The Dominant
Page 5
Yes, I decided, we’d be fine without safe words. Perfectly safe.
I walked over to my nightstand and opened the top drawer. The leather box looked up at me and I lifted the lid off. The next day, I planned to offer Abigail my collar.
That would be another rule broken—I never collared a submissive before taking her. Never. What exactly was I doing by offering my collar to Abigail without having her first?
I couldn’t answer that question. I only knew I was.
I held the choker in the palm of my hand and tried to imagine how it would look on her. How her long, delicate neck would look with my collar around it. She would wear it all week, and even though the world would see it as just a pretty necklace, she and I would know the truth—she was mine. I could treat her as I wanted. I could pleasure her as I wanted. She would pleasure me as I wanted.
I set the collar back in its box and closed the drawer. To collar a submissive . . .
It had been more than a year since I had collared anyone. My relationship with Beth had ended right before I decided to date Melanie. Beth had wanted more and I hadn’t. In the end, we’d decided to part ways. Not long after she left, Melanie called and I thought, what the hell? Give a normal relationship a try.
As if anything with Melanie could be called normal. But by some odd twist of fate, Melanie decided she wanted to be dominated. Or at least she thought she did.
“Tie me up, Nathaniel.”
“Spank me, Nathaniel.”
Our relationship was doomed from that first phone call. Melanie was as much a submissive as I was.
Collaring someone was significant to me. I was always monogamous once I collared a submissive. Monogamous for however long the relationship lasted. I never shared my collared subs with other doms, and my subs never had to worry about me playing with anyone else.
I sighed and sat on the bed, picked up the leather-bound volume of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë and flipped through it. My eyes fell on a random passage:
My painting materials were laid together on the corner table, ready for to-morrow’s use, and only covered with a cloth. He soon spied them out, and putting down the candle, deliberately proceeded to cast them into the fire: palette, paints, bladders, pencils, brushes, varnish: I saw them all consumed: the palette-knives snapped in two, the oil and turpentine sent hissing and roaring up the chimney. He then rang the bell.
How Helen must have felt when Arthur burned her painting supplies. Much as I would feel if Abigail were to leave.
Turpentine.
Turpentine in a fire.
I saw them all consumed.
As absurd as it was, it was the perfect safe word.
I was wide-awake at five thirty the next morning and, after a quick shower, I went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Abigail had an important decision to make, and I would do what I could to make that decision easier.
At six thirty I heard her walking around upstairs. No doubt she wondered what I was up to.
Oh, Abigail, if you only knew what I have planned . . .
I probably should have told her the night before that I’d cook breakfast this morning, but I had been thinking of other things and breakfast had not been one of them.
I set two places at the kitchen table, because I wanted Abigail to speak freely. I was certain she had questions. Questions about the kissing, why I hadn’t had sex with her, what my thoughts and expectations were.
At seven o’clock she rushed into the kitchen to find me sitting at the table.
Today’s the day, Abigail. Today you become mine.
“Good morning, Abigail.” I waved at the seat across from me. “Did you sleep well?”
Her eyes were dark-rimmed. She hadn’t slept well at all, but she looked me squarely in the eyes—she’d obeyed my last command.
“No. Not really.”
“Go ahead and eat.”
She looked over the spread on the table and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Do you sleep?”
“On occasion.”
I watched her eat, enjoying the play of her jaw and the look of delight when she bit into a muffin.
Talk to me, I wanted to say. Ask me questions.
But if I asked her to talk, would she think me pushy? Would she be talking only because I was a dominant and I asked her to talk?
Who knew? I’d have to try a different tactic.
“I’ve had a nice weekend, Abigail. I’d like to proceed with our relationship.”
She choked. “You would?”
Why did she find my words surprising? How could she not know how much she pleased me?
“I’m very pleased with you. You have an interesting demeanor and a willingness to learn.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I slipped back to yesterday, the way she looked spread out on my bed. Naked, flushed, and panting.
Once she wore my collar—
Stop it!
You have to ask first.
“You have an important decision to make today,” I said. “We can discuss the details after breakfast and your shower. I’m sure you have a few questions for me.”
“Can I ask you something, sir?”
Had I not just told her to ask me questions?
“Of course,” I reassured her again. “This is your table.”
“How did you know I didn’t take a shower yesterday morning or this morning? Do you live here during the week, or do you have a place in the city? How did—”
“One question at a time, Abigail,” I said and almost laughed. She could talk. “I am an extraordinarily observant man. Your hair didn’t look like it’d been washed yesterday. I guessed you didn’t take a shower this morning because you rushed in here like you had a demon chasing you. I live here on weekends and have a place in the city.”
“You didn’t ask if I followed your instructions last night.”
Right. I probably should have, even though I knew she had.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I took a sip of coffee. “I believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t lie—your face is an open book.” She had to know that, though. “Never play poker. You’ll lose.”
“Can I ask another question?”
As many as you want. “I’m still at the table.”
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
Really? I wanted to ask. Of all the things you could ask, you’re asking about my family? But that was what she wanted, so I talked a bit about my parents, their deaths, and my aunt Linda. Abigail mentioned her friend might be interested in Jackson and it caught me off guard. I’d assumed she’d read all the paperwork and had understood that she wasn’t to discuss our arrangement with anyone, even her family or closest friends.
“How much did you tell your friend about me? I believe the papers from Godwin were very clear concerning my stance on confidentiality,” I said in as even a tone as I could manage.
“It’s not that.” Her words rushed out. “Felicia’s my safety call; I had to tell her. But she understands. She won’t tell anyone anything. Trust me. I’ve known her since grade school.”
“Your safety call?” That explained how her friend knew. “Is she in the lifestyle?”
“Quite the opposite, actually, but she knows I wanted this weekend, so she agreed to do it for me.”
I thought about the type of friend Felicia must be to support Abigail even though she didn’t agree with her decision. “Jackson doesn’t know about my lifestyle and, yes, he’s single. I have a tendency to be a bit overprotective—he’s had to deal with his share of gold-diggers.”
By the time she’d finished telling me about Felicia, I’d decided I would pass her name and number on to Jackson. He’d asked if I knew of anyone, and Abigail’s friend sounded like she might be a good fit for him.
I didn’t want to discuss Jackson or Felicia, though. I wanted the conversation to return to us. “Getting back to what I said earlier. I want you to wear my collar, Abigail. Please consider it while you shower. Meet me in my room in an hour and we’ll discuss it further.”
After she left the kitchen, I cleaned the dishes and went to my bedroom to prepare. When I heard Abigail in the shower, I laid out a bathrobe with a matching bra and panty set on her bed.
She walked into the bedroom right on time. The silver color brought out the pale beauty of her skin, making her look luminous. Her dark hair fell softly around her shoulders and her eyes glanced around the room.
She was nervous again.
“Have a seat,” I told her, and she sat down on the cushioned bench like a regal princess.
I took the collar from the box and faced her. “If you choose to wear this, you’ll be marked as mine.” I held the collar out, wanting her to see. “Mine to do with as I wish. You will obey me and never question what I tell you to do. Your weekends are mine to fill as I wish. Your body is mine to use as I wish. I will never be cruel or cause permanent harm, but I am not an easy master, Abigail. I will have you do things you never thought possible, but I can also bring you a pleasure you never imagined.”
I want you, I was saying. And I want to be yours.
“Do you understand?” I asked.
“I understand, sir.”
Even though I knew she didn’t, not completely, excitement started to pound through my veins. One more question to go . . .
“Will you wear this?”
She nodded again.
Fuck, yes. She wanted it.
I moved behind her, not wanting her to see how excited her answer made me. She was mine. She had agreed to be my submissive. I fastened the collar around her neck and brushed her hair out of the way.
Damn, she looked good in my collar.
My collar.
I wanted to turn her around and crush my lips to hers, to tell her how much she pleased me, but again, I didn’t trust myself to meet her eyes—and I had made that kissing rule.
“You look like a queen,” I said, and pushed the robe from her shoulders.
Damn, she felt good. Her skin was silky smooth, still a bit damp from her shower.
“And now you’re mine.” Wanting to prove my words, I slipped my hands into her bra and palmed her br**sts, rejoicing in the way her ni**les hardened. “These are mine.”
My hands continued their course southward, sliding along her sides. “Mine,” I said, because her entire body was mine. Pure lust shot through me, and I leaned in to kiss her neck and delight in her taste.
I bit her. She moaned and trembled under my touch. “Mine,” I said. Never forget it.
My fingers reached their destination, and I pushed aside the flimsy satin material of her panties. “And this?” I slid a finger into her. “All mine.”
Hell, yes, this was mine.
She was tight and wet and felt even better around my finger than I’d hoped. My c**k hardened, and I slipped another finger inside her. Tight and hot. I moved my fingers deeper—as deep as I could. She moaned and threw her head back.
Yes, Abigail. Feel what I can do to you.
I kept stroking until I felt her start to tighten around me; then I pulled out. “Even your orgasms are mine.” She might as well understand that sooner rather than later.
She moaned in frustration.
“Soon,” I whispered. “Very soon. I promise.”
She reached up and touched the choker.
“It looks very nice on you.” I turned and took a pillow from the bed. Would she call me out on this next part, or would she accept it? “Your safe word is turpentine. Say it and this ends immediately. You take the collar off, drive away, and never return. Otherwise, you will come here every Friday. Sometimes you will arrive at six and we’ll have dinner in the kitchen. Other times, you’ll come at eight and head straight to my room. My orders for sleep, food, and exercise remain. Do you understand?”
I held my breath.
I walked over to my nightstand and opened the top drawer. The leather box looked up at me and I lifted the lid off. The next day, I planned to offer Abigail my collar.
That would be another rule broken—I never collared a submissive before taking her. Never. What exactly was I doing by offering my collar to Abigail without having her first?
I couldn’t answer that question. I only knew I was.
I held the choker in the palm of my hand and tried to imagine how it would look on her. How her long, delicate neck would look with my collar around it. She would wear it all week, and even though the world would see it as just a pretty necklace, she and I would know the truth—she was mine. I could treat her as I wanted. I could pleasure her as I wanted. She would pleasure me as I wanted.
I set the collar back in its box and closed the drawer. To collar a submissive . . .
It had been more than a year since I had collared anyone. My relationship with Beth had ended right before I decided to date Melanie. Beth had wanted more and I hadn’t. In the end, we’d decided to part ways. Not long after she left, Melanie called and I thought, what the hell? Give a normal relationship a try.
As if anything with Melanie could be called normal. But by some odd twist of fate, Melanie decided she wanted to be dominated. Or at least she thought she did.
“Tie me up, Nathaniel.”
“Spank me, Nathaniel.”
Our relationship was doomed from that first phone call. Melanie was as much a submissive as I was.
Collaring someone was significant to me. I was always monogamous once I collared a submissive. Monogamous for however long the relationship lasted. I never shared my collared subs with other doms, and my subs never had to worry about me playing with anyone else.
I sighed and sat on the bed, picked up the leather-bound volume of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë and flipped through it. My eyes fell on a random passage:
My painting materials were laid together on the corner table, ready for to-morrow’s use, and only covered with a cloth. He soon spied them out, and putting down the candle, deliberately proceeded to cast them into the fire: palette, paints, bladders, pencils, brushes, varnish: I saw them all consumed: the palette-knives snapped in two, the oil and turpentine sent hissing and roaring up the chimney. He then rang the bell.
How Helen must have felt when Arthur burned her painting supplies. Much as I would feel if Abigail were to leave.
Turpentine.
Turpentine in a fire.
I saw them all consumed.
As absurd as it was, it was the perfect safe word.
I was wide-awake at five thirty the next morning and, after a quick shower, I went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Abigail had an important decision to make, and I would do what I could to make that decision easier.
At six thirty I heard her walking around upstairs. No doubt she wondered what I was up to.
Oh, Abigail, if you only knew what I have planned . . .
I probably should have told her the night before that I’d cook breakfast this morning, but I had been thinking of other things and breakfast had not been one of them.
I set two places at the kitchen table, because I wanted Abigail to speak freely. I was certain she had questions. Questions about the kissing, why I hadn’t had sex with her, what my thoughts and expectations were.
At seven o’clock she rushed into the kitchen to find me sitting at the table.
Today’s the day, Abigail. Today you become mine.
“Good morning, Abigail.” I waved at the seat across from me. “Did you sleep well?”
Her eyes were dark-rimmed. She hadn’t slept well at all, but she looked me squarely in the eyes—she’d obeyed my last command.
“No. Not really.”
“Go ahead and eat.”
She looked over the spread on the table and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Do you sleep?”
“On occasion.”
I watched her eat, enjoying the play of her jaw and the look of delight when she bit into a muffin.
Talk to me, I wanted to say. Ask me questions.
But if I asked her to talk, would she think me pushy? Would she be talking only because I was a dominant and I asked her to talk?
Who knew? I’d have to try a different tactic.
“I’ve had a nice weekend, Abigail. I’d like to proceed with our relationship.”
She choked. “You would?”
Why did she find my words surprising? How could she not know how much she pleased me?
“I’m very pleased with you. You have an interesting demeanor and a willingness to learn.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I slipped back to yesterday, the way she looked spread out on my bed. Naked, flushed, and panting.
Once she wore my collar—
Stop it!
You have to ask first.
“You have an important decision to make today,” I said. “We can discuss the details after breakfast and your shower. I’m sure you have a few questions for me.”
“Can I ask you something, sir?”
Had I not just told her to ask me questions?
“Of course,” I reassured her again. “This is your table.”
“How did you know I didn’t take a shower yesterday morning or this morning? Do you live here during the week, or do you have a place in the city? How did—”
“One question at a time, Abigail,” I said and almost laughed. She could talk. “I am an extraordinarily observant man. Your hair didn’t look like it’d been washed yesterday. I guessed you didn’t take a shower this morning because you rushed in here like you had a demon chasing you. I live here on weekends and have a place in the city.”
“You didn’t ask if I followed your instructions last night.”
Right. I probably should have, even though I knew she had.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I took a sip of coffee. “I believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t lie—your face is an open book.” She had to know that, though. “Never play poker. You’ll lose.”
“Can I ask another question?”
As many as you want. “I’m still at the table.”
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
Really? I wanted to ask. Of all the things you could ask, you’re asking about my family? But that was what she wanted, so I talked a bit about my parents, their deaths, and my aunt Linda. Abigail mentioned her friend might be interested in Jackson and it caught me off guard. I’d assumed she’d read all the paperwork and had understood that she wasn’t to discuss our arrangement with anyone, even her family or closest friends.
“How much did you tell your friend about me? I believe the papers from Godwin were very clear concerning my stance on confidentiality,” I said in as even a tone as I could manage.
“It’s not that.” Her words rushed out. “Felicia’s my safety call; I had to tell her. But she understands. She won’t tell anyone anything. Trust me. I’ve known her since grade school.”
“Your safety call?” That explained how her friend knew. “Is she in the lifestyle?”
“Quite the opposite, actually, but she knows I wanted this weekend, so she agreed to do it for me.”
I thought about the type of friend Felicia must be to support Abigail even though she didn’t agree with her decision. “Jackson doesn’t know about my lifestyle and, yes, he’s single. I have a tendency to be a bit overprotective—he’s had to deal with his share of gold-diggers.”
By the time she’d finished telling me about Felicia, I’d decided I would pass her name and number on to Jackson. He’d asked if I knew of anyone, and Abigail’s friend sounded like she might be a good fit for him.
I didn’t want to discuss Jackson or Felicia, though. I wanted the conversation to return to us. “Getting back to what I said earlier. I want you to wear my collar, Abigail. Please consider it while you shower. Meet me in my room in an hour and we’ll discuss it further.”
After she left the kitchen, I cleaned the dishes and went to my bedroom to prepare. When I heard Abigail in the shower, I laid out a bathrobe with a matching bra and panty set on her bed.
She walked into the bedroom right on time. The silver color brought out the pale beauty of her skin, making her look luminous. Her dark hair fell softly around her shoulders and her eyes glanced around the room.
She was nervous again.
“Have a seat,” I told her, and she sat down on the cushioned bench like a regal princess.
I took the collar from the box and faced her. “If you choose to wear this, you’ll be marked as mine.” I held the collar out, wanting her to see. “Mine to do with as I wish. You will obey me and never question what I tell you to do. Your weekends are mine to fill as I wish. Your body is mine to use as I wish. I will never be cruel or cause permanent harm, but I am not an easy master, Abigail. I will have you do things you never thought possible, but I can also bring you a pleasure you never imagined.”
I want you, I was saying. And I want to be yours.
“Do you understand?” I asked.
“I understand, sir.”
Even though I knew she didn’t, not completely, excitement started to pound through my veins. One more question to go . . .
“Will you wear this?”
She nodded again.
Fuck, yes. She wanted it.
I moved behind her, not wanting her to see how excited her answer made me. She was mine. She had agreed to be my submissive. I fastened the collar around her neck and brushed her hair out of the way.
Damn, she looked good in my collar.
My collar.
I wanted to turn her around and crush my lips to hers, to tell her how much she pleased me, but again, I didn’t trust myself to meet her eyes—and I had made that kissing rule.
“You look like a queen,” I said, and pushed the robe from her shoulders.
Damn, she felt good. Her skin was silky smooth, still a bit damp from her shower.
“And now you’re mine.” Wanting to prove my words, I slipped my hands into her bra and palmed her br**sts, rejoicing in the way her ni**les hardened. “These are mine.”
My hands continued their course southward, sliding along her sides. “Mine,” I said, because her entire body was mine. Pure lust shot through me, and I leaned in to kiss her neck and delight in her taste.
I bit her. She moaned and trembled under my touch. “Mine,” I said. Never forget it.
My fingers reached their destination, and I pushed aside the flimsy satin material of her panties. “And this?” I slid a finger into her. “All mine.”
Hell, yes, this was mine.
She was tight and wet and felt even better around my finger than I’d hoped. My c**k hardened, and I slipped another finger inside her. Tight and hot. I moved my fingers deeper—as deep as I could. She moaned and threw her head back.
Yes, Abigail. Feel what I can do to you.
I kept stroking until I felt her start to tighten around me; then I pulled out. “Even your orgasms are mine.” She might as well understand that sooner rather than later.
She moaned in frustration.
“Soon,” I whispered. “Very soon. I promise.”
She reached up and touched the choker.
“It looks very nice on you.” I turned and took a pillow from the bed. Would she call me out on this next part, or would she accept it? “Your safe word is turpentine. Say it and this ends immediately. You take the collar off, drive away, and never return. Otherwise, you will come here every Friday. Sometimes you will arrive at six and we’ll have dinner in the kitchen. Other times, you’ll come at eight and head straight to my room. My orders for sleep, food, and exercise remain. Do you understand?”
I held my breath.
