The_Submissive - Tara Sue Me Page 6

  I took a deep breath and stepped on the bench. The wood was smooth and had a scooped area for my body.

  Okay, this isn’t too bad.

  Nathaniel was doing something behind me. I heard him opening and closing drawers. Something was placed beside my hips.

  “Do you remember what I told you Friday night?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. I wasn’t supposed to be talking unless he told me to specifically. He was messing with my mind.

  I thought back to Friday night. Lots of sex, no sleep, lots of sex, aches and pains, sex, clam sauce, more sex…Total blank—I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He placed two warm hands on my waist, stroked my backside, and I remembered him asking about anal sex.

  Turpentine! rational brain side screamed. Turpentine!

  I clenched my teeth to keep the word inside my head where it belonged. I clenched other parts of my body. Hell, I clenched my entire body.

  “Relax.” He stroked down my back. Any other time, it would have felt good. Any other time, I’d have purred with the pleasure of his hands on me. But not if he was going to want anal sex.

  True, I hadn’t marked it as a hard limit. I just thought it would come later.

  There was rustling, he was taking his clothes off. I sucked in a deep breath and kept my body rigid.

  Nathaniel sighed. “Move to the bed, Abigail.”

  I jumped down so quickly, I almost tripped. Nathaniel followed me to the bed—he was naked and magnificent, but I barely noticed.

  “You have to relax.” He took me in his arms. “This won’t work if you don’t.” His mouth was on my neck and I threw my arms around him. Yes, this I knew. This I could handle.

  That wonderful mouth was doing unbelievable things to my skin. My body started to loosen as his mouth made its way down. His lips brushed my nipples and I threw my head back as his tongue swirled around and around.

  He placed kisses up and down my torso, his hands always stroking, always moving, igniting me with their touch.

  “What I do, I do for your pleasure as much as mine.” He nibbled my ear. “Trust me, Abigail.”

  And I wanted to. I wanted to trust him. The gentleman of last night I trusted. The dom with a whipping bench? Well, he was a bit harder to trust.

  They’re the same man, I told myself.

  I was so confused, I didn’t know what to think. I was trying so hard to work out what was happening. What would be the right thing to do. Who he was.

  And the entire time, Nathaniel kept up his soothing murmurings.

  “I can bring you pleasure, Abigail,” he whispered. “Pleasure like you’ve never imagined.”

  He was knocking down my resistance. Erasing all my excuses. And I let him. I had no choice, really. He’d already claimed me.

  He pulled back and looked in my eyes as he entered me. I moaned and tightened my arms around him.

  It was then I realized that for the first time I had my arms free during sex. I ran a tentative hand down his back.

  “Let it go, Abigail.” He pushed further into me. “Fear has no place in my bed.”

  He pulled out and started a fast tempo, all the while soothing me with his voice. All the while reassuring.

  After a while, I couldn’t remember what I was afraid of. Couldn’t remember anything. Just Nathaniel and his bed and the feel of him pounding into me over and over and his voice whispering of promised pleasure.

  My release began to tighten in my belly. Nathaniel pulled back from me, lifted my hips, and thrust in deeper. I was close, so close. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him toward me. And just as he thrust in for the last time, something warm and slick pushed inside my backside and I screamed as my climax overtook my body.

  He said it was a plug. That it would help stretch me and I should wear it a few hours every day. Anal sex was totally outside of my experience. I had no idea what to expect, just nerves and anticipation. But he said he would give me pleasure, and until he did differently, I decided to believe him. He had never lied to me.

  I left after lunch on Sunday. My last words from Nathaniel were that I was to return Friday night at six.

  Felicia was all giggles that night when I got home.

  “I’ve been waiting all day for you to get home,” she said as I let her in. “Have I got a surprise for you.”

  Felicia’s surprises typically involved new lipstick. But I sat down on the couch, tucked my legs under me, and told her to lay it on me.

  “First off,” she said, “you are the best friend, ever, for giving Nathaniel my number to give Jackson. Jackson is the best. I thought he’d be all into himself because he’s a pro ball player, but he’s not, he’s so down-to-earth. And his mom? Can you believe her? She’s so nice! And the way all the guys stood up when you had to pee? And Elaina stood up and went with you? And then—”

  “Felicia,” I interrupted. “At what point do we get to my surprise? Because I can do a replay of the entire evening all by myself.” And I planned on doing just that. As soon as I was alone.

  “Right,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Just get on with it.”

  She leaned close. “On the way home, I asked Jackson about his childhood. How long they’ve known Todd. How long has Todd been married to Elaina. If Nathaniel dated a lot of women—”

  “Felicia Kelly!”

  “I’m your best friend, Abby, it’s my job to look out for you. Now Todd grew up next door to the Clarks. He’s known them all his life.” She looked at me with an evil grin. “Nathaniel’s dated three women seriously. Paige first, then Beth, and Melanie was the last one. Jackson called Melanie the ‘Pearl Girl’ because she always had this strand of pearls on.” She looked at my choker. “Hate to know what he’ll call you. Can’t Nathaniel give you a ring like a regular guy?”

  She kept on talking, but my mind was still processing what she’d just said. Three women. Three submissives. Three that the family knew of.

  Felicia was still talking, “Nathaniel and Melanie broke up five months ago. Jackson said she was a real bitch and he was glad to see her go.” She gave me an evil grin. “He also said you weren’t Nathaniel’s normal type, but that you seemed to be good for him.”

  That was the second person close to Nathaniel in two days who’d said I was good for him. They couldn’t both be wrong, could they?

  A new burst of energy shot through me and I wasn’t as sleepy as I’d been minutes before.

  “That new movie we wanted to see comes on tonight,” she said. “Want to watch it?”

  It’d been too long since Felicia and I had bonding time—we were seriously overdue. “How long does it stay on?” I asked.

  “Until eleven.”

  The movie finished at eleven. I had to be up at six. That was still seven hours of sleep—longer than I’d had the last two nights.

  “Sure, let’s watch it.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Apprehension gnawed at me as I was driven to Nathaniel’s house on Friday night. His admin had called me at the library on Wednesday and said, “Mr. West will see you at eight on Friday—his car will pick you up, as usual.” That was all. No details. No explanations. No nothing.

  I was a bit disappointed—I rather liked our Friday night dinners. Eating with him before heading to his room eased me into the weekend nice and gently. And maybe it was just me, but I had the feeling he liked them as well. If for no other reason than to tease me. To work me up to what he had planned. Of course, I had a pretty good idea of what he had planned for the weekend. I had used the plug as directed and felt ready.

  But still. I had the strangest feeling I was missing something.

  It was dark when the car pulled into his driveway. No Apollo to meet me. No Nathaniel opening the door before I knocked.

  I rang the doorbell.

  The door opened slowly and Nathaniel waved me inside.

  “Abigail.”

  I nodded. Why were we standing in the foyer? Why
was he looking at me like that?

  “Did you have a good week?” he asked. “You may answer.”

  “It was fine.”

  “Fine?” he asked, both eyebrows going up. “I’m not entirely sure fine is the appropriate response.”

  I thought back over the week. Trying to see where this was going.

  Nothing out of the ordinary sprung to mind. Work was the same. Felicia was the same. I did all the jogging. All the ridiculous yoga. I got eight—

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, noooooo…

  “Abigail,” he said calmly. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

  “I only got seven hours of sleep on Sunday night,” I whispered, looking at the floor.

  How the hell did he know?

  “Look at me when you speak.”

  I looked up at him. His eyes were blazing.

  “I only got seven hours of sleep on Sunday night,” I said again.

  “Seven hours?” He took a step closer. “Do you think I put together a plan for your wellbeing because I’m bored and have nothing better to do? Answer me.”

  My face was hot. I was certain I’d pass out any moment. Passing out would be good. Passing out would be preferable. “No, Master.”

  “I had plans for this evening, Abigail,” he said. “Things I wanted to show you. Instead we’ll have to spend the evening in my room working on your punishment.”

  He looked as if he wanted me to say something. I wasn’t sure I could speak. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Master.”

  “You’ll be sorrier still when I finish with you.” He jerked his head toward the stairs. “My room. Now.”

  I’ve always wondered what it felt like for a condemned criminal to walk to their execution. How did they get their feet to move? Did they look over the streets or cells they passed and remember better times? Could they feel the eyes of the observers watching them as they passed?

  I’m not saying it’s the same. I know it’s not.

  You can only die once. You don’t feel anything after you’re dead.

  I would feel what was coming my way.

  But I made up my mind on the way to Nathaniel’s room that I would take my punishment without complaint. He’d made the rules and I’d agreed to them. I’d broken one. There would be consequences. I could accept that.

  I wasn’t surprised to see the whipping bench back out. I took a deep breath and stripped my clothes off. I trembled a bit when I stepped up to the bench and leaned over it.

  But where did my hands go? Crossed under my chest? That didn’t seem right. I hung them down. That was uncomfortable. Above my head? No, that probably looked stupid.

  I heard Nathaniel enter the room and, all of a sudden, my hands didn’t matter anymore.

  Part of me wished I could see his face, but another part of me was glad I couldn’t. I was acutely aware that I was naked and exposed to him.

  A warm hand touched my bottom and I jumped.

  “I use three different types of spankings,” he said, stroking me. “The first is an erotic spanking. It’s used to heighten your pleasure, to excite you.” His hand swept down my bottom and landed between my legs. “The riding crop, for example.”

  His stroking got progressively rougher and he pinched me. “The second spanking is for chastisement. You won’t feel any pleasure. The purpose is to remind you of the consequences of disobedience. I make rules for your wellbeing, Abigail. How many hours of sleep are you supposed to get Sunday through Thursday? Answer me.”

  “Eight,” I choked out. Could he not get on with it?

  “Yes, eight. Not seven. You obviously forgot, so perhaps a sore backside will help you remember in the future.”

  He was silent. The only sound I heard was the beating of my heart thumping in my head.

  “The third spanking is a warm-up spanking. It’s used before a chastisement spanking. Do you know why I have to use a warm-up spanking?”

  No, I’d never heard of a warm-up spanking. Damned if I’d say anything, though.

  He placed a leather strap by my head. Right where I could easily see it.

  “Because your ass can’t handle the chastisement spanking first.”

  My hands groped madly for something to hold me to the bench.

  “Twenty strokes with the leather strap, Abigail.” He stopped. Waited. “Unless you have something you’d like to say.”

  He was goading me into saying my safe word! The nerve of him to think I’d give up so easily. I forced myself to remain completely still.

  “Very well.”

  He started with his hand, smacking me lightly at first, and it wasn’t too bad. It was almost pleasurable, actually. Nothing worse than the riding crop. But he kept on. And kept on. And kept on. It started to get uncomfortable and my body strained with the effort to hold still.

  After a while, perhaps about five minutes, I started tensing before his hand landed and dreading when he’d strike me again. Because, damn it, it hurt and he hadn’t even really started.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. How long was this going to last?

  Again and again his hand came down. Over and over. And, damn, this was only the warm-up.

  He stopped, ran his hand over my backside as if he were gauging something on my skin. Then he took the strap from beside my head. “Count, Abigail.”

  Without warning, the strap whistled through the air and landed on my sore butt.

  “Ow!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “One. I meant one.”

  Again it came down.

  “Shit! I mean, two.”

  “Watch the language.” Harder this time.

  “Th…three.”

  Four hurt so badly, I reached out to cover myself. He stopped for a second and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Cover yourself again and I’ll tie you up and add an additional ten.”

  I crossed my arms and put them under my chest.

  I was sobbing by eleven. Had a hard time catching my breath by fifteen. By eighteen, I’d decided I’d get ten hours of sleep. Every night. Just, please, stop.

  “Quit begging.”

  I’d been talking out loud. Begging. I didn’t care. The strap landed again. I blurted out something that might have been nineteen.

  One more and it’d be over.

  “How many hours of sleep are you to get, Abigail? Answer me.”

  I took a deep breath. Choked on snot. “Ei…ei…eight.”

  One more and it would be over.

  “Twen…ty.”

  The only sound in the room came from me. Sobs and snorts. My body shook. I wasn’t sure I could move off the bench.

  “Clean your face and go to your bedroom,” Nathaniel said. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. “You have sleep to catch up on.”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  The face looking back at me from the mirror was red and splotchy.

  Well, Abby, I told my reflection, no more bonding time with Felicia, huh? Or if there were, it would end well before my ten o’clock bedtime.

  I hobbled to the bedroom and lay on my stomach. I certainly hoped Nathaniel wouldn’t want to do any…experimenting…this weekend. Plug or not, I was too sore even to think about it.

  And what if he did? Would I say my safe word? The spanking, okay, I could handle that. I’d messed up. He’d let me know tonight, in no uncertain terms, that rules were rules were rules. But what if he wanted to try anal sex?

  I just didn’t think I could do it—not tonight. Not this weekend. I’d have to use my safe word.

  I decided then and there, that was my limit. You needed to have limits. Had to tell yourself how far you’d go. And that was mine. No anal sex this weekend.

  I thought about leaving Nathaniel.

  And I got sad. Whether it was disappointing Nathaniel, the spanking, the thought of never seeing him again, or all three, I started crying. I pushed my face into the pillow—I didn’t want him to hear. What if he came in?

 
As I cried, I heard footsteps echoing in the hallway. I stopped and held myself still. Had he heard? The steps stopped. I saw his feet underneath the door.

  He continued walking.

  I let out a shaky breath and forced myself to go to sleep.

  The dream came back that night. The one with the music. It started out faster this time. Angry. Fierce. Then gradually grew into the same sweet longing of the song I’d heard the previous weekend. Sweetness laced with a hint of sorrow. In my dream, I ran from room to room. Desperate. I would find it this time. I would find out where the music was coming from. I pushed open door after door after door. But, like before, each one opened to another hallway and each hallway ended with a new door.

  The music stopped. I reached another door and shoved it open. Only to see that it led to nothing…

  Another Saturday morning. Another early alarm clock wake-up. As I got ready, I thought about facing Nathaniel. What would he say? How would he act? What did he have planned for the weekend? Would the day see me saying my safe word and leaving?

  I walked gingerly to the kitchen, my body achy all over. No sounds from behind the door of the gym. The kitchen was empty. My eyes swept over the room. There. On the table. A folded note.

  On the outside, in neat script, was my name.

  I opened it.

  I’ll be back for lunch in the dining room at noon.

  I took a deep breath. He wasn’t telling me to pack up and leave. Some part of me had feared he would.

  I fixed a quick breakfast of oatmeal, stirring in a few nuts and diced bananas. I ate standing up, staring at the cabinets that lined two walls of the kitchen. I decided to dig through them after I’d finished eating. It would give me something to do, since I didn’t feel like jogging, and yoga moves were out of the question.

  I took some ibuprofen and then explored for an hour. Nathaniel had a wonderful selection of cookware, gadgets, and dishes. And his pantry was well stocked. Four deep shelves contained a chef’s dream world of supplies. The top shelf, I couldn’t reach. I’d investigate it later.