by JA Huss
Her fingertips are in my hair and it’s a passionate response. Her longing and desire a total turn-on.
When I break eye contact it’s to look at her panties, a matching pink satin thong that can’t hide the fact that her pussy is bare and smooth. I place my hand between her legs, one finger positioned between her folds, and push a finger against her clit.
The panties become wet.
I nod my head to the corner of the room where she’s got a few pairs of pointe shoes scattered around. “Put on the shoes, Nadia.”
She looks over to the corner, stares at it like her brain needs a moment to catch up with the request, then looks at me.
I’m waiting for another fight. I’m not sure what she could possibly object to with that request, but I’m sure she’ll think of something.
But I’m surprised again. Because she turns away, walks over to the shoes, and sits down on the floor. One leg up, bent at the knee, the other resting on the floor so her legs are open.
She doesn’t smile at me or try to take control—and I think that might be my favorite thing about her right now. Not her body, or her beauty, or the potential for a great fuck tonight. But her compliance.
She slips a pad over her toes, her eyes flicking up to mine before returning to concentrate on her assigned task. I study her fingers as she slips her foot into the shoe, tugging on the elastic, and then twists the long satin ribbons around her ankle.
She repeats this on the other foot. She stretches her feet out, flexing and pointing to make sure they’re comfortable, and then she looks up at me and says, “Now what?”
Such a good girl tonight. I almost don’t know what to make of it.
“Now,” I say, crossing the distance between us until I’m looming over her and she has to crane her neck to look up at me. “Now you’re going to pay for not being on your best behavior tonight, Miss Wolfe.” I extend my hand, she takes it, and I pull her to her feet. “I bought a house to make you happy and I don’t think you were happy.”
She stares at me, with a look of genuine fascination on her face. “Thank you,” she says. “And I mean that. I don’t need the house, Elias. But it’s a grand gesture, for sure.”
“I’m invested, Nadia. I want you to understand that.”
“I get it,” she says.
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have treated me so badly tonight. I’m afraid I can’t stand for it.” Every word comes out crisp and clear. But there’s no anger in them. No animosity.
“So punish me,” she says, unable to hide her smirk.
“I plan on it. Go to the wall,” I say, pointing at the brick. “And stand in second, en pointe.”
She bites her lip but doesn’t say another word.
She likes this, I realize. Everything about this moment is easy for her because she likes it. She likes the shoes, she likes this room, and the thought of me challenging her in her element makes her happy.
I’ll have to remember that.
But she gets it wrong immediately, and that makes me smile. “Face the wall, Nadia.”
“OK,” she says, coming off pointe so her feet are flat on the floor. She turns and faces the brick, then places her palms on the wall to steady herself and rises up, legs slightly spread apart.
God, she’s beautiful. I can see every muscle in her legs. Her back is straight and firm. Her head is high, neck stretched long, and her shoulders relaxed.
Her element.
I walk over to her and stand right behind her. Wishing for the wall with the mirrors so I could see her face. But then she’d be able to see my face too, and we don’t want that.
I place my hands on her waist and press my groin into her ass. She looks down for a moment, losing her concentration. “Do you want me to fuck you, Nadia?”
“Yes.” It comes out as a breath.
“I bet you do. But we’re not even close to that yet. I have to punish you, remember?”
“Yes,” she breathes again.
“How long can you stand like this?” I ask her.
“Long time,” she says.
“Give me a number, please.”
She takes a moment to think. And I wonder if she’ll shortchange herself to try to spare her muscles some pain tonight.
“Ten minutes,” she says.
“OK,” I say, taking out my phone and pulling up my camera. “I’ll be back in thirty. And just in case you think you can cheat, I’m going to film you, Nadia.” I set a timer on the phone, walk over to the other side of the room, adjust the camera so it’s front-facing, and prop it against the wall, positioning it until she’s centered in the frame.
“Be good,” I say, exiting the room. “Because I’ll know if you’re not and then I’ll really make you work hard to please me tonight.”
I go to her bedroom and stand in the doorway. She’s got clothes on the floor. Mostly dance clothes. Some shoes. Her bed is unmade, the sheets all askew. It makes me wonder if she’s ever had another man up here. Aside from Jordan.
I’ll have to ask her about that.
I sit on the bed, then lie back and close my eyes. Picturing her asleep in this very spot. I can smell her shampoo on the pillow.
What makes Nadia Wolfe tick? I’m not quite sure yet, but ballet is definitely a big part of it. You don’t get this far in that art without serious dedication.
I drift off but then wake, the alarm I set a distant ringing on the other side of the apartment.
I wonder how long it’s been going off?
My feet find the floor and I’m in motion. When I get to the ballet room, she’s breathing so hard, I hear it before I pass through the door.
“Everything OK, Nadia?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says through deep breaths.
Her legs are shaking so bad, I can see her trembles from across the room.
When I get close enough to touch her, I place both on my hands on her hips and say, “Relax.”
Her feet collapse and she places her head against the wall, spent.
“Did you cheat?” I ask her.
“Once,” she says. “When the alarm went off and you didn’t come back. I had to,” she whispers, looking over her shoulder at me. “I needed a rest.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Is that the only time?”
She nods her head and when I look into her eyes, I see that she’s on the verge of tears.
“I’m going to check, if that’s OK. Is that OK?”
“Yes,” she says.
How perfect. The only way she could possibly make this better is if she had put a Master on the end of that response. “From now on, Nadia, when you address me while we’re playing, you call me Master. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
It’s pretty convincing. So I accept her submission as genuine and walk over to pick up my phone. Fast forward through the footage, and yes, she did cheat. Right after the alarm went off. And she continued to cheat for two minutes. In fact, she must’ve heard my footsteps on the hardwood floors as I made my way across the apartment, but she goes back up en pointe just before I enter the room.
“Did you like this, Nadia?” I ask her.
“Yes, Master.”
Good God. I get hard at that.
“But you did more than just cheat, Nadia. You waited until you knew I was coming back before you resumed. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” goes my tongue. “So I’m going to have to punish you for that as well. Back up, darling. Just the way you were.”
She sighs, almost sobs. But she obeys.
I walk over to her and place my hands on her hips. “Spread your legs wider,” I say.
She draws in a breath and that is definitely a sob. But she submits in silence.
Her feet inch apart, her legs opening.
“Wider,” I say.
A few more inches and she’s groaning with effort now.
“Just a little bit wider. You can do it, Nadia,” I say, encouraging her. “I know you can.”
Her sob is loud t
his time. But her legs open farther. Just an inch, maybe not even. But wider is wider and I know she’s really struggling now. Her legs are shaking so bad, it’s got to be painful.
“Now take your hands off the wall and—”
“I can’t,” she says, reaching her breaking point. “I can’t do it. I’m too tired.”
“Take them off the wall, Nadia. And place them on your thighs.”
She shakes her head no, her head drooping in defeat. “I can’t.”
“You can,” I say, removing one of her hands from the wall and placing it on her thigh. She grips her leg hard. And she’s still shaking her head no when I lift her other hand off the wall and place it on her other thigh.
Now she is spread eagle, en pointe, and she is crying hard. Her sobs are loud and her breathing hitched and uneven as she struggles to stay in position. Her whole body shakes and just as she’s about to give up, I wrap my arms around her and hold her steady. She melts into me. Her back pressing into my chest, using me to support herself.
But she stays en pointe.
“You’re a good girl, Nadia,” I say, practically cooing the words into her ear. “A very, very good girl.”
“Thank you, Master,” she says through her sobs.
“And do you know what good girls get?” I ask.
“Tell me, Master.”
“My hard, thick cock in her mouth. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Master,” she says.
I don’t know if she really means it. Probably not. I’m pretty sure she’ll say anything to rest her feet right now. Her knees are bent, her perfect posture so far in the past, I’m the only thing holding her up at the moment.
But I don’t care. Giving up is giving in.
“Drop to your knees,” I say, letting go of her body.
She does. Like immediately.
I back away. Several steps away. And say, “Stay on your knees and turn around.”
She scoots her body around so she’s facing me. Her face is bright red with exertion. She’s sweating profusely, her whole body glistening in the soft light.
“Crawl to me, Nadia.”
She leans forward on her hands and then crawls. Looking down at the planks of hardwood beneath her, hair dragging.
“Look at me,” I say.
She looks up as I back away and then another sob escapes when she realizes I’m still playing with her. It’s not over yet. I continue to back up and she continues to crawl. I lead her like that, all the way down the hallway, across the living room, and into her bedroom.
I sit on her rumpled bed and let her finally reach her goal. She stays on all fours in front of me, head drooping again.
She’s done.
I pet her, drag my hand over her sweat-soaked hair, and say, “Scoot up as close as you can get, sit back on your butt, and take out my cock.”
She scoots. Sits back. And looks me in the eyes as she begins to unbuckle my belt.
I smile at her, still petting her hair. “Ballet, Nadia.”
“What?” she asks, her voice weak and small. Her fingers desperate to unbutton my pants. But she fumbles, every muscle in her body spent.
“That’s your weakness. Ballet. You submit to it like a good little slave. And now that I know that, I will use it against you every chance I get.”
Another sob escapes, but she doesn’t deny it or fight back.
Total. One hundred percent. Submission.
She gets past the button and drags the zipper down. And then her hand is pulling me out. Already pumping my hard shaft even though I never gave that order. If I hadn’t already pushed her past her limit, I might punish her for that. But she’s done. I’m happy with her performance, and now it’s time for her reward.
“Put me in your mouth, Nadia. And suck my cock until I come down your throat.”
I enjoy the anticipation as she licks her lips and lowers her head into my lap. I enjoy it so much I close my eyes and lower myself back onto the soft blankets on the bed. Then her hot breath is there, a flick of her tongue. I feel her rise up onto her knees to reach me, even feel her body trembling from the effort.
She covers me. Devours me. Licks and sucks me. Her hands pumping. I place my hands on her head again. Lightly. Gently. And encourage her.
It doesn’t take me long. Either she’s very good at this or I’m just ready as hell. But does it matter? Does it matter at all when everything is so perfect?
I come in her throat. She swallows me, her throat muscles contracting against the tip of my cock. And when I’m done, I push on her forehead to let her know it’s over.
I open my eyes just in time to see her wipe her mouth and sit back on her butt.
“It’s your turn, Nadia. You were perfect tonight. And I’m going to show you how much I appreciate that right now.”
“Thank you, Master,” she says through her frown.
Perfection.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Nadia
What happens after that is just like New Year’s Eve, but without Jordan. He walks away, starts my shower, and then comes back into the bedroom, naked. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him bring me to my feet. My legs are shaky. Hell, my entire body is nothing but fatigued muscles. And he undresses me. He takes off my bra, then makes me place both hands on his shoulders as he slips my panties down my legs. When I step out, he picks me up, carries me to the bathroom, walks me into the shower, and places me on his lap once he sits on the stone bench.
He wraps his arms around me and lets me rest. Just like that.
My reward isn’t going to be sex, I realize. And that is the best gift ever right now. Because I don’t think I can move.
“Are you excited about the house?” Bric asks. My head resting on his shoulder. My eyes closed. I am a big bundle of exhausted nothingness in his arms.
I can’t think about that house. “I probably will be tomorrow,” I admit.
“It’s nice inside. You made a good choice, Nadia.” He pets my damp hair as he says this. “I think we’re all going to be very happy there.”
“Did Jordan see the inside?”
“No,” Bric says. “I haven’t really talked to him. But don’t worry. He’s gonna love it.”
I picture Jordan and me and Bric. Living inside that mansion. I picture their cars in the driveway. What will breakfast be like? What does the master bedroom look like? I wonder if we have a back yard?
“Come on,” Bric says, after a few minutes of silence from me. “Let’s wash up and then I’ll take you to bed and massage your legs. Would you like that, Nadia?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just stands up, taking me with him, and waits until I place both feet on the tile floor of the shower.
I feel like I might collapse. But Bric is there, one arm around me. Holding me up.
“Turn around and face the wall,” he says.
He turns me.
“Place both hands here, Nadia.” He puts my hands right where he wants them, flat against the tile. “Now rest like this while I take care of you.”
He does take care of me. Very good care of me. He grabs the shower head and wets my entire body. My hair too. And then he has shampoo in his palm. His fingertips massaging it into my scalp.
“Tomorrow we’re going to go shopping for furniture. We have six thousand square feet to furnish and I’m going to assume your place came furnished?”
I nod. “It did. None of this is mine.”
“It’s almost a hundred years old, that place. But it’s just been completely remodeled. I’ll call a contractor tomorrow and have them make you a ballet studio. Just like the one you have here. Better,” he adds quickly. “Better than the one you have here.”
He’s rinsing the shampoo out now. And then he repeats that whole process with the conditioner.
“Would you like that?” he asks.
I would. Very much. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
I catch him grinning and decide I like his
grin. Elias Bricman is confusing in a lot of ways. But then again, he’s very simple. He likes to be in control. And even though Jordan was filled with warnings when he came to pick me up on New Year’s Eve, I don’t think they were necessary. Because as long as Bric gets what he wants, he’s very reasonable.
Yes, my legs are aching and my body is spent. But I do that to myself every day when I dance. It’s a familiar feeling. A welcomed one too. I like exhaustion.
“It’s my job, Nadia,” Bric says. “Your job is to submit, my job is to dominate. And when I use that word, I mean it in all the ways you probably don’t. I push you and you give in because you trust me to take care of you. I asked for more tonight. And you gave it to me. You did so good.”
He leans down into my neck and kisses the soft, wet skin just below my ear. When he pulls away, I want him back.
“And Jordan and I have already showed you this side of the arrangement once. Now you have two real experiences to form an opinion. Twice we’ve pushed you beyond your limits—”
“No,” I say, waking up a little at the mention of Jordan. “He’s not here.”
“We’re both here, Nadia. I’ll fill him in on the details tomorrow. But the point is, we pushed you hard, you gave in—maybe it was just faith. Maybe it was just the fact that you wanted to get fucked. Who cares why? We don’t care why. The only thing that matters is that you did it. And when it was over, when your challenge was removed and you realized you pleased us, you got a reward. This builds trust. So next time we push you you’ll know what comes afterward. You’ll be looking forward to it.”
It’s a mind fuck. Conditioning. I know this. I’ve done it before. I’ve shaped the minds of men myself.
Bric is rinsing my hair so I close my eyes and let the water run over my head. Relish the feeling of the hot water across my face.
Then his hands are soft with foamy bubbles and he’s rubbing my arms. My waist. My stomach. My pussy. I wait for him to begin playing with me, but he moves on—much to my dismay—and crouches down to take the soap to my aching legs.
I almost moan as he massages the long, thick muscles of my thighs, his hands kneading the fatigue right out of them. I am shaking again. But this time it’s not from the adrenaline of exertion. It’s the drop that comes after.
