Comfort Object (13 page)

I leaned forward across the table then and looked right at her. “Tell me about your thing with canes.”

“What about them? I already told you how I felt.”

“When did you decide it, though? You know. 'No more canes.'”

I already noticed the way her lips tightened when she was annoyed and trying to hide it, the way her gaze moved around the room when she was upset. I was an actor. I was a master of reading expressions.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened. I got caned. I didn't like it. It fucking hurt. Have you ever been caned?”

There she was, the sassy girl lurking beneath the surface.

“No, I can't say I have, and I hope never to be.” I took another leisurely sip of wine. “I guess you've had just about everything happen to you in your line of work. Was that the worst, the experience with the cane?”

“I suppose. Yes. It was one of the worst experiences, but it didn't happen to me at work.”

“Your first experience?”

“No.”

I looked at her. That annoyed purse of the lips again. “We're going to be spending a lot of time together, Nell. You might tell me a little something candid about yourself. Was it one of your first experiences?”

“Yes.”

I leaned my head on my hand, watching her avoid my gaze.

“You don't even have that much experience, do you? Aside from the sanitized play at the club. How many serious Dom/sub relationships have you had?”

She sighed and looked up at me. “Not very many. You got me, okay. I'm far from experienced at all this. I've had a few short relationships with dominant partners, but they never lasted long.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know,” she said to her hands in her lap.

“Listen to me, Nell. Look at me, right in my eyes.”

She did, and I put on my best reassuring-dominant voice.

“You're exactly what I want, and you're going to please me. I want you to stop worrying about everything, right now. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but her eyes were still clouded by doubt.

“Are you ready to go home?” I sat back and signaled for the check. “I think it's best if we got our first real scene out of the way, don't you?”

I could barely hear her whispered “yes.”

* * *

By the time we left the restaurant, the paparazzi had grown to swarmlike proportions. She drew back as the doorman opened the door and the mob started to shout and jockey for shots.

“Just smile like you've never been happier,” I whispered as I took her by the elbow and led her through the crush of bodies and blinding flashes to the waiting car.

Inside, as the door shut on the noisy melee, she hugged herself in the sudden silence.

“They're crazy,” she said.

“They're thieves.”

“Thieves? What do they steal?”

“Privacy. I'm sorry you have to deal with it, but it will get easier. I'll protect you from them as much as I can.”

I looked over at her, guarded and freaked-out and forlorn, hunched against the door.

“Give me your hand.”

I took her hand and drew it to my mouth, and brushed my lips across the soft skin there. We drove home in silence, and I noticed more than once that she stifled yawns.

You shouldn't use her tonight, my conscience chided.

But I would.

I couldn't wait. I absolutely couldn't wait to touch her, to possess her, to make her my own. At the house, I guided her through the foyer and stopped with her at the foot of the stairs. The house was dark and quiet.

“Do you have anything sexy to wear in off-white, ivory, beige, something like that?” I asked. “Not pure white. I hate pure white. It looks cheap.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, then quickly amended her response at the look on my face. “Yes, Jeremy.”

I told her I would beat it out of her, and she remembered, because her face went pale.

“I believe this is the second time I'm having to remind you not to call me that. As stated in the contract, you're not to use that form of address. It will only take one slip in public at the wrong time and place.”

“I'm sorry, Jeremy,” she said.

“Furthermore, 'Please, Master' and 'Please, Sir' are our agreed-upon safe words, which makes your constant use of 'Sir' even more annoying.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I'm so sorry,
Jeremy
.”

She only stared back, wide-eyed, too afraid now to say anything for fear of saying it wrong.

“I'll ask once again and hope for the correct reply this time. Do you have anything sexy to wear in off-white or ivory?”

“Yes, Jeremy,” she said.

“Go put it on now, and have Bonita show you to my room when you're finished. If you take more than five minutes, I'll double the number of strokes you've earned for addressing me incorrectly.”

“Yes, Jeremy.”

I went into the kitchen for a quick drink, pretending not to notice the way she took off running up the stairs. Not precisely good form, but it was her first day and it had been a long one, so I let it go. I poured myself a shot of vodka and downed it. I wasn't much of a drinker, but some situations called for a drink, like being alone with a submissive for the first time when you thought you might kill her from the force and intensity of your lust.

I looked at my watch. What time had I sent her upstairs to dress? Ah well, she would be there within five minutes no matter what. A sub as pain-reluctant as Nell wouldn't double her punishment if there was any possible way to avoid it. And Bonita would help her, conspiratorial, softhearted woman that she was. I started up the stairs to my bedroom, to gather the things I would need for the introductory scene I had in mind.

I wanted to discipline her again, had thought about it all through dinner, but then convinced myself it was too much too soon. But her lapse of address had allowed the weaker, selfish side of me to change my mind. I pulled a crop out of the closet, not unlike the one I'd cautioned Martin against using earlier in the day. Some nipple clamps, rather strict ones, and a length of thin black leather. A condom. I placed them all in a line on the table at the foot of the bed and started to undress. I loosened my tie and took it off, unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt, kicked off my shoes and socks, undid my belt, and hung it in the closet next to the others. When I returned to the bedroom, she was at the door.

“Come in, Nell. Come stand here.” I pointed to a spot on the floor purposely near the end table where the implements lay. I looked her up and down as I turned up my sleeves. It was impossible to keep the approval from my expression. I didn't try. As I'd suspected, the ivory corset and stockings she wore set off her bright auburn curls and pale skin perfectly, and she had beautiful, understated matching satin ivory stilettos on her feet. The corset was pretty and old-fashioned and expensive-looking, with some satiny ties and muted soft lace. Exactly the classy sort of slutwear I liked best.

I was going to buy her a hundred negligee sets in ivory. Later. First things first. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to put my hands on her. I took her in my arms and gathered her close. I cupped her ass lightly, then squeezed it hard. She tensed a little, and she was deliciously shivery. I put one hand on the back of her neck to gentle her, to guide her lips to mine. I kissed her hard and thoroughly, testing her reactions. I was thrilled to feel her responsiveness and hear her soft sighs. I loved the way submissives kissed, so restrained on the surface, and yet so passionate underneath. By the end I had her hands pinned firmly behind her back in lovely little fists.

“Turn around,” I said quietly. She turned and waited, her lovely ass outlined by the corset and garter laces; at the sight of it, the burgeoning erection in my pants achieved full mast.
Jesus
. I picked up the black leather string and wound it around her wrists carefully. Not too tight, but tightly enough for her to feel it, securely enough for her to feel restrained. I kissed her nape, then licked her upper back and that lovely curve where her neck met her shoulders. I fed on her, and in truth I wanted to eat her alive.

“You're mine,” I whispered next to her pale, perfect earlobe.

“Yes, Jeremy,” she responded, almost too softly to hear.

I snapped my fingers once, and she dropped to her knees; then I snapped again, and she lowered her whole body gracefully forward on the floor. A light nudge on the inside of one ankle and she spread her legs wider, balancing carefully with her hands still bound behind her back.

“Arch just a little more,” I said. “There, just like that. You will hold this pose for ten strokes of the crop. If you remain silent and still, you'll only receive five beyond that. If you fidget and scream, you'll receive another ten.”

“Yes, Jeremy,” she said, bracing herself.

I gave her ten then, not awful strokes but hard enough. She made some soft, frantic sounds that she tried to muffle in the carpet, doing an acceptable job. Quietness was one of the things I tried to train into my submissives right away. Hotel walls were thin, and it was always embarrassing when security showed up. She was impressively still too, the only movement the fitful squeezing of her bound fists.

“Good girl,” I said. “These next ones will be harder, but you will receive only five more. Try to be quiet, as quiet as you can manage.”

For the last five, I really laid into her. She continued to be still, even though her urgent mewling grew louder. I drew actual tears, which I'd wanted to do. She was a beautiful crier, her eyes wide and wet when I pulled her to her feet.

“Okay.” I placed the crop back on the table. “I hope now the 'Sirs' and 'Masters' are all gone.”

“Yes, Jeremy,” she whispered.

My gaze was drawn to the lovely expanse of her décolletage, which rose and fell deeply with each sniffling breath. Her beautiful tits were thrust forward from her hands being pinned behind her. Wordlessly I folded over the cups of her corset to expose her breasts, and not surprisingly, I found her nipples rock hard. I reached for the clamps on the side table. She stared as I lifted the small silver devices and held them in my hand.