“You did what?!” Chelsea confronted Cindy with the wrath of a woman scorned.
Cindy flashed a “whoops” smile. “I kind of invited Gordon Dewitt to lunch,” she repeated the nightmarish information.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Chelsea threw her hands in the air, her T-shirt riding up to bare a bit of her flat tummy.
“I don’t know.” Cindy shrugged.
Chelsea sighed. Cin frequently made plans that her brain could not account for. Some were good, others okay, while a few had been utter disasters.
“Please, say you’ll go with me?” Cindy pressed her hands together. “Pretty please?”
Chelsea’s eyebrows shot up. “Does the term ‘fifth wheel’ mean anything to you?”
“Yes,” said the literal-minded Cindy, “it does.”
“Then you’ll understand when I tell you no, n-o, no.”
“Actually,” she got that look again, “I kind of told him you would. He’s kind of expecting it.”
Chelsea’s pulse raced. The man was expecting her?
“It’s still no.” She folded her arms over her chest, nipples tightening against her will. “Not in a million years.”
It was useless—she would give in for Cindy’s sake. She always did. It was only fair, she supposed, because Chelsea dragged her on just as many misadventures. Like last night at the Silver Band.
Chelsea had slept poorly, no surprise. Gordon had inhabited her dreams, making her writhe and sweat as he told her what he was going to do to her. He thought she was beautiful and sexy, but it wasn’t enough to make simple love to her. He intended to use her, to exploit…and fulfill her.
The words seemed foreign, as though he had planted them.
Masturbating was no help. She had given in to her vibrator, letting it take her again and again. Usually she drew comfort from it, but this round the orgasms had felt artificial, incomplete.
“That’s because you’re mine now,” whispered the image of Gordon. “Your body is my sex toy, I operate it, not you.”
Fuck that. She was no man’s toy.
And yet the words made her come harder than she had ever come in her life. She pinched her nipple, upping the sensations. Finally she pushed the pillow against her face to muffle the screams.
But it wasn’t enough.
And now, today, the man wanted her along for lunch with Cindy. Why?
“It’s Saturday,” said Cin. “I know you don’t have plans.”
“Right,” said Chelsea glumly. “Because I’m a social loser.”
“You know what I mean. It’s just lunch…”
Famous last words. Chelsea sighed, shoulders moving up and down dramatically, the universal signal of her surrender.
“Oh, Chels, thanks, you’re the greatest.”
Chelsea received a great big hug. She wondered what it would be like in Gordon’s arms. A dangerous, exciting place. A woman would change in that kind of embrace. She would be captured. It would be up to him to release her, if and when.
“Please tell me it’s casual enough for jeans?”
Cin gave another pained grin. “Actually he specified a skirt. He…doesn’t like women in pants.”
Chelsea seethed even as she felt a secret thrill. Gordon was the kind of man who ordered women what to wear. For his visual pleasure. A female would have no doubt, none whatsoever, that in his presence she was wanted.
“I asked him if he was dominant, he said yes,” Cindy added.
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s a legend in his own mind.”
“I’m going to start getting dressed,” said Cin.
“It’s only eight. What time is lunch?”
“One, but I want to look good.” With that she took off for her room. “Don’t forget—no pants,” she called out.
“Okay,” said Chelsea sweetly, already deciding which pair of jeans would most irritate Mr. Gordon Dewitt.
* * * * *
Gordon stood as the women approached. Cindy had followed instructions and was wearing a white skirt and fashionable green top. Chelsea, predictably, had disobeyed and worn a pair of snug jeans and a black spaghetti strap top.
He noted the high heels and pearls she had picked for accessories.
Gordon smiled. She was darling. A bundle of contradictions.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” said Cindy, heels clicking on the pavement of the outdoor café. “The traffic was awful, wasn’t it, Chels?”
Chelsea said nothing. Gordon was quite certain she had been responsible for their late arrival in one way or another. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Please, won’t you be seated?”
He held a chair for Cindy but Chelsea seated herself before he could get to her. She clutched her purse, looking like a woman determined to have a miserable time.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine,” he said.
“I don’t drink wine,” said Chelsea.
“Sure you do,” said Cindy.
“Not anymore,” said Chelsea, giving her a sharp look. “I gave it up.”
Gordon poured some wine for Cindy. “May I propose a toast?” He raised his glass of pale Chablis.
Cindy’s glass went high in the air.
“I’ll pass,” said Chelsea.
Her lips were pink today, bright and moist. He pictured them puckering for sweet kisses, parting to do his will, begging to obey, opening wide to moan under decreed pleasure.
“To new beginnings.” He clicked glasses with Cindy.
“To new beginnings,” she repeated.
Cindy tasted the Chablis with relish. “This is very good.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” Gordon agreed. To Chelsea he added, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” She cocked an eyebrow.
Gordon smiled. Good, very good. She had all the spunk necessary and she was obviously smart as a whip. All the really fine submissives were. Seduction of any kind, after all, began and ended in the mind.
Chelsea picked up a menu from the center of the table. “Am I allowed to pick my own food or did you do that already, too?”
“Be my guest.” He inclined his head.
The waiter arrived, a thin, wiry man with a sharp mustache.
“I’ll have the club sandwich,” said Chelsea.
“What do you recommend?” Cindy asked Gordon.
Chelsea rolled her eyes.
“The corned beef is very good,” he said.
“I’ll have the corned beef,” she said.
“The same,” said Gordon, deciding that Cindy would not be a good submissive because she was simply too eager to please.
Whether by a stroke of luck or fate, Cindy’s cell phone rang at that moment. A one-sided conversation ensued in which she became more and more distressed.
“Really? Are you sure? Well, what about Julio, can’t he handle another perm?”
Chelsea was looking nervous. “What’s up?” she asked as Cindy clicked off.
“It’s the shop, they need me in. Mrs. Collins is having a major meltdown with her perm and they are backed up out into the street.”
“You’re a hairdresser?” asked Gordon.
“Yeah, and duty calls. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, that’s that.” Chelsea rose to her feet.
“I was hoping you would stay,” he said.
“But I rode with Cindy,” she said.
“You can always catch a ride home with me.” Gordon smiled.
“No,” said Chelsea curtly. “Thank you.”
“Oh, why don’t you stay,” said Cindy. “I feel bad enough without ruining things for you too. Gordon, you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Chelsea was trying to give her friend signals. Cindy missed them completely. “I love you, Chels.” She gave her a hug. “See you tonight.”
“Love you, too,” said Chelsea.
Gordon beamed as Chelsea sat down, obviously defeated. “Oh, come now, surely there are worse fates than lunch with me?”
“You mean like alligator wrestling?” she said acidly.
Gordon chuckled, sipping more of his wine. “I don’t think you like me much. Why not?”
“That’s easy. You totally embarrassed Cindy and me last night and now you have the gall to turn around and try to seduce her.”
“Who says I want to seduce her?”
“Don’t you?”
He shook his head. “She’s not my type.”
Chelsea’s blue eyes narrowed. “So what do you want with her then?”
“Perhaps I’m using her to get to you.” He held out the Chablis bottle. “Wine?”
Chelsea offered no objection this time as he filled her glass. For the moment, at least, she was speechless.
Chelsea found her tongue. Gordon was seducing her. “I’m not available to be gotten,” she declared.
“Do you belong to another man?” Gordon inquired.
Chelsea’s nipples reacted to the way he put that. What would it be like to belong to a man like Gordon?
“No,” she snapped, fighting the irresistible pull of the man. “And I never will.”
“Good for you. A toast.” Gordon’s glass went up. “Unless you’re afraid…”
Her glass clinked with his, letting him know she would never back down. It would be a fight. Every bit as dashing as he had looked last night in his tuxedo, he looked even more delicious in dark slacks and a white cotton shirt.
“To the hidden truths of the soul,” he said.
“To overblown Dominants,” she countered, “getting their comeuppance.”
He smiled wryly. “Tell me, Chelsea, why did you go to the club last night?”
“I don’t know, why did you?”
“To find a helpless little slave to exploit,” he pronounced dramatically. “Isn’t that what you would like me to say?”
Chelsea squirmed a little. The word slave conjured images of chains and nudity, of kneeling and absolute submission. She had masturbated to pictures over the Internet of pretty girls in elegant collars, writhing under the caress of able Masters, men with firm hands and slim, devious little whips.
“I don’t care what you say,” she declared, her pussy heating dangerously. “I’m here for Cindy and the free food. And just so we’re clear, you ever hurt her and I’ll personally rip your balls off.”
“Point made, but as I said, she’s not my type, Chelsea, you are.”
“I’m not a type.”
“Everyone’s a type.”
Chelsea’s heart thumped wildly. A part of her wanted to fight, but another part wanted to see what he would do, what he would make of her. “Is this the kind of banter that gets young women into bed?” she said. “Because it sure isn’t working on me.”
“Women get themselves into bed, I don’t do a thing.”
Chelsea hoped that wasn’t true, because if it was, she wouldn’t make it through the day.
“Oh, come now.” She took a healthy swallow of the wine. “You must have some lines you use. Ordering your females to kneel and obey you and so on.”
“Submission is in the mind,” said Gordon. “I think you know that.”
“But you must have some power,” she found herself taunting. “Surely you can give me a little demonstration.”
He smiled, serene, completely in control. The look sent shivers down her spine. I’ll never outflank this man, she thought. If that wasn’t sexy, she didn’t know what was.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Chelsea complied.
“Breathe in,” he said, voice instantly mesmerizing. “Feel the breeze on your skin. Tune out everything else. I want you to focus. Picture yourself somewhere alone.”
Chelsea was on a beach, at sunrise. She told him this.
“You’re naked,” he told her.
“Yes.” She dug her toes into the cool, moist sand.
“A man is with you. Who is it?”
He knew damn well.
“It’s you.”
“I’m naked, too,” he confirmed.
She imagined his body, taut and muscular, reflective of his years, but indicative of strength and power.
“What am I doing, Chelsea?”
She swallowed. “You’re…holding me.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I won’t let you go…unless you want me to.”
Chelsea relished his strength, the raw power and charisma. Hands down, he was the most arousing man she had ever encountered.
“We are skin to skin,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything, you’re not hiding anything. Do you understand?”
“I-I think so.”
“Is there something you want to do?” he asked. “Something you need?”
She saw herself kneeling before him, kissing the tip of his hard, thick cock, reverently applying her lips and then her tongue and finally taking the shaft deep into her mouth. Master…
Her eyes popped open.
The waiter had their sandwiches. “Sorry,” Gordon told him, “we’ve lost our third.”
Chelsea sat numb. She dimly remembered eating her food, a few bites at least. They talked about the weather and her job as a loan officer at a bank and his trip to Sicily last month.
Not a word about BDSM.
It was so real. She had sucked his cock on a beach.
After lunch he begged off driving her home. She was almost disappointed.
“My driver will take you, I’m going to stay on a bit and meet a friend.”
A female friend? She must have shown some emotion on her face because he kissed her forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Chelsea. I’d just rather not press too far today. I would like you to call me tomorrow, though.”
Her lips pursed, her pride rearing its head. “Don’t count on it.”
And to think she had been ready to suggest they spend the day together, to see where things might go.
Thank god she had found out in time what he was really like.
But what was he like? He wasn’t just trying to get in her pants. It was almost like he wanted to get to know her.
She pushed the idea from her mind. A sexually dominant man with a heart, one who was fascinating to talk to and a wonderful meal companion? One who made her laugh and feel at home? A woman could get addicted. That was more than her staunchly independent self could handle.
No, it’s back to the vibrator for me, she thought. Hip, hip, hooray.
Gordon watched her walk away from the table with his chauffeur, buttocks swaying with optimum indignation.
Chelsea would be his, he vowed. She would give herself and soon.
But why was he waiting? He could have had her today. He hadn’t used half his charm and look how she had responded, positively glowing, her voice soft and light, and her eyes warm and attentive, like an old friend. Why hold back? Was he after more than her body, more than a week or two of play?
The thought chilled him and for once the confirmed bachelor felt the tightening of a collar on his neck and the tightening of chains. What happened when the Master needed the slave? What happened if she were to gain the keys to his heart—locking him up for a change?
Gordon made his resolution. No more Chelsea, no more lovely, intelligent, challenging women would get close enough to make an emotional mess. Marriage, divorce, endless battles. No thanks.
A woman like Chelsea might be a friend if she weren’t so damn desirable, or on the flip side, an incredible submissive sex partner—if only she didn’t stir so many other emotions. Put both together and that made it impossible.
Another would have to take Chelsea and mold and love and cherish her.
Oh god, he wished he could forget.
Just went to show what a man got for rescuing damsels in distress…
* * * * *
Cindy would not leave her alone all day Sunday. “Did you call him yet?” she kept asking every ten minutes.
Finally, halfway through her yoga exercises, Chelsea exploded. “No, damn it, and am I ever sorry I told you anything about lunch in the first place.”
“You didn’t.” Cindy, in shorts, socks and a crop top, plopped down beside her. “I tortured it out of you.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes, extending her arms toward heaven. “I don’t know why you think I’d call. He’s obviously a jerk.”
Actually, she had gotten references on him from the Silver Band. Two different women sang his praises as being the most considerate lover they had ever known. Not that she would ever try him out.
“But you like him,” Cindy said.
“No, I don’t.”
“Sure you do, every time you talk about him your nose twitches.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing.”
“It does,” she insisted, “and if you won’t call him, I will.”
“Be my guest.”
“I’ll set you up on a date,” she threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Cindy took off for her cell phone, Chelsea in hot pursuit. The little wench must have had him on speed dial. “Hi? Is Gordon there?” She was holding the phone in one hand, fending off Chelsea with the other. “Oh, hi, Gordon, this is Cindy, from yesterday? I just wanted to tell you—”
Chelsea snatched it away.
“You better talk,” warned Cindy, “or I’ll use the house phone.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Chelsea?” Gordon called from the other end. “Is that you?”
“Um…yeah,” Chelsea said, giving Cindy the evil eye.
Cindy giggled, pushing Chelsea toward her bedroom. She closed the door, leaving her alone with the phone.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you,” Chelsea said softly.
“Oh?”
She felt a tug at her heartstrings. “I didn’t mean it that way. I guess I’m all out of sorts today.”
She heard a soft chuckle. The sound made her body sing. “I know, it’s catching up to me too. I couldn’t sleep last night either.”
Chelsea tensed. How could he know?
“I was rude to just cut things off yesterday,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“And I acted bitchy when I left.”
“Not bitchy—bratty,” he corrected.
Chelsea licked her lips, picking up on the playful suggestion in his voice.
“What do you do with brats?” She couldn’t believe she was asking.
“I punish them,” he said without hesitation.
She cleared her throat. Her pussy was on fire. “You know a lot of this dominance stuff could be considered demeaning to women.”
“Do you think that?”
“I don’t know. I guess not, if it’s consensual.”
“So if I ordered you to go somewhere private and strip off your clothes…would you consent?”
“I’m in my bedroom already,” she ventured.
“Good girl,” he rasped.
She suppressed a moan. “I’m a woman, not a girl.”
“Not in this game.”
“And what game is that?”
“I think you know.”
Chelsea took off her top. She had no bra on. She took off her shorts and panties as well. “I’m naked,” she told him.
“Are you on your bed?”
“Yes…”
“Do you have a vibrator or dildo?”
“A vibrator,” she whispered, a hot chill shooting down her spine.
“I want you to get it and then lie down on your back, legs apart,” he said.
She set the phone down, thankful these were Cindy’s free weekend minutes they were using up. A few moments later she had the device from the drawer and was in position. “Okay…” she alerted him.
“Okay, Sir,” he corrected. “You call me Sir during discipline.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Yes, Chelsea, it is. Does the word excite you?”
“A little.”
“I think a lot.” He laughed, reading her voice. “I want you to touch your pussy. It’s wet?”
“Yes…Sir.”
“Taste it.”
Chelsea put her glistening fingers to her lips, trembling. Chelsea was being dominated.
“Suck your fingers, like they were a cock.”
She thought of his cock. She tasted and licked and sucked.
“Are you doing what I told you?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir, I’m licking my fingers. They’re very wet.”
“I want you to pinch your nipple now. Hard.”
Chelsea sucked in her breath. Tentatively, she squeezed the tiny nub of flesh on her left breast.
“Harder.”
How did he know how hard she was doing it?
Chelsea squirmed. “It hurts, Sir.”
“Bad girls get pain,” he informed her. “Now I want you to take the vibrator—I want it inside you.”
“Yes,” she groaned, plunging the artificial shaft into her sopping opening. “Oh, yes, Sir.”
“You can play with yourself now, Chelsea, but don’t climax. You’re not allowed to.”
The very words “not allowed to” brought her immediately to the edge. “Sir, I need to come.” She writhed on the bed.
“No, girl, you come when I tell you. Take out the vibrator.”
Chelsea whimpered.
“Lick it clean,” he ordered.
Her aching, open sex screamed out its need.
She put the vibrator in her mouth, obeying his command.
“Turn onto your side,” he said when she was done. “Take your hand, smack your ass with it.”
She swatted, hesitantly.
“I didn’t hear anything,” he said.
“Ouch,” she squealed, hoping Cindy wouldn’t hear.
“That’s ‘Ouch, Sir’,” he said, making her do it again.
Her bottom felt like fire. Why was she obeying?
“Now your nipple.” His voice lowered, cutting to her core. “Until you can’t take it anymore.”
Chelsea pinched her defenseless flesh. The pain shot through her, intensifying with every second. “Please…” she whined, “Sir.”
It was an insidious torture, mixed as it was with rising sexual heat in her breast and belly. She clenched her teeth. How long could she hold out?
“Enough,” he commanded. “Put the vibrator back inside you. You’ll come when I tell you.”
“I will,” she promised feverishly.
Her sex drew the toy in deep. She lifted her sore ass, angling the vibrator against her clitoris. “Oh god,” she groaned.
“Orgasms are a gift of the Master,” he said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she moaned, the sweat dripping from her hypersensitive body. “Oh, please, let me have it.”
“Tell me first, why you went to the club.”
Chelsea wrestled, body and soul. Her pride wanted to hold out. She was wary, she had been hurt by men and had learned not to admit vulnerability. But how did you hold back against a tidal wave? And why should she when there was a man behind it who was strong enough to keep her from drowning?
Oh god, it was too soon to trust him, but she already did.
“I wanted…to be…” she gasped, the words coming to her from some place beyond conscious thought. “I wanted…to belong.”
“Come for me, Chelsea,” he whispered. “Come like there’s no tomorrow.”
Chelsea’s world exploded into a liquid rainbow, shooting through her veins, dissolving her. She had never been triggered by a single word, a single thought. The orgasm cut through physically and mentally.
Chelsea let go as she had never done in her life.
Her body bucked up and down on the mattress. Her toes curled. She dropped the phone and grabbed her heaving breast. She clamped her teeth, she clenched at the vibrator, her hand grasping one end, her pussy the other. Power shooting back and forth. Perfect ecstasy.
Some time later she collapsed, wet, sated.
He was still on the phone.
“How was it?” he asked.
“I want to see you,” she replied. “Nothing sexual. I just need to see you.”
“You’ll wear a dress,” he said.
“I will.” Her stomach clenched tightly, deliciously. He was ordering, she was obeying. “Can it be today?”
“Now if you like.”
“I would…”
“My chauffeur will pick you up.”
“Should I bring Cindy?” she quipped.
“Not my type,” he said huskily, hanging up the phone.
Gordon had the Chablis ready. Chelsea arrived at his penthouse in a tasteful blue dress, her hair silky and free about her shoulders. She marveled at the surroundings—imposing modernist design. He marveled at her.
“This…is stunning,” she whispered through red-painted lips.
“No.” He took her into his arms. “This is.”
She melted into his kiss, allowing him to cradle her back with his hand. Her whole being was in the kiss, her intelligence, her passion. “I would like to blindfold you,” he said. “I would like to play with you.”
Suddenly shy, her head dropped against his chest.
He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. The window was two stories tall, overlooking the city, the bed was an expanse of black silk tucked over a firm mattress. He longed to see her naked on its surface.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Are you afraid?”
She shook her head.
He lifted her chin with thumb and forefinger. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the gift…of you.”
Another kiss, their bodies melded so tightly things could easily have moved into lovemaking—a fast and furious tangling of limbs. He forced himself away, taking a step backward. “I’d like to see you naked.”
“Yes,” she rasped, “Sir.”
He smiled wryly. “I certainly hope you’re not seeing this as punishment?”
She licked her lips, slipping off her heels, toes digging into the pile carpeting. “No, Sir.”
Chelsea unzipped the dress and lifted it over her head. With her arms aloft it was easy to imagine her tied.
“Do you like?” she asked, wanting his approval for the choice of underwear—blue lace panties and bra.
“Indescribable,” he said.
She blushed, reaching for the clasp of the bra. For a breathtaking moment she held on to the cups, wisps of hair falling in front of her angelic face. Gordon’s cock throbbed with agonizing need. He had saved himself for this, restraining himself during the phone call as he’d led her to orgasm.
Her breasts were marvels, slightly upturned, full and milky-white, with lovely erect, light brown nipples.
“Touch them,” he said.
She did so, trembling.
“Take down your panties,” he commanded. “And come to me.”
She inhaled shallowly. So very vulnerable as she shimmied down her wispy lace underwear. Anticipation lit her blue eyes along with a trust that overwhelmed him and made his heart ache.
Chelsea approached barefoot, her steps as graceful as a goddess.
“Stop.” He touched her breast, caressed it. She rewarded him with a moan.
“Lift your hair,” he said. “Put it on top of your head. Hold it there.”
She exposed her neck, gathering her tresses, imprisoning her hands in the process.
“Close your eyes.”
She sucked in her lower lip. Gordon rubbed his hand over his crotch, savoring. Her flat tummy undulated very slightly, her breasts rose and fell. Her hip was turned out, ever so slightly.
He kissed her neck, causing her to gasp. “I would like you to give yourself,” he whispered.
“I will. I do,” she said without hesitation.
Gordon undid the tie from around his neck and circled behind her. It made a perfect blindfold. “Hands at your sides,” he said. He pulled the silk around her head and tied it.
“Can you see?”
“No, Sir.”
“Take my hand.” He led her to the bed. She squeezed his fingers as they walked. Gordon laid her flat, head on the pillow, arms over her head, one knee raised.
“I am going to tie you, Chelsea.”
“Yes…”
He took each wrist, tenderly slipping it inside the waiting velvet. Gordon had had the restraints built in at all four corners. Chelsea was hardly the first, but she was different. Would she be the last?
Gordon paused to admire his work, the dark-haired beauty, wrists bound wide over her head, helpless. “If it’s too much, Chelsea, say Chablis. And I’ll stop. Do you understand?”
“I do, Sir.”
He allowed himself the luxury of a long caress, all the way from her collarbone to her hip. He stopped at her breasts, lingered at her belly. Chelsea moaned.
Gordon could smell her arousal. “You may call me Master if you wish.”
“Oh, yes,” she responded, arching her back. “Oh, Master, thank you.”
Gordon smiled in approval. He removed his clothing.
“Open for me, angel.”
Chelsea put her knee down and widened her thighs. “Do I please you, Master?”
“Like no other.” He meant it too.
“Are you going to take me?” she asked.
“In due time.” He smiled.
She shivered, relishing his power.
One by one he took her ankles, looping them in the velvet ties as he had her wrists. “Better,” he said. “A man likes to keep his slave girl in one place.”
“I want to please you.” She lifted herself, flesh straining perfectly, a pure combination of feminine power and helplessness. “I want to be good.”
Gordon marveled at the immediate effect of the restraint. It was setting her free, like a dark panther released from its cage into the jungle.
“I hope so.” He had a riding crop he kept tucked under the mattress. “Master is not above disciplining his sleek little sex toys.”
Toys in the plural…but there was so much inside her yet to uncover. Would that not take a lifetime?
She jolted as he touched the delicate whip to her belly. “Is that…is that a…?”
“It’s a crop, Chelsea. You’ve seen their uses in your Internet searches?”
“Yes, Master.” Her teeth chattered as the crop had its way, tapping her nipples, sliding across her glistening, hairless mound. “S-slaves are punished with them.”
“You’ve seen pictures?”
She nodded, neck arched.
“Masturbated to them?”
Another fierce nod.
He slapped her belly with the whip, for psychological effect. “Say it.”
“I masturbate to pictures of girls being whipped, Master.”
Gordon put the crop to her lips. “Lick it.”
She kissed with devotion and put out her tongue with such passion he nearly exploded.
He’d never seen anything like it.
Gordon snapped the whip against her hip. He knew how to do this. He was an expert—a sensualist, not a sadist.
“M-Master,” she cried.
It was the idea, the mild sensation…not real pain.
“You don’t need a picture now, do you?”
“No, Master.”
He slapped her belly and then delivered a stroke to her right breast. She inhaled sharply at the strike against her sensitive skin.
“Take it,” he whispered. “For me.”
“Yes,” she moaned as he struck a precise blow to her nipple, making it explode in ripe and luscious pain. “Oh god, yes.”
He went to work, alternating one breast and then the other, gradually building. When she thought she could take no more, he pressed the tip of the whip at the juncture of her thighs, lightly touching, just enough to drive her out of her mind. She was so wet, so obviously ready.
“Your skin is nice and pink,” he told her, observing her splayed, well-marked flesh.
She was writhing, sweat beading on her forehead. “Y-yes…I am marked…yours.”
Gordon stroked his cock. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she cried, nearly screaming her need. “Master, oh god, fuck me, I need your cock, please…own me.”
Gordon climbed into place, heart pounding, everything new and yet it was like he had been here a million times before, looming over this submitted body, lowering himself, taking possession.
His cock slid inside Chelsea like butter.
“Oh, Master, thank you, thank you…”
He would never hold out. “You will come when I do,” he said.
A handful of thrusts was all it took for both of them. Chelsea rose off the bed to meet his thrusts. He was so deep in her, swallowed in molten heat. She was his, completely surrendered, open, tied and yet free to soar.
They exploded somewhere above heaven. A forbidden place of sex, where man and woman play, taking on primeval roles. Her orgasms wrapped around his, his pumping semen filling her, spraying into her. His mouth was at her neck, breathing her in, tasting, consuming. And she was giving, giving, giving.
He kissed her a million times when it was over. He undid the velvet ties and rubbed her limbs, he cleaned her with a damp towel. He told her how good she was, he told her to close her eyes as he took off the silk tie. He told her to go to sleep, to slip under the covers, naked, flesh on silk.
His bed would never do better.
Nor, he had a strong feeling, would he.
Gordon left her sleeping, smiling contentedly. He took a shower. With each passing second, reason rushed in. And worry. Where was his head? Just yesterday he had promised himself to go no further with Chelsea and today he had turned around and shared his sexual dominance with her and partaken of her submission.
All because of her hot voice on the phone.
Or was there more drawing him to the sexy, raven-haired woman? The last thing he wanted or needed was a relationship, least of all with someone he could be friends with. That only made the breakup harder. Besides, his money would ruin an obviously good-hearted woman like Chelsea. Money corrupted, it isolated, and it made a person hard and lonely.
I’ve got to get rid of her, he resolved.
It was at that point the shower door opened.
Chelsea smiled dreamily at him. One look at her and his cock began to stir…again.
Chelsea’s heart lifted the moment she saw him. Waking up alone in the bed, she had been filled with a sudden emptiness. It scared her.
“Master,” she purred as she went to her knees before him.
He groaned and at first she thought he might pull back. But Chelsea was persuasive. At the water cascaded over them, she licked and tugged at him, making his cock swell in her mouth. Fearlessly, she drew him deep.
His slave.
By choice, for sex.
His hands rested on her shoulders. “You are a minx,” he said. “And we really should slow down.”
She showed him her idea of slow.
Gordon’s turgid cock erupted. Jets of semen hit the back of her throat. So alive, so hot, so right. She decided to swallow. She had never done that for any man.
Afterward, she kissed his foot in gratitude.
Gordon lifted her to her feet. She expected a kiss, instead he turned her to the wall, pressing her breasts and belly to the tile. “Were you given permission to touch your Master’s cock?”
“No, Master.” She rubbed herself.
“What should Master do about that?”
Her hand slipped into her pussy. “Punish me, Master, punish your girl.”
His hand cracked against her buttocks. She braced herself, palms against the wall.
“The word is Chablis,” he reminded, letting her know the control was still hers.
“Yes, Master.” She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to know what she could take, what he could give.
“Slaves obey.” He spanked her again. “They approach their Masters begging to be commanded. Do you think my body is your toy?”
He spanked her again.
“No, Master.” Her ass throbbed, but the pain was deep and it linked to her pussy and to her mind, unleashing feelings of curiously pleasant subjugation.
“You are my toy.”
She thrust out her bottom to meet him. “I am a bad girl, I need your discipline.”
He smacked her several more times. She was breathing so fast, she thought she might come. Her nerve endings were on fire. She was squashing her breasts and pussy against the wall, trying to make contact.
“Turn around,” he said. His voice had an edge that made her pussy spasm.
When her back was to the wall he kissed her. Ferocious, possessive. “Mine,” he growled. His hand took her breast.
“Yours,” she gasped.
He frowned. What was he looking for? He kissed her again. She tried to give more, letting him plunder her mouth, invade with his tongue, fucking her with it, like a cock. Her hands were at her sides, palms to the wall.
He was doing what he wanted with her. He was Master.
“I’m going to make you come with my mouth,” he said, his eyes unreadable. “You will submit.” He clamped her nipple to get her attention, pinching it hard. “And then you’ll go home. You won’t talk to me, you’ll get dressed, and my chauffeur will drive you. Do you understand?”
Emotion surged through her. Her mouth went wide but he went to his knees before she could say a word.
Confusion reigned. “Did I do…something wrong?”
“No. You’ve been splendid.”
Gordon pressed his face to her crotch, commanding, loving. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t attending to her pussy like a man looking to dump her. He went right for her clit. He sent her immediately into the stratosphere, a mind-blowing orgasm, which led quickly to another as he pressed his tongue, running it along the crack of her pussy, delving in and out, in and out in perfect time to the motions of her body. His hands held her hips. Just the pressure she needed. Even her ass felt good against the cool tile. Did he know that?
She clutched at him, moaning, pushing her pelvis against his face, holding his head with her hands, wanting to make this go some other way.
Chelsea couldn’t hold back the third and final climax. It was a phenomenon quite apart from her emotions. It was Master-induced.
But he didn’t want to be her Master.
“Go,” he said when it was over, the last skyrocket, the last wave, the last blast induced from her clitoris, between his lips. “Take the elevator, I’ll alert the chauffeur.”
Not gentle, not harsh, just…factual.
Well, fuck, she wasn’t a robot. “Chablis,” she announced. “This shit is over…for good.”
But hadn’t he already ended it?
“Your domination is for shit,” she lashed out. “I wouldn’t stay if you paid me. You’re pathetic.”
She didn’t let him see the tears. On her way out she saw the bottle of Chablis. She upended it, pouring it over the nice, thick gray carpet.
So much for looking for knights in shining armor at BDSM clubs.
Gordon rinsed off. His gut twisted as he told himself it was for the best, he was sparing her more pain down the line. They would only disappoint each other. He was setting her free from the trap that his life would become for her. He couldn’t bear to see her unhappy and bitter the way rich men’s wives became. And he could never, ever allow himself to be in the position of having to hate her.
He supposed it was too much to ask that she understand. His last gift of an orgasm hadn’t gone over well, to say the least. He had been told before that for a man so skilled in reading women’s submissive fantasies he was surprisingly incompetent at emotional communication.
So she hated him now. That he could stand. Hopefully this would not pain her so much that she would give up trying or blame herself.
Gordon waited until he heard the door slam and then called the chauffeur, who was still in the car.
He noted the enormous stain on the carpet, the empty wine bottle. A final message, just in case he had any doubt how she felt.
In spite of everything, he smiled. You had to admire that kind of spunk.
He hadn’t made a mistake, had he?
Nah, Gordon Dewitt never made mistakes.
Then again, there was a first time for everything.