I picture myself bent over his knee as he spanks my butt and the image has my spine tingling, sending a gentle rush of sensation through my body. I guess I like that idea too. My major confusion stems from the fact I’ve never wanted this before, so why is it getting me hot now? I’ve never wanted to be spanked but tying the idea of it with discipline is a way of turbocharging my arousal.
Biting my lip, I try to hide from the image of him disciplining me, of him making me pay for whatever I’ve done wrong, of my submitting to his dominance over me. But I can’t. My body won’t let me and I curl on to my side away from him, lifting my legs higher to roll into a fetal ball. Not even that helps. My pussy lips are squashed between my thighs and if I twitch my hips, my pussy is getting even more attention than before.
As I roll back to my earlier position, another image pops into my head. This time of Nate spreading my legs, knotting rope around my ankles, and tying them to the bedposts. His head drops down to press an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy, shooting the nerves in my clit from dormant to buzzing in ten seconds flat. The moment daydream Nate slips a finger inside and begins to fuck me, my hand shoots down between my legs and I start to touch myself.
Gently so as not to disturb the covers or the bed, I begin to rub my clit as in my mind’s eye, Nate’s fingers jerk away from my cunt the instant my hips start to roll and my cries of pleasure indicate that orgasm is close. He slaps my pussy lips with the tips of his fingers, once. Twice. It stings, the imagined burn on so soft an area has my fingers speeding up. A breath hiccups in my chest and then, a squeak as another hand whips out of nowhere and imprisons my wrist.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Busted.
I suck in a breath. My pussy and brain are obviously working in tangent to frame me, because there are no words in my mind, nothing on the tip of my tongue. In the darkness, I stare up at him and his proximity is so overwhelming, it adds another notch of heat to my already simmering self. His breath brushes my lips and mine his. I try to wriggle my wrist free from his grasp but he tightens it until I wince at so fierce a hold.
“I repeat. What the hell are you doing?”
His low voice, angry and forceful, does something to my nipples. They swell and bead, tauten, begging for his touch. He shakes me via our connected hands and I stutter, “Nothing. I was sleeping!”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not!” I cry out, trying to pull my hand away but I can’t. His grip is tight, but he isn’t pulling the skin so it chafes or burns, there’s no pain, I just can’t move away from him.
“You are. First rule, Marina, don’t lie to me. Never lie to me again, do you hear me?”
His hiss wends its way through my soul and I turn my head to the side, even though I know he can’t see me through the gloomy darkness. “I understand.”
“Two, don’t defy me. We’ve had this conversation once already; I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“I didn’t defy you.”
“Did I say you were allowed to touch yourself? Because I know that’s what you were doing.”
On the brink of telling him I was doing no such thing, I bite my lip and mutter, “No, you didn’t tell me I could. But you never said anything about that. I didn’t realize I couldn’t touch myself. Hell, do I need permission to shower?”
“Yes. You do,” he tells me calmly and my eyes widen in the darkness. He can’t be serious? Can he? Almost as though he can read my thoughts, he whispers, “Deadly. Three, you can’t touch yourself in anyway shape or form without my permission. And you sure as hell can’t let anyone else touch you either.”
“So, no handshakes then,” I bite out snottily.
“No. No touching. Four, you can’t leave the ranch without my permission. I can’t trust you outside of this place. Christ knows what trouble you’ll get in to if I’m not with you.”
“You’re joking.”
My flat tone has his grip tightening about my wrist. “Does it sound like I’m joking? If you leave this place without my say so, you’ll be disciplined. Have you got that?”
“I’m not a prisoner, Nate!”
“No. You’re not. Not in the legal sense of the word, but let’s consider me as your custodian.”
“What if you’re not here and I need to run into Sheridan?”
“When am I not here?” he dismisses. “But if I’m not, you call me and if you can’t get in touch, you wait until you speak to me. I’ll hold you to it, Marina. The only way I’ll let you get out of disobeying is in an emergency, otherwise your ass will glow if I hear of you sneaking off anywhere.”
“This can’t be happening.” My statement has anger hissing from between his teeth. “You can’t control every aspect of my life.”
“You need to be controlled, Marina. You know it and I know it. I should have taken you in hand years ago, but I didn’t want to freak you out. The time for that has passed. I can’t lead you into this gently, Marina. No baby steps for you. How can I? You’re a danger to everyone around you. When you misbehave, somebody else gets hurt. You need to learn that for every action, there’s a reaction and in this case, it’s a punishment. If you go against one of my rules, you will have to deal with the consequences and if you don’t like it, you can always go back to your room.”
So saying, he releases his grip on my wrist and moves away from me. I can hear the faint grunt as he settles away on the other side of the bed and know he’s hurt himself by grabbing me the way he did. I nibble my bottom lip, wanting to ask if he’s okay but withholding the question so as to deal with the one he just issued me.
Going back to my room means this is it. We’re over. But with all these rules, would it be a hardship separating from him?
Goddammit, yes. It fucking would.
Closing my eyes, clenching them tight, I remain planted on the bed. And I don’t move an inch.
“Well?” he asks after a good five minutes of silence.
He expects me to say it? To literally hand him control?
Apparently so.
Gritting my teeth, I wrench my jaw open to protect the expensive dental job on my veneers, and bite out, “Yes. I’ll stay.”
“I expected nothing less.” His arrogance should make me want to hit him; instead, it has my already needy clit longing for more attention. “Five, if I make a direct order, you comply. Even if you think it’s unfair or out of order, you do as I want, without question, unless I’m asking you to do something that goes entirely against the grain. I don’t want a zombie. I just don’t want you to misbehave. If you disagree with a direct order, I want three reasons as to why you cannot comply. Understand?” I nod, but he says, “Speak to me, Marina. If I ask you a question, you always answer it. So, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “I understand, dammit.”
“And no cursing. Cursing is for big girls and you’re nothing more than a spoilt brat.”
That’s it, my eyes literally cross and not in a way I’m used to with Nate. How the fuck am I supposed to live by those rules? Freedom beckons in the shape of a future without Nate. I want to walk away, I really do, but something inside me is demanding I listen and take note. I pull in a breath and stop scowling at the ceiling. I try to regulate my breathing, because it’s telling him without words of my struggle.
“Good. You’ll control yourself and comport yourself in a manner that fits your station. We might know you’re a brat, but the rest of the commune doesn’t need to know that. We’ll add to this list of rules as we go along. But they’re enough for a start. If I find you disobeying them, then you get disciplined and I decide how, where, and when.
“Four times tonight you’ve failed to comply when I’ve asked something of you. You didn’t come when I called you back to the living room, you went to your suite and not mine even though on the plane, I said we were still together and I doubt you’ll have forgotten that I wanted you in my rooms and not your own. You took longer than two minutes to get here and
you entered the bedroom after the light had been switched off.
“On top of that, you lied to me, you touched me without my permission and then, you masturbated. Your pussy is mine, nobody else’s, not even your own.
“You don’t touch it without my say-so, but I’m not totally unreasonable. You weren’t aware of the extent of the rules so you can’t be punished for them, but now they’re out in the open, you’re to follow them.
“Ordinarily, I’d discipline you now. But I’m tired. I wasn’t lying. Somebody got me shot and I’m in pain, I need to sleep. So first thing in the morning, you’ll be ready to accept your punishment.” He leans over me again, even though I can hear the wheeze in his voice that speaks of his discomfort at the position. He grabs me by the chin and while it’s impossible to see his face in the dark, I know that we’re staring each other directly in the eye. “Won’t you, Marina?”
“Yes, Nate. I will.” The meekness of my voice astounds the pair of us. I turn my head away, ashamed at how low I’ve sunk but at the same time, I’ve taken a step toward a future with Nate. How can I be ashamed of that?
And maybe, just maybe, something deep inside me needs this.
I want to decry that thought process, want to mock it, but I can’t. I don’t know what it is or why, but Nate has planted some questions in my brain and only as he disciplines me, will I get the answers.
It’s like he said, we’ll soon find out if I’m a sub or not.
The morning beckons and God help me, I’m not dreading it like any normal person should. That in itself is a death knell. Okay, maybe that’s a little gloomy, but Christ, how can this part of me have stayed hidden away for so long? Surely, I’m no sub.
That the facts tell me differently have me closing my eyes and praying for sleep to come. With arousal burning a hole in my belly, with need pouring through my veins, rest is going to be a long time coming.
****
In the warmth of the mussed up sheets, I stretch and unravel my body. Wriggling my feet and toes, calves and legs, I fidget my way back to wakefulness. With my arms overhead, I give another tug and pull of sleeping muscles and with a long, pleasurable grunt I wiggle again.
Only with every part of me back in full working order does a thought occur to me.
Punishment.
I bite my lip at the thought and wonder if Nate remembers what happened last night. Ordinarily, the man has the memory of an elephant. But on the pain meds, he’s different. Woozy.
At the hospital, he wouldn’t speak unless I was out of the room, so I made it a custom to leave whenever a doctor came in to talk to him. That didn’t stop me listening in at the keyhole though. Knowing who I was and why, the nurses let me get away with it even though it was against the rules. I must be infectious. Wherever I go, people tend to bend the rules for me. Is it any wonder I’m so naughty?
The word sends a thrill shooting down my spine. Naughty. Is that what I am? Biting my lip, I turn my head to the side but know without looking Nate’s not in bed with me. Curling upright, I jump when I see him sat on a chair in the corner of the room.
The idea of him watching me as I slept and the cool look he has in his eye has me tingling with nerves. Had it not been Nate, I’d have screamed blue murder. But then, who the hell else would be in a bedroom with me if it weren’t Nate?
“Morning,” I murmur, hoping to break the ice.
His eyes narrow to thin, chilly slivers. He settles back into his seat, a wide armchair tucked catty-corner against the wall. This room has obviously been redecorated. There’s not a whiff of pine and if I’m honest, nosing the interior decoration is less stomach churning than Nate’s silent stare.
The bed is a large four-poster, complete with canopy and curtains. Not something I’d imagine of Nate, but neither would I have considered him a Dom! Shows how much I know of the man!
Dismissing the painful thought, I return to my study of Nate’s private quarters. The carved tiger maple structure consists of four cones that reach the width of a finger at the top, at which point they branch off to create a rectangular frame. A heavy green and blue plaid acts as a canopy and falls into neat drapes. The bedcovers match but the armchair is a dark beige as are the rugs on the floor. A matching tiger maple dresser and full-length mirror on a pivot make up the rest of the room.
It’s quite bare and plain, but elegant all the same. I’d expected no less of Nate. He’s very neat, very tidy. I wonder if his office is as pristine and then chide myself for even doubting it.
“What are we doing today?” I ask, having made my visual explorations of the room, I find I’d like to move on. Change the subject and somehow make Nate forget my supposed four infractions of the rules I broke last night.
God of pain medication, please be on my side!
“Mostly, we’re going to be reintroducing you to the ranch.”
“Okay.”
My one word answer has him cocking a brow my way. “What happened last night?”
I can’t tell from his answer if the drugs have given him temporary amnesia or if he’s testing me. Choosing an innocent reply, I tell him, “We made up.”
His lips twitch but his eyes remain cool. I hate this coldness; hate the frost that’s developed between us. I know I’m a bitch; I know it and for most of my life, have embraced it. I’m not an easy woman to like or love; in fact, I’m a very hard woman to know. Despite that, I have two friends who are more like sisters to me and they feel the same way about me. All of my girls at Papillon, each of them, loved me and respected me for helping them and protecting them as well as simply being there for them, when the rest of the world thought they were scum.
Nate is persistent in his desire to think ill of my business, but I saw it as a way to protect women who had been abused and who had no other resources available to them. I can’t be ashamed of that. I’m not a bad person, just a product of a lonely environment. Maybe this, maybe Nate’s resolve will change all that. He said he had feelings for me. ‘Feelings that couldn’t be erased’ were his actual words if I remember rightly. I want him to love me. I need that like I need air to breathe.
“How did we make up?” His cocked brow lifts a little higher. “Did we kiss it all better?”
His stare, so aggressive and forceful, has my eyes lowering to the plaid comforter. Do I start this journey on a lie? Or do I try to do right by him, when I’ve done nothing but wrong throughout the length of our relationship.
If Nate really is a Dom, then I haven’t been satisfying him anyway. How could I have been, when this, the true part of his nature, couldn’t come out to play? That for four years he wasn’t satisfied by me has me cringing inside. Why did he hide it from me? If he thought I was a sub, why didn’t he discuss this earlier…
Probably because I’d have immediately rejected it.
These last six weeks have humbled me, forced me to realize that I’m human like everyone else, not a powerful, omnipotent being. My arrogance was a shield that prevented him from divulging the truth to me. His keeping this part of himself a secret tells me his affection for me is as all-encompassing as mine is for him. This is a chance for both of us to be our real selves. Whatever that might be.
“I agreed to your suggestion.”
“And what suggestion was that?”
I can tell he’s amused at my diplomatic responses. He was waiting for me to lie. Instead, he can see I’ve remembered the rules. He’s asking me questions and I’m answering them. I’m doing nothing wrong, just not giving him the answers he wants to hear.
“You believe I’m in need of discipline,” I eventually murmur, lifting my eyes to connect with his.
He’s pleased by my response. I can tell, because his eyes are no longer Arctic-cold, maybe Britain in winter. “And what do you think, Marina? Do you believe you need to be disciplined?”
Bastard.
I want to screech the word at him and from his knowing look, he can clearly see that. How I hold it in, I don’t know but I manage. Just.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I mutter, “I am capable of doing harm and hurting other people. I don’t mean to, it just happens. If I’d been taught differently as a child, perhaps I wouldn’t be the way I am today. I think, with discipline, I might start to behave more...” The word eludes me and I bite my lip, wondering what to say. It’s hard, because I’m not really sure I want to change, but something’s got to give. And it has to be me. I’m a troublemaker. “Like a regular person.”
“Well, I’m not sure I’d want you to be ‘regular’.” He uses air quotes over my chosen adjective. “Just a little moderation.” Nate looks at me for a second and I can tell he’s pleased by what I’ve said. “Come and sit here with me.”
For a second, I hesitate and then pull the covers out of the way and go to him. About to perch on his knee, he shakes his head.
“Kneel before me, Marina.”
Kneel? Oh fuck, can I do this? I mean, seriously?
My legs refuse and I stand there, shivering even though the room is an ambient temperature. I try to get my brain to force my limbs to work and eventually succeed, although my slide to the ground is anything but gracious. More like a tumble!
“Well done.”
I need those congratulations. Somehow, his command made it all so real. And I guess this is it. It’s starting.
Looking up at him, I smile. It’s quivery and weak, not my usual strident, confident grin but it’s better than a grimace.
“You understand why this has to be done, Marina. You’ve hidden this part of your nature for far too long. It’s buried deep down, so deep you don’t even realize it exists. And maybe, for anyone else, it doesn’t. But you can do this, Marina. You can liberate that part of your nature. I can’t. I can help.
“You’re kneeling before me and you’re thinking I’m in control. You give me that power. Only you. When you came to this bedroom last night and didn’t go back to yours when I told you to, you made the decision. You handed control to me. But it’s only there for as long as you want to gift it. It’s time to choose a safe word.”
Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) Page 6
