by Aya DeAniege
“Did you?”
“No!”
“That was an awfully fast and loud protest,” she murmured, pen pausing above the pad of paper. “Do you, perhaps, feel as if you did cry rape because Nathaniel’s sexual preferences had trained you to give into such feelings?”
I stared at her for a long moment, frowning as I tried to understand what she even meant. “Just because I agreed to let Nathaniel tie me up and spank me, doesn’t mean that every Tom, Dick, and Sally can do the same. I decided to let Nathaniel do that, not his father. That’s like saying that just because I’m sexually active, it’s okay for any man just to bend me over and have his way with me.”
“Some men do view it that way. Do you take their comments to heart?”
“No, but they can’t act on that belief.”
“You’re afraid what he wants will come to be.”
I’m afraid I’m weak.
“Mr. Wrightworth says it won’t, he also says I should trust him.”
“Since when are you two in a relationship?” she asked, stiffening suddenly.
“I suppose since last night or something,” I said with a shrug. “How did you know that?”
As it turned out, Mr. Wrightworth would only tell his subs to trust him. Anyone else, he would tell them to trust the Program. His therapist was the only one he trusted not to say something because she was the only one who hadn’t. The turn over rate for therapists in the Program was a little high, but they were the only ones who, for whatever reason, couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut.
I left her office feeling hollowed out. When Mr. Wrightworth let me in, I managed to hold on just until the door closed.
“I am a victim,” I said, and then burst into tears.
“Damn, I was really looking forward to beating that out of you,” Mr. Wrightworth said, then smiled that Cheshire cat smile.
Which made me laugh just a little bit. It was a silly thing, but I thought it funny that I had messed up his plan for me. The fact that he seemed to also believe it was funny made the tears stop.
Mr. Wrightworth approached me and set his hands on my upper arms as he looked me up and down. Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. It was just a comforting peck before he pulled away and looked me over again.
“You were a victim, I’m going to help you become a survivor,” he said. “I have dinner almost ready. I don’t think you’re going to put up with being tied today. Too much has gone on. So it’s into a hot bath for you, missy.”
“I want to try,” I said.
“No, not even going to,” Mr. Wrightworth said, pulling away and heading into the kitchen.
I followed him, protesting as we went. “Why not? I think I’m up for it.”
“You don’t believe that you’re up for it,” he grumbled, shutting off the stove. “You’re thinking about the bathroom this morning and desperately wanting more. I, however, am going to stick to my word from now on, and you don’t get anything more until you can be tied. You’re trying to push your limit, and I can’t have that.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s written all over you.”
“No, it’s not.”
Which is never a good thing to say to a man like him. I should have known better by then.
He paused with a spoon over the pot and eyed me. The silence stretched out as I adjusted my weight and looked at the counter near me. I didn’t notice anything on the counter, just looked at the clean faux marble rather than make eye contact with Mr. Wrightworth again.
“You’ve got one arm across your breasts, gripping your other arm so tightly that your knuckles are white. You’ve shifted your weight onto your bad leg, and anytime you mention being tied, you look at my knife on the counter. You could try that route, but...” the man sucked in a breath. “Well, that might just be the exception to the rule. Fucking someone who has attacked me and I’ve bested, is very much a turn on for me.”
“I’m not, that’s not why I was—” the words came stumbling out of my mouth.
How did he see what I didn’t realize I was doing?
I had been glancing at the knife, which was well within reach, handle facing me. As that dawned on me, I realized that the knife was also clean, as was the cutting board. Mr. Wrightworth was scooping rice with canned chicken into the bowls. Another slum meal which required absolutely no chopping.
He had placed it there on purpose.
I shifted away from the knife, aware that every time I stepped into Mr. Wrightworth’s kitchen, I ended up standing in the same spot. The other place I chose was across the kitchen. Mr. Wrightworth’s eyebrow quirked up as his hazel eyes drifted to something on the counter, then to me.
A frying pan sat on the counter, handle facing me.
“I’m not trying to kill you!” I protested.
Mr. Wrightworth smiled and handed me a bowl of rice. “I’ve noticed that you drift towards items which could be used as weapons. You get all giddy in the play room, all sorts to hurt a person there. Hm, maybe I should borrow Michie for you. He’s a full on masochist, loves being beaten by a woman.”
“I’m a submissive,” I said sternly, marching to the kitchen table.
“At the moment,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “See, sexuality was explained to me like submission and domination was. In the public eye, for example, Nathaniel is dominant, but for several years he was submissive in private. He quite enjoyed being submissive, but not who he submitted to.”
“Because it was a man.”
“And because it made him uncomfortable, being underneath this person,” Mr. Wrightworth hesitated as we sat, then smiled. “And not just because he was literally under this person. Mayfair is another example. Or Nicole. They both started as submissives, then switched to dommes. Nicole can switch back, but only for the right Dom. Has to be male, has to be sadistic. She and I have a standing agreement, because—as you put it—sometimes the pressure gets to be too much. It makes her itch under her skin and causes her to make mistakes. Then she starts running into things, getting hurt, even falling down a flight of stairs.”
“So you beat her so she can resettle and get back to work.”
“No one in the community knows that, so don’t go blabbing.”
“I didn’t plan on it, but I’m a submissive,” I said. “I like submitting.”
“To myself and Nathaniel,” Mr. Wrightworth said pointedly. “So far you like submitting to sadists. I think I will, I’ll borrow Michie or another male sub. Oh, oh yes. There is a male sub I’d like to borrow for a night. You can have your fun, and then I can have mine.”
I poked at my food for a moment, wondering why that bothered me.
“I don’t like it when you talk about sex with other people in front of me,” I said finally, daring to meet those hazel eyes.
They held no judgment as Mr. Wrightworth said, “Right, you didn’t even like the possibility of Nathaniel playing with someone else. We’ll have to work on that. I might focus solely on a new sub, but I always end up with multiple partners. I like threesomes. They’re so messy.”
“I don’t like it still,” I muttered.
“What if it were Nathaniel?”
I whimpered, then gave my head a shake. “The one time you want to talk about him is a threesome?”
“I’ve had him before. It’s quite exquisite to watch him writhe. There’s also Michie, but he’s such an obedient one that I hardly derive any pleasure from it. He does struggle on command, but even that lacks a certain quality.”
I ate a little food for something to do. Mr. Wrightworth watched me for a while, then lifted his spoon and began eating himself. We didn’t speak again until the dishes were cleared away.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Mr. Wrightworth said, sitting across from me once more.
“What is with you two?” I all but shouted. “He asked the same thing.”
“I know he did, you told me about it, remember?”
“You hot for him or s
omething?”
Mr. Wrightworth arched an eyebrow at me. I growled and tried not to sound as irritable as I felt.
“Great, I get the only gay man who’s attracted to straight men,” I said. “I thought you two were friends.”
“We are.”
“Now it’s just getting creepy,” I said.
I knew gay men didn’t always fall in love with their friends. Making such a broad comment was like saying men and women couldn’t be friends because they ended up falling in love—or at least lust.
“There is a great deal of history between him and I that I will not explain to you,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “But I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer. You have to answer me when I ask you a question.”
“You’ve never said that was a rule.”
“Protocol,” Mr. Wrightworth corrected. “But you are correct, I seem to have neglected to mention it before. So I’ll trade you the answer for the reason I’m asking that particular question. Only, you have to answer first.”
“Maybe if it were Nathaniel, then yes, I’d be tempted into at threesome,” I said.
“He’d be the meat, we’d be the bread,” Mr. Wrightworth said with a toothy smile.
I opened my mouth to protest but found the words dying in my throat. The image that popped into my head tried to reconcile what I knew about sex and how a sandwich would look. I knew a couple of ways two people could come together, but three was still a little confusing.
When the image finally aligned in my head, I whimpered out a sound.
Somehow that made it better.
Women were always portrayed to me as needing all the attention during sex. The pornographies I had watched up until that point almost always had threesomes, and it was two men and a woman. In those videos, however, the men took turns, there was nothing in them that did what Mr. Wrightworth was describing. The few that had the other balance always lost my attention quickly because two women pleasing one man always seemed humdrum to me. I know it’s a male fantasy but from my point of view...
It’s a waste of a good time to have two women playing with one man.
“I asked the question because I knew it would make you uncomfortable,” Mr. Wrightworth said, a finger rubbing across his lips as I glared at him. The finger almost hid the quirky little smile he had. “Not because I’m sexually interested in Nathaniel. The man is a Dom on nearly the same level as me, I have no interest in tying him up. That would be an abuse of the trust between him and me.”
“What about Nate?” I asked boldly.
“Oh, I’d tie him up in a heartbeat,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “But he and I have a standing agreement, just like Nicole and me. Only he hasn’t used his end of the deal yet.”
“And you’ve been careful not to use yours?” I asked.
“Finding a willing sub is easier than finding a Dom you can trust. After Nate had been released by his Master, we made the standing agreement. That’s not the sort of thing you just walk away from cold turkey.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three years since he last had the urge, but even then, I wasn’t around. Nathaniel ended up getting drunk and putting himself through a glass door. He’s just damned lucky Nicole decided to grace him with her presence because she too was feeling the urge, but I wasn’t around for it.”
“When do you ever leave the Program building?”
“I leave every six months for one week,” Mr. Wrightworth said, standing. “Which will be in one month’s time. We will go to church before I leave, and when I get back. You are to ask no questions of where I have been during that week, or what has gone on. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly, but does that mean I can ask where you’ve gone every other day?” I asked.
“As long as it doesn’t involve Nathaniel, yes, you may.”
Creepy behaviour.
The warning flashed inside my head. Creepy was the only term I could place to it, but I knew something was up, something was weird about his week off. It might have just been him doing a trust exercise, or maybe he just went off into the woods for a week and slept and drank and got all the dirty, stupid things out of his system. There seemed to be too much perfect about him for Mr. Wrightworth to be real.
He didn’t even look rumpled in a faded t-shirt and old sweatpants. He might as well have been wearing a suit, for the way he made that clothing work.
I stood and followed Mr. Wrightworth as he walked away. He went back to the kitchen and to the bathroom, where he immediately turned on the taps of the tub. I watched awkwardly from the door as he added Epsom salt, bubble bath, even a bath bomb, to the water. I don’t know what scents were in the items that went into the bath, but it resulted in a mildly floral scent with a bit of citrus. It as a little strange, but somehow it worked.
He lit candles that were pre-placed around the room with a long lighter. The flickering flames cast a low, yellow glow over everything.
Then he produced a washcloth and soap. He turned to me as if expecting something.
“Oh, right,” he muttered. “Training time.”
“What?” I snapped, pulling away when he approached me.
“Bath is a treat,” he said sternly, moving to the side as he motioned to the tub. “When you are getting a gift and you know it, you need to react accordingly. So in this instance, when I turned to face you, I expected to find you naked and willing to accept the treat.
“Because you can’t get in the bath with your clothing on, not because I want to see you naked. Which I have, many times.”
“I know that,” I muttered at my feet as I fiddled with the buttons on the front of my dress.
“Take it off, Darling,” Mr. Wrightworth said quietly.
The dress came off, and I immediately covered myself with my hands as I glanced up at Mr. Wrightworth. The man dragged his two front teeth over his bottom lip and made a small, barely audible sound.
“No, that haircut has got to go,” he growled. “I don’t care what they say. You look like a boy, young man at most.”
His words made me choke on the very air as I realized why he had bitten his bottom lip.
In the right light, I look like a man. Nice to know.
“You don’t look like a man,” Mr. Wrightworth said suddenly, as if reading my mind. “Your face in the candle light doesn’t hold onto the feminine beauty. It casts odd angles. Neck down, very much a woman no matter the light. Get in the tub.”
“In, in that tub?” I asked, jabbing a finger at the bubble filled ceramic tub.
“Yes, that tub.”
Grumbling, I went over and stepped into the tub. The heat was just a little too warm, but oh so pleasant once I adjusted to it. I stepped the rest of the way into the tub and sunk into the water. There was something oily in the water, but not in a bad way. It just made my legs slick as they grazed over one another.
Mr. Wrightworth disappeared for a moment and returned with a book, which he handed to me.
“Wash then read the book. You are not to leave that tub until the water is cool.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s what a bath is.”
“A bath is to get clean... never mind, it’s a rich people bath.”
“Exactly, read the book, soak in the water. I’m going to turn on a little music and sit outside the door. No one is coming in here but for me, understand?”
“Yes, sir... uh, Master. Yes, Master.”
Mr. Wrightworth reached as if to pat my head. As his fingers flowed over my hair, to the back of my head, they tangled in the short locks. He yanked my head back until he appeared almost upside down. I tried not to struggle, well aware that ceramic while wet was dangerous. My hands did grip the sides of the tub tightly, trying to take the weight off of my hair.
“A Sir, in my book, can be tested. A Master is the be all, end all of your existence. Which am I?”
“My Master,” I whimpered out.
“Don’t forget it again.”
Mr. Wrightworth
released me, which all but dropped me back into the water. I managed to save the book, having at least some thought inside my head, but the rest of me went under the water. If I hadn’t seen the difference before, I certainly did at that moment. When I came up for air, Mr. Wrightworth handed me a towel for me to dry my face.
“Don’t worry if the book goes under, I can replace it,” he said, kneeling by the tub as if he hadn’t just yanked me halfway out. “The only ones who can call me ‘sir’ work for me, you do not. I don’t like hearing that come from your mouth.”
“It was a slip of the tongue.”
“You want Nathaniel, I get that, I do, but he’s not here, and you need to respect me.”
“I do respect you,” I said desperately.
“Are you panicking?”
“Yes!”
“Hm, all right, we can save the title lecture for another night, soak in the tub. Masturbate if it pleases you, but you aren’t getting out until the water cools. Or if you have to go to the bathroom, I suppose,” Mr. Wrightworth cast a sidelong glance to the toilet, then looked back at me. “Bathroom breaks are never off limits.”
“If I have to go, I have to tell you, and if I lie about it, I’ll regret it,” I said.
“Good, enjoy the bath, most women do,” Mr. Wrightworth said. And then just sat there, awkwardly. He bent his head towards me and gave me an expectant look.
I frowned back. Then it clued in. “Is this a thank you moment?”
“It is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you, Master.”
“You’ll learn,” Mr. Wrightworth said, then stood and left the bathroom.
Thanking him every time is going to get annoying fast.
With a sigh, I went about washing myself and then tried just to lay in the hot water. It was nice, it was, but I wasn’t used to doing nothing with my time. Frustrated by the lack of movement, I reached over the tub and picked up the book, which had, in the end, suffered some minor water damage along the one edge. I opened it to page one and started reading.
By page ten I was hooked but horrified all at the same time. It wasn’t just a book. It wasn’t even romance. No, Mr. Wrightworth had chosen an erotica for me to read. An erotica. What’s the difference between that and my life’s story? Well, for starters there was a lot more sex. Like one sex act every chapter, at least. They just got regular sex out of the way in the second chapter. And the chapters weren’t that long, a few pages. There was barely any plot to it.
