Page 1 of Good Girl

1

Cadence

“Who’s my good girl?”

Those words are everything to me. They send a cascade of sensation through my body. Shivers, want, need. I was wet from the beginning, now I’m dripping. Even though this is our thing, our script, it never ceases to send me soaring.

“I’m your good girl,” I whisper, looking up at him adoringly.

He reaches down. I have to suppress the urge to flinch. Most times he takes my cheeks in his hands, or cups my ears gently, bestows a kiss on my forehead. Tells me I am, indeed, his good girl. But sometimes… sometimes… I am not his good girl. Sometimes I fuck up. I don’t answer fast enough. Don’t give him what he’s looking for. And he’s forced to punish me. He slaps my cheeks, spanks my bottom really hard, pinches me, hits me with the belt. Marks me. The punishments are endless, they are creative, though I’m getting to know his preferences.

Usually I know when I’ve fucked up. His rules are pretty simple. Don’t touch myself without permission, don’t forget to call him by his preferred title, don’t fuck around with other guys. He doesn’t interfere in my outside life as long as I follow his rules. The deal is, if I want to pursue new things; a boyfriend, a career move, then I talk to him, tell him what’s going on. Then we discuss any possible changes to our play contract.

He takes my face in his big hands, cupping my cheeks, and kisses me. On the cheek, next to my mouth. He’s been doing this lately. He used to kiss my forehead, an obligatory symbol of his goodwill when I’d done something correct. Now though, it feels different. As though his lips are slowly closing in on mine, though he promised at the beginning of our relationship, put it in our contract, that he would never kiss my mouth. Never push my boundaries. Not without permission.

I am his submissive. His play partner.

I bend to his will on command. I take his instruction with pleasure, doing exactly as he asks. Because the rewards are worth the brief moments of pain he inflicts on me. And let’s be honest, even the pain is worth it. He knows exactly how hard to hit, where to hit, how to hit, to leave me begging for more. A satisfied submissive when I do exactly as he demands. A miserable mess when I don’t.

I inhale his scent, taking it in. I’ve never been able to figure out if it was his cologne, soap, shampoo, natural scent. It doesn’t really matter anyway. I’ve come to associate this heady, deliciously masculine smell with my Dom. It triggers so much within me. Punishment, pain, touch, welcoming caresses. His smell invokes every memory. Right from the beginning.

We met four months ago. He was new to town, looking for a new sub. I was new to the entire concept but looking to learn. I’d had a couple of bad hook-ups with so-called Dominants. Guys full of themselves, full of their ability to fuck a girl, make her scream, and leave her in tears. One of the guys got drunk, hurt me. I was wary of meeting potential new Dom’s after that.

When I met Vin, I knew he was different. He insisted we both get medical checks, create a contract and discuss all my questions and concerns before we played. He slowly, confidently, guided me into the world of BDSM. Of course, I was hesitant at first, scared. I didn’t want to be categorized. Didn’t want to be thought of as easy prey. But Vin never treated me that way. He was my protector from the start. He made sure I was comfortable with all our interactions, comfortable with him.

I don’t know what happened. I used to love the way Vin protected me. Watched over me. Asked about my day and cared about the answer. But something has definitely shifted. There’s an edge now. The man who was supposed to guide me through this beautiful, but too often corrupt world of kink, is now further out of reach than ever. I’ve known from the beginning that I couldn’t keep Vin. That allowing my heart to become part of the equation wasn’t a possibility. Now, things are coming to a head.

I jerk my face out of his hands and move away, straightening my shoulders. He’s frowning at me. I’m not being subtle enough. I never am. I always wear my feelings on my sleeve.

“What’s wrong, Cadence?” he asks.

I want to tell him everything. Fall onto his lap and admit every thought I’ve ever had. Admit that I can’t keep playing and keep my emotions in a box. Instead, I back away from him, from the softness of his lips against the edge of mine; away from the comfort of his presence. “It’s nothing,” I say, reaching for my clothes.

He frowns. Doesn’t bother with his clothes. Fuck, there’s no reason why this man should ever bother with clothing. He’s so achingly beautiful, that from the very beginning I wondered what a god like him wanted with someone like me. He’s tattooed, hard-bodied perfect. I’ve overly curvy, awkward me.

“What are you doing later?” he asks.

I freeze. He’s asked me this before. Many times. My answer is usually some variation of the same. I’m reading a book, checking out a new travel site for my blog, meeting a girlfriend at a coffee shop. This question has never been an issue because my answers have never been something that Vin might take issue with.

Now I can’t give him an answer he’ll want. So instead of the truth I give him defiance. “Why do you care? We agreed that our private lives were our own.”

He catches my chin as I’m dragging my skirt back over my legs and forces my face around to his. His features appear to be set in stone, more than usual. He studies me for a moment and then says one more time, his voice lethally deep and measured, “Cadence, tell me what you’re doing later.”

I flinch and drop my eyes as I answer truthfully, each word dragged from me like an unwilling victim. “I have a date, Master.”

I know that using his preferred dungeon name won’t soften the blow. Still, I’m compelled to try. Vin commands so much with a single glance. From the moment I met him, Vin has been my everything. My mentor, my teacher, my master, my secret crush. But lately, he’s been restrictive. He’s been pushing outside of boundaries we agreed on. Past the bedroom and into everyday life. He’s making play dates more and more often. My bruises barely have a chance to heal. In a way, I think I accepted this date as a way to rebel, to push back. Vin wants me to himself, but he’s unwilling to commit more than a Dom/sub relationship. Well, I’m unwilling to accept this sort of relationship as the rest of my life. I need more than a Dominant. I need companionship, love, a future.

As soon as the words leave my lips he snatches my hair in a tight grip and drags my head back. I think to complain. Think to whine that he’s taking our agreement too far. Yes, I’m on his turf, playing in his domain, but I am entitled to my own life, outside of our play. The look on his face convinces me I should keep my lips sealed. He’s furious and he’s not bothering to hide it.

“No,” he snaps. “You’re not going.”

My mouth falls open. I’ve done plenty to displease my Master in the past, but he always deals with his annoyance in a cool, collected manner. He doles punishments out in a measured way. Never going too far, never losing control.

I moisten my lips and press my head back against his fist to relieve the pressure on my scalp. “I’m sorry that you don’t like it, Vin. But this is my private life and we have an agreement.”

I use his name to indicate that play time is over, I’m back in the real world, living my own life. That he needs to release me. He doesn’t. He drags me around and uses my hair to tip my face up so I’m staring at his clenched jaw and flashing eyes.

“Who is he?” Vin demands.

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