Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  “Yes, Jeremy,” she said, bracing herself.

  I gave her ten then, not awful strokes, but hard enough. She made some soft, frantic sounds that she tried to muffle in the carpet, doing an acceptable job. Quietness was one of the things I tried to train into my submissives right away. Hotel walls were thin, and it was always embarrassing when security showed up. She was impressively still too, the only movement the fitful squeezing of her bound fists.

  “Good girl,” I said. “These next ones will be harder, but you will receive only five more. Try to be quiet, as quiet as you can manage.”

  For the last five, I really laid into her. She continued to be still, even though her urgent mewling grew louder. I drew actual tears, which I’d wanted to do. She was a beautiful crier, her eyes wide and wet when I pulled her to her feet.

  “Okay.” I placed the crop back on the table. “I hope now the ‘Sirs’ and ‘Masters’ are all gone.”

  “Yes, Jeremy,” she whispered.

  My gaze was drawn to the lovely expanse of her décolletage, which rose and fell deeply with each sniffling breath. Her beautiful tits were thrust forward from her hands being pinned behind her. Wordlessly I folded over the cups of her corset to expose her breasts, and not surprisingly, I found her nipples rock hard. I reached for the clamps on the side table. She stared as I lifted the small silver devices and held them in my hand.

  I said, “Look at me,” but she already was. She gasped almost inaudibly as each unforgiving clamp closed on her nipple, and she blinked at the sudden intense and stringent pain. I studied my submissive—corseted, bound, whipped, marked, clamped. Subjugated.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I feel desperate, Jeremy.”

  “Desperate for what?”

  “Desperate to come.”

  I put my fingers between her legs to find her wonderfully, copiously wet. She was well trained. She didn’t dance around or try to grind her clit against my fingers. She stood still and watched me, breathless and aroused.

  “You’re not allowed to come without my permission,” I reminded her, fingering her mercilessly. “Not ever. Not even in the privacy of your room. Not even if we’re five thousand miles away from each other, should that situation ever arise. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Jeremy.”

  I removed my hand and pointed at the floor at my feet, then started to unbutton my pants.

  “Normally I would have you undo me yourself, but since you’re restrained, I’ll do it this time.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy.” She knelt before me in a practiced way that brought her mouth to the perfect angle to receive my cock. Impressive, but the object of tonight wasn’t flattery and praise. I rolled on the condom.

  “By the way, I’m the only one who’s going to be coming tonight, just to drive the lesson home that you belong to me, and that your desire and sexual satisfaction belong to me too.”

  She looked up from her knees in silent resignation. I tweaked one of the clamps and used my other hand to guide her lips to the jutting cock I offered.

  “I’m sure your skills aren’t nearly up to my exacting standards, but all I ask for now is that you do your best. Open up.”

  I held her head and thrust into her mouth quickly and deeply, seating myself all the way in her throat. She gagged, surprised and unbalanced, just as I’d wanted her to. There was no use letting your submissive think she was already talented enough as she was. I let her flounder a little, throwing her off her rhythm every time she found one, gagging her purposely and aggressively a few more times. While Nell tried hard and obviously knew the basics of fellatio, she was far from a pro. Well, there had been a “no sex” clause at her work. It was nothing a whole lot of practice wouldn’t fix. Practice was good. And for all I knew, it was the first time she’d done a blowjob without the use of her hands, which were still firmly fixed behind her back.

  I purposely took a long time, as long as I could. I was in no hurry to leave her hot, eager mouth. She never gave up, never flagged. I knew she was tired, so her effort touched me all the more. I watched her, spellbound by her drive to please me, until tears began to squeeze from her eyes. I put my hand under her chin.

  “Look up.” Her eyes popped open, and she gazed up at me, never stopping. I fell in love a little. A couple of tears overflowed and meandered down her cheeks. My cock swelled, and I tightened my hands on her head. I purposely thrust deep and choked her. She pulled away, an instinctive impulse, and immediately apologized, her voice low and raspy.

  “Okay,” I said. “Again.” Slowly this time, I eased into her throat. She tensed. I felt the impulse to escape again, a tiny jerk of her head, but this time she subdued it. “Good girl.” I gave one clamped nipple a hard pull. She moaned against my rigid flesh. “Now finish me off.”

  I let go of her head, let her take over. She devoured me. She bobbed her face up and down on my cock. She was hot, she wanted it. She was hungry. I stared down at her reddened ass and the hands clenched above it, trying to pull loose from their bonds. Did she want to touch me? Did she truly desire me? This felt like more than an act. I’d fucked girls who had an agenda. I recognized it. This felt like something else.

  I watched her slender back, the muscles working as she sucked me in and out. A sound rose in my throat, shaken loose from some primal recess of my mind. She moaned in answer, and the vibration of her voice against my rigid dick sent shocks to my balls. I threw my head back and felt the release roll over me. I grabbed her head again and rode out the orgasm from deep inside her throat, jerking against her mouth. The sensation of her lips closing on me, the feel of her hair under my hands. The musky smell of her arousal mixed with mine. The red welts on her ass, the clenched fists trapped by a thin leather lace. I thought I would never forget any of it. Not even when she was gone.

  My mind rebelled at that thought. I’d just acquired her. It was too soon to think of letting her go. I loosened my hands and drew away. I patted her hair, too spent to think of words. She knelt patiently in front of me. She was still tearful. Her back still rose up and down as she struggled to slow her breath. I left to take off the condom. When I returned I took her chin in my hand again, tilting her face up to mine. Her wide green eyes met mine, and I saw the question there. Are you pleased?

  “Good girl. Up now.”

  I pulled her to her feet and held her arm just a moment longer than she probably needed to find her balance. I removed the first clamp gently, then licked and sucked her nipple to ease away the sting. I removed the other, giving that sore tit the same soothing treatment. She shuddered and pressed her legs together, made a small plaintive sound, almost too soft to hear. A please… An I beg you…

  But no. It would be better to make her wait.

  I was soft on a lot of things other doms were strict on, but orgasms were mine, always mine, to control, to dole out, to demand, to withhold. I would not let her come tonight. I kissed her deeply, then tugged and sucked her nipples again, then turned her around to undo the knotted leather tie around her wrists. After I unbound them, I turned her again so we were face to face.

  “Show them to me,” I said.

  She lifted her wrists. The lace had left some indentations but had not chafed or broken the skin. Just to be sure, I brought each wrist to my mouth. I kissed the fine, pale surface there, the tiny crisscross of veins. I caressed them with my tongue. She tasted of faint, cinnamony perfume and the more sexual scent of leather. She kept her eyes cast down, but her chest rose and fell as I licked her wrists and then right up into her lovely, soft palms. My tongue traced the three lines there. What were they called? Heart line? Head line? Life line? Love line.

  No, I didn’t love her, but I could have licked her forever, every line, every curve, every vein under her skin, every soft hair on her forearms, every wet, hot, secret place. I would too, but not tonight. Instead I only kissed each of her trembling palms lightly, closed her little fists up tight, and said pointedly, “Good night.”

  Chap
ter Seven

  The First Time

  ‡

  I cried myself to sleep. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

  I tried to convince myself it was only frustration, the fact that he’d made me hotter than anyone had in my life and then decided, deliberately, not to let me come. But that wasn’t really the reason, just one aching symptom of a much more encompassing pain.

  I’d left his room and padded down the hall in my ivory heels, my most elegant silk corset absolutely untouched and unsoiled, but I felt like the world’s dirtiest whore.

  It’s just an arrangement. You’re just doing a job. Get your act together.

  When I’d tried for twenty minutes to make myself feel clean again in the shower, I finally let the tears come. It wasn’t that anything he’d done to me had been degrading or sordid. It was just the opposite. I had never participated in such an affecting scene.

  This was a man I clearly should hate. A man who had trapped me, who was using me in the most selfish way, but instead of feeling hatred for him, when he’d licked my wrists before he dismissed me, I’d nearly cried tears, the same emotional tears that threatened to overwhelm me now. Tears of fearful, fascinated infatuation.

  Yes, infatuation was all it was.

  No, no, I wasn’t falling in love with him. It was ridiculously inappropriate to even dream of feeling that way. Wasn’t it?

  He’d destroyed my life, my career, reduced me to a contractual comfort object, but all I could think was, I wish he hadn’t sent me away.

  I lay in his guest room, cold, lonely, horny. I could have reached between my legs and soothed some of the ache away. He never would have known, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. He’d told me it wasn’t allowed, and I desperately wanted to obey him already. I was already hopelessly his.

  He had said You’re mine, whispered it into the hollow of my earlobe. Did he really think of me as his, or did he think of me as Nell, his body for hire? Was he thinking of me right now, lying in bed, as I was thinking of him? Or was it out of sight, out of mind for him?

  Well, of course it was. He wouldn’t go to the trouble of hiring someone to play his girlfriend in public and his sex toy in private if he wanted to get emotionally involved.

  I would need to be so careful, so cautious here.

  And I would definitely need to dry my tears.

  *

  Jeremy and I spent the next couple of days in a flurry of preparations. We went to the doctor first, or rather the doctor came to us, drew blood, put me through a very thorough and intimate physical to declare me free of disease and in good health.

  Then we shopped, and shopped…and shopped. True to his word, he paid for everything I needed for the trip, and for some things I probably didn’t even need. Luggage, clothes, gadgets to make traveling easier, and a durable wheeled leather valise for all my mythology books. Dresses, tops, jeans, cardigans, shoes, bathing suits and cover-ups, even though it was early October. And lingerie, what had to be thousands of dollars worth.

  Most of the practical items came to the doorstep already selected and paid for by some underling of Jeremy’s, Kyle perhaps. The clothing he gave me a budget for, and I went out on my own to put together a nice little wardrobe. He insisted that I dress with my own sense of style, which he professed to like. But the lingerie—we went to buy that together in what amounted to one of the most arousing shopping excursions of my life.

  We didn’t just pop down to Victoria’s Secret. He took me to a small, exclusive boutique I didn’t even know existed, a boutique whose tissue paper was out of my price range, much less the fine garments they wrapped in it.

  There was no discussion of price, or any visible price tags, only incredibly luxurious and detailed lingerie. I stared in wonder at the fine silk corsets and sighed over perfectly fitted bras. There were risqué garter belts and G-strings. And of course, piles and piles of cheeky, impossibly detailed panties. If he insisted my outward appearance be completely my own choices, it was clear my private appearance would be exclusively his.

  But I didn’t mind, because it was incredibly erotic to be dressed by him. He selected everything carefully, studying me with his cool blue eyes as Madame smoothed the corsets and adjusted the garters. She highlighted the embellishments and features of each garment she produced.

  “You see, Monsieur, how beautifully this presents her décolletage,” she would point out, and he would agree, running his fingertips over the tops of my rounded breasts thrust above the silk.

  Or she would run her hand just beneath the seams of the fine French panties she slid up my legs, pointing out how they exposed the perfect silhouette of the curve of my ass. And he would cup my ass and agree with her in a perfectly normal, modulated voice. “Yes, they suit her well.”

  I wanted to beg on my hands and knees for sex.

  He hadn’t touched me since that first night I’d moved into his house. I don’t know why he chose not to, and he didn’t explain. I hoped that he was just too busy, and I had my own tasks to accomplish before we left, friends to contact, finances to put in order. Still, I waited to be summoned to his room every time he arrived at the house. I would have given anything on earth just to be ordered to suck his cock.

  So now, with his gaze all over me in the opulent, private dressing room, I found my breath growing short and my clit growing wet. When Madame finally left us to attend to another customer, Jeremy urged her to take her time. My pussy throbbed as he moved closer to me.

  I had on a rum pink bra with small, sexy stays cupping my tits and a matching waist cincher. An intricate garter belt held up silk stockings in the same dusky shade of pink. He didn’t say anything in the way of preliminaries, just reached between my thighs and parted me, thrusting his fingers so deep inside that I nearly lost my balance. I clung to him, righting myself, and tried not to moan.

  “You’re killing me, Nell.”

  Then I did moan as his fingers slipped out of my slick center to pinch and tease my hard, wet clit. If anyone were killing anyone, it was Jeremy.

  “Have you made yourself come since you left my bedroom?”

  “No, Jeremy.” I was glad I hadn’t, because in my current condition I would have been unable to lie.

  “Good girl. I want you to come now.”

  Oh Jesus, how I ached to, but my mind flew to the flimsy curtain separating Jeremy and me from Madame and the other customers outside in the boutique.

  “You don’t worry about that.” He stroked me, separating and probing my labia. I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You just worry about doing as I ask.”

  “Yes, Jeremy,” I whispered.

  “Hold on to me. Put your hands on my shoulders if you think you’re going to fall.”

  I reached for him, closed my fingers over his muscular shoulders. I could feel his arms move under my hands as he manipulated me. I was torn between running my fingers all over his shoulders and chest and giving myself up to the growing pleasure at my core. I pressed my forehead against the front of his sweater. “Jeremy.” My voice came out a whisper.

  “Come on.” I drew in a deep breath. I relaxed and pushed my hips against his fingers. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “More. I want you to moan.”

  I threw a wild look at the curtain, then turned pleading eyes on him.

  “I want moans, girl.” I recognized the obdurate expression already, knew he wouldn’t bend. I buried my face in his chest and let the moans come.

  And with his fingers, he kept drawing me closer and closer to that terrifying edge of climax, the terrifying loss of control. I didn’t know if I’d be able to let go, here, in Madame’s dressing room on Rodeo Drive with a curtain the only thing between us and the people outside. My quiet sounds rose in intensity. I shuddered against his front.

  “Do it. Obey me.”

  He stroked and fondled me so my hips moved and swayed of their own accord. His fingers slid over my clit, lubricated by the juices that, by now, soaked the garment I wore. My urgent
lust sounds were uttered against soft gray cashmere. I rode his broad hand spread between my legs. As my orgasm drew closer, my movements grew wilder, undisciplined.

  “Hurry,” his voice rasped in my ear, “or she’ll return just as you’re coming. Won’t you look like a horny slut then?”

  I whimpered as his fingers manipulated, scratched, probed. His other hand came around the back of my neck to draw my lips to his. He kissed me deeply, his fingers pressing inside me at the same time.

  “Oh.” I moaned into his mouth. “Oh God.”

  “Yes, be a good girl. Come for me. Now.”

  He pinched my nipple through the bra, once, twice, a third time. I wanted to come, I had to come. I knew I had to let go. The pressure in my center was unbearable. It was painful anticipation, an urge that couldn’t be realized.

  “Please!” I begged against his lips.

  “Now. Now, girl!” he whispered. He bit my tongue softly and pulled me close to him, drove his fingers deep inside.

  “Oh, oh! Ohhhhh—” He caught my cries of orgasm with his mouth pressed hard over mine. I bucked against him, and he worked my clit while the waves of pleasure took me. It went on and on, sharp, undulating sensation. By the end I clung to his neck, far too weak to stand of my own accord.

  “Oh, Jeremy!” He shushed me and slowly drew his sodden fingers out of my slit and up the front of the garter belt and cincher I wore. I watched the broad, blunt fingers slide against the delicate pink material and then snake around my hip. I peered up into avid blue eyes. He looked down at me with an expression I couldn’t untangle.

  “Thank you, Jeremy,” I whispered.

  “Don’t thank me. I did that for me.”

  “Monsieur,” came Madame’s muted voice from outside the curtain. “Will Mademoiselle be needing any more things?”

  Mademoiselle got plenty more things, but all Mademoiselle could think about was whether Madame could smell the scent of sex in the air when she came back in to continue the fitting, or perceive the carnal promise in Jeremy’s eyes as he continued staring at me. If she noticed the sharp smell of female arousal permeating the small room, she was too professional to let it show. She laid the set I had on, smeared with my essence, on the purchase pile. From then on, each time she produced panties, I stood stiffly to keep from soaking the gussets, while Jeremy looked on with a smile. When she produced a thong, I asked to be excused to the powder room first.