by Aya DeAniege
I didn't like it. Yes, I was in control, but it didn't seem to be useful to have Nathaniel hard at my saying that I was a Domme. Control is much more subtle for me.
“You are in control,” Nathaniel said with a small shudder.
“Now put it on.”
I watched as Nathaniel slipped the toy on.
“Two thrusts.”
Making him do the work, making him do it to himself. It made me shiver. My underwear was damp at the idea. I wanted to writhe and clench my toes into the rug, but I forced myself to remain still as I watched him.
“Now you will hold it there,” I said.
“Yes, Isabella.”
“Where is the remote?”
Nathaniel stiffened again. His eyes went a little wider as he looked up at me.
Of course, it wasn't just a fleshlight. Mr. Wrightworth had used it to train Nathaniel. It had a small vibrator inside, not a strong one mind you. It helped imitate the movement of the real thing, or so Mr. Wrightworth had been told. Strap it on, turn it on and watch Nathaniel writhe and beg for mercy.
“In the desk,” he responded finally.
Again, I almost went to retrieve it myself.
“Bring it to me.”
A tremble ran through him, but he moved to comply. As he placed the remote in my hand, I saw the tremble go through him.
“Stand before me, hold it on,” I said.
I wasn't entirely certain how the toy worked, but I didn't want it slipping off accidentally. Nathaniel stood before me, one hand wrapped around the toy.
As I watched him, I lowered my hands, the remote in my right. Nathaniel was watching my hand, so I slipped them both behind my back. I didn't want him to see it coming.
“I'm not really one to beat a person,” I said. Then I turned it on. “There will be times when I beat you, and you will thank me for what I do to you. Do you understand?”
Nathaniel's jaw was clenched. The toy was remarkably quiet, but its soft murmur was audible in the silence that followed.
Annoyed that he didn't respond, I turned the toy on full, but only for a moment. At that moment, Nathaniel dropped to his knees, crying out. He was so well-trained that he couldn't come without permission when he was in the submissive role. A fact that I counted on.
With the toy returned to its lowest setting, I glowered down at Nathaniel.
“I asked you a question. I don't like repeating myself.”
“Yes, Isabella, I understand,” Nathaniel whimpered out.
I almost said 'good,' my mouth even opened to say the word. Thankfully I caught myself before it came out of my mouth.
Instead, I managed to change it to, “Do you want to come?”
“If it pleases you.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Yes, I want to.”
“How can you earn that, I wonder?” I asked.
On his knees, Nathaniel looked up at me, his chest heaving. I was probably giving him all sorts of bad ideas as to what to do with me once he was free.
I look forward to his 'revenge.'
Nathaniel bit his bottom lip, his eyes settling on my hips. I stepped forward, closing the small gap between us. Swaying my hips slightly, I gave no indication of what I might want to do, simply sighed slightly and looked away, as if I were bored.
A bored Domme is a dangerous Domme.
He edged forward on his knees. I looked down at him, trying to give him a look of disdain.
If you want to play at being a Domme, or Dom, you need to understand that starting out you are not going to be some magnificent beast. You're going to make mistakes. It's a part of the process. You might even make mistakes that you think are witty or right on the mark.
I was off point right then. I was sure of it as I did it.
But still, Nathaniel reached a hand under my skirt. He hooked his fingers under my panties and pulled them down. As I looked down and met his eyes, Nathaniel lowered himself onto his heels, which brought him almost exactly the right height. His hand pulled up my skirt, then and only then did he change his focus.
I had to bite my lip from making a sound.
His tongue tasted me gently, lips brushing over my oh so sensitive skin. That first touch was almost like an introductory kiss.
And then he found that spot. He didn't have to search for it. He just knew where it was. His tongue was strong as it caressed. When I shifted, he shifted with me. His hand locked onto my hip as he continued eagerly.
I cannot simply stand still as a tongue is probing me. I shuddered and moved with the tongue. I bit my bottom lip, moaning even though I tried not to make a sound.
Nathaniel pulled away suddenly, my skirt falling back into place. I wavered on my feet, desperately wanting more.
“Why did you stop?” I asked, trying to sound firm.
“Would...” Nathaniel struggled for a moment, “Mistress be happier laying on the floor as I continue?”
Struggling because I gave him no title to call me by.
I wasn't certain I liked being called 'Mistress' but right then I accepted the title.
“Yes, I think I would,” I said.
He was flush, red through the cheeks. Sweat glistened on his chest, and he was breathing rapidly. Making me comfortable, bringing me to orgasm was his only goal then. To serve himself, of course, but first in serving me.
I sunk to the floor, then laid back.
Nathaniel's free hand slid up my skirt once more, teasing it upward. He very quickly found that spot once more. With no fear of falling, I writhed on the floor. It took every ounce of willpower I had, not to lock my legs around his neck.
As I teetered on that edge...
I fell away from it.
Scrunching up my face, but managing not to curse out loud, I reached down and grabbed him by a fistful of hair. I dragged him away.
“Take the toy off.”
It didn't take twice. Nathaniel tossed it towards the door. His green eyes locked on mine.
“You know what to do,” I said.
Nathaniel bit his bottom lip, blinking several times.
“That, uh... that normally... is.”
“Reverse the action,” I said sternly.
He smiled and said, “With pleasure.”
He rose up slightly, pushing my legs apart as he did so. Leaning down, he captured my lips with his, the taste of me still lingering there as he penetrated me. Just slightly, tauntingly, before he withdrew and penetrated me again. When I made a small sound, he turned his teeth and lips to my throat, kissing and nibbling as he pressed steadily deeper.
The motion was relentlessly slow.
I have to not tell him that again.
Nathaniel drew out that first thrust for so long that I grabbed another fistful of hair and yanked his head backward.
“Do you think this is a game?”
“No, Isabella.”
“If I wanted something just stuck up there, I could find myself a stick. Thrust.”
He obliged, then got that look on his face. The one I was beginning to recognize as his brat expression. He had obeyed my command, yes, but that was as far as he took it. He knew what I had meant, but didn't perform as I wanted because I hadn't verbalized the command.
“I am unimpressed.”
“I apologize.”
“If I am unimpressed, that means you have not been good,” I said, in almost the right tone. He rose up, on one hand, looking down at me. I guessed that it was for direction as to how I wanted him to proceed. "Am I wearing a dress from the middle of the twentieth century?"
“No.”
He considered me for a moment, then thrust once. There was a hesitance.
“Would kissing be out of place?” he asked.
“No, I'd enjoy it.”
Nathaniel bent and captured my lips as he thrust again, hard. I moaned against his lips, and he proceeded to do it again, and again.
I should do this more often.
His pace was rough and fast. I loved ev
ery moment of it.
Neither of us spoke or made sounds besides breathing heavily. Communication isn't always necessary, but I found that it wasn't quite working.
I like light dirty talk, so sue me. Light, mind you. No talk of whores, sluts, or the rest.
“Are you going to come?” I asked.
The twinge in my stomach was unexpected. Apparently, it was possible to use that term on myself.
Which made me stiffen, staring up at the ceiling as I considered the fact that if I could cause that reaction after a little bit of training, Nathaniel's reaction was probably a great deal stronger.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said huskily. “Yes, I'll be good.”
“Good.”
Nathaniel cried out as he slammed into me.
We lay like that for a moment. Then he pulled away. He was breathing hard as he dropped to the side, completely separate from me. When I reached for him, he pulled away.
“What?” I asked, moving so that I was pressed against him.
He was tense as he wrapped an arm around me.
“You didn't come,” he said, sighing out and shaking his head.
“Yeah, I don't every time. The sex was good, and I'm sorry that I couldn't. I'm told it's a mental block."
“A mental block? I went down on you.”
I glared at Nathaniel. “Nate went down on me. You, Nathaniel, don't get to be a dick to me because Nate went down on me for like ten minutes. How many times have I blown you?"
“You like my cock in your mouth.”
“And there's something wrong with my vagina?”
“No, I just don't think you should act like giving me oral is a complete task.”
“Well, maybe I wouldn't if you didn't make it a task. You act like oral's a big deal and I have to what? Earn it? Should I get a punch card and punch it every time I'm good so that maybe, one day, you'll do it for me?”
“No. I don't do it because I'm not good at oral with women."
I stared at him. “You're joking.”
“No, I'm not great at giving women oral. Why do you think I have the toy you love so much?”
“I think you were doing good.”
“Then why did you stop me?”
“Because I was almost there, then I fell back. Sometimes no matter what I do, I can't. Not unless...”
“Unless you come for me?” he asked.
I shuddered and pressed my face against his chest.
Nathaniel rolled us, pressing me against the rug as he held me down. One of his hands slid down, between us, then between my legs. I tried to struggle as he found his mark.
“Come for me, Darling.”
“That's not," I moaned and smacked at his chest, "fair."
“Perfectly fair, I came for you, not it's your turn.”
His fingers continued mercilessly as every bit of me tried to obey. I wanted to, I so desperately wanted to do whatever he wanted, if only he'd keep going. The smell of his sweat as he leaned down and captured my lips was almost too much, in a good way. A man who's worked up an honest sweat is delightful.
“Come for me,” he whispered in my ear.
I stiffened, almost and yet it tried to slip away all at once.
“That's it, Darling, come for me.”
How I've missed coming for his pleasure.
I cried out as my body shook from the orgasm. Nathaniel pressed close as the waves of pleasure rolled through me. He said not a word as I caught my breath.
“That is not how play is supposed to go,” I said.
“No, but I wanted you to enjoy yourself the way I did.”
“Awkwardly?” I asked.
Nathaniel laughed at that. "No one's perfect the first time out. It's like sex. You need to practice it to get better. Communication outside of play will help that."
“You're a brat. And I know that's so I'll beat you, but I told you I didn't want to do that.”
“Which means you don't let me come,” Nathaniel said. “Or we can discuss other methods of discipline. I'm sorry, that's the kind sub I become.”
“Because that's what Mr. Wrightworth likes.”
“Oh no, he hates it,” Nathaniel said, snuggling up against me. “I have to be careful not to do that around him. For you, I'd suggest more talking. I like hearing how I'm doing and if you can feel what I'm doing. Narration almost.”
“I think I can do that,” I said.
“Loved the hair pulling, no one's done that before.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” I said. “You're no longer allowed to say 'good.' The word is barred from your vocabulary unless I tell you otherwise.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you get off while you say it. It might not be coming in your pants, but it's as close as you can without actual sex. Next time you want to be a brat during sex, just think of that.”
Chapter Ten
Planning a party like that, for rich people no less, takes time. Nathaniel planned for a month out, set the date and the time, and we sent out the invitations. The few who asked were told that no one from the community would be there except for Nathaniel and I, for the protection of those who wished to remain anonymous.
In reality, those who were invited were half-community, half-rich people. Most of those who were invited were subs, and Nathaniel intended to have those who attended wear collars. He didn't feel comfortable forcing a collar on another Dom, but the subs wore collars on and off at parties.
Dommes were ordered from the capital. The grand ballroom was draped in gauze of red and black to give it a bit of a Gothic feel. For some damned reason, everyone always thinks Gothic when they think of the community. The party was, however, about traipsing those stereotypes out. So Nathaniel tried his best to see to as many cliches as he could.
The trial began, of course.
It was riveting for the public, but it was a drain on me, to go there each day and see Albert. I thought he was smug about it. I thought he thought he would walk free. In fact, I'm pretty certain he thought he'd walk free. Who would put Albert Edwards behind bars? One of the richest men in the country?
Helping Nathaniel plan the party kept my mind on other things outside of the trial. Books hardly seemed interesting, they couldn't keep my attention for more than a few minutes at a time. Patrick for all his knowledge only seemed to irritate me. I couldn't be tutored for more than an hour before I simply got up and walked out.
The whole trial didn't revolve around me because Albert wasn't on trial for just the charges I laid. The country was laying charges on behalf of the women whose bodies had been found. Those days that they dealt with the other victims were easier on me because the focus was on someone besides me. The evidence given wasn't parading out what had been done to me, though they did have a bitter echo of things that I recalled.
It didn't take long for the defence to swing from 'he didn't do it' to 'it was consensual.' They made that transition so effortlessly that it's hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened.
The defense immediately tried to say that the Program forced me to press charges. They talked about how charges hadn't been laid officially before because I hadn't wanted to because I had consented. It was made to sound like I had never wanted to press charges, but that Mr. Wrightworth and the others on the board had shamed me into doing it.
As they said that, I remember turning to Mr. Wrightworth. I remember that because the man went deathly pale, then began turning an odd sort of grey colour.
I'm told, even years later, that he's never seen that look on my face before or after that. Possibly because, no matter what else happened in my life, nothing made me want to murder someone with my bare hands so much as hearing those words spoken out loud in a courtroom full of people.
Some days, I couldn't make it through the entire sitting. The trial went every day, all day. I cannot imagine sitting through the whole thing. The poor jurors, stuck in that hotel, cut off from the outside world and guarded closely every waking moment.
But
some days, it was just too much to sit there as they bickered back and forth.
First saying I was the victim, then saying I was the whore. One wanted to save me, one to throw me to the deepest pits of Hell. The public couldn't make up their minds. They weren't even split half and half. It seemed their support and damnation of me shifted every other day.
Trials, back then, you couldn't leave unless there was a recess. So there are hours of courtroom footage of my staring into my lap, tears falling from my eyes because it was just too much. There was more than one day that Mr. Wrightworth arrived at Nathaniel's to pick me up, took one look at me and then called red.
It occurred to me more than once during the trial that seeing me go through my emotions in public, at the trial, was wearing on Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel as well. I would catch Nathaniel looking to me during the trial, but according to his contract he was allowed to do nothing in public.
He was there to support his father—but only because a contract forced him to be there.
That too came to light. Something about destroying Albert's character. Or perhaps they were trying to build it.
I learned about Nathaniel during that trial. The drugs, the drinking, the bastard or four that they claimed he had amongst poor women.
Bastards which never existed. Rich folk have access to marvellous contraceptives. Some prefer not to use them, claim it affects their orgasm.
Nathaniel was not one of those people.
Then were the charges that were pressed on four different occasions and then dropped when Albert had stepped in and paid settlements to those involved. The destroyed cars, missed appointments, stints in rehab.
My Sir was lost for years. The defense claimed that the contract gave him stability, that his father was a good man for being so controlling.
We in the community know better.
Mr. Wrightworth was only ever to do to Nathaniel what Albert commanded him to do. But that didn't happen. Because over time the pair went from friends going through the motions of a controlling contract, to Master and slave. Mr. Wrightworth was always very particular about his slaves.
It wasn't the contract that saved Nathaniel. It was a sadist coming into his own.
