by Ashe Barker
Except perhaps I do, just a little, on occasions, since I got involved with Nick Hardisty. And this is only a haircut. I’m not donating a kidney. It’ll grow back.
Not that any of my head full of rubbish excuses is relevant at all as I hear Nick telling the receptionist and the lady with the paintbrush—Carol?—that an hour’s fine. We’ll be back. He gives my name and his phone number. Satisfied that all’s sorted he grabs my hand to leave.
“We’ve time for that ice cream first. And remember, not too short.”
I smile and nod my agreement as I follow him along the narrow pavement in the direction of the Priory.
We’re seated on a bench in the grounds of the ancient church, our ice creams dribbling messily down our crunchy cones, when Nick turns to me.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk about, Freya?”
I look up in surprise. I can’t honestly recall what it was now. I shrug, ready to let whatever it was go. Not so Nick Hardisty.
“Think back. Something was bothering you when you woke up. Something from when I fucked your pretty little arse…?”
Mmm, I think to myself. Does he have to be quite so graphic? It’s enough to put me off my ice cream. Well, nearly. Still, under his insistent prompting I manage to remember why I wanted to talk to him.
I balance my ice cream between my knees to free my hands. “You called me a S-L-U-T.” I have to spell the word as I don’t actually have a sign for it. Well, you wouldn’t, would you?
“Yes. And?” He leans back against the bench, takes another long lick of his strawberry ripple. The sight is provocative, I suspect deliberately so.
“And, it’s not very polite. No one’s ever called me a S-L-U-T before. Is that what you think I am?”
“Well, no one ever stuck their dick in your arse before.”
Well, that’s true…
He takes another lick and sits up straight, his eyes on me. “If I didn’t know you, if we weren’t involved in something so…intimate together, then maybe it would be rude. But in the situation we were in earlier, when you were as aroused as I’ve ever seen you—and, sweetheart, I am an authority on your libido now—then sluttish is a good description. It’s not meant as an insult, but it does describe very well the way you were feeling at that moment. All eager, open, willing. Maybe a hint of desperate. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I drop my eyes, study my ice cream cone carefully. Then I look back at him, and nod.
“So, you’re happy to be my slut, then?”
I smile. “Yes. Sometimes. If you deserve it.”
He frowns, puzzled, asks me to sign it again. It takes three attempts before he catches my meaning.
He grins, genuinely amused. “Right. Fair enough. I’ll try to measure up, and bring out your inner slut. Now, are you about ready to go and face Carol and her scissors?” He stands, holds out his hand, and I take it.
* * * *
My hair is absolutely magnificent. Carol is a genius, an absolute maestro around a pair of scissors. She sat me down, dumped a pile of magazines on my knee, and told me to look through for colors and styles I liked. She double-checked with Nick what I wanted, in broad terms, then she told him to make himself scarce. He offered to hang around, in case I needed someone to speak for me, but Carol was having none of that.
“We’ll be fine. Just dandy. Won’t we, love?”
She turned to me for confirmation, and I nodded. I liked her instantly, and I just knew she was going to be wonderful. So Nick shrugged, shoved a hundred quid in twenties into my hand, and said he’d see me back at the bungalow. Or if I wanted a lift home I could text him when I was done.
I was glad of the cash. It’d never occurred to me to think about that, one of the consequences of having so much money that it never seems important. I have my cash card with me, but a lot of hairdressers don’t accept cards so the money was helpful. I absolutely must pay him back. I recall noticing an ATM close to the entrance to the racecourse—handy no doubt for relieving punters of their hard-earned cash. As soon as I emerge from the tender mercies of Carol at The Cutting Edge, duly spruced up and feeling quite wonderful, I head there to make a withdrawal.
Two and a half hours after he deposited me in the salon I’m strolling through Nick’s front gate and across his pretty little forecourt. My Vanquish is still there, just where I left it, and Nick’s sleek black motorcycle is parked alongside. They look very cozy. I use my key to let myself in.
“In the kitchen…” Nick’s voice echoes down the hall so I head toward the sound. He glances up from his laptop as I enter, his face betraying his amazement at my transformation
“Wow. Fucking wow. You look…stunning. Love the color.” He stands, walks over to me, runs his fingers through my hair. It ripples and waves over his hands. I’d never have thought of having my hair colored dark red with hints of purple, shimmering shades of aubergine and plum, but it works. It really does work. I hunch my shoulders, shivering with pleasure. Nothing like a really nice hair job to boost a girl’s spirits. Not that mine were in any trouble, but still.
And they did do nails. They did mine. I flutter those out for him to admire too. He seems less taken with them, but drops a kiss on my mouth anyway.
I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the hundred quid I owe him. I hold it out to him. He looks puzzled.
“You didn’t pay? How come?”
“I did pay. Of course I paid. But I have enough money to cover it. I got this from the cash machine in the village, to pay you back.”
He makes no move to take the notes, just watches me, his eyes darkening. I know there’s something wrong, but I have no idea what it might be. He was fine until a few moments ago. Surely he’s not going to insist on paying for everything. Even though I’ve not come clean about the extent of my lottery win, he must know that I’m not short of money. I can certainly afford a new hairdo without relying on handouts. Indignant, I start to sign that very point to him. He stills my hands by simply lifting one finger. I stop, wait.
“How did you take money from the cash machine?”
What? My bafflement must have been plastered all over my face. How does anyone get money out of a hole in the wall?
“Do you remember, back at your apartment, when we were agreeing our arrangements for your training, I instructed you to bring nothing with you? No cash, no credit cards, nothing. Do you remember that, Freya?”
The question clarified, I nod. I do recall it, vaguely. I thought it an odd thing to say at the time, unreasonable even, and just dismissed it. No one goes anywhere without cash or cards, do they? Except apparently they do, if they’re a trainee submissive who’s been instructed to do so by a Dom.
“So how, then, without your cash card, did you manage to get money from a cash machine?” Nick’s features are harsh, unforgiving, as he refines his question, and closes the trap.
I step back, the twenty pound notes forgotten in my hand. I start to sign an apology, but I know, just from the expression on his face, that no amount of being sorry will be enough. Not yet, anyway. I shove the money back in my pocket and pull out my cash card. I offer it to Nick. He ignores my outstretched hand, homing in on the matter that seems to concern him most, the issue of my continuing disobedience.
“Why did you bring it? When you do seem to recall my instructions that you leave it behind?”
I shrug, not from any sense of nonchalance, but because I genuinely don’t know why I brought it. I just did. I just always do. Doesn’t everyone?
“Why, Freya? Was my instruction somehow unclear?”
“It was clear. I just didn’t think you meant it. And then I…forgot.” My hands are shaking, I know from the angry glint in his slate gray eyes, and the low, measured tone of his voice, all authoritative, stern Dom now, that this is going to get really, really unpleasant for me.
Sure enough, “And when did I ever give you an instruction that I didn’t mean? One that you were free to just forget about? When did I ever do that,
Freya?” His voice is quiet, his tone deathly low now, almost a growl.
I’m mortified as the reality sinks in. I have no excuse, there’s really nothing I can say except to apologize. So I try that again.
“You can apologize to me, and if I believe you’re genuinely sorry and determined not to do it again I will forgive you. And we will move on. Eventually. But first, you’ve deceived me and disobeyed me, and not for the first time, Freya. I punished you for it once already, and now it seems I have to do it all over again. It seems to me you haven’t learned obedience very well at all so now I need to find a way to make the lesson memorable enough so you get the message. First, though, is there anything else you need to be telling me now? Anything else you really don’t want me to discover later? It’ll be so much better for you to resolve everything now and start again with a clean slate.”
Here’s the point where I could, just possibly, tell him how much money I have sitting in the bank. So, why don’t I then? Is it because I don’t think it’s any of his business? Maybe, to an extent. Or is it that it’s private and personal? Well, so is my arse, but I let him in there. Or maybe it just seems irrelevant. Or perhaps he just wouldn’t be interested. Or is it that I’m just too scared that he’ll dump me, either because he thinks I’m a freak who can’t find anything worthwhile to spend forty odd million pounds on. Or to prove he’s not interested in me only because I’m wealthy. Or maybe he would be after getting his hands on my money. Even as that final thought flitters through my head I dismiss it. Whatever my reasons, though, I keep my financial status to myself.
I shake my head, signing, “No, there’s nothing else I need to say.”
“Wait for me in the dungeon, Freya. You know the drill. And, Freya, do not expect to be getting off with a nice spanking this time. I have something else entirely in mind as your punishment—something that I think will get your attention and make my point very well indeed.”
Chapter Six
I’m in the dungeon, alone, waiting for Nick. Oddly, the solitude doesn’t bother me this time, I guess because I know he’ll be here soon. Very soon. Too soon, maybe. I’m nervous, apprehensive as I kneel on the floor and wait. And I wonder. I wonder what he has in mind. He promised me no more abandonment stuff to mess with my head so I’m sure it won’t be that. But other than that, and the spanking I might have quite enjoyed, all bets are off.
Nick has instructed me in the fine art of submissive kneeling, and I reckon I’m pretty good at it now. Knees apart, spine ramrod straight, shoulders back, hands on my thighs, palms up. I close my eyes whilst I’m alone, but I know that when he arrives I must keep my eyes on him. When in Dom mode, Nick demands undivided attention from a submissive, and if I allow my gaze to drift he’ll punish me even more severely.
I’ve no idea what form Nick’s punishments will take as I’ve not earned one since that first day. He did say then that as spankings seemed to arouse me he’d have to come up with something different. I have a horrible feeling he might have decided on orgasm denial, and privately I know that will be truly horrendous for me. Nick only has to look at me and I start to come. If he instructed me not to climax I doubt I could manage that. Except I’d have to, somehow, if that was what he instructed me to do. Shit. I haven’t mentioned it, I won’t ask. But he’ll know too, how it would affect me. He always knows.
My head’s starting to whirl, and I’m just edging ever so slowly toward panic when I hear the door click. I turn slightly toward the sound, and see his jeans-clad legs strolling across the floor of the dungeon toward me. I raise my eyes, see that he’s bare-chested. Even in the present circumstances I love it when he leaves his shirt outside. Even though I’m totally naked except for my usual chain and wristbands, it seems to even the score, just a little.
I don’t speak. Nick has also explained that unless I’m answering a direct question, I’m expected to remain silent during any act of discipline. For me, that means my hands remain still. I’m always silent. Nick walks around me, looking at me as I kneel before him, perfectly still. I manage to follow him with my eyes, more or less, as he circles me. He holds up his hand, my cash card between his thumb and index finger. I left it on the table in the kitchen.
“This is yours, Miss Stone. Keep it safe.”
I’m bewildered, absolutely at a loss.
He smiles, though the smile never reaches his eyes. “You only needed to ask me, and we could have renegotiated our arrangement. If you feel more secure with access to your own cash, I get that. I completely understand that. I don’t have a problem with it. This, Freya, is about deception and lying and about hiding things from me. That I do have a problem with. And that’s what I’m going to discipline you for. Is that perfectly clear? Do you have any questions? Anything you need me to clarify before we start?”
I shake my head, and just wish he’d get on with it so that all this can be over.
He crouches in front of me. “Open your mouth, please.”
I obey, and he slips the card between my teeth.
“You wanted this, so here it is. Don’t drop it, Miss Stone. Now, do you remember how to present your breasts? I explained it to you that first night, at the club.” His tone is still hard, formal and cold.
My insides shrivel—more at the chill in his voice and the displeasure I know I’ve caused than at the prospect of what’s to come. I nod, and, somewhat awkwardly, shift my position to stand in front of him, concentrating on gripping the cash card tightly between my teeth. I place both arms behind my back, cupping my elbows in the opposite palm. This forces my shoulders farther back and thrusts out my breasts.
“Very pretty, Miss Stone. Well done. Now I’m going to squeeze and pull your nipples until they’re swollen enough to clamp. I’m using strong clamps designed for punishment rather than arousal so it’ll hurt, a lot. It’s meant to. You will not like this, Miss Stone. Not at all. But I require you to remain still and let me do it. When it gets really painful you might find it helps to bite down on that card of yours. You’ve practiced this before, back in the dungeon at the club, so you have some idea how it feels. It’s just going to be more painful this time. Any questions?”
I nod, and he steps back. He inclines his head slightly, my signal to continue.
I bring my arms out of the breast display stance and start signing. “How do you know it’ll hurt so much?” Silly question, I know. But still… “And what will happen if I move?
“I know it’ll hurt because you’ve very sensitive nipples, and because I intend to explore your pain thresholds very thoroughly this time. I’ll deliver as much as you can take, but not more. And not less either because where would be the point in that? The need for obedience is a lesson you’ve been struggling to learn. I intend to make it memorable. I don’t want to have to repeat it and I guarantee you won’t want that either. So, are we okay to continue?”
It’s some sort of explanation, I suppose, and it makes a perverse sort of sense. And I accept I have earned this punishment. I gave him the right to discipline me when I agreed to his terms for my training. Conversation over, I nod and take up my position again without waiting for him to instruct me. My reward, a curt nod. Nick Hardisty is one seriously pissed off Dom this evening. I shudder—this does not bode well for my comfort levels in the next few minutes or so.
I stand, my breasts thrust out at attention, as Nick strolls across the dungeon to pick up his selected instruments from a tray on the low table that held the lubrication oil earlier. He’s clearly decided in advance what he’ll be doing and what equipment he’ll need. He comes back to stand in front of me, his right hand clasped around something, a long, light gauge chain trailing between his fingers. His face is expressionless as he loops the chain around the back of my neck and releases the nipple clamps dangling from each end to now hang down between my breasts. I glance down, and see that he’s chosen clover leaf style clamps. They look cruel. I’ve not experienced this type before, but I know that these are designed for pain rather than pleasu
re as they cover the entire nipple, effectively preventing any caress or erotic contact once they’re in place. They just grip, and they hurt. I chew my bottom lip nervously.
“Remember, Freya, you are to remain perfectly still. The only permitted movement, if you can’t bear it, is to show me a wristband. I’ll slow down, or I’ll stop altogether. You do need to accept your punishment before we can move on but we can always come back to this later. Is that clear?”
I nod again, but with less conviction this time. He picks up on my uncertainty at once.
“If you think you might struggle, tell me now and I’ll tie your hands behind your back. You can spit out the card and use the click signal if you have to. I don’t want to drag this out for you, so let me help you if you need it.”
I think for a moment, then sign my answer, “Yes, I think I’ll manage better if you tie my hands. Thank you, Sir.”
Another curt nod, and he crosses the room to take a length of black bondage rope from a drawer set into one of the display cases. He comes back to me and signals that I’m to turn around. I do as I’m told, and he quickly loops the rope around my wrists in a slip knot, pulling it tight enough to hold me but without cutting off my circulation. Subconsciously I flex my fingers within the bonds, and he sees. He wraps both his hands around mine and squeezes. The simple act of reassurance is powerful. It grounds and calms me, tells me that even though he’s going to hurt me, it’s not in anger. By the time he places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him, I’m ready.
Just as well, as he wastes no further time. He takes both my nipples between the fingers and thumbs of his hands and squeezes hard. I jump, I can’t help it, and he glances up at me sharply. “I told you not to move. Brace yourself, and stand perfectly still please.”
