In his mind, he was giving her a choice. She would accommodate him; how much independence she had while doing that would be up to her.
A little after 7:00 AM, Anthony scaled the grand staircase. He hadn’t acted upon his earlier thoughts of Claire; instead, he’d gone to the pool, swam laps, and lifted weights for an hour. After a shower and breakfast, he decided to spend some time preparing for his web conferences. As he read, each sentence disappeared into the memories of the innocent emerald-green gaze from last night, the one that asked, I’m sorry … but may I leave this suite?
He wasn’t concerned about fulfilling her desires. It was basic psychology: operant conditioning—positive consequences for positive behavior, negative consequences for negative behavior. Her respectful tone, her demeanor, and her appearance—they all deserved a positive consequence. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted to do—to promote the positive and rebuke the negative?
He also remembered telling her to be ready in the morning. Would she be? Did she truly deserve a positive consequence?
The beep sounded as he moved silently into the S.E suite. Scanning the room, Claire was nowhere to be found. His first thought was the bathroom, but the door was ajar and no one was there. Before he could look further, he heard movement from the closet/dressing room. Staring in that direction, he waited for her to emerge. When she did, the startled yelp, accompanied by the dropping of her shoes, made his cheeks rise. “Good morning, Claire.” She was ready—another reason for a positive consequence.
“Good morning, Anthony; I didn’t hear you come in.”
Amused, he watched as she picked up her shoes and feigned calmness. It was then he noticed her uneaten breakfast on the table. “Are you ready for your tour? Did you plan to eat first? I have a web conference in forty-five minutes.”
She asked him about a web conference. As he answered, he had difficulty suppressing his amusement at her behavior. It was as if carrying on a mundane conversation with the man who held her future in his hands was an everyday occurrence. Snickering to himself, he reasoned, it will be from now on. Maybe she was working from her years as a bartender. Whatever the cause, her ability to converse effortlessly was a welcome surprise. Before long, Anthony found himself leading her down corridors and describing the estate. As he discussed pieces of furniture and fine works of art, he knew that there was no way Claire could know the items he pointed out were originally owned by his grandfather. She didn’t know that it had taken Anthony years to track down significant pieces of his history, after they’d been auctioned off to undeserving bidders. She also couldn’t know how the mention of each item fortified his resolve for restitution; instead, Claire walked beside him, blissfully unaware. A saying about a spider and a fly came to mind.
They were in the library when she asked something about computers. He didn’t know if she were joking about the size of the library and the magnitude of books, yet her comment hit him wrong. Suddenly, Anthony felt the need to remind her of her status. She may be receiving a tour that few others had experienced, but she wasn’t a guest, and he wanted to make that clear. “I think it would be best for you to not have access to computers, the Internet, or telephones.” Oh, he wanted a verbal response; however, the unspoken acknowledgement of his authority that flooded her eyes momentarily satisfied that need. He silently vowed that they would discuss the need for verbal responses in the future.
She didn’t speak again until they entered the indoor pool. Anthony never gave the room much thought—it was a pool. There were windows, tile, and water. Yet as they entered, Claire gasped. He responded before he had a chance to think. “Do you like to swim?”
“Oh, yes. This is amazing.”
“You shall have bathing suits tomorrow.” As soon as the words left his lips, Anthony wondered why he’d been so forthcoming. She hadn’t asked and that was his rule—requests must be made before they can be granted; nevertheless, he’d approved an unspoken request. He would follow through, because he was a man of his word, but he didn’t intend to offer more. The tour and bathing suits—her positive rewards were outnumbering her behaviors.
At the entrance to his office, Anthony realized the time and proclaimed, “I have business I must do. It’s 7:25 AM. I want you back at my office at 10:30 AM. You have some debt to pay.” He watched for her reaction. It wasn’t overt, but her eyes momentarily drifted toward the wall. To her credit she recovered quickly. He asked, “Do you think you can find your way back to your suite?”
It was then that she did it again. Her voice softened as she asked permission to go to the library. As long as she stayed in the library and returned to his office at 10:30 AM, what harm was there in allowing her request? Besides, it was a request—well worded. While reiterating the importance of her returning at the appropriate time, he apprehensively acquiesced; however, before he dismissed her, he reminded her of his control. “We have not discussed all of the rules pertaining to the house. At this point, do not go outside. Permission for going out on the grounds will be contingent upon your ability to follow rules within the house.”
Anthony liked how she bristled at the mention of her restrictions. Yes, he had thousands of jobs and people’s livelihoods in his hands, but never had he had one person’s life completely in his grasp. He had to admit, the power was intense and even erotic.
Anthony watched the clock as the web conference dragged on. When he finally disconnected, he looked at the time. Claire was due in his office in six minutes. Anthony clicked a few times with his mouse and entered a code. His screen filled with a view of the library. It didn’t take long to find Claire wandering about, pulling out books, and reading the backs. He waited and watched as she opened a book and leaned against a bookcase. The numbers on the clock changed. Didn’t she realize the size of his house? There was no possible way, unless she ran, that she would make it to his office in time. Did she think he was joking about returning on time? She didn’t even have the good sense to turn toward the library clock.
At 10:37 AM he entered the library. This time, Anthony found no humor in the fact he’d again startled her. She was stupid to even think that she could blatantly disobey him. He’d provided positive consequences—obviously it wasn’t enough to mold the appropriate behavior. When her eyes met his, he saw the remorse.
“Oh, Anthony, I’m so sorry. I was just engrossed in all you have—”
Excuses! He didn’t make them and he didn’t listen to them. His hand struck her cheek. Before she could look away, Anthony seized the back of her neck and pulled her eyes toward his. “Simple instructions, which are what I gave you—perhaps you’re not ready to leave your suite quite yet.”
He heard her plea—telling him that she could follow instructions. Her words didn’t match her actions, and he didn’t have the time or the patience for coddling.
“Follow me to my office—now.” Not waiting for her to respond, he took off through the library and down the corridor. With each step he contemplated his next move, reminding himself that this was a critical time in Claire’s training. If he didn’t demonstrate his dominance now, he couldn’t guarantee her compliance later. Didn’t she understand that this was for her own good? This arrangement would never last if she didn’t cooperate, and then what would his options be? She needed to recognize his authority!
By the time they reached the grand doors to his office, red infiltrated his vision. It wasn’t intense, but the world had a crimson hue. Catherine had told him that he was wrong to take Claire. Nathaniel’s plan had been clear, yet there was something about Claire that fascinated him. He wouldn’t fail and prove Catherine right. He would make Claire behave appropriately—this would work.
Shoving her inside his office, Anthony reeled in the red and spoke in his most even tone. “So, you say you can follow instructions. We’ll see.” He watched as she stood before him trembling. He wondered how she could be trembling—his anger warmed him to an uncomfortable heat. Then he realized, it wasn’t cold: it was fear. That was
good. Fear was an excellent motivator. He continued, “Let’s start with you taking off your clothes.”
Though her hands shook as she unfastened the clasps, she didn’t argue. Whenever she looked away, he reached for her chin and redirected her eyes. There was so much he could see in her eyes; he refused to allow her to hide that emotion. After he redirected her the second time, she maintained eye contact. Once she was nude, he assessed. There was nothing wrong with her body. She’d even seemed to have lost some weight since she first arrived. Her earlier markings were gone, and her skin tone was lighter—probably due to staying inside. After all, she wasn’t in the warm Georgia sun any longer.
“Lie down on the floor,” he directed.
She didn’t speak, yet he saw her indecision. Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t make the same request twice. Just as he was about to assist, Claire knelt on the carpet.
“Lie on your stomach and keep your face and eyes down.”
He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if time was indeed moving slowly; nevertheless, each of her movements seemed to occur painfully slow. At least they were occurring. Despite the fact that she was still trembling, she eventually lay down, totally nude, and prone on the carpet.
Anthony had had his fair share of experiences in life; however, this was once again entering the world of new and untested territory. He’d accepted the responsibility to train this woman, to make her into a compliant soul. Catherine said it couldn’t be done. She said that women today were too independent. Watching Claire lie as still as possible, Anthony almost laughed—independent indeed. Claire Nichols would learn to behave.
Perhaps it was a childhood memory, or maybe something he’d read; regardless of the source, physical negative reinforcement was often very effective in molding behavior. Even Pavlov’s dog learned to stop responding to the bell once the reinforcement turned from food to an electrical shock. Claire Nichols would learn to listen to Anthony. When she replied appropriately, she earned house tours and time in the library. When she disappointed him, she earned negative reinforcement.
Slowly, Anthony unbuckled his belt. It wasn’t the fulfillment of the punishment he sought. No, it was Claire’s reaction. He needed to hear her response. When his belt contacted her back for the first blow, she let out a satisfying scream. It was his reinforcement, confirming her understanding of his control. That scream told Anthony that she understood her behavior was unacceptable. He wanted more.
He listened as the belt contacted her skin—again and again—however, his reinforcement was gone. Claire remained silent. Moving his eyes from the growing welts, Anthony noticed Claire’s fist at her lips. He felt the red return with the realization that she was refusing to give him his satisfaction.
Crimson flooded the room. Damn her! She would learn that he was in control. She would learn to behave. She said she could follow directions—then by God, he had directions for her to follow. Reaching for her shoulder, he turned her over. Maintaining eye contact, Anthony began to undress. He didn’t give instructions—at first. His intent was obvious.
With time, he began to direct her movements. His desired positions required her compliance and manipulation. Sometimes he told her what to do, other times he moved her as he saw fit. There were times he heard her ragged breaths or tasted her salty tears; nevertheless, Claire never argued nor told him to stop. At least she seemed to comprehend their arrangement—this was consensual.
By the time he finished, Claire seemed incapable of complete sentences. Her eyes no longer revealed her emotions; they were momentarily void and puffy and her cheeks were wet. Anthony refused to be affected by her demeanor. It reminded him of the woman he’d left two weeks ago in the suite and he didn’t like it.
When he returned from the bathroom, Claire was still sitting on the floor holding her clothes. He walked toward her. Her disheveled appearance and vacant look disgusted him. More than anything, he wanted her out of his office. “You may go to your suite, clean yourself up, and get ready to demonstrate to me again your ability to follow directions.” It was as if his words unlocked the invisible bonds that held her in place and allowed her to move. While she mechanically dressed, he did his best to ignore her occasional ragged breaths. Before she left, he callously added, “Do not leave your suite until I decide. Your pass to roam has been revoked.”
When she reached for the door handle, Claire turned back toward Anthony. Her lips incapable of words, her eyes questioned. Only after he nodded did she open the door and walk away. He listened to her shoes on the marble corridor. Out of mere curiosity, he went to his computer and found the camera’s view of the foyer. When Claire started to walk past the stairs toward the outside doors, Anthony shook his head and began walking toward the front of the house. He didn’t need to hurry. There was no way that she could escape the grounds; nevertheless, he’d just told her to stay in her suite. Going outside was definitely forbidden. By the time he made it to the foyer, she was halfway up the stairs. Though he stood near the banister and watched, she never turned toward him.
Satisfied, he went back to his office and resumed his work. Although he had a lot to accomplish, every now and then he would utilize the cameras and look into her suite. He had difficulty hiding the anticipation as he saw her on the sofa, freshly showered and redressed. A grin emerged from time to time as she sat and obediently waited for him.
Anthony Rawlings did not fail. Catherine was wrong. He would teach Claire that there were consequences.
Later that night, Anthony tested Claire’s reflexes as he rolled her hard nipple between his fingers. Their perspiration, combined with his recent oral assault, left the dark red nub slippery under his grasp. Though it appeared that she tried to anticipate his next move, her bristling and flinching indicated that she was unable. It wasn’t as though she could see what he was doing; her eyes were completely covered by the satin material. He imagined the green that lay beneath. Brushing away long, damp strands of hair from her blindfolded face, his thumb traced her swollen lips. Anthony was mesmerized by their color. It was almost as if she were still wearing lipstick, though he knew that hours earlier it had been worn away. Nearing his mouth to her ear, his warm breath bathed her skin, as goose bumps proclaimed their presence over her arms and legs. Though she had spoken earlier in their training, more recently only sounds had been offered. Anthony whispered in his most seductive voice, “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and turned away from his voice.
Pulling her chin toward him, he asked, “Claire, what have I said about verbal responses?”
“Yes,” her words choked, “you’ll be back.”
Stroking her hair, his cheeks rose. “That’s a good girl. You’re learning.”
He lifted himself from the side of her bed and walked toward the bookcase. With each step, his muscles pulled, tight and defined by their recent exertion. The constant vibration of his phone suggested that something of the utmost importance required his attention. As he reached for his phone, he contemplated the woman before him. Truthfully, he didn’t mind the break. After what had transpired earlier in the day in his office, he was prepared for this night to go on for a long time; besides, he was beginning to enjoy the role of teacher. With Claire’s recent attitude adjustment, he must be doing well. Grinning ruthlessly toward his student, he watched as her legs twisted in a way as to try to conceal her exposed body. He could help her—lift a sheet and cover her; after all, with her hands bound to the headboard, she wasn’t going to succeed alone—but he didn’t. He liked the view. She had an attractive body. As his gaze reluctantly moved from the bed, he tapped the screen of his phone and words and icons appeared.
Instead of the urgent business on the screen, he recalled the beginning of this lesson. He wasn’t sure if the satin scarves were necessary or purely an exhibition of his control. Either way, Anthony knew he wasn’t going to tolerate her ridiculous fighting any longer. She would learn her place.
The afternoon must have been educational, because
as he secured the satin around her wrists, she didn’t argue or beg. He asked her, “Do you know why I’m doing this?”
At first, due to her tears, her response was difficult to understand.
He continued, “A few weeks ago, I had scratches on my arms. That’s not going to happen again.”
Her eyes, yet to be covered by the satin, opened wide. “I’m sorry, Anthony; I won’t scratch, I promise.”
“You won’t, but you did. Behaviors have consequences. Can you remember that?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat what I just said.”
“Behaviors have consequences.”
“So, whose fault is it that your hands are bound?”
Again, the waterworks. “Mine—it’s my fault.”
He stroked her hair. “That’s right.”
“This morning, I told you to be in my office by 10:30 AM. Did you do as you were told?”
Her shoulders shuddered with her response. “No.”
“Say it … what is my number-one rule?”
Claire’s words were separated by exaggerated gasps of air. With each deep breath, her exposed breasts trembled. “Your rule … is to … do as you say.”
“Did you do that?”
“No, I didn’t do as I was told. I’m so sorry—i-it won’t happen again.”
He looked deeply into her eyes just before covering them with the satin. “No, Claire, it will not.” Securing the knot, careful to avoid her hair, he asked, “I’m going to tell you what to do right now. Will you follow my number-one rule?’
Her hands were now secured and her eyes were covered. He considered her ankles, but liked the possibilities available if he left them unbound.