Knowing the Ropes Read online

With that, whatever steps she’d taken to control herself slipped, and Nick heard her voice catch. “It’s just not like her, Nick. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on. It seemed like she always listened to you, even after you guys broke up.”

  If only you knew, Nick thought sadly as he ended the call.

  After that conversation, he didn’t expect an answer when he called Natalie, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get one.

  He was surprised when he heard a man on her voice mail, not a phone-company prerecording, but just a guy. Pleasant-enough voice, slightly self-conscious, like most people sounded doing their voice mails: “Natalie can’t answer the phone right now. Leave a message, please, and we’ll get back to you.”

  Innocuous enough, but Nick was primed to hear anything out of the ordinary as suspicious. Why would the guy need to record her phone message for her?

  It was one more small way someone could take control. Natalie had a phone, but he suspected her dom kept it, let her make calls only occasionally, maybe screened the calls and told her whom she could contact.

  Kind of creepy. Nick was pretty sure that Selene’s domestic-violence-counselor side would be all over it as a danger sign, even if her kinky-submissive-chick side understood the appeal on some level. Hell, Nick understood the appeal. Controlling someone who wanted to be controlled could be fun. But the way this guy was doing it seemed over the top.

  Natalie probably loved it, at least in theory. She’d always craved the kind of micromanaging that some people in the scene found hot and Nick found at best annoying and at worst unhealthy. How she liked it in practice, when she realized she was losing touch with her friends and even her mom, might be another story.

  One he was determined to find out.

  Nick left her a message. “Hi, got this number from your mom. Everyone misses you. Give me a call sometime when you get a chance.” Like that. Simple, basic, innocuous, nothing that would scream to her new dom that he was the old one, if the guy didn’t already know.

  And now he’d wait to see if she called, and if she did, what she had to say.

  If she were happy—well, he’d have a drink in her honor and hope for the best. Let her go, let her be happy in her own way with someone closer to her ideal. It didn’t need to make sense to him as long as it did to Natalie and her master.

  If she wasn’t happy… Not sure what he could do there. God knew he couldn’t be what she wanted. Just like she’d said at the end, he wasn’t a hardcore master. He was a bedroom dom who wanted a sub between the sheets but an equal partner in the streets.

  A kinky boyfriend, she’d put it, withering scorn in her voice but something wistful underlying it as if she’d wished one of them could be different.

  Unfortunately, neither of them could.

  He’d been asking himself ever since Natalie left if they could have found some compromise between her needs and his. If he could have loved her enough to give her the kind of structure and restrictions, tasks and punishments she seemed to need.

  If he could have loved her enough to treat her without tenderness except on special occasions, as a reward.

  Or if they could work out something more like Garth and Alison’s master/slave relationship, stricter than what he wanted, looser than what she craved, but with a mix of love and discipline that perhaps they could both live with.

  He’d managed, in a bored single man’s active fantasy life, before he’d met Selene, to convince himself it could work if he could see Natalie again under the right circumstances. Basically grab her by the hair, say he was going to punish her for leaving, see if she melted, and if she did—which, in the fantasies, of course she did, in exquisite, wet, moaning detail—set about proving he was boss, and that meant she had to accept his kindness as well as his harshness, compliments as well as criticisms, kisses as well as pain. A wedding ring as well as a collar. Because he said so.

  Not exactly romantic by most people’s standards, but he and Natalie weren’t most people.

  Would rescuing her from an out-of-hand relationship be the right circumstances, the catalyst that could pull them back together?

  And if it was, would he still want to try?

  He remembered how amazingly sexy Natalie looked, tied in some seemingly impossible yogic position, her skin oiled and glistening by candlelight, weights hanging from the rings in her nipples, her sex wet, held open with ropes for his pleasure, and, while she had a hard time admitting it, hers. Remembered how she responded to being spanked or flogged, how she’d beg for more, then half the time apologize for the “greed” and “selfishness” he so enjoyed. How she sucked his cock as if she needed no greater reward than to taste his hot sperm, to feel him shoot down her throat.

  But she’d never come from sucking him like Selene did.

  And in the two years they’d been together, she’d never offered her assistance with a real problem. Oh, she took good care of him in all the small ways, Donna Reed in black leather, cooking for him, refilling his drinks, rubbing his feet, cleaning his condo whether he asked her to or not, and sometimes it got to the point of freaking him out. Being waited on was nice, but she’d look hurt if he got his own drink, and downright confused if he got her one while he was up.

  But the times when something potentially big came up—thankfully those occasions had been rare—she’d sat back, glad to do whatever he suggested in the crisis, but not offering any ideas of her own.

  Selene, on the other hand, had jumped right in when she heard Natalie might be in trouble. Offered to help. Offered concrete suggestions. Hell, offered to hide bodies and, if necessary, to create them.

  That might be the kind of thing that would lose her the Perfect Sub Seal of Approval from the Craigs of the world, but it was reassuring in a lover.

  A playmate, he corrected himself. They’d agreed to keep it strictly friendly and playful—and for all he knew, she’d respond as poorly to a hint of romance as Natalie had, for her own reasons.

  But even if you were saying playmate, that implied friend—and he was all for a friend who could react like a grown-up in a crisis.

  Especially if she also had a gorgeous ass, a very dirty mind and a kinky streak a mile wide.

  He let himself drift from his worries to the more pleasant topic of Selene naked, red-bottomed and smiling, either awaiting his next command or…hell, it was Selene, and she wasn’t that passive… suggesting something hot to try next.

  That his cell phone buzzed just then was a pleasant coincidence.

  A text message from Selene: Thinking of you. V. wet & hot. Thx for great weekend, sir (or shd that B Nick?)

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, or maybe like an idiot—he preferred Cheshire cat, but idiot applied equally well—Nick texted her back: Busy 2night?

  He could practically hear the pout in her response. Must do wash. Have no clothes.

  Naked is good. Not 4 class, tho. Call when yr home alone. B naked. We’ll take care of wet&hot problem.

  Not quite an hour later—not like he was timing it or anything—Selene called.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick would so laugh at her if he had any idea how crazy this phone-sex date was making her. Good crazy, as in wet pussy, rock-hard nipples and a brain full of lusty ideas, but also crazy with nerves and more anxiety than the more rational bits of Selene’s brain figured the situation merited. It was humiliating to realize her hands literally shook as she stared at the phone, contemplating what she’d say when Nick answered.

  She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

  Couldn’t believe she’d actually texted a new lover to tell him how turned-on she’d gotten thinking about him.

  Couldn’t believe she was calling him now for what was obviously going to be phone sex, and, while it was his suggestion, she’d certainly instigated it with that text message. She’d never even thought of such an outrageous—

  Okay, that was a lie. She’d thought of things along these lines plenty of times: naughty e-mails, text me
ssages that would brighten a guy’s day in a very below-the-belt sort of way, phone sex to while away some of the time she couldn’t spend in a lover’s company, in a lover’s bed. But she’d never done anything hotter than slightly suggestive e-mails or texts, flirting over the phone but nothing explicit. She was afraid of making a fool of herself, of sounding slutty or too eager in new relationships, and once you really got with a guy, that almost desperate sexual edge faded.

  At least it always had. She had a feeling that with Nick, it wouldn’t. This was going to be all about the fun, the sex, the kink, not the mundane stuff that, while necessarily part of a serious adult relationship, tended to drag said adult relationship down with its weight.

  Maybe knowing that was why she felt free to be more outrageous than usual.

  It was embarrassing to realize at this late date how conventional some parts of her character really were.

  But that was going to change, damn it. She wanted to be the daring, sensual creature she felt like on the inside, and Nick was going to help. Had already helped. She’d spent all day distracted by erotic reveries, her breasts aching to be touched, bitten, maybe bound with ropes, her panties intermittently damp as the memory of Nick’s cock intruded on whatever professional, workplace- or classroom-appropriate things were supposed to be ruling her mind.

  Those thoughts had led to the text message, even though she hadn’t dared to send it from work. And the text message had led to her staring at her phone as if it were a wild animal that might turn on her.

  What if she made the call and then couldn’t do it? Clammed up in embarrassment or started laughing or got a complete brain freeze and couldn’t think of a thing to say? Or what if her roommate came home early from waitressing? Nick had left it in her hands. She could just not call, or call to say something had come up and she couldn’t talk long, if it scared her that much.

  If what she was discovering about herself scared her that much.

  That was what it really came down to, didn’t it? She both loved and feared the sexual being Nick was helping her unearth from layers of convention. Backing out of this small thing would mean defeat on some level. A step back into the ordinary, vanilla world, the one where she knew she was safe enough but also didn’t want to live full-time.

  Damn it. Damn her introspection. This wasn’t her whole life on the line here. It was just talking. Sexy talking, but just talking.

  If she was attaching so much importance to something so noncritical, she needed to lighten up.

  A little phone sex that would probably lead to laughs and lust in equal measure sounded like a good way to do it.

  She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

  And as soon as she heard Nick’s voice, she knew everything was going to be all right.

  The combination of heat, tenderness and command in his voice when he said, “Hello, Selene. Are you naked like I told you to be?” drove all the stupid fears and worries out of her brain.

  And replaced them with a different, albeit more fun, one.

  In the flurry of getting home, getting her laundry together, finding quarters and her detergent and hauling the first load down to the laundry room in the basement—not to mention angsting about things that now seemed pointless—she’d forgotten the be naked part. How could she have been so distracted? So…so dumb?

  “I…uh…I’m not wearing a whole lot,” she said, frantically trying to peel off her tank top and running shorts as she talked. “I don’t have a whole lot to wear that isn’t in the laundry. Even threw in the bra and underwear I’d worn to work.”

  She managed not to drop the phone as she peeled the tank over her head and let it fall, a faded purple blob on her bedroom floor.

  “But you were wearing something when you called. Bad Selene.” Nick didn’t sound upset. If anything, his voice was rich with amusement. But it was edged with something: Heat. Erotic cruelty. “I was going to see how many times we could make you come. But maybe I’ll just get you all worked up and get myself off instead, listening to you getting closer and closer, knowing I’m not going to let you get there.” He was practically purring. “Yeah, I like that idea. I’ll tell you stories, tell you what to do, and when you get close to coming, I want you to say ‘edge’. Then I’ll decide if I’ll let you come or not.”

  She cursed. After a long day lost in erotic fantasy, that sounded like the most frustrating thing imaginable. But when Selene pulled off her shorts, they were moist with her juices, more so than they had been moments before, as if in perverse response to the idea of not being allowed to come.

  Fine, if she was already in trouble, even if it was fun trouble, she might as well make it worthwhile. Make Nick sweat a little bit to come up with an appropriately dominant response over the phone if she was going to be left on the edge. “I could have just lied and told you I was naked.”

  “Could you?”

  She only had to think about it for a second. “No. I’m still figuring out all the rules here, but that would have been cheating. And I’m a lousy liar anyway.”

  She didn’t say that she didn’t think she could lie to him at all, at least not in the context of their erotic games. Maybe to hide what she’d gotten him as a birthday present, assuming they got to the birthday-present stage, but not anything else. “Might have been more fun, though.”

  “Really?”

  Damn, he could read her way too well, even over the phone where he couldn’t see what she could feel—the straining nipples, the damp thighs, the undoubtedly wide eyes, the flaming cheeks, the actual God-help-her trembling with a combination of arousal, anticipation and nerves. “No, it wouldn’t. It would have been more fun if I’d remembered to take my damn clothes off…but since I didn’t, I’d rather take whatever evil consequences you have in mind. And that doesn’t make sense.”

  Nick laughed, but not mockingly—almost caressingly. “Oh, yes it does, beautiful. You like the idea of me controlling your orgasms, just like you like the idea of me tying you up or telling you how to suck my cock. You like the idea of rewards and punishments.”

  Did she? The throbbing in her pussy told her the answer. “Yeah, I do—as long as they’re sexy and fun. I wouldn’t like you to actually punish me for real, in anger.” Honesty compelled her to add, “I don’t think, anyway. I’ve read some hot stories about it, but they scare me, even when I’m masturbating over them.”

  Nick’s voice seemed to drop an octave as he said, “They should scare you, Selene. Serious rules and serious consequences are a whole different thing from what we’re doing. That’s not play so much as a way of shaping your life around someone else’s will completely, or shaping someone else to your will.” He paused, seemed to think for a second. “I bet you just got wetter, didn’t you?”

  She managed to let out a pathetic squeak that must have gotten the point across.

  “I know because I got harder, thinking about putting you under that kind of control, making you into a slave who lives by my rules and faces my wrath if you don’t. A little naked pleasure slave, just waiting for me to use her and make her come, or to hurt her in exquisite ways.”

  She wasn’t touching herself, but the sound of his deep, purring voice and the image of herself as naked, collared, maybe branded like in the ridiculous but arousing Gor novels about barbarians and their slave girls that she’d read as a teenager, made her pussy flutter and clench around nothing. “Edge,” she hissed.

  “I didn’t tell you to play with yourself.” There was such a bite of erotic menace to his voice that she saw herself as that pleasure slave, wearing nothing but a collar and maybe some strategically placed jewelry, begging for mercy from her master.

  “Please, I wasn’t touching myself, sir.” She added the sir instinctively, although he hadn’t asked for it. “It was just the words…the idea of the pleasure slave…and your voice…and everything.” She hoped he wasn’t secretly scoring her on how much sense she was making, because to her own ears she sounded ridiculous.
/>   And a little pathetic, as if each word were begging.

  Again, the image of the poor imaginary pleasure slave—she’d be terrified, knowing she might be whipped bloody or sold to someone horrible, or worse. And yet, in her familiar place at her master’s feet, she’d probably have an idea or two what she might do to get out of her predicament.

  That thought gave Selene a few ideas on how to get out of her less serious and far funnier situation.

  She tried not to crack up as she said, “Please, sir, you have to believe me. I’ll do anything!”

  There was a second’s hesitation at the other end of the line, as if Nick were gauging her mood and/or figuring out what to say next in a script that was evolving as it went along.

  Then he chuckled, a warm, liquid, evil chuckle that sent shockwaves into her cunt. “So you say, slave, but you’ve already disobeyed me once. We’ll see how you obey from now on. Get on your knees.”

  Selene hesitated. Surely he didn’t expect her to really drop to her knees—all by herself, alone in her undecorated, box-cluttered bedroom? That wasn’t sexy. It was just silly.

  The image of the slave girl came back to her mind. Kneeling, wearing nothing but a pretty, jeweled collar, knees spread to show a pussy that was wet and slick despite the panic in her eyes.

  Kneeling on an Oriental rug in an exotically decorated room. No, not a room, a tent, but nothing like a common camping tent. Silk hangings and piles of pillows and a low bed covered with furs and embroidered silk covers, and in the corner a whipping post or something. And her master—Nick, of course—but Nick bare-chested, in leather breeches and high boots. All she could really see from her position without raising her head more than she ought to would be a delicious stretch of well-worn black leather encasing calf and thigh. Yum.

  With that in mind, she could kneel, shutting out the messy room and the fact that Nick was on the other side of town, not here where she could smell the leather or at least his warm, masculine flesh, feast her eyes on him, hope to feast her mouth and cunt on him.

  Yeah, that was more like it. The carpet, a shade of brown she wouldn’t have chosen but hadn’t had time even to think about replacing, vanished. The piles of boxes in the corners, blocking the mirror, vanished. Everything vanished but Nick’s voice and her arousal.