Careful not to speed up my pace, I felt him begin to spasm in my mouth. My hand continued to massage him, following the path made with my lips. His hips began to thrust slightly each time I pushed him into my throat, my nose touching the base of his groin. Breathing harder with each movement, Matthew struggled to control his motion, struggled to remain still.
Looking up at him through my eyelashes, I watched his face contort into the mask of a tormented man, ready to give way to his awaiting release. His eyes met mine and I smiled at him, pulling back on him slightly I used my teeth to gently rake across his delectable rod. I took solace in knowing that I was in complete control. True power.
My pace quickened slightly as Matthew began to shake uncontrollably, his shaft pulsing in my hand with each stroke. The delightful sensation of his hardness filling my mouth filled me with gratification. Sensing his release, I took his entire length into my mouth, continuing to palm his scrotum. I pushed down farther and held my head there, using my neck to drive him in little pulses deep inside my throat.
He groaned loudly as a hot, salty liquid poured down my throat. I swallowed avariciously, milking every drop from him with my hand. Matthew let out a grateful sigh, and sucked in air slowly, striving to regain control of his own body.
I rose leisurely and gestured for him to go back to his position. Still shaking, Matthew sank to his knees, nearly falling over as his muscles quivered in post-ejaculatory bliss. I watched him breathing, chest heaving. Grasping his head in my hands, I pulled him forward, placing his head onto my bosom. His breath tickled my skin as I held him close, stroking his soft curls with my hand.
“Shh, settle my pet,” I whispered. I ran my hand down his neck and across his shoulders, rubbing his back with the palm of my hand. His breathing slowed and he leaned into me, into the comfort of my arms. We remained there until his breaths were normal again.
“Come,” I instructed him and he rose slowly. Turning toward the bed, I walked around to the edge and pointed to the black satin sheets waiting to comfort him further. Easing into the bed, Matthew winced, the sensation of the sheets brushing against his tender flesh no doubt awakened his nerve endings anew. Pulling the sheet around him, I encouraged him to lie down, knowing the exhaustion he was facing. He nodded slightly and allowed me to envelope him in black satin. I nudged him with my hand to indicate for him to scoot over and he obliged gingerly. I slid onto the plush mattress beside him and folded him into my arms. His head came to rest on my shoulder.
Smiling to myself, I stroked his hair lovingly. The dark locks wrapping around my fingers, a striking contrast to my pale skin. I felt Matthews breathing slow to the pace of someone enjoying a well- deserved sleep. His breath warmed my skin, the weight of his head on my shoulder bringing me contentment. Matthew curled up beside me like a child who has had a nightmare and has come to his mother’s room for solace. He placed his hand onto my abdomen; his touch filled me with elated joy.
As sleep began to wash over me, I bent my head down and planted a soft kiss on his head. Spiraling down, warmth surrounded me. My world faded to black, and I slept.
-2-
I lead a double life. One-part fantasy, one-part mundane reality. The latter mostly a disappointment, of course.
In my fantasy world, I am Goddess. My control and power tantamount to my desires. I have strength and am revered among the masses. People seek me out, desire my attentions, compete for my favor. Since I was ushered in to the secret world of domination and submission many years ago, my goal has been to glean a sense of power and control, something I was lacking in the real world. From behind the eyes of my gilded, leather mask, I control my illusory world and it begs for my mercy.
Reality, unfortunately keeps me grounded. I am Leila King. Thirty-three years old and counting. Nothing spectacular about me, except the color of my flaming red hair, haunting blue eyes and pale skin. Most of my time is spent trying to juggle the expectations of others. The demands of those who see themselves as superior to myself, and I allow it. Sometimes it’s better not to have control, to not make the decisions. To hide behind the authority of another in hopes they will overlook me and find fault in someone else.
Just like every other day, I readied myself to face that world. After removing a small white pill from a clam-shaped container that opened to reveal a dial with days of the week printed into the plastic as it went around the circle, I put it on the back of my tongue and swallowed with a handful of water from the faucet. I turned my attention to the mirror and set to work. Concentrating on cultivating a presentable and professional appearance, I gazed into the mirror in front of me. Trapped within its frame, my reflection reminded me of someone I used to know. Strong and confident. Hair pulled neatly into a French twist at the back of my head. My makeup that of an innocent. I touched my lips with some lip gloss and gently rubbed them together to apply an even coat of Coral Confidence. In front of blue eyes, I placed my black framed glasses and took in the whole picture.
I was going for demure. A charcoal grey skirt suit with white pin-striping framed my shape effortlessly. From beneath, a starched, white collar pronounced that I was ready for the task ahead. Bring it on, this executive assistant can handle anything . This thought made me smile as I smoothed my hair on both sides and affixed bobby pins as needed to keep it in check. I had chosen my favorite black heels, giving me some height and a more graceful appearance. The heel just high enough to flex my calf muscles, revealing the toned look I work so hard on at the gym. Stockings graced my shapely legs, just enough color to distract the onlooker from my acute paleness. I sometimes wore them to give me an extra boost of assurance, that secret sexy feeling you get when you wear your favorite thong or other intimate item unknown to the people on the outside. Satisfied with my look, I turned and exited the bathroom.
The clock on my bedside table exclaimed it was 7:45 in angry, red numbers. I realized I was running a little behind, I had never noticed it took so long to put on my disguise, but was now going to face the wrath of my boss. They frown upon tardiness at G. Roth and Associates. The legal firm I work for holds high expectations and I often find myself tripping over them and falling on my face in front of Gordon Roth, the owner and lead attorney at the firm. I have worked diligently to find my niche in his world but had been as of yet, unsuccessful. You would think it would not take three years to get into the groove of a job, but Mr. Roth is notorious for changing the rules as he goes. I hate that .
Rushing into the living area of my Los Angeles apartment, I gathered my things. Purse, keys, and the work I had taken home last night in hopes of catching up on some items that have fallen behind. I poured some coffee into my travel mug, steam rising from its rim. The aroma filled my senses and it soothed me as I tipped the cup up to my lips and took a sip. Adding some hazelnut creamer, I hastily stirred it with a spoon and affixed the lid. And I was off.
Off to the races was an understatement. It was immediately apparent, as I merged onto the 101 Freeway, I would not be getting to work on time. Traffic was at a stand-still and I was trapped in its clutches. Drivers honked impatiently from inside their metal coffins lined up along the bright concrete surface of the freeway. Inching forward every few seconds. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard of my car and sighed. It was going to be one of those days.
Finally, at a quarter to nine, I pulled my car into the parking structure designated as employee parking for G. Roth and Associates, my home away from home. “All unauthorized vehicles will be towed away at the owner’s expense,” a metal sign declared on alternating pillars throughout the area. Almost forgetting to put on my parking brake, I threw my car into park and hastily gathered my things. I reached down, remembering at the last second, to ensure the safety of my vehicle and pull the lever that sets the brake. The keys jingled loudly in my hand as I turned the lock and rushed toward the elevator. You would think that by 2015, everyone would have remote access to their vehicle, yet I regrettably was behind the times. Someday, I vowed to get a
car that has keyless entry. That would save me at least three seconds of my day.
The elevator was packed full. A mixture of perfumed skin, tobacco and the faint smell of body odor impregnated the space. I stepped through the metal doors and took my place among the sheep. Behind me, I heard two female associates whispering and giggling. Vaguely, I wondered if it is me amusing them. Several people stood silently, nervously awaiting their arrival at the ground floor, where the doors would open with a triumphant sound and release us into the confines of the concrete and marble palace that was our mutual destination.
As I exit the elevator, I was relieved. I found it hard to breathe in confined spaces and elevators are the worst, they serve only to enhance my chronic anxiety. Each day was a challenge to endure the fear that grips me each time I begrudgingly enter them. Unfortunately, my trip was not over. That was just the ride from the parking garage to the lobby. The cold marble welcomed me as I exited and turned to the left, following the herd through the building. The sun glittered on the glass front of the building, casting sparkling light on everyone who passed beneath its grand façade and on to their own destination. They appeared as rushed as everyone inside, the race had begun and I was not benefitted by the thought that I was far behind the leader. I stayed up too late last night, and would pay the price for it. That thought brought a smile to my lips as a brief memory of my pet kneeling before me, his perfect form lingering in the back of my mind. Shaking my head to clear my mind of such things, I headed to the far side of the lobby where another set of elevators waited to swallow me into their bowels and carry me up to the twenty-ninth floor.
That familiar sick feeling washed over me as we were swept upward toward the top of the building. Stopping at almost every floor along the way, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered each time the space rose again. I tried to distract myself by going over my to-do list in my head. I had several meetings to attend to today among the daily routine and wished I had written everything down.
At 11:00 A.M. a conference with some shareholders was scheduled, where our financial team will present the numbers and hope they are met well. Nervous accountants sweating in their high-dollar suits will line one side of the table. Fat-cat businessmen with high expectations for making millions lining the other, ready to devour the accountants at the first sight of any negative reporting. I was responsible for feeding them lunch and sighed with relief, knowing I had ordered Chang’s before I left for the evening last night.
At 2:30, a meeting with Mr. Roth and his associate attorneys. I was to attend this meeting and take minutes to be transcribed and presented within forty-eight hours to Mr. Roth who would use his red pen to dissect everything I had recorded. He was never satisfied the first time, and I did not look forward to that daunting task. Although they met monthly, I never got used to the nauseated feeling I got when I saw his scrawled corrections across the pages of my notes. Two or three versions later, I may get him to accept them hesitantly. Perfectionism was his game, and I am not the best player.
The bell chimed, indicating I had reached my destination, tearing me from my thoughts. I exited the confines of the elevator and entered the reception area. White marble floors fill the expansive space. A sterile, cold feeling overwhelmed me as I walked through the room toward the double, cherry-wood doors to the office I occupied. “Ms. Leila King, Executive Assistant,” a brass plate pronounced to anyone entering my domain. I could see that my door was already opened, light cascading in a triangular shape through the crack in the doorway. Picking up the pace, I walked through the entry and into my office.
Standing at my desk, shuffling through some papers I saw Mr. Roth. I was annoyed at this. He had taken several of my files from their perspective drawers and proceeded to spread them across my large, glass-topped desk. He appeared to be searching for something, a look of frustration etched across his brow. Looking up, he rolled his eyes as I entered the room.
“So we decided to come to work today did we?” I hated the way his eyes burned into me as he demanded answers to my tardiness. His dark features carved from stone, he looked me up and down. “Certainly not because you took so much time to get ready with that look.” He turned from me and tossed a file onto my desk.
Breathe , I told myself. My hands already shaking, I squeezed the handle of my purse in one hand and my coffee in the other to steady myself. I knew better than to say anything in retort, so I ignored his offensive comments and moved past him to put my things down. I placed my purse into a drawer, hiding it from sight, and set my coffee down on the glass surface covering my dark oak desk. I took a few cleansing breaths, being careful not to allow him to hear it, and readied myself for his onslaught.
“Is there something I can help you find Mr. Roth?” I inquired, trying not to sound irritated. I knew better than to attempt to make excuses. Mr. Roth did not care for stories of traffic creeping at a snail’s pace through the city, the sputtering sound your engine makes when you run out of gas, or that accident you barely missed trying to merge into the unending sea of vehicles one faces on the freeway. He did not have sympathy for such things. He did not concern himself with them from the back of his striking black stretch limo, equipped with all manner of technology that would be required to conduct business from the cabin in the event he fell prey to the frequent grid-lock that plagued the freeways of the Downtown area. I imagined him sitting proud and lofty inside as he contacted people from his cell phone, barking orders and demands at them as if they were animals to be controlled. His animals .
“If you think you have time for me,” he stated coldly, glancing around my office quickly toward the far wall of filing cabinets. “I need the files for the Luthrop Case. I have been attempting to find them in this terrible filing system of yours, but am unable to locate them.” His gaze returned to me, his lips pursed. I could see his foot tapping on the marble floor impatiently.
Without a word, I walked over to the filing cabinets and opened the one labeled “L-M” clearly on the front. Flipping through a few files, I retried a thick, legal-size file expanded almost to capacity. I checked the tab where it was marked, “Luthrop v. McKennon,” in bold font. Clear as day. Walking back to my desk where Mr. Roth waiting, I held the file out to him. He snatched it from my grasp without a word and turned toward the door that separated our offices. Never a, “Thank you. Good job Leila. I appreciate all you do.” Ever. It was is job to serve him, and that is what he expected.
Looking down at the mess he had left me to clean up, I sighed. He had spilled several papers onto the floor in his haste to find a file that should have been so easy to find. With a disdainful air, I began to pick up the sheets of paper off the floor. Gordon Roth would be the source of my undoing if I allowed him that power. Sometimes guessing what he wanted next was an exercise in futility as he was never pleased with my efforts and always had something negative to say. If he said anything at all. In my real world, that is normal and I was powerless to change it.
After I cleaned up Mr. Roth’s mess, I realized how much time had passed. Perhaps if you weren’t so late to work, you would not be so behind. I heard his voice in my mind mocking my efforts. A stab of anger pierced my thoughts and I changed gears. Time for my first meeting.
Entering the conference room at the other end of the Executive Suite, I noticed right away the paperwork I had left there in neat stacks the evening before were no longer in place. Frantically, I looked around the conference room for some sign of them. I had placed them, collated and stapled at each of the twenty chairs that surrounded the table. With each one I had set two pencils, two pens and a legal pad for notes. All gone. In a panic, I exited the conference room and confronted Debra Salas at the receptionist desk in the center of the room. I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall above her head, 10:35!
“Debra, what happened to all my paperwork in the conference room? I had them set for today’s 11:00 meeting and now there is nothing!” I could feel my breathing become heavy as panic threatened to take
control of my emotions. A look of desperation obvious on my face.
“Leila, I,” she looked concerned and confused simultaneously. I knew she was not responsible and I should not take it out on her, but I was at a loss. Suddenly, I knew what happened. I felt sorry for her briefly, mostly because that was all the time I could spare, and moved on.
“Was Mr. Roth in there this morning?” I inquired flatly, knowing what the answer would be. I held my breath and waited for her response. “Y-y-yes,” was all she could manage, tripping over her words.
With a disgusted sigh, I turned from her and rushed back to my office. It would do me no good to argue with him, but I made a mental note to myself to make sure to mention it later. Right then, there was no time for irritation .
As I rushed around my office, a tornado of emotions, I retrieved the documents required for the meeting. I had to search through a few emails to find two additional pages emailed to me a few days ago. That was time I didn’t have to waste. Going over in my head an invisible list of requirements for the meeting that rolled through my mind: pencils, pens, legal pads, I flew to the copier in the small room across from my office and punched in my authorization code. Pressing several commands, I got the copier started and returned to my office.
As I worked, I secretly wished Mr. Roth would come down with a serious disease. Not enough to kill him, just enough to bring him down off his pedestal. Something to reduce him to the same level as the rest of the world. The thought made me chuckle out loud as I rushed back into my office. Unfortunately, I was not alone and Ms. Salas glanced at me with a confused look that brought me back to reality.
Goddess: A Femme Domme Erotica Novel Page 2
