Page 16 of Hard Discipline

She takes a breath and stares at me for a long second as the reality of what she’s come here for gradually sinks in, but I hold her gaze, pinning her where she stands. Imposing my will on her through the sheer force of my presence. I can sense how she’s trying to hold my gaze, to not look down, but I will not allow it.

The battle of wills lasts only a couple of seconds, but the thrill of it gets into my blood like a line of the very best coke, and when she eventually drops her gaze,fuckit’s a rush. I’m getting hard, which is unusual so early into a scene, but that’s fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.

She puts her purse down next to the couch, then begins to undo her dress. A gentleman would help her with the zipper, but I’m no gentleman, so all I do is watch as she manages to get it down herself. Her hands shake and uncertainty flickers over her face, but the flush that warms her pale cheeks and spreads down her neck beneath the blue cotton betrays her. Even if she’s not conscious of it, she likes being watched.

The fabric slides from her shoulders and down, following her slight curves until she’s standing naked in a puddle of blue cotton, and she’s sexy as fuck, can’t deny it. All pale skin, with small, high breasts, pink and pretty nipples, lusciously curved hips, and a bare pussy. I didn’t ask her to shave — hair doesn’t bother me — but I like it. It means I can see everything.

I continue to stand there, unmoving, watching as she awkwardly folds her clothes up and lays them near the couch like I asked her to. She’s incredibly self-conscious, her movements stiff and uncertain, but I don’t comment and don’t make any attempt to go easy on her. No matter what she said about not wanting to be treated like a victim, she expects me treat her exactly like that and I’m aware of it. I wonder if that’s how she’s been treated in the rest of her life, with cosseting and coddling, and I wonder if she’s tired of it.

I wonder if that’s what she’s searching for, something different.

Still, I’ve been looking forward to this, even though I shouldn’t. I found myself thinking about it at random points in the day, even in the middle of important meetings. About the best way to discover her vulnerabilities and her desires, about what makes her tick and how to use that to test her, push her, bring her the most pleasure.

It’s always about a sub’s pleasure, that’s always the goal, because if they’re not getting off then I’m not getting off and so what would be the point? I’m not hardline out of meanness, or spite, or anger. I’m hardline because I like it and because it’s extremely erotic for the subs who want that in a Dom. And part of the fun is planning what to do to a sub, what little mind games to play, what equipment to use, and how best to send them into subspace.

I always anticipate the planning stage, but I hadn’t realized how much I was anticipating the thrill of discovery. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a brand-new-to-me sub, and I’d forgotten how much I like figuring out their wants and needs. Thinking about the night with Odette has had me distracted for most of the week. I made her wait, of course, because that’s part of the game, as was not telling her that she’d be in my apartment. That was another little surprise to put her off-balance.

Slowly, she kneels where I instructed her to, shifting around so the heels of her shoes don’t dig into her soft skin. She’s a pretty sight kneeling on the dark carpet, all pale and pink, cascades of curly white-blonde hair, and large silver eyes. Her hands are on her knees, palms up, as she stares down at floor.

So far, so perfect.

I walk slowly over to where she’s kneeling, gazing down at her. I can see goosebumps rising on her skin and the tips of her pretty tits are hard. Between her thighs, her bare pussy is glistening. Christ, she’s wet already and I’ve barely started. My cock responds predictably, but again, I ignore it. Plenty of time for that later.

I don’t speak. I merely stare down at her, drawing out the seconds of silence and keeping her waiting. She doesn’t move, but her gaze darts nervously up at me and then away again, and I can hear the quickening of her breathing.

“Are you afraid?” I ask at last.

Her gaze flickers up. “Oh no. I’m actually?—”

That’s when I lunge, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back. She gasps aloud, her silver eyes going wide, her body arched back in a bow.

“Do not fucking lie to me.” My tone is hard and flat, my gaze a scalpel’s blade cutting right through her. “You did that last time, sub. I want the truth.Now.”

She swallows convulsively, the long pale length of her throat exposed, and her eyes are liquid with sudden tears. My grip ishurting her, but I don’t let up. She knows what to say if she doesn’t want this.

“I-I-I….” Her breathing is coming in short hard gasps. “I-I mean, y-yes.”

“Good,” I say, watching her reactions like a hawk. “You should be afraid, because tonight will not be easy for you. Especially if you insist on lying. The truth is vital, sub, and if you do not give it to me, then you can leave.”

Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and silky soft, and the tarnished silver of her eyes is darkening rapidly. She’s still panting in my grip, her pale body bowed, her hard little nipples standing out. “I…I-I won’t lie,” she gasps out. “I p-p-promise….”

“No,” I instruct. ‘You say, ‘I promise,Master’.”

9

Odette

I’m trembling all over, deafened by the sound of my own heartbeat. Mr. Fairfax has his fingers buried in my hair, my head pulled so far back it’s painful. His burning blue eyes take up all my vision, searing my soul, and I’m so aware of him—of how he’s bent over me, of his sheer physical strength and power. He could break me in two if he wanted to, but he won’t, and some subconscious part of me knows that. That power is under his tight control, and all I can think about is how during the attack, the man who hurt me wasn’t controlled in the slightest and how that was the scariest part. He was furious, though I don’t know what at, calling me vicious names and punching me, shoving me roughly. It was like being at the mercy of a rabid dog.

But though Mr. Fairfax is being rough with me, there is no anger in his eyes. He’s fierce, but it’s a controlled ferocity, and I don’t know why that’s so fucking hot, but it is.

I thought he might be too careful with me when he mentioned knowing about the attack, and I was furious that Lucas told him. I didn’t want him to know, because there are so many things about it that I just don’t want to revisit, still less recount to this powerful, strong man. Still, when he did mention it, he was very matter-of-fact and there was no hint of judgment in his eyes, so that was something. I suppose it’s true that he should know what happened to me in case anything triggers me, but that didn’t mean I wanted him going easy on me.

Part of me is regretting that now, though, as he holds me fast in an iron grip. It’s brutal but it’s a controlled brutality and while the regrets churn away, other parts of me glory in the roughness of his handling. As if I can take it. As if I’m strong.

I gasp aloud as his grip tightens, reminding me that he needs an answer and so I force out the words, my voice hoarse and shaken, “Y-yes, I p-promise, M-Master.”

He doesn’t release me — if anything his grip tightens — and it hurts. It makes my eyes water, sends prickles of pain all over my scalp. But there’s something about the pain, about the way he’s standing over me, about my own nakedness while he’s fully clothed, that intensifies the vicious throb between my legs in a way I don’t quite understand.

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