Chapter 27
Okay, I can do this, I tell myself. I have to see what he's all about, where he'll take me. Just do it. Just do it. If I repeat it like a mantra, maybe I'll start believing I can. "Alright. Let's continue," I say weakly.
Even before the words finish leaving my voice box the whip rains down on me again, hitting my other butt cheek. Is he doing this on purpose? So I won't pester him into sharing this lifestyle with me? I suspect that's at least part of his motivation so I impel myself to hang on.
He gives me two more tastes of the whip before stopping and I can't help wonder if it's because I complained. I hate to prove him right—that I can't handle this kind of thing. I have to wonder, though, what kind of woman can? Why suck up all this pain for no good reason?
That's what I'm here to find out: that good reason. Is there one? I've yet to see. It appears, however, that I've survived the whip even though the back of my body must resemble a peppermint stick with red stripes running up and down.
I sense him right behind me, doing nothing, saying nothing. Just a potent presence with warm breath and body heat. What is he planning? I wait on tenterhooks, barely breathing in the dense air. He brushes against me and I can feel his clothing against my sensitized skin so he's still dressed. A vibrator turns on and it leaps at me between the legs. It's too strong and I'm too sensitive so I try to buck but I'm pinned down like a bug. He doesn't lower the intensity and I whimper my dissatisfaction.
"My choice, not yours," he says softly, directly into my ear. My head fills with his voice, usually silky and sensuous, now stern and unequivocal. This voice says it will brook no disobedience, no insult, no… nothing. It is truly intimidating, the voice of a… master.
He continues. "It's an understanding that must seep into your mind the same way an IV seeps into your bloodstream, drip by drip, until it's throughout your system." His lips graze my ear. "It has to live in you, the knowledge that you have no choices, no decisions. It's a total power exchange: you give it to me and I take it."
He lifts the vibrator off precisely when it had just begun to feel good. What a rat bastard.
If I wasn't needy before, I am now. I'm still blindfolded so everything is amplified. I can hear him move near my head, hear the zipper opening, feel his finger touch my lips. I can guess what he wants so I open my mouth.
His fingers weave through my long hair until he fists his hand tightly, pulling my hair until it hurts, controlling me utterly. He pushes himself into my mouth until my gag reflex kicks in. He retreats but only a few inches and does it again. Once more, I begin to choke.
"Learn to control it, Ana. You cannot accommodate me if you are slave to your body. Rather be slave to me."
Okay, it's very insulting, I know. And if I were reading about it happening to someone else, I'd be outraged for her. But in the moment? With a ridiculously gorgeous alpha male standing in front of you, his deep voice saturated with authority? Dominion that you've willingly given him. It's seriously hot. I want to cradle him between my legs, squeezing him tight, and look into his eyes as he uses his body to make mine sing.
But we're not here to give me what I want: we're here to give him what he wants. Forcing me to fellate him the way he did has allowed me to understand what he means—on a visceral level. I see that now. So if he knows how much I want him to share that beautiful erection with me, he won't. It's as simple as that… so I keep my dirty little thoughts to myself and wait.
After giving me a minute to regroup, he pushes into my mouth, into my throat, again and this time I triumph over my reflex and accept him passively. He's in so deeply that I could feel him bumping against my tonsils. It's scary to be bound and blindfolded, your head tightly controlled and guided… but that same fear excites me. I'm so wet I'm swamping—a surefire way for him to know exactly what I'm feeling.
Withdrawing, he steps away—somewhere behind me and I hear the cuff snaps being undone. His hands go under my arms and he lifts me off, standing me on the floor. He unclips my wrist cuffs and rubs my shoulders. I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck as he leans in to whisper.
"Do you think you've been a good girl, Ana?"
"Yes, Sir," I whisper.
"Do you think you deserve an orgasm?"
"I do."
He pinches me hard on my sore backside. What did I do? Oh shit. "Sir, I do, Sir. I'm sorry."
"I'm unconvinced that you do. I'll tell you what: I will give you pleasure but it will cost you. The pleasure will only come to you with pain." He takes my hand and leads me a few steps ahead. Without being able to see, I walk haltingly. Taking both my newly liberated wrists in his large hand, he hoists them above my head and clips the o-rings onto a chain. I can hear it rattle and it's an ominous sound.
"Shall I let you watch me whip you, Ana? This time it's a small whip. Small whips are designed for small places."
I cringe inside but I don't let it show on my face. Never let 'em see you sweat, right? Licking my lips I clear my throat and hope like hell that my voice emerges steady and strong. "Whatever you desire, Sir."
"Very nice response, sweet. Let's just leave the blindfold in place, shall we?"
He walks away and I'm left hanging—literally. His footsteps recede into the distance and then return. He stops when he's about ten paces in front of me. My heart goes into overdrive.
"Are you ready?"
I nod because I can't get my voice to work right now.
"Answer me, please."
"Yes, Sir." My voice sounds alien to my ears, raspy and breathy.
"Call me Master."
"You said it didn't matter. Sir," I hurry to add in.
"I've decided it does. Say it, Ana."
I don't want to and right now I don't care to examine my reasons why. Because really, why should master be so much harder to say than sir? It's just a word… and yet it isn't. "Master."
"Spread your legs as wide as you can."
Oh, God, he's making it far worse than it has to be by prolonging the suspense. I move my feet outward, heel-toe, heel-toe, until my feet are wider than my shoulders in stance.
"Wider, please."
It will be uncomfortable and I'll be slightly off-balance if I go wider—and that's why he wants it, duh. He also wants an open target—he's actually going to whip my vajayjay. I move my legs outward until I'm spread so wide that I'm low to the ground and the chain I'm clipped onto is pulled taut.
"Perfect. How many do you think you'll need?"
"I have no idea, Sir. Master."
"Well, let's see. Count, please."
With that directive he begins. Unlike a larger, longer whip, this one slices through the air silently so when it hits me directly on my clit it does so in a stealth attack. "Ow!" I scream. There's no pleasure here, just pain. "That really hurt, Sir."
"Yellow or red are all you get to say. Count."
"One!' I yell. He strikes me again.
"Yellow!" I shout.
"What's the problem, Ana?"
"It hurts too much, Sir. There's no pleasure."
"Are you here in this room to derive pleasure then?"
"No, but you just told me that pain will come with pleasure. Sir."
"Did I not ask you to address me as Master? And be patient, the pleasure will come."
I feel tears gathering in my eyes as I realize he is forcing me to safeword and I'm going to. If he hits me one more time, I will use the word to stop it. Instead of another swat, I hear him walk to the far wall again. All too soon he's back in front of me.
"Shall we continue?" His tone is taunting.
"Yes… Master."
"Good."
Something hits me, perfectly directly on my clit. It stings a little but it's not like the whip. I don't know what it is but this time I do feel pleasure more than pain. I try not to make a sound. Whatever it is he's holding now slams into the side of my rear end. I jerk violently in response.
"Aren't you supposed to be counting?"
"I'm sorry. Two. Sir."
Another hard strike on the other side of my ass. Shit, I suck at this and as a result I'm not going to be able to sit for a week. I whimper, "Master."
He hits me again between my legs. I almost come on that one. "Three, Master."
"How many more till you come?"
"I don't know, Master."
"Guess."
"Three?"
"You're going to get three. If you come before, you'll still get three. If you don't come by three, you won't come at all. Now count and use the proper address."
With that he delivers two blows in rapid succession. Whap, whap. I call out the numbers and use his stupid form of address—just a tiny bit presumptuous of him. When I finish calling out five, the sixth and last one hits differently: a little harder and more directly on top and that's the winning one. Before I can utter the number I shriek and my knees give out. For just a second or two my weight hangs by my wrists and then he's there to shoulder it. He pulls off the blindfold and I look into his beautiful eyes, blinking from the light even as dim as it is. "Six, Master," I say, summoning a small grin. I actually feel fucking fantastic.
He tosses the implement—it was a riding crop—to the floor and leans down to kiss me lightly, then sweeps me up into his arms, easily carrying me to the bed as if I'm as light as a kitten. He places me on my hands and knees and once my face is down on the bed, he carefully moves each wrist to its corresponding ankle, locking them together. I hear the zipper being pulled down and foil crinkling as he suits up.
Normally when we make love, he'll ask me to move into a certain position or whether or not I like something. Not in here. In here he positions me however he sees fit and my opinion never comes into play. He is the master and I… I suppose I'm the slave.
Now his hands grip my ankles and roughly jerk them apart. They move to my hips to anchor me in place. Expecting his lovely hard-on, I feel something different and realize it's his tongue, sweeping down me and landing on my clit. He tongues me until I'm gasping for breath and then rams into me without warning.
What do I do? I come, of course. Screaming his name out—his given name not the presumptuous title he's forced me to use. My muscles clamp down on him and he tries to retreat but he can't do it fast enough and I drag him into the vortex of my orgasm. He grunts loudly and then his hand comes down hard on my right butt cheek, slapping it so forcefully that it makes a resounding noise.
"Ow!" My head swivels around and I see fire in his eyes. He's seriously mad at me that I made him come sooner than he wanted to? Damn.
We lie there for about five minutes, silent. Unsure if I'm allowed to touch him in here, I nonetheless reach up to stroke his hair then his face. God but he's a beautiful man. He just closes his eyes and appears to enjoy my loving caresses. After a while, though, he gets up, tosses me over his shoulder and, walking quickly, we exit the room. He puts me down in the hall and I stand there in all my naked glory.
"Uh, don't I need a robe?"
"Yes, but we didn't bring one."
"Okay, but I don't want any of your staff to see me like this. Why don't I go back in and clean up while you go fetch me a cover-up of some kind."
Wearing a confused expression, he says, "We don't have to clean up—my house cleaner will do it in the morning."
"And then I'll never be able to look her in the eye again, Christian."
He shrugs and grins happily. "So don't look at her. Ana," he pulls me into his arms, "you'll get used to it. I did."
Shaking my head, I stand my ground, having had enough of being a nice little submissive. "I am not traipsing around your apartment naked as a jaybird. Go. Get me something while I clean the room." I do an about-face and re-enter his dungeon.
First, I locate my sundress on the shiny floor and slip it over my head, tossing my swimsuit over my shoulder. Then I look around and see a cabinet next to the door. Sure enough I find some antibacterial wipes and yanking some out, proceed to wipe down the equipment we used. He used. The bench, the whips, the riding crop all got the antiseptic treatment.
While I'm in here alone, I think. I think about why he likes this, why I agreed to try it, and whether or not he'll be able to leave it behind to be with me. Could I incorporate it into my life happily? I definitely enjoyed many aspects of it… but not all. One thing I simply cannot deny: I'm deeply, irrevocably in love with Christian, be he nice, easygoing boyfriend, or scary, dominant master. I adore him and nothing is going to change that, not even whips.
Did I mention that he's a smokin' hot Dominant?
...
"Hungry?" he asks as he seats me at the breakfast bar. "Gail left us food for the weekend. How about a Caesar salad with grilled chicken?"
"Mmm, sounds good but it's past midnight. It's not good to eat before you go to sleep."
"Who said we're going to sleep?" He winks at me as he serves portions onto two salad plates.
My charming Christian is back, the mean dominant one having been left behind in the dungeon. I accept my salad and spear a piece of Romaine with my fork. "Oh my God, this is delicious. Gail is my new best friend."
He's poured two glasses of wine and hands me one, sitting next to me and placing his linen napkin over one knee. "So?" he asks before taking a sip of his wine.
"So… what? I said it's delicious."
"Ana banana, you know what I'm talking about."
I rear back, angling my head to look at him, laughter in my eyes. "Ana banana? How old are you exactly?"
He wags a finger at me. "Stop trying to sidetrack me. I want to hear about your experience in the dungeon. What do you think? Did you like it?"
Fortunately my mouth is full of Caesar salad so I can't answer him right away. What do I say? The truth? Or an adjusted version of it—an Ana-adjusted version? I'm not even sure what he wants to hear since he was so reluctant to bring me in there in the first place. I swallow my mouthful and gently pat my napkin on my lips. "I liked most of it but—"
My phone interrupts me with a plaintive wail by Eddie Vedder. I'd left my bag on the end chair of the breakfast bar so I jump off to retrieve it. Phone in hand, I glance at the screen and roll my eyes. Now I'm going to have to tell Christian and he's going to get all pissy. Guaranteed. I ignore the call and stow the phone back in my bag, returning to my seat.
"Well?"
"Nothing important. As I was saying—"
"Who was calling you at such an hour, Ana?"
I heave a sigh: I'm just not escaping this conversation. "It was Hans. I have no idea why he was calling so late."
The blaze erupts, flaring in those light eyes of his. "Hans, eh? Why didn't you answer?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "Because I'm having a conversation with you and I'm eating and it's late. Enough reasons?"
Uh-oh. His eyes narrow, his lips tighten, and the cords in his neck emerge: in a word, he's pissed. "I want that guy out of your life—permanently. If I must tolerate Gable, fine, but I will not suffer the likes of the Swede a moment longer. I want your divorce finalized."
I gaze at him, trying to douse the heat of anger that's crawling up my spine slowly but inexorably. "I was laboring under the impression that we left the D/s roles inside the dungeon; however, it appears that you've extended the game."
His cheeks tighten and his lips turn nearly white so bloodless are they. "Ana, don't play with me. You know how I feel about your husband."
"Alright, let's just table this particular discussion for the evening and get back to what we were previously venturing upon." I tilt my head, watching him closely. "Did you enjoy having me in there with you?"
An ever so slight smile breaks out on those luscious lips of his as he gently, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head. "What do you think?"
"Honestly? I'm just not sure."
He swivels on the chair to face me, our knees touching since I'm already angled toward him. Taking both my hands, he caresses mine with his thumb as he peers into my eyes. "Ana," he says sweetly, "I didn't enjoy it; I adored it, treasured it. Ecstatic may begin to describe how I felt." He inhales deeply and expels the breath slowly.
"I've never done that with a woman I've been emotionally entangled with. In fact, most of the subs I've dominated are women with whom I'd never be interested in outside of the dungeon."
I am more than surprised by his admission. "Really? Why?"
His eyes wander to the ceiling as he shrugs. "I don't quite know—it's just sort of worked out that way. But knowing you, how strong-willed you are, and that you surrendered that will because of feelings for me—not just because you have a need to be dominated—was a power trip I've never experienced before. It was almost difficult to maintain my role because I just wanted to jump you and cover you with kisses." He pulls my face to his and kisses me now and we mingle our wine-soaked tongues.
"Christian, I love you. That's what my feelings are. I've never loved any man the way I love you—not even close."
He strokes my hair. "Ana, stop. Please, stop. I don't know where to put all of this. Give me some time, love. Please." He kisses me again, holding my face with both hands. I want him to tell me he loves me but he's not ready to do so. Right now I want to lie with him, touch him, and have him touch me.
"Let's go to bed, Christian."
We sit looking into each other's eyes, doing nothing else, for a long time, maybe minutes. "Let's go," he finally says, standing up and holding out his hand. I give him mine knowing that whatever he asks for, large or small, I'll give him.
It's a sobering realization.