Adventurous Me (11 page)

Once I’m showered and dried off, I wobble back out to the living room on my stilettos and kneel in front of the sofa. I have no idea where Clint is, so I just wait. In a few minutes he appears in the kitchen doorway and motions for me to come to him.

I rise and stroll into the kitchen, if you could call it strolling. There, on a chair, is a strange-looking, rectangular thing covered in bristles and, whatever it is, it’s still got the tag on it. “I guess you’re wondering what that is?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir. It’s weird, Sir. I’ve never seen one of those before.”

“It’s a shoe cleaner. You put it on the ground, stand on it with one foot, and brush the other foot back and forth in it to get the mud off your shoe, then reverse.” He stands and seems to be admiring it. “Guess you’re wondering what it’s doing there?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, Sir.” I get the feeling I’m not going to like this.

“You’re going to sit on it.” He points at it. “Spread your pussy lips apart and sit down with the center ridge right down the middle of your slit.”

At first I think he’s kidding, but then I realize he’s serious. There’s a raised row of bristles that look like wooden splinters right down the middle of this thing, and when I sit down, the lips of my cunt fall on either side of the bristled ridge and the bristles poke straight into my lady bits. It’s wildly uncomfortable. I try not to wriggle and squirm too much, because the more I move, the worse it starts to hurt.

I’m blinking back tears when he says, “I told you that your sex belongs to me. And you defied me in the shower.” How in the hell did he know? I’m mortified. “This is your punishment. You will sit here until I tell you that you can get up.” He sets the timer on his phone, but for how long I have no idea.

The more I settle into it, the more it hurts. Plus, with the height of the chair, it’s impossible to use my feet and legs to hover over it. Sitting on it is all I can do. With every second that passes it’s more painful. I can see the kitchen clock and I watch five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass. At twenty-five I start to get really panicky. At thirty he says, “That’s enough. Would you like to go back to the shower and pleasure yourself right now?”

“No, Sir, no way,” I say, eyes on the floor.

“Good. I’m going to fuck your sore pussy. This is neither punishment nor discipline; this is a Dom using his sub as he sees fit. Reach down and grab your ankles.” When I do so, he backs me up against a wall and, quick as lightning, his prick is buried in my sheath. He pounds me so hard that my back is banging against the wall. After he’s come, he says, “Stand there just like that. I’ll tell you when you can straighten up.” I know it’s another ten minutes before he finally says, “Stand.”

I’m stiff. I’m also dizzy from having my head down for so long, and he takes my arm until I get my equilibrium back. “Do not defy me again. I always know.” I believe him.

“No, Sir. I will not.”

“Good.” He points down the hallway. “Go and rest for about fifteen minutes. I’ll probably fuck you again after that.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for the lessons, Sir, and for fucking me, Sir,” I murmur. As I walk, I fight a grin because the sluttiest thought is going through my head:
I don’t want to lie down. I want to fuck you again, Sir. I want you to fuck me until my pussy is broken.
I figure that would take forever, and that’s exactly how long I want him pounding into me.

We’re together in his big bed. Instead of something vigorous, this seems more like lovemaking. On our sides, we rock against each other until we climax, then start again. It’s more like a beautiful ballet than fucking. Everywhere he touches me, I can almost feel his fingerprints being etched into my skin, and it gives me a thrill I’ve never felt before. I thought Dave was gorgeous, but Clint is something entirely different, chiseled features but not harsh, hair short and sexy but just long enough that the curl is obvious, muscled up but not muscle-bound. He’s a man, all man, sweetness and hard-edged passion, with the seriousness of an old soul. I know that somewhere in that super-heated, lust-driven package there’s got to be the playfulness of a child. I hope I can find it.

He looks into my face with something that passes for tenderness. “I’ve got to come up with a name for you. I can’t just keep calling you sub.” He looks thoughtful for a minute, then says, “Would you like for me to call you Vännan?”

“What does that mean, Sir?” I ask, kissing the side of his neck. He responds by nipping my earlobe.

“It’s Swedish for ‘lover.’” He pulls my face to his and kisses me long and deep. I melt into him and kiss him back.

“Have you ever given it to another sub?” I have to ask; I can’t stand not knowing if this is his standard sub name.

He shakes his head, his eyes closed. “No. It will be yours if you want it.”

“It’s beautiful, Sir. I’d like that very much.”

He takes one of my hands and kisses the back of it. “Then Vännan it is.”

Vännan. Lover. It’s precious. And so is he. I just wish I could tell him how precious he is. I’m sure he has no idea.

I call Sheila and tell her where I am and what’s going on. Since I haven’t shared anything with her before, I think it’s about time.

“You’re doing what? With whom?” she screams. “Are you kidding?”

“No! You should see him. He’s gorgeous.” He’s gone to the dry cleaner’s to pick up some suits. I asked him if it was okay for me to call Sheila, and he told me to feel free. But he also told me to finger myself, take a picture, and text it to him while he was gone. So I’m talking to her on speaker and trying not to pant while I follow his instructions. I send the photo and get a text back:

Nice. But a little more to the left. LOL JK

“But I don’t understand. Is he spanking you?”

I start to laugh. “Only if my behavior warrants. I have rules to follow. I get punished if I break them. And I get rewarded if I obey. Richly rewarded. I mean hugely richly. Enormously.”

She giggles. “I get it, I get it! He’s hung.” I giggle like I’m fourteen. “Do I get to meet this guy?”

My stomach knots. “I doubt it. It’s only for two weeks.”
He’s given me a pet name when I’m only staying for two weeks.
I find that kind of confusing, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Oh. Well, I guess you should have fun while you can, huh?” Sheila sounds kind of down. “Just take care of yourself, okay? This all happened because of that incredible older guy at the bar that night?”

“Yeah. And he’s the best, Sheila. Dave has turned into a really good friend.”

I hear a sadness in her voice when she says, “I hope you won’t forget about your old friends.”

“Never, sister. Never.”

I think things are going pretty well. He’s hot and cold, and I hate that, but so far things are pretty good. Sometimes he fucks me fast and hard, over and over, while I beg for more. Sometimes we rock together like we’ve always known each other, a sweet thing while it lasts. I’m never really sure what’s going to happen next, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be amazing. At least the sex.

On Wednesday he announces, “We’re going to the club tonight. I’ll pick out something for you to wear. Go shower.” When I get out of the shower, a pair of black stretch short-shorts and black seamed stockings are lying on the bed with a pair of black stilettos on the floor. The top he’s put out for me is more or less a bra, and it has little slits up the middle of the cups with ribbon tie closures. In other words, if they’re untied, my nipples will be completely exposed. That’s intriguing.

I was hoping he’d give me a prettier collar to wear when we go out, but he doesn’t, just the training collar. Once he’s helped me buckle it on, we go to the door, where he gives me the once-over and says, “Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm; you’re a scrumptious kind of fuckable. Remember, eyes averted and no talking to other Doms.” I nod. With that, we head out and make it to the club just as it’s opening.

There’s already a crowd milling about. He retrieves two drinks from the bar – Dave’s nowhere in sight – and we head over to watch the scenes. Clint brought a leash and snapped it onto my collar. He says it’s not to lead me, but rather to keep other Doms away. Looks like it’s working pretty well. No one will even look at me.

I’m thrilled when he unties the cups of my bra. My nipples are hard, and they pretty much salute anyone who walks by me. Right outside the men’s locker room door, he says, “I’m going in the restroom. Stay right here,” and clips my leash to a ring on the wall. As soon as he disappears, who should turn up but Steffen. Imagine that – what a coincidence. I shiver because I’m pretty sure this won’t go well for me.

“Hey, little one! How are things going over at Master Clint’s?”

I shake my head. “Sir, you’re not supposed to be talking to me. You know that. Please don’t get me in trouble. Please?”

“Don’t you wish you’d come with me? That they’d drawn our names together? I do; I still do.”

“Sir, please . . .”

“What the hell is going on here?” Clint walks out of the restroom and Steffen just smiles. I shrink and don’t say anything.

“I was just telling your sub here that I wish they’d called our names together. I don’t think you deserve her.” Steffen leers at Clint, and I can see Clint’s hackles rise.

“Is that right? That is now no longer an option, so just accept it, Steffen. By the way, where’s the sub you drew?”

“Over at the bar. We’re going to scene in a few minutes, so she’s getting some liquid courage in her.”

“You know you’re not supposed to be talking to another Dom’s sub. Thanks for following protocol.” I can tell Clint is furious.

“Yeah, well, take it out on her. See you later, little one,” Steffen says with a grin and turns to go to the bar.

“Sir, I didn’t . . .”

“You know you’re not supposed to talk to another Dom without my permission.” He’s glaring at me.

“I wasn’t, Sir! I was trying to make him go away.” I can feel myself start to tremble.

“You were flirting with him. Admit it.”

That really pisses me off. “No, Sir, I wasn’t! I was trying to get him to leave me alone. I said, ‘Sir, you’re not supposed to be talking to me,’ but he just kept on.”

“Come with me.” He takes my leash and pulls me down the hallway to one of the private rooms. “You’re going to learn protocol. You’ll not be caught talking to another Dom again without my permission. I won’t have it.”

When we get into the room, I realize there’s a huge frame sitting right in the middle of the space. There are eye bolts all around it and chains dangling from them. “Get in the frame. Hands above your head.” He puts a pair of cuffs on my wrists. Then he pushes a block of wood up. “Stand on this.” He clips the cuffs to the chains in the top of the frame and, before I can blink, he kicks the block out from under me.

I’m hanging by my wrists, my toes barely touching the floor. The sound of a drawer opening hits my ears, and then he moves behind me. He unhooks my top so my back is exposed, then pulls my shorts and thong down and off. “You’ll learn to refrain from talking to other Doms. Count ‘em.”

I hear a whir and the pop of leather against my skin as some kind of whip strikes my back, and I shriek. It makes contact again, and his voice knifes into me. “I. Said. Count.”