Clark, Rachel - Alicia's Awakening (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rachel Clark

  * * * *

  “Has she signed a contract, yet?” Lachlan asked anxiously. He’d spoken to Alicia nearly every night for the past two weeks, but she’d never mentioned specifics of her relationship with Doug. It felt like she was hiding it from him.

  “Of course,” Doug said calmly. “And before you ask, no I’m not going to tell you specifics. If you want to know what’s included, you’ll have to ask her.”

  “Are you fucking her?”

  A part of him didn’t want to know the answer. Lachlan knew that it was an option in submissive training. As long as the Dom and the sub both agreed, the contract could include or exclude just about anything. Lachlan had no right to be jealous or possessive. She was his best friend, but he certainly didn’t get to make decisions like that for her. She was free to pursue a relationship with anyone she chose. Especially since her best friend had gotten spooked and left her in the care of a highly trained Dom. Fucking coward.

  “Not yet,” Doug finally answered.

  “But it’s in the contract?” Lachlan asked, already knowing the answer to that damn question.

  “Lachlan,” Doug said in a tone that sounded tired rather than annoyed. Technically he had every right to verbally slap Lachlan down. A contract between a Dom and a sub was nobody else’s business but theirs. “I’m doing what you asked. I’m introducing her to the lifestyle you want to lead. Whether you find the balls to ever approach her about it is up to you.”

  A part of him wanted to race home, tie the woman to his bed, and never let her go, but he’d stupidly arranged his business trip schedule so that he couldn’t. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, hold him back from temptation and all that, yet now it was blowing up in his face. Ironically he’d known that was going to happen even before he’d made the decision to run. Two weeks of living without the woman was putting a whole lot into perspective, including his own stupidity.

  It wasn’t her having sex with another man—people who enjoyed his lifestyle shared that type of experience more openly than people in the wider community. It was the intimate, best-friend’s knowledge that Alicia had never slept with anyone she didn’t think herself in love with at the time that was messing with his head.

  If she’d agreed to have sex with Doug in their Dom-sub contract, it was because she had feelings for the man. Lachlan didn’t like the way things were headed, but there was absolutely nothing he could do from the other side of the country.

  How had he ever thought he could walk away from the woman?

  He shook his head as he finished the call and hung up the phone. For a man with a first-class education he really was a dumb fuck sometimes.

  Chapter Eight

  The damn clock is going slow again. I keep checking it against my computer just to be certain the battery isn’t running flat, but nope, the slowing down of time is just my perception.

  In less than an hour, well fifty-nine minutes and twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty…well in less than an hour Doug is picking me up from work and taking me to his home.

  Starting today and for the next two weeks I will be a full-time submissive. I can still see the look on my boss’s face when I applied for two weeks’ vacation on short notice. He practically jumped through hoops to give them to me. It was a little disconcerting until I realized my last actual vacation was more than four years ago. I’ve been accumulating holidays and never taking the damn things. Thankfully my contract covers me so I don’t lose them, but as the boss said, that’s a lot of employee entitlements to carry from year to year.

  I wonder why that thought hasn’t occurred to me. Perhaps I’ve been too busy hiding in my “number” world to notice.

  I’m still woolgathering when there is a knock on my office door.

  “Yes,” I say with my usual distracted inflection, expecting my secretary to open the door. Despite my tone, I’m actually glad for the interruption this time. Maybe it’ll make the time move faster. I’m surprised to see who my visitor is, but very happy to see him. I smile broadly as Doug steps into my office. He’s picked me up from work several times this week, so it’s not surprising that my secretary would have sent him straight in without buzzing me first.

  I open my mouth to greet him, but he holds a finger to his lips, and I stay quiet.

  “Did you visit the beauty salon like I asked?” I nod, unsure if I should speak out loud or not, even to answer his direct question, but I’m quickly distracted from my uncertainty by two small words. “Show me.”

  I glance at the window behind me. We’re twenty-two stories up, but there is a building on the other side of the narrow street. I turn to close the blinds.

  “No,” he says easily. “Show me now.”

  I swallow hard, glance at the unlocked door and back at the window. He waits me out, perhaps assessing my reaction under pressure. I quickly lift the front of my skirt and pull my underwear aside. But instead of nodding in approval he steps closer and touches me intimately. I nearly sag at the unexpected caress. We’ve seen each other nearly every day for the past three weeks. I’ve lost count of the number of spankings, floggings, and mutual masturbation sessions we’ve shared, but this is the first time he’s actually touched my pussy. Even that time in the car, he’d only touched my hand, not the slippery flesh of my pussy.

  I moan as he slides his fingers over the newly denuded skin.

  “Did it hurt?” he asks, referring to the waxing.

  I nod.

  “Did you come?” I’m quick to deny it, shaking my head vigorously, but he sees the answer in my eyes. I didn’t actually orgasm on the beautician’s table, but I’d gone damn close. Somehow in the past three weeks my body has begun to interpret pain as the precursor to pleasure. It was just about the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in my life. I sure as hell won’t be going back to that salon anytime soon.

  His thick fingers push up inside me. I lift onto my toes at the unexpected invasion.

  “You’re tight,” he says, pushing another finger inside me. “How long has it been?”

  I bite my lips, hoping against hope that he’ll realize he told me not to talk earlier so I can’t possibly answer the question now. He lifts my chin, making me stare into his eyes as he issues his command—“Speak.”

  “About two years,” I say unsteadily. He watches me, and I know he wants a more definitive answer. I quickly count the months in my head. “Two years and eight months.” Shit, even I’m surprised by that. How did I go that long without orgasm? I understand the loss of interest in sex. My last boyfriend was not only lousy in bed, he even cheated on me, so the absence of such an activity wasn’t all that noticeable. But the orgasm part? That really surprises me. Especially considering how much I crave them now.

  And the fact that I’m still standing in my office with my soon-to-be-contracted-Dom’s fingers pushed up into my pussy without complaining is doubly surprising. He smiles when he realizes what I’ve just noticed and thrusts his fingers in and out of me until my knees are wobbling.

  “Good girl,” he says as he finally removes his fingers. Just when I think I’m in the clear, he passes something from one hand to the other and quickly pushes it past my pussy lips.

  “What was that?” I exclaim in shock. Whatever it is, it’s still inside me even as he moves away. He smiles, arranges my underwear and skirt back into place, and then steps back and looks at his glistening fingers.

  “Taste,” he orders as he presses his finger to my lips. Still stunned by what just happened, I open my mouth obediently, quite surprised by the flavor.

  “Back to work with you now. I’ll pick you up in”—he glances at my clock—“forty-seven minutes.”

  I glance down at my pussy as if I can somehow see inside my body and figure out what he put in there. I nearly scream out when it starts to vibrate. I slam both hands over my mouth and try to muffle the startled yelp. Doug just grins, holds up a little remote control, and thumbs the button off.

  “Be a good girl and I’l
l let you come when we get home.” I nod my head. I’m all for that. I have no idea how I’m going to get through the next forty-six minutes and fifteen seconds, but I definitely plan to be good. He turns away as if to leave but then spins around as if he’s forgotten something. He moves back to me, lifts my skirt, and drags my underwear to my ankles. He lifts my feet one at a time before grabbing the material and tucking my panties into the inside pocket on his jacket.

  “Punishment,” he whispers as he puts my skirt and top back into place, “for speaking without permission. Don’t let the vibrating egg fall out.” I give him a pleading look. How the hell am I going to keep that vibrating thing inside me for the next forty-five minutes plus travel time?

  I’m ready to argue with him—in this state an excited exclamation isn’t admissible in a court of law, so “what was that?” should be exempt here as well—but he grins, and I realize he’s waiting for me to break the rule again by speaking without permission. Considering what the punishment might be for a second infraction—and how little clothing I have on, damn you, summer heat wave—I decide to err on the side of caution. He clearly reads the capitulation in my eyes.

  “Good girl,” he says with a tap of his finger on my nose. “I’ll just go sit in the waiting room.”

  I shake my head and lift my bag from the bottom drawer. We can go now. The boss won’t mind me skipping out early. Fuck, considering how much unpaid overtime I do, he wouldn’t want to complain. Doug laughs at my charades-style communication.

  He glances at his watch as if he might be considering my offer, but then gives me a wicked grin.

  “I’ll see you in forty-three minutes.”

  I want to rant. I want to yell. I want to put my foot down and demand we go home right now.

  But the vibration in my pussy and his dark chuckle stops any protest.

  And I thought time was dragging before.

  Fuck.

  * * * *

  Doug sat in the waiting room reading a book on his e-reader, occasionally thumbing the vibrating egg on and off. By the time six o’clock came around, the annoyance in his sub’s eyes was quite entertaining. She flashed him a glare as she tried to step casually into the main area. Apparently her secretary knew her well enough to quickly wish her a nice vacation and not hang around to make any small talk.

  “Six o’clock already?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “That went fast.”

  He could see the incredulity in her eyes, but she retained enough control not to speak.

  “Are you ready to start a brand-new life?”

  She rolled her eyes again and rubbed her legs together restlessly. Apparently she already felt she’d started her new life. He smiled at the challenge ahead. This little sub had a lot to learn.

  Chapter Nine

  My eyes are almost crossing by the time Doug parks his car under the building. The sadistic bastard turned on the vibrating egg and left it on the whole way home. I’m so close to orgasm I’m panting as we move into the elevator.

  By the time we step into the apartment I’m ready to rip his clothes off and impale myself on his hard cock. Of course my Dom has other ideas.

  “Strip,” he says. I drag my clothes off quickly, worrying a little when he holds his hands out and takes them from me. I kind of expected my suitcase to still be in the hallway, but I suppose he moved it to my room.

  “When was the last time you had a panic attack?”

  I want to lie but it’s definitely the wrong thing to do at the very beginning of our contract. He’s promised to teach me all I need to know about being a submissive, and in turn I promised to give him my trust and always tell the truth.

  “This morning,” I answer quietly. I feel like I let him down. The calm I find in subspace often lasts for several days, but this time it’s been less than two.

  “Good girl,” he says as he lifts my chin and makes me look at him. “I know it’s hard to be honest when you’ve been lying for so long.”

  Lying? I want to take issue with his statement, but he just stands there calmly as I work my way through the questions in my head. Damn, he knows me well. He gives me just enough time to realize that by hiding my panic attacks I’ve been lying to myself and everyone around me, but not too long that I start to get into that panic-inducing loop that sets off all of the physical symptoms. In fact, this morning’s panic attack had been bad, but not nearly as bad as the last one. Compared to this time last year, my panic attacks are rather mild.

  I actually feel myself smiling. He leans over and kisses me softly, and I moan as he moves away. Trust me, I haven’t forgotten that I’m still horny as hell. One flick of that remote control and I’ll be right back where I was in the car—ready to throttle the man if he doesn’t let me come.

  “Bend over. Grab your ankles.” Uh-huh. I’ve never been flexible enough to grab my ankles—either that or my arms are too darn short for my legs—not to mention the few extra pounds that Doug actually seems to like get in the way. Stupid curvy body. Only one other person I know has told me he loves my curves, and at this moment he’s hundreds of miles away. Right now he may as well be a million miles away. I’ve wished for so long to have a relationship with him, but now that Doug is teaching me about myself and my needs I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to settle for a “vanilla” life anymore.

  It makes my chest ache to think of setting my love for him aside, but if I truly am a submissive, then I would only make a normal guy like Lachlan miserable.

  Doug looks annoyed so I quickly try to bend over. I end up opening my stance rather wide, but I finally manage to sort of grab my ankles. Judging by the soft caressing touch on my ass and thighs he’s happy with my efforts. Again I feel all warm and tingly inside and it has nothing to do with being so damn horny.

  “For the next two weeks,” he says as he caresses over the swollen lips of my pussy, “you are mine. You do as you’re told, when you’re told, and you do it immediately. No arguments.”

  I nod awkwardly, my legs shaking with fatigue as the blood rushes to my head. How did I get so damned unfit?

  “Is that understood, sub?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say quickly. This was all part of the contract we discussed in detail over the past two weeks. I have my safe word. In a lot of ways I have the power, but I want to learn about my own needs. I want to understand why letting Doug spank me is a highly pleasurable experience. Until Doug, I might have taken my hockey stick to anyone who’d threatened me with violence. Hockey and ice hockey weren’t for girly wimps, so I know how to duck and give as good as I get, but with Doug I’m actually happy to give him the power to do with me what he wishes.

  It’s already an amazing, and uncharacteristic, step toward trusting someone other than myself.

  His hands caress over my newly waxed flesh, his finger traveling from my wet pussy lips up the crease of my ass. “The beautician did a good job,” he says as he rubs my swollen labia between finger and thumb, apparently checking for missed hairs. He pushes his fingers into my vagina, pressing against the toy, rubbing it against a particularly sensitive spot inside me. I moan from the pleasure.

  But then he curls his fingers and pulls the vibrating egg from my body.

  “Stand up,” he says. My movements are less than graceful, but he thankfully steadies me with a hand wrapped tightly around my upper arm. He leads me to the bathroom door. “Have a quick shower, and meet me in the kitchen. You have ten minutes.”

  I glance in the mirror and realize my makeup needs fixing. Damn, near orgasm is almost as bad for mascara as a spanking. My toothbrush, toothpaste, and dental floss are the only things in the room I recognize as mine. Apparently my Dom unpacked my bags for me but missed a few of the more feminine items a girl requires.

  “Sir,” I say before he leaves, hoping like hell that I’m actually allowed to talk at this stage, “I need to grab my makeup kit.”

  He leans back against the doorjamb and shakes his head. “No makeup.”

  “But—” I
begin to say before he gives me a stern look that shuts me up very quickly.

  “No makeup. No clothes.” He moves off the wall to stand in front of me. “No back chatting.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say as I feel arousal dribble down my thigh. Good grief. I have no idea why his bossy attitude turns me on so much, but two weeks without clothes is seriously going to damage his furniture. He hands me a facecloth and a towel and leaves the room. I move to close the door behind him, but the words “leave it open” float down the hallway as he walks away.

  I suppose, considering that I’m expected to be naked—so much for all the pretty clothes I packed—that scrubbing makeup off my face and having a shower with the bathroom door open isn’t that big a deal. I glance at the toilet in the corner and wonder if the same rule applies.

  Shivering with uncertainty, still vibrating with arousal, and shaking in nervous anticipation, I manage to scrub the makeup off my face. Considering how unsteady I am, “no makeup” is probably a fortuitous sort of rule. I don’t fancy poking out an eye trying to get eyeliner in the right place.

  Showering quickly and careful to leave the bathroom as tidy as I found it, I head to the kitchen. Doug comes over and buckles the now-familiar fur-lined cuffs onto my wrists and then kneels at my feet to wrap a new set around my ankles. He stands up, gives me a once-over, nods at my pale, unmade face in approval, and points to the stool—yes that stool.

  “Sit.”

  I want to roll my eyes and woof like a dog, but it seems more respectful of my Dom to do as I’m told. Although his soft chuckle suggests he read my instinctive reaction anyway. A glass of juice is sitting in front of me, and he nods as I lift it to my lips. I’m halfway through the drink before I realize he’s drinking white wine while he makes dinner.

  I realize that I should be happy that the man seems to be able to cook, but I’m more than a little distracted on wondering why I get fruit juice and he gets wine.

  “Sir,” I ask respectfully, knowing I’m making a mountain out of a molehill but annoyed at the feeling of being placed at the kiddy table, “may I have a glass of wine, please?”