Page 35 of Dominant

“Tonight,” he said. “Anyone can touch you.” He signalled to a servant, who turned quickly to the bar to pour him a scotch, and sat down.

I stood beside him unmoving, stiff in my sense of self-consciousness, and afraid to move in case it would trigger more sharp, shooting pain from my nipples. I held my back tightly, breathing shallowly, as men dressed in their business attire or black cloaks drifted in and out of the room, looking at me.

The servant brought Alexander his glass, and he leaned back in the chair looking relaxed. He smiled up at me.

“They hurt, don’t they?” he asked. “The clamps.”

Sparks of pain were stabbing through my nipples, as if tiny, electric fibres were being inserted into them.

A long time ago, I’d learned how to lean into the pain. Fighting it was the worst thing.

As a child, I’d been very stressed. Moving from place to place as my mother chased after her whims, there were times when we didn’t know where our next meal would come from, or where we would sleep. I worried about these things; she didn’t. When the stress had become too much, and I’d started pulling out my hair to the point of developing a bald spot, a guidance counsellor had taught me about redirecting my self-destructive urges. “Wear the elastic band like a bracelet,” she’d advised me, “and snap it when you feel yourself getting into your head.”

I’d been surprised at how painful it was, at first. But soon I started to crave the pain, for the brief second that it took me out of reality. I sought out thicker, tighter elastic bands, snapping them against my skin with such force that they left a bruise. Relaxing into the pain could transport you somewhere else, I’d learned.

I breathed into the nipple clamps, letting them burn through my body like fire, and found myself growing peaceful.

Sublimated within me, the pain, the sharp sensation, turned to pleasure. I felt the sweet, heavy pressure between my legs as I got aroused.

Soon, a man in a black cloak approached.

“What a beautiful girl,” he said to Alexander, looking me over appreciatively.

He smiled. “What do you like best about her? Please - feel free to touch her.”

The man turned his face toward me. He had full lips and crooked teeth, his jowls were fleshy beneath his mask. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I like her tits. Nice and full. You don’t often see them this good.”

“No,” agreed Alexander. “They’re fantastic. I’m training her for nipple torture.”

Licking his lips, the man raised a thick hand to one of my breasts, squeezing it and sending shooting sparks of pain through my nipple. I hissed - more for effect than anything else. The pain felt good. It had been losing its edge until he touched me.

“What have we here?” asked a second man, also in a cloak, but with nothing on underneath.

“Look at this sweet young thing,” said the first man. “Sir X says we can play with her.”

“You can touch her,” corrected Alexander.

The second man’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to fuck her,” he said, as he reached a hand forward quickly and cupped my pussy, seeking my hole with one finger and pushing it into me. I exhaled shakily, surprised by how hard he was grabbing me.

“Not tonight,” growled Alexander in a low warning.

The man’s grip loosened, his finger sliding out of me, and he spoke deferentially to Alexander. “Of course, Sir X.” He bent his face towards me and kissed me, thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth before whispering in my ear, “Oh, but you are delicious. When you’re available I want to know what that tight pussy feels like around my cock.”

I was shocked. But despite myself, I flushed; my pussy swelled. It was the roughest a man had ever spoken to me.

“This is what it will be like,” said Alexander, after the men had walked away, their cocks swollen and hard. “You will be used like a plaything. Tonight it’s touching - later it will be much more.”

He stood up and looked into my face, lifting my chin with his finger. “You will be used roughly, by one man after the next, while I watch.”

A look must have passed over my face. I was admittedly shocked by Alexander’s words.

I thought I was under his protection? I thought he was the one laying claim to me?

“I warned you time and time again about this,” he murmured. His voice was low, deep, and sinister. “I warned you not to pull this thread, not to keep looking into the numbered account, not to sign a contract putting you into our servitude… every choice that landed you here was your choice, Number Six.”

I kept my breathing steady, my gaze level. He was right. All of this had been my choice. And I wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t scare me out of it.

He bent towards my ear, his breath brushing against it as he spoke. “As long as you’re here, you’re mine. Your body belongs to me, your pussy belongs to me… Being under my protection only means that I get to decide what happens to you. It doesn’t mean that nobody touches you but me, it doesn’t mean that your body isn’t going to be put to good use.”

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