Submissive by Moonlight (13 page)

“Okay. Call me from the grocer, and I’ll make a list of anything else we need and read it to you over the phone.”

He’d seen guys with their cell phones pressed to their ears in the grocery store and had always thought they looked the worst kind of whipped. But what she’d suggested was practical, so he made a slight modification. “Text me, and I promise I won’t look at the texts until I’m parked.”

She nodded. “Works for me. And Nolan?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for telling me you’re coming back.”

He smiled and kissed her. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He put his hand under her chin and held it so that she had to keep looking at him. “Put on a short skirt and a tighter shirt. I have things I want to do to you.”

His index finger was against her neck, and he could feel the sharp intake of breath as well as hear it. Her pulse sped up too. “Yes.”

“When I get back, you’ll learn how to say a word that might be difficult for you.”

She bit her lip. Not as exciting a prospect, apparently. He hadn’t expected it to be.

“The word is ‘master,’” he said and let her go. He wanted to see her reaction, but he turned around and walked to the car. Maybe this wasn’t the way to get what he wanted. But it was who he was. And he wasn’t going to give her anything less.

Marisa’s mind raced. Short Skirt. Tight top. Master. She wasn’t sure she had any short skirts; she’d always preferred the long, flowing kind, thinking they were more witchy. And without her car, she couldn’t go into town and get one. She had a plaid mini in college, and she didn’t think she’d gotten rid of it, but there was no way it would fit her.

But she wasn’t about to disobey orders, either. He’d probably be sympathetic when she explained she didn’t have one, but she didn’t want him to be sympathetic. The idea flashed through her head of him taking the opportunity to punish her for disobedience, and it made her shiver with excitement. She put a burgundy satin skirt that hugged her hips and darted in at the knees, and found an old black T-shirt from her college days. A size too small, it definitely qualified as tight. It displayed an inch of midriff, which she didn’t appreciate, but at least she was trying, right?

Master.

It occurred to her that she had a skirt with a higher waist, and that would solve the tummy problem, so she went back in to change. Black velvet, or the navy-blue tiered one? The velvet one was an old favorite, but it was frayed at the bottom and was working on a bald patch. Too old and too well used, she decided, and got the navy one out. She had it on, when another thought occurred to her.

She found her sewing scissors in an old drawer, got the velvet skirt, and started cutting. It was on its last legs anyway. And as much fun as a spanking might be, having him say “good girl” was even better.

With a touch of mischief, she decided to make the edge jagged, instead of smooth. It wouldn’t hold up, but it appealed to her sense of whimsy. And the skirt was done for in any case.

She put it on and waited. She wondered what he was planning. It could be anything. So many possibilities played around in her mind.

I’m wet, Master.

She knew then she’d have to tell him the moment he got in the door. The thought made her wetter. It was embarrassing to be turned on so easily.

* * * *

“I’m wet, Master,” Marisa said.

Nolan grinned and looked her over. His smile broadened. He enjoyed what he saw. “Then you can go kneel in the living room while I put the groceries away.”

He had two bags of groceries. She realized she’d completely forgotten to text him, but obviously he got more than milk and bread and flour. He had a big black sports bag slung over his shoulder too. She wasn’t sure he should be carrying that much so soon. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure. Obey.”

Fuck
. That voice didn’t allow any dissent, although she still wanted to lecture him for overdoing. She hurried to the couch, pulled a cushion off it, and knelt. Then she couldn’t resist, although he was already in the kitchen by then. “Really sure?”

“Really sure. Besides, I’m setting them down now, so it’s too late.”

It wasn’t too late when I asked
. If he hurt himself, she’d have to nurse him back to health again. But she didn’t mind his macho side. He was what he was. What she wanted him to be. She’d never have to wonder which of them was the man of the house.

She waited. She would have liked to say she waited patiently, but it wasn’t the truth. She tapped on the cushion with her fingers. She’d been waiting for this moment ever since he had first made love to her after he was wounded. He hadn’t exactly been a pushover—in fact, he’d initiated all but one of their lovemaking sessions—but he hadn’t been so totally, blatantly in control either.

He walked in carrying the sports bag. He set it down in the chair and unzipped the top of it but didn’t take anything out. Then he looked at her. He crouched down so that his eyes were only a little higher than hers.

“When you said ‘Master’ at the door, did you mean it?”

“I—” She hesitated. He wasn’t just playing a game with some hot sexy words, was he? But that word seemed to carry a meaning she needed in her life, very badly. “I meant it.”

“And what did you mean by it?”

“I meant that I’d do what you asked. And that you could do with me what you want. I meant that I trust you.”

He nodded. “Good enough for now. I’ll tell you what I want it to mean. All of that, of course. And something more. I want you to know that I have a claim on you and that no man may touch you without my permission. And they’re not going to get my permission. I don’t share well. I want you to know that I’ll protect you to the best of my ability. And I want you to know I don’t intend to let you go. Is that what you want in a master, Marisa?”

I definitely don’t want you to let me go
. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Master. And Master?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not letting you go either, so if any woman takes a run at you, she’s likely to get her eyes clawed out.” She smiled sweetly. “Just saying, Master.”

He took hold of her hands and lifted them. “Sharp fingernails,” he observed. “You won’t need ’em, but you can keep ’em that way.” He kissed each hand in turn and then set them down. “I’m going to play with your breasts today, my little slave girl. It’s going to be intense. I’ve got toys in my bag to help me make sure of that.”

“What kind of toys?”

He grinned silently at her.

“What kind of toys, Master?”

“Oh, I wasn’t not answering because you didn’t say it politely enough. I wasn’t answering because I don’t want you to know yet. However, let’s start by protecting your carpet and the cushion.”

She blinked. What did her carpet need protecting from? But he was already reaching behind him and pulling out a plastic package that she recognized as the kind sheets came in.

He unfolded it once in each direction until it was a couple of feet square, and then looked at her. “Get up now, so I can put this under you.”

She rose and moved to the side, trying to get a better peek inside the bag. She saw bright red rope on the top. She had lipstick that color, somewhere. She loved the color but hated how often it needed to be refreshed, so she hardly ever wore it.

He looked over at her when the sheet was still one step from being entirely unfolded, leaving it two layers thick. It was still enough to cover the cushion and the floor around it, and the fact that he stopped then surprised her. She knew she had been seen looking in the bag, for all the good it did her. At least she knew he planned to tie her up, but she still wasn’t sure why he needed to protect her carpet.

“Kneel,” he said. She hurried back to her cushion, eager to show how obedient she could be after getting caught peeking. He hadn’t scolded her. That bugged her more, in a way. She knew he’d seen her. Maybe he knew it would bug her. Maybe that was her punishment.
Devious man.

He crouched in front of her once more. “Today is all about your breasts, Marisa. It’s not about my cock. It’s not even about your pussy, although if you’re a good girl, I’ve got a surprise there too. But you have the most lovely tits, and there is nothing I’d enjoy more than to play with them.” He cupped them as he was talking, gently lifting and squeezing through her shirt. “So that’s what I get to do. Because I’m in charge.”

She breathed in, and the air felt clean and good. That was what she wanted, for him to be in charge. Despite their differences in world views, she trusted him. No, maybe even
because
of their difference, and because he could honestly express what he thought. She could believe what he told her.

“Keep your hands behind your back if you can.”

She moved her hands behind her and clasped one wrist. She hadn’t known what to do with them, and it was good for them to have a place.

His hands wandered, but the frequency with which his fingers brushed her peaks was too much to be by accident. She felt them hardening too. And aching. They were traitorously responsive to his touch, obeying him and not her. Or maybe they weren’t traitors after all. Maybe they knew first what the rest of her was learning, that she was most at peace when she was responding to his direction.

“They’re getting nice and hard,” he told her. Even though she knew, and knew he knew, him saying it aloud made her blush. “Do you know why I want them so hard, slave girl?”

She shook her head.

“Well, for one thing, they make a lovely impression on that shirt you’re wearing. It’s very tight. You did a good job following directions. I can see them stand out.”

She blushed at the praise.

He reached behind him and pulled out two red clothespins. “But also I want these to go on them.” He set them down on the black sheet, where she could see them. They made a nice contrast. The very idea of him putting them on her made her nipples bunch up more, as if that would somehow protect them. The clothespins would hurt. “And they need something nice and solid to attach to.”

She wondered what he was waiting for, then. She was pretty sure her nipples wouldn’t get any more solid than they were now.

“That’s a very nice skirt, by the way. Suits you, with the jagged lines and all. Did you make it yourself while I was out?”

“Um, yes.” Why were they talking about the skirt now? She couldn’t get her eyes off the clothespins.

“Thought you might have.” He picked up the clothespins but only moved them a few inches, and then lifted his hands to her breasts again. He squeezed each peak, making her want more. “You’ve followed directions very well.”

She knew then he was waiting on purpose. He wanted her to be thinking about the clothespins, wondering how they felt. Definitely a devious man. She wanted him more than ever. He tugged, distending her nipples. The lace of her bra felt rough against them now.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“For the clothespins?” she asked, her voice a squeak.

“Yes. For the clothespins.”

She wanted to say no, but she was curious. And she suspected he’d keep playing with her tits until she said yes, anyway. Hmm. Maybe that wouldn’t be all bad. But she wanted to please him. She arched her back. “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”

He lifted one of the pins to her breast and squeezed that nipple hard with the other hand. He opened the clothespin and let it close again without quite making contact through the cloth. She took a deep breath. It would all happen on his time, not hers. That was what he was trying to tell her.

To think that earlier I was thinking he was too gentle. That things weren’t intense enough. This is intense.

Then he closed the pin on her tender peak, and she moaned. That was a lot more intense. It fucking hurt.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy. Breathe. It gets easier to take after a few moments.”

She nodded. She could feel what he was talking about already. It still hurt, but she could appreciate it more. It focused her on that one part of her body, and she could feel a connection running through her breast and heading straight to her pussy. It might hurt, but it was sexy as hell. She looked down and saw the pin sticking out obscenely. She knew it would look better with two. She wondered if she should ask, or if that would be taking away from his authority. She decided to close her eyes and feel.

He moved his hands to her other breast. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to have to ask. A moment later she felt the pin close over her other nipple and squeeze it tightly. She moaned again, but this time it was more pleasurable. She knew what to expect better.

She wondered if she was going to be dripping on the sheet before he was done. God, her pussy was wet. Surely that wasn’t the reason why the sheet was there, was it? Then again, he did have an ego. Maybe he thought he could make her that much of a mess all along. Maybe he was right.

She sneaked a peek down and saw both pins jutting out. The fabric of the T-shirt was bunched around her nipples, and the clothespins held them in place. She imagined the clamping would be more intense without the fabric in the way.

“See what I mean? You get used to it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

She didn’t know whether he was referring to her tits or the clothespins. There was something indecent about having plastic clips sticking off her tits, though. But she had to agree. “Yes, Master.”

“I want to make you living art.”

She sometimes imagined the Goddess thought her beautiful. But art? His gaze was full of appreciation. For that look, she would go through hell itself. “Yes, Master,” she said. It got easier each time she said it. She found herself sinking into the words, wanting to say them again and again.
I’m yours. I love you.

She knew she’d have to find a time to say it.

“Fortunately, there are things I can do once you’re used to them.” He flicked a clip with his finger.

She moaned again, despite trying not to. The pin wobbled before coming to rest again. He set the other one in motion. Her nipples throbbed.