by Aya DeAniege
“Darling?” Mr. Wrightworth asked as he knelt beside the tub again.
I jumped in place, splashing water everywhere and dropping the book into the water.
“You seemed engrossed,” he muttered, then reached over and picked the book out of the tub, watching the water slough off of it. “A little too engrossed. When was the last time you masturbated?”
I blushed at the question. For a moment I thought it was no one’s business but my own, but then I remembered that it was Mr. Wrightworth’s business and that he had just asked me a question.
And I was still staring at him stupidly a full minute later.
Maybe this is why he doesn’t like female subs, because we all just get embarrassed and won’t tell him what’s going on.
“Not in, um,” I frowned and looked away as I tried to recall. “Not since Nathaniel’s place.”
“You haven’t even made certain that all your parts still work?” Mr. Wrightworth asked, giving me a look as if I were crazy. “If you were a man you would have done it with people watching, just to be sure nothing was damaged.”
“Well, I’m not a man and a man probably wouldn’t have ...” I trailed off as I struggled to say what I wanted to say.
“Wouldn’t have been raped, is what you were going to say,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered, reaching between my feet to pull the plug. “I’ve got my hands on something I’m told all women enjoy.”
“Does it vibrate?” I asked, my belly doing a twinge as I thought of the last vibrating toy that had been used on me.
“It does,” Mr. Wrightworth purred out. “Male subs don’t like this, they believe it to be unfair and some scream bloody murder. They can’t get their heads wrapped around the sensation. Come on, there’s a robe on the back of the door there, put it on and come to the bedroom.”
“Why?” I squeaked out.
“Because I told you to,” he called out as he left the bathroom.
I stepped out of the almost empty tub, wiped my feet on the bath mat and headed out of the bathroom, remembering at the last moment to grab the robe. The door to the bedroom was open, and I peeped in but didn’t take the final step.
“I said you could come in,” Mr. Wrightworth said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
The rest of the apartment was sparse. It barely looked lived in. The bedroom wasn’t really an exception, besides a digital photo frame that faced the bed from the table on the side closest to the door. I stepped in, and Mr. Wrightworth motioned to the door behind me. I turned awkwardly and closed the door, then looked to him for guidance.
“Take off the robe and lay face down on the—” Mr. Wrightworth hesitated, eyes flowing over me. “What exactly did he do to you?”
“Nathaniel did,” I squeaked out, surprised words made it out of my throat.
I was thinking of the night Nathaniel called me to kneel, of my reward afterward. Mr. Wrightworth stared back at me, mouth partially open and a finger pointing towards the bed. He frowned ever so slowly, then gave himself a shake.
“Vibrator, right, this isn’t about the vibrator, just do as I asked you.”
I moved to obey, walking around the bed to the other side. Sliding onto the bed, face down, I moved my hands under the pillow and groaned. Mr. Wrightworth had a good bed in his room, one of the perks of being his rank. It wasn’t hard like mine was and didn’t feel weird. It felt amazing and comfortable but firm at the same time.
Not too hard, not too soft, just right.
“Hopefully the heat did some of the work,” he said, straddling me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly tense.
“Getting a better angle, what did you think I was doing?”
He has his pants on and is gay. There’s no candlelight either.
I forced myself to relax.
“Darling, what did you think I was doing?”
“I was afraid you might do something,” I said, burying my face into the pillow.
“I couldn’t hear that, because you muffled it by face planting into my pillow, so I’m going to assume you said that you thought I was going to give you a massage,” he hesitated and bent over me, then returned a moment later.
I heard the distinct sound of semi-liquid coming out of a tube.
“Nope,” I said, turning as best I can. “No, that’s not going to work.”
Mr. Wrightworth blinked at me, then held out the tube. It was hand lotion, not lubrication like I had thought.
“Most people use oil,” he said. “But you just washed, and I don’t want oil all over my clean bed. What exactly did you think I was squeezing out?”
“Lubrication.”
“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m automatically going to...” Mr. Wrightworth trailed off, seemingly connecting the dots. “This is hand lotion, Darling. I’ll get a pump version for beside the bed, for next time. This time, you can see it with your eyes. May I?”
“I suppose,” I said, dropping face first onto the bed again. “But I don’t see what’s so—oh.”
Mr. Wrightworth’s strong fingers worked their way into my flesh. They found every knot, every pressure point on my back and some sensitive spots I hadn’t about which I hadn’t known. He worked on my back for I don’t know how long. And then loose and relaxed as I was, he pulled me against him and shut off the light. The heat from his chest just made it all the better.
Just before I fell asleep, I recall looking up at the ceiling and seeing the stars for the first time. It’s against the rules to alter the apartments in any fashion, at all. Tape on a wall was allowed, but no tacks, no nails or screws or new paint jobs. Everything had to be approved, and if anything was spotted, it was removed immediately.
Mr. Wrightworth had painted the Milky Way on his ceiling in glow in the dark paint. The paint was invisible when the lights were on, during inspections and the like.
No one else ever reported it, because no one else had ever been in his bedroom before.
But I remember seeing those stars and just thinking about how comfortable I felt, and how I never wanted to get up again.
Chapter Eight
Almost two weeks later, I made it through Mr. Wrightworth’s little test. I hadn’t called him to stop, but the fear was still there and writhing inside of me as he came around and unbound my hands. He rewarded me with a little kiss on the lips, and a piece of dark chocolate, which I hadn’t had before.
Dark chocolate is so much better than milk chocolate.
And the kiss was just lacking.
There’s one thing Nathaniel didn’t learn from Mr. Wrightworth.
I wasn’t certain if the little touches and caresses he had shown me were because he was training me, training himself, or making an effort to give me something to talk about, if anyone to ever ask about our relationship.
“Would you like to negotiate a play session?”
“Yes, please, Master.”
The skin all down my back tingled as Mr. Wrightworth smiled. He handed me the clothing I had shed, and I pulled the items back on, then followed him out to the living room.
“I will introduce the plug to start,” he said as he sat down. “I’ve also been sorting through the Doms and talking to some few that might catch your eye. They understand this is a slow and hesitant process, but they’ve agreed to attend the first meeting you will be at, just so that you can see them and they can see you.”
“I’m not ready yet to move onto another Dom.”
“And I’m not saying you are, but I’d like to introduce the idea of you being ready.”
“Is this the same meeting where people will just pin me down whenever it pleases you?”
Mr. Wrightworth smiled again. “Yes, it is. I still feed off of you being terrified, even if it is a very real, very wrong reason that you are afraid. I can’t help my reaction.”
“Well, then you know...” I said as I pointed towards the play room.
“That you were terrified? Yes, that was just delightful. Carrying that edge
while I hurt you more is, well, it’s practically a dream come true for me. If only you were male, I’d keep you all to myself. The point wasn’t to get rid of the terror entirely. That could take years. Neither of us has the patience to wait years. The point of the exercise was to get you to the point where you wouldn’t call out your safe word because being tied no longer crossed the line. It’s a type of immersion therapy.
“Not everyone in the community has suffered, but some have, and they’ve had great success rehabilitating themselves with play.”
“But can we wait on the plug?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
Mr. Wrightworth watched me for a long time, so long that I thought he’d say no, before he answered.
“We can wait for one session. We both desperately need this, if you think the plug will be too much, it will be.”
“I do have to see the actual doctor, this time, Nicole said, it’s the start of my six-month gynecological health or something?”
“That’s in a week, isn’t it?” he asked, then hesitated as I nodded. “Perfect timing, I still expect you to masturbate after each session. In fact, it just came in.”
“The vibrating toy?” I asked, trying not to sound too excited.
“No, your personal toy,” he said, then stood and left the living room.
He returned a moment later with a box. With a frown, I took the box, which was just a cardboard box, nothing fancy, and opened it. From inside I withdrew a silicone toy still in a sealed bag. I gawked at the thing, it wasn’t quite a penis, at least no penis I had ever seen. There were ridges and bumps, and the head was practically shaped like an arrow. It also had pastel colouring to it in many different shades.
My eyes shifted from the toy to Mr. Wrightworth.
“This is huge!” I protested.
“It’s smaller than Nathaniel is,” Mr. Wrightworth countered quickly. “If you need to reassure yourself, you could always put it in your mouth. The mouth doesn’t exactly change sizes.”
“Why couldn’t I have, like, a normal one?”
“You know why.”
Because if it was shaped like a human penis, I might fantasize about Mr. Wrightworth?
“I did quite a bit of research and women seem to prefer this model. It is yours, and you will use it to do as I’ve asked you. There’s lubrication in the box.”
“But the controllers are watching.”
“There are only three of them, they can’t watch everything, all the time,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “And I didn’t say do it where no one can see you, I was giving you a command. You are supposed to thank me for this, and not sound like you’re bitchy.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said, sounding more glum than annoyed.
I had hoped for something more. I certainly didn’t want that to be the solution to the sex problem. Using a toy was not the same as having a man.
“You need to use that toy in the next week. Doctors can tell if you’ve had sex. Rumours are spreading that I’m gay, so any oddities will probably be dismissed as my not being able to find the right hole. But there has to be signs of sexual activity or there will be questions.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, closing the box with a sigh.
It was not what I was expecting at all.
“You do remember how to masturbate, don’t you?”
“Of course I do! But I’ve never used something like this before. Nathaniel did, so I guess it’s possible.”
“On that topic...” Mr. Wrightworth hesitated as my breath hitched in my throat. I looked up and realized he had hesitated to watch my reaction. “What were the terms he was using, for the orgasm training?”
He did that on purpose!
“He would say, ‘come for me, Darling’ and sometimes he’d add in a ‘please.’ Why do you ask?”
“Come for me, Darling,” Mr. Wrightworth said in a commanding tone.
To which I shook my head.
“No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was like he was begging me to.”
“Now there’s a tone he knows I can’t do,” Mr. Wrightworth grumbled. “I will practice on my own and see if I can’t find something similar. Once the training has been laid, it’s best to keep up on it rather than rebuild from the ground up. And, from what I hear, you reacted quite eagerly to his training in that area.”
“Yes,” I said with a blush. “I did like it.”
“Good, nearly every Dom wants a sub who comes on command, but few have the patience to do the training. So, being a sub who can, makes you a luxury commodity. We’ll work on that, but again, not this session. This one, let’s see...”
Mr. Wrightworth went about setting up the foundation of the play session with some little input on my part. He explained each term that I didn’t understand. I interrupted a few times to ask things be added.
Such as, I like it when, after being struck by a crop, it slides between my legs. Mr. Wrightworth agreed eagerly to most of my changes, which really should have told me that I was playing right into him. Once a Dom knows what a sub does and does not like, he’ll either give or withhold depending on his mood and what he wanted to bring out of the sub. That first session, however, was about releasing pent up emotions and giving me pretty well whatever I wanted as a re-introduction into the lifestyle.
He made absolutely no promises to be gentle with me. Unlike Nathaniel, Mr. Wrightworth knew I could take a vicious beating. He had watched all of the videos by that point, though I still didn’t know he had even seen them.
We went over everything in great detail. Including the fact that, were the opportunity to present itself and I was good, he would make every effort to ‘force’ an orgasm. He figured it would be difficult for me to come while strung up. It was a fair assumption, I suppose.
Going through my next day, I writhed in my seat. There was an ache deep in my belly as I thought about the events of that night. By the time the night came, I was practically whimpering with every step.
He rain checked me.
Rain checked! Like it wasn’t something I’ve been begging for!
Our event was pushed to the next night because of an emergency meeting. That was all I was told, in a letter he slipped under my door. I was furious.
And wet and horny.
He hadn’t said I couldn’t help myself outside of his commands, so I tried that.
The toy was marvellous, but it didn’t help in the end. Not because things weren’t working, either. I’d hit that edge but not be able to go over it. There was something missing, which resulted in my giving up in annoyance.
It wasn’t exactly sexual frustration that was bothering me, resulting in me horny, wet, and a great deal more frustrated.
The next day, I took a strip off of Kathy for wasting my time yet again on a trivial item. I told her that if she ever made an accusation of such a sort again, I’d file a formal complaint. I cannot for the life of me remember what she was talking about.
Work dragged by, I was wrapping up my second audit and was just sitting around, waiting for people to return my phone calls. By the time I got off work, I was so cranky that I marched straight to Mr. Wrightworth’s apartment. I arrived as he was unlocking his door and he frowned at me.
Then gave me that Cheshire cat smile of his.
“Dinner is at six. I will see you then.”
And he closed the door on my face.
By that time I knew he was a creature of ritual, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I had to go back down to my apartment to shower and wait.
And wait, and wait.
I hate waiting around.
When I finally got back up to his apartment, I was tempted to make myself late on purpose, but I didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
I knocked, and Mr. Wrightworth answered the door in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stepped to the side, and I followed him in.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No,” I responded.
Mr. Wrightworth closed and lock
ed the door. He headed immediately into the kitchen and opened the stove, pulling a casserole dish out of the oven with his bare hands.
“Uh...” I said.
“It’s fine,” he growled.
“Do you not have feeling in your hands?” I asked, tapping the casserole dish quickly to check the temperature.
“Yes, it is hot.”
“With your bare hands?” I demanded, taking his hands in my own.
I had never touched Mr. Wrightworth’s hands before. He had grazed my wrists as he tied me, but I hadn’t registered the feeling of them. They were calloused and scarred, lacing white lines that ran all the way across the palm. There were little pinpricks here and there. I had never seen scarring of that sort before. With a finger, I traced one of those lines.
Mr. Wrightworth made a sound and yanked his hand out of mine.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and turned to the cupboard to pull down some plates.
People pulled away when you crossed a line. I had never crossed a line with Mr. Wrightworth and wasn’t interested in damaging our relationship. It worked, whatever in the hell it was that we were doing. I didn’t want to screw it up by accidentally crossing a line.
Mr. Wrightworth slid up behind me, the heat flowing from his body made me shudder as I turned awkwardly in his arms, the plates in my hands. He pinned me against the counter with his hips and lowered his head. Since being released from medical, I had begun watching a great many romance movies and television shows. I knew what that head lowering meant, and raised my face slightly.
As our lips came in contact, I shuddered. His tongue delved into my mouth as his arms wrapped around me. The kiss was vaguely familiar, better than it had been the last time he had tried to kiss me.
He’s been practising.
Mr. Wrightworth’s hands tightened on my hips as the kiss deepened. I moaned against his lips.
With Nathaniel?
