Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
BLAKE
After my usual celebratory shotgun in the locker room, I hightail it back to my room so that I can throw my gear bag in the closet and then head out for some grub.
I’m still hyperfixating on the song that’s been my recent earworm, so imagine my surprise when I key open the door, bopping to The Aces, to find Imani in the submissive Nadu position—naked.
I quickly close the door so no one sees her, and drop my bag on the floor, leaning back to observe her.
She must have flat-ironed her perm out, because it’s out of her traditional bun and creating a curtain around her downturned face, and I have to say that it’s pretty nice to see this girl with her hair down for once.
I mean that in all the ways possible. Her dainty little tits are pebbled into dark pencil eraser tips, making me want to put my mouth all over them.
Hands resting on her kneeling and deliciously muscled, spread thighs, her palms are upturned as though in wait of my orders.
“Well. This was not on my Olympics bingo card,” I purr as a greeting, still perusing all the angles of all that brown skin put on display just for my viewing pleasure.
Imani’s face snaps up, lips twisting in anger. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Tell me, Cupcake, what exactly did you have in mind when you put yourself in a scene without asking for consent?” I question, cocking my head and flicking a brow up.
I watch her deflate. “Oh. I see what I did wrong.”
“Well, you’re very smart, so I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to,” I commend her.
Imani shakes out her squirms as she rises from her position. “Should I… put clothes on?”
“I think you’d better. There’s only so far my willpower can take us, hm?” I share with her.
A startled squeak emerges from her throat as she takes in the compliment.
I sit comfortably on the bed and watch all that glorious skin disappear from my view. Of course, I mourn the lack of nudity, but I’m not going to put Imani at a power disadvantage while we talk about whatever she has in mind.
Imani begins to put her hair up, and I hold up a hand to stop her. “Nope, leave that down for me, if you would. It’s nice like this.” I follow my words up by patting the bed next to me in welcome.
Her lips quiver, but she says nothing, only listens to me without argument.
I can’t decide if that’s a welcome change or a disappointment. The eternal argument of a brat tamer, I suppose. And I suppose that’s exactly what I’m about to be doing here.
“Can I touch you? More specifically, can I touch your hair?” I ask. Listen, I’m not an idiot. Imani is not the first Black girl I’ve been involved with—I know the rules.
She nods, so I push her hair behind her ear, then run my knuckles along her diamond-cutting jawline. “Tell me what you want, Imani.”
“I want you, Sir,” Imani responds without a beat.
Internally, I’m gleeful at the reception of that beautiful honorific uttered from her gorgeous mouth.
Externally, I let my face betray nothing, and simply lower my voice as I move my hand down to hold her throat.
“Remind me, Cupcake, did I or did I not tell you that if you were going to accept me, that you were to simply say ‘Sir?’”
I feel her gulp under my palm. “You… did. But—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” I cut her off. “I did. And no part of those instructions was to present yourself to me in a submissive position, naked or otherwise, correct?”
“No, no part…” Imani hesitantly agrees.
“And I believe I’ve already made the point that by presenting, you crossed one of my boundaries, because you did not ask for consent. Do you understand that, or do we need to discuss it further?” I ask sternly.
“I’m not an idiot,” she huffs. “I already said I got it.”
“I’m sorry, what’s that?” I ask, allowing her the grace to correct her own behavior.
“No, Sir. We don’t need to discuss it further.” Imani pivots.
“Thank you,” I praise her and release her neck. “Now, please tell me what you mean by your declaration.”
“I would like to do the D/s dynamics, the praise, but I’m not sure about degradation.
” She begins to list on her delicate fingers.
“I already said I like penetration. I…” She pauses to cough.
“I very much like the light choking. I would like to try restraints; forced orgasms sound hot. But, um, can we start with light impact only on my tits, ass, and thighs?” She finishes her count on her fingers and then folds her hands into her lap.
“Thank you for telling me what you’d like. I’m hearing that two hard limits are degradation and face-slapping, so that’s noted. Is that right?” I verify.
I watch Imani’s pulse flutter in her throat. “The first is correct, I think the second thing is a soft limit... But maybe...” Her last sentence is uttered softly and with hesitation.
“Very good. What other limits do you have?” I entreat her to continue.
She raises her fingers for another count-off. “Soft: orgasm denial, CNC. Hard: anal, and all of yours.”
“That’s wonderful work, Imani. Thank you for sharing all of that with me. What do you like for aftercare?” I query.
“Oh. Shit. This feels like a test,” she mutters.
I let a loud laugh escape. “It’s not, I promise.
Do you like being comforted by a body, by water?
Do you need specific food or drink? Do you like certain senses being paid attention to?
Do you like to be praised or be vulnerable?
Do you like to be swaddled like a burrito and put to sleep after a glass of water? ”
Imani’s face is wide-eyed with confusion. “We have to do all of that just to fuck?”
“It’s pretty standard practice in the kink community.
But it can look like anything you want. I personally want to make sure you’re back in your right mind if you left it, make sure you feel positive about yourself and the experience, and make sure you replenish your body with water and food. ” I explain.
“Can’t you just guess? You can read everything else about me,” she snarks.
“I could, but mind-reading is toxic behavior. It’s also important that you vocalize your needs. So, let’s fuckin’ go,” I encourage her.
“Can I just be a basic bitch and do the water and a cuddle? Maybe hear some nice things, too?” Imani inquires.
“We can definitely start there, and always add whatever works as we go,” I nod in agreement. “When would you like to begin? We don’t need to rush.”
“We literally do. The games are half over,” she argues.
I grin. “We’re still not going to rush.”
“Okay, but like… I want to start right now. That’s why I was splayed out on the floor. But I guess you’re like, turned off now or whatever?” Imani folds her arms.
“Cupcake, if you don’t think that made me absolutely feral for you, you’re dead wrong,” I say so slowly as for her to hear every word I utter. I push her onto her back and crawl over her, my hair being kept blessedly out of the way in a shower-fresh pile on the top of my head.
“Can you let your hair down, too? I like it like that.” She eyes the dark blond bun.
“No, not right now. And lesson one: we’re in scene as of this moment. That means you don’t speak unless spoken to. There will be punishments for disobeying rules. You may speak to answer, and only to answer.” I demand.
“Yes,” she breathes.
I grab her chin roughly. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir,” Imani says with eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“I like it when you’re a good girl for me, Cupcake.
Can you be a good girl for your Sir?” I question her, and before allowing her to answer, I give in to my baser instincts and swallow her words up in a kiss.
Imani opens for me immediately, and the kiss is hungry, hot, and just a little desperate on both of our parts.
The tension between us is high and liable to snap at any moment.
Luckily for both of us, I’m about to spank her until she’s begging at my feet.
At the moment, though, I want to worship her mouth with mine.
I pull away from her, leaving her gasping for air. “I asked you a question, Imani.”
“That’s not fair, you distracted me,” she whines.
I can’t help but grin. “What was lesson number one?”
“You’re shitting on my dick right now. You made me do that!” She argues.
I put my hands around her dainty hips and flip her over, pulling her skirt and panties down to expose her beautiful flesh. “Lesson number two: you’re going to count for me.”
“Sir! This is bullshit!” She sputters in outrage.
“You’re earning more with each piece of backtalk,” I warn, and then land a light spank onto her shapely ass.
“That’s it? One,” she pronounces with affected boredom.
“Goddamn, I love a brat. I haven’t had this much fun in a while, Cupcake,” I say out loud before landing a second blow with a little more force.
“Two,” she drawls out.
Smack.
“Three,” she announces with a touch of surprise.
Smack.
“Four!” she squeaks.
“What’s your color, Cupcake?” I stop to verify, having progressively amped up the level of force I’m utilizing.
“Very, very, green, Sir,” she assures me, squirming.
Smack.
“I think you take impact a little better than you had expected to, hm?” I posit.
I get nothing in answer, and I hit her again.
“You may answer,” I tell her.
“Yes, Sir.” She decides on the safest response.
“Hm. Do you think if I check your pussy right now, you’ll be wet?” I muse.
She scoffs. “No one gets wet from being hit.”
“And yet, here we are. I’m curious. And you wouldn’t deny your Sir a curiosity, would you?” I ask with fake wonder.
“No, no, no!” She yelps.
I pause. “What’s your color, Imani?”
She pauses with me, and I hear an audible gulp. “Green,” she confesses.
I nod and push her cheeks open, revealing an ebony pussy that is positively shining with cream. “What a beautiful sight this is, Cupcake. Is this all for your Sir?”
Imani squirms around but refuses to answer.
I smack her ass three times in succession.
“Yes! Yes, Sir! It’s for you!” She answers immediately.
“Better. What do you think I should do with this greedy cunt?” I ponder.
Imani snorts. “Obviously, fuck me.”
I swat her three more times, but this time in the same spot.
“Ah! I mean—whatever Sir wishes to do with me,” she tries again.
“Very good, Cupcake,” I praise her for the swift correction. With Imani being as smart as she is, the only thing really in her way of being a good submissive is that fucking smartass mouth. I can’t deny I do enjoy the bratting, though.
I take another lingering look at her ass and pull her bottoms back up.
She flips over and stares at me open-mouthed. “What the fuck? You’re not going to fuck me?”
“Lesson three: when I snap once, you correct with ‘yes, Sir.’ When I snap and point to the space in front of me, you return to Nadu,” I explain, and proceed to do the latter.
The brat is well and active, because Imani sticks out her tongue before doing as she’s told, finding a place on the floor at my feet.
“Head up, Cupcake,” I demand.
Her eyes find mine with excitement.
“That’s all for today. You did exceptionally well—I’m very pleased,” I praise her, and watch the pleasure at my words flit across her features.
“But—” Imani begins, but I snap once. “Yes, Sir… Permission to ask a question, Sir?”
“Good girl. Yes, you may,” I allow.
“I don’t know how I can please you if I didn’t do anything?” Imani phrases the statement like a question.
I lay down on the bed, making room for her and beckoning her into the spot.
When she settles in next to me, I spoon her into my arms and wait for her to relax into my body.
It’s absolute heaven to feel her pressed up against me.
Only when her breathing evens out do I answer her question.
“You’re right about us not having a lot of time.
But if I’m going to be your first kinky experience, I have to take all the time possible.
We’re not going to get very far, sure, but if you come out of this week wanting to continue your journey with someone else, you’ll know how you’re supposed to be treated.
I’m not going to have you walking out of my arms and walking into the clutches of a fake Dom.
I want this week imprinted on your mind permanently, and I want it to be as valuable as it is sexy. ”
“I hate how reasonable that sounds,” she admits, causing me to laugh.
“Just relax, and let me tell you how hot you were when I was spanking your ass, or when you listened to my commands, or when you called me Sir,” I purr into her ear.
She whimpers and presses back into me, wiggling her ass.
“You just can’t stop bratting, can you?” I tease in a low voice.
“You saw how wet I was for you, and you still didn’t give me any. I told you that orgasm denial is a limit for me, and here we are,” Imani whines.
“Ah, the education I have to cram into such a short time,” I whisper, trailing my hand over her thigh. “That absolutely is not what orgasm denial is, Cupcake.”
“How long are you going to make me wait, Sir?” She asks, begging evident in her voice.
“As long as it takes, Cupcake. As long as it takes.”