by JA Huss
“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 this 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 he
r 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.
“You need to rest tonight, Nadia. Your muscles are fatigued.”
I nod my head, too wrapped up in the way he’s making me feel.
He rinses me off and turns me around, then shuts off the water, grabs a towel from a stack of them on a shelf just outside the shower, wraps it around his waist, and then grabs another one and holds it open for me. “Come on,” he says, shaking the towel.
I brace myself on the glass surround as I step out and let him wrap me up in softness.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he says. I do. He dries me off. One square inch of skin at a time. Paying meticulous attention to every part of my body. When he bends down to dry my legs his face is so close to my pussy, I can feel his breath.
I want him to lick me. I want to come again. I want more, I realize.
But he doesn’t give me more. He just continues his job until he’s done and then stands up. “We’re going to eat now. The food should be here soon. Get dressed. Can you do that by yourself?” he asks with a worried expression.
I huff out a laugh. “Sure,” I say.
He leaves me, walking out of the bathroom, then the bedroom, and I can hear him talking on his phone in another part of the apartment.
I put on sleep clothes. Light pink terrycloth shorts and a white tank top. I’m done for tonight. When I glance at the clock I realize it’s only five-thirty. I’m getting old, I think. I’m spent.
He’s dressed in his suit when I meet him in the living room. Minus his jacket, which is lying neatly across a dining room chair. And he’s relaxing on the couch. He pats the cushion next to him—indicating that I should sit. So I cross the room and sit, my body automatically melding into his.
“Opposites,” Bric says as he puts his arm around me. “We’re opposites. Do you know why people are so attracted to opposites, Nadia?”
I shrug. “It completes them, I guess.”
“Nice answer,” he says, chuckling a little. “Yes and no. People are attracted to their opposite because it excites them. We’re having a power struggle, you and I. You like to be in control. I like to be in control. So we have to give a little.”
“But that just means we’re the same,” I say, thinking it through.
“No,” he says. “You and I are not the same at all. You’re female, I’m male. You’re creative, I’m logical. You want to be ta
ken care of. I want to take care of someone. Opposites do complete each other, but the underlying reason they feel that way is what really matters.”
“I don’t think I want to be taken care of,” I say.
“Everyone wants to be taken care of, Nadia.”
“Then we’re the same,” I say. “You’re included in everyone.”
“True,” he says. “I am. But you make me feel taken care of when you submit to me. When you trust me. When you let me take care of you.”
“Hmm,” I say, huffing out a tired breath of air. This might be more conversation than I need right now.
“The power struggle is necessary. It breaks us down into little pieces of nothing. And from that nothing we create something brand new. That’s why opposites attract. People want to remake themselves and they use their opposite to do that.”
“Or,” I say, turning my head to look him in the eyes, “we’re just playing a stupid game and you won this time.”
He tries to hide his smile but doesn’t succeed.
“We’re still playing, right? I mean, you bought that house tonight to prove a point.”
“What point?” he asks.
“Jesus,” I say. “So many points. That you have money, for one,” I say, holding up a finger. “That you have that money in cash.” I hold up another finger. “That you have people at your beck and call who will set up house tours at the last minute, and then not blink an eye when you refuse to go into two of them. That you can command me to live there.”
“Don’t you want to live there?” he asks. “With Jordan and me?”
“Well, I guess if Jordan were here, I could give you a complete answer to that question. But he’s not.”
“He’s working, Nadia. He’ll be around when this case of his calms down.”
“OK. I’ll let that go for now.” But I’m mad at Jordan.
“Any more points I’m trying to make tonight?”
“Yes,” I say, holding up a fifth finger. “The whole point of tonight—from the moment you picked me up to this one right now—is to make me depend on you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It can be,” I say.
