Submission Therapy (3 page)

His breath seemed to falter for a moment. “It will be exquisite to see this all over her body.”

All over my body? What exactly was that supposed to mean?
I should have known better. Never agree to a deal without the terms being spelled out in a contract. Business 101. “Listen, Mister Sweets. Unconventional sex therapy is one thing, but no one is putting any kind of marks on my body. Are we clear?” I threw his condescending words back at him.

“
Do you understand what it means to submit?”
 

His callous tone caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered.

“
I have underlings for that.”
 

“
So you see submission as a form of weakness.”
 

“
Absolutely. I bow to no one.”
 

“
You do now. “ The finality of his words was chilling.
 

“
I never agreed to torture. I don’t care how you package it.
Radical therapy
, or whatever the fuck you’re calling this shit.”
 

He squeezed his hand tighter and drew my head up from the floor, slamming me bodily backwards against his hard chest.

“
Language, Natasha!” His tone was cold with menace. “You
will
submit to me. The only way you will succeed here is to reconfigure your prejudices. And you said it yourself: you’ll do anything to get ahead.”
 

I ground my teeth, frustrated. He was right. I had done it in the past and would do it again. Anything was fair game to get ahead. You don’t become a billionaire before you’re 30 by playing nice. Damn him for calling me on that with such hostility in his voice, though.

“
Natasha, what happens here stays here. No-one will know about our sessions, and you have my guarantee that you are perfectly safe within the confines of this suite.” He eased the pressure on my hair just a little. “As for torture? Such barbarism as torture leaves a disgusting taste in my mouth. What we do in here is training. In a case like yours, though, it will be near impossible to see the divide.”
 

I didn’t know what to make of that. “A case like mine?”

“
Your stubbornness means that training will be hard initially. The singularity of your vision means you will misinterpret much of what I say and do. I must break you down to build you up. You will learn to submit, and when you do, you’ll enjoy its many benefits. One of which is a more relaxed sense of being. Vital for someone with anxiety and stress issues.”
 

Despite my desire to say fuck it all and walk away, I swallowed my pride and grumbled, “Fine.”

“
Rise, Natasha.”
 

I wobbled to my feet, guided by both my tormentors. The redhead moved in front of me and started to unbutton my blazer. Instinctively I threw my hands onto hers and squeezed.

“
No...”
 

She looked to Master Sweet for assistance. Fearing the strength I’d already felt in his hands I released my grip.

It almost appeared he could read my mind. His voice carried no trace of anger. It was soft like that of a parent explaining something to a small child. “Natasha, in here, dressing and undressing yourself, and others, is also a privilege.” He turned to his assistant. “Chloe.”

“
Yes, Master?” The eagerness in her voice made me more than a little uncomfortable.
 

“
This slave’s clothing is wholly inappropriate to her station. Put it away until such time as she is worthy of it.”
 

“
What? That’s Dolce & Gabbana!”
 

Master Sweet frowned and held up his hand like it was a blade. “You depend on possessions for status. You think they give you worth. In here, your only value comes through me. How well you serve me. You will learn this. From this moment until I decree otherwise, you are nameless.”

Chloe was quick. She peeled away my silk suit and the layers of tight nylon shapewear. Involuntarily, I let out a sigh of relief as the circulation returned to my stomach and glutes. They gently tingled like a waking limb, adding to the awkwardness of standing naked before these two unknowns. I hoped it wouldn’t show. I set my face neutral, aiming for proud, but the look on Master Sweet’s face told me I fell short.

His eyes skimmed over my body and I felt a surge of pride. I always made sure I was perfectly maintained, from my pedicured toenails to my hairless pussy. And one thing I’d always been able to count on was the lust of men. The ghost of a smile washed across his face and then disappeared. “Your hypocrisy amazes me, slave. You balk at the thought that I’d mark your body. Yet you do it to yourself in the name of fashion.”

“
What marks?”
 

“
These, here.” His hand ghosted down my torso, sending a shiver through me. “Your undergarments are so… constricting.”
 

I held my head high. “Yoga and Pilates only go so far. The rest takes careful packaging. I have a reputation to maintain, and looks are everything.”

“
You are fit, despite your lifestyle and habits, and yours is a body I can work with.” I caught the glint of appreciation in his voice but it was short-lived. “However, your mental image and worldview leave much to be desired. In here, I decide the packaging. I determine if your looks are appropriate. Is this clear?”
 

“
Yes,” I said bitterly.  
 

Surprisingly, he ignored my tone. “Chloe, escort this slave to the room.”

Time for the radical therapy to start I guess. I had two choices here. I could suck it up and go through the motions, or I could fight. And it suddenly felt as if I’d been fighting all my life. Way back, jumping through hoops for the approval of people who’d never mattered and never cared. Lately, fucking over the lives of anyone I chose to. If Derek was right – and despite my behavior, I trusted the man – I had to take this seriously. I figured that, at worst, I’d feel stupid, go home, and start searching for a new shrink.

Chloe curled her hand around my wrist and rested the other in the small of my back. There was nothing sexual in it at all, but it shot a tiny charge through my belly to have a woman touch me like that. It was such a gentle intimacy, one unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even the pretty-boy gigolos, for all their girly skin and gentle touches, still had heavier hands than this.

She guided me through a doorway hidden by a velvet curtain. The room beyond was lit dimly with recessed lights. Three of the coffee-brown walls were adorned with thick blunt hooks, each holding a length of rope or chain, a set of cuffs. Masks, crops, whips. I felt a tingling in my belly that was almost the same as I’d felt in my palm after I’d slapped Derek.

The fourth wall was completely taken up by an enormous mirror. In the center of the room was a sturdy wooden chair, reminiscent of a throne but without armrests. An assortment of thick metal eyelets adorned the legs and back of it, but I sensed they were far more functional than ornamental.

Master Sweet pressed his body against my back and curled his hands around my upper arms.

“
If your spirit is the equal of your body...” He ran his fingers across my shoulders and down the gully of my spine. “...then it will be a rare pleasure breaking you in.”
 

Despite my initial apprehension, his words and his touch sent a thrill through me.

He moved from behind me and my back suddenly felt cold. I watched his muscular form as he prowled to the chair, and admired his grace as he mounted it.

“
Bind her. Bring her to me.”
 

Chloe appeared beside me with a length of smooth rope in her hands. My instincts cried out to run, to fight, but I bit down on them. I could see where this was heading and…and I wasn’t sure I hated it.

With practiced efficiency, Chloe had my wrists secured in under a minute. She led me over to Master Sweet and handed him the loose end of rope.

“
Slave, lay across my lap.”
 

I couldn’t help it. I hesitated. This was so new to me. He curled the rope around his wrist and pulled steadily, with a strength I couldn’t resist. With Chloe’s help he had me prone across his lap, my bare ass angled out and vulnerable. My heartbeat sped with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. Even though there was something so degrading about being put over someone’s lap, there was a part of me that found it...invigorating. I wasn’t about to let him know I felt that way, though. I held my tongue and watched blankly as Chloe worked, binding me in place.

She took the rope and fed it through the eyelet at the base of the chair, leading it underneath and through a matching eyelet on the other side. She walked around and crouched behind me. From my angle I could only see her hands taking the rope, but I could sense her body heat on the backs of my thighs, feel her breath tickling across my ass…and everywhere else. I wondered if she was there to do more than just tie knots.

The rope’s firm grip around my right knee took me out of that reverie. I watched as Chloe fed the rope back through the loop and then around my left knee. I understood the chair’s construction much better now. Looped around it, with Master Sweet’s strong legs as a cushion, I had nowhere to go. Intriguingly, there was still enough slack in the rope that I could spread my knees apart.

“
Look in the mirror.”
 

I raised my head and stared. I barely recognized myself. In the low light, my black hair almost blended with the room. I could see enough to know it was a mess, though.

He slipped his hand onto my ass and rested it there, soft, unmoving. The deceptively light touch sent chills rippling across my body.

“
You’ve earned a spanking for your disobedience. You will watch as your punishment is delivered, and you will count the strokes.”
 

My breath hitched in my chest.
Spanking
. I hadn’t had one of those since I was a little girl. So demeaning, and yet the thought of it sent heat rushing between my thighs. There was a part of me that longed for it. In a world where I constantly had to think at least six to twelve months ahead, a consequence that was both immediate and tangible somehow felt like a luxury.

He raised his hand, cocked it like a gun. I followed the movement instinctively, admiring the pure power of it, knowing full well that its force was about to come crashing down on me.

“
No. Look into your own eyes.”
 

I did as instructed. My mouth hung open as I tried to catch my breath, which had begun racing. I clenched my muscles and squeezed my thighs together, waiting for what came next.

The blow, when it landed, cracked like a pistol shot. For the slightest instant all I felt was the jolt through my body. My vision blurred with the impact. Then the sting bloomed on my ass and began to tingle. I watched my own mouth stretch, listened as my breath hissed in. I would not cry out.

“
Count it!” he demanded.
 

“
One.” I barely recognized my own voice straining to hold back the pain.
 

The second blow landed on my left cheek. I tried to curl into a ball, but was hampered by the rope and Master Sweet’s legs. My thighs rubbed together as I writhed futilely, trying to cool the hot skin of my ass.

“
Two.” It came out as a squeak.
 

The next few swats came in quick succession. The immediate pain was a shock to my system, but the heat that came afterwards turned into an exquisite agony I hadn’t expected to feel. My whole backside throbbed and those warm pulsations ran straight to my core.

He paused to gently rub away the sting. It was such an unexpected kindness and the words came out before I could stop myself. “Thank you.”

“
A tender ass like yours will require some seasoning, but you have done well so far. You have only ten strokes to go.”
 

Ten
? My muscles clenched. I strained against the ropes.

“
Fighting it will only make the pain worse. Lose yourself in the sensation. Channel that feisty determination into something useful and count the strokes.”
 

I did as he ordered, concentrating on the charged silence before each sharp slap of his hand, riding each razored sting like it was a wave. He wanted determination; he’d get it, in spades.

It was hard to keep my eyes open, but I stared into the mirror as much as I could. Watching the tears burst unbidden from the corners of my eyes, seeing my cheeks redden in harmony with my ass, studying my mouth as it clenched on impact then slackened to let the air flood into my lungs. By the sixth stroke I could barely count out loud. By the ninth, I was clinging to his legs for fear I’d melt through onto the floor.

“
Good girl,” he said approvingly when he landed the last smack.
 

What would normally sound condescending instead gave me a warm glow. If this was the worst he could do then I knew I’d already won. The pain was unwelcome but not unbearable, and the aftermath left a strong and unexpected ache between my thighs.

My nose had joined in with my eyes, my face a mess of liquid. Master Sweet smoothed his heavy hands over the aching stings. “Chloe, bring me the oil. And a cloth.”

Chloe appeared in my peripheral vision and dabbed at my face with a soft towelette. A warm drizzle coated my backside. Master Sweet slowly kneaded my tender cheeks. Every nerve within me was heightened by his gentle ministrations. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped my lips, nor the hot lust developing between my thighs.

His voice was steady and smooth, betraying no sign of his physical exertion. “You’ve done well. You’ve listened and endured your first punishment. For that, you will be rewarded.”