So, sadly, there’d been no more spanking. Or any kinky fuckery of any kind. Sex with him had become so vanilla after that, that it had lost all taste. It became as normal as normal sex could be. And normal sex for Jenna was boring sex. Stale, lackluster, and tedious.
But at such a young and inexperienced age, what could she have done? She had barely understood her desires herself, let alone possessed the wherewithal to articulate them to someone else.
So she had closeted her sexual fantasies and kept them her own dirty little secret, not sure what to make of them and a little scared that if she told anyone about them, they would think she was sick in the head.
But her desires had never gone away. On the contrary, they’d grown stronger. So strong that she’d begun writing about them. Then she turned what she wrote into stories. Then she began publishing those stories. Until she had a whole new career.
Now, here she was about to discover—much like the heroines she wrote about—just how deep her personal rabbit hole was.
Because after a month of playing at domination games over the phone, she was finally—officially—Warren’s submissive.
Chapter Seven
Warren did call her an hour later. And, as promised, he had told her all the things.
Things that got Jenna wet and made her nipples hard. Things that slicked her skin with sweat. Things that made her insides quiver, her pulse race, and her breath hitch.
He told her that the longer he had followed her through the museum, the more he’d wanted to lead her on a scavenger hunt to some obscure corner away from the crowd by doing to her what she had unknowingly done to him. He would have texted her hints and photos to lead her to him.
“What would you have done to me once I found you?” she asked.
“I would have fucked you.”
Then he explained all the ways he would have fucked her, planting salacious images in Jenna’s thoughts she would never forget even if she lived another hundred years.
And then, when she was so turned on she would have done anything he asked, he told her to stand naked in front of her bedroom window, with one hand on the glass as she masturbated with the other.
When she was only seconds away from coming, he told her to stop. And for once, she obeyed. Not because she wanted to follow orders for a change, but because she wanted to stave off her orgasm for as long as she could just to keep him talking.
He told her he was in his playroom, lust drunk as he gazed at his St. Andrew’s Cross while imagining her strapped to it, her bare skin marked with red slashes from where he’d flogged her. She heard the slap of leather on leather in the background as he brought the scene to life as best as he could over the phone.
And just when Jenna didn’t think she could restrain her orgasm any longer, he told her he was going to come and gave her permission to come with him.
And they did. Together. Her body seized almost violently at the same moment he grunted with a ragged mix of pain and pleasure that sounded like his soul was ripping through his skin.
When it was over, neither spoke for a long time. Just breathed. Hard. Heavily. Like it was a labor to take in oxygen.
After forever had passed, he quietly cleared his throat and said, “I’ve never looked forward to training a submissive as much as I’m looking forward to training you, Jenna.”
She could only agree, too far gone to even question him.
Before the call ended, he took down her address and email and promised to send her a contract first thing in the morning. Then they said good night, and Jenna fell into a comalike sleep filled with dreams of all the things, waking twice as she came in her sleep. Such were the depths of his hold on her.
For the next several days, Jenna spent her days working, and her nights trying to work. She was so preoccupied with reading and rereading the contract Warren had sent her, as well as with when they would see each other again, that she struggled to get words written on her next book while Delano and Josephine’s book was with her editor.
It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with what becoming a submissive entailed. She had done enough research to have at least a decent amount of knowledge regarding what was expected of her that nothing in Warren’s contract surprised her. She just wasn’t sure about how much of what was described in the finer points she would enjoy.
Anal plugs, for example. She had used them and liked them. She had no problem with Warren using them. Or with spanking, flogging, or being tied up. But genital clamps? And nipple clamps? And wax play, being whipped, and Japanese bondage? She didn’t know if those would get her off, make her feel silly, or simply shut her down.
When he called her the following Wednesday, she expressed her concerns.
“Have you ever used genital clamps or nipple clamps?” he had asked after listening to her worries. “Or shibari?”
“Shibari?”
“The technical term for Japanese bondage. But you might hear others at the club call it Kinbaku.”
And here she’d thought all bondage was just “bondage.” Silly her.
“No.” She hadn’t done most of what she’d read about in the contract, but she’d fantasized about a lot of it.
“Are you open to giving them a try?”
She was certainly curious. But she didn’t want to sign a contract that gave him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted if she decided that she didn’t like certain things after she tried them. “Yes.”
“Then mark those items that concern you, and write a statement on the back page that there are certain facets of the contract you aren’t sure about
