UndoneDiva

by Lila Dubois

  An inch-wide metal collar sat in his hand. It was made of alternating pieces of metal and chain mail.

  “You are mine, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Say it.”

  “I belong to you, Master.”

  “Lift your hair.”

  The metal and mesh slid around her neck, heavy and cold. He locked it in place with a small padlock at the front. Sasha closed her eyes, absorbing the feeling of it. It was cruel and barbaric, it was the most definite sign of servitude and ownership a sub could have. She loved it.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  He smiled but didn’t speak. There were still a few items on the bed. He lifted several clamps with tiny bells attached.

  “I want to be able to hear my pretty slave.”

  He pinched and twisted her nipples until they were stiff and then attached the clamps. They bit into her sensitive nipples, but weren’t so tight that she couldn’t wear them at length if he wanted.

  When she took a breath, the tiny bells chimed, making a high sweet sound.

  “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Now for your punishment.”

  “I promise to be good.”

  “Of course you will.” He grabbed her jaw and tilted her face up. “You’re my slave and you will obey, but first you must learn.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Yes, Master.”

  “Even if you are always good, I might still punish you. Do you understand?”

  A wave of arousal caught her. “Of course, Master.”

  “Good. Turn and present your ass.”

  Sasha tuned and bent her face and shoulders to the bed, her ass in the air. She spread her legs and clenched the duvet in her fists.

  “Relax, girl.”

  There was the snap of a glove and then the click of the top of a bottle of lube. Arousal flooded her.

  Cold lube flowed down the crease of her ass. “What is your safe word?”

  “Red.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Red.”

  “Good.”

  One finger pushed into her ass, quickly joined by another. Soon he was pumping her ass and she was rocking back onto his fingers, moaning in pleasure at the fucking. He added a third finger. Little shocks of pleasure-pain darted through her as he forced her body to open for him.

  His fingers disappeared and the next thing she felt was the cold, hard tip of the plug.

  “Relax. Push back slightly.”

  Sasha tried to relax as the plug opened her. She cried out as her body was stretched wider and wider. She was sure she couldn’t take any more, that both the pleasure and the pain were too great, too much.

  “I can’t, I can’t.”

  “Use your safe word if you need.”

  “Master, please, I can’t take any more.” She didn’t need to use her safe word, she needed him to master her, to force her to take the plug in her ass and to show her what a naughty girl she was.

  Emory must have understood, because instead of stopping he said, “This plug will go in your ass. I want your pretty ass full so your pussy is nice and tight when I fuck it. I know you’re enjoying this. You like it when I use you.”

  Yes, yes, she thought.

  The widest part entered her. The rest slid in and her body clenched around the neck.

  Sasha gasped and moaned. Shivers raced up and down her back and legs. The neck of the plug was wider than most, so as her body clenched she still felt stretched. Inside her, the massive plug applied pressure, making her desperately aware of not only her ass but her pussy as well.

  “Stand up, slave.”

  Carefully she crawled off the bed backwards. The plug shifted in her as she stood.

  “Walk for me.”

  Sasha walked to the far wall, aware of the plug deep inside her, the bells on her nipples and the collar around her neck.

  When she turned to walk back, she saw that Emory’s cock was fully erect again. She licked her lips, hoping he’d fuck her. As she approached, he climbed onto the bed. Without saying anything, he lay back and crooked his finger at her. She joined him.

  “Pleasure me,” was all he said.

  Sasha swung herself over him, positioning her pussy over his erect cock. She didn’t need or want more foreplay, she needed his cock in her, right now.

  She steadied his cock with one finger and then lowered herself onto him. She was tight, to the point that she wasn’t sure his thick cock would fit.

  “Master…”

  “Lean forward.”

  She did and the new angle allowed her to slide down. Each inch was a different level of pleasure. His cock opened her, the smooth head caressing the innermost parts of her sex.

  When he was fully within her, she paused, savoring the feeling. His hands rose to her breasts, kneading them and tugging on the clamps.

  Sasha lifted off his cock then slid down again. She maintained the slow rhythm until he ordered her to be faster. Soon she was grinding down on his cock, her arms stretched out to hold the headboard as he tormented her breasts and nipples.

  Sensation came at her from all sides—the plug in her ass, his cock deep in her pussy, his hands and the clamps on her nipples. Her belly started to tremble as her orgasm rolled into a ball deep in her body.

  Emory reared up. Sasha gasped and released the headboard. He grabbed her around the waist and drew them both farther up the bed. Leaning his shoulders against the headboard, he grabbed her hips, working her up and down his cock, even faster than before. When she had the rhythm, he let go of her hips and with one hand reached around to her ass and grabbed the base of the plug.

  She paused but he barked at her to keep going. As they fucked, he toyed with the plug, pushing and pulling lightly. The added pleasure from the stimulation of her anus made Sasha grit her teeth. She dug her nails into his shoulders, panted his name.

  When she slid down, he grabbed her around the waist, trapping her there. He pulled hard on the plug. Sasha screamed as the plug was removed, her body forced to yield to his demand, his need.

  The pleasure-pain from the plug sent her over the edge.

  “Emory, Master, I’m coming.” The words were confused puffs of air.

  She gave herself over to the pleasure. Emory flipped her onto her back. He fucked her hard and fast, extending her pleasure until she was screaming, her arms and legs hugging him to her. With a shout of his own he came, his thrusts slowing until he collapsed on top of her.

  Chapter Four

  “Shh,” Emory soothed her as he removed the clamps. He pinched and rubbed each nipple to get the blood flowing again.

  Sasha lay on the bed, the picture of a satisfied woman. Her skin was flushed, her eyes half closed. Her legs were sprawled open, her well-used sex glistening in the light.

  He knew he should end the scene, but he wasn’t quite ready. He touched her pussy lips, her clit. She was gorgeous and immensely sexual. She shivered at his touch and Emory concentrated on her clit, wanting to see her orgasm again. She begged him to stop but he didn’t, and when her hands crept down her body to shield herself he took her wrists and pinned them to the bed with one hand. He circled her clit with his index finger until she came, shuddering in pleasure.

  She was everything he’d imagined she’d be as a sub and more. Watching her go from tough, aggressive woman to soft, willing sub had been beyond words. He felt privileged to have seen and touched the softness within her, the need and the desire.

  Panting from her second orgasm, she curled into a ball, protecting her breasts and sex. It was a clear sign that she couldn’t take any more.

  There were some subs with whom one session was enough—she wasn’t one of them. Now that he’d had her, Emory wanted to be with her again. There were so many things he wanted to do with her, to her.

  But this wasn’t a long-term arrangement, it couldn’t be. She was a client, and one of his highest-profile ones. Once the threat of exposure was over, she�
�d need to find one or two Doms she trusted enough to return to regularly. She’d been adamant about not wanting to play in L.A. Her risk was greater here, where people were always on the lookout for someone famous, and he’d also gotten the feeling that maybe she’d had some bad experiences playing in L.A.’s BDSM community.

  Either way, Emory had figured that this would be a one-time arrangement. He’d manipulated the situation to ensure he got to top her, and they’d both enjoyed it, but there was nothing beyond tonight.

  He reluctantly brushed aside her hair and unlocked the collar. It suited her and was one of his favorites.

  “Thank you, Sasha. That was wonderful.” She stirred but he put his hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t get up. I’ll give you some time and space.”

  Taking his clothes from the floor, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Down the hall was a second guest room. He’d glanced in earlier and found the sheets folded back and towels on the foot of the bed. Assuming this was the room Jayne had made up for him, he closed the door quietly behind himself. He’d shower and dress, by which time hopefully Sasha would be up and out of the other room, allowing him to gather his equipment and toys.

  Sasha sat up and brushed her hair out of her face. She felt good. That was the best session she’d had in years. Her whole body both ached and hummed in pleasure, as if she’d just completed a really intense workout. She looked around.

  Emory was gone. Sasha bit her lip, some of her good feeling fading. She’d at least have liked to have some aftercare time with him, even if it wasn’t as Dom and sub. She usually left shortly after sessions were done, because she could hardly have intimate conversation with the men who’d just used her while trying to pretend she was someone else, someone who only looked a lot like movie star Sasha Brazil.

  But with Emory she could have those moments if she wanted.

  If he wanted.

  Which clearly he didn’t. She scooted off the bed. Something dug into her thigh. Picking it up, she found one of the nipple clamps. Looking around, she saw the rest of Emory’s toys. There was no way he’d left without them.

  Now that she was thinking more clearly, she vaguely remembered him saying he was giving her some space.

  Smiling, she hopped off the bed and grabbed her dress. She threw it on but didn’t bother to zip it. Her suite was on the other side of the house. Knowing her luck, the one time she raced naked across the house would be the day some paparazzo had made it past security and was taking pictures in the windows.

  Slipping into her rooms, she dropped the dress and raced for the shower.

  Emory carried his toy trunk and duffle bag downstairs. It was only nine o’clock. According to her assistant, he had three more hours in Sasha’s schedule. He wished he could spend those three hours with her.

  “Going somewhere?”

  She was waiting at the bottom of the steps. Dressed more casually than he’d ever seen her, in leggings and a tunic-like top, she looked soft and approachable. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a headband. It made her look younger and more innocent.

  “Cleaning up the room.” He set the trunk down and looked her over.

  She dropped her gaze, blushing slightly.

  Emory stiffened. She hadn’t come completely out of sub-space yet. The woman standing before him was someone new, someone in between the badass movie star who’d come to his office and the sweet, sexual sub he’d just had.

  Testing his theory, Emory held out his hand, palm up. She placed her fingers in his and took a step toward him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her. He touched her cheek, her neck. She didn’t pull back or stiffen at his touch, and yet her dark eyes met his squarely, without the dreamy look of submission he’d seen in them only thirty minutes before.

  “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” She bit her lip as she smiled and poked his flat stomach with one finger.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  His stomach chose that moment to register its protest at having missed dinner with a loud grumble.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I skipped lunch.”

  “Then you need to eat.”

  There was a moment of silence while Emory waged an internal battle. Finally, he said, “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

  Sasha grimaced. Emory gave himself an imaginary smack. Of course she didn’t want to go to dinner with him. Outside BDSM, she was far beyond his reach.

  “I would love to,” Sasha said. Emory blinked in surprise. “But I just don’t want to deal with it right now. I don’t want to put on makeup or wake up the security people.”

  How foolish of him. She was a mega-celebrity, she couldn’t just go out to dinner.

  “I, uh, have a kitchen.” She was blushing again, her hesitation and seeming lack of surety both delightful and puzzling.

  “Does it have food in it?” he asked with a smile.

  “Jayne says it does, and I eat.”

  Emory slipped his arm around her waist. Her body relaxed into his. “Lead the way.”

  “You’re sure you don’t cook?” Sasha asked him, selecting another slice of cucumber.

  “Why would you assume I do cook?” Emory stood in front of the open refrigerator door, peering at the contents.

  They’d found plenty of food, but most of it was pre-sliced vegetables for the salads and smoothies she lived on.

  “Don’t you have something for a sandwich?” he asked, clearly aggravated.

  “Bread? Carbs? You must be kidding me.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her and the open container of cucumber slices in front of her. “Is that all you ever eat?”

  “Pretty much.” He looked horrified and Sasha laughed. “No, when I’m not filming I eat pretty normally, I mean I have whole wheat pasta and stuff like that.”

  “And when you are filming?”

  Sasha grimaced. “Pretty much protein shakes and veggies. Egg whites when I’m working out. When we started filming the second Wood Strike movie I’d just recovered from an ACL tear and had gained about fifteen pounds. The studio sent me a letter that included a diet and exercise plan. I was too fat for them to make the movie.”

  “The industry is really full of assholes.”

  “Yep.”

  He closed the refrigerator and opened the freezer. “Wait a minute! We’re in business. Low-fat shredded cheese.” He pulled the packet of frozen cheese from the freezer. “I know the industry has its own standards, but as someone intimately acquainted with your body, I’ll tell you you’re too skinny.”

  Sasha laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “You never told me why it is you thought I could cook.”

  “You seem like one of those guys who is just good at everything. You have a great job, nice car, date beautiful women, are an excellent cook, and save orphans on your day off.” She raised her voice as Emory disappeared into the pantry.

  He appeared again, holding several cans and a bag of reduced calorie tortilla chips. “I’ve hunted and gathered and I think we’ve got the makings of some nachos.”

  “Oh god, that sounds good.” Sasha’s mouth watered at the thought of hot cheese and crispy, salty chips.

  “And to answer you…nope, can’t cook. Sadly, my car is not that great and I don’t have days off to save orphans.”

  “You came here from work?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s Saturday.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “That sucks.” It had never occurred to her that he worked weekends. Lawyer seemed like one of those regular jobs that people had that came with weekends and evenings off. Even when she was on location shooting she got days off, thanks to the Screen Actors Guild contract. “Are you trying to make partner or something?”

  “I made full partner last year, which isn’t bad for my age. Sadly, because we’re a boutique firm, being partner d
oesn’t equal the reduction in workload that it would at a larger firm.”

  “I had no idea.” Sasha assumed that her lawyer must be like most other people in her entourage—the association with her was enough to bring them to the height of their profession. Her hairdresser, who had just finished school and was working at a small salon when they met, was now charging almost one thousand dollars for cut and color and worked only two days a week.

  There was a moment of silence while he fiddled with her oven.

  “I can cook Indian food,” he said, breaking the silence. The comment seemed to come from nowhere, but she appreciated it for what it was—a turn away from the serious topic they’d stumbled onto.

  “Is that what you are, Indian? I was wondering.”

  “My mother is first-generation American, from India. My father’s family comes from Morocco.”

  “That’s quite a mix, but it explains why you’re so smoking hot.”

  He raised a brow. “It does?”

  “Mixed is always hot.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  Sasha laughed. Talking with him was far more fun than she’d expected. She knew she was missing out by not having aftercare time with Doms, but she hadn’t realized quite how much she was missing.

  Then again, she wouldn’t have felt this comfortable with any of the others.

  “So why are we eating nachos and not delicious Indian food?”

  “First, because you don’t have any of the ingredients. Second, I can’t really eat Indian food anymore.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I developed ulcers in law school. I can’t have spicy food anymore.”

  “You can’t eat your own mama’s cooking? That’s terrible.”

  “I know. She’s great though, she makes all the less spicy dishes for me.”

  Sasha opened her mouth to say she’d love to meet his mother but caught herself. Where had that thought come from?

  “What about your mom? Why can’t you cook?” he asked her.

  “My mom never really cooked. She didn’t have time.”

  “Your mom was a single parent, right?”

  “Yes.” Sasha wasn’t surprised he knew that, it was part of her bio. “She worked two jobs to support me and my brother. We ate simple things, easy things, or we ate with neighbors, aunts.”