doesn't quite blush at the reverent murmur, but it's a close thing. She tries to duck her head bashfully, but the fingers on her collar prevent the movement.
"I don't know the full extent of how you were treated before I found you," Beca says finally, after a few moments of silence. "But it's clear to me that you were not given the love and care that you deserve. You survived that all right, but you are my submissive now, and I consider that to be the greatest honor I could possibly receive. I will treat you accordingly. Being a submissive means that you have equal parts thick skin and extreme vulnerability. It is my responsibility as your domme to attend to those needs, and I'd like you to get used to that fact, and not feel like you need to atone for something in order to thank me. I do not require a thank you; it is my duty and pleasure to take care of you, Chloe, and I hope that you will be able to come to see that."
Chloe is speechless. The truth of Beca's words resonates deeply with her. It's not that she's been treated horribly before; abuse is not a word that suits her previous experiences – a little neglect, perhaps, but not cruelty. Mark had simply never been overly concerned with her; he had never harmed her, or forced her to do something that she had refused to do. In fact, looking back, most of her discomfort had been her fault; she had never told him when she was too uncomfortable or unwilling to do something. It could have been argued that he had made her feel as though he would be disappointed if she had conveyed her unwillingness, but the lack of communication was for the most part her own fault. But he had never been this attentive. He had never treated her like something precious.
Beca is treating Chloe like she's something precious. When she considers the brunette's words, it starts to make sense – this is what being a submissive means. She has thick skin; she can willingly bear high levels of pain, and humiliation is more than a bit of a thing with her, but with that comes a certain fragility of the heart that, in her case, has never been attended to. She's trusting and emotional and a little volatile by nature, and the balance of affection and control that Beca is offering her is exactly what she needs to manage that.
She wonders how Beca can know her so well after such a short amount of time. It's like they've known each other for months – years, even. Like they've spent a large portion of their lives getting acquainted with each other's quirks and needs, getting a sense for the balance between them. Their responses to each other are instinctive, as ingrained in their reactions as any natural fight-or-flight response, and Chloe doesn't know how it's all come about so quickly. She's so at ease with Beca that it's almost a little ludicrous, and she has the strangest feeling that if she were to press her fingers to both of their pulse points right now, she would find the beats to be synchronized.
She stays completely still, absorbing it all and relishing the feel of Beca's fingers on her collar, owning her, reassuring her, until Beca gives the leather a slight tug and pulls her in the direction of the open bathroom door.
"You're not done looking," is the only explanation she provides as she leads Chloe through the doorway, and Chloe halts in astonishment. The bathroom is huge, nearly larger than the playroom itself; it holds both a shower with glass doors and a massive, Jacuzzi-esque granite bathtub. To one side is a wide, padded bench with a nearby cabinet holding bottles of lotion and shampoo. Heated racks hold towels in almost every corner, and the full-length mirror that takes up an entire wall is edged with tiny, softly glowing lights.
Beca allows her several minutes to take in the scene before she brushes a thumb tenderly down the back of Chloe's neck.
"If you've seen everything you'd like to, pet, then perhaps you would like to begin," she suggests quietly. Chloe's body immediately snaps back into submissive mode; she turns her full attention to Beca and nods.
"Yes, Mistress. Thank you for letting me look around." With her eyes cast downward, she cannot see Beca's smile, but she can feel it, and it warms her all through to know that her Mistress is pleased.
"You're very welcome, pet. Now, come with me, please," she summons. Obediently, Chloe follows her back into the room, keeping her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture of respect. Beca shuts the door to the bathroom behind them and fiddles with a light switch for a moment, causing the general glow of the room to dim somewhat. When she returns to Chloe's side, the ginger is kneeling, her fingers knotted together in her lap.
"Stand, Chloe." Chloe rises, and Beca hooks one finger through the O-ring in her collar. "Strip."
There it is. She had been wondering how long she would be permitted to remain clothed for. Her desire is still simmering beneath the surface, but it's rapidly growing stronger, so she moves as quickly as she can. Her motions are a little jerky as she fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, so Beca swiftly takes over, smacking her hands away and working quickly to remove the garment. She is able to handle the zipper on her jeans and kicks them off, feeling the desperation build. Her undergarments swiftly follow, and then she's standing completely exposed in front of Beca's probing gaze.
Despite the fact that she's helpless and bare naked with no means of covering herself, Beca's eyes on her don't feel invasive. Maybe it's because this is a little what she looked like when they first met, or maybe her submissive side is settling in faster than she anticipated, because she feels no shame. It's a little funny, because normally a few words from Beca are all she needs to turn bright red in embarrassment, but it's almost as though this moment is beyond all possibility of shame. She's about to bare herself in a way that most people can't face, and not only is the action willing, it's for her own enjoyment, and when she considers it, she supposes that that has something to do with it.
Besides, she knows that she's uncommonly attractive; she's always been confident in the way that she presents herself – or at least, she was before Mark got ahold of her. Now she has the opportunity to experience that kind of confidence again, and she's eager to see if it still feels the way she remembers it.
When Beca trails a single fingertip down her side, stopping to rest with her whole hand curled around Chloe's left hip, she knows that it does.
For the first time, Beca allows her hands to travel all over the redhead's body; permits her eyes to take in the lean, curvaceous form without guilt or subtlety. Chloe is gorgeous in every imaginable way; her curves are soft and womanly, her muscles tight and toned; her skin is smooth as silk and patterned lightly here and there with tiny dustings of freckles. Her lean neck dips into a delicate collarbone, over full breasts and across the tight planes of her abdomen, down endless, graceful legs.
Beca wants to touch, and she can, because Chloe is giving herself to her; the beauty and elegance in front of her is for her to do with as she pleases, and despite having done this for seven years, that flatters her to no end. She brings her other hand up so that she is cradling Chloe's hips and holds her there for a moment, and then smooths her touch up the slender body to cup firm breasts. Her thumb brushes lightly over a tightened nipple, and she doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath that Chloe draws at her touch. She bites her lip and cradles Chloe's face in one hand. The redhead leans into her touch with a soft exhalation, her eyes closed blissfully, and Beca can't help the low murmur that escapes her lips.
"Such a pretty girl," she breathes. They're so close together that her words sift into Chloe's hair and vanish as quickly as they're spoken. "You're flawless, darling." Chloe shivers at her proximity. She lets out a sharp gasp of surprise when Beca suddenly twists her nipple, hard, and Beca chuckles. "Did that feel good, love?" Chloe nods quickly. She can't believe the bolt of pleasure that shot through her at such a simple touch. "Do you want me to take you?" Beca practically purrs into her ear. Chloe's breath catches as the brunette continues. "I could, you know; so easily. Give me ten seconds, and I could make you come so hard you'd be writhing on the floor. You wouldn't be able to walk for days . . . but where's the fun in that?" she steps away suddenly, and Chloe can't stifle the desperate groan that escapes her at the loss of contact. "I'd rather make you wait. The longer I take to build you up, the better it will be. It's no fun if you get right to the point, so I'm going to take my time, love; I'd like to make you beg. But first . . . I'd like to get you a little worked up."
With that, being careful not to yank too hard, she curls her fingers tighter around the collar and drags Chloe to the rings on the opposite wall. Chloe barely has time to register that she's being moved before her back is pressed against the wall, pinned there by Beca, who has one thigh between her legs and an arm across her chest to hold her in place. In one swift motion, she has raised the redhead's arms above her head and hooked each wrist cuff separately to a ring with a small chain. "Move your arms," she orders, stepping back. Chloe compliantly swings her arms outwards as far as she can, and finds that she has a decent range of motion. "Can you pull free?"
No, is the answer. She can move enough so that she knows her arms won't begin to ache beneath the strain of being held up, but she cannot escape. The cuffs on her wrists are tight, but not tight enough to hurt – Beca is clearly familiar with the workings of restraints.
"No, Mistress," she answers after studying her predicament.
"Good. Close your eyes." Chloe's first instinct is to protest, because she's going to feel a little more helpless if she can't see, and to be honest, Beca's gorgeous, and she wants to be able to see her, but it's quickly made a moot point when she feels a band of silky fabric cover her eyes and get tied securely behind her head. "Can you see?"
"No, ma'am."
"Wonderful. Now stay right there, and don't move. If I see so much as a twitch, you'll be very, very sorry." Chloe wants to respond with something sassy; it's not like she can actually go anywhere, after all, but she can almost feel Beca's stern gaze on her, and she bites her tongue for a moment until she feels capable of responding without a quip.
"Yes, ma'am." There's a shuffling noise, and she can hear Beca cross the room and rummage around in one of the cabinets. Her lack of sight has brought her other senses into sharper focus, which has the upside of letting her know where Beca is at all times, but the downside of being able to feel her desire even more intensely than before. As the recognition of her situation sinks deeper into her mind, the sensation only grows, and it isn't long before she can feel the wetness between her legs. The urge rises desperately in her to reach down and touch, and she tries to hold back, she really does – she knows that Beca isn't kidding when she says that she'll regret any movement, but at the moment she's aching; the urge is becoming unbearable, and she can hear that Beca is facing the other way . . .
Beca must have a sixth sense, because when Chloe moves her leg just a fraction of an inch to press her thighs together, the domme is immediately in front of her, and a smack is being landed on her cheek at the same time that her nipple is given a rough pinch. Chloe yelps and jerks away in surprise, which earns her another blow, this time to her other cheek, and the part of her that isn't shocked, pained, and more than a little aroused notes that neither slap was hard enough to leave a mark, and that Beca deliberately hit both cheeks so that the pain would be evened out.
Her skin is stinging, but she appreciates the thought.
Beca is speaking to her at the same time that her legs are being pushed apart and padded cuffs wrapped around her ankles.
"What did I tell you?" she demands as she clicks something into place that Chloe presumes to be a spreader bar. She's curious, but she doesn't dare to test it lest she get into more trouble than she's already in.
When she doesn't answer right away, it earns her another slap – this one to her nipple – and she feels the flesh tingle painfully in a way that only ramps her desire up a notch.
"What did I tell you, Chloe?" Beca asks again, and Chloe gasps out an answer, feeling the heat spread all throughout her body.
"To – to not move, ma'am, or I'd – I'd be sorry," she pants, and she feels hands roughly seize her hips.
"And what did you do, pet, after I clearly told you not to?" Fingers are dancing up the skin of her ribcage, and Chloe trembles a little at the sensation.
"I – I moved, ma'am," she manages to say, and then all coherent thought is gone, because Beca's hand is on her, spreading her open.
"Don't lock your knees," Beca tells her, and moves back, before pausing for the briefest of moments to give another instruction. "Count."
"Wha – " Chloe's question is cut off at the feeling of a sharp smack landing right on her most sensitive spot. Her clit throbs.
Oh.
She almost passes out when Beca takes her clit between her thumb and forefinger and squeezes. Hard.
"Fuck!"
"Count, Chloe, or I won't let you come at all." And fuck if that doesn't knock some sense into her. She's still trembling, and she feels a little bit like she's about to explode, but she manages to count, one, two, three, all the way up to ten, and then it's over. She doesn't even realize that Beca is holding her up until she's released, and she sags in her restraints, body taut and quivering. It feels like all of her muscles are strung as tightly as they can go. She's fairly throbbing with need; she can feel her pulse between her legs, and there's definite wetness beginning to coat the insides of her thighs.
She ought to be embarrassed, but honestly, strung up against the wall with a collar and a blindfold, entirely naked, having just been given ten hard smacks to the clit, she really doesn't give a single fuck.
"Are you ready to behave?" Beca's voice is patient and expectant, like her hands aren't coated in Chloe's arousal. The redhead nods immediately, already feeling the remorse creeping up on her, as well as a terrible sneaking suspicion that given the chance, she would absolutely repeat her actions if they were to warrant the same response that they just received.
"Yes, ma'am; I'm sorry," she whispers, and she almost hears Beca smile.
"Good," is the only response she receives before there's a click and a quiet humming noise, and suddenly her body jolts with pleasure as her domme begins to trace her nipples slowly with the tiny vibrating bullet. She has to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the sensation, but a low groan falls from her lips regardless, and she hears Beca chuckle.
She wants to come, and she wants it now, but Beca must know that, because she takes her time, dragging the object all across her body and at the same time teasing her with soft touches that land everywhere except for exactly where Chloe needs them to. It's frustrating and almost a little painful with the way it flares up her arousal, but in all truth, she's enjoying it, too. Beca is touching her everywhere that seems odd, like it shouldn't elicit such a reaction – her inner elbows; the soft spot where her neck meets her shoulders; between her ribs – but the sensation is wild and euphoric and it causes her whole body to feel like it's tingling with some strange sort of fire. It's playful and infuriating and pleasurable, and once she gets past the frustration, she finds herself able to actually enjoy it.
It ends up going beyond that, because after several rounds of Beca coming so close to touching her exactly where she wants it, only to pull away at the last second and return to somewhere obsolete, like the backs of her hands, she learns to accept it. She's aggravated and desperate and needy beyond belief, but she's also relishing in her Mistress's touch, and whether she likes it or not, Beca has complete control over her (she definitely likes it). Her arms are pinned, her legs are bound, and she can't even see to give her domme a pleading look; she is entirely at Beca's mercy. The brunette could drag this on all night if she wanted to, and Chloe would be powerless to do anything but endure the sweet torture of it. She's helpless, and it's in the very best of ways.
Something about that fact soothes her, though her body is fairly screaming from overstimulation. As long as she's powerless, she might as well enjoy it for all it's worth. Slowly, she begins to relax, accepting her inability to take assume control, and devotes her attention to absorbing the sensations taking over her body.
As though she knows exactly what's gone through the ginger's head, Beca waits until she's almost entirely relaxed, and then she gives Chloe what she needs.
Chloe lets out a sharp cry when her Mistress brings the vibrator down to her clit and holds it there, pressed against the little bundle with the lightest pressure. She cries out again when Beca somehow maneuvers so that she can bite down on her nipple and pinch and tug repeatedly at the other one until Chloe is practically keening. After a moment, she feels pressure, and once it registers with her what's going on, she tries to relax and focus to allow the dildo to slip inside of her.
By the time it has been nestled firmly deep within her, she is gasping; she can feel herself being stretched in the most pleasant of ways. She's never been penetrated this deeply before, and it feels strange, but also wonderful, and when Beca begins to rock the toy ever so slightly, she clenches tightly around it, trying to draw it in further. The domme acquiesces, pushing it in deeper and deeper, until Chloe's gasps have become so shrill and high pitched that they might as well be screams.
And then she stops, right when Chloe is at the edge, and a needy whimper escapes the redhead when she realizes that she's not going to get to come. Not yet.
"Mistress, wha – "
"That happened a little fast, didn't it, Chloe?" Beca cuts in, and Chloe automatically feels shame creep up her neck at the tone. "It seems like you were a little too willing to take what you needed, don't you think? Maybe you forgot that I'm in charge of your pleasure here. Do you need a reminder of that, my pet?" Chloe tries to shake her head, but she knows what the answer is going to be before Beca even says it. "I think you do," the domme says decidedly, and then Chloe's arms are suddenly free; her ankles are released, and she's being tugged down and made to kneel in the center of the room. Beca re-cuffs her wrists behind her back, and then buckles her ankle cuffs together so that she's forced to sit back on her heels or fall over. Even so, her legs are spread, exposing her, and she quickly finds out why when Beca leans over her and flicks a switch that causes the dildo in her to begin vibrating.
Instantly, she clenches hard around it, letting out a low groan. Beca's fingertips dig into her shoulders, and she struggles to drag her mind out of her desire so that she can hear what her Mistress is saying.
"This is on the lowest possible setting," Beca informs her. Chloe can feel her presence directly in front of her, radiating warmth. "You are going to use your mouth on me, and every time you pause or make a sound, I will turn it up a notch. It has five settings, so you have four chances before it hits the highest setting. You will not speak, and you will not come until I say so, or you will be punished. Do you understand me?" Chloe speaks before she can catch herself.
"Yes, ma – fuck!" her words are cut off with a cry, because Beca has clicked a button, obviously on some remote that she holds in her hand, and the vibrating increases in power. It takes her a moment to push down her desire and gather her composure. The desire to squirm and take her pleasure herself is nearly overwhelming, but she resists; it's how she ended up in this position, after all.
"That's one out of four, Chloe," Beca says sternly, and Chloe can hear her displeasure. "I thought I made myself clear when I said you were not to speak. Did you disobey me on purpose?" Mindful this time not to answer aloud, Chloe quickly shakes her head. "Do you want to be punished?" Beca prompts. Chloe shakes her head again. "I'm not so sure about that." She moves closer, and suddenly strong fingers are tangled in her hair, and she's enveloped in Beca's heady scent, stronger than it's ever been.
"Now. You will not speak, and you will not stop, and you will not come unless I give you permission. Have I made myself clear?" When Chloe nods, Beca affirms the gesture with a scrape of her nails against the submissive's scalp. "Good. Then you may begin." And then Chloe surges forward. Beca must have stripped down when she was over at the cupboard, because when she makes contact, it's with bare, heated flesh. She's eager to taste, to drink in her Mistress's desire, and more than that, she wants to make her feel good. She feels the urge to satisfy her Mistress stronger than everything, even her own need. Beca has been so good to her, so caring and attentive, and it's only fair that she is rewarded. Besides, Chloe is an inherently giving person, and to make Beca feel good will bring her nearly as much pleasure as when she is finally permitted to come.
She licks strongly through soaked folds, and Beca's grip on her hair immediately tightens. It only takes her a moment to locate the domme's clit with her blindfold still on, and almost immediately, she closes soft lips around it and sucks lightly. She feels rather than hears the low whimper that Beca emits at the sensation, and she grins slightly at the reaction.
That turns out to be a mistake as Beca fumbles with the remote, kicking the strength of the vibrations in Chloe's core up a notch. Chloe struggles not to gasp, realizing her error, and delves back into her task with enthusiasm, determined not to pause again. She only has two chances left, and she's already not certain that she can hold out for as long as she needs to in order to make Beca come. Her arousal is building fast, causing her muscles to tighten around the vibrator, which only serves to enhance the feeling. Her instincts seem to be against her, and she's forced to wage a constant battle between her mind and her body as she continues to pleasure her Mistress.
Beca is soaking wet, practically dripping with need, and it makes it easy for Chloe to dip her tongue ever so slightly into her entrance. Instantly, the domme's hands tighten in her hand, and her head is being pressed forward, deeper into her arousal. Knowing what is being asked of her, she immediately acquiesces, slipping her tongue in as far as she can reach and curling it within Beca's heat. The brunette's walls tighten, and Chloe knows she's close, despite the fact that she's only been at this for a less than a minute. She hums out something obscure on instinct, pressing closer to nuzzle Beca's clit.
A loud gasp sounds above her, and Beca shakes. "Fuck, Chloe, just like that," she pants, and Chloe can't hold back another grin. The response is immediate as the vibrating increases, and she's forced to pull back for the tiniest fraction of a second to catch her breath. Beca growls at the loss of contact, gripping her hair to pull her back in. Chloe wants to make her feel good, she really does, but right now she's almost crying with desperation. She's forced to lean forward to reach, and the position causes the dildo to shift within her, suddenly pressing against her most sensitive spot. She breaks away again to pant out a moan, and mercilessly, Beca responds by clicking the vibrator up to the highest setting. Chloe almost screams, and to stifle it, she presses forward and leans up, taking Beca's clit in her mouth again. This time, with her lips wrapped around the swollen bundle, she grazes her teeth against it lightly and flicks out her tongue, once, twice, and then Beca's coming hard, her fingers snaked tightly through auburn locks, so tightly that it hurts, but it feels good, and Chloe's not complaining. She feels like she's about to cry with franticness, and the ache between her legs is so intense that it threatens to make her pass out.
Beca trembles above her, barely managing to hold herself up on weak knees, and when her shaking eases slightly, Chloe bites down again softly to throw her over the edge again, needing something to occupy her mouth when her need is threatening to erupt from her in a scream. Beca cries out as she falls apart again, her hands tug hard in Chloe's hair, and the tingling combination of pain and pleasure is all the redhead needs to go tumbling over the edge.
She falls forward with a low half moan, half scream of pleasure as her orgasm rushes through her, momentarily consuming her from head to toe in a bright shock of lightning in her veins that actually makes her body spasm. It goes on for longer than she expects, temporarily blocking out all senses and conscious thought. When the rushing in her blood calms, dulling and spreading out into steady warmth that heats her from every little facet of her body, she presses her forehead against Beca's thigh and lets out a soft sigh of relief.
It doesn't last, because just as she returns to her senses, Beca regains hers, and the grasp on her hair yanks her upwards so suddenly that her blood pressure, already strained from her recent orgasm, doesn't have time to catch up. Flashing lights break out behind her eyelids, and she stumbles, ankles bound and head consumed by a rush that threatens to render her unconscious.
Beca steadies her with a hand on each of her hips, but once Chloe has regained her footing and can stand somewhat steadily on her own, the domme's irritation becomes clear.
"What did I tell you about when you get to come?" she demands sharply, with a pull to Chloe's hair. "You may speak now."
Chloe gasps out, "That I couldn't until you said so," because it's all she can remember right now with the vibrator still on and her head seemingly in a million different places at once. Apparently it's the correct response, because Beca responds with another sharp tug to a curl and a hum of assent.
"And what did you do, Chloe?" she wants to know.
"I – I disobeyed you, Mistress," Chloe chokes out.
"How?"
"You said I couldn't come until you said so, and I did anyway."
"And do you deserve to be punished for that?" Beca demands. Chloe still can't see her, but she can tell that their lips are inches apart from the way she can practically feel the brunette's words on her own mouth.
"No – no, Mis . . ." she falters when Beca reaches down and pinches her clit firmly, rolling it between her fingers.
"Tell me the truth, pet; you have been a bad girl. Do you deserve to be punished?" the domme demands again, with an even harder squeeze. Chloe's knees weaken, and her words come out as a cry.
"Y – yes, Mistress!" Beca presses down again, causing stars to burst behind Chloe's fluttering eyelids.
"Yes, what, Chloe?"
"I deserve to be punished! I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished however you see fit, Mistress!" she cries, when Beca's fingers show no sign of relenting. "Please – oh! – please teach me that I – I was bad; remind me that I'm yours to punish as you please!" She's desperate again; Beca's touch has built her right back up to the point she was at when she was forced to kneel, but she knows that she won't get to come again until she's been punished and Beca determines she has earned her pleasure. It's a little pathetic how willing she is to beg and plead and cry in order to be given release, but neither of them are embarrassed by it; this is what she agreed to, after all, and she has no trouble admitting that it's in her nature.
"How much should I punish you, Chloe?" Beca asks, and Chloe responds instinctively again, the words flowing from her lips without thought.
"Until you decide I've learned my lesson, Mistress," she pants out, trying desperately to keep ahold of her mind and keep a handle on her desire as Beca draws tight circles around her clit. She can almost feel Beca's satisfied smile, and she can hear the smirk in her voice as she responds.
"Very good, pet." And suddenly, her wrists and ankles are unclipped from each other, and she's being dragged across the room to what's presumably one of the benches. Beca bends her over it without further ado, clipping both her wrists and ankles to its sides, leaving her backside entirely exposed. She's positioned in such a way that her center has no contact with the vinyl, though the dildo is still buried deep, and she's stuck whimpering, desperate for more contact.
She gets the contact when the flogger falls sharply on her ass.
Immediately, she arches up – as much as she can in the position she's in – letting out a hiss of pain at the feeling of the lash trailing over her sensitive skin. Beca chuckles behind her, and another blow lands hard. Chloe grits her teeth, forcing herself not to cry out at the pain. Only two lashes have been dealt, and already she can feel her ass burning bright red. It hurts; it stings and it burns and it aches, but it also feels good, and she can't help the feeling of pleasure that shoots through her at the recognition of her own vulnerability. She's bent over a bench, tied down and once again completely at Beca's mercy. She's going to hurt until Beca decides to stop, and the realization of that level of control hits her hard.
Beca is going to give her whatever she deems necessary, whether it be pain or pleasure, and Chloe is completely dependent on her to receive either. She has no need to concern herself with her own wellbeing; Beca will tend to her. Everything she is experiencing has been taken out of her hands. Beca has taken control of her and promised to give her what she needs in return; to take care of her and provide her with love and pleasure and the pain that she so desperately craves.
Chloe is hers.
This is what she signed up for two and a half years ago when she agreed to be Mark's submissive; this is what she has been craving and has so far been deprived of. It has always been in her nature to give, to be open and free, and this is the purest, most primal form of that openness. To put her faith completely in the hands of someone else and to trust their judgment and their level of devotion to her is the rawest form of giving up control that she can even conceive of. She is going to be bent over this bench, receiving hard, burning lashes to her ass until Beca decides that she's had enough.
And she does; Chloe's lost count of the hits that she's taken since she was pinned down. She has no concept of how long she's been like this; only that it could have been minutes, or hours for all she knows. Time has slowed in the oddest of ways, seeming to move in slow motion, and the sensation of the lashes being dealt hasn't faded, but it's blocked out everything else until the feeling is all she knows. She has no concept of anything besides this; she can't fathom a beginning or an end to this overwhelming sensation. There is only this; there is only Beca, owning her, controlling her; giving her the punishment she needs; it's all that will ever exist. Her skin is on fire and her center is throbbing and her thighs are soaked in her own desire; she's trembling and incoherent and she hardly even registers her own voice begging for release.
Being owned by Beca is all she knows, and so far as her narrowed mind can comprehend, it's all she needs. This feeling of overpowering ownership and submission, of being entirely beneath someone else's control, has her firmly convinced that she can want for nothing else. Right now, she is being owned. Her mind has narrowed to make her understand that her existence is a present condition; she can say nothing of a minute from now, or tomorrow, or a month ahead; she can't conceive of a moment that isn't now. Stripped of any future or past or any inhibitions, she exists right now, in this moment, and in this moment, her needs are being taken care of, and that is all she needs – Beca is all she needs.
It's a recognition that overwhelms her, despite how deep and unreachable her mind is, and she's speaking before she can stop herself, one cheek pressed sideways into the cool vinyl, an innumerable hit landing on the flesh of her ass as she speaks.
"Thank you." She doesn't intend for her words to make Beca stop, but they do; the domme immediately ceases raining blows upon her reddened skin and moves to kneel beside her head. A hand strokes her hair, and slowly, Chloe turns her head in the direction of her Mistress's voice. Her mind is still floating somewhere above her body, but it's drifting a little closer, close enough that she knows she can reach it if she stretches.
"What do you mean, pet?"
"Thank you for taking care of me," Chloe says simply. For her, it's simple; Beca owns her. It's all she knows. She hears an intake of breath, and then her blindfold is removed, and she's looking up into her Mistress's stormy eyes.
"Chloe?" Beca breathes, and if Chloe didn't know better she would say that the brunette sounds afraid. The tone serves to bring her back a little, and she blinks. Her mind clears a little further, far enough for her to be able to speak to her Mistress with conviction.
"I'm yours, Mistress; I belong to you, and I'm happy that I do. You make me feel special; wanted. Thank you for making me yours." She's a little confused at the sight of tears gathering in the corner's of dark eyes, but then her Mistress is releasing her from her bonds and pulling her to her feet, leading her back over to the wall and re-cuffing her wrists to the rings. One warm hand is splayed out across Chloe's lower abdomen, pressing inward slightly, and then there's a tug and the dildo is removed from between her legs. Chloe protests its absence with a groan, not only for the loss of contact, but for the rush of feeling her mind return that comes with it, but the sound is cut off with a gasp that blends into a choked, throaty whimper, and her eyes snap up to meet Beca's at the feeling of the domme's long, slender fingers sliding gently into her heat. Their gazes lock hard, and they stare back at each other for a long moment, hardly breathing.
Then Beca moves her fingers, and it's the most intimate thing either of them have ever experienced.
Beca has touched her submissives before, always with the intention of strengthening a bond, but she's never done this. She's never looked into someone's eyes as she brings them pleasure, watching the bliss play out beautifully across their face. She's never witnessed the emotions that flicker through their awed eyes as she brings them ecstasy beyond anything they've ever known.
She'd been expecting a reaction of some sort when she took her, but she'd never anticipated watching Chloe's eyes fill with unmistakable joy when she first touched her so intimately. She curls her fingers deeply and finds that magical little spot, and she plays with it, pressing down hard and dragging her fingertips slowly across the sensitive flesh. Chloe's jaw drops; her features contort in rapture, and she draws a harsh, ragged breath that sounds like she's struggling with the effort to breathe. Awed by the reaction, Beca repeats the motion, this time with the added pressure of her thumb again the swollen little bundle of nerves, and Chloe chokes out a needy moan.
She only needs to do it one more time, this time with the addition of a third finger, before Chloe is right on the edge, whimpering, her chest heaving, struggling to hold on. Beca's other hand is up at her ribs, cradling her for support. She can feel Chloe's rapid heartbeat beneath the warm press of her palm. The feeling of it does something to her – something about the knowledge of her capability, the extent of her control, makes her warm inside. She has complete and total command over the body in her hands; it's up to her whether Chloe gets the release she deserves or not. If she decides that it's not quite time yet, she could stop, and Chloe would have to wait even longer for the relief she's been craving.
But Chloe's waited long enough; she's waited years for someone who cares for her, days after days for Beca to agree to give her what she needs; hours for this, this release of control, this pleasure beyond anything she's ever experienced. She's made a couple mistakes, but those stemmed from desperation, not from disobedience, and now she's more than made up for that. She's been good, and so it's only natural to reward her for her behavior.
And on the other hand, Beca just wants to make her come. She wants to watch Chloe fall apart beneath her touch, and she wants to watch it now, so she works towards it diligently. Each curl and thrust of her fingers brings her submissive closer to the edge, farther and farther past the line of return. She holds Chloe's eyes the entire time, stroking her and pressing into the warmth and tightness like she owns her (which, she reminders herself, she does). She curls her fingers once more, more deeply than before, and presses down hard on the swollen little nub, staring deeply into hooded sapphire, seeing the awe and joy and devotion shimmering there, and then Chloe shatters.
It's the most beautiful thing she's ever witnessed; Chloe's cheeks are flushed bright red, her features twisted with ecstasy, but it's her eyes that get to Beca the most; they're locked onto her own, still, even as Chloe quakes and trembles and falls apart; even as she cries out beautifully, something unintelligible but full of gratitude and devotion, while her eyes shine with something beyond all rapture and joy. It takes longer than a minute for her body to relax from the stiffened position it's in, but she doesn't stop shaking, and on a whim, Beca presses down with her thumb again, and Chloe's coming for a second time, this time with a long, low moan. Her whole body trembles with the force of her release, and Beca doesn't stop her movements until it's clear that she's finally done.
Chloe sags in her restraints, and Beca hastens to withdraw her fingers and uncuff her, and gathers her drained submissive tenderly in her arms. Chloe is still quivering uncontrollably, her body fairly vibrating. Beca carries her across the room to the couch and settles with her there, leaning back and simply letting Chloe cling to her with a franticness that draws lines in her skin through her shirt. It takes her a moment to realize that the ginger's shaking is stemming from two causes – exhaustion and tears. Chloe is sobbing against her collarbone, all the while trying to bury herself deeper into Beca's embrace. Feeling tears soak her heated skin, Beca willingly tightens her hold.
They lie there for hours, curled around each other, while Chloe clings to her and sobs. Beca combs her fingers through tangled auburn hair with one hand, stroking the sweaty, shaky skin of Chloe's bare back with the other. She allows her touch to linger over the bumps in the submissive's spine, tracing the knots of bones and well-defined muscles that tremble with exhaustion. They're both completely naked, but the situation isn't remotely sexual; it's steady and comfortable and soothing. Chloe is tangled all around her body, legs intertwined, their arms curled around each other to hold each other close. Her face is tucked in Beca's neck, but her ear is against the brunette's chest, right above her heart, and Beca feels her press closer to the strong, steady beat, as though drawing strength from its regularity.
Chloe's mind and heart are in turmoil. She has no way of describing what she's just experienced other than to recognize that it's unlike anything she's ever known. All she knows is that a slew of emotions that she wasn't even aware existed are overwhelming her, and that while being cradled against Beca's body doesn't make them go away – she doesn't think she wants them to go away – it soothes her. Being as close to her Mistress as possible makes dealing with all of those overpowering feelings less daunting.
They lie there for longer than either of them can register, long enough so that Chloe, who has been timing seconds by Beca's heartbeat, loses track somewhere in the ten thousands, and still they lie there. All the while, Beca murmurs to her lovingly, caressing her skin and pressing reverent kisses to the top of her head, whispering things like, you're such a good girl, and you did so well, and I'm so proud of you. It doesn't entirely ease Chloe's inner hurricane, but it does enough to soothe it so that eventually, after what's probably over an hour of lying nestled in Beca's arms, she feels able to sit up.
The moment she starts to move, Beca is holding her again, pulling her in close and nestling her into the warm curves of her body. She sits up, but it's with Chloe in her arms, and when she's gotten her submissive settled in a comfortable enough position, she stands and carries her bridal style into the adjoining bathroom.
Chloe is laid down on the padded bench at one end of the room, and finds that it has more than enough room for her to stretch out as far as she can in every direction. Beca tends to her there, removing her wrist cuffs, gently cleaning her with a warm washcloth, and padding her softly dry with a large, fluffy towel. Then she helps her to turn over onto her stomach and slips a pillow beneath her head. Chloe turns slightly to look at her, opening her mouth to question her as to what's going on, but then Beca's hands begin to smooth the soothing lotion into her burning, sensitive skin, and she relaxes in understanding. A contented hum escapes her lips as Beca moves upwards to knead at her tense shoulders and back.
This Beca is so different from the demanding Mistress she'd been facing earlier, but she's also somehow the same. Her movements are just as authorative and sure, but she's gentle with her caresses, and her words are quiet and affectionate. It leaves Chloe with a deep sense of being cared for and respected. The feeling lingers as Beca runs a brush smoothly through her hair, and as she gathers Chloe in her arms again to help her sit up. Tenderly, she dresses her in a pair of matching pajama pants and tee shirt, both of them sky blue, soft, and warm from being draped over a heating rack. A warm robe is eased around her shoulders, and then Beca helps her to her feet.
A strong, supporting arm is wrapped around her waist, and Beca guides her slowly back into the room. There, she settles her in the bed and departs momentarily, only to return with a small bowl of fruit and crackers and a bottle of water, which she encourages Chloe to consume. The redhead obeys without a murmur, and, upon accepting the food, discovers that she's actually exceedingly hungry. When she's done, she sits back against the headboard, warm and relaxed but drained beyond belief.
Beca moves around the room for several minutes, tidying up and placing items back in their respective cabinets, and then she, too, dons a pair of pajamas and slips into bed beside her exhausted submissive. Chloe immediately snuggles into her.
"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Beca whispers into thick hair. "How do you feel?" Chloe's first response is a quiet hum, which tells Beca the answer to her first query. Then up from the general area of her collarbone comes a mumbled response. "What was that, Chloe?" Chloe shifts, curling an arm around Beca's waist, to look up at her Mistress with a smile that, while small, radiates happiness and contentment.
"I feel wonderful, ma'am. Thank you for taking care of me. I – no one's ever done that for me before," she says honestly. Beca frowns, shifting to pull the taller girl deeper into her embrace.
"No one's ever done what for you, Chloe?" she wants to know. Chloe shrugs, the movement displacing her grasp a little bit.
"Held me afterwards. Made sure that I was all right," she says offhandedly. When Beca doesn't respond, she looks up. Her Mistress's face is frozen with shock.
"No one's ever given you aftercare?" She sounds absolutely stunned. It's Chloe's turn to frown, a suspicious feeling creeping up on her. She's heard that phrase before, but largely ignored it in the past – it had never pertained to what she was doing.
"No?" It's a question, and one that makes the shock in Beca's eyes turn first to anger, and then transform into a steady, warm determination.
"Well, now you'll have it," she says simply, and wraps her arms more securely around Chloe's waist.
"Why, ma'am?" Chloe asks curiously. She has the strangest feeling that she's just been given an incredible gift that she doesn't quite know how to recognize. Beca glances down at her, and the look in her darkened eyes is kind and meaningful, edged with a hint of possessiveness that steals Chloe's breath away.
"Because now you're mine, Chloe," she tells her quietly. Stroking a hand affectionately up and down her submissive's spine, she closes her eyes, her lips pressed lightly to vibrant hair.
When she begins to hum, it starts as a vibration against delicate bones, and travels down Chloe's body in a shiver.
