Shit. He’s got me there. “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t have taken you for one of those people who think interpersonal skills are important.”
He snorts. “You saw me in the interview and that’s it. Even I was shocked as hell, when you gave me the job.”
“Why? You had the skill sets I needed.”
“Since when?”
His astonishment has me grinning at him. “You do. The only thing that let you down was your inexperience with huge herds of cattle. Otherwise, you ticked most of the boxes Uncle Sam insisted on. You could fly a plane, had a high IQ, you did have some experience of working on a ranch, even if it was a minimal...”
“I didn’t have an arm. How did you know I could ride a horse properly?”
Horses are the only way to man the ranch. I don’t mind having horses here, hell, without them, we’d be screwed. We need them. It’s Thoroughbreds that get my goat. I jerk a shoulder at his question. “You’re the most capable man I know.”
“You didn’t know me then.”
“I didn’t need to know you. I sensed it.”
“You mean like I sense you are submissive.”
Sparks burst in my eyes. “You don’t sense that at all. Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying. And what you sensed was the opposite. That I could master you and you’d take it. But only from me.”
“Bullshit.” The instant the word escapes, I bite my tongue. Fuck.
“Another punishment added to the list.”
“But I ate loads and I’m going to see the doctor even if I don’t have to.” It doesn’t escape my attention that I sound more like a teenager than a woman.
“If you hadn’t, you’d have six infractions instead of just the four. And you haven’t gone to the doctor yet.”
“Do you want me to break the rules?”
“Rules aren’t made to be broken.”
“That’s no answer.”
He shrugs. “It’s the only one you’re going to get.”
Exasperated, I pull in a calm breath and cast my eyes about the room, seeking patience.
“You understand why you need this, don’t you, Marina?” He sits up, his skin graying at the move, but he ignores the pain to reach for my hand. His fingers twirl with mine, rubbing, caressing. He plays with the digits, strokes and tickles the palm of my hand. I grab for his and clutch, tightly holding him, somehow feeling the need for his reassurance.
While I do understand, at the same time I don’t. I lift my free hand and rub my forehead. Tension is gathering there, and the last thing I need is a headache. “I know I don’t behave normally. I guess this is a way of correcting how I act.”
“It’s more than that.” He gentles the grip I have on his hand by pulling away and then placing his on top of mine. “You need this, Marina. You might think I’m lying to you about being submissive, but I’ve no need to lie. The first day I met you, I recognized it in you just as you did with me. We’re each other’s opposite.
“It’s unfortunate that I’ve had to introduce you to the real you in these circumstances. But without the shooting, I don’t think you’d have ever listened to yourself or me. Now, I’m forcing you to do that. To hear when your body talks to you and to accept what your soul craves.”
Lowering my head, I swallow and stare down at our joined hands. The physical connection, his on top of mine, a reminder of his dominance over me even in that tiniest of gestures. I’m surrounded by him, every part of me, and even though I’ve never wanted it before, suddenly I do.
His words are almost flowery. Once upon a time, I’d have mocked him for them, now, he’s speaking to my heart and that organ is listening, soaking them up like a sponge.
“I’m confused,” I whisper.
“Of course, you are. It’s only natural.” His easy acceptance has me nodding with relief. “You’re scared, overwhelmed, wondering if I’m somehow making you believe this about yourself, conning you... This morning, after you were disciplined, you needed release. Your body told you something there, Marina, don’t ignore it. Pleasure isn’t a part of your punishment though. I don’t want you to climax after a spanking; I want you to learn a lesson. But your arousal is telling, and for the moment, until you’re comfortable with this situation, I’ll make your pleasure known to you. Remind you that you as a person need whatever discipline I’m doling out, and that your body craves it too.”
“I don’t want to be turned on by this,” I mutter, pulling my hand away from his.
“No, but you are. It’s who you are, Marina. You can’t fight it or hide from it.”
The fait accompli leaves me feeling uncomfortably flushed with heat, because I know he’s right. I look away and mutter, “Your doctor’s appointment is in five minutes.”
“I know. You can share my consultation.”
I grimace at him. “I’m sure he can spare five minutes after you’ve been looked at. Christ, there’s nothing wrong with me anyway.”
“No, but you’re doing this to please me and ultimately, yourself.”
How can I argue with that?
Chapter Fourteen
“Son of a bitch,” I spit, slamming my hand against the bathroom door.
“I heard that.”
Jerking the door open, I glare at him. “What did you hear? My using the toilet?”
“You just lied to me. What’s that? The eighth infraction?” His cool tone has me pouting.
“Stop saying infraction. It’s like talking to a lawyer.”
“Answer the question.”
“No. It’s the ninth,” I mutter around a sigh.
He looks pleased at my honesty. I’m starting to feel like a puppy whose owners are grateful I’m finally house-trained. “How many spanks is that?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Think you can handle that many?”
“I don’t think I have a choice, Nate.”
“Good answer.” He smiles at me.
I’m learning to distrust his smiles.
The utterance of two expletives, a direct display of disobedience when Mark, one of the doctors, tried to pencil me in for an abdominal ultrasound in the morning and I tried to walk out of the clinic, another curse, and then that lie about using the toilet...my punishments are stacking up.
Fuck a duck, life is a minefield.
And apparently, I have an ulcer to just add a cherry to the top of the cake. Yay.
“I knew you’d lost weight.”
“Not that much.”
“Not that much? Are you being serious? You’re BMI is way too low.” He studies me as he takes a seat in his armchair. The strain around his mouth pulls at me, more than the fact I’ve lost ten pounds since the last time I stood on a pair of scales at my gym five weeks ago.
When the doctor asked me how much I weighed beforehand, I was tempted to lie. I know I’ve lost weight but it’s never a problem. I’ll gradually regain it; it just takes time. Only the fact I have this weird feeling Nate would know I was lying stopped me. Those ten pounds were now Nate’s goal. I have a nasty feeling eating is going to become a rule.
And lo and behold, I’m not wrong.
“Whatever I put in front of you, you have to eat at least three-quarters of the plate. And if I’m not here, I want you to send me a picture of your plate when you’ve finished. I can’t trust you to see to your own portions.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You’re a hell of a lot of responsibility, Marina.”
Somehow, that statement combined with his weariness has me doing something I could never have imagined myself doing. Silently, I sweep across the room, kneel before him like I’d done hours before, and I press my head to his knee.
Keeping my eyes on him, I feel him jump in surprise at my move, but I watch as his hand moves to stroke through my hair. The gentle touch makes my scalp tingle, and I turn my head to press a kiss to his palm as it brushes down from root to tip of my shoulder-length bob.
“That wasn’t a complaint, honey. Just a stateme
nt. You really aren’t used to looking after yourself, are you? I noticed in the hospital you were popping those pills like they were jellybeans. How long have you been doing that?”
“Not long.” The lie pops out before I can restrain it. I jerk away from him, look down at the floor and whisper, “I’m sorry, that just came out.”
He’s right when he says lying come too easily to me.
“Ten?” he asks, voice soft, and I nod accepting the punishment for lying.
“Yes.” Then I tell him the truth. “For about eight months. It started when the Russians contacted me, but it wasn’t too bad at first. Then after about eight weeks, it was...difficult.” Talk about understatement. It had been damn near impossible running Papillon as though nothing was going on in the background.
How I managed to court them for so long, without the situation deteriorating far earlier, is a testament to how good a liar I am.
Lies have saved my butt way too often. It’s why remaining truthful with Nate is quite hard. I’m used to evasion, white lies and downright manipulating the truth for my own gain.
“Christ.” He reaches for my chin and slowly changes the angle of my neck, so I’m no longer staring down at the floor but looking at him. “If you have an ulcer like Mark says, you’ll probably need medication. Can I trust you to take it?”
I’d like to tell him that of course, I would. I’m not an idiot, but twice I tried to get out of the doctor’s surgery before he’d finished talking to me. I hate doctors. Have done so since Jimmy and probably always will. I prefer a root canal to a routine checkup.
“Yes, Nate.”
“Good.” He sighs. “Stand up and take off your clothes.”
“What?” I ask, startled by the jump of subject.
“Are you defying me?”
“No.”
“Then stand up and take off your clothes.”
I hesitate for two seconds; the sound of the clock’s second hand moves twice before Nate says, “Right, eleven. That makes thirty-three swats. Stand up and take off your clothes within thirty seconds or it’ll be thirty-six.”
From soft and tender to disciplinarian, the change has me jumping up to obey his barked order. In pants and a shirt, there isn’t much to take off, and his bark has me stripping with no elegance, just a sheer haste to get naked.
I stand there in bra and panties, feeling vulnerable for some strange reason when he’s seen me naked more often than he’s seen me dressed. Then, when he raises his brow, I slip out of my underwear and hover before him, completely nude.
“Beautiful.” His murmur causes me to flush with pleasure, because while Nate has bestowed many compliments upon me, this feels like the first. Apparently, it’s a day for those.
I’ve never been comfortable being in the nude. Since childhood, I’ve been a beanpole. All lanky limbs and no padding. Feeling skeletal isn’t a sexy frame of mind, and now with Nate’s warnings about my weight loss, I’m not exactly at my best.
That one word makes all the difference. And it’s that power that disturbs me.
Sucking in a breath, I smile at him and watch as he leans forward to tug at the sparse pubic hair on my mons. I’m very neat down there, but he whispers, “That will have to go.” His eyes catch mine. “You’ll be softer than silk when you’re bare. You can book an appointment at the beautician’s or I can. We’ll go tomorrow.”
I want to squeak out we? But I merely nod and try not to feel too aroused at the idea of why he wants me to be softer than silk. The idea of oral sex, at this particular moment, has my left eye twitching. The need to cum has barreled from out of nowhere. This morning’s lies killed any arousal but it’s back. And with a vengeance.
His hand slips down between my legs and his thumb runs down the central seam of the outer lips of my pussy. Not caressing, just touching and then he stops at the entrance to my body and hooks his thumb inside. I quiver, there’s no other word to describe it. My pussy gushes moisture and he flickers his thumb back and forth before retreating and sliding the digit from clit to slit. Every nudge of my clit, every flicker and every stroke has me feeling tighter than a bow on the brink of releasing an arrow. I’m the arrow, and fuck I want to fly. He’s the bow and he’s intent on restraining me.
Only the knowledge I’m about to endure thirty-three spanks stops me from pleading with him to let me cum. As it is, my body acts of its own accord by jerking my hips forward into his touch. His chuckle is soft, but deadly.
“Naughty girls don’t get presents.”
There’s that word again.
Naughty.
I bite my lip and try not to moan as need overtakes me, barraging me with its overwhelming power. My mind drifts, switching from thoughts of needing to climax, and then the idea of being punished.
The latter takes precedence, and I hold my tongue.
“Yes, Nate.”
“Bend over my knee like you did this morning.”
He settles back in the armchair. I wait for him to get comfortable and move over to the armrest and press my hands on the opposite one. In a mock press-up, I lower myself, trying to keep my weight away from him until it’s dispersed only on his lap so I do no damage to the freshly dressed wounds.
There’s a slight infection in one of them. He’s probably not strong enough for all of this, but there’s no point in arguing. He’ll do what he wants anyway.
Men.
Pressing my face into the padded armrest, I don’t have to wait long for him to act.
“Don’t forget to count. This time, if you forget, we’ll go back to the beginning.”
The first spank comes as a shock.
When I pulled down my trousers and panties, there was a tenderness to my behind that didn’t come as a surprise. But even the firm if not forceful tap has my nerve endings protesting as I stutter out the number.
When the second one arrives and I state the number, I blow out a breath, thankful that he’s being gentle. Then it starts.
Gradually, his hand hits harder, the force increases until the sparse flesh on my butt starts to jiggle and the spanks of this morning feel like a walk in the park. Twice, by the time we reach sixteen, I almost forget to say the number aloud but remember just in time. Halfway there, tears are stinging my eyes and I cannot help it, cries start to explode out of me. My hand is shaking with the need to reach back and comfort my poor behind, I don’t know how I’m keeping it in front of me and doing as he bade me this morning.
“Seventeen,” I stutter out, hurting my head with the force of pressing it against the armrest. The tears escape, drenching the cushion underneath me. The cleansing release has me sobbing with its gentle fury.
“Twenty,” I cry and this time, the chapped flesh of my ass is screaming.
At twenty-five, I let out a yell. Thirty has my hips lifting away and praying for the final three. Then, it happens. At thirty-two, so close yet so fucking far, the force of withholding a screech has me forgetting to state the number.
The sobs really do start then, when I realize what I’ve done. On his lap, naked while he’s fully dressed, I begin to sob. My ass is sore. I thought it had been sore before, but that was nothing compared to this. It hurts. There’s pain. There will be bruises, it will be red, and my butt, unused to anything nastier than too many squats, is not feeling the love. In fact, the pain receptors in the tender flesh are weeping, dying a slow death.
My inhalations and exhalations are like miniature tornadoes. In between sobs and gasps, I stutter out, “No, Nate. Please. I’ll do anything. Not more. No more. I can’t. I can’t. Please. Please.”
I’m on the brink of hyperventilation. The idea of thirty-three more spanks seems akin to a thousand. Of that force? Maybe that’s the normal strength. I don’t even think he was putting his all into it, but the stinging. Oh, fuck, the sting.
And as I lie there, thinking about the burn, the ache, the discomfort, I feel a tiny trickle of moisture down my inner thigh. NO. I want to screech. This can’t turn me on. Thi
s can’t be happening. I cannot be aroused by this pain. But almost as though our minds are as one, Nate’s hand slides down between my legs and gathers the liquid on his fingers. Within seconds, they’re drenched and he begins to rub my clit. The slickness combined with my already aroused state has the tiny nub almost vibrating with need. My sobs turn to pants, my eyes are still teary, tracks of moisture line my face and hiccups escape me as I rock my hips, riding his hand like a brazen whore. Wanting to cum, needing it. Embracing the idea that he’s going to give it to me.
His hand is working me fast, and it’s fast I need but then he starts to slow down and my tears of anguish start again, because deep inside, I’m bubbling like a volcano. It’s going to happen whether he likes it or not. And I can’t help it, can’t control it. Something inside of me has given way. The pain did something, released it into the atmosphere and now...I’m a helpless captive to its thrall.
He leans down to murmur in my ear, but the position’s awkward for him and even in my frazzled state, I know enough to lift myself up to reach him. His pain is my pain. I deserve this for the agony he’s in and somehow that has me sucking in a breath and striving for strength.
“Do you want to come, Marina?” he asks as his fingers tangle with my pussy lips. Rubbing the stretchy skin and playing with it.
“Please, Nate. Yes, Nate.” My gushing words are almost embarrassing, but humiliation went out of the window a long while ago.
“But what about your punishment.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I chant. “It hurt, it hurt so badly. I, the pain, it... I couldn’t think.”
“But I still have to punish you.”
“Yes, Nate.”
“I think Sir sounds better, don’t you, Marina?”
That very morning, I’d been relieved at the idea of calling him Nate. Now, Sir fits. And I whisper, “Yes, it does, Sir.”
He hums under his breath and slides a finger into my greedy, grasping pussy. It fucks that finger. Clinging to it, cuddling it, sucking it into the warmth. Singing a siren song. My pussy is a whore. What does that make the owner?
Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie Page 18
