Sold as a Domme on Valentine's Day

by Juliana Conners

  “Jordan! Bianca!” She whistles, allowing me to see her clearly through the throng of heads, plates, and food. “Over here.”

  With that, I let Jordan lead me through to our seating area.

  As we near it, Alex comes around the table and claps Jordan on the back. “Hey, man! Whatever you left us early for, it better have been good!”

  Jordan blanches, flinching visibly. I suck in my breath, realizing everyone’s noticed his reaction. Particularly Paul, the older brother, who eyes me mischievously.

  Alex freaks out. “Oh, shit! Sorry, dude! What happened, man?”

  Paul steps forward, his energy trying for playful, but failing. It’s more on the edge of being antagonistic. Probably from me insulting him over coffee this morning.

  “Yeah, what happened, Jordan?” He pauses, looking at me and gives a wolfish grin. “Did she actually whip you, or something?” When neither myself nor Jordan answers immediately, he adds, “Oh my fucking God. She did!” He turns to everyone else, his face filled with glee. “he really did it. He really let her whip him.”

  Murmurs of, “Really? Jordan, did you really do that?” and various combinations of this come out of Mariah, Jane and Alex’s mouths.

  Before I can jump in and answer — bring down everyone’s excitement — another voice enters the space. One I’m cursing my bad luck for hearing again: Greaser Boy.

  Out of all the fucking places he could fucking show up, he fucking shows up here. Now.

  “Well, speak up Boy Toy,” he says, directly to Jordan and loud enough for everyone in the café to hear. “Answer their question. You let yourself get whipped, didn’t you, pussy?”

  “Come on, Boy Toy. Not so brave now are you, boy.” He snorts out a disgusted laugh. “Speak up. Or are you going to let your old lady defend you too?”

  The words 'old lady' lance my stomach. Almost punches the air out of my lungs, but it’s what I see from Jordan that hurts the most.

  I’m expecting him to step forward. To be loud and proud. Brave in front of the guy, like he was when we first met. I’m looking for him to proclaim that nothing is wrong with how he is with me — how our power positions work — but he does none of that. He looks down and away. Embarrassed.

  And that’s when my heart shatters to pieces. He’s ashamed of what he did with me. I let go of his hand, panicking. He’s just like all the others. He really doesn’t like being dominated by an older woman. That explains why he had no issues taking control in the banquet room. He’s a liar. A fake. A phony.

  I bet he and his friends will have a good laugh at my expense. The delusional 'old woman'.

  With that crushing thought, I take off running.

  Even as he shouts after me, I don’t stop.

  Chapter 18

  Jordan

  Before I realize what’s happening, a piece of my heart is running away from me. With tears and anger in her eyes.

  What the fuck have I done?

  “Bianca! Bianca, wait!” I feel like I might go into cardiac arrest if she gets too far away from me. But she’s moving too fast. And Creeper Dude uses this moment to throw shit at me.

  “You really aren’t a man, are you, Boy Toy?” he says. “I bet if I took down your pants, you wouldn’t have a dick.”

  Without even turning around to face him, I see red. My entire body shakes, and my pulse thunders in my skull.

  “I bet you just have a fuzzy little mound. One that would probably like a good fucking from a real man, like me.”

  At those words, I fly around to face him. I launch myself at his shit-talking mouth and go in for the jugular before my brain has even time to process anything. How hard I’ve slammed into him, or how many people have had to get out of the way.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I land on him, shoving him to the ground and then I land a punch. It’s off-center, but enough to cut him with one of my rings. “Shut up, you motherfucker!” He struggles under me. Tries to push me off, but I won’t allow it.

  I take his fingers and bend them back. I promised to break them all for touching Bianca, and I might just do it now. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole.”

  “Come at me, bro. Give me what you got, Boy Toy,” he giggles.

  I bend back the fingers I have in my hand until he screams. Somebody pulls me off him. As I’m being pulled away, I land punches, or at least I hope I do.

  I go for the creeper again, but I see Alex is pulling him off the floor and out of my reach. And Paul is holding me back. I roar in anger, flexing all of my muscles against the hold Paul has on me. He’s lucky he works out. If he didn’t, I’d throw him to the ground along with Creeper Dude.

  “Let me go! This bitch needs to learn to shut his fucking mouth.”

  I’m pissed at him. Pissed at myself. But more than that I’m scared I’ve just lost Bianca forever. And if I have, I’ll take out her loss on his that shithead's face.

  I surge forward.

  Creeper Dude matches me, but we’re kept apart by Alex and Paul still. “Just try it, bitch,” he taunts.

  “Keep talking, dickwad,” I shout back. “When I get done with you, you won’t be able to talk.”

  Surprisingly, Mariah and Jane are around me. Touching each of my shoulders. “Jordan,” Jane says, “forget him. He’s not important.”

  “Yeah,” Mariah agrees, looking at my rival like he’s nothing more than a cockroach. “Ignore the troll.”

  “You’ve got to go after Bianca,” Jane says, gripping my shoulder as hard as she can. “You’ve got to explain to her. Apologize to her.”

  “Before she leaves,” Mariah adds, working with Jane to shove me out of the battle zone. “Hurry!”

  They don’t need to tell me anymore. I leave behind my beef with Creeper Dude and follow my thundering heart to the entrance of the café past open-mouthed servers and patrons. I run down the stairs. Jump down them, practically taking two or three or four, at a time.

  Even as I move, I smell Bianca hanging in the air. The whisper of her perfume. Her soap.

  I jump off the last stair and run as fast as I can toward her room, my chest and lungs burn with exertion. God dammit, I think, rubbing scared and angry tears from my eyes, I can’t lose you, Bianca! I can’t live without you. I stumble under my speed and the weight of my impending grief. I can’t go back to my normal life. I can’t go back to being single after this.

  The creeper is right. I’m not really a man. I’m a coward. A yellow-bellied little bitch.

  If I was a man, I would have defended my relationship with Bianca in front of everyone. Instead I cowered away too scared to man up in the moment.

  I haul in a breath doing my best to hold back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. God dammit, Bianca. I can’t live without you. I won’t. If I have to, I’ll shout it from the rooftops. From the top of the ski slopes.

  I love you dominating me.

  I love you controlling me

  I love you spanking, flogging, kissing me.

  I love...

  I love you.

  Chapter 19

  Bianca

  In all of my tears and confusion, I’m not sure how I made it back to my room. Or how I managed to not bawl my eyes out in front of everyone I passed on the way. But the moment I sag into my door, I slide to the floor. I sit there and sob. Lament my horrible luck.

  My stupid belief that Jordan was different from the rest. You stupid, bitch, you chose the wrong guy as a sub, I yell at myself. You fell for a pretty face and a dirty mouth.

  I did it again.

  There's no fool like an old fool.

  My mind wanders to all the times Jordan said he was my good boy. Promised he would be. You lied! You made me think you were different. You made me think you were brave and proud of being with me. That you loved being dominated by me, but you didn’t. I gave parts of me to you that I’ve never given anyone ever. Parts of me I can never reclaim.

  With these thoughts, I get up and start packing. Not just my pink bag, but my s
uitcase, too. As I pack, I do my best to catch my breath. To breathe through my tears and hiccups, but it’s hard. I barely manage.

  “You were just ashamed of the whole thing. Ashamed of me.” I grit my teeth, remembering how I let him fuck me. Take my virginity. “You just did it to get in my holes, didn’t you? It wasn’t really about serving me or being a ‘good boy.’”

  I pack the rest of my stuff, angrily jamming pieces of clothing and corners, pouches. I don’t fucking care where any of it goes. I’m so done with everything and everyone. With believing anything good will ever come to me and be for real.

  “It was all about serving yourself. Your own selfish needs and kinks.” As I say this, I cry too hard to speak or move. I fall against my packed bags, wondering why Cupid has to be such a profound dick to me.

  It’s around then I hear what I’ve been dreading and pining for. The sound of urgent, pained pounding on my door. It’s followed by Jordan’s equally pained and urgent voice.

  “Bianca! Bianca, please open up!” He pounds on the door again. “Please let me talk to you! Let me explain. Let me make it right.” Despite hearing tears in his voice, I’m too angry and hurt to care.

  “No!” I bellow, “go away, Jordan! Save your sob story for someone else.”

  “Please, Bianca.” The crack in his voice makes him sound as though he’s about to be sentenced to death. Have his head chopped off. I know which one of his heads he deserves to have chopped off.

  “Please! Just open the door.” He sobs. Choking on emotion. “Please, Bianca! Please let me explain. Let me make it right.”

  Somewhere in his pitiful pleading, I find myself leaning against the door.

  Without thinking, I open it and see his sad and sorry display. But only to chew him out to his face. For being a liar and a fraud.

  My heart skids to a full stop. Ceases to beat for a few seconds.

  The moment I open the door, he drops right to his knees in front of me. In front of a hallway full of people, including his friends.

  More tears burn the edges of my eyes.

  But I hold them back. I refuse to unravel in front of him. Refuse to show him what he’s done.

  Shamelessly, he kneels at my door sobbing. His shoulders hunched. His head bowed. His hands face up on his thighs.

  The moment he sees my shoes on the floor next to him, he shuffles forward. Bows even lower, kissing my feet. Crying into them.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress. Whatever I did — whatever I didn’t say back there that you needed me to say — I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a coward. I’m sorry for not defending you the way you defended me.” He stares up at me, tears leaking out of his eyes like his spirit liquefied.

  My traitorous heart reaches out to him, needing to go to the man who crushed it, but I snatch it back. I can’t allow him to hurt me again. I can’t fall for his lies. But his contrite words and actions begin to thaw my anger. My frustration. My disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress. Please let me be your good boy again. Let me be good for you today and every day after this.” He brings his lips and face down to my shoes, drowning them in kisses.

  “Punish me again, Mistress.” People’s mouths fall open at the word ‘punishment’ but that doesn’t stop Jordan. He continues speaking, begging, pleading as if he and I are the only ones here. “Punish me for my bad behavior, so I can be the good boy I was.”

  His eyes find mine. “Please, Bianca!” He sobs pitifully, like a little boy without his mother. “Without you, I’m nothing. I don’t care if I lose all my money tomorrow, along with my business. I can’t do life without you in it.” He gestures helplessly. “I love you.”

  His words hit me like an atomic bomb of love. I take a few staggering steps back. Shocked by his declaration.

  Dare I take a chance on him? Dare I believe him? Dare I trust him?

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I swear.”

  He turns to face our audience.

  “I love this woman. This strong, dominant, beautiful woman. She could tell me to ski naked, and I would. She could tell me to eat my food from a dog bowl, and I would. She could spank me and whip me with all her might and I would love her even more.”

  The women in the group look visibly moved while the men look perplexed and bemused.

  Jane delicately dabs her eyes and Alex hugs her close. Paul opens his mouth to say something, but Mariah grabs his hand and tells him to hush.

  Jordan lifts his face to mine. The distraught sadness in his eyes shows me he’s throwing all he has and all he is into this moment.

  My boy. My good, good boy.

  I’ll make him pay dearly but for now, I take his hands and pull him to standing, then I smother his face in kisses.

  “Come here, Jordan.” I hug him tightly soothing him. Quieting his tears, even as people still watch us from the hallway. “I love you too, you silly boy!” Now I’m the one who’s crying my eyes out. But not from anger this time. From pure joy. “I’m not letting you go after this.” With that, I kiss him again and run my fingers through his hair. “I don’t care if I have to put a collar and leash on you.”

  “Please do,” Jordan says meekly.

  I take him inside and close the door.

  “Though you don’t have to worry," he promises, "I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.” He kisses my hand the same way he did when we first met. “Even without a leash, I’d stay right by your side forever.”

  “And I yours, sweet, sweet Jordan.”

  Epilogue

  In her room again, I feel like I’ve passed through the gates of Heaven. Been saved from my greatest sin by Bianca’s compassion.

  As she leads me toward the bed, the floor to ceiling windows give a sense of floating. Of being in the ether, between the blueness of the sky, and the whiteness of the snow.

  Besides stretching floor-to-ceiling, these windows also run the length of her room on one side, creating an open, vulnerable feeling to the space. Like there’s no wall. Just an expanse of trees and snow in the distance.

  “Come, my good boy,” Bianca whispers, acting like she’s going to set me on the bed and make me comfortable, “let me reward you for everything you’ve done today.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” I shuffle towards her, doing my best to appear submissive, but, at the very last second, I turn things around on her.

  I grab her and kiss her deeply. I let her taste my tongue. I stand her up and begin moving her toward my goal. The windows.

  Once I have her back against the windows, I kiss her her neck, her throat, her collarbone. I pay special attention her chest, unbuttoning her blouse and bra as I go. I then move my lips down to her chest, breasts, and nipples.

  “You’re the one who deserves the reward, my lady,” I whisper, licking and nibbling at her. Every place I nibble and kiss is quickly freed of clothing. From her belly to her hands and fingers, everything is bathed in kisses and caresses. “Being back with you as the greatest reward I will ever receive, and the only one I need.” Saying this, I remove her bra and blouse completely, and kneel before her to begin undressing her bottom half.

  She gives me a happy, soft sigh. “What would I ever do without you, my precious boy? You know exactly what your mistress needs, don’t you?”

  I nod eagerly, happy that she’s allowing me to reward her, and I start pressing kisses on her tummy and pelvis. Then, as my mouth makes its way to the waistband of both her slacks and underwear, I move them down. Slowly, inch by inch, pressing my lips against her. My tongue.

  I mutter sweet words to her about how she is my gracious mistress. My compassionate, most-wise mistress.

  Through this slow, sultry process, I get an eyeful of her curvy hips. Then her thick and dark pubic hair. From there, I’m blessed with a look at her inner thighs, and the slightest whisper of pink hanging between her legs.

  Though I would like nothing more than to take it taste of her lusciousness, I don’t dare do it now. Not un
til she’s fully undressed, and right where I want her.

  “I want nothing more than to put my mistress on display,” I murmur, feeling her shiver as I kiss my way down her legs, and pull her slacks and underwear off her feet. Her panties are still damp from when we made out earlier today. As I remove them, I appreciate a pool of thick, dried whiteness there.

  I leave Bianca’s black high heels on because I love the shape they give her legs.

  “Would my Mistress object to being put on display while I pleasure her?” I move my position on the floor, so I can see her eyes, see the desire in them. “While I eat her for my lunch?”

  Bianca’s eyes sparkle mischievously. It’s as if she’s been waiting for me to ask.

  “If my mistress has no objections, of course,” I say, keeping my voice and posture submissive, though I know she can see the little curl to my lips.

  “I have no objections to either request, Jordan,” she says, guiding me off my knees and to my feet. “You’ve been a good enough boy today, you deserve nothing less. But don’t think I won’t punish you later for your behavior in the café.”

  “My mistress is very generous,” I say, grabbing for a nearby chair. Something to seat myself in once I’ve put her on display.

  I set the chair a short distance away, enjoying her look of interest. Intrigue.

  Once I’m satisfied with the distance and height of it to Bianca’s pussy, I push her up against the window. Her breasts are pressed against the cold, smooth glass.

  Immediately, I get the reaction I want. A startled, pleased moan. A squeal almost.

  And that’s nothing. The minute I sit down in the chair, scoot it up to her soaking, slippery pussy lips, and begin to eat, she cries out for her salvation.

  Bianca

  I’m up against the window, my plump and erect nipples pressed against the cold, winter-frosted glass. I squeal, feeling my whole breast squish into the clear, smooth surface.