“Good,” he says. “Now, coffee?” He holds out the mug of coffee to me again. For a brief second, I contemplate bumping it with my jaw and sloshing the contents all over the floor. But if my smart-ass comment earned me this excruciating burning pain in my nipples, then I shudder at what he will do to me for such deliberate defiance. I take another sip.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask finally, after he’s fed me breakfast, bite by bite from his fingertips.
“Because you have an audition in four days,” he responds.
***
It doesn’t escape me that he hasn’t touched me at all, not in a sexual way. Even when he was fastening the clamps on my nipples, his touch had been devoid of arousal. Strangely, my heart sinks at this, undoubtedly some ridiculous vestige of my old crush.
I tell myself to stop being foolish. That version of Nikolai, the one I knew six years ago, was dark and brooding, but he was also wryly funny, and he was a good listener. That version wouldn’t have put a leash around my neck and treated me like a pet. I was attracted to that version of him.
“What now?”
He ignores my question. “You asked about a safe word yesterday,” he comments instead. “How much D/s experience do you have?”
“I just read a book,” I answer, my cheeks flaming. A complete lie. I have no real-world experience - that much is true. But I’ve known for a while that the idea of someone taking charge of me is a sexual turn-on, and I’ve researched my kinks thoroughly on the Internet. I’ve read articles. I’ve watched porn. I know as much as it’s possible to know from online searches.
The throbbing ache in my nipples reminds me that to know something in the abstract is very, very different from experiencing it. But at the same time, the fluttery feeling in my lower stomach is crystal clear evidence that I’m aroused by the way Nikolai is treating me.
“Never been someone’s submissive?” he probes, and I shake my head. “In that case,” he gestures to me, “we better take those clamps off.”
“Oh.” I sound disappointed, and he notices and laughs. “Do you want them on longer, Allie? You should build up to it, give your nipples a chance to get used to the sensation first. Come here.”
I start getting on my feet, and he growls in displeasure. “Crawl,” he orders.
Face flaming, I crawl towards him. As I move, the leash trails between my legs. My breasts jiggle and a fresh wave of pain courses through my body. I can feel an answering throb in my cunt, and I pray he doesn’t notice the way I’m reacting to the situation.
Of course he notices. He’s clearly experienced in dominance and submission. The amount of equipment in his basement, the cameras in the ceiling – they all hammer that message home to me. His lips twitch at my obvious arousal, but he doesn’t comment when I reach him. His hands just reach out towards my breasts, and he pries the clamps off my nipples.
I stifle a cry as my breasts are wracked with another onslaught of pain. “Hush,” he says, and for the first time, I hear real gentleness in his voice. His fingers stroke my tender nipples as the blood rushes back into them.
This is surreal. I’m kneeling at Nikolai Zhdanov’s feet while his hands rub the feeling back into my breasts. I don’t even know what to do at this point. My childhood crush intersects painfully with the adult that I am. I’m both outraged and aroused at the way Nikolai is ordering me around. “Now,” he says finally. “Get to practice.”
“Please, Nikolai,” I beg. I’m desperate for a hot shower, for a toothbrush, for just a few minutes alone behind a closed door so I can try to process the last twenty four hours. I feel like I’m hanging on by a mere string. When he’s in the room, Nikolai’s strength provides comfort. But alone? I know I’m going to fall apart if I’m in the basement by myself.
His eyes flash with concern for a second, before a carefully blank expression replaces it. “What’s the matter?” His voice breathes curt impatience. But I’ve seen the slight softening of his gaze. I hold on to hope that the version of Nikolai who was my friend is still present somewhere in this hard man, the same way the driven, focused girl that I used to be is still buried somewhere within me.
“Could I shower?” My voice is hesitant.
A brief nod. He inclines his head towards the stairs. “Follow me.” Another order. I’m tempted to say something snide, but I remember the clamps, the leash and Juilliard. Instead, I obey silently.
***
He says something about the guest bathroom being in the process of being renovated, before showing me to his bedroom and waving in the direction of the ensuite. “There’s towels and toiletries in the cupboard,” he tells me, before removing my cuffs and leaving me alone.