A Hard Bargain Read online

  “Introduce myself as the submissive who pissed him off right royally and who he now gets to spank by way of retribution.” My hands are moving furiously as I respond silently to my best friend’s objections, but she’s been around me for years and can keep track of my signing with no trouble at all.

  “Exactly. Let’s just go.”

  “No. I need this to be finished. Then I can move on, look for another Dom to train me. Maybe Angela will hear of someone else…”

  “God, I hope not. If they’re all as scary as… Which one is he, anyway? They both look deadly.”

  “The one nearest us, cream shirt.”

  “Pity. The other guy’s better looking. If you’re going to be dropping your pants for a guy, and then let him—whatever—it helps if he’s gorgeous, I suppose. Sort of softens the blow, so to speak. Are you sure yours is the cream shirt?”

  “Yes. I’m sure. And mine’s definitely the most gorgeous. Yours is okay I suppose…”

  “Mine? No way. I value my hide too much, and these guys—what did you say they were? Doms?”

  I nod helpfully.

  “Yeah, well, they just terrify me. And if you’d any sense, you’d be running for the hills now, and not even contemplate marching up to him. Please, Freya, you don’t have to do this. If being a member of this weird club is so important to you, why not just buy the place and award yourself life membership?”

  “Because that’s not the way we do things.”

  We? We submissives that would be. And for a submissive to contemplate buying a BDSM club and taking charge, in direct defiance of the most powerful Dominant in the place, is so unsubmissive as to be laughable. I shake my head, knowing I can’t come close to making Summer understand the complex protocols at play here. Suffice it to say, I have to accept my punishment if I want to move on and be allowed to continue to explore my sexual preferences in the relative security of this safe environment. I turn back to her, and decide to make one last attempt at reassurance.

  “I do. I really do. It’ll be all right. Afterwards. And I’m grateful to you for coming with me, but you don’t need to stay. I know you hate it here. Grab a taxi, I’ll pay for it, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m going nowhere. I’ll wait for you, and make sure you get home. When he’s done with you.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Really.” Although I’m doing my best to exude confidence, in truth, I’m not at all sure what state I’ll be in by the time Nicholas Hardisty is ‘done with me’, but I’ve never yet heard of an instance when a Dom punished a submissive so severely she—or he—was incapable of making their way home. I doubt I’m going to be the first. And however pissed off with me he might be, Nicholas Hardisty is a responsible Dom. He’ll hurt me, but he won’t go too far. Probably.

  Mr Hardisty has his back to me. He’s at the bar in the main lounge at the club, leaning casually on the polished surface chatting to his friend, the one Summer seems so taken with, who I vaguely recognize. I think I’ve heard he’s called Daniel, and although not in my opinion nearly as attractive as Nicholas Hardisty, he does seem quite nice. He’s always polite to submissives, but I’ve never scened with him. I’ve scened with hardly anyone, in fact. Both men are wearing black denim jeans, the normal ‘uniform’ for Doms as far as I can see, but Mr Hardisty is wearing a casual cream-colored sports shirt in contrast to his companion’s more austere black silk shirt. And Mr Hardisty is definitely the more handsome of the two, gorgeous and sexy and so, so hot. I’d say he’s in his early thirties, maybe a little older, dark brown hair, slightly over-long perhaps, a little over six feet tall and with shoulders that fill out that sports shirt very nicely indeed.

  I know I messed up, contacting him out of the blue like that. Totally messed up. But no one could honestly blame me for wanting Nicholas Hardisty. All the subs want Nicholas Hardisty, but he’s very, very selective. The only sub I can ever recall seeing him with—and then only once or twice in all the months I’ve been watching him here—is a tall, willowy blonde, name of Gina, I think. He doesn’t usually indulge himself, at least not here, but I know he’s a mentor for several less-experienced Doms. Indeed, my own friend, mentor, and now my champion it seems, Mistress Angela, speaks highly of his skills as a trainer and educator of new subs.

  I can see now that I should never have taken matters into my own hands, even though there’s no way at all he would ever have noticed me otherwise, the quiet little mouse in the corner. I’m not pretty, not the sort of sub to attract the attention of a sexy, experienced Master like Nicholas Hardisty, not tall and willowy, and definitely not blonde. I definitely shouldn’t have offered him money to train me. It never occurred to me that he’d take my approach so amiss, but he did, and I’m lucky to still be here. I owe that to Ange who persuaded him to re-consider, to relent and settle for a physical punishment instead of just throwing me out of the club for good.

  Which brings me back to my current dilemma. His instructions were to make myself known to him in order that he could mete out the discipline I seem to require. He laughs, the sound rich, low and incredibly sensual. I sigh. If it weren’t for the nature of our coming encounter, he’d seem quite approachable. Almost.

  I take a deep breath, squeeze Summer’s hand in one last gesture of reassurance then straighten my short black skirt. I adjust the neckline on my cut-off scarlet and black top, before moving silently in his direction. Silently, the way I do everything. Always silent, rarely noticed. And now I’m right behind him, and still he’s unaware of my presence. Which creates another pressing problem for me—how to attract his attention? I could simply tap him on the arm, but even as inexperienced as I am, I know a submissive can’t just march up and touch a strange Dom without permission. That’s definitely not allowed. I could try to clear my throat, but I suspect the sound—if I did indeed manage to make a sound—would just be ridiculous. I don’t want him to find me a figure of fun on top of everything else. I’m standing there, uncertain, trying not to fidget, or worse still turn and run, when Daniel saves the day for me. He spots me hovering awkwardly and leans around Mr Hardisty to find out what I’m doing there. His expression is distinctly surprised, no doubt at my temerity in interrupting them.

  “Yes?” His tone is stern but icily polite.

  Nicholas Hardisty turns to see what the interruption is, and our eyes meet. Briefly. I smile quickly, nervously, before dropping my gaze. I bow slightly, the only ready way I have of expressing respect to a nonsigner, before I step back to a more respectful distance.

  “Can we help you?” Daniel again, now regarding me with a somewhat puzzled expression.

  I can’t blame him really. Submissives just don’t walk up to Doms deep in conversation and interrupt, it’s not how we do things.

  “We’re not looking to play just yet, but if we want you, we’ll call you over.” He glances up, catches sight of Summer hovering a few yards away, and returns his gaze to me. “Both of you, perhaps.” Despite his dismissive words, he’s polite to me at least, not all Doms would be. He turns away, ready to get back to his conversation with Mr Hardisty, but his companion is still regarding me closely.

  “Miss Stone?” His voice is low, controlled, quite formal.

  I glance up and nod briefly before lowering my gaze again. Long moments pass, I can feel his eyes on me, assessing me. And no doubt finding me less than enticing, but he has a score to settle, a reputation to uphold. There’s no doubt I’m going to be getting my just deserts this evening, though I don’t suppose he’ll want to waste too much of his time on me. So I stand and wait.

  Mr Hardisty turns back to the bar and with a gesture calls the staff member over, a young man called David, I think. He converses with him quickly, his tone low. I peek up and catch the look of surprise on his companion’s face. Daniel turns his attention back to me, scrutinizing me much more carefully this time, no doubt keen to discern some hidden allure he may have missed the first time he glanced in my direction. There’s speculation undisguis
ed in his gaze, but on further reflection, further careful consideration, he clearly remains less than impressed. He shrugs, shakes his head slightly and turns away from me.

  Mr Hardisty concludes his business with David and turns to me, raises his hand to beckon me to him. I approach and stand before him, acutely aware of my diminutive five foot four as he towers over me. I can’t drag my eyes from his right hand—I know I’m going to become intimately acquainted with it quite soon and I wonder how many strokes he has in mind. How severe a spanking have I earned?

  “I’ve reserved room nine, upstairs. Please go there and wait for me.”

  My speculation is interrupted by his voice, his instructions are curt and clipped. He turns away, doesn’t see me nod briefly, the flash of relief perhaps evident as I realize I’m not to be subjected to a public humiliation after all. I make my way toward the exit. He doesn’t need to see me leave, he knows I’ll obey him. Submissives always obey Mr Hardisty.

  I stop only long enough to hug Summer, tell her one last time that she really doesn’t need to hang around waiting for me, and a couple of minutes later I’m slipping through the door of room nine on the upper floor.

  The ground floor at the club is where the public and communal rooms are, the bar, the various lounges and of course my personal favorite—though only ever as a spectator—the dungeon. Members who prefer their activities to be played out in a more secluded setting can make use of the private rooms on the second floor. Some of these are themed, for example one is styled to resemble a classroom and another a nursery for the age regressionists among our number. On one memorable occasion, I was invited to scene with a Dom who had a fetish for curvy little girls in gymslips and no underwear. He enjoyed himself for a while laying stripes across my bottom with a ruler, and I confess I didn’t mind that. Not really, if it was going to lead to some more sensual fun later. I was distinctly moist and eagerly anticipating the next phase of our interlude together by the time he was ready to move on. But he wanted to cane my hands as well, and I let him do that too. Then he simply thanked me, said I was a good girl after all, and left to fuck someone else—presumably a bad girl.

  I talk with my hands, and he hurt them. They hurt for days. I was truly silenced as well as disappointed and frustrated. I love to sew, and I couldn’t do that either for the best part of a week. I expect—hope—Mr Hardisty will be able to demonstrate a little more sensitivity, his reputation certainly suggests that he might. I doubt any submissive ever left his company disappointed and frustrated. Not that I’m his sub exactly. I’m more in the way of an annoyance, a chore, a score to be settled.

  I’m relieved to find that room nine is the ‘standard’ type, exactly like most of the other private rooms here at the Collared and Tied, simply furnished with a spanking bench, a straight backed wooden chair and a double bed in one corner. The shelves and display cases house a range of equipment and toys—whips, canes, a generous supply of spankers and floggers. The walls and ceiling sport an interesting variety of metal loops and anchor points, designed to secure a sub in whatever position is required. There are an impressive selection of vibrators, dildos and nipple clamps as well, but I know that many Doms prefer to use their own stuff. And of course, a drawer containing hundreds of condoms. I doubt somehow that we’ll be getting through many of those. Chance would indeed be a very fine thing.

  In the absence of any more detailed instructions regarding any preparations I should make, I settle for perching nervously on the edge of the bed. I gaze around me, my eyes returning repeatedly to the chair in the center of the room. Will he opt to sit on that, place me across his knees? I hope so, that seems less clinical somehow. More intimate, offering more direct contact. Will he want me to strip? Doms usually like their submissives to be naked or as near as makes no difference. But Mr Hardisty is not just a Dom, he’s a Master. He has a reputation for being hard, firm, strict. He sets rules and enforces them relentlessly. I broke his rules without even knowing what they were. And now, I have no idea at all what to expect from him.

  Except, I know it’s going to be painful. Very painful. And despite the club’s insistence on safe and consensual play, I have no reliable way of safe wording. Up to now I’ve relied on the dungeon master to keep an eye out for me, and he’s been very attentive. But Frank isn’t here in room nine right now, and Mr Hardisty is a stranger. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand me. He might not intend to harm me, but how will he be able to help it? Christ, what have I done?

  He makes me wait. And wait. My panic growing, building, my fears whirling around my head as my imagination gets to work and runs riot, twisting me and tying me in knots. I’m confused, terrified and excited in equal parts. I was so keen to meet Nicholas Hardisty, to scene with him. I wanted him to train me—I still do, desperately. But he’s refused. Turned me down flat. He won’t even discuss it with me. This—whatever I’m to have this evening, is all the help I’m likely to get from him. And I know I’m on thin ice, he could easily rescind my membership again if he decides I’m unsuitable for this club. I can’t risk that, I really can’t, so I won’t be repeating my request. There must be others who could help me. But they’re not as highly recommended and for some reason I do want Nicholas Hardisty. No one else appeals.

  He’s here. The door opens and he’s here, in the same room as me, alone with me. All I ever wanted. And the one man, the one Dom, I’m most afraid of. I drop my eyes immediately. My hands, my expressive speaking hands, are twisting together incoherently in my lap. Should I be standing? Kneeling? He remains motionless, watching me, leaning against the door that he clicked quietly closed behind him as he came in. I can feel his eyes on me, assessing me, waiting for me to…what? Oh, Christ, what if I’ve annoyed him again…? I start to rise, lift my hands ready to start signing an apology.

  “Stay there. We need to talk.”

  His voice stills me. Talk! Yeah, right. I do a lot of that.

  He comes forward and, grabbing the chair from the middle of the room, drags it toward the bed. He turns it and sits, straddling the seat, his arms folded, elbows lying along the top of the chair back. And he watches me again. He’s waiting, waiting for me to say something perhaps. I glance up at him, eye contact and expression are essential tools of communication for me, and I quickly sign an apology. He won’t understand my gestures, but it serves as a reminder that I can’t speak to him out loud.

  “What is that? British Sign Language?” His tone is low, measured. He doesn’t sound angry, or irritated.

  I nod my reply, and drop my hands uselessly back into my lap.

  “Sorry, I don’t understand it. So, no vocal sounds at all I think you said in your email?”

  I nod then shake my head, not sure how best to respond. He seems to get my meaning though.

  “Right. We do need to talk though. Will this do?” He leans over, and pulls his iPhone from his back jeans pocket. He taps the screen a couple of times to bring up a notepad app then holds it out to me.

  I gape at him, surprised, and he jerks his hand to remind me to reach out, accept it from him. I’m stunned, I never expected this, didn’t expect anything in the way of effort on his part to help me communicate. His face is serious, not especially encouraging, but his actions are speaking volumes to me already. I was so right to select him as my trainer. If only he’d agree.

  “I have some questions for you. I require answers. Honest answers, full answers. Do you understand?”

  I nod once more, not sure what he might need to ask me. I thought our business was concluded, all except this last episode which really requires no conversation at all beyond ‘get undressed and bend over’. Now, it just needs to be got over with.

  “Okay. I want you to write your responses down for me. Take your time, we’re in no hurry. I want to be absolutely sure though that we understand each other before we’re done here.” He pauses, watching my reactions closely. He hasn’t instructed me to drop my gaze, indeed, I don’t think I could if he did require it. His
eyes are mesmerizing, deep and dark, slate gray. Beautiful eyes, but so stern, so uncompromising, drilling into mine.

  “Why are you here?”

  His first question throws me completely. Why am I here? I’m here because he bloody well told me to come here, I’m here to be punished, disciplined, my behavior corrected. What sort of a question’s that? My confusion must be apparent on my face because he chuckles, the sound low and sexy.

  “Yes, yes, you’re here for a spanking and you’ll get that. All in good time. But what I want to know is, why do you deserve to be spanked?”

  I shake my head slightly, shrugging, bewildered.

  He tilts his head, his expression firming, all trace of humor gone in an instant. “It’s not a trick question, girl, and I expect you to answer me. Now. Don’t keep me waiting, and don’t make me repeat myself. Write down for me why you deserve to be punished. What did you do that needs to be corrected?” His tone is not menacing, not yet threatening, but I know he won’t take kindly to having to ask me again.

  I try to think, but to be fair my brain is turning into a sort of soggy porridge. This conversation, his question, is so left field, so totally unexpected. I stare at the small screen in my hands, my mind a blank. Obviously I use notepads a lot, electronic and the paper type, in shops that sort of thing. BSL is not widely used or understood so I have to make do. Shopping’s easier now that supermarkets have those DIY checkouts, but still…

  I write down the first thing that occurs to me.

  I broke the rules of being a submissive by making contact with a Dominant, before I was invited to?

  I hand the phone back to Nicholas Hardisty who reads my short response rapidly before passing it straight back.

  “Nice try. That would have earned you a reprimand, not a spanking. Think again, girl. And this time don’t try to evade, I think you know what your offense was. But I intend to make sure you understand what all this is about before we proceed.”