Comfort Object (10 page)

“I was on the pill,” I said, blushing even redder. “I can go on it again.”

“We'll see my physician tomorrow,” Jeremy interjected. “For blood tests and birth control for you.” He looked hard at Martin, who cleared his throat.

“It is exceedingly important to my client that no unwanted pregnancies occur as a result of carelessness.”

“It's important to me too,” I said. “I assure you I won't be careless. I'm not on the pill right now because I hadn't… I didn't… I wasn't…”

“In a sexual relationship?” Martin provided.

“Yes.”

“You will be now,” Jeremy said with a broad smile. “And I hope you will find it a mutually satisfying relationship. Most of the time.”

I looked down at the papers again. “What about collars?”

“What about them?”

“Will I be expected to wear one in private?”

He studied me, his eyes narrowed. “Do you want to wear one in private?”

I blushed. “I will if you want me to.”

“That's not what I asked. Do you like to wear collars, Nell?”

I could feel the flush burning my cheeks. “Sure. Sometimes.” Why was I feeling embarrassed about my own kinks in front of a world-class pervert like him?

“Well, sorry. I'm not much into collars.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I'll be perfectly capable of controlling you without buckling anything around your neck.”

He flirted. I had to hand it to him. He was attractive and incredibly masculine. For someone like me, someone who got off on being dominated, he was eroticism defined.
But he's a job; he's just a job. He's your ticket back to Harvard. He's a new life, nothing more.

“The only thing…” I began. Both men stared at me intently.

“I am… I don't… I would prefer not to be caned. I find it nearly intolerable. The pain of it.”

They were quiet a moment, considering. I forged ahead.

“I know my job as a submissive is to accept pain, and I do, but it's not as easy for me as, perhaps, some submissives who really enjoy pain. Pain is different for me.” I stopped, embarrassed, but Jeremy was watching me in fascination.

“Why is pain different for you?”

“Because I…just… I mean, I want to accept it to please my dominant, but it's not easy for me. And severe pain—it panics me a little—”

“You're not a pain whore. Is that what you're trying to say?” asked Jeremy.

“Yes. I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but I can't change the way I am. I've tried. And I'm just telling you honestly that I can take most pain, but I can't… I really…”

“You can't deal with being caned.”

“Yes.” Why did I suddenly feel ashamed?

Because submissives, good submissives, were supposed to take everything their dominant wanted to dish out.

“Okay,” said Jeremy after a moment. “Okay, no canes. We'll put it on the 'hard limit' list. If that's your only hard no, I'm happy with that. You'll find I try to be reasonable as far as I can. I really do wish for you to enjoy your life with me. It won't always be wine and roses, but I want you to be happy. Do you know what I mean?”

He was looking at me almost affectionately, and I found myself close to tears.

“What's the matter, Nell?” he asked.

I shook the emotion away. It was only this weird situation. The fact that things were moving so quickly. Or perhaps it was the kindness in his deep blue eyes. “I'm just a little nervous. Overwhelmed. You think because I've worked at a club, because I'm a professional, that I'll be good at this job you want me for. But I have to say honestly, this is new to me. Complete sexual availability, a total lifestyle commitment like this.”

“I know it's a lot to ask,” he agreed, “but I believe the salary I offered you is commensurate with the demands of the job. And you can always resign if you find it really doesn't suit you. This isn't a slave contract; these papers don't convey ownership. I don't want to own you. I just want your availability to be used when I need to use you. Do you understand the distinction?”

“Yes, Mr. Gray, I do.”

“Anyway,” he said, “I have every faith in you. If you're worried about being able to satisfy me, put your mind at rest. I assure you that I'll teach you everything you need to know, and I'll give you time to become acclimated to it all. Like any job, there will be a learning curve. The first few weeks will be the hardest, but you'll figure everything out. Just remember, it's a job. Do your best, and I'll be happy with you, just like any other boss.”

The applicant shall remember that this is a job, not a relationship, and shall maintain an appropriate mood and mental composure, and shall refrain, to the best of her ability, from becoming emotionally and romantically attached to Mr. Gray, concentrating instead on the duties of her position.

“Okay,” I finally said with more conviction than I felt. “If you'll make the change about caning we talked about, then I agree. I'll take the job.”

Jeremy smiled broadly and leaned over to shake my hand, and then pulled me close and kissed me hard on the cheek. Strangely, it seemed both too soon and too late for him to kiss me. His face was rough with stubble, and I could feel his hard jawbone pressed against my soft skin. He was so solid, so male all over, that I felt suddenly hyperfemale, and yes, hypersubmissive to him. I wanted him to take me in some primal celebration, right there, roughly, on the floor. But as I finished signing and dating the last page of the document, I learned he had other ideas.

“So now you're officially my employee. Perhaps it's time to sample the goods.” He smiled over at Martin and rubbed his hands together.

“Sounds wonderful to me.”

“Take it all off, Nell. Everything.”

I put down my wineglass in surprise.
Now? Already? Really?
“I'm not really dressed for playing. I dressed this morning to go to work.”

“We're not
playing
. You're
working
as of right now, and what you're dressed for doesn't matter, because as I just said, I want you to take it all off. And,” he added, “I'm not a big fan of repeating myself.” He waited a moment. “The correct response is 'yes, Jeremy.'”

“Yes, Jeremy,” I parroted unenthusiastically, standing up and starting to disrobe. I knew I probably looked sullen, not great for a submissive, but I'd only accepted the job thirty seconds ago. I guess I'd expected to be allowed to unpack, eat dinner, perhaps have a little more instruction in his needs and desires before I had to strip and perform in front of his friends.

“I think our little submissive may be slightly out of practice,” Jeremy commented drily. “She hasn't worked in a while. Perhaps you might help me get her back into her submissive headspace.”

“I might know a way,” said Martin, crossing to a footstool in the corner of the room. He lifted the cover and drew out a whippy-looking pink and black riding crop. “This seems to fit her. Pretty but edgy.”

“I don't know.” Jeremy considered and shook his head. “Perhaps a little harsh for the first time. A paddle, maybe.”

“Okay.” Martin dived back into the Footstool of Disaster. I was fully undressed now, my clothes folded neatly and placed on the corner of the sofa, where Kyle sat watching with a smirk on his face.

“Shall I stand or kneel, Master?” I asked when no direction was forthcoming.

“'Shall I stand or kneel,
Jeremy
,'” he corrected with mild irritation. “If you can't learn to drop the 'Master' on your own, I'll happily train it out of you. You're not my slave.”

I almost replied “yes, Sir,” out of long-ingrained habit, but thankfully caught myself in time.

“To answer your question, Nell, when I snap my fingers and point to the floor, you kneel. If I snap again, you lower your forehead to the floor and stay that way. If I don't snap, you don't do anything but stand in front of me and look like the pretty and available submissive you are. Do you understand those directions?”
Oh God.

“Yes, Jeremy.”

“Good girl.”

He walked over to me then and circled me. He just looked. He didn't touch, which was almost harder to bear. He was all dominant now, and I wanted him. I craved what he represented, and I creamed for the way he stood and surveyed me. The friendly, considerate Jeremy fell away, replaced by this curt man and his exacting demands. I sucked in air, and every nerve in my body suddenly seemed to end at my clit. I stood still and let him look at me, trying not to tremble. I was terrified that he didn't like what he saw. But a moment later he whistled low and dispelled my fears with a sexy sound in his throat.

“Look at her ass, Martin.”

“I've been looking at it.”

“She's worth her weight in gold just for that ass. It's bordering on obscene.” He reached out and cupped one of my ass cheeks, then squeezed it. His hands were warm, firm. Large and rough. He was slow to let me go.

“You going to paddle her, Martin?”

“You should have the first go at her,” he said.

“No, go ahead. I insist. I'll have my fill of her in the next weeks and months. In thanks for your services, you go first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Anyway, Kyle had her first,” he reminded Martin. “Which he also deserved for finding this outstanding submissive for me.”

Kyle smiled from the sofa. I had a feeling he didn't really care whether he'd beaten my ass first. He seemed more preoccupied with watching Jeremy than looking at me, perhaps waiting for his cue to run and fetch his boss a condom. I tried not to dwell on what type of duties playing PA to Jeremy Gray might entail.

And me, I just stood and listened as they discussed what to do to me. I had no choice or say in the matter. Well, I had a choice. My choice was to stay in my role and submit to them, or to stop playing along and walk out the door. And I couldn't imagine doing the latter, even though I was jittery to be playing with Jeremy for the first time. All these emotions—fear, lust, vulnerability—they all converged into one warm hum. Subspace. I would already be there, if this situation weren't so completely new.