by Ashe Barker
He grinned. “That’s a good start. And how about doing as you’re told?”
“I think so. I mean, I’ve obeyed you about my diet when I’m in training, and the no alcohol rule. After that first screw-up, obviously.”
“What about the no orgasm rule?”
She flushed a little, shifting in her seat opposite him. “That too,” she muttered.
He smiled. “I’m getting the impression you found that a lot more exacting than the spanking.”
“You told me I wasn’t allowed to come until you gave me permission. So I haven’t.”
“Good girl.” He smiled at her and couldn’t miss her answering grin. She positively glowed under his praise. Oh, yes, there was no doubt of her innate submissive tendencies. The challenge facing him was how best to nurture those and make her happy, and himself too, but without exploiting their professional relationship to do it. Still, he’d given the matter some thought.
“First things first, our relationship can’t be a secret.”
“What? I mean, I thought—”
“We may choose not to tell anyone. We may both prefer to keep it private, but secrets are insidious. You have my word that I will never disclose to anyone what goes on between us, but I don’t expect the same from you. If you ever feel the need to talk to someone, you have my permission to do so. I hope you’ll be able to talk to me first, but I need you to know there is no coercion here.”
“I understand. But you also need to know that I’m a grownup. I know what I’m doing. I do appreciate the ethics behind what you’re saying, but in no way do I feel exploited or pressured. I’m in this, willingly, every bit as much as you are.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So now, fucking…”
“You have to,” she blurted, “please.”
“Have to?”
“It’s what I want. I’ve said that all along. I’m entitled to ask for what I want, aren’t I?”
“You are, certainly. Even without the D/s thing, everyone is entitled to ask for what they want. They may not get it, but they are absolutely entitled to ask.”
“You can’t refuse me. Not forever. I just—”
“I’d be a poor dom if I continued to refuse to give you something you want, something it’s reasonable for you to expect in a relationship such as ours. But once I fuck you, everything changes. There’s no going back after that.”
“I don’t want to go back. I want you.”
“Okay then, you will have me—on those terms.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The waitress interrupted their conversation when she arrived with the food. For the next few minutes they ate in silence. It was Jodie who set her panini down and wiped her fingers on her napkin before levelling her azure gaze on him.
“There was something I wanted to say. I mean, to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“I know I can’t do any late nights while I’m in training, clubs, and such like. I get it and I won’t. But I was wondering if you would still… I mean, will you be going to Club Sin again? Without me, obviously?”
“Club Sin? The place where we encountered each other a few weeks ago?”
She nodded. “I know you weren’t a regular there, but even so, I thought that maybe…”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I won’t be going without you. This relationship is exclusive, for as long as we both want it to last. I have no desire to play with anyone else.”
“Me neither. I’m glad we agree on this. I think… I think it might have been a deal breaker for me.” She picked up her sandwich and took another bite. “Mmm, this is good.”
* * *
A deal breaker? Dylan turned that over in his head later that evening as he watched soccer on television. He was glad she had her line in the sand and had told him about it. He wanted a submissive partner, not a doormat. Jodie Price was turning out to be a real treasure and he was longing to sink his greedy cock into her tight and eager body.
But the time had to be right, the moment just so. It would have been easy, too easy, to ask her to come back here with him or go to her flat. She would strip and spread her legs on command, he knew that. He also knew she deserved more. Having his cock inside her would be a massive part of her submission to him. It needed to be part of a scene; anything else would be simply vanilla. Nice enough, but not for them.
He started to plan.
* * *
The southeast regional championships took place in Hatfield, in a huge sports hall lined by tiers of seating. The junior and schools classes had taken place the previous day and now it was time for the serious grownup competitions.
Jodie and Dylan drove up there together in his sporty Mazda MX. He’d bought the car on impulse a year earlier, and still wondered if it was just a little bit too showy. Too impractical, built for speed, not city driving. He lived in central London, for Christ’s sake. What did he need with a flashy convertible? Jodie didn’t agree. She loved the crimson paintwork and the shiny alloy wheels. She chattered brightly the whole way there.
A little too brightly, maybe? Dylan knew her well enough by now, could gauge her moods. She was nervous.
“You’re going to do fine,” he reassured her as they entered the arena, already crowded with taekwondo hopefuls from several counties. Ten octagonal mats, each eight metres in diameter, were arranged along the length of the hall, in two rows of five. The different weight categories would spar on their respective mats, and the women’s competition was to go first. “Go and get changed. I’ll go and grab a seat down by your section.” He gave her a quick hug then watched as she scurried toward the changing rooms, her duffel bag over her shoulder.
Yes, she was definitely keyed up. She didn’t need to be. She had this.
Dylan spotted an empty bench on the front row of the bleacher just yards from where Jodie would sit cross-legged on the edge of the mat with the other competitors. As he got settled he spotted Tanya Monroe there already, chatting easily with the girls on either side of her. Dylan understood why Jodie liked her sparring partner. Tanya was easy-going and pleasant, popular on the circuit. She was probably Jodie’s closest rival for the coveted Olympic place, but Jodie had been beating her consistently in these regional bouts for the last four years.
The selectors would be watching the results. It was important that Jodie do well here to keep her profile high and make sure she was well in contention.
She emerged from the changing area and headed his way. They exchanged a few words, his encouraging, hers noncommittal, then she eased herself into the row of competitors alongside Tanya.
The competition started. Jodie and Tanya were on opposite sides of the draw so would not meet until the final, assuming both won their earlier contests. Progress was rapid. Each heat consisted of three rounds of two minutes each and the women were soon whittled down to just four. Tanya was to fight a dark-haired girl from Luton, and Jodie was up against the previous year’s regional champion, an experienced fighter based in Kent. On paper Jodie’s was much the tougher contest, but the previous champion hadn’t been on top form recently. Dylan was confident of the outcome.
He was right to be. Jodie won by two points. Her opponent landed plenty of punches and kicks, but Jodie was picking up extra points for technique. She landed an inspired triple turning kick in the final round to clinch the result. Panting, she took her place on the now almost deserted space at the edge of the mat to watch Tanya’s bout.
Jodie’s sparring partner was quick. Dylan had always known that, and he had to acknowledge Tanya’s turning kicks seemed to have improved a lot. Her opponent put up a decent showing though, and they were level at ten points all going into the final thirty seconds. Tanya grunted when she took a forceful punch to her trunk, protected by the body armour worn by all the competitors, but rallied quickly to deliver a kick that connected with her opponent’s head guard. They exchanged several more punches, but a one-point margin was enough to give Tanya the re
sult.
So, it was just Jodie and Tanya left to contest the final.
Other competitors gathered to watch. The atmosphere was charged as the two girls squared up to each other. Dylan had just a few moments with Jodie, barely enough time to tell her to watch Tanya’s spinning kicks and to go for some high scoring moves of her own. She needed to gather up plenty of bonus points for technique and degree of difficulty, and she was definitely the stronger fighter of the two.
Jodie won the first round by four points to two. Dylan wasn’t too concerned, though he believed the margin could have been slightly higher. Jodie was missing chances. Twice, he’d spotted her landing just a straight kick when she could have spun or aimed higher. He was making notes. They would work on that.
The second round was closer, but this time Tanya won it by one single point. They went into the final round with Jodie just one point ahead, but that was enough. All she had to do was maintain her lead.
Jodie should have blocked the triple turning kick to her head in the opening seconds. She had plenty of time, Tanya all but fucking telegraphed it. The points awarded wiped out Jodie’s slender advantage.
Dylan clenched his fists and willed her on as Jodie landed several decent punches and a turning kick to Tanya’s body. The points clicked up on the scoreboard. They were level again at eleven all. Jodie found some rhythm—not before time in Dylan’s view—and delivered an impressive triple turning kick to nudge ahead. Those hours spent practicing were paying off. Now if she could just throw another of those in the dying seconds…
Jodie managed a couple of one-point punches, but those were cancelled out by Tanya’s determined efforts. A spinning kick to Jodie’s torso put Tanya one point ahead, but there were four seconds to go. Tanya stumbled on landing, the slight misstep almost imperceptible but Jodie saw it. Dylan saw it.
Tanya knew too and raised an arm to block the head kick which Jodie would surely land. Jodie stepped back, re-balanced her weight on both feet, sprang forward—
The bell sounded before the kick could connect. The bout was over. Tanya had won by that single point.
Dylan stared, incredulous. He couldn’t believe it. Could not fucking believe it.
She’d had plenty of time. Tanya was on the back foot, it was a kick Jodie had delivered countless times before with precision accuracy and lightning speed. The contest had been close, but it had Jodie’s name all over it.
The Olympic selectors. Oh, holy fuck, the selectors…
He got to his feet and made his way toward where Jodie crouched on the edge of the mat. Tanya was beside her, the two were talking. Jodie shook her head. Tanya reached for her, grasped her arm.
“What happened? Are you sure you’re all right? You could have had me then.”
“I’m fine. You won, fair and square.” Jodie pushed herself to her feet and turned. Dylan was right behind her. She met his eyes, then looked away.
But not fast enough. He saw it. He saw the guilt.
Jodie was already striding for the changing rooms, but he caught her easily and swung her back to face him.
“What the fuck was that about?”
“Nothing. I lost, that’s all.”
“Like fuck. You knew how important this was. That last kick…”
“The bell went.”
“You hung about like you were waiting for the next fucking tube to Wimbledon. You had time. Plenty of time.”
“I told you, the bell went.”
“And what about that shambles in round two? How come you let her get two points up on you? She’s never beaten you by two points when you’ve sparred together.”
“She improved.”
“So did you.”
“Look, I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll—”
“Next time might be too late. You need to concentrate all the time and pull it out when it matters. That means now. Today. Even Tanya knew it. She didn’t expect to win.”
“Then she had a good day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to get changed.”
He stood, hands on hips, and watched as she stalked across the sports hall. This wasn’t over, not by a long way. She needed to learn to keep her head in the game and he knew just the way to get that message across.
* * *
The drive back to London was completed in almost total silence. Jodie seemed lost in her own thoughts and he was too fucking livid to make conversation. Dylan knew he had to get his temper under control before they arrived. He couldn’t punish her if he was still angry. That was the cardinal sin among self-respecting doms.
Never lay a hand on a sub unless you are totally in control.
He certainly intended to lay more than a hand on Jodie. There was a rather fierce leather tawse in his kit bag that would do the required job very well indeed.
It wasn’t so much that she lost. He’d been around the taekwondo circuit long enough to know that unexpected results do happen, nothing is ever guaranteed. But Jodie hadn’t been trying, and that was unforgivable.
He’d run through that final bout in his head time and time again and become quite convinced of it. How many missed chances had there been? How many bonus points forfeited when she settled for a simple punch or kick when she was capable of so much more? They’d practiced, she was technically perfect, and the opportunities had been there. Dylan calculated that Jodie had allowed at least a dozen points to slip away, more than enough to secure the victory she was capable of.
She must have gotten lazy. Or perhaps she wasn’t hungry enough for it. Maybe she just didn’t have the temperament for the big occasion. He would find out. They would talk, he’d probe, get to the bottom of this.
But in the meantime, she’d earned a spanking and he was ready to deliver it.
“Where are we going?” Jodie furrowed her brow when he missed the turn that would have taken them to her flat.
“My place,” he responded.
“Your place? Why? I thought… oh.”
He glanced across and saw her features pale slightly as she put two and two together and came up with four.
“But I said I was sorry.”
“And I believe you. But there still has to be a reckoning. You let me down, Jodie, and worse, you let yourself down. I won’t allow that.”
“But it’s a sport. Someone has to lose.”
“They do. But if you want to be a gold medal winning competitor, right at the top of your sport, then you put in one hundred and ten percent. Every time. No half measures, no taking your foot off the gas. And that’s what you did today, Jodie. I could see it. Damn it, even Tanya could tell so Christ only knows what the selectors made of it.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you think I blew it?”
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. She hadn’t done anything to help her chances, that was for sure, but all might not be lost. “Perhaps not. A lot depends on how you perform in the nationals next month.”
“I’ll do better there, I swear. I could win, I know it, and the national champion is always picked for the Olympics.”
“You won’t win if you perform like you did today. Not a chance.” Dylan turned the wheel to steer the car onto the forecourt of the converted warehouse building where he had a loft apartment. He killed the engine, then he turned to cup her chin in his hand. “What happened back there? That wasn’t you.”
“I… I had a bad day. That’s all, I swear.”
He flattened his lips. “Come with me.”
She exited the car and moved around to stand beside him as he dragged her duffel from the boot and shouldered it. Then she padded along beside him when he let himself into the building. His apartment was on the third floor. He led her past the lift and they took the stairs. At the door to his flat he paused.
“You know what I plan to do?”
“Spank me. Because of what happened today.”
He inclined his head slowly. “You accept my right to do this, as your master, in the dojang and out of it. I have the right to discipline you. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He unlocked the door and gestured her inside. “Straight ahead, third door on the right.”
She obeyed and entered his bedroom without a murmur of protest. Dylan left her duffel dangling from his kitchen door handle then he followed her down the hall.
“Remove your clothes and lie face down over the bottom of the bed.”
Tears streamed down her face as she did as he instructed. They were tears of remorse, he was certain of that. Jodie’s natural submission meant that she hated to disappoint or anger him, and the fact that he now saw fit to punish her would cause her pain, every bit as acute as the flogging she was about to receive.
He went to his wardrobe and hauled a holdall down from on top of it. The leather strap he selected was solid at one end and split in two for about two thirds of its length. It had been handmade by a dom acquaintance of his and he knew it packed a serious punch. A previous play partner had described it as a right bastard and judging by the marks it had left behind he saw no cause to quibble. It would do nicely for today.
“Five strokes,” he announced as she peered up at him from the bed.
She let out a soft sigh, and he wondered if she felt relief that the number was not higher. He’d given her ten swats with the paddle at the club. If she thought she was being let off lightly she would soon adjust her thinking.
“Have you been on the receiving end of one of these before?” he enquired.
She frowned, shook her head. “No. Is it like a belt?”
“Yes, in that it’s made of leather. But it’s heavier, stiffer. And it’s designed for this purpose. The tawse was the favoured instrument of correction for hundreds of years north of the border.” He allowed his lips to curl in a half smile. “Those Scots knew a thing or two about discipline.”
He allowed his gaze to linger on her nude body. Her breasts were round and full, their lush contours pressed into the mattress as she readied herself for what was to come. Her waist was slender, and every inch of her was toned. Taekwondo required peak physical fitness as well as skill.
Shit, she’s fucking perfect.
