A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology

by Editors: Katherine Merchant, Sonya Bond, Michelle Puffer

  “What if I can’t do it?” she asked.

  “You find it hard to believe, don’t you? If you say your safe word, I’ll stop. The first problem we have is your difficulty with trust. And like all problems, we’ll deal with it.”

  She peered into his eyes, quietly looking for what lay ahead.

  He continued, “I won’t tell you everything. I don’t ask permission.”

  “How do you know what to do?” she asked.

  Joe settled into his seat. “It’s in the Dom’s Manual,” he smiled. “Now relax, Pita. Get some sleep.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. He wondered if her orgasm stirred her up so much she couldn’t relax, but her head turned heavy, and her breath softened. The stress of getting this far built intensity for weeks, and she’d done well. He reminded himself not to hope for too much, too soon. In spite of her shy streak and his moments of control, they just began. Pita wanted love; for now, for Joe, enough challenge came from D/s. Submissives usually said D/s could not happen without love. He sometimes wondered if they might be right.

  He closed his eyes and put his head back. He brought the handkerchief to his face. If the blue hat lady still sat across the aisle, she would have seen him wipe his nose. He inhaled Pita’s scent. He knew that before they landed, he needed to settle the turmoil rippling through his body. His breath still shook, and he put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He felt the plane enter its long descent.

  His Leather Kisses

  “I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” —Anais Nin

  “Ohh, can we gamble, Sir?” she asked as the rented convertible pulled under the immense portico at Graywolf.

  “I thought we were, Pita.”

  She laughed. The valet rushed to open her door. She waited, like Joe told her, so he could hand her from the car. They entered the casino’s cavernous lobby through a rush of air that provided its front door. Graywolf served as New England’s bow to extravagance and greed; it looked strange among the green Connecticut hills, a hotel resort designed around a thirty-three story, black trapezoid meant to overwhelm visitors.

  Pita gawked, but she moved steadily through the lavish lobby because Joe’s fingers pressed gently at the small of her back. She enjoyed a moment of feeling owned, but he said nothing all the way across the lobby and, as she stepped onto the glass-walled elevator, her fear returned.

  The elevator rose, the countryside dropped away, and the distances of woods and hazy, blue mountains stretched into the distance. Pita followed her own thoughts while the butterflies in her stomach got used to new heights. She looked at the control panel for a destination. The only lit button glowed at the top, “P” for penthouse—weakness overtook her, and she leaned back against Joe’s arm. It tightened around her, and his strength comforted her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. She wanted to learn to trust him, so much so that she again willed herself to take risks. The elevator stopped, and he held her around her waist to walk her through a spacious lobby to the double doors that opened on their room…or suite, perhaps five times the size of a hotel room. One windowed wall showed a panorama of green countryside. Opposite the windows, a mirrored wall ran the length of the living area so the sky and rolling hills appeared to surround the room. An immense bed waited in shadow behind a wall. Overwhelmed, she felt relieved to just sit on the sectional and sip the wine Joe handed her. Her excitement took shape. “Sir, this is incredible.”

  “What we’re doing this week is important,” he said and sat next to her.

  They talked, and her stomach settled. The desire to get started welled up as she looked around. A mahogany table by the windows displayed toys: cuffs…whips…clamps…oils…vibes… The large pillar in front of her, impressive for its immense girth in any case, was circled at the ceiling and floor with chain and shackles. Joe’s gaze bored into her. She reached for his hands and found them damp. He shared her nerves. She bent her forehead to rest against his shoulder.

  His voice sounded gentle. “Any questions?” he asked.

  She kept her forehead against him but shook it “No.” With a deep breath, she asked. “What should I do?”

  Joe took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. He stood and walked to the table, then returned with fur-lined cuffs and knelt before her. He handled her gently, as if helping her try on shoes. The cuffs pulled snug on her ankles, and her heart rushed ahead. Her breath shrank. She tried to slow her breathing. The locks snapped shut, and something new and unexpected unfurled inside her—a gathering sense of peace. She’d been close to hyperventilating, afraid she’d faint, but as he locked the wrist cuffs, she felt safe. She hadn’t anticipated comfort and security. She wanted more.

  “Oh, these feel terrific,” she said and heard her own voice crack.

  “Good,” he said but put a finger to her lips. Joe stood, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. His breath swirled around her, and she tilted her face, wanting his kiss to settle her. Instead, he slipped the cardigan she wore in the car down her arms. She still marveled that the cuffs settled her. He spread the sweater sleeves gently to pass over the cuffs and tossed the cashmere to the floor. He slipped a hand behind her neck and tugged the bow free that held her halter-top. Arousal simmered in his eyes. There seemed to be nothing to say.

  He lowered the top of the dress. His gaze traveled over the swollen tops of her breasts and down the pale green of her corset. He went to his knees again and looked up at her. She would be completely vulnerable the next time he moved his hands, her sex naked before this stranger. He urged the dress over her hips. The silk rushed into a puddle about her feet. Joe sat back on his haunches to look at her, and she relaxed at seeing excitement and a flush flood his face.

  Pita used her toe to lift the dress to one side. Suddenly intense, he grabbed it up and flung it on top of the sweater. Seeing his passion, she found it oddly comforting to be stripped so carefully. Her heart beat a ragged tattoo as she stood before this man she loved but didn’t know, whom she willingly risked with her hope but hadn’t learned to trust. He released the garters stretching over the flesh he’d fondled passionately on the plane. She turned for him to release the pair in back and closed her eyes at his caress of her bare hips. The corset and hose clothed her, but in every way that counted, she already had been stripped naked. Cool air assaulted her skin as Joe rolled down each stocking, and she leaned on his shoulder, lifting her feet so he could take each little wad of hosiery and lob it onto the growing jumble of her clothes.

  Joe stood and kissed her softly. For a moment, she thought he’d lunge and take her immediately, but he restrained his passion and remained gentle. It did worlds for her confidence in him, but she saw the truth in his dark, hot eyes. He undid the snaps on the corset. Each made a small sound in the quiet room, and cool air washed over her skin. At the end, it fell away and landed behind her with a thud. Her warm flesh cooled quickly at the touch of the air conditioning, and her nipples responded. Except for the cuffs, she truly stood naked. She thought it odd that the cuffs comforted her and found it surprising that being nude didn’t make her self-conscious.

  Joe brought a leather collar from the toy table and buckled it on her. It felt like a snug hand against her throat. She remembered her fantasies about collars and about being owned. So, that’s it. She touched the black leather and smiled. He checked the fit carefully and gave it a playful tug. Excitement lunged inside her again. She liked the way he checked everything and tended to details.

  “I feel like I’m being prepared for something special,” she said. The sudden sound of her voice in the large room surprised her. She giggled.

  “Do you like the feel?” Joe asked.

  Suddenly shy, she nodded. “ Yes, Sir. It�
��s…I don’t know. I like it.”

  He nodded, and she smiled bashfully up at him.

  “Come with me, please,” he said. He took her hand and led her to the pillar in the center of the room. Beaded walnut from ceiling to floor paneled the huge, main support. The shackles at the floor and ceiling attached to the cuffs. Pita’s mouth went dry, and her anxiety surged. Her stomach did flip-flops as Joe arranged her.

  Oh, my god . She would have said something out loud but didn’t know what. The thought of pain didn’t bother her. She worried about looking fat and feeling silly and, suddenly, she became self-conscious. She’d anticipated the naked part and prepared herself for it, but naked and chained made her wish Joe would let her wear something. If only she’d lost the last fifteen pounds. He would think her ridiculous if he could read her anxious mind. He bent to attach the shackles to her ankles, held shoulder-width apart. His hands ran slowly up her legs, to her ass, to her shoulders. He massaged her tight muscles and whispered in her ear, “Trust me, Pita.”

  Yes , she thought. That’s the reason for the risks. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe him different from the men she knew, and she ran risks to find out. She concentrated on her breathing, as he taught her. Once more, she resolved to succeed. He lifted her right hand to attach its cuff. He attached the second cuff to the shackle on her left, and her arms spread wide above her head. She had never been so entirely vulnerable—in more ways than just the physical—but her vulnerability became the point, didn’t it, she told herself. Naked and fat, chained to a pillar, and this Joe about to do things to her she only dreamed about. Oh God, what am I doing here, she moaned, nearly thinking out loud.

  “You’re anxious,” Joe said. “Are you alright? Are you frightened?”

  She couldn’t possibly tell him she felt fat. Pita knew the real issue centered on trust and the strength of her need and will. She took a breath. “I’m alright,” she said and looked down because she didn’t want him to see her fear, or that she just told a lie. But the fact he noticed and asked made her feel better.

  “If you need to stop, Pita, we will do that. Do you want to go ahead now?”

  She thought frantically, but the need in her kept surging. Yes, it said. Yes. I want this. She said yes to herself and heard her voice say it out loud.

  “Breathe, Pita. You’ll be fine.” His voice, low and steady, washed over her in a low rumble like a summer rain soothes an overheated heart. “I know what I’m doing. You can trust me.”

  Then she discovered her trust in them both hidden where she left it: under her hopes for the future. She relaxed…sort of. In the mirrored wall, she saw herself: her hands over her head, her legs spread and cuffed. She stared at herself while Joe moved about, preparing. For the first time in a long, long while, she nearly recognized her beauty. What an odd and empowering sensation for a woman! She arched her back — she thought he would like that — and watched her bottom stick out, round and full. Her breasts pressed against the pillar. Her nipples felt hard as pebbles against the cool wood. In the mirror, the wood struck a dark contrast with her pale skin and red hair.

  The excitement of anticipation aroused her. Something in her demanded this experience and made her want to succeed. She’d wanted it for as long as she could recall. The mirror reflected the intensity on his face as he observed her pondering what lay ahead. She wanted to do it for him, too. Her gaze met his and held for a long moment. He stooped to the sectional and picked up the pink, long stem rose he gave her on the plane. He stood behind her and, in the mirror, she watched him reach out. The petals floated down her spine, over her cheeks, and continued down her left leg. She closed her eyes. The soft petals gently traveled up her right leg and, at her shoulder, the rose touched her lips and rested. A thorn pricked her shoulder, perhaps to hint at what lay ahead, but she breathed its fragrance, and it offered tenderness, too.

  Joe rested his hand on her opposite shoulder. From behind, he gathered her into his embrace. Using his body like a gentle hand, he pressed his length against her, head to foot. His warmth claimed her, and a sigh of contentment escaped her lips. He shared what she felt, and she no longer feared failure. His self-assurance and sense of purpose, his physical presence gave her confidence in him and in herself.

  “You are so beautiful. Good girl,” Joe said in her ear. Pita’s heart beat faster as he chose a flogger. She remembered a visit to the dungeon store with Alexi and recalled the sensuous feel of the black, suede falls. She’d run them through her fingers, wondering, while her sister rambled on about how she didn’t understand people who found ‘that perverted stuff’ erotic. Now Joe chose leather for her. As he approached, she knew with new certainty that she wanted him this way: his pain and leather kisses. He promised this in an email.

  He also brought a black satin blindfold. “A blindfold will let you focus. I don’t want you distracted from my voice or from what your body feels.”

  She nodded and swallowed. The brush of fear shimmied up her spine as everything turned black. He caressed her, and she gave herself over to his hands and voice.

  “Lose control,” he said. “Don’t fight, or try to limit yourself. Whatever you feel, let go, accept. If you want to cry, then cry. If you want to laugh, laugh. If you want to scream, scream. Give me control. Let me have you. Do you understand? Will you try?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She heard herself whisper.

  “Do you remember the safe words, Pita? What are they?”

  “Red, Sir. And yellow.”

  The falls of the flogger draped softly over her shoulder, and she twitched, surprising herself with her arousal. They slid down her bare skin.

  “Good girl. This will warm you up.” She braced, expecting hard, sharp blows. But the first stroke landed like another caress, and the second stroke fell just as gently. She relaxed and let out the breath she held.

  Blindfolded, she couldn’t know where a blow would land, but he began on her shoulders, and her muscles learned to anticipate his methodical rhythm. She lost count quickly. The lashes went on and on, and she began to notice little things. The suede falls dragged across her skin. A slight breeze forecast each blow. She heard the falls brush Joe’s leg. She heard them whisper in the air. The whip gave a sort of deep massage. She began to lean back, relaxed, wanting the blows. The flogger went on and on, and gradually the strokes became more insistent. Her breathing followed the rhythm.

  Except for the regular sound his body made with the motion of the throws, Joe made no noise; Pita began to feel alone with the flogger and turned inward. She gave herself directions. Breathe, she thought and, Relax. She became lost in sensation and, once, wondered if Joe left. Then she remembered, and the flogger went on, first one shoulder, then the other, then on her ass, one side after the other. Breathe. Let go. Relax, she told herself.

  “You are doing well, Pita.” Joe’s voice startled her, and she jerked. His approval sank in and seeped into her like cool water sinking through her heated skin. She welcomed his voice. It stretched from a shoreline where he reached out with a helping hand, and she held onto his words.

  “Thank you Sir. It’s good,” she murmured.

  “Good. I’m going to raise the pace. And the force. You remember your safe words?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, a quiver of anxiety sifted into her consciousness.

  “If you safeword, I stop. Trust me.”

  She wished he would quit talking about stopping. After waiting for months, she didn’t plan to use her safe word unless hell froze over. She wanted to take what he gave, just so they both knew she could do it, but especially so he knew it. He needed to believe in her and in her submission as much as she needed to believe in him and his dominance.

  His voice reached from the shore again. “Relax, Pita. Let your muscles go loose.” The rhythm started again. “Don’t be anxious. Let go. Give it to me,” he said at the end of each set of lashes. “I want you to become an extension of my control. Be mine.”

  She concentrated on
relaxing. Inside her mind, the voice said, Relax. Breathe. I love you. Joe continued his leather kisses with a suede whip across her bottom, back, and legs. He found a sweet spot where her ass joined her thighs. Both hard and soft, the suede sent commands through Pita’s body: to the part that knew pain, to the part that feared it, to the part that wanted it, to the part that thought about love, to the part that felt strong, to the part that replied with sex…and seemed to have something to say about everything that went on.

  Pita concentrated, sheltered by the blindfold, on savoring each touch like a taste of chocolate. She noticed a sound she hadn’t heard, a brushing sound after each slap. Breathe. I love you. Relax. She thought about how the strokes hurt, not like something to avoid at all costs, but punches that made her body sway. Her pussy tingled, and she knew Joe heard her moan.

  “It’s time for a little more,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir.” She didn’t know what he meant but felt ready.

  The blow that came drove Pita against the pillar and left her squirming. She clung to the cool wood for refuge. In her surprise, she didn’t cry out.

  But the next blow challenged her just the same, and she yelled. “Oww! Why the hell are you doing it so hard?”

  A barely disguised grin hid in Joe’s voice. “I control to satisfy me, Pita. You’re all warmed up. Delightful as it is, massaging you isn’t what I have in mind.”

  “But, Sir…”

  “I thought you hated whining,” he interrupted. She often complained about whining from the waiters who worked for her. The pain faded quickly behind each blow, but it irritated her to be pulled from the sensuous daydream he’d been letting her float in. “You’re learning,” he said. “Absorb and accept. Let yourself go. Let the feeling flow through you.”

  She let out a deep breath. “Yes, Sir.”

  The lash fell across the backs of her legs. She imagined the pain rising from her skin like heat, or light, and stood her ground.