Hard Lessons (21 page)

“And again.” His warning gives me a moment to prepare, and it helps. Slightly. But not enough to make this anywhere near bearable.

“Freya? Again?”

I somehow manage the thumbs up sign once more, and the third strike lands. It’s enough. No more. I raise my right hand to signal ‘red’.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re done.” He places the cane back on the table, and when I would have started to rise he lays his palm gently on my back. “Let me put some Arnica on there, take the sting out a bit.”

I remain still, sighing slightly as he smears the soothing cream across my smarting backside. Only three strokes, but it was enough. More than enough.

Nick apparently thinks so too. “I reckon that needs to be one of your hard limits with any future Dom. Agreed?”

Oddly, I don’t want to agree. Make no mistake, I hate being caned, but I did manage three strokes this time. Maybe next time I could handle one more. Then maybe one more after that. I hate safe wording as well. It makes me feel defeated, and I never accept defeat readily. So maybe another time…?

I shake my head as I push myself back into a standing position. “No hard limits. Not yet. I’ll do four next time, then maybe five. Do you think I could…?”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Your decision, sweetheart. Now, have you had enough fun for one morning or would you like me to finish that spanking I so rudely interrupted.”

I consider that kind offer for a moment, then, “Can I have ten minutes please?”

He smiles again. “Of course.” He picks up the discarded cane. “I’ll just take this back to the dungeon. Follow me down there when you’re ready.”

* * * *

Exactly ten minutes later Nick’s seated in the straight-backed chair in the dungeon, and I’m draped happily across his knees.

“Ready, little subbie?”

I give my thumbs up sign once more, with considerably more enthusiasm than when I was bent over the kitchen table.

“Okay. Enjoy.” He starts the spanking again, very gently at first and managing to avoid the three welts where the cane landed. I do appreciate his care, and sigh contentedly as the feeling builds again. As I settle in, he firms up the pressure, the spanks becoming slightly harder, and faster. I have no chance to recover from each blow before the next one lands. My bottom is on fire, but still I’m loving it. I know I can’t keep this up for long, though, especially after the caning.

It’s intense and soon the pain starts to radiate and overwhelm other sensations, and even the endorphins swilling around my system can’t combat that forever. Finely attuned to my responses, Nick slows down, and stops.

“Enough now?”

This time I nod, and he makes no pretense of not seeing me. Instead, “Open your legs, Freya. And remember, my cock’s not inside you. We have rules now.”

Shit. I’m so aroused I could come just thinking about it, I reckon, and now he intends to make me wait for God knows how long. Still, I open my legs dutifully and he slips his fingers into my moist, warm pussy.

“Mmm, lovely. You’re nice and wet this morning. Very fuckable. I like that.”

Two fingers plunging deep inside me demonstrate just how fuckable I clearly am, and he amuses himself by spreading the wetness all over my lips and clit. I think it’s fair to say I find the whole thing distinctly amusing too, and I have to chew on my bottom lip as I try to concentrate on somehow containing my pleasure and not succumbing too quickly. I doubt he’ll want to drag this out, he hasn’t even finished his breakfast yet, but you never know with Nick Hardisty.

He shifts his attention to my clit, taking it between his finger and thumb and tugging slightly. He squeezes, and it’s uncomfortable. Not painful, but it’s enough to damp down my arousal.

“Shall we play with the clit clips again later, little slut? Maybe if you’re very good today and do exactly as I tell you?”

I nod again, still not sure if he can see me or not. And I’m wondering what I’ll need to do to earn my reward. What he’ll tell me to do. As far as I know we’ve exhausted the main repertoire of pain play and now it’s just details, trying different implements and activities, different positions. I also know, because he explained to me carefully, that he’ll push me to my limits, force me to use my safe signals because he wants to be sure that I can, and that I will.

He changes his grip on my clit, and now he’s rolling it between his finger and thumb. Now this I do like. And no amount of lip chewing is going to stave off the inevitable for long. Sure enough, a few seconds later I feel the first unmistakable clench of my pussy as my body prepares to climax. Nick feels it too, and drops a warning slap onto my unsuspecting bum. Not hard, but given the tender state of my bottom just now, it hurts.

“Not until I give you permission. Keep still, and wait.”

He continues to work on my clit, rolling and tugging and rubbing, until I’m gripping his ankles in my desperation, mashing the fabric of his jeans between my fingers.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, you know how.”

Christ, is it really that simple? How could I forget that? I tap his leg three times, and his chuckle is low, sexy and utterly wonderful.

“Go for it, little slut. Enjoy.”

And I do.

* * * *

“What other plans do you have for me today?”

We’re back in the kitchen, Nick now on his fourth cup of coffee and I’ve worked up an appetite at last so I’m rustling up some toasted bagels. I lean back against the worktop as I wait for the toaster. He glances up at me, his expression serious.

“You can have the rest of the morning off, get on with your sewing or whatever. Take a walk if you like. This afternoon I want you in the dungeon and ready for some intense action. We’ll be pushing your boundaries even further today, Freya, so don’t expect to like it much. And afterwards, we’ll talk.”

“Talk? We’re always talking. Why today especially?”

“You’ll want to talk later, I’m sure of it. If only to tell me I’m a heartless bastard and you hate my guts.”

I stare at him, astonished. What on earth has he in mind for me? Then, my hands flying now as he’s honed his skills enough to follow me, “If I ever called you names like that I’d not sit down for a week.” I attempt to smile, but he’s not having it.

“I’m never unfair when I punish you, I hope. And I need you to express your feelings honestly, especially today. So later, Freya, we
will
talk. And you’ll have my permission on this occasion to call me any names you think fit.”

By mutual but unspoken consent we spend our mornings in different parts of the house. I go back into the dining room and occupy myself with foxes and fabrics while Nick has his laptop and some papers spread out on the kitchen table. I occasionally wander in to refresh my Earl Grey levels, and Nick brings me in a chicken salad baguette for lunch but goes back into the kitchen to eat his alone.

I’m nervous. Very nervous. The atmosphere between us is charged, something here is not right, but I’ve no idea what’s going on. He’s obviously planning something very heavy, probably unpleasant, definitely designed to challenge me, to confront some remaining inhibition perhaps. As far as I’m aware I have absolutely no inhibitions left, none whatsoever.

By two o’clock my stomach is in knots and I’m seriously regretting that chicken baguette. It must be soon, whatever he has planned. He said this afternoon. Sure enough, it’s about two fifteen when I hear his footsteps approaching the door to the dining room. I stand as he enters, pulling my kimono more tightly around me. I haven’t seen much point in dressing as I’ve no intention of going out. I just took a shower after breakfast and pulled my trusty robe back on.

Nick, by contrast, is fully dressed in black jeans and a soft, cream-colored sports shirt. In fact, unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s the same shirt he was wearing that first time I met him at the club. I shudder—this seems ominous somehow.

“Freya. It’s time.” His voice is cool, clipped.

He’s in Dom mode, and despite my nervousness I can’t help the quiver of excitement that ripples through me. That tone might scare me to death sometimes, but it never fails to turn me on.

“Go to the dungeon and wait there. I want you naked, obviously, and kneeling on the mat when I come in. I’ll be about half an hour.” He steps to the side of the door, his arm outstretched to indicate that I’m to go through it now.

And I know I really don’t want to. “Can’t I wait here? It won’t take me long to get ready.”

His eyes narrow and he watches me squirm. Then, “Is there some part of ‘go to the dungeon’ that’s not entirely clear to you, Freya?” His tone has dropped a few degrees from cool to icy.

I know not to push it. I nod, sign my apology, and slip past him.

* * * *

Half an hour later I’m kneeling on the bright yellow mat, scene of my first near disaster in this room. I’m hoping it won’t be the scene of my next one, but I do have a bad feeling. The one thing I cling to, my one certainty, is Nick. I trust him, so I know I’ll be safe. I may not be happy, but I
will
be safe.

As instructed, I’m naked. I left my robe neatly folded on the floor just inside the dungeon, by the door. My hair is loose, the way Nick seems to like it. At least, whenever I turn up for a scene with it tied back he immediately loosens it. My hands are on my thighs, palms up in the traditional submissive pose he taught me. My chain is still looped around my waist, of course, but I haven’t been conscious of it for days until now. I even managed to forget it was there the day we went to the racecourse. Now it feels like a brand against my skin.

I concentrate on deep breathing, my eye on the clock mounted on the wall beside the door. It wasn’t there the first time I was here, when I totally panicked and was convinced I’d been abandoned in here for hours on end. The clock had appeared the next day, and now I’m watching the minute hand creep around. He said half an hour, so he’ll be here by around quarter to three. I watch the hand crawl past the half hour, then it seems to speed up in that peculiar way time has. And at exactly quarter to three the door opens and Nick comes in.

And he’s not alone. Jesus, he’s brought someone else here too.

Daniel.

I make to get up, my first instinct to cover myself.

“Stay where you are.” Nick’s command is curt. Unrelenting.

I remain rigidly in place, dropping my gaze to the floor. My heart is pounding as Nick closes the door behind them with a resounding click. From the corner of my eye I can see that Daniel remains by the door as Nick comes forward to crouch in front of me. My head is whirling with possibilities, each more awful than the one before. It’s clear that he intends Daniel to be a part of this scene too, and really, I know I shouldn’t be so upset. There’s no need to be. Daniel’s nice, I like him. Or I would in any other circumstance. But I don’t want to submit to him. Nick’s my Master, only Nick.

Nick must be able to see the blind panic in my expression, the desperation. He reaches out, lays his palm on my cheek.

“Don’t look so scared. Nothing’s going to happen that you haven’t done before and enjoyed. Only this time you’ll be scening with a different Dom.”

I’m shaking my head, but he’s having none of that. “Freya, we’ve talked about this, and you need to get past this, this belief of yours that you can only scene with me. That just isn’t true. Listen to me. Listen carefully and think about what I’m telling you.”

His tone is soft. It should be reassuring, but I’m beyond any help in that regard. He continues, his voice quiet, his hand on my cheek as he holds my gaze.

“When you came to me, when you first approached me, it was because you were too scared to scene with Doms you didn’t know, which was all Doms as far as I can make out, because of your inability to speak. You thought that made you vulnerable, that you’d be hurt because you couldn’t negotiate, couldn’t use safe words. Is that right?” He stops, waits for my response, but all I can do is stare at him through my tears.

His words aren’t registering—nothing he’s saying makes sense to me. How could he do this? How could he just hand me over like this, as if I mean nothing to him? Probably because I do mean exactly that to him. Nothing. My misery is etched on my face, and I can see what looks like a fair imitation of compassion in his eyes, but it’s not going to deflect him from his course.

And for once, despite asking me a direct question, he doesn’t insist on an answer. He continues his explanation, his justification for this madness.

“I’ve given you tools to use, safe signals, lots of them. I’ve helped you to explore your desires and preferences, so now you know what you like and what you don’t like. You know how to behave, how to avoid unnecessary punishment. And most important of all, you know how to stop a scene if you need to. But in doing that I’ve allowed you to become too dependent on me. You’ve become convinced that you can only do this stuff with me, and as your trainer I have to get you to see that your safety, ultimately, is in your hands, not mine. Do you understand that?”

Again I shake my head. I don’t understand any of this. I’m aware of Daniel, motionless by the door, and I wish he wasn’t here listening to this. I wish he wasn’t here full stop, but in particular I don’t want him to think this is personal. I do like him, really I do. And if I hadn’t met Nick first, who knows? But not now. Definitely not now.

“I can’t. Please don’t force me to do this,” I sign my desperate response, ready to plead now.

Nick smiles sadly, his sympathy for my situation apparent. He’s not cruel, and I know he genuinely thinks this is best for me, the best way to resolve my apparent fixation with him. His resolve is unswerving.

“I’ve never forced you to do anything and I won’t now. You can always say no, you always could. But I’m asking you to do this, to obey me. You asked me to train you, begged me to help you develop your submissive nature. What’s happening here, now, is at the heart of all I’ve been trying to teach you. It’s time to start to move on, Freya.”

I’m shaking my head, and I know my tears are flowing freely. Nick pulls me into his chest and gives me a quick hug before taking my face between his hands again.