by Jason Luke
“Just one time.”
“Tell me about it.”
Leticia started to protest. I stared at her and my expression was like stone. She lapsed into a brief embarrassed silence. She lowered her eyes and fixed her gaze firmly on the notepad in her lap.
“I don’t even remember his name,” she shook her head shame-facedly. “I met him at a co-worker’s birthday party. It was a big group at a local nightclub – maybe thirty or forty people from the office and all their friends. I didn’t really know anyone apart from a few of the journalists. Everyone was drinking and dancing. I sat in the corner.”
“Were you bored?”
She shook her head, and the blonde mane of her hair swished and glinted in the soft light of the room. “I was sad,” Leticia admitted. “I was sad and lonely. I realized I was thousands of miles from home, and I was living alone. I had no real friends, no company. I had nothing but my work.” She looked up into my eyes at last. “I made a poor choice,” she said. “Not because I’m easy, Mr. Noble. I’m not that kind of girl. I made a decision because I was emotional.”
I held her gaze. “Leticia, I’m not judging you.”
She stared at me, said nothing. Her eyes went back down to her notes. “He was about my age. He was a friend of the birthday girl. He seemed like a decent enough boy. He wasn’t drunk, and neither was I. After we left the nightclub, he offered to drive me home. I accepted.”
“And when you got to your apartment?”
“I invited him in, and he ended up staying the night.”
Leticia sighed. She wrung her hands like she was washing them with soap. “He was a terrible lover,” she laughed suddenly, but the sound was bitter and hollow. “Can you believe it? After making one poor decision, I ended up choosing a guy who knew less about sex than I did. The night was a disaster. I ended up sleeping on the sofa and left the bed to him. I couldn’t stand to lay near him – but it was me I was angry with. He was just a guy. I was the fool.”
I stayed silent for a moment to see if Leticia would say more. She didn’t. “What happened in the morning?”
She shook her head incredulously. “He told me he wanted to see me again. He told me I was a far better fuck than his girlfriend, and asked if maybe we could start something discreet.”
Leticia looked up at me again and there was a dead, hollow shadow across her eyes. She leaned forward and suddenly snatched up the half-full tumbler of whisky I had poured for her. She swallowed a mouthful, and then her eyes went wide as if she had drunk poison. She tried not to choke as the alcohol fumes burned down the back of her throat and her eyes began to water.
She gasped and set the drink carefully back down on the edge of the table. I didn’t bother to refill the glass.
“When was the last time you had an orgasm?”
Leticia flinched and her expression turned suddenly stony and cold. “I’m not going to answer that. It’s too personal.”
I sat back and slowly rubbed my chin. The silence crackled with sudden tension. She stared at me and her face was filled with defiance. I narrowed my eyes and came up out of the chair with slow menace. I prowled across the room, drawing out the silence, moving in the dull gloom like I was hunting prey.
“Leticia,” my voice had turned to ice, “if you were one of my submissives, the first thing you would learn to do is pleasure yourself in front of me. It is a condition I insist every girl I train fulfills. Each time they come to me, they must undress and stand with their legs spread and their eyes fixed on mine. I make them reach their hands down inside their panties. I make them tease their clits and slide their fingers deep inside their pussies. I make them tell me how it feels to finger-fuck themselves before their Master – and they do it, Leticia.
“I let them get right to the edge of exploding and I tell them to wait.” I said it all in a deep, low voice, my words rumbling. “And then I tell them to come. I order them to orgasm over their fingers and soak their panties with the hot melting juice of it. So don’t fucking tell me that asking when you had an orgasm last is too personal.” The words flashed and sparked in the still air.
Leticia held my gaze for one more split second of defiance, and then she lowered her eyes. She cleared her throat and nodded.
“The last time I had an orgasm was just then,” she said bashfully. “Listening to the way you spoke…. what you said… I… um…couldn’t help myself.”
* * *
I went to a bookcase set into the wall behind me and pulled out two books from one of the lower shelves. Concealed in the darkness was a Romeo Y Julieta handmade cigar, a cutter, and a lighter. I slid the books back into place and inhaled the earthy, aromatic scent that typified a classic Cuban.
I clipped the end off the cigar and inhaled until the tip was glowing and burning evenly.
“I led Sherry into my office. Now that the rest of the staff had gone home for the day and the building was empty, we didn’t need to use the production room downstairs for privacy. The office was dark. I flicked on a desk lamp, but left every other light off.
“My desk was in the middle of the office floor because I had whiteboards along the back wall. When I had production meetings with the staff, I needed to draw up layout designs, so the desk wasn’t at the end of the room or in a corner like most others. Sherry stood in front of me with her hands behind her back and I perched myself on the edge of the desk, swinging my leg lazily, the way a big African cat flicks its tail just moments before it is about to lunge.
“In the time since we had left the office, Sherry had been home to change and re-touch her make-up. I could smell her perfume. ‘Take off the coat,’ I said. Sherry slipped the belt from around her waist and let it drop to the floor. The coat fell open. I saw soft pale flesh and a pattern of intricate black lace. She shrugged the coat from her shoulders, making every movement slow and deliberate and tantalizing. Her eyes were fixed on mine, the heat and arousal in her gaze almost a physical thing. Her lips were slightly parted. She licked them and they glistened.
“The coat slid from her shoulders and fell softly around her ankles. She stood before me in just a black lace negligee. The dark shadow of her hardened nipples and the smooth cleft between her thighs was like some wondrous tantalizing promise. I came from the edge of the desk and stepped around her, inspecting and admiring her from every angle while she stood in silent obedience. Even in her high heels she barely reached my shoulders. Her head was bowed, and she was taking short sharp little breaths. In the silence, the sound of her ragged breathing seemed somehow magnified. I grazed the tip of one finger down the milky smooth skin of her neck and her flesh seemed to burn.
“I ordered Sherry to bend over the edge of my desk. She folded forward at the waist and instinctively separated her feet so that her legs were parted. I stood behind her and ran my hands from her knees up to the soft skin of her inner thighs. She shuddered. I could feel the heat radiating from her pussy. I lifted the negligee, like I was raising a curtain, and cupped one hand over her sex.
“Sherry sucked in a short ragged breath and flinched. I felt the flared, puffy lips of her, and the melting wetness of her arousal. My fingertips brushed the hard little nub of her clit and Sherry’s hips bucked in reflex. I felt her sway, as though the strength had gone from one leg, and saw her hands reach out across the polished timber surface of the desk, her fingers clawing at the edge to hold herself steady.
“I asked Sherry if she knew what a safe word was. She shook her head. I explained the concept to her while the tip of my finger dipped in and out of her pussy. I told her the safe word would be ‘falcon’. She had her head turned to the side, her face pressed against the tabletop, her mouth open and her eyes closed. Then she looked up at me slowly, like she was waking from an erotic dream, and she asked what she should do if she wanted more of what I was giving her, and never wanted me to stop.
“I told her she should beg.”
Leticia stared away into the distance. “Sherry sounds like she was quite a woman. Did she have any
experience at BDSM type sex before you two got together?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I never asked her. In fact we never labeled the things we did as being BDSM. We simply fell into the sexual roles we were most comfortable with. I dominated her and she submitted to me. She gave me her trust and her body and her mind. Over the months that followed we learned about the lifestyle together. I guess you would call it ‘on-the-job’ training.”
I smiled to myself. I liked that line.
I’d have to remember it.
“So what happened?” Leticia asked, dragging me back to that first night with Sherry in my office.
“I warmed my hand over the firm pale globe of Sherry’s butt, and then swatted her. The sound of it in the big empty office was like the crack of a whip. It wasn’t hard – I wasn’t trying to cause any pain. Sherry flinched and let out a ragged breath, as the flesh of her bottom turned red. Quickly I smacked her on the other cheek, and she gasped again. I told her she sounded like she was enjoying it too much. I told her that from now on, her only focus was to be my pleasure. Then I ordered her onto her knees. She slid off the desk, and turned. Her hands went instinctively for the buckle of my belt. I smiled down at her, taking a savage pleasure in the way she looked up at me. She was eager to please. Her eyes were enormous. I let her unfasten my pants.
“I told her to open her mouth. She did. I told her to put her hands behind her back and to leave them there. Then I reached out and cupped one hand under her chin and the other at the back of her head. My cock was hard. I lined it up with the wet wide opening of Sherry’s mouth and held her head still, as I guided myself between her lips in one long thrust.
“Sherry groaned. My cock went deep inside her mouth and I felt her tense and try to pull her head away. I held her there, and it took her a few seconds for her to become accustomed to the feel of me. When she relaxed, she looked up into my face as I began to use her mouth. Her eyes were watering. She was absolutely submissive to me – her body was mine to use as I pleased. I saw the silent joy in her expression and I gazed down at her fiercely, feeling my features begin to flush and coarsen with my own surging arousal.
“I eased my cock from her mouth and she gasped. She was panting. Her lips were swollen and puffy, her lipstick smudged around the edges of her mouth. She took two deep breaths before I seized her by the hair and lifted her to her feet.
“I spun her around and forced her up against the office wall. I told her to spread her hands and her feet. She pressed her face against the wall and stood there like she was being frisked by the cops. She looked back over her shoulder at me and arched her back so that her bottom was thrust out towards me, and she lifted herself up on tiptoes in silent invitation.
“I savored the sight of her. She was so slim, so perfect in every way. Her skin was pale, her waist tiny. I came up close behind her and I had my cock in my hand. I rubbed the swollen head of myself against the slick warm opening of her sex and Sherry’s mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’. She raised herself up a fraction of an inch and I guided myself into her, sliding deep inside in one long stroke.
“Sherry’s body clenched. I could feel the grip of her and the pulse of her muscles as her body wrapped itself around the heat of me. She was wet and tight and warm, and I threw back my head and some kind of primal growl was torn from my lips. Sherry wriggled her hips and we became locked together like that, each of us lost for long moments. I clawed at her waist and buried my fingers deep into her flesh. I thrust myself deep inside her and then pulled back quickly. Sherry groaned. She braced herself against the wall and her hands bunched into tiny fists. I pressed one hand between her shoulder blades and Sherry folded forward at the waist. I seized a handful of her hair and pulled. Her back arched, her head was thrown back. I reached around her body and wrapped my hand around her throat. I saw Sherry’s eyes grow wide and frenzied with sudden passion and she began to buck and push against me wildly. ‘Can I come?’ she gasped, her voice sounding like it was far away. I heard the sound vibrate beneath my fingers as it rasped in her throat. ‘No,’ I said cruelly. ‘You do not come without my permission. I’m not finished with you yet.’
“Sherry whimpered. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She pushed back against me with more determination and I thrust deeper into her with every stroke so that our bodies collided again and again as we built to our own climaxes.
“I dragged my hand from her throat and reached down for her breasts. She had slid down the wall and was bent almost in half. I still had hold of her hair, tugging it firmly as I drove my cock into her. My hand cupped the swell of her breast and I trapped her nipple between my fingers and kneaded it. Sherry grunted and gasped. Her face was contorted from the effort of withholding her release. ‘I can’t wait…’ she cried out.
“I squeezed her nipple one last time and then thrust two of my fingers into her open mouth. She sucked on them, overcome with a desperate passion. I felt the slide of her tongue, and her head began to bob up and down, as it had when she was on her knees before me. That was when I reached the point of no return. I wrenched my fingers from her mouth and locked my hands around Sherry’s waist. Then suddenly we were both crying out, our voices rising in the last few desperate seconds as I raced towards my release. Sherry’s cries mixed with mine. I heard her scream and squeal, and then I was coming, and so was she, our voices and bodies locked together in a ragged crescendo.”
I stood silently, drawing on the cigar. My memories drifted back over those months I shared with Sherry, so that for long moments I forgot Leticia was in the room. I was a world away – another time and another place – and it wasn’t until I heard Leticia’s voice through the fog that I came back to the present with a start.
“Pardon?” She had said something I had missed.
“I said that you describe Sherry as a kind of nymphomaniac submissive wild woman,” Leticia repeated. “Was she really like that?”
I looked stern. “Everything I have told you is the truth. Everything,” I insisted, and then relaxed a little when I saw the flinch in Leticia’s eyes. I drew on the cigar, and went pacing across the floor.
“Sherry had no limits,” I explained mollifying the sound of my voice. “Normally a Master would speak to a new submissive about the activities they are comfortable being involved in. Most submissives have a set of hard and soft limits. Soft limits are the ones that are negotiable. They’re important. Soft limits are those things that a submissive is reluctant to do, or might be unwilling to do until she gains more confidence in herself, or trust in her Master. The soft limits indicate the directions in which a Master can slowly begin to challenge a submissive – help her to broaden her experiences. Hard limits are those boundaries a submissive will not cross, and they have to be respected by a Master. Perhaps, in time, those boundaries and limitations might shift, or alter, but if they do, that decision should be the submissive’s. In my opinion, a Master has no right to pressure one of his subs to alter her hard limits.”
“But Sherry didn’t have any limits, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Sherry was willing to try absolutely anything and everything.”
Leticia fell back into her chair and gave a soft little sigh. She glanced at her watch, and then started to comb her fingers through her hair. A soft blue cloud of cigar smoke twisted and hung in the air around the ceiling. “It’s late,” Leticia said, her expression almost tragic. “I have to go – but can I ask just one more question?”
I sighed. “If it’s quick?”
She sat up, her expression suddenly earnest. “Who is Trigg? I mean, what is she to you, Jonah? Is she your submissive, or a lover…?”
I gave her a wintery smile. “She’s a friend,” I said. “That’s all.”
* * *
“Hello, Jonah? It’s Leticia.”
I had recognized her instantly, and I smiled. For some reason the sound of her voice made me feel absurdly pleased.
“Hello,” I said.
&n
bsp; There was the noise of murmured voices in the background, and Leticia’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper, as though she had the telephone close to her mouth and her hand cupped around the receiver.
“I was calling to make a time when I could see you again. We didn’t arrange anything before I left last night.”
“Well I’m free whenever it suits you.”
Her tone became brighter. “Great. I’m actually finishing work right now – I always do half-days on Friday.”
I glanced at my watch. It was just after lunch. “Do you want to come over this afternoon?”
Leticia hesitated. “Well, I was actually wondering if you would like to come to my place tonight – for dinner. I told you I was a slow cooker. I figured with an entire afternoon to prepare, I should be able to feed you something that wouldn’t be burned.”
I smiled into the phone. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds fine. What time do you want me there?”
“Six? Is that too early?”
“Six will be fine.”
“Wonderful,” she seemed relieved. “I’ll see you then.”
She sounded like she was about to end the call and I cut in quickly. “Do you want me to bring anything – fire extinguisher, or maybe a bottle of wine?”
“I’m not that bad a cook, mister!” she feigned umbrage. “But some wine would be nice. I’m in the mood for a drink.”
* * *
I always arrive five minutes early.
I’m never late.
Ever.
It’s a habit I developed at an early age, and one I adhere to ruthlessly. I believe it’s a sign of courtesy, but also a measure of how much importance you place on the meeting, and whom it is you are about to meet. Arriving ten minutes late anywhere is a sign of arrogance, in Jonah Noble’s big book of rules to live by. Turning up anywhere late says – loud and clear – that you’re more important than the person who is expecting you, so they can damned-well wait until you’re good and ready to grace them with your presence.
