by Aya DeAniege
“Why haven't you played a scene with her yet?” Mr. Wrightworth asked, his eyes remaining on me for a moment before swinging to Nathaniel.
“Everyone has a different pace,” Nathaniel responded.
“I'm fairly certain her pace is faster than you think it is,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered. “She came to you and prostrated herself before you.”
“I bent her over, but I get the idea," Nathaniel said, relaxing in his seat. "Her slum isn't that conservative, though. Some of them have been known to explore, and that may have been all that was, exploring."
“The slum may not be completely vanilla, but her last sexual partner was six years ago. Remember when I was training him? He became more active the longer he was with me. I believe you should broach the subject somewhat the same way, except you probably won't have to train her to react. She is reacting, but she's used to hiding it.”
“How would you know?” I asked, emboldened by the wine.
As I had told Nathaniel before, I was not a stranger to alcohol. He was right, however, and I needed to test the limits of my tolerance with new alcohols. Wine was something that only rich folk drank. Poor folk didn't use berries and other fruit to make alcohol. It was too difficult to get a hold of them
“I can see it in how you sit and move and talk,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Nate, I'd suggest the item you used on Mayfair.”
“She hated that,” Nathaniel said, then smiled toothily. “As much as I'd like to play in such a manner, she should enjoy sex some more before I introduce her to the edges of her comfort and push her beyond them.”
“Mayfair only hated it because you insisted she wore it to the meeting and then used it anytime she was disobedient."
“Which was often,” Nathaniel growled out. “I don't intend on doing such a thing to Darling in public. Oh, did you happen to register that name?”
“I did,” Mr. Wrightworth said quietly. “They are very interested in meeting her.”
“And how did Mayfair respond?” Nathaniel asked.
“She almost had her hands on me before she recalled her place,” Mr. Wrightworth said, smoothing his tie idly. “Mayfair, Darling, was Nate's first sub. She's a vicious little bitch. Says Nate ruined submitting for her.”
“Registered my name?” I asked.
“Everyone in the community uses different names,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “The Doms typically go by their actual names. Some of the subs do as well, but many find the new names as a way to put a wall between being a sub and their real lives, enabling them to enjoy themselves as they kneel in service, but still stand their ground outside of the bedroom.”
“It will also help identify you as mine to others,” Nathaniel said. “Sometimes the community gets overzealous.”
“Only over the pretty ones,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered.
“And no doubt you told them all about her,” Nathaniel said in an almost bored tone.
“I did, yes,” the other man said with a small smile.
“And?” Nathaniel asked.
Mr. Wrightworth almost grimaced, but then the smile returned.
“I had some difficulty registering her as yours. Their thought being that because the contract is blank, you own her certainly, but that doesn't mean that you are her master.”
“I'm not her master.”
“Would Master like more scotch?” Patrick asked suddenly, bending at the waist to set his hand on Mr. Wrightworth's glass.
The man's nose twitched ever so slightly. "No, thank you, Patrick. I'm sure I've had enough."
“If Master is certain.”
Mr. Wrightworth took in a small breath and held it for a moment. “Mayfair wanted to auction her off.”
“What exactly did you say to them?” Nathaniel demanded. “Auction her off? Only one sub has ever been auctioned off.”
“Mm, thank goodness I won that auction,” Mr. Wrightworth murmured quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Did you tell them about the plane?” I asked.
Mr. Wrightworth went a funny sort of colour as Nathaniel's eyes jerked towards me. I tried very hard not to be affected by his eyes, but they stripped me bare as I glanced sideways at him.
“I was screaming and very uncomfortable," I said, speaking at my lap because I didn't dare meet Nathaniel's eyes. "Mr. Wrightworth found it amusing. He said that it's normally only the terror of men does that to him—" the idea dawned on me as I looked up at Mr. Wrightworth. "Oh, oh, you weren't amused at all!"
“I told you it wasn't amusement,” Mr. Wrightworth purred out.
“And you told them that?” Nathaniel asked, sounding a bit like he was being strangled. “It's no wonder. Please tell me that you did register her as mine.”
“I did manage it, but only because we obviously had the conversation and she agreed to serve you. If gang related activities are off limits, then obviously trading or other such activities are also off limits.”
“I don't even intend to lend her if she is bad,” Nathaniel said.
Mr. Wrightworth's mouth fell open. "Surely you're joking. The best way to stop inappropriate behaviour is to lend them out to another Dom. Even if you have very strict rules as to what the Dom can and cannot do. I did a scene last week that didn't involve sex."
“Someone was stupid enough to lend you a sub?” Nathaniel asked.
“It was a woman. It turns out she didn't give consent to being loaned out if it involved sex," Mr. Wrightworth turned his attention to me. "If you were lent out for discipline, whoever borrows you could not penetrate any orifice without your explicit permission beforehand. In this case, she was lent to two Doms. The second one thought he had permission, but she hadn't given it."
“What happens then?” I asked.
“Then," Mr. Wrightworth swung his attention to Nathaniel. "Then the Dom is disciplined publicly for his behaviour. In this man's case, he was given to Mayfair for a public display. After the public discipline, he was marked and treated as an oath breaker, because that is what he did."
“Lending to two Doms,” Nathaniel muttered.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw his telltale mark on her ass,” Mr. Wrightworth grumbled. “He's right, though, we should have signature marks like that. Without it, she would still be with her old Dom. Nicole's taken her on temporarily. To test her temperament and see how she changes when she is free of her Dom.”
“Will Nicole be there next week?” Nathaniel asked. “I think perhaps it would be good for the two of them to meet. She's a good Mistress. Perhaps it would be easier for Darling to talk to Nicole, rather than a man.”
“You want her to have a friend who is female,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Just say as much, rather than beat around the bush and make excuses. I'm sure having a friend would be good for her.”
“Might help her trust issues,” Nathaniel said bitterly.
“She did trust you when you told her about her family," Mr. Wrightworth said. "But even that is a problem. She should have protested in some fashion. Obviously, her family gave her no reason to question. I'll talk to Nicole, you know her attendance is sporadic when she's got a victim to play with. She will have a week to deal however she pleases. Perhaps she can pull things together in time."
“Thank you. You know if I approach Nicole, she'll just start lecturing me on appropriate behaviour.”
Mr. Wrightworth shrugged. “It's a community. Nicole is a good introduction for new members. Are there any other problems the two of you need to get out of the way?”
“Her file said she's medically fine,” Nathaniel said. “Her heartbeat was erratic when we're in the gym.”
I blushed at his words. I had known he had noticed. It was impossible to ignore the high-pitched beeping of the heart monitor. I certainly hadn't known that Nathaniel blamed a medical condition for the beeping. At the time, I had thought that my desires were clear, and he had simply been ignoring them.
“Her file is correct," Mr. Wrightworth said with a frown. "We put her on a treadmil
l. There were no problems. She limped the rest of the day but otherwise was fine. Did you speak with the physiotherapist?"
“I did, we've already implemented the plan,” Nathaniel said. “I am, naturally, concerned about the heart beating awkwardly.”
“Perhaps it's the food," Mr. Wrightworth said. "When your father took me on, the rich food made me feel terrible. Try some poor food. Your cook is from a slum. He would know a recipe or two. Less fatty foods, more hearty items. A stew and some homemade bread. Nothing rich and thick and overdone with spices and that crap that gets added."
“Food, I forgot about the food," Nathaniel said. "Thankfully she hasn't been sick from it yet."
“My breakfast has been slum food,” I said with a frown of my own. “I thought you told them to do that.”
“You still have Moses in the kitchen, don't you?” Mr. Wrightworth said. “I thought he returned to the slum.”
“No, I had to hunt him down and beg him, but he came back,” Nathaniel said. “You can't deny that he has a way with food. I had to have him. He requested one of his youngest sons receive emancipation. I think he's worth it.”
“I may have to stop by and say hello to him.”
“He would have to smile and wave, and be a nuisance,” Nathaniel said. “Why don't you spend some time with Patrick instead? I'm sure he'd enjoy your attention.”
“No, thank you,” Mr. Wrightworth said as he stood. “Feed her slum food for dinner sometimes. Cut back on rich food and see if that helps her heart. She looks healthy and well-fed, that's a good sign.”
“Let us see you out,” Nathaniel said, standing quickly.
“No, that's quite all right," Mr. Wrightworth said gruffly. "I'm not interested in passive-aggressive goodbyes at the door, where the whole estate can see. I will see you on Sunday, try not to screw anything else up. They're out for blood, seriously."
“I swear I won't do anything stupid,” Nathaniel said.
Mr. Wrightworth left the room. With Nathaniel and Patrick watching me, I picked up my wine glass and drank the last of the wine before setting the glass on the table and standing. Smoothing my dress, I glanced at Patrick, then looked at Nathaniel.
I expected the worst. I expected to be in trouble for things I had said to Mr. Wrightworth.
Nathaniel stood and tugged down his suit jacket.
“Patrick, disappear," Nathaniel said, looking over my shoulder. I watched his eyes follow Patrick out of the room, and then I looked away before Nathaniel could look back to me. "I apologize, Izzy."
It was the first time anyone had used my name. I hadn't thought anyone had even listened to me when I had spoken.
Mustering my courage, I met Nathaniel's eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I should have provided you access and evidence for my words. I should have made certain that my wording was correct. I don't want to close you off from other people. I want you to meet others. You will meet those I insist on you meeting, such as Nicole. That may be viewed as inappropriate of me, to dictate who you can and cannot be friends with. But next Sunday, when we go to the meeting, you can make friends with whomever you please. Except Mayfair. Avoid her at all costs.”
“I don't understand what that all is about,” I said.
“You will learn about that. Right now is not the best time—which is ironically—something someone in that position might say. But I'm saying that because I think Nicole would explain it better, having escaped an abusive husband herself. I also think that my telling you what might be abusive would make it inappropriate because I could lie to you. Nicole will not.”
“Okay, and you'll introduce me to her, so I don't accidentally start talking to Mayfair?" I asked.
“Absolutely, first off I'll do that,” Nathaniel said.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Weekdays we go to my study, and you will do readings while I do work. Right now, though, you should change. Just because it's Sunday doesn't mean we don't workout."
Chapter Ten
Nathaniel walked me to my room, then stopped just outside the door. I went in and changed into my workout clothing. From there, Nathaniel led me to the gym.
It wasn't until we were inside the gym that I wondered what he planned on wearing, as he was still in a three-piece suit, minus the shoes. As far as I knew he didn't keep any clothing in the gym itself.
He stripped off everything but his briefs, dropping the formal clothing wherever he pleased. It all seemed far too expensive to simply toss to the floor like that, no matter how clean the polished linoleum was kept.
I gaped at him and he arched an eyebrow in response.
Very carefully, I turned to the machine I knew would be assigned to me that day. I got on the machine, a stair climbing thing, and began my cycle. By the time I had gotten the machine moving, Nathaniel was already at the weights, lifting and straining.
Muscles rippling under nearly perfect skin. Here and there were the occasional scars received over a lifetime. I was fairly certain he was lifting more than usual, because he really seemed to strain at it.
His words from the night before came back to me and I missed the step, almost falling off the machine entirely. I caught myself on the handlebars of the machine. My shin bounced painfully against one of the steps as I tried to catchup.
Nathaniel seemed to turn away as I straightened. He didn't even seem to notice that I stumbled despite the small squeak that escaped as I tried to reconcile the movement of the machine with the way I was moving. In the end, I thought nothing of it. I was just thankful that he hadn't noticed I had fallen.
It didn't take long for Nathaniel to work up a sweat.
Those briefs don't hide much.
I averted my eyes every time he seemed to be turning towards me. I didn't turn my head, just my eyes to keep a head motion from being caught on camera.
I couldn't decide whether it was Nathaniel straining at something that was arousing, or if it was the shape of his muscles and the sweat that he had worked up. He was too far away for me to fully appreciate the smell of a man who had been working out.
My heart monitor went off.
Annoyed, I shut down the machine. There was no point in continuing to work out if the monitor was going off like that. My heart had to still before I would be allowed to continue. Truth be told, I was grateful for the reprieve. After almost a year of no work, I was out of shape. Everything ached and burned.
I stepped off as Nathaniel approached me. He was barely breathing harder, though his mouth was open and I could see the slight movement of his ribcage as he came to a stop a few feet away.
Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down.
I had worked up a little sweat of my own and was breathing a little faster than normal. Nathaniel directed me towards the seats along the outer wall of the gym and had me sit down. He walked off and returned a moment later with a bottle of water, which he handed to me. I took the water, thankful for how it chilled my hands at a touch. I pressed the bottle against my neck as if I had overworked myself.
“That's for drinking,” Nathaniel said.
Obediently, I opened the bottle and took a sip. When I tried to put the cap back on the bottle, it slipped out of my hands and hit the floor, rolling to Nathaniel's feet. With a small sigh, I set the bottle on the chair beside the one I sat on and slid to the floor.
I could have stood and simply bent to grab the cap, but I didn't feel like standing right then. My leg ached after every workout, and I was grateful to take the weight off of it. Being on my knees pulled at muscles down the backs of my legs, and there was an ache that wrapped around the leg, but it didn't hurt as much as standing after a workout.
Kneeling, I picked up the cap.
And then realized where I was.
Awkwardly I stared at Nathaniel's feet—mere inches away—then looked up his legs slowly. I tried very hard not to hesitate at his briefs, which were suddenly straining over the shape of his member. Nathaniel's eyes made me flinc
h. There was a fiery hunger in the man's eyes that seemed more terrifying than the cold that they usually held.
As he reached down, I recall there being an 'oh no' moment.
I had just accidentally placed myself in a compromising position. I expected him to wrap a hand in my hair and drag me close.
Instead, his hand moved further down. It slid under my arm, and he pulled me to my feet.
“Workout over,” he growled, walking off suddenly.
Mouth hanging open, I stared after him.
Nathaniel collected his clothing without a word and left the gym. He didn't even shower first like he normally did. Didn't even wipe the sweat from his arm before draping the expensive clothing over it.
The bang of the door closing made me jump in place.
I knew what I had done, even accidentally, but I didn't understand why it warranted that reaction. Surely that was why I was there. We were both adults. We should have been mature about such a thing. It wasn't like I had done it on purpose.
I picked up the bottle of water and replaced the cap. After some searching I found the mini fridge the bottle had come from—it was made to look like just another section of cupboard along the wall. From there I went into the bathroom and showered.
During the shower I considered what had happened, turning it over in my mind.
Nathaniel had, at no point, had me serve him in any fashion. I knew what to do on my knees. Girls were taught that first and foremost in the slums. It was a way to keep a man interested without risking pregnancy. Our contraceptives had been drug based, and a lot could still go wrong with drug based contraceptives. A missed pill, poor quality control, or even a time where the pills just didn't seem to work.
So yes, like most girls from the slum, I knew what to do on my knees.
I thought of trying to do that for Nathaniel, wondering if any of him would even fit in my mouth. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to try such a thing. Then I thought of what he had said about linking his pleasure to my own. If I pleasured him, I wondered, what would he do for me? How would he tease my orgasm out of me?
My fingers wandered down my side, sliding between my legs.
