On His Terms (13 page)

He waited in silence, holding the collar in one large hand.

“As if I meant nothing to you,” she whispered. She glanced down and found a knot in the hardwood to focus on.

His touch gentle, he took her chin and tilted her head back. “Let me make this clear,” he said. “I’m your trainer.”

She nodded, feeling miserable.

“But I do not train subs unless I first like and respect them. If you sense distance from me, it is intentional. Doms are humans too, even male ones.”

He cocked his head to one side in an apparent attempt at humour. She didn’t smile. There was too much tension coiled in her for that.

Then he continued in the same serious vein. “We have failings. You may struggle with your feelings, and it’s my job to help you manage your emotional state, as well as my own. For your sake
and
mine, I always compartmentalise punishment. It is serious business and needs to be honoured as such. I do not strike a sub with anger, but rather with deliberate intention. I want you to feel my punishment to reinforce your lessons. But I am always seeing to your safety first and foremost. Make no mistake, Chelsea. There is nothing,
nothing,
impersonal about this to me.”

Hearing those words released some of the angst she’d been holding on to. She wanted this to mean as much to him as it did to her.

“Any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

“Please, Chelsea, use your safe word or ask me to go slow if you need to. We can talk about anything at any time.”

“Thank you, Sir. I think I am better now.” And she wished she’d been able to discuss it with him earlier. Then again, she hadn’t quite understood it herself. Submission was unchartered territory. Playing at parties was nothing like being with Master Alexander.

“When you’re ready, stand and turn your back to me.”

Conscious of the way he watched her so intently, she stood. Since he hadn’t given instructions on what to do with her hands, she clenched them by her sides.

“Constricting any of your muscles will increase your mental discomfort. Uncurl your hands, Chelsea.”

Did the man miss nothing?

“I’m going to tighten the collar more than last time, to keep your chin a bit more rigid.”

Part of her wished he wouldn’t tell her his intentions. She drew deep breaths as he fastened it, and she heard the sounds of his breathing, too.

When he was finished, he said, “Face me.”

“Good.” He took a step back to look at her. He adjusted her collar slightly and moved hair back from her forehead. “Come with me,” he said.

He picked up the ever-present cane.

Curious, she followed him up the stairs and gripped the banister lightly to retain her equilibrium. She was more aware of her body than she’d ever been. With every step the plug jostled inside her. And the collar prevented her from looking around. The fact that she was nude made her feel overwhelmed. She moved slowly, and for some reason she’d never felt more feminine.

He led the way into the master bedroom. “Over there,” he said, pointing and stepping aside.

A cheval mirror was angled in the corner. “Sir?”

“I want you to see what I do,” he said.

Feeling somewhere between awkward and ridiculous, she moved towards the mirror. The room was reflected behind her, and she saw him drop the cane on the darkly masculine bedspread. “I don’t get it, Sir.”

He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

Instead of looking at herself, she stared at his reflection. For the first time, she noticed a slight jagged scar above his right eyebrow.

“Look at how symmetrical your body appears with your head so straight and your shoulders back. See how open you appear. It’s that juxtaposition. You appear more confident, which also makes you more appealing as a submissive.”

She looked at her reflection and scowled. She noticed the flaws, the extra weight around her hips and the swell of her belly. “The mirror and I are not best friends, Sir,” she said. She shook her head at her reflection. Generally she hurried through styling her hair, which consisted of scrunching the short, wet strands with a dollop of mousse. Then she slathered foundation on her face, applied a coat of mascara and walked away.

“Don’t be critical,” he said. “Be proud. Arch your back slightly so your chest sticks out further.”

She did.

“Do you notice the difference?”

“That helps some,” she said.

In the mirror, she saw him frown.

“Don’t move,” he said. He removed the collar. “Stand the way you usually do.”

She shook out her arms, drew her feet closer together, and allowed her shoulders to roll forward. Her chin lowered a bit, too.

“Now look again.”

“I get it.” The difference shocked her. Standing up straight did add a confident air. Without being instructed, she moved around, lifting her head, drawing her shoulder blades together, spreading her legs for balance. The plug continued to remind her of its presence, but she no longer found it as annoying. In fact, on some level, it appealed to her. Wearing it pleased him.

“You’re beautiful in your submission, Chelsea.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“And arguing, even silently, doesn’t become you.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“I’m going to put the collar back on you, and you can watch the changes in the mirror.”

Part of her felt as if it were punishment to have to look at herself the whole time. After seeing the set of his jaw, she remained silent.

“Smart girl,” he said.

She was forced to lift her chin as he secured the collar and checked the fit. She had to admit that it made a difference in the way she stood.

“Now because of your aversion to looking at yourself, I will put you through your paces in front of the mirror. I want you to watch yourself and correct any flaws.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Kneel up.”

He stood to the side of her, cane held loosely in his right hand. She concentrated on each movement. The mirror made a huge difference, and she noticed that she was listing slightly to the left. She brought herself back to centre.

“Perfect,” he said.

She met his gaze in the glass. He was impossibly handsome, but so different from men she had ever been attracted to before. She preferred men who were a bit smaller than he was. He must be six-foot-two, and it made her feel petite. She liked longer hair. And blond hair. She went for men with green or blue eyes, not the drownable brown like he had. Master Evan C was far more her type. So why did her heart quicken when she looked at Master Alexander?

“Inspect.”

Since he didn’t touch her, she knew he was just checking her positioning.

“Legs farther apart.” With the cane, he tapped the inside of her right ankle. “Much better. Kneel up.”

He made her go through every move no less than a dozen times. Through it all, she was aware of the dreaded plug’s presence.

“Now stand with your hands folded loosely at your back.” When she did, he asked, “Do you recall how you insisted you didn’t want the cane to be used on your pussy?”

She shuddered. “You’re not…” She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. “You mean that night, at the Den?” She had hoped, prayed that he had forgotten that. “You said you might punish my pussy with it.”

“Tonight I’m going to show you it can be pleasurable.”

When she looked in the mirror, the sight of him holding the cane filled her vision.

“I’m going to have you move through the positions again, but this time your wrists will be attached to the collar.”

Did he say and do things in order to keep her guessing? She was expecting him to use the rattan on her, but instead he decided to cuff her.

He waited, obviously giving her time to protest or sort through things mentally. She bit the tip of her tongue. Arguing would be futile, she knew. When he was determined, he won. Because of her previous reaction to being restrained, she knew she had to repeat the lesson. That was certainly incentive to master something without complaint. “Anything you say, Sir.” She wasn’t quite sure how she kept the sarcasm out of her voice, but somehow she managed.

He placed the cane against the mirror where she couldn’t help but see it. Clearly he had a sadistic streak. He walked into his closet and returned with cuffs. Within seconds, he had her wrists attached to the D-rings on her collar.

“Now, watch your reflection as you kneel back.”

She was concentrating on him, and on what she was doing, so intently that the bondage didn’t upset her this time.

“Well done,” he said, when he’d had her stop in the inspect pose. “You were wobbly a couple of times, but since you couldn’t use your hands for balance, you did better than I expected.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Do you have a full-length mirror at home?”

“I do.”

“Good. From here on, do your exercises in front of it.”

Which meant making friends with the mirror, or at least not seeing it as an enemy. He didn’t ask for much. “Of course, Sir.”

He moved around her to pick up the cane. He stood next to the mirror, and she had to force herself not to take a step away or use her safe word.

“There’s not as much room in here as I’d like. Please follow me to the guest room.”

Walking behind him, she was very much aware of her submission. She tried to drop her head, but the collar prevented it.

The guest room was brightly lit. Other than a chair, there were no furnishings. A mirror adorned one wall, and there was a St Andrew’s cross off to one side.

“Stand in the middle of the room, face me, and spread your feet as far as you can.”

All of a sudden, her legs felt leaden. When she did as he said, he continued, “This may hurt a little,” he told her. “If you fight it, it will hurt a lot.”

She swallowed deep.

“But if you have the right attitude, you may enjoy it. Do you need to discuss anything?”

“Do I have to be wearing the collar?”

“I prefer it, yes. I want to keep your hands out of the way.”

“So I can’t protect my pussy?”

“You won’t need to. Any further questions?”

“No. No, Sir,” she amended.

He flicked his wrist a few times, and she heard a whistle as the rattan cut through the air. She flinched. “Sir, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life.”

“You will never feel the full force of my cane against anything other than your legs or buttocks.”

She wondered if those words were meant to reassure her. They didn’t.

“Just as I require you to practise, I also take a few swings before hitting a sub.”

“Uh. Thank you, Sir?”

“I use a different wrist motion when I use a cane or crop than I do when I swing a tawse or paddle. I never want to make a mistake and hit you somewhere I’m not intending.”

“Thank God for that,” she said.

“This particular cane is very whippy. I exercise all caution with it.”

Part of her wished she’d played with one before. The fear of the unknown terrified her more than anything.

“Would you like an orgasm?”

“From that thing?” She scowled at the rattan.

“Ye of little faith,” he mocked.

“I would like an orgasm, Sir. But I am sceptical.”

“Moisten my fingers,” he said.

She frowned.

“Stick out your tongue.”

She complied without argument.

“Suck them,” he said, voice sandpaper rough, when he put his fingers on her tongue.

He pulled away then moved his hand to her pussy. He slid his slickened fingers across her pussy until she helplessly jerked against his hand, then he entered her.

“Oh, Sir.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hump him until she came.

“Not so quick.”

All of the orgasm denial collided inside her, and tension built. Her legs trembled as she wordlessly sought more. He continued to play with her until she was within moments of coming. Then he stopped.

“Sir is an absolute beast,” she said. She’d risen on her toes, and she slammed her heels to the ground.

“You’ll earn it.”

“I thought I already had, Sir.”

“I’ll decide that, sub.”

He stepped back. “Let’s see what a little slut you are, shall we?” He picked up the cane.

She was no longer feeling so aroused.

He brought the rattan between her legs. He tapped her clit.

“How’s that?”

“Not as bad as I feared,” she admitted.

“A little harder?”

“I’m not sure about that, Sir.”

“We’ll try it, shall we, hmm?”

He might have phrased it as a question, but she knew it was anything but. He stepped back a couple of inches and increased the pressure of the strokes. She cried out. Not from pain, but because she liked it. The fact she was restrained and helpless added to the delirium. “Sir, I’m really turned on,” she admitted. “I need to come. Please? Please, may I?”

He didn’t answer, and she jerked from the relentless hits.

“Sir? Master Alexander? I can’t take any more. I swear. Please!”

Instead of allowing her to get off, frustratingly he moved the cane away, leaving her heaving, nerve endings singed.

She drank in several deep breaths.

“Do you have yourself under control?” he asked softly, about fifteen seconds later.

She met his gaze. She wished she could look down. Until he had introduced her to the posture collar, she’d had no idea how often she would glance at the floor to hide her emotions. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. You’re doing very well. I’m proud of you. But there’s more.” He placed the length against her cunt. “Slide your pussy against the wood,” he told her.

She had to bend her knees a bit to get enough pressure against the rattan. He wrapped one arm around her for support since her wrists were still attached to the collar. “This sounded easier in theory,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“I never said it was easy.” He sounded surprisingly patient. “I just told you to do it. Hump the wood like the naughty slut you are. The way you did my hand. Now, get on with it.”

It surprised her that she didn’t feel mortified by his words. Instead, they liberated her. She was free to embrace her sexuality. In fact, he demanded it of her.