Geoffrey's Rules (5 page)

“Chloe,” Geoffrey said, cutting through my reverie. “It’s time to learn rule number four, which is actually a corollary of rule number two.”

I felt his fingers move, and I heard myself cry out, while somehow the rest of my consciousness had once again left my body and soared above me. He was claiming his property again, but this time in a gentler manner that was, at the same time, even more possessive. They were moving across and around and up and down, and I could feel them getting slipperier and slipperier as my raging, primitive femininity responded to the way he dominated me.

“You are going to come, now, Chloe,” he said. “And then you are going learn rule number four. Right before you come, you are going to ask my permission to come, and until I give it, you are going to learn to control yourself according to my wishes. Do you understand?”

I had been moaning during the whole of these instructions in response to the way he kept up the delicious torment, and now I shaped one of my moans into a “Yes, sir!”

Then the real torture began, because it was only a few seconds before I was saying, “Sir, may I please come?” and he was saying, “No, sweetheart, not yet.” I tried to think of baseball and Proust and seminar tables, but I was being fucked hard in front of thousands in Fenway, and Proust was examining me on the seminar table, saying, “Oui, oui, she must be punished.”

At last, after screaming that sounded to my ears almost exactly the way I had sounded under the paddle, I said, with more of a whimper than of articulate words, “Sir, may I please come?” and he said, “Yes, Chloe, you may come.”

The vast majority of my better orgasms are mostly silent at the actual climax, because all my muscles, including my diaphragm and my vocal chords, seize up in an ironic imitation, I always think, of
rigor mortis
. This was one of the quietest of all. I felt my whole body clench over his lap, and I heard Geoffrey saying, “Such a good girl. Such a big orgasm,” and then I was through the quiet part, and the noisy part, the shout-gasp, was coming out of me, and I was limp over my master’s lap, and he was rubbing gently again, saying, “Shh, shh, Chloe. You’re a very good girl. Let’s get some nice lotion on that lovely bottom.”

He helped me upon my wobbly legs over to a couch and had me lie down on it on my belly. I was still completely clothed except for my panties, and it felt terribly odd to have him pull my skirt up once again in the back, tsking and saying, “Don’t cover up that lovely rosy bottom. Your master likes to see it.”

He was gone for an instant, and then he was back. He sat next to my hips on the edge of the sofa and rubbed lovely cool cream all over my backside and upper thighs, lots and lots of it.

“Rule number four,” he said, when he heard me begin to purr, contentedly, feeling again that primitive femininity and the trust of him that it seemed to evoke. “‘Chloe may not touch her little cunt without her master’s permission’.”

I had known this rule or something like it must be coming. I didn’t know how I felt about it, and I didn’t know if, in the safety of my bed, thinking about Geoffrey himself and about what we had just done, I could keep it. Really, I didn’t know if I wanted to keep it, or what it would mean for the relationship if I didn’t.

“I can tell,” he said softly, “that this rule gives you pause.”

“Yes, sir,” I said to the sofa, where my cheek was turned to lie atop my folded hands.

“Can you tell me why?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.” My bottom was now covered in cream, and Geoffrey was idly rubbing it, just maintaining his claim. “I don’t know if I want to be controlled that way… I mean, when I’m not here.”

“I understand,” he said. “Tell me, what would one of the heroines of your BDSM books do in this situation?”

“Well,” I replied, “she probably wouldn’t give it a second thought, though of course she’d probably break the rule shamelessly. I mean, she wouldn’t have to worry about managing her time productively, so she could just break it for hours at a time, and probably hope her master would catch her.”

“Because really she just wants to beaten.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “Also, BDSM has defined limits on its playspace, even when the playspace is a dungeon where a girl has been imprisoned as a sex-slave. She may never get to leave, but if she did, the rules of the dungeon wouldn’t apply in her apartment.”

“Now,” he said after a pause, “we’re getting into the area where things are going to get really interesting.”

I had no idea what he meant, and it was cooling my ardor. With each passing moment, I felt like I was getting closer to saying “Thanks, but no thanks” to the whole “Let’s live my BDSM fantasy” thing. I started to say, “Wh—”

But Geoffrey said sternly, “That doesn’t, however, change the fact that you are a naughty girl and that naughty girls need a firm hand,” and he spanked me three times, hard. Instantly, as I squealed at the sting, it was all back, and I was his again, because he was a man and I was a woman, and if I earned it, I was going to get to have his hard cock inside me. Again, though, as before when he had begun to teach me his rules, that enormous arousal—greater than anything I had ever felt with another person—wasn’t the whole story. I felt along with the arousal the growth of an idea that I might want to submit to him, in love, more of myself than just my libido.

So I said, “Sir, I promise not to touch my little cunt without my master’s permission,” I said. Then, overcome, “Oh my God, I’m being a good girl, sir. Please fuck me.”

“No, Chloe,” Geoffrey replied with an air of satisfaction. “Not today. But this is going very well.”

Feeling like I had broken through into some paradise of deliciously slutty sexuality, I found myself clambering off the sofa and kneeling in front of him where he sat on it, looking up into his chocolate eyes.

“Please, sir, may I at least see your beautiful cock today?” I bent my head forward to the front of his jeans and kissed his crotch, feeling against my lips through the thick denim a hard length—which I felt like I needed more than I needed anything else in the universe.

His little groan was reward enough, but then he took my head firmly in his hands and moved it away. “Naughty,” he said. “Very naughty. If you’re not careful, you may find yourself over my lap again before I take you home.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down my cheek, and said, “You will see my cock this weekend, my girl, if you behave yourself. Truly, I would like you to see a great deal of it.”

“Now though, you have managed to get yourself into the proper position to hear my suggestions and my first supplemental rules.”

That was when I became fully aware that I was kneeling at Geoffrey’s feet. It made me shiver to think that I had wound up at last at the feet of a master who, it appeared, knew how to guide me, not only with pleasure and pain but also with wisdom. There was something amiss, though, I realized—at least for now. I was clothed. When I realized that I really did long to be naked in front of him, serving him, I shivered again.

“Chloe,” he said, rather formally, “I want to suggest that you begin to devote your incredible erotic energy in two new directions, instead of the one old one—the self-pleasuring in which I discovered you.”

Something about the way he phrased this heading—like the heading at the top of a slide, that began with a strength (he’d said I was incredible!—in a certain way that made me blush, of course)—made me think that he did in fact have a plan for me, and I felt a feeling like a little bird inside my chest start to sing, or perhaps to consider starting to sing, if it turned out there really was something to sing about here, as seemed possible.

“I think,” he continued, “that if you are willing to try to devote yourself to following my rules, you could well find that you have a very interesting career ahead of you, and I would like to help you explore that possibility, with me.”

“With you—sir?” I was so surprised that he was inserting himself into my employment future that I had nearly forgotten to address him by his proper title.

“Yes. I would like to offer you the chance to work with me on a project I’m about to start for a client who’s a rather famous musician. I can’t tell you anything else until we go through some legal crap, but even if you don’t like his music, I think his interest in my services will intrigue you greatly.”

“But… sir, I’m… greatly intrigued—but I’m planning on an academic career.”

“Well, I’m not so sure you should, given the realities of higher education these days, but whether or no, if an academic is going to prosper, he or she needs to think about consulting.”

I gave him a blank look, and he laughed.

“They don’t tell you that in grad school, even these days?” he said. “Well, the humanities profs don’t do it very much despite the fact that their world is falling apart, I guess. But take it from me, whether or not you manage to get going on the tenure-track somewhere, having a consulting gig with me or with someone else or even just on your own is something you’ll end up very grateful for.”

I thought about that for a few moments, thinking about the strangeness of this posture for the kind of conversation we were now having. I looked down at his lap, thinking about what lay hidden there and what it had to do with business. If I said yes and that I would work for him, he would be my master in terms of employment, too. The difference, I realized, was that quitting a job was rather different from breaking off a relationship; easier in some ways, harder in others. “Okay,” I said. “I want to hear more.”

“Good,” Geoffrey said. “In that case, here’s what I want. Supplemental rules: first, Chloe must recite her master’s rules every night in bed; second, Chloe must email her master twice a day to let him know she’s thinking about him and to express her gratitude for his taking her in hand. Also, in those mails, I want to hear about your progress in considering a specific topic—how your research interests in your field might intersect with your erotic interest in BDSM.”

“Um,” I said to buy some time.

“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking, ‘Well, that’s easy, because they just don’t.’ You’re thinking that sex stuff is just a perverted thing that you think about when you play with yourself.”

Startled, I looked up into his face. I could tell he was dead serious about this; his spot-on formulation of my feelings about my twisted, deviant erotic interests was meant to argue for a point I had never even considered—that those interests were
not
twisted and were
not
something that I could push off to the side. Then I realized that this argument mattered a very great deal when it came to my new relationship with him, and I felt my eyes widen as I approached the new idea.

“You
are
brilliant, aren’t you, Chloe?” he said, with that same air of satisfaction that made me want to be angry but actually made me feel, again, unforgivably feminine according to the standards of academia. “I had a feeling. You understand that this is in fact the same issue we were talking about when I taught you rule number four.”

I watched the muscles in his jaw go through a brief but complicated set of thoughtful tightenings and loosenings and his gaze flick into some corner of the room as he considered. Then he said, “Okay, there’s no use in pretending that this isn’t the biggest issue we’re going to face. I suppose I was thinking that even if you decided that you simply couldn’t go on with this—in a few days or a few weeks—because of intellectual concerns, which I hasten to add I find completely valid, we could at least get off on each other’s fantasies for the time we had. But you’re catching on too quickly to what your reading habits truly imply.”

“Here it is. Either you are going to let your BDSM side into the rest of your life or you’re not. I venture to say that if you shut it down now, twenty years from now you’ll find yourself in a place where you’re forced to admit that you made a mistake, but I won’t be there, clearly, so that’s neither here nor there as far as I’m concerned.”

“Geoffrey—”

“Hush, Chloe,” he said. “I’m speaking.” The wave of arousal that went through me as he once again dominated me not physically but simply conversationally told me that even if we would at some point negotiate terms with regard to the way he talked to me, my erotic self had already got its hooks into my intellectual self.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“So what I want is for you to try, over the next few days, to think about what I’ve asked you to think about. If I find your progress on that score satisfactory—and that only means that I think you’ve been thinking about it and about me, in ways that respect my rules—we’ll move further along, and I’ll take you fully in hand in the bedroom and show you the full meaning of me having my way. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice sounded thick, and my nipples were at attention once again at the words “fully in hand”.

“Alright, then. That will be Saturday afternoon, if you can follow my rules until then. You’ve been a very good girl for me today, and even though I denied myself certain pleasures that I hope to have very soon, you pleased me greatly.”

“Just so I understand, sir,” I said, “do I get to make my own decisions, outside your rules?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey replied. “Absolutely. The rules define our playspace, and outside of that playspace, you belong to yourself and not to me. Now, if we do go ahead with a business relationship, there will be specific rules that concern that space, but we can save that for Saturday.”

I nodded. A few days certainly seemed worth a try—and, if I got there, Saturday seemed likely to settle lingering questions.

Geoffrey continued, “I should also say, though, that when we are together in public, my way means that we will behave like a traditional vanilla couple, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“My way also includes reserving the right to play in public once in a while, in particular if you behave in a disrespectful or disobedient manner towards me.”

I blushed, and my heart beat wildly, as I thought about the various forms of playing in public I had encountered in the books I had read, like in
Maud’s Master
when Jeff had made Maud take off her panties in the middle of the department store.