Sexy as Hell Box Set (51 page)

“Have you had a good think?” I asked, going over and standing to his left, jamming my hands on my black PVC-corset-covered hips.

He widened his eyes at my ensemble. Probably at the swells of my breasts spilling out of the cups, my half-moon nipple tops screaming blunt titillation. He was so easy to get going. Too easy.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. And what have you learned during your time alone?” I tapped one thigh-high-booted foot, watching him flinch with each jarring snap sound.

“That I want to do whatever you ask of me, Mistress, even if it’s something I would never have done before and had sworn never to do. I need your instruction, need you to tell me what I need, because I thought I knew and I’ve realised I—”

“Realised what?” I stomped one foot on the word
what.

“That I don’t really know
what
I need, Mistress.”

“I see. But do you know what you
want?
”

“Yes.” He nodded, the cheek that was against the table bulging with his movement.

“And that is?” I folded my arms beneath my breasts, expecting a list of what he wanted to do to me or vice versa.

“You, Mistress.”

“Pardon?” I blinked.

He could have meant one of two things. That he wanted to fuck me, or me, as in… Oh, fuck no. No, no, no.

“You will have me, Oliver, I’ve already told you that. Did you not listen when I—”

“No, Mistress, I don’t mean in that way.”

I raised one arm then swung it down, cracking him a good one on his buttock with the flat of my hand. My palm stung, and I bit back the urge to swear or hit him again for causing me pain. “Do not ever,
ever
interrupt me again, do you hear me?”

He jerked, shouted a surprised
argh!
“I’m sorry, Mistress. I forgot, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” I said. “Men like you
never
mean anything. Men like you are
always
sorry afterwards. Well, you’ll be bloody sorrier by the time I’ve finished with you.” I paused for effect, then snapped, “A punishment is coming your way. Prepare yourself mentally for it.”

So I didn’t have to look at him with his eyes bunched closed, possibly imagining that he’d fucked up and I was on the verge of tossing him out—and I was, my God, I was—I walked away. Pulled the red curtain across with a jerk to reveal the toys. Selected a bullwhip. Thought of how spiteful that toy could be if I had a mind to make it so.

And I did have a mind.

I strode over to the door, thinking I’d give the whip a practice run
midair to see if the end of it would connect with his arse without me having to take more steps forward. I didn’t want to be near him, didn’t want any closeness at all. He didn’t deserve any, and the alarming thought went through my head that if I allowed Ollie to be my sub for a long period of time, I’d continually be punishing him for not being Victor, instead of not being able to do as he was damn well told.

He resembled him enough that if I half closed my eyes I could fool myself into thinking he was him, and perhaps that was the only way I was going to get through this. I didn’t know how long I could stand this man in my life, but if I coped with him until after we’d been to Tuscany, that was all that mattered. I simply had to help Victor find his ideal woman. Once that was done, I could go back to my regularly scheduled life.

I flicked the whip. Ollie grunted, even though the end of it only snaked through the air beside him. I was in the perfect position to remain where I was, except I shifted over to my right in order to be able to get him on one of his bum cheeks when I next struck.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Nervous, Mistress.”

“This will hurt, and I mean
hurt.
Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think you really do, but you will very shortly. Now, I need you to be aware that you must,
must
say your safe word the second the pain becomes too much. What word would you like to use?”

“I don’t know, Mistress.”

I sighed, loudly, to let him know he was testing my bloody patience. “Well
think
of one then!” I said, barely containing my growing anger and my need to crack him one with the whip. I took a second or two to calm down. I shouldn’t be administering a punishment while so annoyed, it was unprofessional. “I will leave the room to let you think about your word. It’s important that you select one that you’ll remember easily.”

I dropped the whip to the floor then got the hell out, pressing my back to the wall in the corridor. My chest rose and fell too quickly as I breathed, and I told myself that letting him rile me so wasn’t good for me—or him.

Pushing off the wall, I strutted back to my office, hands clenched into fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms. I should really send him home, get rid of the infuriating bastard, but to let him leave with no punishment for his insubordination would defeat the object. He needed to learn that his bad behaviour incited consequences. Besides, he enjoyed the pain, he’d just told me how much it was teaching him about himself.

I slid into my desk chair, bringing up the email window. Victor had written back, and thank God for that. Reading his note was just what I needed to take me down from the ledge I stood on, where one more push from Ollie would send me flying off and down into an abyss of fury—a fury I had to keep a lid on, forever.

Dear Mistress Z,

Christ, I did what you said. I bloody went and did what you said! Stuck that plug up my arse and
wanked. Thank you for the suggestion, because I’d been getting irrationally angry before we started speaking this evening. I must have needed the release, to be able to do something kinky, something I’ve been denied since we were last together. I should do this more often, learn to not feel guilty about it, or think that it’s wrong to self-pleasure in such a way.

I still have so much to learn, but yet again, even though you might not realise it, you’re still teaching me. Again, thank you, because I’m not officially your student anymore yet you’re still willing to help me out.

Well, I expect you’re busy with your new student now, so I’ll leave you be. Wouldn’t want to encroach on your private life any more than I have already.

That was a wicked Christmas present, by the way, so I should really give you one in return.

When you’re shoving that plug up his arse, think of me, of how I was tonight. I wanked and at the same time moved the plug in and out instead of just letting it sit there. I called out your name when I came—I wonder, will he do that? And when I called it, I imagined you coming with me, screaming from the force of it. Remember how it was? Remember that feeling?

I’ll never forget it.

I frowned. What was he playing at, sending mixed messages like that? Or was I only seeing what I thought he’d meant? Why the hell would he want to call my name when coming? Catherine’s should have been the first thing to have tripped off his lips. And him saying he’d never forget it…I wouldn’t either, but I’d never tell him so. It just stirred a pot that we’d successfully taken off the boil. Yet now it was boiling again as I imagined what he’d done. It was threatening to spill over the sides, frothing and searing hot.

I smiled, though. Smiled that he cared, that he still thought of me in that way. That at the height of his excitement I’d filled his head. Never would I tell him that the same happened for me, that when I got myself off I called out for him, wishing he was there to lick my cunt and suck my nipples.

I still had it bad.

I shook my head, denying it before the thought had had a chance to swim one lap around my mind.

Dear Mr Going-Down-Dangerous-Memory-Lane,

Yes, I remember, but that’s all in the past now. You have your new life and I have mine. Going over old ground isn’t going to help either of us.

Thank you for my present, but, like your “I Love Victor” sweater, it’s going to be consigned to the wardrobe, out of sight, out of mind.

Besides, I’ve changed my mind on the arse treatment for my student so your gift wouldn’t be used anyway. He was insolent and a punishment will now take the place of his pleasure. I’ve left him again to think about his safe word. He’s going to need it. I’m just about to go back and whip his arse to kingdom come. No flogger or paddle for him, Victor. I’ve gone for the bullwhip.

Yes, he was a very naughty boy.

Sleep tight!

I clicked SEND, closed my browser then left my office once more. Back in the showroom, I picked up the whip and stared at Ollie. His cheeks were red, and I wondered if that was from him imagining rude things or getting annoyed with my leaving him twice. I didn’t care what he felt—he’d agreed to be handcuffed to that table and to every decision I made after that. If he wanted to retract he was welcome to, but I’d bet a thousand pounds he wouldn’t.

“Have you thought of your word?” I asked.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“What is it?”

“Rome.”

“Okay. Now, take a few deep breaths, then I shall begin.” I flashed the whip through the air beside him again, watching the tail writhe and gyrate as though a live, ultra-thin snake. I could only wish that it was. That it would open its mouth and sink its teeth into him, injecting venom that would send him to sleep for a few weeks. Until it was time for Tuscany.

Like Victor had said, I was a bitch.

Ollie had breathed deeply a few times now, so, without warning, I flicked and lashed. The whip connected with one of his arse cheeks with such force it made a dip in the middle before springing back from his flesh. He yelled, one hell of a long, loud, pain-filled shout that echoed off the walls. Again I struck, noting how his skin pinked immediately, two angry-looking welts like an X. His new shout tagged onto the end of the previous, and while he was dry humping the table in agony, I wielded the whip twice more to make his other bum cheek have a matching X.

That would be enough for his first time with the bullwhip. It wasn’t a punishment that a beginner could take too many hits from. Plus, this had been just a lesson—a hard one for him but necessary in showing him that if he didn’t behave, he wouldn’t get his pleasure.

“Mistress,” he gasped out. “Please may I have my present now?”

“Present?” I said, drawing the long whip tail towards me, coiling it around and around my hand then hanging it back where it belonged. “
Present?
” I gaped at him, drawing the curtains across to hide the toys.

“Yes, Mistress. It’s Christmas, and you said—”

“I know what I
said
, but you don’t
deserve
your present. You interrupted me, so therefore you were punished. As I wasn’t able to lash you for more than four strikes—because you’re such a
novice
—the remainder of your punishment is the denial of me pleasuring your hole with a plug. You would have enjoyed that, I’m sure of it, but we’ll have to do that another time.” I waltzed over and released his wrists and ankles, careful not to touch him. “For now, you need to tootle off home. I’ll give you some salve to put on before you get dressed—take the pot with you. You’ll need it.”

“But—”

“Were you about to question me?” I glared at him.

He remained where he was, arms dangling off the sides of the bed. “No, Mistress.”

“Hmmm. Somehow I don’t believe you. Here.” I took a pot of salve from a drawer then handed it to him. “Get yourself sorted. Get dressed. Leave via the back door. I have a message I must attend to. I’ll let you know when you can see me next. I’m busy for the next few days. Merry Christmas.”

I stalked off then pushed out of that room with relief that I wouldn’t have to see him for a while. He needed to stay away until I felt calm enough to continue his lessons. If he disobeyed me and made contact, I’d just have to keep punishing him over giving pleasure until he finally got the message.

I would
not
let him win the battle of control. I wasn’t sure where this absolute determination came from in me, but it felt like life or death to win this thing. I would be victorious.

At my desk, I checked my emails. Victor hadn’t responded. Disappointment filled me, and I logged off telling myself that he’d gone to sleep, was oblivious to the fact that my return message was waiting for him. Still, he’d get it in the morning, and maybe he’d write back again, needing advice for something or other.

I waited until I heard the back door close before I did my walk-through of the place to check everything was secure. I left via the front, strolled to the car park to get in my car, and drove home. Went to bed with a vibrator and gave myself Victor’s present, crying out as I bucked against my fingers, the last two letters of his name unable to come out, trapped inside me by the lump of emotion that filled my throat.

I managed to successfully avoid face-to-face contact with Ollie during the first half of January. Instead, I played with him like a bored cat would a mouse, my main medium for harassment being via text. The tone of my messages swung from being a hard-nosed Mistress with bitchiness dripping from each word, to a sultry siren offering crude and rude delights that would soon be his if he obeyed my every command.