Don't... (30 page)

“Why?” Jan said flatly.

“Why
what
, Mr. Richards?”

“Why now?” He said flatly. “Do you—do you expect me to hit him?”

“I
expect
you to act as a trainee Dom correcting a Master’s sub for a serious protocol violation,
Mr
. Richards.” Some noise was made; shuffling of feet, maybe handing something over, I wasn’t sure. “Or does a Master correct a trainee Dom for
failing
to correct his sub?” added Gray.

Jesus. I wouldn’t see him under Gray’s whip. “’S okay, Jan—”

“
Silence
,” shouted Gray, and he might as well have whipped me for the reaction he won. Gray never shouted. Period. He’d never needed to. “
Master’s
training session, not yours; you do not and will not
ever
have any voice here. I suggest you re-learn the fine art of submission, Mr. Harrison. Show at least one Master here that you respect those who make your safety a daily priority.”

Coming off anyone else, given the same suggestion to submit fully, I’d have told that person to go take a running jump into a spike-filled canyon and make sure their ass was fucked by each spike on landing, but Gray wasn’t anyone else. He was Gray, and I’d fucked him off enough. Inching my knees wide apart, hands now linked behind my back, I leaned forward and rested my forehead to the floor. The position was awkward, but purely a full submission stance for Gray as a Master, as mine.

“Right, Mr, Richards,” Gray again. “If you please.”

“Gray, please. I’m not going to hurt him.”

“Sixty seconds with you, Mr. Richards, or he has sixty minutes with Master Brennan, while you have sixty minutes with me. Especially if you fail to address me again by my title.”

“I—” said Jan, “my apologies... Master, hmm, Raoul.” Another thud hit the post. “There.” Jan sounded flat. “Practice done, finished.”

“Doms spend many years learning to master the whip, Mr. Richards. Need I remind you that the apathy you have just shown insults every Dom that has already succeeded in earning a title you came to me to claim.”

Jan mumbled another apology. “I don’t know how to use this,” he said quietly.

More footsteps were heard. “Let me show you again. Look at the target; you are aiming to strike here.” The flat of Gray’s hand hit the cross. “Stand at an angle, feet slightly apart like this. That’s it. Good. This just allows for better upper-body control. Now, extend your arm horizontally and strike like this.”

Another thud of the whip hit the cross.

“Now you try it.”

There was quiet for a moment, then a thud hit, followed by three more, then a fifth just for good measure, not as light as Jan’s first, but still enough to only earn contemptuous snickers from other trainee Doms if they were allowed to stand in huddled groups watching. “Excellent. You have the technique, Mr. Richards,” said Gray, sounding so fucking patient. “Where I take your lack of effort to suggest you rightly fear damaging my whip if you strike the wood too hard, be aware, with your next effort, I expect full exertion when it comes to my Master’s sub.”

Footsteps approached me from behind. “Up,” said Gray.

Easing my hands from behind my back, I pushed on the floor and got to my feet, not quite ready to meet Gray’s eyes yet.

“Mr. Simons.”

“Master Raoul?”

“Mr. Harrison is corporal focus. Prepare him, please.”

The small man came over, and after glancing at the bondage cross, I felt a tug at my jacket.

“If you please,” said Simons, holding out a hand toward the bondage post. Avoiding Jan’s gaze, not wanting to make this any harder on him, I went over to the cross. Head down, I removed my jacket and folded it neatly on the floor. My tie went next to it; then as I took off my shirt and started to fold it, Gray stopped me.

“Fasten the shirt around your waist, Mr. Harrison. You are with a trainee who has never used a whip on skin before.”

This brought up a whole host of damaging possibilities, my kidneys being the main concern here. The material would offer some damage limitation, a comfort, a small fucking comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

I swung the bulk of my shirt around my back, and tied the sleeves together, feeling it pinch into my abs. I frowned down at the jacket and tie on the floor, though, and I think I mumbled something.

“You spoke, Mr. Harrison,” said Gray.

“Yes, sir,” I buried the need to rush the jacket and tie over to the table. “May I—I take my clothing over to my shoes?” The floor was polished to perfection, but shoes. Shoes had been walked on here, the amount of—

“Mr Simons,” said Gray.

Simons picked up my clothes and took them over by my shoes. Leaving them in a neat pile, he came back over to me.

“If you please, Mr. Harrison.” Simons indicated for me to take up face-first position against the cross, leaving my back open to the elements. He crouched behind me, and I felt a tap at my ankles requesting that I spread my legs. I did, and leather shackles were fastened around my left, then right ankle.

“Arms, please,” came the next request, and I lifted them to finish the standard X position. Shackles fastened into place around my wrists, the clasp tightened enough to ensure I couldn’t pull free, Simons then disappeared around the back of the cross. One tug that made it perfectly fucking clear the old man was far from frail and ready to break, I sucked in a breath as my body was stretched, back made as taut as possible and forcing me onto the front pads of my feet.

The cross was designed to allow the head to rest on a beam of smooth mahogany wood that ran about elbow level from armrest to armrest, and I let my forehead find it.

A hand drifted down my back and I heard an artist’s appreciative snort of satisfaction with his handiwork. “He’s ready, my lord,” said Simons; then he was gone.

“Mr. Richards.” Gray came and stood to my right. “As practiced; horizontal strikes, upper-half of the back, please.” Gray slapped between my shoulder blades, the force enough to leave a target mark for Jan and me wincing. “Here. And more effort this time.” Any other time, being under Gray’s touch would have me forcing my hips into the cross, wood on wood, now it just had me worried, real fucking worried.

“Mr. Harrison, now is not a good time to show Mr. Richards how tensing can increase pain levels,” said Gray. “Do I take your actions to suggest you have even forgotten the basics of relaxation techniques now too?”

Jan groaned, and I instantly drew a quiet and deep in-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth breath, then repeated. “No, sir,” I said quietly, then let my hands find the chains and grip them to focus on something other than being flogged by a man who didn’t want (or know how) to handle a whip.

“How many altogether?” said Jan, sounding scared.

“That’s at my discretion,” said Gray flatly, and I put my mind about two continents away from my body. It was the only way to deal with Gray when he was like this.

The first one came flat against my back, hurried, yet very half-hearted. He’d done it thinking he’d make it easier hitting me light, but Gray had already anticipated Jan’s lack of will to hit me too hard. He held a Master’s title for a reason and had simply opted for a hard leather whip, its nine tails individually plaited, all to cause optimum sting with minimal effort. And sting it fucking did, even with Jan’s piss-poor but well-meant strokes.

“Harder, Mr. Richards,” said Gray, not impressed. “And this time keep those eyes open when you mean for the cat to find its target.”

He’d closed his eyes? I tensed, then quickly forced myself to relax. Not good, not at fucking all. The next one came a little harder, but it was Jan’s hiss that called its sting as I gripped the chains tighter. “For God’s sake,” he snarled. “I’m hurtin—”

“Good,” said Gray, through Jan’s anger, “much better. And again please—”

The third hit, and I flinched away as the tails just caught my side. Jan had missed by a mile, and Gray came over.

“Eyes open, Mr. Richards. You do my sub more damage by not focusing fully.” Gray took a step back. “Horizontal strikes; arm here, whip here, eyes—” A fine finger trail was drawn between my shoulder blades. “—here. Now, that last one again, please.”

The last strike was well-placed, quick, efficient, with an added sting of
let me the fuck out of here now
. I thanked him for that.

“Thank you, Mr. Richards,” said Gray. “Step back now, please.”

As Gray also moved away, hands came around my waist, and I felt Simons’ scrawny body buffet mine slightly as he removed my shirt. I ignored the man’s hard-on. Gray knew what he was doing, hence the removal of the shirt.

Just fucking peachy. But at least it was only the cat. It would sting like hell in his hands, but—

The single-tail whip caught me by surprise and my body jerked violently into the cross from the ferocity of the assault. You could tell the difference,
the fuck
you could tell the difference between a cat and the single-tail, between Jan and Gray—Gray coming with a whole load of bastard and a side order of
don’t ever fuck another Master off again, Jack
.

Two more hit, and I refused to cry out, then with the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, I was reduced to bleeding my bottom lip and forcing my forehead hard into the beam to stop me crying out.

Hardly even seeming to breathe heavy, Gray stopped, and I wearily melted into the silence, resting completely into the cross.

And it was the total relaxation that Gray had waited for otherwise what he did next would have hurt so much more. Pain blinded my mind, blurring my vision, igniting a fire over my body that seemed to rape through my torso and into the tiny nerve endings found in my fingertips and toes. I cried out, Christ did I cry out with that last lash. It came as Gray’s personal reminder, his
don’t fuck about with me, Jack, because I can and
will
hurt you
. And it was the first time Gray had ever whipped me to bleed.

“We’re done here,” said Gray. “Mr Simons.”

I couldn’t really say how Simons got there, but the chains were suddenly a little looser, my body not pulled so taut anymore. Then my ankles were free, and I tried to bury my inability to think as the shackles to my wrists were unfastened.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, turning and paying my respects to Gray, the action sending more fire over my back and my head spinning. “S-sincerest apologies.” I meant that. With everything that I was, I meant that. “It won’t happen again.”

Gray never changed his voice. “You’re in the black, Mr. Harrison,” he said before I could offer anything else up. That stung more than the whip, and for all of the floggings it could have earned me, I looked at him. It was one thing feeling his anger, it was another being denied contact of any form from him until further notice. But Gray was already away from me, rolling up his whip.

“You have a cut that will need aftercare, Mr Harrison,” said Master Brennan. “Mr. Simons will take you to the infirmary. You may then leave.”

I gave my thanks, a personal apology to Master Brennan for displaying disrespect, and left with my clothes and shoes, leaving Jan with Gray. It wasn’t my place to be there. I’d had enough of being in there anyway, and I followed Simons back through the main doors. The infirmary was two floors down, and like everything, it had what you’d expect to find in a private clinic. Luckily I was the only patient, and I was led to a private room by Simons, where he told me to wait while he booked me in.

I sat on the bed and rubbed at my eyes. Gray could turn me on like fuck and make every taste of pain so intense and ball busting he’d have me shouting
hit fucking harder, sir, please
, but when he turned all of that off with the pure intent of discipline, he was one hard bastard. He knew I’d lied, was probably one of the few people that actually knew when I was lying through gritted teeth. Sad thing being, I hadn’t even tried to disguise it back there. It left me pretty gutted knowing I’d brought one of his decisions over a contract into disrepute, that I’d lied, especially to someone who had pulled my ass out of the fire so many times I’d almost gotten used to the smell of roast ass.

Someone came in, and I looked up expecting to see a nurse, maybe needing a nurse because my back stung like fuck. Instead I saw Jan leaning against the frame. Seeing me, he made a move to come in, then stopped, only to stand back there in the door with his hands in his pockets.

“Jack, I.” His face screwed up; then the nurse brushed past holding some antiseptic wipes and cream.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, although you could tell she didn’t really see him as anything other than an annoyance. “Mr. Harrison?”

I nodded, then glanced at Jan as she busied herself behind me.

“I,” said Jan, and I hated seeing this awkwardness in him. But I couldn’t talk, not yet, mainly because I was in the black and had lost Gray. I didn’t want to say something that would push him away too. Nodding, Jan seemed to pull himself together as he took his hands from his pockets. “I came to tell you I won’t be back tonight. I’ll also be gone for most of the day tomorrow. I’ll give you a text when I’ll be back.”

And that was it; he’d gone, as simple as that. No other explanation, just he wouldn’t be back.

But then why the fuck should he explain anything to me? I was just his fucking twisted sub.

I made it back to work around three, and as promised, Steve had gone and bought three decent bottles of champagne to celebrate. I watched him break the news to the guys, and we spent half an hour toasting the venture and avoiding any conversation on which mechs would be transferred to the new garage. Steve hadn’t discussed his ideas with me yet, so the rest of the staff had no chance. It had helped that Steve hadn’t booked me in for any jobs today, not without knowing how long the presentation would go on for, without knowing my back was bloody split and bleeding, so I cried off up into the office for the rest of the afternoon and licked my wounds in private.

Steve came up around five carrying a huge basket of goodies and more champagne, and I smiled seeing my old man’s name attached to the card. His message earned a blush.