Mission Statement

by Catherine Gardiene

“Do you have to go?” She couldn’t suppress a frown.

  “No. Snyder’s on now. The guy we’re covering for…his wife had the baby, so things with the desk clerk are a little hectic. He figured he’d check in with me before he took over the call assignment.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “I’m officially off duty until tomorrow.”

  Relief flooded through her. Then butterflies filled her stomach. Jeez, Vick. You’re a mess. She redirected the conversation slightly, willing to say anything to fill the silence.

  Given his strange reticence the night before, she also wanted to make sure he was still interested in exploring more with her. Not sure what she’d do if he had changed his mind, she fought to keep her voice light as she tossed the question out there.

  “So what did you have on the agenda for today, Detective Collins?”

  He leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs and darting his gaze to the ceiling as if in thought. When his gaze went back to her, his eyes had narrowed and his stare was intense.

  “Well, my dear, we have some things to go over before we can visit the club. Rules and what you can expect to see there. I don’t want there to be any surprises for you.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared before an almost predatory smile formed on his lips. “Well, other than the surprises I want you to experience.”

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest before he continued. “And then there is still the matter of your punishment.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and a shiver ran through her body. She sat back in her chair, trying to open the distance between them. He’s serious about punishing me? She took a deep breath. Oh, hell, no. No way.

  “Punishment?” she asked hesitantly. “I told you I don’t like pain.” Her voice grew a little more strident. “And besides, I’m a grown woman. You can’t punish me like I’m an unruly toddler.”

  The grin split his face as he leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Yes, I can, sweetheart. And I will. I told you I’d do it, and I keep my promises.”

  Her heart raced, and her palms grew sweaty as she fisted her hands. Diametrically opposed thoughts raced through her head as he watched with fascination that bordered on amusement. She wanted to slap the look off his face, but she was frozen in place.

  There was absolutely no way she wanted anything to do with punishment. The level of arrogance he exuded when he assured her that he could—and would—keep his promise infuriated her. At the same time, something inside her trembled with anticipation. Fear warred with curiosity. What would it be like, having him take control so completely?

  She had to admit that being under his sexual control the previous day had been overwhelming. The incredible orgasms she’d heard so much about had finally happened to her, but only at the hands of the man sitting confidently before her, staring her down. But she’d come pretty intensely the night before too, and there hadn’t been any pervy nonsense then. So if it was just him, his touch, then she didn’t need kinky stuff to get off.

  But then she needed him. And he wanted the pervy nonsense.

  Shit.

  Remembering the discussion they’d had in his bedroom, she relaxed slightly. He’d given her a safe word. She’d read about them, but since he mentioned it specifically, then clearly she had a way to make him stop if she wanted him to stop.

  Would I want him to stop?

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Again. In. Out. She was finally able to relax her shoulders and unclench her fists.

  “Lots going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

  His voice grabbed her attention and she quickly reopened her eyes. His face hadn’t lost its intensity, but the amusement was gone. He stood, towering in front of her. Close…too close.

  He extended his hand, palm up.

  “Come.”

  His eyes warmed slightly as she raised her hand and placed it in his. He slipped it from her palm and wrapped his strong fingers around her wrist. His grip was tight enough to make it clear that she wasn’t going anywhere except where he wanted her to go until he released her, but not so tight as to cause her any pain.

  Oh, God. Pain.

  “Michael, I don’t want to do this. Please,” she begged.

  He guided her down the hall to her office. She hadn’t even given him a tour, so she was momentarily distracted by a wayward thought about where they were going and what could possibly lead him there.

  She planted both feet when they got to the doorway. During her packing frenzy, she’d brought one of the dining room chairs into her office so she didn’t have to keep leaning over while she filled boxes. At the time, she’d considered it ergonomic genius.

  The chair was empty of the detritus of her cleaning activities and was placed ominously in the center of the room. The pad that normally graced the seat was placed on the floor in front of it. She gasped.

  Tugging slightly to bring her into the room, he turned to face her.

  “I don’t want this,” she whispered.

  Running his fingertips along her jaw, he smiled wanly. “Perhaps not, sweetheart. But believe me when I tell you that you need it.”

  Her eyes widened in confusion.

  “Do you trust me not to hurt you? I mean, really hurt you? More than you can bear?”

  She nodded, and his eyes narrowed.

  “How do you answer me, sub?”

  She hesitated, and he crossed his arms. Oh, jeez. Now is not a good time to really piss him off.

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. Is that all this is? Why does he say “sub” with such confidence when I’m not sure what I am anymore?

  “Good girl,” he said, smiling slightly. He sat down on the chair, which had a very high ladder back and no arms or obstructions on either side. “I know you’re scared. That’s okay. It’s just you and me.” He gestured around the room. “No bag of toys, no restraints. Just us.” He leaned back and left his hands on his thighs, his feet flat on the ground.

  “Take off your robe and place it on the desk.”

  She shivered at his command but didn’t move.

  Michael knew he’d need to be patient, but he also needed to remind her that he was in charge. If she was going to go down this path with him, he would have to stop being so patient at some point and she would have to comply. He was still torn about whether or not she would admit to herself what she was, never mind admit it to him. Suppressing the doubts that had surfaced the night before, he decided her first punishment needed to happen. She might not realize it yet, but she needed him to be firm with her.

  “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said sternly. “If I have to take it off you, I’ll be using the tie to make the rest of this exercise much more efficient.”

  Flushing, she quickly untied the robe and placed it gently on the desk. Conspicuously out of arm’s reach, he noted.

  “Stand here,” he ordered, pointing the floor to the right of his chair. She passed in front of him—far in front of him—and slowly moved to stand next to him. He reached for her ass and ran his hand over the silk nightie that had caused his plans to crumble the night before.

  “Lay down across my lap.” To guide her, he took her right hand in his left and began leading her where he needed her to be. She closed her eyes and allowed him to place her across his thighs.

  A soft sob escaped her, and her breath hitched.

  Rubbing his hand tenderly across her ass, he tried to calm her.

  “Victoria, it’s only a spanking. You know you earned one. If you’re going to sass me, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. Doesn’t matter if it’s morning or evening, if you’re hopped up on caffeine or woken from a dead sleep. You were blatantly rude and disrespectful, and bratty subs get punished.”

  She sniffed again, and he felt her tense. There we go. Now she’s pissed.

  “Before you get yourself into more troub
le, you’re just here for a spanking. Take your punishment like a good girl, and that’s all it will be. Get feisty with me now, and things could get much more intense. Do you understand?” He never stopped moving his hand, stroking and cupping her ass while he mentally assessed his angle of approach.

  He shifted her slightly so that her feet didn’t touch the floor.

  “Grab on to the chair legs. I don’t want you trying to cover up. Your hands could get hurt.” When she didn’t react instantly, he pinched her leg. She squealed and grabbed the chair legs.

  “You have your safe word. Remember it’s only for when you’re really in pain, for when you can’t stand it anymore. Using it is like calling the cops.” He chuckled mildly at the irony, but Vicki growled. Good. She’s still angry. “Don’t do it unless it’s an emergency.”

  He lifted the nightie to expose her ass, and she wiggled in rebellion. “Michael—”

  “Hush. You’re not to speak unless it’s to say your safe word. What’s your safe word, Victoria?”

  “Red.” Her voice trembled.

  “Very good.” He fingered the satin fabric of her panties before pulling them down to her knees. “I’m going to give you some warm-ups first. Since this is your first time, I’m going to go easy on you. I’ll count. You’ll get fifteen swats.”

  Before she could respond or even react, his open palm met her padded ass. He was organized and methodical, switching from one side to the other and spreading his hand from the top of her ass to the fleshy top of her thigh. The smacks began to intensify, and he knew the stinging would evolve to a fiery heat.

  He shifted, raising her ass up a little higher and pushing her just slightly away from his stomach. He moved his hand, which had rested casually between her shoulder blades, and wrapped it around her waist, holding her firmly in position.

  Crack!

  The force of his hand exploded against her skin; he counted, quite firmly, “One.”

  When the next blow landed, she let out a shriek. The quick flash of white bloomed to bright pink.

  “Two.”

  He gave her just enough time between each blow to register the pain and feel it begin to spread before he raised his hand and repeated the act. Each time counting in his calm yet firm voice.

  She’d begun to cry in earnest after the seventh smack of his hand. After the tenth, she called him a nasty name through clenched teeth, implying that perhaps his mother had not been married to his father. Then she suggested that perhaps he was the male offspring of a prostitute.

  “Hush, sub. Unless you want me to make it twenty.”

  His voice quieted her. She went back to crying. At the twelfth smack, this one striking her where her right thigh met her ass, her breath began to hitch as the tears poured down her face. He switched to the other thigh and worried that perhaps he should have picked a higher number. He’d underestimated her stubbornness.

  Finally after that thirteenth stroke, the dam burst. Her sobs filled the room. Her body shook with them. Fairly certain that she’d only vaguely register the fourteenth and fifteenth strokes, he made sure they were loud but wasn’t as worried about the pain they brought.

  Her ass was bright red—the area where he’d focused his attention remarkably different than the creamy white skin of her back and legs. He’d limited himself to the cheeks of her luscious derriere and the very tops of her thighs, wanting her to remember the punishment for the day but heal quickly. Softly running his fingers over the heat, he let her wail, noticing her hands were still wrapped firmly around the legs of the chair.

  “That’s it. It’s over, sweetheart.” He reached down and peeled her fingers off the chair leg. He flipped her over and pulled her up to sit on his lap in a fluid and practiced maneuver. Her nightie slipped back down to cover her pussy, and he wrapped her in his arms.

  “Let it out, baby. That’s right. Just let it all go.”

  Her sobs were clearly tied to more than the spanking. He really had been fairly easy on her. He could barely feel the heat from her ass through his jeans. But he knew she needed the release of a good cry. Probably several good cries, but at least it was a start.

  Michael felt her retreat and pulled her closer, continuing his tender ministrations. He was afraid of how she’d drop, knowing she’d never experienced anything like what he’d just done and knowing how badly she needed to let the pain and guilt flow from her.

  As he stroked her thigh, he pushed gently to part her legs, leaving her open to him. She shifted to move her ass to the gap between his legs, finally registering the pain he’d inflicted upon her.

  He slipped his hand between her legs, first stroking the tops of her thighs, then reaching under to run his fingers along the heated skin of her ass. When he pressed one finger between the lips of her pussy, he felt a wetness that assuaged his fears that he might have misread her desires.

  She wanted this. She needed it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She had buried her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed uncontrollably. Unable to pull away, she simply lost herself in the sorrow that coursed through her. Before she could chastise herself for being a baby and for seeking refuge from the man who brought on the pain that consumed her, she realized the pain wasn’t coming from her ass. The pain of loss overtook her, and she cried for how wrong her life felt.

  He continued to soothe her, telling her how proud he was of her, how she’d been so good and obedient for him. She found herself clinging to the pride she felt from his praise.

  As she sobbed, she noticed the pain was lessening and some of the empty feeling inside her was leaving with it. He stroked her back and ran his warm hand up and down her thigh, and she felt comforted. Even cherished.

  Her mind wasn’t racing with conflicting emotions anymore. He just felt right. That thought scared the hell out of her, and she tensed.

  The moment she did, Michael drew her closer to him. His touch went from soothing to erotic, his fingers sliding easily between her pussy lips.

  Why am I so wet?

  She tried to clamp her thighs on his hand, but he grasped one leg firmly to prevent it.

  Vicki was appalled at how his touch ignited her. There was no other way to describe it. As her anguish receded, it was replaced with need. At first she tried to deny it, but he was unrelenting, and she finally relaxed and let him explore, unable to squash the desire he had aroused.

  As she approached the brink, he stopped.

  “Kneel on the pillow, Victoria.”

  His voice sounded like an echo across an open field. It took her time to register what he’d said, and in the intervening moments, he pinched her thigh.

  “On your knees, sub. I told you I don’t like repeating myself.”

  She struggled to be present, to be aware of what was going on around her. Without thinking, she sat up, and he helped her to stand. His eyes were cold and penetrating. The pillow was right there in front of him, where it had been since they entered the room. Without fully registering what she was doing, she fell to her knees before him.

  He unbuttoned his jeans, and his cock sprang free. He stood for a moment to lower the denim and expose himself more fully, then sat again, hips slightly forward to give his erection a position of prominence.

  God, he’s beautiful. She hadn’t really appreciated him, not completely. His dark hair and fierce eyes, the sharply chiseled cheekbones, the taut abs and broad chest were all separate data points for her. She hadn’t put them all together, not until that moment.

  His cock, standing at attention and demanding her consideration, was glorious. Thinking of a cock as glorious was a foreign idea to her, but his could only be described as that. It was flushed with arousal, firm and thick, with a glistening tip. It took her breath away.

  “Suck me.”

  Those two words registered, and she dropped her head to his lap. In her opinion, she’d gotten fairly good at sucking cock, because it was an easy way to get Alan off without having to feign interest of her own. Th
e fact that it had been years since she’d been aroused by sex with her husband had somehow become just another factoid, accompanied by no alarm bells or red alerts; she’d simply looked for ways to appease him without having to fake it. Blowjobs were a really good way to accomplish that.

  This was wholly different.

  She wanted to please Michael. More than anything, she wanted him to be overwhelmed with the feelings she could bring about in him, the way she’d been consumed with the sensations he’d brought about in her.

  Although she was normally one to analyze and pick apart every feeling and motivation, she didn’t think. She just acted.

  She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, starting at the base and ending at the slight depression where the head of his cock and the shaft met. Circling the head, she grabbed his thighs with her hands, grounding herself before she dove in.

  She wrapped her lips around him, circling and sucking lightly while her tongue did laps around the sensitive crease. She moved her lips down the base, increasing the suction as she went. When he touched the back of her throat, he tangled his fingers in her hair to guide her. She was afraid he would push her farther, gagging her. Instead his grip tightened without causing movement, reminding her who was in control without actually forcing her past what she could take.

  She bobbed her head, moving back and forth and taking him deeper on every pass. It had been a while since she’d had a man in this vulnerable position, but somehow, she was the one who felt defenseless. She cupped his balls in one hand while using the other to grip him tightly at the base of his cock; she felt him harden further at the sensation.

  She drew back and released him completely. Taking soft nips with just her lips, she moved down the length of him, tracing each vein with her tongue before exerting the pressure she was using to tease him. She wanted him to ache for her the way she ached for him. More than anything, she wanted him to be pleased with her, to enjoy what she did to him. His guttural moans told her that she was accomplishing her goal.

  After she’d moved to his sac and tongued him thoroughly, he tightened his grip.