skill.
But uncovering a true submissive versus a self-occupied pain whore—Kyle wouldn't have had the knowledge and experience to judge it. Even I couldn't intuit it sometimes until it was too late. My last girl had turned out to be the worst kind of self-involved submissive, and I'd put up with her because it seemed easier than starting over again.
But Nell wasn't like her. She wasn't one of the ones who actually wanted to be hurt, who craved it, who could be absolutely spoiled by it. She was one of the ones who feared the pain.
The ones who liked it could be depended on to fake the requisite fear and distress, usually badly, but the ones who feared it and submitted to it anyway were rare and wonderful to possess. So she didn't want the cane; she couldn't take it. I could live with that for now, just to have everything else she offered.
Little Nell. She was little all right. Little and curvy and sexy, and as complicated as the academics she pursued. Comparative cultural mythology? I hadn't known whether to laugh or stare. I'd laughed, but at the same time, her hidden intellectual streak fascinated me. As did her ass.
“How is it?” I asked her, gesturing to the barely touched entrée in front of her, some kind of baked Italian chicken with green beans on the side. I knew she'd eaten some of the green beans—I'd watched her little teeth biting into them—but I hadn't seen her eat any of the chicken, although a tiny bit of it was gone.
“It's delicious,” she murmured.
“You should eat more of it, then.”
She picked up her fork.
“If you want to,” I amended. God forbid I'd force her to eat. I'd force her to do many things, yes, by agreement, but I really didn't care to control everything about her like some Doms would. She didn't know that yet, but she would eventually figure it out. She put her fork down and sneaked a look at me. So nervous.
I'd ordered chicken parmigiana myself, just to make her smile, and she had smiled. Not quite the real smile I'd hoped for, though. She was still so guarded, and perhaps she was tired. It had been a long day of trials and tribulations for poor Nell. I didn't think I could leave her alone tonight either, so her day wasn't nearly through.
But perhaps I would leave her alone. It would be the kind thing to do. And possibly a savvy thing to do as her new Dom. Let her know that she was so mine that I didn't have to fall on her right away, that I could make her wait for me, at my beck and call.
I did, though, desperately want to fall on her. I didn't think I could wait.
“You look lovely,” I said, stroking the stem of my wineglass. “How do you feel?”
She looked at me briefly, then shrugged.
“Don't shrug, please. Answer. If we were really on a date, you wouldn't act this way. Like this is your last meal before you go before a firing squad.”
She fidgeted and attempted another smile, this one not at all real.
“Does your ass hurt, darling?”
That finally brought a true laugh. She'd been a pleasure to paddle, and a pleasure to watch as she'd sucked off Martin too. I'd almost given her to Kyle just for a replay, but by the time I'd watched that I would have had to take her myself, and I didn't want to do that yet.
And she hadn't lied; she'd felt the paddle, really felt it. Her pained reactions hadn't been faked. It had been a test of sorts, and she'd passed it. She didn't crave it, being punished. For her, it really did hurt.
But she'd become aroused by our little scene; that had been obvious. I was fairly certain she got off on being exposed, bent over, spread, studied, stared at. She would get plenty of that kind of exposure at my hands, both mentally and physically.
And she'd get exposure of an entirely different kind also, for better or worse. As we entered the restaurant, the paparazzi had snapped our photograph like sharks fighting over chum. I'd purposely brought her
But uncovering a true submissive versus a self-occupied pain whore—Kyle wouldn't have had the knowledge and experience to judge it. Even I couldn't intuit it sometimes until it was too late. My last girl had turned out to be the worst kind of self-involved submissive, and I'd put up with her because it seemed easier than starting over again.
But Nell wasn't like her. She wasn't one of the ones who actually wanted to be hurt, who craved it, who could be absolutely spoiled by it. She was one of the ones who feared the pain.
The ones who liked it could be depended on to fake the requisite fear and distress, usually badly, but the ones who feared it and submitted to it anyway were rare and wonderful to possess. So she didn't want the cane; she couldn't take it. I could live with that for now, just to have everything else she offered.
Little Nell. She was little all right. Little and curvy and sexy, and as complicated as the academics she pursued. Comparative cultural mythology? I hadn't known whether to laugh or stare. I'd laughed, but at the same time, her hidden intellectual streak fascinated me. As did her ass.
“How is it?” I asked her, gesturing to the barely touched entrée in front of her, some kind of baked Italian chicken with green beans on the side. I knew she'd eaten some of the green beans—I'd watched her little teeth biting into them—but I hadn't seen her eat any of the chicken, although a tiny bit of it was gone.
“It's delicious,” she murmured.
“You should eat more of it, then.”
She picked up her fork.
“If you want to,” I amended. God forbid I'd force her to eat. I'd force her to do many things, yes, by agreement, but I really didn't care to control everything about her like some Doms would. She didn't know that yet, but she would eventually figure it out. She put her fork down and sneaked a look at me. So nervous.
I'd ordered chicken parmigiana myself, just to make her smile, and she had smiled. Not quite the real smile I'd hoped for, though. She was still so guarded, and perhaps she was tired. It had been a long day of trials and tribulations for poor Nell. I didn't think I could leave her alone tonight either, so her day wasn't nearly through.
But perhaps I would leave her alone. It would be the kind thing to do. And possibly a savvy thing to do as her new Dom. Let her know that she was so mine that I didn't have to fall on her right away, that I could make her wait for me, at my beck and call.
I did, though, desperately want to fall on her. I didn't think I could wait.
“You look lovely,” I said, stroking the stem of my wineglass. “How do you feel?”
She looked at me briefly, then shrugged.
“Don't shrug, please. Answer. If we were really on a date, you wouldn't act this way. Like this is your last meal before you go before a firing squad.”
She fidgeted and attempted another smile, this one not at all real.
“Does your ass hurt, darling?”
That finally brought a true laugh. She'd been a pleasure to paddle, and a pleasure to watch as she'd sucked off Martin too. I'd almost given her to Kyle just for a replay, but by the time I'd watched that I would have had to take her myself, and I didn't want to do that yet.
And she hadn't lied; she'd felt the paddle, really felt it. Her pained reactions hadn't been faked. It had been a test of sorts, and she'd passed it. She didn't crave it, being punished. For her, it really did hurt.
But she'd become aroused by our little scene; that had been obvious. I was fairly certain she got off on being exposed, bent over, spread, studied, stared at. She would get plenty of that kind of exposure at my hands, both mentally and physically.
And she'd get exposure of an entirely different kind also, for better or worse. As we entered the restaurant, the paparazzi had snapped our photograph like sharks fighting over chum. I'd purposely brought her
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