The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (17 page)

He gave me a stern look. “What you’re doing is called
topping from the bottom, and it’s seriously frowned upon.”

“By who? You?”

“Most definitely by me.”

“In that case, I wasn’t trying to top you. I wouldn’t know
where to begin. I was thinking, though, that it’s been a while and maybe we
could put off the serious discussions until I have a better idea of what I’m
looking at.”

“Like a trial period?”

“That’s it! A trial period. Let’s say I agree to spend the
next, oh, forty-eight hours as your sub. You could try different stuff and we
could —”

He laughed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, fine. So I don’t.” I wiggled my butt again.

“You as a 24/7 sub? Never. Not even for two days” He laughed
again. “Believe me, you’re a bedroom-only sub.”

“I could do it.”

“You can’t possibly think you could spend every hour of the
next two days obeying my every command, never wanting a break, never arguing or
getting mouthy. Impossible.”

“I didn’t say I’d be a
perfect
sub.”

“It’d serve you right if I accepted your offer.”

“Yeah, you’d be showing me what’s what. It’d probably be
good for me. A character-building exercise.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re cocky right now, but you
wouldn’t be for long.”

“You’re probably right about that. If I were you, I’d want
to prove it.”

“You’re digging yourself in deeper.”

“I can’t help it. And by the way,” I leaned down and spoke
softly, next to his ear, “you think you’re being a gentleman not touching my
butt, because of that other video and what happened. But Gibson, you’re
mistaken. That weekend in the condo, you taught me to like it. I miss what you
did to me there and I want to learn to like it even more.”

I felt his muscles tighten and clearly saw a pulse throb at
his temple.

Several slow moments ticked past.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Stand up.”

As soon as he let go of me, I slipped off his lap and stood
facing him.

His words were clipped and formal. His eyes were agleam.
“You’ve offered to be my submissive on a trial basis for the next forty-eight
hours. I accept.”

My heart pounded and I had to fight back a triumphant grin.
I tried to sound humble when I said, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Very good. Your safe words are yellow and red, yellow for
slowing down and talking, red for immediate stops. There are no bad
consequences for using safe words. Understand?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Please keep your eyes lowered, unless I tell you
otherwise.”

I quickly dropped my gaze to the floor.

“Now,” he continued briskly, “do you agree to do what I ask
of you, guided by your desire to please me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then it would please me to see you naked. What should you
do about that?”

“Take off my clothes, Sir.”

“Excellent answer.”

It took but a few moments to pull off my clothes. I stood in
front of him, naked and already trembling from the sensuality of knowing he
looked at me.

He told me to stand up straighter, to push out my chest, to
arch my back. “Turn around and bend over. Touch the floor if you can. And
spread your legs. Mm-hmm. Just like that.”

Blood immediately ran to my head and added to the red flush
crawling up my neck. I imagined him looking at my most private parts, all of
which he’d seen before, but being displayed like this in a fully-lit room
wasn’t exactly something I was accustomed to ... yet. Plus, I was getting
wetter by the second, and he could undoubtedly see that. Embarrassing.

His chair creaked, then came the sound of a drawer opening.
What was he doing? I couldn’t tell. There was some shuffling and moving about.
He must have been digging in his desk.

His chair creaked a few more times, then came a rustle of
paper. More creaking.

The noises finally died away. He spoke at long last. “I’m
holding a standard contractual agreement between a dominant and a submissive.
Since you’re not in a position to see any of this, I’ll explain as we go, and
read when necessary.”

I shifted slightly and felt the first stirrings warning me
that something wasn’t right.

“So,” he began, “when a sub and a dom decide to keep company
with one another, it’s important that they discuss what their expectations are
of one another. For instance, some doms have particular hygiene standards that
they demand be followed. Some subs might have allergies or difficulties that
prevent them from achieving those standards. This is a good time to discuss
these basic issues before heading into more serious considerations and limits.”

“For me,” he said, “I like the way your pubic hair is
trimmed short where you have it, and how everything else, such as on the labia,
is kept bare. However, where you have hair, I’d like it grown out about an
eighth of an inch more please.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Oh, by the way. If you get dizzy or woozy in that
position, let me know. We’ve got a good thirty pages to get through, then we’ll
have the contract to work out so this will take a long time. I don’t expect you
to hold that position through all of it. I do expect you to last as long as you
safely can, since I enjoy the view.”

“Wait a minute, I thought we agreed to a trial weekend
thing.”

“I don’t follow.”

I half raised up, my hands propped on my knees. I twisted
around so I could see him. “I mean, are we seriously going to spend the next
few hours doing paperwork? We were going to wait for that, remember?”

“What I remember is that you agreed to do whatever I asked
of you.”

“Yeah, well, right. But —”

“But ...” He arched an eyebrow and looked amused.

“Crap.” I realized I’d made a mistake. More than one.

I wanted to smack my forehead. I’d broken my pose without
permission, looked him in the eyes and improperly addressed him.

“I just blew it, didn’t I?” I asked.

He laughed then, a rich sound that filled the room. “You
didn’t even make it five minutes.”

I stood straight, turned and faced him, my hands on my hips.
“You set me up, making me get naked just to do boring paperwork. It’s not
fair.”

“As a full-time sub, it shouldn’t matter if it’s boring or
not. You’re supposed to be focused on pleasing me.”

“You can’t honestly tell me that doing a bunch of paperwork
right now would please you more than anything else.”

“You’re right. Testing you is what pleased me most.”

“And I failed the test.”

“Gloriously.”

“And quickly,” I said with a reluctant grin.

He tossed the big pile of papers onto his desk. “I’m afraid
that, as a sub, you’re not going to be of any use to me whatsoever in practical
matters.”

“I could probably make you coffee.”

“I’d be afraid to count on it. No, I think your service will
purely be of the sexual sort.”

“Hey, that’s okay with me.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked.

“Should it?”

“I guess not. But I do expect to be obeyed.”

“I want to obey.”

“Okay, then we’ll try again.” He picked up the big pile of
papers and stacked them neatly.

I groaned. “I thought you said my service would be —”

He gave me a tough look that reminded me I was on the verge
of blowing it again. He pulled open a drawer, re-filed the papers in a folder,
then began to unbutton his shirt. I liked that last turn of events.

He slipped off his shirt and handed it to me. “Put it on.”

I shrugged into it reluctantly, then he pulled me between
his knees and buttoned me up, rolling up the sleeves, too, so they weren’t
hanging down over my hands. He stood then, and took me by my hand.

“Come on,” he said, and we headed for the door.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you wanted to see my dungeon.”

“Aha! So you do have one. I was right. I knew it.”

“You were. And that’s where we’re heading.”

“How exciting.”

We moved down the corridor and toward the main hall.

“Hey, wait,” I said. “We left my clothes and things in your
study.” I pulled on his hand.

He kept walking, taking me along with him. “No matter.
Charity or someone else will get them in the morning.”

“But, it’ll be obvious that I got naked in there. I mean, my
bra and stuff. Naked. She’ll know.”

“So?”

“So, what will she think?”

“She’s paid not to think.”

I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be able to help
it.”

“You’re right. I meant, Charity understands that her job
depends on her pretending she neither notices nor has opinions about what we do
in the privacy of our own home.”

“So it’s just an act. Okay then. Though I don’t know how she
does it. I couldn’t. I’d find that underwear and wonder what went down in the
study.”

We climbed the wide staircase to the second floor.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Charity. “Anyway, I’ll just
come down and get my things later, before I go to bed.”

“As you wish. However, I’m wondering why you’re spending
this time worrying over something so inconsequential when we’re on our way to
my dungeon. We’re almost there. I’d think you’d be worrying about the terrible,
wicked things I’m going to be doing to you in a few minutes.”

“Well, hell. Thanks so much,” I said. “I’m worried now.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling.

Truth was, my stomach actually was filled with nervous
flutters. We walked down the corridor past our bedroom, then stopped in front
of the locked door one room down.

Gibson touched a piece of the trim and it popped open,
revealing a numerical keypad underneath.

“Ooh. It’s so secret hidden lair,” I said.

He entered a short code, a small beep sounded and he turned
the handle. The door opened outward, showing another door immediately inside,
made of thick metal.

“Sound proofing,” Gibson said, as he opened the door.

After flipping on the lights, he pulled me into the room,
then shut both doors behind us.

I stood there and took my first look around my lover’s
dungeon.

Chapter 15

I had imagined what this room might look like so many times,
I was disconcerted when it didn’t resemble what I’d fancied. I didn’t think
we’d be entering from the hall, had thought we’d have to traverse a hidden
passageway or two, go up or down dusty staircases, wind through unused sections
of the mansion, probably descend far underground, or climb high into a
cobwebbed attic.

Once we were actually in the dungeon, I imagined it as a
vast space, packed with every conceivable sexual torture device known to
dom-kind. I envisioned walls covered with scads of whips and paddles, floggers
and whatnot. Chains dangling from every surface. Racks made of rusty iron and
aged wood. Shelves loaded with equipment the uses for which I dared not
contemplate.

And the lighting. It would be shadowy, gloomy, flickery.
Strains of a dark, classical musical score would pound in the background. It
would smell like candle wax, leather, latex and sex.

I felt a little silly, standing in Gibson’s actual lair,
comparing my silly gothic fantasies with reality.

Gibson’s dungeon was a large, but not huge, room, with walls
covered in a dark brown padded material, for sound proofing, I presumed. Racks,
shelves and many of the pieces of equipment were made of immaculate stainless
steel. Yes, there were some chains hanging in a few places, but they were as
spotless and shiny as everything else in the place.

There were a few wooden devices in the room, but wood was a
rarity elsewhere. The floor was tiled, and covered in places with thick black
mats, some rubber, some padded. There was an open shower in a corner. Closed
cabinets lined one wall. Shelves held identical, labeled boxes. No whips or
anything of the sort were on display. I assumed everything was stashed away.

The lighting was even and bright. There was no music. It
smelled of cleaner, leather and ... maybe sex.

It was nothing at all like I’d imagined. I glanced at
Gibson, who watched me closely, perhaps judging my reaction.

“It’s nice,” I said.

“You’re disappointed.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just surprised that it’s not more
dungeon-y.”

“This is the real thing, Nonnie. Not some amusement-park
house of horrors.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean anything against the room. It’s good
that it’s so, so, clean and modern.”

“See those doors?” He pointed to both sides of the rooms.
“That one opens into our bedroom and the other one into the bedroom on the
other side. Hidden doors, behind the big wardrobes in the rooms. They swing
out.”

“Oh, wow. That’s cool.”

“Exactly.” He flipped open a panel on the wall and showed me
a large display screen. “State of the art control board. Lighting, temperature,
sound, air movement, everything can be controlled from here.” He tapped the
screen a few times and the lighting dimmed to a warm glow, some smooth
instrumental music flowed into the room through hidden speakers.

“I like that. It’s nice.” I said.

“Some of these simple-looking pieces of equipment have
multiple uses, change into different shapes for different purposes.”

Okay, now I was getting impressed. I eyed the equipment with
a more critical eye than I had used before. One table in particular drew my
attention. It was a slim table on a pedestal, with metal contraptions dangling
from the sides. It looked like it could bend in several ways, and tilt in any
direction. I felt a flutter down low in my belly.

“I see,” I said, and shuddered.

“Are you cold?” He reached for the panel.

I shook my head. No. Even though I was only wearing a shirt
and my feet were bare, I was plenty warm. Growing warmer by the moment.

Gibson pushed my hair behind my ear, ran a finger down my
jawline. “I’ve waited a long time to have you in this room.”

“I’ve waited a long time to be here, Sir.” I lay my hand
against his bare chest, enjoyed the spring of his firm flesh under my palm.

He smiled then, a sexy little turning-upward at the edges of
his kissable lips. He held my gaze as he undid the buttons on my/his shirt,
then he turned me around and gently slid the shirt off my shoulders, down my
arms, until it dropped away, and he tossed it aside.

“You insisted that rather than fill out paperwork this
weekend, we try new things, correct?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

His fingertips grazed the sides of my arms, raising
goosebumps as he traveled. “So instead of asking if you’d like to be locked in
a cage, you’d prefer that I just put you in one so you can experience it
firsthand?”

“Er, cage? Well, maybe not so much that.”

“How about pretending to be a puppy dog? Some people enjoy
that.”

“Really? Huh.”

“You’d like to try it, just in case.”

“Not really, unless it’s something you’re into. I might try
then.”

“How about caning, breath control, abrasion? Shall we give
those a whirl?”

“Uh, not on my account.

His palms floated down over my sides, hips and thighs. “How
about humiliation? I’ll call you nasty names. Would you like me to call you a
dirty little slut?”

“No. Do you want to call me that?”

“That’s beside the point. I already know what I like and
don’t like. You’re the one who hasn’t done her homework.”

I sighed and leaned back against his warm chest. “Okay, I
get it. But is it so bad that I just want to do whatever you want to do, Sir?”

“It’s not, as long as what I want is within your limits.”

“I promise I’ll use my safe word if what you do is too much
for me.”

He flattened his hands over my stomach, his fingers so close
to my bare mound that my clitoris twitched. “What if I asked you to get on your
hands and knees, to crawl across the floor to me, then kiss my feet and plead
with me to give you a thorough paddling?”

“I’d try.”

“Would it excite you?”

“I don’t know. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On you, Sir.”

He took a long, shuddering breath. His hands roved over my
hips, slipped between us and cupped my ass cheeks. “There’s only one thing I’m
thinking about at the moment. It’s not been far from my thoughts since you
brought it up. I’m particularly recalling how you said you liked it.”

He pulled my cheeks apart and touched my asshole with his
fingertips. Now it was my turn to shudder. “Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice
whisper-light.

“Then we’ll put these other issues aside for tonight, and
we’ll proceed with what we already know.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Then he backed away from me, his warm hands leaving my
trembling body. He led me over to one of the metal table contraptions. I stood
nearby while he moved the equipment around, made some adjustments, lowered a
small, padded seat (or what I thought was a seat, anyway). When he had it where
he wanted it, he waved me over.

He soon had me in place, my stomach resting on the small
seat, and my legs spread and bent below me. I was basically in a position
similar to being on my hands and knees, but the bulk of my weight was carried
on the seat, with the remainder on my hands, knees and feet, which were
strapped into place.

He pressed a button and, with a quiet whir, the contraption
rose in height. Another button lowered it. He could set me wherever he wanted.
It also tilted side to side and front to back. He adjusted the apparatus until
I was where he wanted me, then he walked over to one of the built-in cabinets.

I could barely see him from the corner of my eye, so instead
of straining my neck to see what he was doing, I settled on testing the bonds
of my restraints. Very little give. I’d missed this, the titillation of
helpless reveal.

He returned to me, and his hands glided over my back, curved
around my ass. Then came a dollop of something cold. Lubricant. His fingertips
spread it over my asshole. He was headed straight to it, I realized. No build
up. I steadied myself for his entry.

I remembered to push against him, which eased the discomfort
of his entry. He pressed the lubricant inside me with one finger and worked it
around. I moaned lightly. It had been a long time since that brief weekend in
the condo, but I was ready for this all the same. I’d been wanting it for a
while.

“You’re so tight and hot,” he said. He pushed another finger
inside me. “Yes, open to me.”

I moaned again, let my head fall.

Then his other hand explored the folds of my pussy, tugging
on my labia, flicking over my clit. In no time his fingers were inside my
pussy, too, sliding in and out in counterpoint to the motion of his fingers in
my ass.

I drifted on the sensations, on the feeling of helplessness
from the restraints, on the tangled pleasures from his fingers inside me. I
floated on the music and on Gibson’s words, the sexy way he encouraged me, the
sound of his breathing, the thud of my heart.

“Don’t come,” he told me, more than once. And he’d work my
clitoris until I thought I would fail him and climax without permission. Then
he’d pull back, halt the ascent, let me fall before building me up again.

“Don’t come. Yes. Good.”

Then it was something different. Something cold shoving
against my asshole. Entering me. A stretch, a long slide and push. I knew what
this thing was. Had felt it before. An anal probe. Oh God, I wanted to say, but
could not. I became a thing of guttural sounds, grunts, groans and moans. Gasps
and sighs.

When the probe was inside me as far as it would go, I
shuddered all over.

“Beautiful,” he said, pulling it out of me, then pushing it
back in. “You should see this. Next time, perhaps, I’ll bring out the mirrors,
make you watch.”

I groaned. My stomach flipped and my muscles clenched.

He fucked me with the probe slowly and with obvious relish.
“Perhaps I’ll have you fuck yourself in front of the mirror. I’d like that.
Watching you push this thing in and out of yourself. You’d hate it ... and love
it.”

I could only moan, and know he was right.

He tormented me by pulling the probe all the way out before
shoving it past my tight ring of muscles again. I squirmed under this
treatment, wishing he’d leave it inside, wishing he’d shove it in harder, no,
softer. No, harder.

I lost track of what I wanted.

“Don’t come.”

Fingers. Entries and exits. A pinch. A pull. A twist. Shove.
Flick.

Ahh, please.

“Don’t come.”

Hard. So hard. Holding back. Panting. Then came the harsh
rasp of his breath growing louder than mine. Fucking. Fuck me. Yes.

And again, no coming.

Then the probe was gone, and something different prodded
against my puckered flesh. Something large. Too large. It stretched me and
began to hurt, sting. I gasped.

I craned my neck, had to see what this thing was that was
opening me too wide. I could make out the handle in his hand. A plug. I should
have known. Black. Bulbous. Too bulbous. I shuddered.

Then I looked up into Gibson’s face. I shivered all over
from the ferocity I saw there, the sinful intent in his eyes, in the clench of
his jaw and the sinews in his neck. He held the plug in one hand, and pressed
against my lower back with the other. He didn’t notice I’d turned to look at
him, being too engrossed in forcing the plug inside me.

He wanted to ram that thing inside me, hard, make me cry out
from the pain, the invasion. I knew it. Saw the nefarious urge all over him.
And I knew it would hurt like hell, what he wanted, but not truly harm me.

I could take it. Take it for him. For me. The moment he
crammed that big plug inside me would be the instant I’d soar away, off into
that special place. Send me there. Push me there.

“Yes,” I whispered, a sound so soft I didn’t imagine he’d
hear it.

But he did. His head whipped up, he met my gaze. So
dangerous, that look, it made me shudder, jangled my nerves. He thrust the plug
a millimeter further.

I cried out softly. Closed my eyes. Preparing.

Now he would do it. I relaxed myself as much as I could.
Readied for the assault.

Now.

Waited for it.

Waited.

It didn’t come.

I opened my eyes. Looked to Gibson.

He was different now. Changed. The intensity had drained
away, the unrestrained hunger gone ... where? Why?

“What’s your safe word?” he asked, his voice a tight clip.

I hardly knew what to answer. “Uh ... yellow.”

“Why haven’t you used it?”

“I didn’t need to.”

He shook his head, then he looked back down at my ass. He
removed the plug and laid it gently on the nearby table. “You’re not ready for
it yet.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth having gone dry. “I wanted it.”

“No. Not yet. Face the front. Now. Don’t turn around again.”

I did as he commanded, bent away from his tight features,
and his befuddling actions. My body buzzed from what he almost did to me.

He didn’t leave me in want. His fingers pushed inside me
again, in pussy and ass, and he easily lifted me up again. Soon, I stopped
thinking about the plug and anything other than obeying his renewed commands not
to come.

The effort to hold off my orgasm increased to herculean
levels when finally, I heard the sound of his belt buckle, the unzipping of his
pants. I wanted to cry in relief.

I quivered at the now-familiar feeling of his hard cock
pressing against the opening of my pussy. And when he slammed himself home, my
body accepted its master gratefully. He fucked me steadily, firmly, his fingers
still moving inside my ass.

“From here on,” he said, all gritty and growly, “you’re not
to come without something in your ass. Fingers, probes, plugs, whatever.
Something has to be in your ass before you can come. Even when you masturbate.
Understand?”

I managed to gasp out a “yes, Sir.” In the back of my mind I
wondered when exactly I might be masturbating, since it wasn’t something I
needed to do, not with Gibson keeping me more than satisfied.