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Pristine looks up at the stony-faced man in army jacket,
jeans and black cowboy boots.
He’s probably forty, though he could pass for younger.
He hasn’t an ounce of fat and he looks confident as
hell—though not in the sort of way that requires
self-promotion.
“Gage, this is Pristine.
Pristine, this is Gage Shepherd,” Ian introduced the
two.
He puts his hand out right away, which she takes as a
sign of weakness. “Another
bodyguard?” she snaps, her eyes moving to push him down into
the floor. “What
concern is that of mine?”
Ian glances quickly at Gage, who is showing no reaction. “He’s a bit more than that, Pris. He has a military background and…”
“He’s a little puny,” Pristine interrupts, putting
herself right smack in Gage’s personal space.
“And old, too…for a bodyguard.”
She’s looking up at him, her belly an inch from his.
She has no intention of touching him, and she wants him
to suffer the agony of wanting to touch her.
His eyes are the gray of a quiet dawn over some English
castle. But
there’s a rumble behind them, like an army of silver knights
is waiting just beyond the next hill. Either that or a
thunderstorm.
“Pris,” Ian laments,
“do you have to be so friggin’ rude?”
“It’s
all right,” Gage replies, his gaze never once leaving the
blonde’s. “I
suppose I am a bit of an antique to this new generation;
although it has been said that some things improve with age.”
Pristy’s eyes narrow.
He’s trying to fence with her and that pisses her off
big-time. “Forget
about it…bodyguard.
Pristine doesn’t fuck anyone whose social security
number is in the single digits—no matter how much Viagra he
takes.” She backs
away, slinky and sexy, doing her best to make him feel like
something she’d scrape off the bottom of her shoe.
Gage
is nonplussed. “Until
we meet again,” he inclines his head very slightly, the
tiniest little smile on his face.
She
wants to smack him, but that would only give him satisfaction in
thinking he’d gotten under her skin.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she taunts, thrusting her
button nose in the air, “I have a show to do.”
The
encounter is still bothering her as she starts her first set,
and after two songs she needs a break and a cigarette bad.
The boos start right up and for the first time she
notices pre-printed signs with hateful messages like “Pristy
the Quitter” and “Give us our money back.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me right now!” she throws
the headset at Ian backstage.
“I’m not in the mood!
And where in hell is Mindee?
She’s been AWOL all day!”
Pristy marches straight down the cinderblock corridor and
Ian falls in step, a bouncing puppy at her heels, trying to
cajole, reason and exhort all at once.
She slams the door in his face, hoping his nose is close
enough to get whacked.
“You’re a bit early, aren’t you?”
The unexpected voice scares her half to death.
It takes her a moment to recover and see that it is the
new guy, that motherfucker Gage, sitting on her couch, serenely
and as if he owns it. Her
response is swift and furious.
“What the hell are you doing in here?
How dare you? Who do you think you are?
Do you have any idea how fired you are?” she screams.
Gage remains unperturbed by the finger and tits in his
face. His legs are
crossed, his jacket is off and she can see just how well put
together he is in that black T-shirt and jeans that delineate
every manly asset.
“You
are scheduled to perform for ninety minutes tonight,
Pristine,” he counters matter-of-factly.
“With only one break, forty-five minutes in.
Given this fact, the more pertinent question is, what are
you doing here?”
Wrath clouds the beauty’s face.
Her mouth is contorting as she searches for something
vicious enough to say. “I’m
giving you to the count of ten,” she hisses at last, her voice
quiet as the eye of a hurricane.
“And then I am going to…”
“To what, Pristine?
Exactly what will you do?
I’m curious.”
He’s caught her off guard.
For the moment she has no answer.
The simple truth is, no one’s defied her in so long she
really wouldn’t know what to do.
Gage fills in the blank.
“There isn’t much you can do, I’m afraid.
As you’ve probably guessed by now, Pristine, I am not
here for routine security.
I’ve been hired by Sir Reginald for a special
purpose.”
Pristy backs up a step toward the door.
“Sir Reginald?” she asks warily.
“You’ve pushed his patience to the limit, Pristine.
And a lot of other people’s, too.
Sir Reginald feels your behavior needs correction.”
“Correction?” she repeats, indignation flooding her
voice. “What the
hell does that mean?”
“A lot of things, Pristine.
For now it means that you are going to go back on stage
and fulfill your contractual obligations, not to mention your
moral obligation to your fans, who have expended a good deal of
money to hear you sing tonight.”
Pristy looks at him like he’s just dropped in from the
planet Retard. “Get
a life,” she laughs. “Old
man.”
When she opens the door she finds Vinny, one of the
bodyguards blocking the way.
“You need something, sir?” he asks Gage, looking past
Pristy as if she weren’t there at all.
“Pristine and I need a little more time together,
Vincent. If you wouldn’t mind closing the door?”
“Yes, sir,” the big man nods.
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am?”
She looks at him, dumbfounded as he takes the knob and
pulls it shut.
“I told you,” Gage confirms.
“I’m here for a special purpose.
Your entire entourage will yield to me from this point
forward in all manners concerning your person.”
She wheels round, ready to spit daggers.
“My person? You
say that like I’m some piece of chattel!”
“I’m not going to have a discussion with you right
now. All I need from you at this point is your agreement to go
back on stage.”
She folds her arms under her breasts and thrusts out a
hip. “What if I
don’t?”
He allows himself a small smile at the sudden show of
childishness. “Then
you’ll be punished.”
“You wouldn’t dare.
You couldn’t. Sir
Reginald would never allow…” Pristy falters, overcome by
morbid curiosity. “But
what would you do…exactly?”
“For now?” Gage
shrugs. “Given
that you’ve a show to do and we don’t want any marks
showing, I would opt for a simple spanking.”
She puts her back to the door.
“You’re crazy.”
“Probably,” he sighs.
“But I’ve made a deal with your Sir Reginald, and I
won’t go back on it. Which
means you have two choices.
Either go back on stage or be put over my lap.”
“I’m not a child,” she laughs contemptuously.
“You can’t just…spank me.”
Gage can tell from her tone, not to mention the light in
her eyes that she’s more than a little curious and aroused,
too. It’s as he
feared: she’s a natural submissive, which meant this whole
thing could potentially get quite a bit more complicated than
he’d originally anticipated.
He’d had a similar problem with Lacy and it had taken
every ounce of his strength to give her back to her father and
not keep her for himself.
“I can,” he defies.
“And I will. I
can also paddle you and cane you, if I see fit.
As to your comings and goings and your general
deportment, these are now under my control, for as long as I see
fit.”
Pristy’s eyes reflect panic.
She turns and grabs at the door handle.
It has been locked, from outside—one of the many subtle
changes Gage has already affected on the girl’s life.
Recognizing her to be past the point of reason, he comes
to collect her. A
single arm wrapped round her waist is all it takes to lift her
from the floor. She’s
like a wild thing, squirming and wriggling.
Gage has to concentrate to keep it from becoming sexual;
he’s here to train the girl, not to fuck her.
“If you can’t control your screaming,” he puts his
hand over her mouth, “I
will have to gag you…with your own underwear.
Is that what you want?”
She shakes her head no.
He’d thought as much, given that they were likely
soaked with her pussy juices by now.
“Good. We
are going to the couch now, and you are going across my lap.
Any further resistance and you’ll be punished later
tonight…in your hotel room where I’ll be at liberty to
impose a far wider range of tortures.”
The singer shudders at the mention of torture.
As predicted, the pretty little head is bobbing, albeit
reluctantly.
“I’m going to put you down,” he confirms, “and
you will walk to the sofa.”
Another nod. Gage
can smell the heat on her; he doubts she has ever been made to
obey a man before and it clearly agrees with her.
“You’ll pay for this,” she promises, even as she
positions herself in front of the sofa, waiting for him.
Gage takes his time, knowing that the anticipation, the
subtle but very real shift of roles, is part of the game, the
battle of wills now taking place.
What most novice dominants do not realize is that power
lies in what one might
do as much as what one does.
“I’m going to take your panties down,” he tells her
as she crawls up on the couch and over his lap.
“This time. In
the future, you will do that yourself.”
“Go to hell,” she vows.
“There won’t be a next time.”
He rests his hand on the skirt-covered ass, the one so
many yearn to touch and fondle.
“Assuming you are perfectly compliant from here on,
yes, that’s true.”
Pristy stiffens beneath him.
He can feel the resistance; a girl like this is all too
transparent. She imagines she’ll endure a few swats then be allowed to
run off at which time she will report him to the police for
supposed assault. What
she doesn’t know is that a good spanking changes a woman,
forever.
The white-fringed skirt is flipped up.
Her underwear is red silk; a color he finds ironic,
considering the color he intends to turn her buttocks.
The material yields easily, slipping down over her pert,
rounded globes. He
rubs them a moment, then rears back his hand.
The sound is crisp and satisfying.
Pristy squeals into the sofa cushion.
Her skin is on fire.
She’d no idea it could hurt like that.
Twice more in rapid succession, he strikes her.
He lands the blows separately, to maximize the coverage. Her skin is smooth and virgin; it is clear no one has ever
done this before. He
easily diffuses her girlish struggling and finally she goes
still, not wanting to deal with the sensations.
Gage stops after just three more, knowing from long
experience this is all it will take…at this point at least.
“Get yourself together,” he orders, depositing her on
her feet, none too sympathetically.
“And get back on stage.”
Tears are streaming down her face.
“You—you hurt me.”
There are tissues on the makeup table.
He hands her one. “Only
your pride. Wipe
your face before you streak your makeup.”
“Y—you’re a monster,” she gasps.
“I’ll never obey you…never!”
He reaches round to slap her once more on her burning
cheeks. Even
through her clothes, she feels the brunt.
“Get on stage, Pristy, now.”
Gage’s voice is solid iron.
She looks at him and feels fear for the first time.
Gone is her bravado and protest.
Doing her best to dab her eyes and cheeks, she heads for
the door.
“Hurry up,” Gage tells her.
“You’ve taken long enough.”
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