Hurts So Good by Kris T. Bethke Gordon Phillips K.L. Noone

Author:Kris T. Bethke, Gordon Phillips, K.L. Noone [Noone, Kris T. Bethke Gordon Phillips K.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7: Training

Now I agonized over what to do, how to salvage the situation. A small voice inside my head pleaded, I never left! I never left! I chose to stay! But I wasn’t sure about that last. It was more accurate to say I had simply been incapable of leaving, which is not quite the same thing.

Still, neither of us moved. I felt a shiver of something pass through my body, something that was part resistance and part something else, something more—positive. I was still uncertain, but, when the impulse came, I obeyed.

I got down on all fours, and reached up, holding out the keys again. I looked up somewhat, but not to his face. I saw his hand come down as if to take the proffered keys. But when I made to put them into his hand, at the last moment he withdrew it, and the keys fell to the floor.

My face burned as I lowered my hand and looked at the floor, shaking slightly. Was he humiliating me? Was that it? Somehow, that didn’t quite add up. Or, at least, if that urge was there, it was merely part of something—something bigger, something more important. I would try again.

I reached out with my hand to pick up the keys, but as I did so, he deliberately put his foot directly on them. I withdrew my hand, my face still burning. But this time—I don’t know—something new happened. For one thing, when he’d done that, I had felt a rush of sexual excitement, and a sense of the rightness of his action. It was like—what?

It was like he knew what he had to do.

Okay, I told myself. All I need to do is figure out what I had to do. But how?

Feelings! Came the answer. I must listen to my feelings. So, I did. I closed my eyes, breathed, and felt the situation, me on all fours on the floor, him standing over me—oh! I felt another rush of intoxicating pleasure. I knew!

Slowly, I moved forward, lowering my head, and took the key ring in my mouth. Then I hesitated. He did nothing, so I sat back on my heels, kneeling, and lifting up my head, looked up at him.

During the following tense silence, I thought I saw a transformation in Anatole’s face. His doubt disappeared, his reserve slowly turning into two things: sternness and a subtle kind of eagerness, an eagerness for play, perhaps, but also for control.

I watched his eyes mostly, for it was in these that the change registered most clearly. And now, on top of the other features, they registered pleasure, at which I felt a flutter of joy and relief, though I noticed that his mouth was unsmiling. I smiled up at him, at which he gave a low growl—of satisfaction, I thought—gratification at having achieved domination. I quailed inwardly, but this was a kind of accepting too, a willingness to defer—to him. And, best of all, I felt certain that my response, in addition to my actions, was right.

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