Geoffrey's Rules (13 page)

“You may speak freely, sweet Chloe,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, automatically. I finished unbuttoning and rose to slip the sleeves off his arms.

“You may put it in the hamper in the closet next to the bathroom, then come back here,” Geoffrey said. I carried it over, suddenly very conscious that my master was now naked, but I still wore the lacy things he had put upon me. I felt the back of the thong in between my bottom cheeks and pictured the rear view, framed by the garter-belt, suspenders, and stockings. I wondered if Geoffrey had me put the shirt in the hamper so he could watch me walk there and back. I blushed anew at the thought.

“Sir?” I asked as I settled back onto his naked lap, shivering a little at the feeling of his muscles and the hardness of him in general, even when his cock was soft…

“Yes, Chloe?”

“Um… I’m not sure how to ask this.”

His right arm around my shoulders squeezed me reassuringly. His left hand began to work its way between my thighs. “Open up,” he whispered, and I did, splaying my right knee wide and letting him bring his hand against the lace front of the beautiful thong in which he had clad me.

“What is it about?” Geoffrey inquired gently as he began to run his fingers up and down the lace, awakening me even more.

“Oh, sir,” I couldn’t say more but clung to him instead.

“Is it about this part of you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it about what I’m going to do with this part of you?”

I blushed. “Yes, sir… and, um, when.”

“Greedy girl,” he said, chuckling. “Soon enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right now, though, I’m going to tease you.”

“Sir?”

He said nothing but showed me, with his fingers on the lace front of the thong and around the gusset, up and down. “I want to make it clear,” he said softly, with a hint of playfulness, “that what I said about my cock being the center of your universe applies only on certain occasions.”

That was unexpected; was he actually qualifying his mastery of me? I felt a rush of affection for his regard for my feelings.

“I understand, sir.”

He teased me a little more. In the same soft tone, he said, “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

The feeling of affection grew; it became clearer than it had been, to this point, that his mastering me was as much about trying to give me what he knew I needed as it was about his own pleasure. Again, I had the sense that his guidance could be broader than the relatively simple matter of sex and erotic discipline; Geoffrey had wisdom and caring to impart.

“Wonderfully, I think, sir,” I said, looking up into his kind face as he kept teasing me pitilessly and marvelously.

“Ready for the next thing?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You’re going to get dressed, and we’re going to go shopping.”

“What?”“

“You’ll find the bra for that set in the drawer I cleared for you in the top of the dresser over there.”

The shopping, the bra, and the drawer all rushed around in my head together for a moment.

“Don’t you want to know what we’re shopping for?”

“Um… yes, sir.”

“A dress for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We’re having dinner with my new client. Our new client if you accept my offer.”

Geoffrey explained over the champagne we had while we waited for my stunning, new red dress to be slightly altered. The new client was Chaser, a rising one-name star in the indie rock scene, looking to find a way to go massively viral with his next video. Chaser was also, it seemed, mildly kinky; when he had proposed to his PR guy that they get a little BDSM action into the video they were about to make for his new song (called, it seemed, “You Chained My Heart”), the PR guy knew that Geoffrey was the man to call.

We were sitting in the bar of a big hotel that adjoined Copley Place, from which one of its most expensive stores Geoffrey had just bought me the dress. The bar overlooked Copley Square. It was hands-down the most conventionally romantic moment of my life. I was the possession of a wealthy man; the wealthy man spanked me, caned me, irrumated me, forced me to shuddering orgasms, and bought me beautiful dresses and lingerie. That was what I was for.

“Here are the rules for our business relationship, at least for now. If we go a long way, of course we can re-negotiate then, but for now, you will obey me according to them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are going to defer to me and obey me if I should happen to ask you to do or say anything. You’re going to listen. If I should happen to ask you for an opinion, you’re going to give it, as candidly as you can, provided it doesn’t involve post-modern literary criticism. If your opinion does involve post-modern literary criticism, you’re going to say, ‘That sounds fabulous’.”

I looked at him, feeling my brow furrow slightly and rather a lot of anger spring up in my chest. “Does that mean that you’re not interested in my actual opinion, because—”

“Hush, Chloe. I—”

“Oh my God,” I spluttered. “That’s fine when we’re playing BD—”

“Hush, Chloe.”

There was so much sternness in his tone that I did stop speaking and realized that I had barged ahead with my own ideas about what our relationship meant despite having known at some point earlier in the week that the foundation of this whole thing was Geoffrey’s rules.

“You’re going to be spanked later for interrupting me, but right now we need to get some things straight.”

I fumed in silence. The whole thing seemed to me to be unravelling. There was undeniably something very hot about being told that I was going to be spanked later (though part of me actually wanted to be taken somewhere and spanked
right then
), but mostly I was seeing the situation through the lens of my unshakable, ethical understanding of equality between men and women. I looked into his face, my own visage, I’m sure, a mask of anger.

“When I interrupt you, you are to accept it as an indication of my leadership of you.”

I stared back at him, trying to figure out whether I should just get up and leave, thanking him for the opportunity to suck his cock and letting him know I would be burning the lingerie. His leadership of me. Wow. Even then, though, at that moment of flashing-hot anger, I realized that what I had been thinking of as his wisdom and guidance was in fact the same thing as the leadership he was talking about and was also the reason I had fallen in love with him.

“I will never interrupt you in a situation in which I am not convinced that leading you will benefit you.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” I tried to will myself to think it through—to connect the leadership and even the interruption to the wisdom and guidance, but my mouth was quite simply not listening to my brain.

“You can accept it, or you can walk away, Chloe.”

I breathed deeply, trying to get myself under control. “And do I never lead you?” I finally asked.

“Of course you—”

“Do I get to interrupt you?”

I thought I could see his eyes flash almost literally.

“Yes. But not now. And your bottom is going to pay a very heavy price for that interruption, young lady.”

My first thought was that it was just too hot and that my body was responding to him even as my mind screamed “No!” with every imaginary decibel of its imaginary voice. I felt my pussy yield its moisture into the thong in which he had commanded I be dressed, and that in turn made me conscious of the garter belt that he had decreed should enclose my waist. I felt my nipples stiffen into the beautiful white lace of the matching bra.

But then, at last, my appreciation of his wisdom and his guidance clicked, somehow, into place alongside his assertion of his leadership in my mental construction of him, and I realized that the “problem,” such as it was, was different. It wasn’t that I was being rendered his submissive possession by my sex drive; it was that I knew that my ideas about egalitarianism were going to have to change to accommodate what I was learning about what another person—specifically, Geoffrey King—could do for me, by guiding me and even by leading me, even by interrupting me.

Geoffrey put his hand out and seized mine where it lay on the little cocktail table.

“Trust me, Chloe. At least for tonight.”

I lowered my eyes and looked just at his hand, clasping mine inside it.

“I can’t promise,” he continued, “that I have the answer to the difference between what we believe in and what we want, but I can promise that I won’t give up on trying to figure out how to deal with it—and doing that figuring out alongside you, if you want me there.”

I raised my eyes to his again.

“For the moment,” Geoffrey said, “I suppose you have to decide whether you want to play owned business partner to my master act. I’m not going to try to control in any area that I find ethically questionable.” His voice was glacial, both in the temperature of his tone and in the pace at which he delivered the words, not condescendingly, but very, very patiently. “If you recall my interruptions, they have been in contexts in which I claim, by a right of which I believe myself entitled to avail myself, to be your master. At Rialto on Wednesday, when I was trying to introduce you to my dominant ways. At my house this afternoon, when I was taking you in hand erotically. Here, as we talk about a proposition I have for you within my business.”

I was beginning to see, I thought, where he was going, but I held my tongue despite my urge to push back against the idea. Then I realized that I was holding my tongue, and the conversation took on a kind of meta-conversational dimension that I could see he was intending and had firm control over, but which was blowing my mind.

“Let’s not put too fine a point on it, Chloe. I intend to dominate you, and I intend to make you submit. Obviously, those are two different things, and the second one is much more difficult than the first and much more complex. I know what I want, but—with all due respect—you don’t know what you want yet. Part of what’s happening here is that I’m doing my best—which at this point I’m confident is quite good—to help you understand your own submissive desires. I’m not arrogant enough to pretend that I’m entirely sure, but I’m going to say that I’m confident, at least, that I know what you’re looking for. Whether you’re prepared to acknowledge it—provided I’m correct, of course—is another question. Am I making sense?”

He uttered the final question in his most dominant tone, and my body and my mind and my voice responded together, beyond what I had always at least to that moment considered my will. “Yes, sir,” I said. The question was not simply to verify that I was following him. I could tell that he knew that I understood him. The question was to put me in my place, and I had at one and the same time both grown warm in my beautiful lace thong and felt a surge of love of his caring so much about figuring out what I needed when he had put me in my place that way.

“Good. I suggest that you submit to me, tonight, from this moment forward. I suggest that you accept my leadership at the dinner we’re about to eat and listen to what the client is interested in and gain an appreciation of what it would mean to work for me and with me. I suggest that after the dinner, you return home with me and submissively take my cock everywhere I want to put it in your luscious body, the way you know you want me to do.”

My left hand gripped the table, very hard, and my right hand closed upon Geoffrey’s. I felt my pussy clench in a way that almost made me angry with it, except that the deepest parts of my being were crying out “Yes!” even as my mind was trying to integrate my newly-realized love of his leadership with the defiantly independent woman—a part of me I still thought I was supposed to be.

Speaking with difficulty and breathing hard, which in and of itself made the blood once again rush to my face, I said with all the dignity I could muster under the circumstances, “Your suggestion is accepted.”

I changed into the new dress, with its silky ruched fabric and its tasteful shoulder straps that were just a bit revealing, in the dressing room at the store, while Geoffrey paid for the alterations. I looked stunning. I felt a swell of pride at the sight in the mirror, of the possession Geoffrey was going to exhibit tonight to his new client. My hair and makeup were ultra-simple, but it was clear that was what Geoffrey liked, and my body in the very simple, very short, size 4 red dress, looked like Geoffrey was the proud owner of a very bad girl. The white stockings under the scarlet dress seemed like a kind of provocation; violate me, the whole thing seemed to say.

I felt sexy; I felt sexy in a way that graduate students aren’t supposed to feel, I thought, and that very thought began to cause another dampness problem in the lace thong beneath the dress. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself forget that underneath the dress I was wearing the lacy things that Geoffrey had put me in and which he would presumably remove from me later, whenever he wanted.

I walked out of the dressing room, wearing also the red pumps we had shopped for before we’d had the champagne. The dress only barely came down far enough to cover my stocking-tops, and I had a sudden fantasy that when I reached Geoffrey at the sales counter he would simply flip up the front of it to reveal my lacy panties to the saleswoman. The mental image made me feel faint, but when I reached him, he turned and looked me up and down and smiled tenderly, as if to ask if I liked the dress. I returned the smile, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close in to him and kissed me.

The saleswoman said, “Aw. Special occasion?”

It only took a split-second for me to imagine Geoffrey saying, “Yes. This young woman got her face fucked today, and later she’ll have my cock in her ass,” and to blush.

But Geoffrey said, “Yes—our first real date.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there!” said the saleswoman and promptly minded her own business while Geoffrey kissed me again, dominantly, and made me feel weak in the knees yet another time.

“You are the most intelligent woman I have ever had the privilege to dominate,” he whispered in my ear, “and the sexiest.”