by W. Winters
“Was he soft with you?”
Again I hesitate, and my fingers slip to the hem of my dress. “I don’t know.”
“Did you have lessons from anyone else or observe any other training?”
“No … not really. It’s not … It wasn’t my kink. I love it, and I loved being his, but all I know is what he told me.”
Zander’s hand flexes once more, the fingers noticeably spreading wide before he makes a fist. My eyes are drawn to the movement. “It means behave.”
A smirk tips up my lips. “Is it a threat of a spanking?” I question and Zander doesn’t react. Heat overwhelms me, the nervous kind and I stay perfectly still. His hazel eyes never leave me, and it takes a moment for him to answer. “No. It’s a command. I will not threaten you, and I don’t like that language.”
“So serious,” I murmur, all humor leaving the room.
“You enjoy being spanked, don’t you? You love it even.”
“I do.”
“When I tell you to behave, it is not the promise of you enjoying what would happen if you do not obey. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have a safe word?” he questions.
I answer with only a nod, the word stuck at the back of my throat.
“Did you use it often?”
“No. I tried not to use it ever.” His expression is unmoving, but his eyes spark with an emotion I can’t place.
“I want you to pick a word now.”
“Should it be the same as before?” I question without asking if I have permission to speak freely. The fear of disapproval grips me instantly and I’m more than aware that Zander notices. It’s the first time since we’ve started that his expression softens.
“We are not in a scene and I am happy to clarify,” he answers, his tone soothing and caressing away the worry. “So long as you are answering or searching for an answer, I am pleased.” I only nod, my heart continuing to run away from me.
“To answer your question, the word is yours to choose. It can be the same, or it can be different. It can be as simple as ‘stop,’ although if you choose that word, you may find that you want to change it later … it’s quite easy to use the word when the intensity picks up.” With a deeper inhale, Zander’s hips move slightly and he palms his erection through his jeans. “I intend to push every boundary with time, but for your word, it is yours and you can use anything you wish.”
“Even something like … daffodil?”
He only nods and when I’m silent in response he asks, “Is that your word?”
“No.” My gaze drops to the floral print decorating my dress. I didn’t anticipate feeling … like this.
“What’s wrong?”
I nearly shake my head but before I can complete the action, denying that anything is off, Zander commands, “You will tell me what you were thinking. And you will tell me now.”
My throat is tight when I answer, “He told me it was a silly word. He said the safe word shouldn’t be … daffodil.” I don’t know why it hurts so much to remember that. James was good to me. And I loved it. I loved everything that we had together.
“He was soft, and from the sounds of it, it was play for you? It was more than likely play for him with … limited experience.
“Safe words are respected regardless of what they are. Whatever word you want to use, I will abide by. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” The stirring of heat in his eyes is echoed at my core under the skirt of my dress. Simply from the way he looks at me, with the darker gaze of a Dominant.
“When you are ready, tell me what your word is.”
“Pink.” I answer him with only the word and not the reason, praying silently that he won’t ask for one.
“Pink.” He nods once with his eyes closed before opening them, his dark gaze still fixed on me. “Understood.”
“You will use this word often because I will be pushing to find your boundaries. I am not a soft Dom. Know that I don’t have any indication whatsoever of your limits. Using your safe word is the only way I will discover them. And it will please me when you use it.”
That’s so different from before. The way we used it … it was a bad thing to use a safe word. James didn’t like it at all, although it only happened a handful of times. I’ve always thought our relationship was kinky. But now I’m questioning many things I thought I knew well, and we haven’t even begun.
“Again, answer me with only a single word. Understood?” The seriousness of his tone is unexpected. For a moment I wonder if this will be too much. If I can handle this, and if this is really what I want.
“Yes.”
“For your punishment … spanking, without a doubt, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Orgasm denial?”
I hesitate to answer. With my pause, Zander asks, “You prefer it to be saved for greater offenses?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” The deep hum feels like a threat, like he knows how to mold me, how to make me behave.
“Tell me what your limits are. You can speak freely.”
“My previous …” I trail off and a tickle runs down my neck as I realize I’m going to speak of James as my Dominant for the first time in my life.
“Your Dom,” Zander says, then nods in understanding and there’s a note of comfort to his tone I don’t expect. There’s no jealousy. No judgment. It’s freeing, although the sadness lingers.
I can only nod and then swallow harshly. “He used forced silence first. Making me request permission before speaking by resting my hand on his thigh.”
With a narrowed gaze paired with his thumb dragging across the pads of his fingertips he questions, “For any offense?”
“My typical offense was back talk.”
“How is that not surprising?” Zander offers me a wicked grin that teases the sensitive bundle of nerves desperate for his lips and his touch.
“It is important to me that we speak freely and with respect. I love your mouth and there are a number of things I imagine doing to it. But it would hurt me greatly to silence you.”
The seriousness of his admission warrants an “understood” from me.
“If it occurs, there will be physical punishment before forced silence. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“I imagine your behavior was different when you last enjoyed that relationship.”
“Very,” I admit and the flashes of a woman I used to be threaten to break me. Before the memories can linger, Zander continues.
“There was more than spanking and forced silence. What else?”
My body hums with exhilaration, and I’m grateful for the distraction. “We played with paddles and whips. I loved the paddles. I didn’t like the whips at all. I don’t want to bleed.”
“He broke skin each time with the whips?” Although his tone is calm, his question is spoken quickly, with an urgency that puts me on edge.
“Yes. We only did it the once and I couldn’t handle it.”
“Not all whippings break skin.”
“I don’t want to bleed. That’s the reason I don’t like whips.”
The tips of Zander’s fingers tap one after the other in rhythm against his jeans as he considers what I’ve said. “I think we should eliminate all whips for now, but know they don’t all result in what you experienced. He practiced and learned with you; is that right?”
I can only nod, emotions getting the better of me. I don’t like thinking of James as lesser. There’s not an ounce of me that wants that.
“He didn’t want to hurt me. He stopped. The moment I used the safe word, he stopped.” The words rush out of me, each one of them trembling.
I’m met with silence and the only sound I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
“I made you feel you had to defend your former Dom. It’s not my intention. For that, I apologize.”
The unexpected response only brings about emotions I don’t expect. A true sadness and I don’t
want it.
“Tell me what you loved about it with him. Your scenes, the rewards and punishments. I respect and honor what you had with him. What we have will be different. I will be careful in ways I believe he may not have known how to be. Know that I do not think less of him or of what you had because of it.
“I will find your limits. Tell me now if there are any hard limits. Choking, degradation, fisting, bondage, caning, restrictive discipline, cuckolding, anything at all.” My jaw drops slightly from how easily he rattles off the terms.
“Cuckolding is me watching while you’re with someone else but not being … tended to myself, correct?”
He nods, his fist resting under his chin now. “Correct.”
“I don’t want that. I … The videos may have made it seem like I …” Frustration bubbles inside of me. “I am not usually so flustered. I prefer to be blunt.”
“Take your time,” he tells me. “I’m not in any rush.”
“I am possessive. I don’t want to be jealous. And I’m not, if it’s an equal sexual act. But using another woman to punish me … I am … I don’t care for it at all.”
“Cuckolding as a punishment is far different from your kink of exhibitionism and swinging or swapping partners. There’s a difference in act, in emotion, in intention. I understand that you can enjoy one and despise the other.”
All I can give him is a small nod and a whisper in return. “Thank you.”
“So … cuckolding is off the table, is there anything else?”
“Bodily fluids in general,” I answer.
“Including spitting?” he questions and my body should not at all react as it does.
“No. I meant … I meant …”
“Blood, urine and scat.”
Pushing my hair out of my face, the frustration turns to infuriation. I am stronger than this. I am capable of answering bluntly and without hesitation.
“I am detail oriented with this information. I understand if you haven’t been asked about this before. There is no shame in that.”
Again I nod, my lips pressed in a thin line.
“When we enter a scene, I will inform you if there is anything new to us, or anything we haven’t already discussed. There will never be any surprise discipline either. Those are the only times I will prepare you. You must use your safe word or even tell me you are considering using it whenever you feel unsafe or an action is unwanted. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And your rewards will be pleasure. Excessive, freely given pleasure. I will test your boundaries, and I will discover what you prefer myself. That is my reward.” His voice is firm, and drips with sex appeal. Any negative emotions are quickly burned away by the primitive need that takes control of every piece of me. “You will not dictate your reward, is that understood?”
“Yes,” I answer in a whisper.
“Do you have any questions?”
“When will we do scenes?” I ask immediately.
His answer is unexpected. “To start, always.” His rough laugh is subdued and a deadly sound. “You’re surprised?”
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Yes.” Although I’m slightly shocked, my body blazes with an eagerness to begin.
“You have your safe word, pink. Now I must find those limits in all things. It is best to stay in play for as long as you are willing and I am able.”
Adrenaline rushes through my veins and I find myself picking at the tips of my fingers.
“When do we start?”
“When you no longer have questions and acknowledge that you are now mine. My submissive. And I am yours. Your Dominant.”
“There’s one. I have … one more question.” With his eyes closing slowly, he nods and peers back up at me, still very calm, very soothing in his nature.
“And what is that?”
“Would we record anything?”
He searches my expression, his body stilling. “Like the videos of you I found on the internet?”
“No. Not the … not the punishments and rewards. That’s not what I was thinking about. Although, I think that’s a separate conversation. I mean our sessions. Where we talk. Can we record those?”
“With what intention? You wish to play them back?”
“I want to share them on my social media. Like us talking through it. Not … not the rewards and punishments. But the therapy sessions. I want to show people how I’m getting through it. The good and the bad. I want to help them too.”
“I think we should move through some of the harder topics before we get comfortable with inviting people in. I will consider it, though. I will review first.”
A huff of humor that’s mostly genuine leaves me. All the men want to review everything. I remind myself that they’re protecting me. And I nod although the semblance of a smile slips as I realize something.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” My focus whips back to him and his stare directed at me holds a possessive intensity that catches me off guard. My answer is immediate and spoken without conscious consent. “My voice.”
With a narrowed gaze, I answer more thoroughly before he pries. “It’s different than it was before. Scratchier. It sounds different, and they’ll notice.”
“I see.”
There’s a small beat in time that passes before he says, “I want you to tell me something about why your voice hurts. Anything at all.”
Dread chills any desire I’ve had over the last hour.
He adds, “I only want one fact but if you want to tell me more, you can. At least one, though. You can do that.”
I speak without thinking at his urging, just to get it out there. “I regret it.”
“You regret what exactly?” Shifting in this expensive dress on the sofa, I feel cheap and unworthy. “You can change what you want to tell me if you prefer that. But what you tell me must be exact.”
“It hurts because I needed surgery after I drank something I wasn’t supposed to. I also needed a blood transfusion.” I stare at the floor as I speak, focusing on anything other than Zander.
“Look at me,” he commands and I do. I obey even though it pains me to do so. “You were aware of what you were drinking?”
I nearly whisper that he told me to tell him only one thing. Just one. Instead the words get caught in my throat, and my eyes prick.
“Good girl,” Zander murmurs in a low timbre. Closing my eyes, I do what I’ve always done, I hold back the tears.
“You have a powerful voice. They will want to hear it even if it sounds different.”
I slowly open my eyes to find Zander’s expression full of both want and approval.
“If you want to record something, we can. I will be selective about what’s saved for you to share.”
Pressing my fingers to the corners of my eyes, I comment dryly, “All the men in my life are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Kam is also monitoring what I post. Damon monitors what I write.” For the first time today, my throat feels hoarse and sore; it’s definitely gotten better with time. The silence doesn’t go unnoticed as I pick up my teacup and drain the now cold tea, leaving behind nothing. It clinks when I set it back down on the table.
It’s not until I look back up at Zander that he tells me, “Understood.”
Leaning forward in his seat across from me, Zander rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on the tips of his pointers. “Do you acknowledge that you are my submissive and I am your Dom given the verbal agreements we discussed tonight?”
There is a calmness in his question, but a threat in his hungry gaze.
I murmur, “Yes.”
“Say it,” he demands.
Swallowing down any hesitation, I give him my submission. “You are my Dominant and I am yours.”
He moves all at once, as if my admission opened a lock that held him chained to the chair. So quickly I hardly register it until one hand of his is wrapped around my throat, holding my head against the s
ofa, with the other on my hip, pinning me to the cushion.
The shock warrants a gasp from me, his touch a smoldering heat.
He stares at my lips as my racing heart pounds in my chest. “What is your safe word?” he questions. “Say it out loud now.”
There is no hesitation when I answer him, “Pink.” When I swallow, his fingers grip my throat tighter, not constricting, but holding a steady pressure that makes my pulse race with desire.
His right hand moves ever so slowly as he commands me to lift up my dress for him.
My motions are slower than I’d like, but he’s patient. The soft fabric glides against my sensitized skin. A low hum that’s nearly a growl, of approval resonates from deep in his chest. The air around us is suffocating enough, but his hand on me, controlling me and possessing me, is everything.
I move slowly, but he does not. His right hand cups me through the thin cotton fabric and with his eyes closed he groans, “So fucking wet.”
His thumb strums against my clit and I’d throw my head back in pleasure if I could. As it is, I’m pinned where I am.
“You’ve been a good girl tonight,” he tells me, his eyes darkening and holding me still as much as his hand at my throat does.
Pushing the fabric to the side, he runs his fingers along the seam of my pussy lips. Once, twice, spreading the arousal up to my swollen nub where he puts more pressure and runs sweeping circles. Goosebumps race down my arms and then lower.
I struggle to say or do anything, staring at him and for the first time in over a year, feeling wanted. Truly wanted.
When his fingers dip inside of me, not deep, only testing, two things happen at once. My bottom lip drops and I moan from the sudden pleasure. And Zander hisses, “Fuck.”
His eyes shut and he stills for a moment. A long enough moment that I question him.
“Do it,” I utter and in an instant, he’s flipped me over so I’m on all fours. His hand that was at my throat fists the hair at the nape of my neck. His knee is on the sofa, my ass pressed against his jeans. With my back arched, he tugs just slightly.
Again my heart races. He’s not gentle with me as he grips my hip, and lowers his lips to the shell of my ear. “Do not test my control, you will regret the punishment immensely.”
