Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I picture him in the gear I’ve seen some of my former clients wear. Leather chaps and shorts, PVC shirts, talc stains at the hems and whip in hand. But I can’t imagine it. I know from Rosalie, the professional sub at Papillon, as well as books I’ve read and things I’ve seen on the net, that no Dom/sub relationship is cut and dry.

  Every partnership is different just as every so-called normal couple is.

  There are the folk whose limits are being cuffed to the bed, and then there are those who can be whipped until they’re bloody or be pissed on in the shower... I guess I’m going to have to figure out what my limits are. I know enough about this lifestyle to realize I’m going to have to tell Nate what they are.

  Toilet play is most definitely out, but again, I doubt Nate is into that stuff. Being whipped? Practically beaten and roughly used? No. Any arousal in my body would wither away and die at the prospect of Nate drawing blood from my poor butt with a whip. I’m into rough sex, and like I said earlier, kink, but that’s way too far out of my comfort zone.

  Nate knows I like to fuck. I think back to our last trip together, when he dragged me into the phone booth in the hotel and fucked me in the tiny space. Pinning me to the wall, gagging me with his hand to keep me quiet, urging me to an orgasm that nearly blinded me with its power. He’s always been rough, aggressive even. Not violent, just…

  The word pops into my head and the instant it does, it’s like a light bulb bursting in my brain.

  Dominant.

  He dominated me without my even realizing it. He led me to the phone booth, pulled aside my panties and fucked me. He overloaded me with one-hundred percent him, closeted me in a tiny space that made the universe boil down to just the pair of us, until the very air I breathed was loaded with his essence. And I didn’t argue, didn’t even think to stop him. I submitted. To Nate. Without knowing it. Christ.

  I just thought of him as being kinky. His aggression always turned me on, made me feel so powerful, because it was a sign of how much he wanted me. And I guess it’s no different, even knowing what I do now. But still… dominant. Wow. I form the word with my mouth as I stare up at nothing.

  My eyes are sightless but my mind is buzzing, creating image after image of the pair of us together. That same night, back in April, he fucked me in the ass afterward. He was rough, and I loved every second of it. I begged for more. Every part of me had craved him, desperate for everything he could give me. I’d wanted him to overpower me, to dominate me. How could I have been so stupid to have failed to see the truth of who and what I am?

  Moron.

  I’m ashamed at my lack of insight, but my thoughts are like quicksilver. They pass through my head at the speed of light so shame doesn’t sit with me long, before other things enter my mind. Shifting my mood within seconds.

  I picture Rosalie as I last saw her ̶ professionally, at any rate. Bent over and locked into position, legs spread wide and pussy stuffed full with a dildo. And God help me, the same thing happens as it did that day. Arousal begins to simmer through my veins. I can feel my own sex start to heat up at the idea of being restrained. A part of me thinks, ‘Whoa. Back the hell up.’ But it’s too late for that, I’m already turned on.

  I picture myself bent over his knee as he spanks my butt and the image has my spine tingling, sending a gentle rush of sensation through my body. I guess I like that idea too. My major confusion stems from the fact I’ve never wanted this before, so why is it getting me hot now? I’ve never wanted to be spanked but tying the idea of it with discipline is a way of turbocharging my arousal.

  Biting my lip, I try to hide from the image of him disciplining me, of him making me pay for whatever I’ve done wrong, of my submitting to his dominance over me. But I can’t. My body won’t let me, and I curl onto my side away from him, lifting my legs higher to roll into a fetal ball. Not even that helps. My pussy lips are squashed between my thighs, and if I twitch my hips, my pussy is getting even more attention than before.

  As I roll back to my earlier position, another image pops into my head. This time of Nate spreading my legs, knotting rope around my ankles, and tying them to the bedposts. His head drops down to press an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy, shooting the nerves in my clit from dormant to buzzing in ten seconds flat. The moment daydream Nate slips a finger inside and begins to fuck me, my hand shoots down between my legs, and I start to touch myself.

  Gently so as not to disturb the covers or the bed, I begin to rub my clit as in my mind’s eye, Nate’s fingers jerk away from my cunt the instant my hips start to roll and my cries of pleasure indicate that orgasm is close. He slaps my pussy lips with the tips of his fingers, once. Twice. It stings, the imagined burn on so soft an area has my fingers speeding up. A breath hiccups in my chest, and then a squeak as another hand whips out of nowhere and imprisons my wrist.

  A real one this time.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Busted.

  I suck in a breath. My pussy and brain are obviously working in tangent to frame me, because there are no words in my mind, nothing on the tip of my tongue. In the darkness, I stare up at him, and his proximity is so overwhelming, it adds another notch of heat to my already simmering self. His breath brushes my lips and mine his. I try to wriggle my wrist free from his grasp, but he tightens it until I wince at so fierce a hold.

  “I repeat. What the hell are you doing?”

  His low voice, angry and forceful, does something to my nipples. They swell and bead, tauten, begging for his touch. He shakes me via our connected hands, and I stutter, “Nothing. I was sleeping.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” I cry out, trying to pull my hand away but I can’t. His grip is tight, but he isn’t pulling the skin so it chafes or burns, there’s no pain, I just can’t move away from him.

  “You are. First rule, Marina, don’t lie to me. Never lie to me again, do you hear me?”

  His hiss wends its way through my soul and I turn my head to the side, even though I know he can’t see me through the gloomy darkness. “I understand.”

  “Two, don’t defy me. We’ve had this conversation once already; I don’t like to repeat myself.”

  “I didn’t defy you.”

  “Did I say you were allowed to touch yourself? Because I know that’s what you were doing.”

  On the brink of telling him I was doing no such thing, I bite my lip and mutter, “No, you didn’t tell me I could. But you never said anything about that. I didn’t realize I couldn’t touch myself. Hell, do I need permission to shower?”

  “Yes. You do,” he tells me calmly and my eyes widen in the darkness. He can’t be serious? Can he? Almost as though he can read my thoughts, he whispers, “Deadly. Three, you can’t touch yourself in anyway shape or form without my permission. And you sure as hell can’t let anyone else touch you either.”

  “So, no handshakes then,” I bite out snottily.

  “No. No touching.” My eyes flare in horror. “Four, you can’t leave the ranch without my permission. I can’t trust you outside of this place. Christ knows what trouble you’ll get into if I’m not with you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  My flat tone has his grip tightening about my wrist. “Does it sound like I’m joking? If you leave this place without my say so, you’ll be disciplined. Have you got that?”

  “I’m not a prisoner, Nate.”

  “No. You’re not. Not in the legal sense of the word, but let’s consider me as your custodian.”

  “What if you’re not here and I need to run into Sheridan?”

  “When am I not here?” he dismisses. “But if I’m not, you call me and if you can’t get in touch, you wait until you speak to me. I’ll hold you to it, Marina. The only way I’ll let you get out of disobeying is in an emergency, otherwise your ass will glow if I hear of you sneaking off anywhere.”

  “This can’t be happening.” My statement has anger hissing from between his teeth. “Y
ou can’t control every aspect of my life.”

  “You need to be controlled, Marina. You know it, and I know it. I should have taken you in hand years ago, but I didn’t want to freak you out. The time for that has passed. I can’t lead you into this gently, Marina. No baby steps for you. How can I? You’re a danger to everyone around you. When you misbehave, somebody else gets hurt. You need to learn that for every action, there’s a reaction and in this case, it’s a punishment. If you go against one of my rules, you will have to deal with the consequences, and if you don’t like it, you can always go back to your room.”

  So saying, he releases his grip on my wrist and moves away from me. I can hear the faint grunt as he settles away on the other side of the bed, and I know he’s hurt himself by grabbing me the way he did. I nibble my bottom lip, wanting to ask if he’s okay but withholding the question so as to deal with the one he just issued me.

  Going back to my room means this is it. We’re over. But with all these rules, would it be a hardship separating from him?

  Goddammit, yes. It fucking would.

  Closing my eyes, clenching them tight, I remain planted on the bed. And I don’t move an inch.

  “Well?” he asks after a good five minutes of silence.

  He expects me to say it? To literally hand him control?

  Apparently so.

  Gritting my teeth, I wrench my jaw open to protect the expensive dental job on my veneers, and bite out, “Yes. I’ll stay.”

  “I expected nothing less.” His arrogance should make me want to hit him; instead, it has my already needy clit longing for more attention. “Five, if I make a direct order, you comply. Even if you think it’s unfair or out of order, you do as I want, without question, unless I’m asking you to do something that goes entirely against the grain. I don’t want a zombie. I just don’t want you to misbehave. If you disagree with a direct order, I want three reasons as to why you cannot comply. Understand?” I nod, but he says, “Speak to me, Marina. If I ask you a question, you always answer it. So, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I hiss. “I understand, dammit.”

  “And no cursing. Cursing is for big girls and you’re nothing more than a spoiled brat.”

  That’s it, my eyes literally cross and not in a way I’m used to with Nate. How the fuck am I supposed to live by those rules? Freedom beckons in the shape of a future without Nate. I want to walk away, I really do, but something inside me is demanding I listen and take note. I pull in a breath and stop scowling at the ceiling. I try to regulate my breathing, because it’s telling him without words of my struggle.

  “Good. You’ll control yourself and comport yourself in a manner that fits your station. We might know you’re a brat, but the rest of the commune doesn’t need to know that. We’ll add to this list of rules as we go along. But they’re enough for a start. If I find you disobeying them, then you get disciplined and I decide how, where, and when.

  “Four times tonight you’ve failed to comply when I’ve asked something of you. You didn’t come when I called you back to the living room, you went to your suite and not mine even though on the plane, I said we were still together and I doubt you’ll have forgotten that I wanted you in my rooms and not your own. You took longer than two minutes to get here, and you entered the bedroom after the light had been switched off.

  “On top of that, you lied to me, you touched me without my permission and then, you masturbated. Your pussy is mine, nobody else’s, not even your own.

  “You don’t touch it without my say-so, but I’m not totally unreasonable. You weren’t aware of the extent of the rules so you can’t be punished for them, but now they’re out in the open, you’re to follow them.

  “Ordinarily, I’d discipline you now. But I’m tired. I wasn’t lying. Somebody got me shot, and I’m in pain, I need to sleep. So first thing in the morning, you’ll be ready to accept your punishment.” He leans over me again, even though I can hear the wheeze in his voice that speaks of his discomfort at the position. He grabs me by the chin, and while it’s impossible to see his face in the dark, I know that we’re staring each other directly in the eye. “Won’t you, Marina?”

  “Yes, Nate. I will.” The meekness of my voice astounds the pair of us. I turn my head away, ashamed at how low I’ve sunk but at the same time, I’ve taken a step toward a future with Nate. How can I be ashamed of that?

  And maybe, just maybe, something deep inside me needs this.

  I want to decry that thought process, want to mock it, but I can’t. I don’t know what it is or why, but Nate has planted some questions in my brain and only as he disciplines me, will I get the answers.

  It’s like he said, we’ll soon find out if I’m a sub or not.

  The morning beckons and God help me, I’m not dreading it like any normal person should. That in itself is a death knell. Okay, maybe that’s a little gloomy, but Christ, how can this part of me have stayed hidden away for so long? Surely, I’m no sub.

  That the facts tell me differently have me closing my eyes and praying for sleep to come. With arousal burning a hole in my belly, with need pouring through my veins, rest is going to be a long time coming.

  * * *

  In the warmth of the mussed up sheets, I stretch and unravel my body. Wriggling my feet and toes, calves and legs, I fidget my way back to wakefulness. With my arms overhead, I give another tug and pull of sleeping muscles and with a long, pleasurable grunt, I wiggle again.

  Only with every part of me back in full working order does a thought occur to me.

  Punishment.

  I bite my lip at the thought and wonder if Nate remembers what happened last night. Ordinarily, the man has the memory of an elephant. But on the pain meds, he’s different. Woozy.

  At the hospital, he wouldn’t speak unless I was out of the room, so I made it a custom to leave whenever a doctor came in to talk to him. That didn’t stop me listening in at the keyhole though. Knowing who I was and why, the nurses let me get away with it even though it was against the rules. I must be infectious. Wherever I go, people tend to bend the rules for me. Is it any wonder I’m so naughty?

  The word sends a thrill shooting down my spine. Naughty. Is that what I am? Biting my lip, I turn my head to the side but know without looking Nate’s not in bed with me. Curling upright, I jump when I see him sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.

  The idea of him watching me as I slept and the cool look he has in his eye has me tingling with nerves. Had it not been Nate, I’d have screamed blue murder. But then, who the hell else would be in a bedroom with me if it weren’t Nate?

  “Morning,” I murmur, hoping to break the ice.

  His eyes narrow to thin, chilly slivers. He settles back into his seat, a wide armchair tucked catty-corner against the wall. This room has obviously been redecorated. There’s not a whiff of pine and if I’m honest, nosing the interior decoration is less stomach churning than Nate’s silent stare.

  The bed is a large four-poster, complete with canopy and curtains. Not something I’d imagine of Nate, but neither would I have considered him a Dom. Shows how much I know of the man.

  Dismissing the painful thought, I return to my study of Nate’s private quarters. The carved tiger maple structure consists of four cones that reach the width of a finger at the top, at which point they branch off to create a rectangular frame. A heavy green and blue plaid acts as a canopy and falls into neat drapes. The bed covers match but the armchair is a dark beige as are the rugs on the floor. A matching tiger maple dresser and full-length mirror on a pivot make up the rest of the room.

  It’s quite bare and plain, but elegant all the same. I’d expected no less of Nate. He’s very neat, very tidy. I wonder if his office is as pristine, and then chide myself for even doubting it.

  “What are we doing today?” I ask, having made my visual explorations of the room, I find I’d like to move on. Change the subject and somehow make Nate forget my supposed four infractions of the rules I
broke last night.

  God of pain medication, please be on my side.

  “Mostly, we’re going to be reintroducing you to the ranch.”

  “Okay.”

  My one word answer has him cocking a brow my way. “What happened last night?”

  I can’t tell from his answer if the drugs have given him temporary amnesia or if he’s testing me. Choosing an innocent reply, I tell him, “We made up.”

  His lips twitch, but his eyes remain cool. I hate this coldness, hate the frost that’s developed between us. I know I’m a bitch; I know it and for most of my life, have embraced it. I’m not an easy woman to like or love; in fact, I’m a very hard woman to know. Despite that, I have two friends who are more like sisters to me, and they feel the same way about me. All of my girls at Papillon, each of them, loved me and respected me for helping them and protecting them as well as simply being there for them when the rest of the world thought they were scum.

  Nate is persistent in his desire to think ill of my business, but I saw it as a way to protect women who had been abused and who had no other resources available to them. I can’t be ashamed of that. I’m not a bad person, just a product of a lonely environment. Maybe this, maybe Nate’s resolve will change all that. He said he had feelings for me. ‘Feelings that couldn’t be erased’ were his actual words if I remember rightly. I want him to love me. I need that like I need air to breathe.

  “How did we make up?” His cocked brow lifts a little higher. “Did we kiss it all better?”

  His stare, so aggressive and forceful, has my eyes lowering to the plaid comforter. Do I start this journey on a lie? Or do I try to do right by him, when I’ve done nothing but wrong throughout the length of our relationship.

  If Nate really is a Dom, then I haven’t been satisfying him anyway. How could I have been, when this, the true part of his nature, couldn’t come out to play? That for four years he wasn’t satisfied by me has me cringing inside. Why did he hide it from me? If he thought I was a sub, why didn’t he discuss this earlier…