by Kaliana Cole
He had always preferred “good girl” subs that went out of their way to please, not brats who deliberately goaded to get a response.
She threatened his self-control, the self-mastery that was all important. He needed to bring her reckless behavior in check before she pushed him too far. But he knew the only way he had a hope in hell of taming her was to invoke the one consistent in her life—his love for her. Cold disapproval or threats to walk away would guarantee her behavior when no physical punishment or denial would. Bailey would fall into line with his demands if he even looked like turning away from her. He just hoped to hell he had the balls to pull it off—he could threaten all he liked, but he knew damn well he could never walk away from her now.
Things were so much different when love was involved. Bailey was no casual plaything. She’d had him wrapped around her finger since she was five, and that wasn’t likely to change. Grace Verne had been a single mother in a time when the stigma attached had made her life very hard. When she had returned to Liberty Springs with a baby girl and no wedding band, the people had got behind her, offering the support that had been denied to her in the west Texas oil town where she had been working as a waitress.
When Bailey was really young, she’d never say a word to anyone. The first time he’d heard her talk was when she’d skinned her knee at the fair and came to him for help, but she’d certainly made up for it since then. Bailey’s childhood had been one of the beloved stray. She’d had a home and a long-suffering mother, but had been more at home hanging around Pete Walker’s forge, or tagging along behind Jory like a talkative lost puppy.
Grace had raised Bailey in her grandmother’s old place, hardly more than a shack, but it had backed on to Jory’s property. He’d bought the secluded forty acres when his mother had died. He’d needed the solitude it had provided and the means to avoid the awkwardness that had grown between him and his father without his mother to buffer it. Back then he had lived in a trailer in the shed while he had built his oversized cabin, and he’d never known when he got home if there’d be a blonde-haired little monster waiting to talk his head off or he’d be alone. She’d been a both a blessing and a royal pain in the ass back then, but when she’d left to go to Denver, she’d taken a part of his heart with her. That piece of him that she owned was the reason he had never settled down or let a woman be more than a friend or a plaything, and certainly not both. She was all grown up now, and as much as it pained him to admit it, part of him acknowledged he’d known she would eventually slip under his guard.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept the night away with a woman in his arms. Even when he was providing aftercare to a sub, as rewarding as he found the experience of grounding them once more, he couldn’t fall asleep with them. He started feeling crowded and starved for space. With Bailey it had just felt right.
The morning sex had blown his mind. He hadn’t laid back and let a woman ride, let alone masturbate while she did, for literally decades. Not since he was young and green and had sought to deny the demons seeking a hold on him. And the worst thing about it was that it had been good, too damn good.
He didn’t allow his subs to touch themselves at all, but for Bailey he would make an exception. He wanted her spread on his lap in front of a mirror so he could watch her do the job properly. Wanted to watch one of his dildos stretch her pink flesh as she fed it into her body for his pleasure.
A stirring in his flesh tore his mind away from temptation. Now wasn’t the time. She was undermining his self-discipline without doing anything. “Bailey, come here.” He made sure his voice was cold and distant. The tone that had brought subs to tears before. He pushed back a chair with his foot. “Sit.”
She did as she was told. A small smile curled her luscious lips as she sat primly. He ached to feel those lips wrap his cock, but not until he got her over her proclivity for biting. There were places he definitely did not enjoy teeth marks.
“You think you want what I dish out, Bailey, but I don’t take on any sub without knowing their boundaries. Both their hard nos and their soft nos—the things they won’t do no matter what and the things they are negotiable on. I want you to think about that today while I’m out. You write a comprehensive list, and we’ll go over it tonight, because you are not getting anywhere near my dungeon until I know exactly where I stand.”
“There is nothing I wouldn’t let you do to me, Jory.”
“That’s what I’m scared of. You need a healthy dose of self-preservation here. For the sake of the exercise, pretend it is not me, think you are submitting your body into the hands of a stranger”—he saw fear widen her eyes—“one who will respect the terms you lay out. It can always be renegotiated later. You do your list and I’ll do mine. We need to reach a working agreement before this goes any further.”
He stood and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got to duck into work for a few hours today and sort some things out before I go back on Monday. Andy’s number is beside the phone, and you have mine. There’s a laptop in the office if you need to make any arrangements to have your stuff shipped here.” He gave her an amused look. “You can’t live out of two bags and my closet forever.” He looked critically at the expensive dress shirt of his she wore, but couldn’t find the heart to tell her to stop stealing them. “See you in a couple of hours, brat.”
* * * *
Non-negotiable:
No blood.
No lasting damage.
No blades.
No needles.
No electricity.
No breath control.
No gags.
No bodily functions.
Punishment is fine, not humiliation.
Negotiable:
Hard restraints.
Anal penetration.
Hard clamps.
Bailey found her list was more exhaustive than she had previously thought. An hour or so of cruising BDSM info sites had her eyes open wide. There were definitely things no one was doing to her. Not even the man she loved and trusted above all others. She liked being restrained, liked a bit of spanking, even a flogger was okay, but her self-preservation was a little well grounded for many things she found information on.
She was looking forward to enjoying a scene with Jory that involved actual sex. The well supervised scenes she’d been a part of had been on the grounds of no actual sex. She’d wanted to push her boundaries and experiment with Jory’s world, but she hadn’t been able to give herself to a stranger.
She acknowledged she would only ever be a dabbler—she was no one’s slave in the day-to-day world. But a sex slave? Well, the idea of being Jory’s personal sex slave floated her boat on so many levels. She had booked a removal company to empty her apartment and bring it down to Jory’s, and ordered supplies so she could begin working from the shed. The gallery she had been working for agreed to keep taking pieces on commission even if she started selling elsewhere. She wondered what Jory was going to make of her rather unusual sculptures. The prices they had started to bring were quite frankly terrifying. Each piece now brought in excess of a thousand dollars. She grinned to think that an effort to piss her ex-husband off had paid off so handsomely.
She glanced at the clock. She still had an hour or so before Jory was due home. Thinking fresh fish would be lovely for dinner, she grabbed a hat and a towel and headed outside, sliding on a pair of Jory’s oversized flip-flops. The gear and rods were exactly where she remembered, behind the personal access door into the double bay shed. A few turns of the spade in the compost heap and she had some wriggling, disgusting bait. The trout loved the worms, and she had never had the patience for lure fishing.
The grassy bank below the deck was perfect for stretching a towel out on. If it got too hot, it was easy to retreat into the shade of the jutting verandah. The grimy worm was reluctant to get on the hook, but she couldn’t blame it. She gritted her teeth, threading the poor creature on, and cast out near the big log that jutted into the fast-moving water and
formed a still backwater. She slipped the rod into a pipe rod-holder spiked into the bank and picked up another. She repeated the process with the second rod and another unfortunate worm. The small, round cat bells she clipped to the end of the rods would alert her to any fish feeling suicidal today.
This was her favorite place for swimming, and now that her wounds had healed and she wouldn’t cause scarring by being exposed to the sun, Bailey planned on spending a lot more time outside while the weather allowed. Slipping off her borrowed long-sleeved shirt and bra, she lay face down in the early summer sunshine. She could almost feel her body absorbing the vitamin D she had denied it for the past couple of weeks. For all the warnings about skin cancer, Bailey was a sun worshiper at heart. She did try to restrict the time spent in it and covered up and used sunscreen, but every now and again she indulged the hedonistic pagan within.
It couldn’t have been that much later when the violent tinkle of a bell woke her, for the sun hadn’t moved too far in its trek across the sky. It did take her a moment or two to get her bearings and grab the correct rod. She had the fish halfway in when the other rod started jingling merrily. At first she thought the line had been fouled by the first fish, but the whirring of the drag let her know it was no mistake.
She was hopping from foot to foot trying to decide what to do when she heard a chuckle from the deck above. “Need a hand?”
Frigging hell! Jory had snuck back home while she slept.
“Only if you want fish for dinner,” she kept winding in the one already halfway there.
Jory opened the gate and came down the steep stairs off the porch. He grabbed the other line and expertly untangled it from about hers as she tried to land a monster trout. She got the landing net under it just in time. The line snapped as the fish touched the net. Jory had an easier time of his once her line no longer hampered his efforts. Bailey slipped the landing net under his fish as he brought it to shore. Two very respectable Rainbows were in the bag.
Bailey struggled to lift the net, using two hands. Jory was no help at all. He just kept chuckling away.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You fishing in your panties.”
Bailey looked down. Until he pointed it out, she had been totally oblivious to the fact that she was topless. “Isn’t this how everyone does it?”
“No, but I can see women’s topless fishing taking off.” His grin was contagious, not to mention devastatingly gorgeous.
“Okay, smarty-pants. You clean the fish while I get dressed.”
“I wondered how you were going to manage that if you did catch one. You have never cleaned your own fish.”
“Why do it yourself when someone else will do it for you?” Bailey gave him an impish smile, handed him the net, and made a timely exit.
Jory came in ten minutes later with two cleaned and beheaded fish. “There you go, princess. Two fish with all the yucky bits done.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his jaw while his hands were full and then relieved him of the fish. “Go and wash your hands now,” she chided.
Jory smacked her ass as she turned to go, but when she looked back around at him, he was sauntering toward the bathroom. The slap had made her knees weak and her pussy weep, and he just walked away oblivious. Some things just weren’t fair.
She slid the fish onto a plate, dressing them with sage and lemon wedges and seasoning them well before covering the plate and slipping it in the fridge to marinate. All she had to do later was throw a simple salad together, grill the fish, and dinner was sorted.
Jory came back out of the bathroom and picked up the list she had left on the table. Her heart rate soared as he flopped on the lounge and began reading. His face showed absolutely no emotion, not one change of expression as he quickly read the list—the perfect poker face.
“I’m glad to see you found some boundaries.” He fished a folded piece of paper out of his top pocket with two long fingers and extended it toward Bailey. “Here are my requirements. See if there is anything in there that makes you choke.”
Bailey walked over and took it, feeling trepidation build. What if he wanted something she wasn’t capable of?
Losing Jory wasn’t an option, but she had discovered she did have limits she wouldn’t compromise on. She sat down in the armchair and unfolded the paper with shaking hands, knowing he watched her even closer than she had observed him, and unlike Jory, she couldn’t play poker for shit.
Jory’s rules.
You will wear your collar as and when directed.
While wearing said collar you will;
Be respectful of me at all times. “Sir” will suffice.
Answer any and all questions promptly and honestly.
Obey each and every command promptly and with good grace.
Not hold back any reaction, positive or negative.
Surrender all rights to pleasure and gratification to me.
Accept punishment for any and all infractions, those listed here and any more to be named at a later date, the punishment to fit the crime and be determined as and when the need arises.
Accept my judgment as final and binding.
Bailey blinked hard. She could almost hear him dictating the rules in his icy, no-nonsense voice. The caveat about “while wearing the collar” thawed the ice in her veins. They were adding to their relationship, not replacing it.
She looked up into his arctic gaze. “Any questions?” His eyebrows rose in challenge.
“When do I get my collar?”
Jory threw back his head and laughed.
“What?” Bailey was a little disconcerted by his response. Open laughter was not a typical Jory Raines reaction.
“You never cease to amaze me, brat. I expect you to throw the paper in my face and tell me to go to hell, and you ask ‘how soon?’ I guess I have underestimated your desire to submit.”
Bailey kept her response to a quirky smile. What he had underestimated was her need to be dominated by him. And that was a completely different matter.
He reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a length of black velvet ribbon and pulled the heavy signet ring off his finger. He’d obviously been prepared for all possibilities. “Come over here and we will see just how far this resolve of yours stretches.” He threaded the ring onto the velvet and held it stretched between two large but shapely hands.
Bailey rose and went to him, held captive by his silvered eyes. “On your knees.” She sunk to the ground before him. He held the ribbon below her chin. “Head on my knees.”
When Bailey lowered her head, she felt the velvet wrap her throat, his heavy signet noticeable where it hung. He tied it firmly enough that it wouldn’t slip but not so tight that it restricted her in any way. It was just a gentle reminder of what she had agreed to.
He lifted her chin, raising her from her lowered position. “It looks good on you, Bailey. I’ll order you your own collar, but this will serve for now.
“Stand up and strip. I want you naked while we have a little talk.”
Bailey restrained an inappropriate grin. If he thought having her nude would make her feel powerless, he had pegged her wrong. She knew damn well her body was better than average. It wasn’t a skinny-ass model’s body, but it was better than fine. She had curves in all the right places, and motherhood hadn’t been too cruel to her. A few spider-silk-fine lines on the sides of her full breasts and a softer tummy were the only giveaways.
She dropped her clothing, minimal as it was, to the floor, and stood proudly before him. “Fold the clothes and put them on the chair.” Okay, so that she didn’t like, but she remembered his requirements and obeyed silently.
“I bet that hurt.” Jory was looking particularly pleased with himself. “Bring that ottoman over here and sit on it. Right here.” He pointed to a spot just out from where she had kneeled to be collared.
Bailey lugged the item from beside the armchair to where he directed and sat on it. “Toes hooked behind the legs, hands on the ba
ck. I want you to hide nothing from me.”
It was definitely more uncomfortable to expose her folds to his gaze in the cold light of day, but she knew he had seen more when she had been injured, and she had coped with that. She straightened her spine and sat proudly, making sure her breasts were sticking out more than strictly necessary.
His eyes made a slow perusal of her body, that damn poker face in place as he treated every inch to his scrutiny. It felt like a lifetime before he spoke. “I can see your body has no trouble with being told what to do. In fact it seems to like it just fine.” Bailey fought the need to squirm. She knew her breasts were puckered into hard points despite the warm afternoon, but she would be embarrassed as hell if she was dripping all over the leather on which she sat. “But I’m not convinced about your mind. Let’s start with some simple questions. What is your ‘hard no’ safe word?”
“Red light.” She winced when he raised his eyebrows imperiously. “Sir.” She tried not to choke on the word.
“Pretty unimaginative, but straightforward. Do I assume ‘yellow light’ is your ‘soft no’?”
“Yes, sir.” It came easier the second time.
“Have you used them before, in the course of a monitored session?”
“Only the yellow light, sir.”
“And why did you call foul?” His eyes were unemotional, his voice clinical.
“There was no way I was letting a plug of the size he picked up anywhere near my ass, sir.”
“Yes, I noticed your aversion to anal play in your list. Don’t let what happened hold you back from enjoying all the pleasures out there to be had, Bailey. That is something we will overcome. I will not accept you holding any part of yourself back from me. While you wear that collar, you belong to me.” His words made the ring suspended from the velvet band weigh heavier against her skin.
“What about punishments? What have you been subjected to?” She noticed he didn’t ask if she had been punished.
