Testing The Limits (5 page)

It was like Andrew's father's actions set off a whole chain of events. I mean, I don't believe in synchronicity and magic and any kind of new age hippy bullshit, but it sure seemed like Andrew's disinheritance foretold my own.

Okay, so, "disinheritance" is a kinda strong way of putting it. What happened with my family was different. It's not like they had any huge wealth they were going to pass down to me, anyway. But that last phone call with my mom seemed to be the final straw.

It drove me crazy. She'd always trusted me - always believed me - so why, now, would she refuse to accept that Angie had stolen from me? Andrew said it was because I was making her choose between her kids. Well, sorta, I guess. And she'd chosen Angie, because she was there and I was not.

I guess it was really that simple.

She called me a few days after we'd had that meal, Andrew and I. He still made out like he was super-unconcerned about it all. I guess he'd made enough money dealing in stocks and all, but still, I figured it would hurt him a little.

And after that phone call with my mom, I felt so bereft that I knew, then, he must have been hiding his own hurt.

My mom had been crying almost as soon as we started speaking. It was early morning in the UK so God only knows what time it was for her, and most likely she'd been drinking too. Not that she was a drinker, which made the thought all the more unsettling. She burbled some self-help crap about actualization and determination and finding herself, and how Jack was showing her how to be strong.

She was already strong, so what the fuck? She went on like this for a while and then, right out of nowhere, said, "So I need to prioritize my own bubble."

"Say what?"

She started crying again. "Our relationship has become toxic. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And then she hung up.

I tried to call her back right away but it went on through to voicemail, again and again. As soon as it was a more sensible hour in their time zone, I tried again. In desperation I even tried Angie, but no one picked up.

I really had been cut off.

I knew that I was over-dramatizing it a little. I think because it came so close after Leonard and Andrew, I read more into it than perhaps there was. I couldn't help it, though. All my calls went unanswered.

I couldn't even get through to speak to Andrew.

By late evening, I was near wild with worry; it all kinda built up into a crazy maelstrom inside me. I just wanted
someone
to talk to. Anyone. I felt keenly alone in London, and craved just one bit of real human contact with someone who knew me.

So I did what I always swore I wouldn't do; I jumped in a cab and rode over to Andrew's townhouse. I told myself it wasn't "unannounced" because I'd called him up and left a message. But still, I knew it was the sort of thing that he'd disapprove of.

Then again - why not? If he wanted to give me a spanking about it, I was down with that.

The thought thrilled me slightly, but I couldn't sustain my fantasy. I wasn't really in the mood. I paid the cab driver and walked boldly up the steps to Andrew's door, pressing the buzzer before I could change my mind and back down.

He didn't open the door. Instead I was faced by the kindly figure of Amjad, who looked confused when he saw me.

"Miss Turner. How can I help you?"

"Hi. Is Andrew around?"

"He is not, I am sorry to say. You have his telephone number?"

"I called him but he's not picking up." I could feel the energy seep out of me, like I was a deflating balloon. I forced my spine to straighten; I would not sag. "Okay. Sorry to have bothered you."

"It is no bother. Please. Perhaps you would like to come inside?"

I hesitated. I was tempted, for sure. Amjad smiled, but his eyes were sad. They didn't crinkle up the way they were supposed to when someone smiled for real. "Ahh, thanks but I'd better be going."

"Listen. Miss Turner, you are a nice woman and you will be a nice wife for someone, but Mr. Walker-Wilkinson is not a man to settle down."

The last time Amjad had come out all dinosaur on me, I'd been too tired to fight back. This time, I wasn't going to accept it. "Hey. I don't want to be someone's nice wife, you know. Look, I know you mean well and all, but it's not like that. I…" But I trailed off. Amjad
did
mean well, and it was unfair of me to take it out on him. My own emotions were too raw, in too many ways, at this moment.

"Forgive me. I speak out of turn. Shall I tell him that you called for him?"

"Er… thanks. No, no, don't do that."

"As you wish." He sighed, and I knew he was thinking,
if she doesn't want him to know she's been here, then something is wrong in their relationship.

My old doubts came crowding back as I descended the steps to the sidewalk, and began to look around for a cab to take me home again.

I did not care what that man - my father - said.

I did not care what he did.

I did not care.

He dogged my thoughts and my dreams. I caught glimpses of him on the street - snatches of almost-familiar figures that turned out, on a second look, to not be him at all.

I cared nothing.

Yet I could not stop going over and over it in my mind.

It made me furious. How dare I let him have so much influence over my feelings! I had seen that trite image online about how staying angry with someone was like letting them live, rent-free, in your head. I scorned it yet the sentiment was all too true. He was squatting in my mind, mocking me.

Why should it be so? I didn't need him. I supposed that I never had. I was not beholden to him for money, or lifestyle, or any such thing. So why was I bothered?

Damn him.

I cautioned myself against taking it out on Jasmine. She had problems of her own, and it pained me that I could not simply click my fingers and make it all better for her. The issues with her family angered me. Partly, of course, because it split her attention - attention which I felt ought to be focused on me.

So I left her alone for a few days. I did not want a repeat of the time I'd gone around and simply used her body. I was learning, little by little, about my responsibilities if I were really to call myself a "Master". Her Master. All my previous play faded in comparison - it had been nothing more than "A bit of slap and tickle." With Jasmine, I was in new territory. She fought me and she humbled me, and that was a whole new thing.

No other woman would have dared. And I didn't want just any woman - one who didn't dare. It was a revelation to me.

But it was a fine line, too. I'd spoken with others at that munch, and corresponded by email with one or two, since. One, a beautiful Domme called Nicola, told me that Jasmine held the power. It was a sentiment I'd heard before, of course, but I felt it didn't really cover all the nuances.

There were no nuances, Nicola tried to persuade me. Jasmine's boundaries were not to be crossed.

And I saw what she meant, but she failed to see that Jasmine chose me to help her explore those boundaries. That was what it was about, in my mind. Pushing Jas was all part of it.

Mulling all this over had stirred my lust. Yes, I wanted to see her. I would keep a tight rein on my own anger, this time, and pleasure her instead.

I would devote myself to her. That would improve my mood. I called her as I left my house - two words - "Be ready."

* * * *

She answered the door absolutely stark naked but for high heeled shoes and a black velvet choker. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders. Her skin glistened and I saw a trail of damp footprints on the carpet behind her; she'd evidently dashed into the shower to prepare herself.

"Too tacky?" she said, her eyes large with worry as she fingered the choker.

"Not at all. Never," I said, grinning. She made me feel a real, and deep, joy; a genuine flutter in the pit of my stomach. This was one image I'd file away in my mental store and draw out again from time to time.

"I am going to make you come, and come, and come," I told her.

"Come in," she said, and then giggled at the weak wordplay.

This was another side to her. I realized, in that moment, what a privilege it was to see the mean businesswoman like this - naked, vulnerable, and almost coquettish. I would have laid money on the fact that no previous man had exposed her in this way.

And never would again. She was mine. I ached to protect her.

But first, I had a duty towards her; I was going to take her beyond the realms of pleasure and pain. Everything I had learned in dungeons and at sex parties would be brought into play, I decided. Okay, not everything. We simply didn't have time for that.

But it would be a start.

"Go through to your bedroom, lay down, spread your legs and think about me," I ordered.

She hesitated, and I seized it with delight. "One infraction. I shall remember. Now, go."

A light danced in her eyes. She whirled around and walked away, slightly too slowly to be called properly obedient. Two infractions, then, and I knew it was deliberate. My sweet bratty sub wanted to be punished.

She knew it was the release that she sought, and I couldn't wait to give it to her.

I lingered in the living room, letting the waiting and expectation stretch out. I wondered what I ought to do to her; in truth, I had but the barest of ideas. All manner of plans suggested themselves to me but I was fighting my own urge to simply fuck her, hard.

Continual, shuddering orgasm after orgasm; that was to be my aim. Ahh yes.

I had a butt plug ready in my pocket. I pulled it out and held the semi-hard rubber in my hands, thinking. I fished out a few other items and carried them in my hand. Then I slung my jacket onto the back of a chair and rolled up my sleeves a little before walking through to the bedroom.

She was lying back on the bed, with cushions and bolsters behind her upper body so she could see me enter. She looked, at first glance, to be relaxed, but it was a studied lie; she was throbbing with anticipation.

I smiled and took my time looking her over as I stood at the foot of the bed. I placed the plug and associated paraphernalia on the bed by her feet but out of her line of vision. I loved the way her full breasts slid slightly to the side, and I was amused by the way she was clearly embarrassed by that movement; she kept her arms close to her body, to give them some support. She was real; it was the sexiest thing. I preferred to know that she was a live human woman, and her flaws - her supposed flaws - were assets.

"Lift your breasts and show me," I said.

She cupped the flesh and raised them up, her nipples hardening at her very own touch.

"They look so kissable," I told her.

She squirmed. She was obviously thinking about them being kissed. Ah, the power of words and suggestion!

I had considered tying her down, but I decided I'd throw her a harder test. "Lie back and spread your arms wide. Up to the sides."

She had the briefest hesitation then obeyed, making herself into a cross on the bed. I climbed onto the bed, kneeling over her - straddling her, really, my legs either side of her thighs. Even through the fabric of my trousers, I could feel the heat of her skin.

"You need to keep your arms like that. Imagine you are tied to the corners of the bed. You cannot touch me, or yourself. Stay like that."

I could see that she wasn't relaxed; she was probably worrying about how she looked. One day I'd take photos and show her that she was magnificent but not yet; I knew, now, she wasn't ready for that. She had to trust me even more than she did already.

I placed my hands on her hips, rubbing my thumbs along the jut of her bones, and stroked downwards along her thighs to her knees.

"Every inch of you is sexy," I told her. "Every inch of you is kissable. Every inch of you makes me hard."

As my hands reached her shins, I shuffled back a little, and bent forward, so that my face came close to her neatly trimmed pubic mound. I stopped just a fraction of an inch away from her clitoris, still hidden from view.

She twitched.

Then I moved forward, kissing up along her belly to her breasts, and slowly, painstakingly slowly, gathered her nipples into my mouth. I kissed them lightly, swapping from one to the other, teasing them and taunting them with my tongue.

On, upwards I crept, so that I was hovering over her body, suspended with a bare inch between us. I nuzzled at her neck and sought her earlobes, and kissed along her jawline. Finally I tasted her sweet lips, plunging my tongue into her mouth, sucking with a sudden frenzy and her back arched up as she clamored for more; I pulled away and she squeaked. Her arms were tense as she fought to keep them away from me.

I grinned. "Steady now."

Her eyes were narrow and her face was flushed. She held her tongue and I could see how much it pained her to do so. I was delighted.

I moved back down the bed once more, and slapped her thighs. "Open up." Once I was positioned between her spread legs, I had more freedom. I bent once more to her pussy, and began to make long, slow licks up each labia, consciously skirting around her swelling slit. She smelled musky and ready for me.

Her hips twitched up and down, involuntarily, and her breathing had speeded up. I licked harder, probing into her slit from time to time, increasing the pressure and then backing off as her moans grew louder.

"You taste divine," I said as I sat up. Her lidded eyes glinted, just slits of lust and passion.

I began to rub her juices around, working down to her puckered hole. I took the butt plug from where I'd laid it at the foot of the bed, and showed it to her.

"You're going to take this."

Her eyes closed, and flicked open again. She knew she didn't have a choice.

After all, she didn't want a choice.

I pressed it to the entrance of her butt, rolling it around to relax the sphincter muscle, before beginning to ease it in.

"Push down on it," I told her, and she responded; it slid in far easier than I had expected. "Oh, well done, my good girl," I said. "It's all inside you."

She had tipped her head back and I could only see her jutting jawline for a moment, her throat working furiously. I moved up to check she was all right; her red cheeks and swelling nipples told me that she was fine. More than fine.

So I returned to her pussy, licking again with slow movements. Then, as I suckled on her clit, I slipped a finger into her. She was so swollen and wet that one finger wasn't enough. She took three with ease, and I rolled my fingers around within, feeling her soft walls, hunting for sensitive spots. Her pussy clenched around me, rhythmically, and I knew her orgasm was building. I worked at it for a moment but withdrew as each spasm grew in intensity.

"Ohh…" she whispered, her pelvis bucking.

"Soon, soon," I assured her.

Now the butt plug was in, and accepted, I reached out for the nipple clamps. I tightened them by degrees, and she squealed but she didn't say anything; I saw from her face that the pain was quickly subsumed into pleasure. I squeezed her breasts, wondering what they would look like tied up with rope, swelling around the bonds. My cock was throbbing almost painfully at that mental image.

I sat astride her, my weight half-supported by her thighs, forcing her legs to close around the butt plug. I continued to maul her breasts, lifting the clamps with my fingers to bring her breasts into the air, stretched out by her nipples.

She did cry out at that, and her elbows bent briefly but she managed to keep her hands flung out.

My power shocked me. I was hurting her but she didn't speak. I was causing her pain but she didn't fight me. She was in discomfort but she submitted.

To me.
To me
.

Oh yes, those previous subbys had submitted to me, too. They had wanted it, begged for it, craved it.

But they had been weak and Jasmine Turner was strong.

To have a strong woman broken and begging was the headiest drug I could imagine.

I knew now why my father did what he did. It was of no interest to him to control small companies and steer weak businesses. He had to fight the biggest and the best, and he had to win.

The stronger and more independent that I got, the more determined
he
would get to destroy me.

It wasn't personal.

It was
primal.