by Aya DeAniege
“In six months time when the contract runs out, you must at the very least provide her with a ride back to the Program building, where we have a position lined up for her, and she will be able to earn her way through life."
“You will, of course, work on educating the woman in the meantime," Mr. Wrightworth said.
“Of course,” Nathaniel said. “Shall we go through the list?”
“Yeses first then: anal, vaginal, oral, impact play up to and including moderate pain. Orgasm training and control, verbal control. Food, sleep, oh..."
“Oh?” Nathaniel asked, cocking his head slightly.
“She may have some slight touch of the littles.”
“The littles? How slight?" Nathaniel asked.
“She now has a stuffed animal, and I've noticed some things during aftercare. Nowhere near age play, but it's the sort of thing you wouldn't expect of an adult. Might border on pet as well, but not like the subs I've dealt with, which I know means you haven't dealt with it either."
We had brought with us a small suitcase filled with some things from my time at the Program building. The items were an odd mishmash of a few craft projects, the stuffed bunny that the controllers had given me and the two silicone toys Mr. Wrightworth had given to me and then had me use on myself.
I suppose I could have given those toys back, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. They were keepsakes of my time with him.
“Ah, I've seen that, yes. She just collapses into a puddle of adorable flesh,” Nathaniel said. “You had me worried that she'd want pigtails and for me to read her a bedtime story, or talk like a baby.”
“The controllers gave me the stuffie,” I said.
“Is that what was laying beside your bed?” Nathaniel asked, his eyes on Mr. Wrightworth.
“It was," Mr. Wrightworth responded with a sigh. "Not every night, but after unusually heavy sessions. Shall we get back to it? Good. Bondage, that new thing with electricity? Let's put that on a maybe. Up the pain tolerance, she's still learning her edges but likes it. Still a no to knife play, however. Bring in more scenes. Consensual non-consent is a maybe. I'm still not certain how she'd feel about that. Oh, and bring in just pinning, as in with your actual body. We noticed a little quirk with her.
“Before I had her re-trained not to fight the bondage, we discovered that she likes being chased and pinned by a male."
Nathaniel went a little red. He sipped his champagne, considering the glass for a long moment.
“That could fall under consensual non-consent.”
“No, I said she likes being chased and pinned. The sexual part of that can be both vanilla and not.”
“I suppose,” Nathaniel murmured.
“Your own?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
“I'd like to brand that ass,” Nathaniel muttered. “Because I will fuck up the next person who helps themselves because I'm not present.”
Mr. Wrightworth sucked in a breath, then turned to me.
“Branding is like collaring, except a good deal more permanent. The collaring is like...”
“The ring,” Nathaniel offered up.
A symbol of everything between Sir and sub. I bit my bottom lip and looked at Mr. Wrightworth. The man turned his focus back to Nathaniel.
“We will not agree to branding, but will demand collaring," Mr. Wrightworth said. "Though, on that topic... I want my fucking ring back.”
“It's in evidence, from my understanding.”
“You don't get to be ballsy about it,” Mr. Wrightworth snarled. “That ring took three years salary.”
“I know, and I'm not happy that they have it, but it was either that or let on that I wasn't broken as she thought. If I wasn't broken by a particular time she was to hand me over to him. I know you could survive him, but I don't think I could do that again. I did what was necessary to survive.”
“I'm not questioning you needing to survive, but I want my fucking ring back.”
“This is about me,” I said.
“Right,” Nathaniel sighed out. “Can I brand you?”
“Fuck you. I'm not a God damned animal."
“You get to brand me as well.”
“Fuck. You.”
“It's not a literal brand,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Though sometimes it is. It's also tattooing. Can you imagine her under a tattoo gun? Writhing as the ink penetrates her skin? He'd have a field day.”
“I guess that means you have a tattoo guy who works for the community," Susanne said. "Is he certified?"
“And clean," Nathaniel said, glancing at Susanne. "But he doesn't work for the community. He's a part of it. I could imagine her under his gun, but I think that would count as playing by the Program books and his priors might not help. He had some trouble when he was younger and addicted to a few things. Now he's clean."
“So no to branding,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Perhaps, uh, we should do a proper session.”
“No, definitely not in the next six months,” Nathaniel said. “You had almost that long to play with her. I don't think they'd approve you just on the basis that you work for the Program. You heading it would probably screw you over even more.”
I wondered if Mr. Wrightworth had just asked for a session with the two of them. As in, a proper time with the sadists. I tried not to shift in my spot as I considered that. I had experienced what it was like to be with both of them, but I still didn't know what it was like to play with them at the same time.
Nicole was adamant that I had 'poked the sadists' on more than one occasion, just as she had loudly declared that I hadn't experienced the true meaning of playing with them. I wasn't certain about that. I think surviving Albert was proof that Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel weren't going to break me if they decided to gang up on me.
Not that I believed they would try something like that.
“Suppose it might be seen as favouritism,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered irritably.
“I want to see her in a gag,” Nathaniel said suddenly.
“What?” Mr. Wrightworth asked. “She doesn't do gags.”
“And no one has gagged her but for me. She needs to submit to me. To submit, I want to see her in a gag."
The idea of being gagged made me uncomfortable. I met eyes with Nathaniel and knew that was why he wanted me to wear it. Because I didn't want to wear the gag and it did make me highly uncomfortable. It made me think of that day I had been taken from him.
“How is Miss. Martin to withdraw consent if she is gagged?” Susanne asked.
“She holds a ball in her hand, when she drops the ball, consent is withdrawn,” Nathaniel said, finally focusing on Susanne. “Some use bells, I have balls. There's a little bell in the ball, so it does rattle when she drops it.”
“As long as consent can be withdrawn, the Program has no right to intervene,” Susan said, scribbling away on her clipboard.
“Fine,” I said.
“Don't be snarky about it,” Nathaniel said.
“I'm not snarky. I'll do your stupid thing I said."
“No, she won't,” Susanne said.
“And why not?” Nathaniel asked.
“The tone of her voice and body language, she doesn't want to do it. That might fly in the community, especially something as benign as wearing an item, but I cannot in good conscious let you gag a woman who clearly doesn't want it. No to the gag."
“Fair enough, but that interplay is also important,” Nathaniel said.
“Hmm, interplay is necessary, I can understand that," Susanne said. "What if we do a public display at this uh, church? I can get approval for a member of the church, of your choosing, to do something specific."
“I don't share publicly," Nathaniel said.
“Well, you can't have a gag,” Susanne said.
“There are plenty of other ways to have that control,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Though I should remind everyone present that Miss. Martin would have given into Nathaniel's demand, thus submitting to him. Don't take your bruised ego out on
Darling, Nathaniel.”
“I'm not planning on it, but my desire to bend that woman over is getting stronger,” Nathaniel growled through gritted teeth.
“I'm not sure how I feel about that," Susanne said. "Even if it is a regular thing for a Dom to say to a visitor."
Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel both stood at the same time and said, at the same time, “Perhaps you should get going now.” Except Mr. Wrightworth said 'we' instead of 'you.'
“Let us show you out,” Nathaniel said.
Chapter Two
We saw them out as good hosts would, and then the door closed, and I was left with Nathaniel.
I knew something was wrong, the man was suddenly distant, keeping away from me. It had been several months since the last time we saw one another, having been separated by the riots themselves.
Mr. Wrightworth had reminded me of my promises, yes, and I knew that he expected me to act on those promises.
Nathaniel, though, seemed distant, like before he had first made the decision to take me on as a sub. It was as if the man was a stranger to me.
Struggling to come up with something as I faced the door, I said finally, “Did you drop?”
“No,” he said.
Maybe that was it, I told myself. And maybe it was. Some very well trained subs can hold off on dropping. Though usually not for so long. It takes a sort of compartmentalization, the same kind of thing one might see when a person buries an emotion away to deal with later.
It is not a great way of doing things.
“Good,” I said, imitating the tone as best I could.
Mr. Wrightworth had taught me a few commands that he had used with Nathaniel. They were mainly vanity words, things that would make Nathaniel sit, stay, and come like a dog. He had warned that the terms were only meant to be used in public and in such a way that no one else would understand what was going on.
I hadn't wanted to learn that sort of thing, but Mr. Wrightworth had been resolute. He wouldn't teach me the other terms until I had earned them.
“Come,” I said.
Not the term to make Nathaniel follow me, I should add, before someone else gets the smart alec idea to walk up to Nathaniel Edwards and command him to come. Mr. Wrightworth believed in using benign words for training, words that had nothing to do with the action.
So that if Albert or anyone working for him ever got their hands on Mr. Wrightworth's sub, there'd be no way to abuse the training. Only the sub and Mr. Wrightworth ever knew what those words were. Unless, for example, all the Doms pick up on a word that Mr. Wrightworth keeps saying in just that right tone.
At that moment, however, it was my tone of voice that mattered. I took control of the situation and left no room for disobedience.
Thank you, Nicole, for those lessons.
That tone of voice works on everyone, whether they're vanilla or not. To varying degrees, of course.
I walked up the grand staircase without looking back to see if he followed. From there, I went to my playroom, that room beside my set of rooms that Nathaniel had set aside for me to play in. Once in the rooms, I went straight to the bathroom, resisting the temptation to look back over my shoulder.
If I looked back, the control would return to Nathaniel. He would take it as my looking to him for direction, and he would take control of the situation, and I'd be on the floor writhing and begging in moments.
I should have done that, instead.
There was a distinctly un-lived in feeling to the set of rooms. It didn't feel like it had the first time I had visited, which was just empty and waiting. It almost felt dusty, as if no one at all had been in the rooms since I had left.
Once I was in the middle of the bathroom, I turned back. It was a dead end. Obviously, it would be the destination I had in mind.
I met Nathaniel's green eyes. The man seemed blank, waiting for direction. There was no tension in his body. Nothing appeared to be tense. Here was the well-trained slave that Mr. Wrightworth enjoyed so much.
Except Mr. Wrightworth had to beat it out of him, I just have to ask.
I knew I had to be firm at all times. I had learned how to give aftercare to a sub, but it was all theory. We couldn't exactly borrow a sub to play with, and Nicole wasn't in the mood to switch into the submissive role for teaching purposes.
Her ability to switch came randomly and without warning. It was also a very, very private time for her. She couldn't submit if anyone else was around or knew about it. Only Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel—with whom she had standing agreements to see to such a need—could know.
Mr. Wrightworth had been adamant that I learn aftercare before I played with a sub, which I perfectly understood. It's never a good thing when a Dom stumbles through aftercare. At the same time, he wouldn't show me videos that I knew he had of Nathaniel dropping, and he couldn't borrow a sub to show me how it's done.
Not even Michie, though that man seemed to have disappeared after breaking up with Mayfair. He didn't go to church, and no one mentioned his name inside the building.
It was kind of like he had died.
“Strip.”
Nathaniel smiled slightly, reaching for the three buttons on his suit. I watched as the jacket was slipped off and dropped to the floor. The man reached for the vest and unbuttoned it slowly.
A Domme was supposed to watch. But I had signed a blank slate contract again, which means I was nothing to Nathaniel that I didn't take for myself.
I crossed the distance between the two of us, raising up on the balls of my feet the way Nicole had taught me. Nathaniel's eyes drifted down, to my feet, and went a little wider. There was something about a woman on the balls of her feet that drew an indescribable reaction out in Nathaniel.
It reminded me of the carefree times in childhood, of playing with other children in the parks. Of laughter and fun. The thought of those times made me smile and bite my bottom lip as I set my hands over Nathaniel's. I knew I was wearing the wrong dress for that, but I rose up on tiptoe and kissed Nathaniel.
Closed lip, but I hadn't been kissed in months.
Since accepting the contract verbally, Mr. Wrightworth had only played with me as much as necessary, and it never involved kissing. From the point of acceptance he considered me no longer his, he was merely maintaining the gardens, so to speak.
The fire was stoked in my belly as I thought of a million things I'd like to do with Nathaniel and a few I had begun fantasizing about doing to Nathaniel.
He was the one who pulled away.
“You wanted my clothing off, I believe?” he asked in that deeply cultured voice of his.
I felt rejected.
I had kissed him, and his response was to pull away. No one wants to see that in a partner. Instead of having what I wanted, I had to watch as Nathaniel stripped off the vest.
I didn't realize it then, but it was a tug of war. The best way to describe Nathaniel as a sub is with the term 'brat.' I should have remained firm and maybe given him a slap for pulling away, I suppose. Looking back I know I should have tangled my hand in his hair and made him kiss me, then made him kneel for his insolence. Not that Nate had any problem with kneeling in servitude.
But I was just learning what it meant to be a Domme, so instead I stood mutely, feeling disheartened.
When Nathaniel's shirt hit the floor, all I wanted to do was touch his stomach and chest. His muscles were just so much more defined than Mr. Wrightworth's.
I kept my hands to myself, however.
Shoes and pants off, Nathaniel stood placidly, awaiting instructions. I motioned towards the shower stall without once looking down. By that point, the feeling of rejection was turning to anger.
“Turn on the shower,” I said.
Nathaniel went to the shower and turned it on, then turned back to me and leaned against the wall. One eyebrow quirked upwards as if daring me to say something.
He had done what I asked.
By that time I was starting to see that he was poking me. I
didn't have the term for it at that point. I was, however, in no mood for such behaviour.
“This is aftercare,” I said, meeting his green eyes. I watched the ice creep into the green as I hesitated. “Not play.”
Nathaniel looked away and down.
“I apologize.”
“Care for the shower,” I said with a bit of a bite to my tone.
He turned and bent, fiddling with the knobs.
I will not touch his ass, I will not touch his ass, I will not touch his ass.
I have always had a thing for firm flesh. As Nathaniel had said almost a year before, a pleasant side effect of working out meant a shapely backside. The thought of that made me turn and look at my own, wondering how much it had changed, wondering if it was a good backside.
“Darling?” Nathaniel asked.
I made a sound and turned back, finding the man frowning at me.
“What?” I asked.
Nathaniel hesitated, then asked, “Is that like how you weren't playing with your breasts?”
“Shut up, you,” I grumbled, stripping off my dress.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the sundress hit the floor. I looked up at Nathaniel as those eyes roved over me. Feeling self-conscious, I covered myself with my hands.
“I didn't get a proper look before, you were laying on the bench, and then we were in the dark," Nathaniel murmured, approaching me. "They could fix your face, but not everything else as well?"
“They did a lot of work," I said, it was my turn to look away. "And it's not that bad, not anymore."
Scars take time to fade. It's also expensive to fix scar tissue. The Program may have had plastic surgeons on call, but they still had to pay them pretty near to their regular fees. Fixing everything was simply out of the question. Some areas also heal better than others. My face didn't have to move as often as my ribs, and it didn't carry weight like my legs, which moved and strained the flesh still healing.
“Not that bad?” Nathaniel demanded. A hand moved down as if encompassing everything, then back up again. “Not that bad? I've seen rich women go through hundreds of operations and end up with no scarring whatsoever and a billion dollar program, with trillions in insurance, couldn't afford to get rid of everything?”
