The Consequence

by Giana Darling

  I coated her parted lips in her own wetness and watched as her tentative pink tongue peeked out to steal a taste. She hummed once before her tongue completed a full sweep of those plump, pouting lips.

  My cock throbbed, bobbing against my stomach and leaving a trail of sticky pre-come there. Before my control slipped entirely, I traded out the paintbrush for a suede flogger. Carefully, I trailed the soft tendrils over her primed skin.

  She shuddered.

  “Do you know what this is, my siren?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It’s a flogger.”

  She shivered delicately because she knew what that was.

  I trailed the falls teasingly over her entire form, lingering until she writhed.

  “So eager. Do you need a little pain, siren?”

  “Please.”

  I wondered if she deliberately forgot to address me as sir in order to be punished or if she was so consumed by anticipation that she really forgot. I decided it didn’t matter.

  My wrist flicked, bringing the soft tendrils down hard across her breasts. A long, low moan wrenched from her diaphragm.

  “Please, what?”

  I brought the tails down again, once on the tender underside of her left breast and then again on the right.

  “Please, sir,” she gasped.

  “That first night I took you in Mexico, I wanted to do this,” I explained, modulating my voice so that it was stripped of the furious arousal churning in my gut. “I wanted to beat your breasts red with a flogger and fuck them with my cock while they were still hot.”

  A strangled whimper escaped her parted lips. The euphoria that came with dominating a beautiful, strong woman, seducing her so completely that she was at the mercy of your darkest desires, thrummed through me like thunder.

  “Would you like that, Elle? Would you like me to fuck you here?” I asked, while I continued to strategically lay into her beautiful tits.

  I wanted to clamp her rosy, taut nipples but she wasn’t ready for that even though the savage in me didn’t really care.

  “Yes, sir. Please,” she said, the last word dragged out on a groan as the edges of the flogger wrapped around one of her nipples.

  Her back came arching off the bed.

  “Be still,” I ordered.

  Her body shook with the strain.

  The color of her chest was a deep, ruddy pink when I finally set down the flogger. I reached for the glass I left on the bedside table and grabbed a fat ice cube between my fingers. She hissed as I ran it in light circles around her pain-warmed nipple.

  The ice melted quickly against her skin. The next time, I reached for two cubes and held them tightly to each nipple until she murmured incoherently, the pain of the cold sharp against the background of pleasure. When those chips dissolved, I leaned forward to lick up the wetness with my tongue before sucking a nipple deep into my mouth.

  She tasted fucking fantastic.

  The beast inside me roared his approval.

  Simultaneously, I took one nipple between my teeth in a firm grip and twisted the other sharply with my fingers.

  “Ah,” she moaned.

  “Do you want me to fuck these gorgeous tits, Giselle?” I asked.

  “Please, please, please, sir.”

  “What if I don’t want to? What if, instead, I want to slide into your sweet pussy and fuck you until you beg me to stop?”

  She panted heavily in response.

  “What if I want to flip you over onto your hands and knees, take my belt to your ass and make you come in my mouth before I come all over back?”

  A shudder wracked her body and a little gasp exploded from her lips. That one. That was the one she wanted. It didn’t really surprise me, Elle loved it when I did anything to her sweet, round behind.

  Moving quickly, I undid the ties around her ankles and ordered, “Turn over. Hands and knees. Get that ass high up in the air for me, Elle.”

  She scrambled to obey, planting her face in the covers and curving her back so low it had to be painful. I ran a hand over her cheeks and spread them. Her pussy was so wet that her juices had dripped down her inner thighs. Unable to help myself, I licked the trail up her meaty thigh into her pussy and right up to her asshole.

  She tasted like pure heaven.

  As I retrieved my belt from the ground, I wondered if I was moving too fast. Her body was utterly pliant under my hands, my commands, but BDSM was about trust and she was new to the game. It was easy to forget that given how beautifully she submitted but I didn’t want to take her too far because she was ready. Her absolute trust in me was too precious to squander, her body too beautiful to brutalize, her mind too steeped in past sexual abuse to ever allow me to take her sexual sincerity lightly.

  Sensing my hesitation, Giselle wriggled her ass in my face and said, “Sir? Please.”

  “Please, what?” I asked, running a hand over her buttocks again to comfort her, to comfort me.

  “I, I want you to take your belt to my ass. I want you to, um, make me come on your mouth and then I want you to come on me,” she murmured.

  Fuck, but she was perfect. Too good for me. But I was a selfish guy and I was willing to take it despite my merit.

  Without further qualm, I looped my leather belt in my hands and gave my siren what she and I both wanted.

  I sat in the dark hours later, the light of my laptop screen the only illumination in our suite. Giselle was asleep on the bed, exhausted from our hours of rigorous play. I hadn’t been easy on her - her ass was red from my belt, stripped like a candy cane, and I had left no place untouched by my fingers, tongue and cock. It was too much when she was already tired from our play on the plane and I’d acted like a rookie Dominant playing with a shiny new toy. But the truth was, even though I had had her before, I’d never owned her. Not like this. My dick stirred in my pants even as I thought about it. The fact that I could mark her now, brand her with sex and pain, my name carved into her voice box with every grateful shout of her ecstasy, it wasn’t something I imagined I would ever get enough of.

  My mind wondered to all the things I could introduce her to in the lifestyle. I didn’t want to dominate her outside of the bedroom, not really, but I loved the idea of sending her to the gallery without panties on, of making her touch herself in the bathroom, of ordering her to wait by the door for me when I came home, her forehead to the ground and her naked ass raised in offering the second I came through the door.

  As if conjured by my runaway, deviant thoughts, my email pinged with a note from Elena. I stiffened, my cursor lingering over the notification. I deeply wanted to ignore her, isolate myself from the reality of New York so that I could fully enjoy my time in Paris with Giselle but I also knew it was my responsibility to Elena to deal with the situation.

  So, I opened the email.

  To: Daniel Sinclair

  From: Elena Lombardi

  Subject: Your Depravity.

  Daniel,

  I meant what I said yesterday. If you cannot respect my wishes regarding your immediate extradition from my family dynamics, I will be forced to divulge not only the nature of our separation (i.e. your infidelity) but also the truth about your sexual proclivities. You may think I know nothing about your disgusting ‘scene’ but I’m a lawyer, I’ve researched and even represented victims of the “BDSM’ lifestyle. Do you not remember my involvement in the Gian Gomeshi trail last year? You like to hit women, Daniel, you get off on causing them pain and forcing them to do things that they normally never would. I don’t know how you live with yourself for that. It would be another thing if you tried to restrain yourself but obviously, you’ve found some poor victim to take your deviancies out on and that is why you are no longer attracted to me. I’m not sorry that I never let you beat me but I am sorry that I thought for even a moment that you were capable of a normal, loving relationship. For her sake, I hope the whore you are supposedly ‘in love�
�� with has good health insurance. And I hope she knows whatever sick relationship you have isn’t real love.

  The bottom line is this; stay away from my family or I’ll let the world know your deplorable secrets. I can’t imagine the conservative Mr. Paulson would be too happy to hear about those now, would he?

  Cordially,

  Elena Lombardi

  I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes as the truth of Elena’s email poisoned me from the inside out.

  Logically, I knew that properly practiced BDSM could not only be healthy, it could be healing. But I also believed what Elena said about my desires being disgusting. Would Giselle have ever found submission, the pleasure to be had from pain and complete acquiescence, if I hadn’t forced them on her? Even now, was she only so interested in the power dynamic because it was the only way she thought that she could have me?

  I thought back on the four years of my vanilla relationship with Elena and winced. Our relationship had never been about the sex but I could see looking back that I had been deeply unfulfilled by it. Fortunately, it explained my single-minded focus and control as I built Faire Developments from the ground up. If I couldn’t have power in the bedroom, I could exert it in all other areas of my life.

  Only now, Giselle had alerted me to the possibility of a life as a total Dominant. I wasn’t a switch and I’d also been a powerful force in all aspects of my personality. I didn’t want to give up control to anyone; I didn’t want to kill the urge to push other people to do my bidding, to see how far I could push someone past their own limits to achieve a goal they had been previously too afraid to attain. Did that make me a sociopath?

  The answer, at least at the moment, was a resounding yes.

  Giselle was what I wanted beyond all things, not just a random submissive to act out my desires upon. I owed it to Giselle to show her that I could love her wholly, without the trappings of a lifestyle that I had missed and longed for. Elena had forced me to give up on the Dom within me and it had been like living a half-life but wouldn’t that be the exact same thing for Elle if I forced her to be a sub when that wasn’t really what she wanted?

  I dragged a hand over my face as my mind surged with doubt and fear. I needed to wake up Giselle so that she could have time to get ready for our dinner with my colleagues but I didn’t think I could face her in my current state.

  Quietly, I walked over to take a seat on the edge of the bed so that I could look down at her. Her red hair spiraled around her head, bright and glossy like sienna oil paint even in the darkness. Even her thick eyelashes were red, dark against the pale gold of her soft cheeks. My heart ached as I looked down at her. I knew then that a vanilla future was the only way forward for us. It would take some adjusting, on both our parts, but Elena was right, I owed it to Giselle to try.

  Chapter Four.

  Nerves bounced on my diaphragm, trampolining and cart wheeling in my stomach like circus performers as we walked through the cold night to one of Sinclair’s favorite casual restaurants in Paris.

  He held my hand and people gave us appraising looks as we passed them by. It was heady feeling to realize that they were admiring us as a couple. I squeezed Sin’s hand and beamed up at him when he glanced down at me. The soft light of the shops and old-fashioned lampposts spilling into the street turned his hair to pure copper and cast his features in shadow.

  “I never thought we would be able to do this,” I admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

  His eyes were kind though, his version of a tender smile. “Now you can know that there will never again be a time when you will not be able to do this.”

  He raised our joined hands to place a kiss on my knuckles.

  I swooned a little, rocking on my heels, but Sin steadied me with a soft huff of laughter. “Have I worn you out, my siren?”

  “The nap helped but yes, a little.”

  This time his laugh was big and loud enough to attract attention. I stared as his throat, mesmerized by the way it moved with his humor.

  He stopped the moment he looked back over at me, his face frozen mid-expression.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have this way of looking at me.”

  “A way?”

  “Mmm, a way. A way that tells me that you think of me as the very best kind of man, a person in possession of a very good heart.”

  “You are that,” I agreed easily, even though I could tell that he was moved almost to discomfort by the idea.

  “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me,” he said softly, so that I had to lean in to be sure of him. “I will try harder than I ever have before to be that kind of person but you will have to forgive me my mistakes when I inevitably make them. I wasn’t this kind of man before I met you.”

  His words made my soul ache. I couldn’t believe that no one had ever told him how intensely beautiful he was. Though I had met his parents, understood them to be self-serving, I couldn’t really fathom how Elena could have refrained from telling him every other moment, how special he was. I honestly felt like it was my honor to get to love him, to know him and take care of him.

  I told him so.

  He stopped walking and slowly turned to me, slipping one hand through the hair at the nape of my neck and the other around my hip. We stared at each other with wordless feelings in our eyes as he slowly walked me back against a wall and pressed himself close to my body. I relished the heat between us, tipping my head back to maintain eye contact.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, and I felt, more than heard, the words against my lips.

  I pressed a soft kiss to his mouth in response.

  When he broke away, he pulled back to smile a ridiculously adorable grin. “Are you ready for some déjà vu?”

  I frowned, looking around until I realized that we were in front of Chez Dumonet, where we would meet his friends and colleagues from Mexico. It was my turn to grin.

  “Lead the way.”

  The restaurant was one that I had never been to before but only because I had always been too poor for such extravagancies. I loved it on sight for its subtle opulence and quintessentially French features but I also understood that I was biased by the sight of the Mexico crew sitting around the best table by the window.

  “Giselle,” Robert Corbett bellowed as everyone stood up to greet us.

  I couldn’t help but laugh as he embraced me in a huge bear hug. Though he was sixty-five years old, he had the kind of virility you would have expected in a much younger man.

  When I embraced Duncan Wright next, I couldn’t help but note the difference between the two men. The CFO of Faire Developments comported himself with a humble, almost subservient calm and kindness that would have seemed much better suited to a man of Robert’s age and slight stature.

  Margot only deigned to smile slightly in my direction but I found myself surprisingly happy to see her. After all, she had been the one to urge me to pony up and claim Sinclair as my own.

  Richard hugged me next but it was a short embrace because Candy was pushing him out of the way before he even had his arms around me.

  “I’m the best friend,” she explained haughtily as she delicately wrapped her arms around me and then snapped me close with a brutal force that shoved the air from my lungs.

  I laughed even as I tried to catch my breath. “Hey, best friend.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  My heart panged. “Like I sacrificed my entire world for the only thing that really matters.”

  “That was pretty poetic,” she said as she pulled away from me and made a face. “But it makes sense. Even though you made the only choice you could, it doesn’t make it any less difficult.”

  “You owe me two hundred big ones,” Richard said to Duncan.

  I turned to the meek young man and watched him blush furiously.

  “I, um, I don’t…”

  Richard guffawed. “Don’t be embarrassed, Wright, you lost fair and square.”

  “You placed wagers on my
relationship with Elle?” Sinclair asked in that perfectly glacial tone that immediately froze everyone in place.

  Duncan cleared his throat before stuttering, “Well, logically, you see, I mean, it was obvious to everyone who could see you two in Mexico…”

  “Oh get off your high horse, Sin, we made a bet on you two getting together. Big whoop. Turns out our instincts were correct, which is probably what makes us such invaluable employees too,” Candy said.

  “And the best of friends,” he added, drolly.

  Her eyes widened and she placed a hand over her chest. “You think we’re friends? I’m touched, truly.”

  I laughed at their antics as everyone took their seats. Even though I didn’t know the group very well, I felt connected to them because they had been there at the very beginning of Sinclair and me. If anyone could understand the magnetic, inexorable pull between us, it was them.

  And they proved their understanding by being nothing but polite and delightful through the entire evening. It was amazing to be able to relax with friends, to feel comfortable leaning into Sinclair when he fed me a morsel of beautiful beef bourguignon from his plate and kiss him when I returned from the restroom. Candy coyly commented on the silver and turquoise cuff Sinclair had given me, the very same one that I had admired with her in Mexico, and I was even thrilled when they began to question us about the future, as if it were only natural to assume the two of us would be together for a very long time.

  “Where will you live when you return state side?” Robert asked.

  I looked at Sinclair with a deep frown because I hadn’t thought of that. We couldn’t very well shack up at Cosima’s together, for a variety of reasons.

  My Frenchmen didn’t look at me but he squeezed my knee beneath the table. “We’ll sort that out when we come to it.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes at us. “You haven’t told anyone yet, have you?”

  “No,” I admitted, suddenly fascinated with the delicate stem of my red wine glass. “It’s a bit easier said than done.”