Nicollette's Defense

by Skye Michaels

  He looked at her as though he was ready to strangle her then and there. “No? Hmm. Okay. We’ll save that for another time.” She moved in front of him again and dropped down to her knees on the floor. She took his cock into her hand and ran it up and down before she took him into her mouth. She began to lick and suck, and before long he was pumping into her mouth. She took him deep. When she thought he was about to blow, she stood up. The look of disbelief on his face was priceless. “When I disconnect you from the chains, we will adjourn to the bed where you will service your Mistress with your mouth. If you do a good job, you will be rewarded.”

  She looked into his eyes before she disconnected the wrist cuffs from the chains and his ankle cuffs from the floor. She knew she was playing with dynamite. She was sure he was still mad as a hornet, and she was treading a fine line. Once he was free, she walked to the bed in the corner being sure to give him a good view of the naked ass that was framed by the garter belt and mesh stockings. She knew her butt looked good when she was wearing high heels, and she added just a little swagger. She lay down on the bed, opened her legs, and waited. He walked up to the bed, pulled her ass to the edge, and knelt down between her spread thighs. He applied his mouth to her clit and shortly had her writhing with pleasure. He was not being gentle, and she could still feel the hum of anger in his muscles. He ran his tongue between the lips of her pussy and plunged it deep into her. She knew she was on the edge now. She pulled him up beside her, pushed him onto his back, and sat astride his thighs. She rose up and then slowly came down on his hard shaft and began to ride. He rose to meet her strokes, and she began to ride him harder.

  He looked deeply into her eyes then put his hands around her waist, and suddenly he flipped her over onto her back and came down on top of her. She was startled. She had been on the verge of an orgasm. She was still impaled on his hard cock, but as she looked up into his face, she saw the dynamic change in a moment. He was on top now, and she was the sub. “I gave you the top because I felt guilty about what I did to you, but now I’m taking it back. You can call me Master.”

  “You can’t do that!” She began to squirm, but she was pinned and his hard cock began to stroke her aching pussy long and slow. She was ready to come, but he had changed the rhythm, and she had to adjust. He slowed even more and pulled out until just the tip of his cock was still inside her.

  “You’re going to have to beg for this one, sub. If you want to come, you’ll have to ask me nicely.” He slowly pushed back in and even more slowly withdrew again, making sure to drag his hard cock over her oversensitized clit. He lifted her butt and put her legs over his shoulders while he held his position. “I’m waiting for you to beg your Master, subbie.” He twirled his cock in her pussy as a punctuation mark to his statement.

  Oh, she didn’t want to have to beg him—not after the way this evening had started. She stubbornly kept quiet. He did a variation of the slow twirl and pulled back again. She didn’t think she could stand it. She was just on the edge, but she couldn’t tip over.

  “If you come before I give you permission, you’re going to feel that crop on your ass before we leave here, sub. Don’t tempt me to give as good as I got. You might not be able to sit down tomorrow.”

  Shit. What went around came around. She’d have to remember that. She had a feeling she wasn’t leaving here without a red hot butt of her own. She wasn’t ready to give in, and she pumped against him, taking him by surprise. He was deep inside her again. He withdrew until the tip of his cock was barely lodged inside her pussy.

  “Not nice, subbie. That is going to cost you.” He pulled all the way out and then began to lightly rub his cock over her clit and pussy, playing with her. God, it felt so good she thought she might pass out.

  “Please, Master.”

  “Please what, sub?”

  “Please fuck me, Master.”

  “How do you want me to fuck you, sub?” Oh, he was going to be just impossible, she could tell. He could draw this out until she died of old age.

  “Fuck me hard and fast.”

  “Who are you asking to fuck you hard and fast? And I didn’t hear the word please.” He continued to rub his shaft against her slick pussy. It was apparent that he wasn’t going to enter her again until she gave in.

  “You are impossible. Please fuck me hard and fast, Master.”

  “As you wish, sub.” He plunged his hard cock deep and began to ride her hard and fast until she screamed and came, and came, and came. And then he finally toppled over the edge as well, his hips wildly thrusting, and his cum shooting deep into her. When she was finally lying still beneath him, although she hadn’t caught her breath, he said, “Well, I don’t remember giving you permission for that orgasm, sub. I think you’ve earned a punishment yourself. I’ll give you a few minutes to recover, and then it’s your turn.”

  He held her gently against his chest until her breathing was normal again, and then he stood. He picked her up and walked over to the spanking bench and laid her face down over the edge despite her ineffectual struggles. “Don’t do this, Dan.”

  “Master.” He picked the riding crop up off the floor and gave it a few tentative strikes against the side of the bench. “Effective little piece of equipment, isn’t it? What do you think, sub?” When she didn’t answer his rhetorical question but continued to struggle, he tapped her butt several times and then laid a good hard strike against her right cheek, and then another one against her left cheek. “I’m not going to make you count.” Then he dropped the crop and began to give her a good spanking with his open palm. He warmed her butt until it felt like it was on fire from one end to the other. He didn’t hold back, and she knew she would have a sore bottom for a few days. Well, she couldn’t say she hadn’t earned it. Maybe her idea to play the Domme card with Dan had been ill advised.

  * * * *

  While Dan had felt badly about the way he’d treated her all week, he couldn’t let her get away with that outrageous Domme act of hers. There was going to be one Dom in this relationship, and it was going to be him. Not to say that he wouldn’t let her play at it once in a while—once in a very rare while. He knew his own ass was going to be sore for a couple of days, and he didn’t plan to suffer alone.

  Dan helped her up off the bench and then took her into his arms and hugged her tight. He walked over to the big chair in the corner and sat down with her in his lap. He cuddled her up against his chest. “You deserved that one, subbie. What you did to me was not a BDSM scene meant for pleasure. It was revenge because you were mad at me.”

  “And what you did to me wasn’t revenge?”

  “No, it was a lesson. Maybe a bit of a strong one, but a lesson. You know, in twenty years I never raised a hand to Anne Marie and certainly never the kids except maybe a swat on the butt when they were little. We had our fights and disagreements, but they never escalated to that that level.”

  “Maybe they should have. Then you might have known what you were dealing with.”

  “You might be right. I sure didn’t know what I was dealing with. I’ll certainly be more careful from now on.” When he felt her muscles tighten, he said, “I didn’t mean that I thought you might be in the same class as Antoinette Marie. God only knows she’s in a class by herself.”

  Chapter Eight

  Offices of Nicollette Sommers & Associates, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Thursday morning, April 23, 2015

  Nikki shifted in her chair. Her butt was still a little sore—not much, just enough to remind her of last night. Dan had promised her that he would not try to beat the switch out of her, but they would discuss it before she got to put on the corset and stockings and pick up the crop. He’d said he didn’t plan to be blindsided again. She thought that was fair. And he had been right. She had wanted her pound of flesh as revenge for the hurt feelings she had suffered last week. She had tried to talk it out with him first, but he had shut her out. She would try harder if there was a next time.

  After they left the club, t
hey had stopped to pick up giant subs at her favorite sub place on Federal Highway and then gone back to her townhouse. He’d stayed over and made very tender love to her during the night and again in the morning—slow, sweet, satisfying love that had turned hot and powerful before they were finished. The man could certainly make her body sing, as well as her heart. He had whispered sweet things in her ear when they were done, and she had hope that this relationship might have a future after all. After breakfast, they had both driven to the office and parked next to each other. He’d kissed her hard and hot in the elevator and before he left her at her office door. It was a good way to start the morning.

  Her phone buzzed, and Amy said, “It’s Gabriella Delaveccia from the State’s Attorney’s office on one. She says she wants to discuss the Young case.”

  Nikki’s heart was in her throat when she picked up the phone. “Hi, Gabby. What do you have for me?”

  “Listen, Nikki, you owe me. I had to promise kinky sexual favors and call in a ‘girlfriend favor’ for this. Miguel’s agreed to sit down with you and your client and discuss the case. He’s promised to listen with an open mind, but he hasn’t taken the Grand Jury card off the table yet—so you’d better make it good. How about this afternoon at two? He said he’d meet you at Paul Rein.”

  “You’re good, Gabby, but I know he gets your kinky sexual favors all the time anyway. Thanks a million. I’ll make the most of my opportunity.”

  Nikki immediately pulled the Young file and began to review it as well as the research she’d done on PTSD. She called the front desk. “Angelina, can you come in here please? I need some copies for a meeting this afternoon.” Angelina sauntered into her office—that was the only word for it—for the papers Nikki needed copied. There was just something about that girl…“Thanks, Angelina. One copy and put it in a folder with the firm name on the front. I want a nice package for State’s Attorney Gatto.”

  Angelina laughed, and it wasn’t quite pleasant. “He’s definitely got a nice package. I’ve seen him on television a couple of times. He does seem to attract the limelight.”

  Of course, she, Gabby, Kaylin, and Chloe had all thought the same thing for the past two years, but she didn’t like hearing it come from the receptionist’s mouth. “He has a job to do and has to get re-elected in order to do it. I’ve come to know him a little better recently, and I have always respected him a great deal as an adversary.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that remark.”

  “No problem. I’m hoping to convince him not to take Mercedes Young’s case to the Grand Jury, so let’s think good thoughts.”

  The next phone call was from Kaylin. She was excited and all but bouncing through the phone lines. “Guess what! Jack and I have tentatively set a date! I’m going to start looking for a wedding venue and all that bridey stuff. If I go all ‘bridezilla,’ promise to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

  “Kaylin, that’s wonderful. No problem about the shooting. I have some clients…” She laughed with her friend. “Just kidding. None of my clients would do that, or at least I couldn’t afford them. Still just kidding.”

  “Well, a couple of reasons for this call. First I want to schedule a nacho night at Fifteenth Street Fisheries tonight if possible to discuss the wedding, and second, I wanted to ask you to be one of the bridesmaids. Chloe has agreed to be maid of honor, and Gabby is already on board. I want my posse behind me for this.”

  “I would love to be in your wedding. We will have so much fun—if we don’t kill each other first. Do you have any ideas?”

  “There are a few places I want to look at—two country clubs and several small hotels. The hotels would probably be best because out-of-town guests could get rooms right there.”

  “That sounds good. We’ll talk about it tonight. I’m so happy for you, Kay. You guys are awesome together.”

  “Well, I know Jack Dalton Brown is awesome. How did I get so lucky, Nikki? He’s just the best.” She laughed delightedly. “Most of the time.”

  When they hung up she went back to combing the file for anything she could hang her hat on in her meeting with Miguel Gatto. She had tried a couple of cases against him and knew he was a tough customer, but he didn’t pull some of the shady, underhanded stunts for which some other prosecutors were known. He was straight as an arrow and totally above board. She imagined that was hard sometimes if the possibility of a really bad guy going free was on the table.

  * * * *

  Counsel Meeting Room at the Paul Rein Detention Facility, Pompano Beach, Florida, Thursday afternoon, April 23, 2015.

  Nikki had been waiting for her client, Mercedes Young, to be brought to the counsel room while she continued to review her file. Finally Mercedes was brought in and her manacles were attached to the battered table. Nikki hated to see that. “Officer, can you please remove my client’s shackles?”

  “I’m afraid not, Ma’am. It’s procedure to keep the prisoners restrained, especially in a murder case.”

  “That’s okay, Ms. Sommers. I’m getting used to it.” That broke Nikki’s heart. She really didn’t believe that Mercedes belonged here, and she was going to do her best to see she didn’t have to stay. She went over Mercedes’s story with her again and confirmed the details she had already been told before she advised her that they would be meeting with the State’s Attorney. She hadn’t wanted Mercedes’ concentration to be blown by her nerves about the coming meeting.

  When Miguel Juan Carlos Gatto-Alba walked into the room, the temperature went up several degrees. Gabby’s fiancé was tall with dark, slightly wavy hair and ice-blue eyes. When he smiled, it changed his face from slightly forbidding to truly stunning. He had a very striking bone structure. His campaign literature had disclosed that his family had been in Puerto Rico for over four hundred years but traced their lineage back to Medieval Spain. His gray pin-striped European-style suit fit him like a glove and looked custom-made while his black alligator moccasins gleamed. He had a rather intimidating presence, and she would really love to see him being romantic and silly as Gabby had said. Gabby was one lucky woman. All of her friends’ men were Doms, and they were all quite different. She wondered if Dan was going to follow through and become an actual Dom. He certainly had evidenced an aptitude for it so far. She grinned to herself. Her butt was still just a bit sore, and she shifted in her seat.

  Miguel reached over the table and shook Nikki’s hand. His hand was strong with definite calluses. Then he extended his hand to Mercedes. That small courtesy skyrocketed him in Nikki’s esteem. He didn’t have to do that. “Thank you for meeting with us personally, Mr. Gatto. I know you are a busy man, so I don’t want to waste your time.”

  “I appreciate that, Ms. Sommers, but justice for two lives is on the line here—for the one already taken and for the one in jeopardy. So let’s hear what you have to tell me.”

  “As I am sure you know, PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, is often suffered by combat veterans who have witnessed horrific situations during wartime. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Russell Young, Mercedes’s husband, suffered from PTSD.”

  “Didn’t his brother and his fellow Marines say he didn’t have the syndrome?”

  “They did say that, but some of the neighbors said he was acting erratically, either too high or too low. However, the brother is not in a position to know all the facts and is justifiably distraught over his brother’s death, and the other Marines are possibly in denial because of their own symptoms. The Mayo Clinic website defines PTSD as ‘a mental health condition that is triggered by a terrifying event. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares, and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event.’ Gunnery Sergeant Young’s platoon was attacked in Kandahar, Afghanistan, after a roadside bomb destroyed one of the vehicles in their convoy, and four men were either blown up or shot. The rest were taken prisoner but were later rescued. We believe that Young had brain damage from concussion injuries he received in the attack. Certainly he
suffered all the common combat stressors for PTSD—having his vehicle bombed, seeing dead bodies, being ambushed and shot at, taking rocket fire. Mercedes tells me that news reports on television would often trigger flashbacks, and he would believe he was on that road again trying to save his friends’ lives.”

  “Why don’t you let Mercedes tell me what happened? Mercedes, just talk to me.”

  “Okay. When Rusty came back from Afghanistan this time, he was different. He felt guilty, I guess, that he had survived and some of his best friends hadn’t. He seemed to feel that the government did not appreciate or understand the sacrifices that veterans had made. He would fly into uncontrollable rages or cower in fear under the kitchen table sometimes. It broke my heart. There was nothing I could do but wait for the episodes to pass, and then he would just shut down, and I couldn’t reach him. He was alienated and didn’t trust me or anyone else. He had nightmares almost every night, and neither of us was getting enough rest. But the worst part was that he refused to acknowledge that he had a problem. I begged him to go to the VA or one of the veterans’ organizations for help, but he wouldn’t. He felt that going to a VA shrink would be showing weakness, and Marines never show weakness. He thought he could handle it himself.”

  “Why didn’t you just leave him, Mercedes? Surely you knew the situation was extremely volatile.”

  “I loved him, Mr. Gatto. Rusty and I were married when I was eighteen. He was everything to me. I couldn’t leave him when he was in that state. If we’d had children, I would have made a different decision. I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me intentionally. I just seemed to be in the way when it hit.”