Harriet's Arrangement

Yes Master

Harriet's nerves were in tatters by the time she and Tom arrived back after dinner. He'd carefully not brought the subject up again, and she'd pointedly been cooler towards the server, who had looked a little offended as he'd sauntered off and stopped finding excuses to return too often to the table. But every time she'd held Tom's gaze for longer than a moment, she'd seen the eyebrow begin to arch and had imagined all of the scenarios he might be running through in his head as he decided how to deal with her behaviour later. So she'd blush and look away and quickly say something else, her heart fluttering in her chest as she too imagined what might happen.

He had held her hand quite firmly all the way home, subtly reminding her how this was going to go, and once through the door, he'd pushed her up against the wall and kissed her hard. "Right, young lady," he breathed, as she gasped from the unexpected force he'd used, "Tonight I'm going to remind you that I don't share. You're mine." He kissed her again and she moaned as his fingers gripped her hair, pulling until it hurt.

"Yes, Sir," she groaned, closing her eyes as the pain stirred complex feelings in her belly.

"Not tonight," he murmured, his lips against hers, "Tonight, I'm your Master."

The world spun and her heart pounded as she realised that this Tom was yet again one she had not yet experienced. "Yes, Master," she whispered, feeling a distinct shift in the dynamic between them. Suddenly, saying 'Master' felt very different to how she'd imagined it would when he'd first suggested it.

"Safe words still apply," he reminded her in a low voice that left no doubt as to the fact that he would be testing her limits this evening.

"Yes, Master," she whispered again, feeling a thrill of fear and excitement at the unspoken implication. She gasped as he let go of her hair all of a sudden.

"Kneel," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor, "And sit there quietly while I find what we need."

She obeyed, and he left, a brief caress to her head soothing her nerves. She sat alone on her heels in the hallway, her hands fidgeting distractedly in her lap, trying not to imagine what he was planning, and instead concentrating on trying to control her erratically pounding heart, which was suddenly the only sound she could hear.

"Harriet." The call was soft, and she wondered if it was in fact a repeated call that she'd missed the first time round. "Come here."

She got to her feet, feeling like an entirely different person and followed his voice into the bedroom. He was standing next to the bed, shirt unbuttoned, his beautiful chest on display, and on the bed was one of the canes that she'd often admired in the wardrobe, alongside what she thought was called a crop. He held in his hand a pair of leather cuffs. She felt her jaw drop almost comically at the sight. His gaze, strong and domineering, forced hers to the floor, and without knowing why she was doing so, she immediately knelt before him, submissive and obedient.

He crouched down in front of her and, with one finger hooked underneath her chin, brought her eyes up to meet his. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice not exactly soft and gentle, but laced with enough familiar reassurance for her to feel completely safe, and for her to know that this was her opportunity to voice any concern she felt. She knew that was why he had laid the cane on the bed.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, not moving her eyes from his. She was confident in her answer: she was ready for this, ready to be completely his, and ready to know what a cane in his hands would feel like.

"Good girl. Stand."

She got to her feet, eyes now dropping respectfully to the floor, and stood perfectly still as he circled her, his body tantalisingly close to hers. The leather cuffs brushed against her skin and she bit back a moan, but he noticed.