by JA Huss
“Why not ask me, then?”
“OK.” I look up into his eyes, unsure if that’s allowed. Unsure of anything, really. But he’s sexy. Beyond the fact that he’s Vaughn Asher, the guy I’ve masturbated to for the better part of three years, he’s sexy in another way too. His smile looks genuine right now. Like I’m amusing him. And I don’t feel it to be condescending. It seems genuine. Like I give him pleasure.
I do want to please him, I realize. I’d like to please him. I’d like to keep him smiling. I’m probably more submissive than I’d care to admit and that scares me. Control is something I crave. It keeps my life orderly and neat. It helps me deal.
But ever since he peeked over my shoulder in the bar, I’ve lost sight of who I am. Snapping at him, chopping him in the throat. Who does that? Not me. That’s so not like me.
Even though many seconds have passed since I agreed to ask him and no words have come forth, he’s patient. He waits for me to be ready. He’s still smiling, and that comforts me and gives me courage. “Master,” I say softly as I continue our game. “What do you want me to do?”
He breathes out, like he was holding it in as he waited, and then he cups my face and places his lips against mine in a gentle kiss. “That, Grace. I want you to do that.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper back. The tide is coming in and the waves are bigger now, eclipsing my words so they are barely audible. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“I only respond to questions, Grace. Ask me a question and I will answer it.”
Why? I want to say it out loud. Why do I have to ask you the questions? Why can’t you just tell me? But I know why, so I don’t bother. He wants me to defer to him. To submit. Asking him for things gives him pleasure. It probably excites him erotically. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”
He caresses my cheek with the back of his knuckles and then places a fingertip over my lips. “Suck on my finger, Grace. Gently, just very gently. Keep doing it as I talk.” I bite my lip, take a deep breath and then open my mouth so he can slip his finger inside. He places it on my tongue and I suck gently as he moves it back and forth. In and out. “I want you to think about everything I ask you to do. Just like you did a moment ago when you took your time deciding if you would ask me what I wanted. I don’t want you to say yes because I tell you to, Grace. I want you to say yes because you want to. Do you understand?”
He withdraws his finger and traces my lips, making them wet and slick with my own saliva. “Yes, Master,” I say. My voice is low and throaty.
“Good, girl. From now on I will call you girl, is that OK?”
“Do you call all of them girl?” I ask, feeling a tinge of jealousy. And where the hell did that emotion come from? I’m annoyed at the way he affects me.
“Does it matter if I do?”
“Yes,” I answer with an irritated clip to my word. “I’d like something else if that’s your standard pet name.”
He stares down at me for a few seconds, like my statement perplexes him. “Well, honestly, I don’t call them anything. I just give commands unless we’re in introductions or dismissals.”
Dismissals?
“So, no, girl is not my standard pet name. You will be my girl from now on.”
I nod and let out a breath. Things are getting weird. I have no idea what’s happening or how I got to this place with him so fast. It was like a switch went off and here I am, his girl. He’s good, I realize. He’s very good at this game. He’s been playing it a long time, I bet. He’s the master because here I am, standing before him as his submissive, when ten minutes ago I was chopping him in the throat.
“I can read the doubts on your face, girl. So let’s get the first one over with. Kneel, please.”
I look up at him, stunned.
“Girl,” he says calmly. “I said kneel.”
I swallow and nod, then kneel down in the sand. I keep my head down but his fingertips find my chin and lift it up.
“I’d like for you to look me in the eyes.”
I meet his gaze and realize he’s got nice eyes. Not beautiful nice, they are that too, but nice as in kind. They are not the eyes of a cruel man. Which is good. If I’m going to let this man have his way with me, then I’d like for him to at least be kind.
“Good, girl. I like when you obey. Feel my cock with your hand.”
I stare at the thick bulge in his pants for a moment. It pushes against his suit trousers.
“Eyes up,” he says, correcting my chin with a fingertip lift. “Hand on my cock.” This time his directions come out stern. Not angry, but stern, like he means business.
I place my hand over his zipper area and stare him in the eyes. He smiles and I smile back.
“Play with it, girl.”
His dick fills up my palm and I wonder if I’d be able to wrap my hand completely around it. I squeeze, but it’s not very accessible. “May I take it out?” I ask. I look away from his eyes for a second because I have no idea where that question came from, but his hand guides my face back to him.
“Yes, you may please me however you want for the next few minutes, then I’ll ask you to do it the way I like it.”
“Why not just tell me how you like it?”
“You’re going to get spanked for that, girl. Not tonight, we’re not ready for that. But I’m keeping a tally. Don’t forget. Now what should you have said?”
“Yes, Master,” I say with a smile.
He smiles back and I relax a little. “But I’ll answer your question so you understand. I want you to show me how you like to pleasure me with your mouth first. So do things you like.”
My doubts must be written all over my face because then he asks a question no woman wants to hear when she’s confronted with a man’s sex aimed at her mouth. “Do you have much experience?”
I shake my head. “Not much.”
“Do you like it? Sucking a man’s dick?”
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“Hmm. Well, then in that case, I’ll show you how I like it first. But under one condition.”
“What?” He frowns at me, so I correct myself. “What is the condition, Master?”
He places his hand over mine, which is still cupping his dick, and makes me squeeze. “Fuck, you’re turning me on so bad right now, Grace. The only reason I haven’t come yet is because I’m saving it for your throat.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I have never, ever swallowed a man’s come. And I’m not even close to being ready to do that tonight. I know he reads that expression for what it is, but he ignores it this time. A firm declaration that I will indeed be swallowing very shortly.
“My condition, girl, if I tell you how to blow me, is that you must first tell me how to lick your pussy to make you come.”
Oh, fuck. “I’m wet,” I say out loud. And then I cover my mouth with the hand that’s supposed to be fondling his cock.
He laughs and I smile up at him, happy that he’s amused.
“Lift your arms,” he orders. I lift my arms and he reaches down, grabs the hem of my dress, and pulls it over my head. I have no bra on, so my nipples perk to attention from the cool sea mist billowing up from the rising waves. He tosses the dress aside. “Stand, please.”
I stand up and his eyes caress my body. His heated stare makes me writhe with want. I want him to touch me very badly. All this is happening too slow for me. I’m used to men trying to get their dicks inside me as fast as possible. I’m used to being groped and left wanting more attention. But right now, I might be getting too much attention. He’s captivated. He reaches out to touch me, pinching my nipple so I gasp and then moan. He pulls me close to his body and then one hand reaches around to cup my ass, while the other one slips inside my panties.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
“What?” It’s like a scratch across a record, that’s how abruptly the erotic mood ends.
“Your panties,” he says with confusion, “are men’s briefs.”
I laugh. “Oh, shit.”
“Why are you wearing men’s briefs? Whose fucking underwear are these?” When I look up at him he’s livid with the thought that I’m wearing another man’s underwear.
“Asher, Jesus, they’re mine! I just bought them today because I forgot to pack panties!”
“That’s going on the list, missy!”
I laugh. “What list?” My outburst dies because he’s serious. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You called me Asher, that’s one more spanking. And you didn’t call me Master, so that’s two. Plus, you’re wearing men’s underwear. That’s three.”
“You can’t spank me for wearing my own underwear!”
“I can and I will.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re being unreasonable. Just tell me how you like your stupid cock sucked so we can move on to the good shit!”
“You’ll get spanked for that too.”
“For what? What the fuck did I do now?”
“Two fucks and a shit, plus you gave me an order. I’m the master, Grace. Me. Not you.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fine.” I fling my arms out to my sides like I’m being crucified and yell, “At your service, Master!”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” he says with a growl.
And he’s right. Because I laugh. “Asher, lighten up, man. You want me to tell you how I like my pussy licked or not? Because I’m horny as fuck and I want to get something out of all this tonight.”
He takes out his phone and points it at me, the little red light blinking that it’s recording. “When we do those spankings, Grace, I will remind you of this night. I will play this video back for you so you understand each and every swat across your bare ass. And when you’re crying—”
“When I’m begging for more, you mean? Because holy hell—”
“—I’m gonna laugh, and say, lighten up, Kinsella—”
“—all I want is to get laid!”
“—you asked for it!”
“OK, that’s it.” I grab my dress and pull it over my head, not even caring that the boob cups are all crooked. “I’m done here. I might as well just go home and get myself off.” I swipe my shoes from the beach and start walking again.
“And I told you, you’re gonna get lost if you go that way!”
“Well, then take me home. Now! Because I’m done playing tonight. You’re a crazy jealous asshole. Telling me I’m getting spanked for wearing my own underwear. Pfft. Like hell!”
Actually, I’m not all that upset about the spankings. I’m like, dying for a fucking spanking right now. Anything. Some good cock-sucking directions. I’m even willing to embarrass myself and tell him how to lick my cunt. But he’s got me so wound up, I’m out of control. I’m yelling and screaming and I’m on a damn beach with a movie star trying my best to get fucked.
And none of this is the real me.
I’m not this girl. Not in any way. I belong online with my Twitter friends. I prefer Vaughn Asher as my muse. And my heart actually beats faster as I realize this was supposed to be my fantasy and it’s anything but a fantasy. It’s… real life. And that’s not what I’m looking for.
Vaughn weighs his options as he watches me have my internal monologue, then rakes his hand through his movie-star hair and huffs out a breath. “Fine, I’ll walk you back.”
“Great.”
Chapter Twelve
#FreeSamplesMakeMeWet
AS soon as we get to a place I recognize, I turn to him. “Thanks, I can find my way from here.” I sigh before I can stop myself because… Vuaghn Asher date… over.
He gives me a simple nod, but his frown is all I remember as I turn my back and make my way down the path that leads to the bungalows.
So yes, here I am. Alone. As usual. Sure, I ditched the control freak… but now I’m obsessed with thinking about him. Dirty thoughts, too. Filthy thoughts about what I could be doing with him, instead of running all these regrets through my mind.
My hands wander between my legs more times than I can count and even though I want nothing more than to get off and feel that release, I stop myself every time.
Because I can’t get into it. My perfect masturbation fantasy has been shattered. Who do I think about if not Vaughn Asher? He’s been in my mind for years. Always reliable. Always perfect. Always sexy and hot and willing to do whatever it takes to satisfy me. I have pictured his cock entering me, his mouth on mine, his hands on my most intimate parts and tonight I had the opportunity to take everything from him I ever dreamed of.
And I walked away.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I contemplate going after him. I fantasize that I make my way back to that beach, walk up the pea gravel path, and find him naked at the pool, the underwater lights flickering off his perfect body with the rippled reflection of the water. He holds out his arms and I walk into them, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been waiting for me, and only me. Like we were meant to be together.
But of course, the negativity starts in. Eating its way into my perfect fairy tale, curling the edges with fire and disappointment, and then leaving nothing but spent ash. I see him with other women. I see him hovering over me, making me shut up or crawl to him on my knees, only to laugh when I finally find myself in front of him, looking up to his eyes for a blink of approval.
I think the laughing is the worst. I can handle the humiliation. I can handle the hair-pulling and the spanking and the dirty words and insults. As long as I know they are all fake, I can handle all of that.
But when the line blurs between the two, then—that requires faith. And I have very little faith these days. None, in fact. I have no faith. If he laughs, then he’s playing a game I’m not a part of. If I trust him, give into his demands and let him really be Master, and he laughs?
I can’t do that.
I can’t feel like I’m being made a fool. A spectacle. I don’t mind being his plaything, as long as I’m not his joke.
Maybe I should just tell him that?
Right, Grace. Like you’ll ever have another chance with him again. You have one day left on this island, then you’re back to your job in Denver. Planning birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries.
That’s not true. I’ve been promoted. I will, at the very least, be doing corporate parties and club events. I might even be assigned some more unusual jobs—like conventions and fundraisers. I’m moving up after only two years, so why do I belittle my job? It’s not insignificant.
Because, Grace, negativity is a lifestyle choice and you fly that flag proudly.
Right.
Which was why I was so pissed that he thinks my hesitation is all about him. It’s not. It’s about me. Who gives a fuck about him? He’s rich and powerful. I can’t possibly hurt him. He’s got nothing to lose at all in this relationship and he knows it. His smug ass knows that if I sign a NDA, he’s safe.
I’m never safe. There is no distance, no amount of running, no fairy tale or fantasy world or Dirty Heaven that will keep me safe from my secrets.
I roll over and find my phone. Three thirty. I get out of bed and put my shorts and sandals on, then grab my key card, my phone, and a fistful of cash, and go looking for a vending machine.
Or something. Who cares, I just need to leave.
I find the cold drinks machine in the open lobby of the bar. Workers are still inside there, cleaning up or doing whatever it is that bar workers do after the drunks go home. I grab my Diet Pepsi and walk down to the beach. It’s not closed anymore, the party is over. I hope Vaughn’s sister had a nice night, but if what he said was true, she’s probably still wondering if she made the right choice.
I do think it’s sweet that he cares enough about her feelings to not influence them. The intense moment they shared earlier this evening is proof that she hangs on every word. If he says she’s not in love, she’s not in love.
She trusts him, Grace.
Good
for her. That doesn’t mean I have to trust him. The perfect world I’ve built for myself is at stake, after all.
I sit in the sand and open my soda, the crack of the lid and spray of bubbles familiar and comforting.
My phone buzzes and I watch it light up in the darkness. A call from an unknown number. I ignore it and drag my thoughts back to my unsettled life.
Am I really surprised that my dream man is not what I built him up to be?
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text from an unknown number.
Answer me, Grace.
I pick up the phone and sigh, then press send for the number. It rings. He picks up before the first one ends. “Don’t ignore me. I hate that.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“What do you want from me?”
He’s silent for a few seconds and for a second I think the call dropped or he hung up. But then I hear him breathing. “Did I not articulate it clearly? Did I leave something out? Did I—”
“How did you get my number?” Why does my Dirty Heaven angel have to be a total demon? I look up at the stars and shake my head at some false God. Why are you fucking with me?
“I have access,” he says, as if that explains my question about the number. “I have needs, Grace. You have needs. You have one more day here, then—”
“How the fuck do you know so much about me?”
“That’s another spanking,” he says dryly.
And I have to admit, spankings are something I can get on board with. I have no idea why, but it’s so hot. The mere image of myself lying over his knee, my ass in the air, my face pressed into the mattress while he tells me I’m bad and slaps my ass. Holy Mother, just… yes.
“I’m going to make that ass bright red and I’m going to make it hurt. Do you understand, Grace? You are disobeying me on purpose and I’m going to make it hurt. I’m going to pull your hair, force your head back so I can see your eyes when the flat palm of my hand smacks against the curve of your bottom, and I’m going to enjoy every wince. Every tear. And each time you flinch or buck against my punishments, I’m going to withhold pleasure. But each time, Grace”—his voice softens now, just a whisper, just a breath of air that speaks my name—“each time you stay still, my palm will soften and slide between your legs, pushing apart the lovely folds of your pussy, and I will pleasure you. Do you understand me? This is how the game is played. If you obey, if you please me, if you submit—then I will give you whatever your shuddering body requires to release. I’ll give you a reason to scream in pleasure. I’ll make that sore bottom of yours so worth it, you’ll be begging me to come back and do it again. And if you’re especially good, Grace, I will fuck you hard afterward.”
