Contract Broken (Contracted #2)

by Aya DeAniege

  “Izzy?” the man asked.

  “Isabella Martin, recovered fourteen,” Mr. Wrightworth said quickly, stepping around them.

  “Recovered fourteen isn’t supposed to be alone with men,” the man’s partner said quickly, pulling out his walkie.

  “I’d rather not have that discussion in front of her,” he growled back.

  “What do you mean I’m not allowed to be alone with men?” I asked, turning my attention to Mr. Wrightworth. “You never told me that.”

  “You came here willingly, the point was to keep others from cornering you before you were ready,” Mr. Wrightworth said to me quickly before he turned to the policemen. “I’m sure the controllers can confirm that I invited her here, and she came over. I’ve done nothing untoward to Izzy. Besides ravaging her as she begged me to. Would you need proof of that as well?”

  “You know they may require proof, and a check up with a doctor,” one of the men grumbled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wrightworth, it’s policy to make certain no one can abuse anyone else. Most especially for the recovered members of the Program. You wrote the rules. We’re only enforcing them.”

  “I don’t want a check up just because you don’t believe him!” I all but shouted back at them. “You are making me very uncomfortable. Mr. Wrighworth, I don’t want to do this!”

  “Go to the room, I’ll speak with them,” he muttered, motioning as if he were trying to calm me down. “Darling, please, go make yourself comfortable.”

  I bolted down the hallway and out of sight. Into the playroom, I slammed the door and sunk to the floor, tears welling up at the very thought. Doctors could tell if a woman had sex, I knew that meant that something would end up happening, to cover our tracks because I hadn’t done as I was told. I couldn’t very well let him be accused or charged because I hadn’t listened.

  My tears were almost dried when Mr. Wrightworth walked back into the room and closed the door. I skittered away from him, holding the tea towel tight against me as I moved. When he came towards me, I whimpered but didn’t dare say anything because obviously the room was not as sound proof as he had been told. He reached and yanked me to my feet, then thrust me against the wall and pinned me with his body.

  “Do you like this?”

  “What?’ I asked, barely holding on.

  “My body against yours, do you like this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He pulled me off the wall and to a spanking bench. The bench sat at hip level, for Mr. Wrightworth. There was a step, then a long flat surface. He bent me over the side and pressed against me.

  There was no denying the heat of the man pressed against my back, of his hot breath against the back of my neck and shoulder. The things I would have been willing to let him do to me at that moment were obscene. I felt comfortable being touched like that.

  Nathaniel’s father never came that close, not after the first time I bit him, or the time I had kneed him, then kicked him in the head.

  At that thought, the realization that I found it comfortable and that it was a thing that hadn’t been done to me, the wonderful feelings curdled into nausea.

  “And now?” he asked.

  “Please don’t,” I managed to get out.

  With him pressed tight against me, it was hard not to feel the way his whole body stiffened. The man pulled away just slightly.

  “I’m sorry, are you afraid I’m going to rape you?” he demanded.

  “They’re going to want proof,” I said, the tears welling back up again.

  “No, they aren’t. I’ve dealt with it. Answer the question. Have you—at any point tonight—been afraid that I might rape you?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Wrightworth snarled. “I’m still gay.”

  “I know,” I said, and then burst into a fresh bout of tears.

  “You enjoyed being pinned and my pressing against you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I know,” I said, crying harder.

  He released me and walked off.

  I sniffled and stood, hugging myself as he walked towards the door and picked up a book from the table beside the door. He walked back to me and opened the book, pulling a pen from the spine.

  “Rape sensitivity,” he muttered, scribbling on the page.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He handed me the book. I blinked the remaining tears from my eyes and read the page as he stripped off his t-shirt.

  The book appeared to be a list of terms, most of which I didn’t quite recognize. There were little marks beside certain items. One or two of the items had already been scratched off, but I didn’t know what the terms meant, so I didn’t ask about them.

  “No anal,” I said to him, finally recognizing something I knew.

  “If we do have sex, let’s face it, that’s the way it’ll be,” he said, holding out the shirt as he reached and took the book with his other hand.

  I took the t-shirt and pulled it on, grateful for the covering. He made a motion to me and left the room. I followed him out and to the living room, where he sat on the couch and motioned beside him. So I sat beside him as he opened the book and placed it on the coffee table.

  “These are things I want to work on with you. They all lead to the point of you being comfortable enough to move onto another. I know you enjoy submission, that it’s something in which you are very interested. Obviously, we have a lot to work on.”

  “Like my not panicking when you tie me.”

  “Not everyone is looking to hurt you the way you were hurt. And if whoever you move onto takes advantage of you, I know you’ll tell me. Then I’ll come in. I’ll tie him up and beat him. See how he likes that. Oh, this could be very fun, come to think of it. It’s been a while since I had a man.”

  “And you added rape sensitivity to that?” I asked.

  “You feel like every man wants to rape you, that can’t happen. You’re taking self-defence classes. You don’t go out after dark. You never talk to anyone, and you lock the door to the archives even though no one has ever tried to go through it except for me.”

  “So? I’m being safe.”

  “You’re being a victim. You’re letting him win.”

  “He hasn’t won.”

  “As long as there is fear in your life, he is winning,” Mr. Wrightworth snapped, causing me to flinch away from him. “As long as the smell of him makes you want to cry, he is winning. As long as you can’t live the life that you want to live, he is winning.

  “Before him, you wanted to be tied up. You wanted to be pinned and had at the pleasure of a man. You were very interested in orgasm control, which is on that list, by the way. You aren’t the first victim I’ve taken on. There’s something about you lot that just delights me. You know real terror. You know that I’m not crossing a line.

  “When I play with some vanilla tit from either side of the debt line, they’re just terrified and revolted at everything I do to them. You, however,” he leaned in just a little closer, “you like it, even as you’re trying to get away from me.”

  “You’ve had another victim?” I asked.

  “Yes, he claimed that he wasn’t a victim,” Mr. Wrightworth paused to smile as his eyes seemed to fog over. He gave himself a little shake and focused on me. “I tied him with the chain and manacles, as I had you tied this evening, and I beat him until he told himself the truth of the matter. Saying that you aren’t a victim doesn’t change the fact that you are. Facing that fact is usually the only way to move on from it. You were a victim. You were attacked, and your weaknesses were used against you. That doesn’t make you weak. Pretending it didn’t happen, that it didn’t affect you? That makes you weak. I don’t like it when my subs run from their problems. It makes things complicated for me, and I like uncomplicated.”

  “I’m not running from anything,” I protested, but only half-heartedly.

  Mr. Wrightworth had been right about me more than once before. Him simply saying it set me on the path of wondering if
it were true or not, onto the path of questioning myself.

  “We can go over these,” Mr. Wrightworth motioned to the book, “tomorrow evening. In the meantime, you should consider what I’ve told you. Carefully consider your boundaries and limitations. I want you to prepare yourself to have those boundaries crossed, or at the very least pushed. I will not settle for simply tying you up and beating you until I get bored.”

  “Normally your play sessions end in sex,” I said.

  “Normally yes, but I’m making an exception for you. That exception may change, as I’m told sexuality is fluid. Nicole counts herself as heterosexual, but for the right sort of woman, she will play at bisexuality. Which is why she is still with Mary after all these weeks.”

  “You’re saying that to tease me,” I grumbled.

  “I am, yes,” Mr. Wrightworth said with a small smile. “At the end of the day, I am still very gay, and I’m fairly certain we’d be chasing the same bed partners. While flattered by your reaction to me, it does little for my cock.”

  “Ew, you call it a cock?” I asked.

  “There it is,” he said with that Cheshire cat smile.

  “You did that on purpose!” I exclaimed.

  “Of course.”

  “No mindfucks.”

  “That wasn’t a mindfuck. It was manipulation. Learn your terms.”

  “You learn your terms,” I grumbled in response.

  Mr. Wrightworth’s hand twitched against his leg. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he considered me as if wondering if I realized what I had just said. Looking back, I know how ridiculous it was to bait a sadist, but at that moment I was just snarky and sarcastic.

  “You should leave now,” he growled out finally.

  “Fine, what time should I be here tomorrow?”

  “Six, don’t eat before you come. Wear whatever. It won’t matter in the end.”

  Chapter Five

  It was a standing command.

  Almost every night, at the same time, I visited Mr. Wrightworth. I have no idea how he always managed to get off at the same time and get everything he did in a day done, but he did. I strongly suspect that when people discovered that he had taken an interest in a woman, everyone dropped what they were doing to make certain he could get off in time.

  The next night he fed me noodles and fried vegetables in an Asian style. Again, dinner was eaten in silence. I finished my plate before Mr. Wrightworth for the first time.

  Food was a bit of a control issue with him. No one could eat unless he were eating as well, even going out. He had difficulty walking past people who were wasting food. I did ask him about that little tic eventually, though I don’t feel it would be appropriate to include his answer.

  Suffice to say, it was something he dealt with for years and had great difficulty overcoming.

  After dinner, we moved to the living room and sat where we had the night before. He pulled out that little book and set it between us, facing me on the couch.

  There was a list of items that we went over. These are items that are on nearly any fetish list. It wasn’t that he wanted to know if he could do all those things, but he asked instead for a number between one and five, to indicate how I felt about them. After going through the list, he turned the page and scratched an item or two off his list, then set the book between us once more.

  “Starting at the top here, which I was writing as it came to me, anal training,” Mr. Wrightworth tapped the page, then looked up at me. “Normally anal training is some extreme nonsense, fitting a fist into your anal cavity or some insanity like that. The training I’m interested in is pleasure training. I’m going to prepare you for the feeling and then tie it into orgasm training so that you can come from anal. It’s quite easy to do once I have you trained for the one, and the other will follow shortly.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because any Dom you go to will likely demand it, especially after finding out that you’re from the slums. Rich folks don’t even care. Anal is like the spiced up sex for them. It hardly phases them at all. While I want to get you ready to move on to another Dom, I also want to make certain you can gain as much pleasure from the interaction as possible. I don’t want him scarring you for life over a sexual act which is simple enough to train for.”

  I shifted on the couch, uncomfortable about the idea. Nathaniel hadn’t started the training as Mr. Wrightworth had suggested, but then I had been with him such a short time. When would he have brought it up?

  “Protocol, this is how you will behave towards me and I towards you. You will refer to me as Master, not Sir. You will thank me for everything I do to you, whether it is discipline or play.”

  “Why?” I asked again.

  “Everything I do to you, you consent to, you agree to my doing it to you. I want that in the forefront of your mind as I do it to you. You allowed this, in many cases you wanted it to be done to you. Perhaps you even begged me to do it, but it is consensual, and there is a safe word. So you will thank me, to remind you that you wanted this to be done to you, and you agreed to it.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

  “I’m almost entirely certain that you will.”

  “Almost?”

  How could he not know for certain? He knows everything!

  “Almost,” Mr. Wrightworth responded quietly. “Next, you will learn formal care. This will include how to help a man dress, how to dress yourself, how to eat at a rich person’s table, some dance and on down that list as far as we get while you are with me.

  “The next line item is masturbation. After each play session, you are to return to your room and masturbate, unless I give you the go-ahead to skip it. That will be an exception, not the rule.”

  “But the controllers see everything!”

  “Not my problem, doesn’t change the protocol in the least. I’m looking into getting toys for you, though I do know that you are perfectly capable of using your hands. You will do so. If I ask you in public whether or not you had fun last night, that is code. You are to respond yes, if you did, and no if you did not. As we play more, I will add more to your plate.”

  “More to my plate?”

  “You will have to come more than once.”

  “How can you do orgasm training if you aren’t creating the orgasms?” I asked.

  “This isn’t about orgasm training, which I will—what is the term—suck it up for? This is masturbation, which is entirely different from orgasm control. That comes later and is only for your future partner. I want you to masturbate to help lower the stress level during play.”

  “Will you be doing the same?” I asked.

  “What did you think I was doing behind you last night?” he asked.

  He hesitated, his hazel eyes flowing over my face as I attempted not to show my interest in that statement. The reason he had told me to turn around wasn’t just for training purposes. It was because he had been in the middle of something else entirely. Aroused by my terror, even though all he could see was my back. How good, I thought, he must have been at reading body language to see what I was feeling just by the muscles of my back.

  “I will restrict my activities to outside of the play session if I can. Not mixing play and sex is new to me, and it seems I link it to great orgasms. That in itself is a sort of orgasm training. Most end play sessions with sex, I’ve always been one to intermingle sex with play.”

  “How exactly do you intend to bring in orgasm control?” I asked.

  “That will be linked to the masturbation, I’ve done this before, except the end game was to have him beg me to fuck him,” Mr. Wrightworth paused to smile slightly. “And beg me he did. It was so glorious to get to that end.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that if we did that you’d end up—” I motioned between us.

  Mr. Wrightworth shrugged.

  “But you’re gay.”

  “The point isn’t straight or gay, it’s going into play with an open mind,” Mr. Wrightworth said
. “I’m not going to deny every sort and thought, just as I expect you to have an open mind about what I plan to do to you.”

  “You’re being very confusing,” I said.

  “Perhaps because I’m confused,” Mr. Wrightworth grumbled. “No other woman has done to me what you have done, as you no doubt picked up on when you attended the church.”

  “They seemed surprised you would feel that way about me. Like they didn’t see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Mm, on that note, lift your skirt,” Mr. Wrightworth said, reaching over the couch to pick something up off the side table. “Come here, sit on my lap.”

  I moved to obey, settling in his lap, my back against his chest. He was so warm, so strong. I melted against him. For the first time in months, I relaxed, pressing closer to his chest than was necessary.

  “What’s this?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me. “Oh, my dear, Darling. Did we just find a reward for you?”

  I made a small sound and adjusted against him, bending my head to look up at his hazel eyes. The man watched me, his arms tightening just slightly as he smiled. I swore the heat multiplied as his strong arms tightened around me protectively. The smell of the man, the promises he was making? My heart skipped a beat as our eyes were locked, breath sighing. He could have asked anything of me then, and I probably would have done it without question.

  I knew he wouldn’t ask anything of me. That was one of the reasons I would have done it if he had.

  It was one of those moments that seemed to last forever, yet was over too quickly, ending when he spoke.

  “I think we did, and this is a reward I can deliver happily.”

  He held me for another minute or so, warmth oozing slowly into my body, then reached over me and pulled my skirt up further. With a pen that looked oddly familiar, Mr. Wrightworth wrote on my right leg.

  I am beautiful.

  I didn’t believe it at all. It made me feel awkward and weird, that it was written on my leg. Having to read it every time I went to the bathroom made it all the stranger.