Master of Hearts: A Domination And Submission Romance Anthology

by Erika Masten

  He’s done this before, she thinks.

  She crouches on her palms and knees, her buttocks up in the air. Her shoes jut beyond the table’s edge.

  “Spread your legs wider,” he says from behind her. “I want to see that pussy.”

  She complies; shifting her knees on the glass surface as far as the edges of the table would allow her. He remains standing behind her as the sun sinks beneath the tops of the buildings and twilight encroaches upon them.

  Oh, but she so badly wants to be touched down there. Surely he can see the glistening dewdrops of desire on the mouth of her sex, which is opening and closing like a hungry anemone?

  She hears the soft swish of his belt being taken off. She cringes. A little moan escapes her throat.

  He senses her terror.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re not ready for the belt. At least, not today.”

  He strides to his desk. He has removed his pants and he is now in his boxers. She watches his buttocks roll in the silky material. Oh, but he has such a marvelous back – with streamlined lats and fantastically sculpted scapulae. He opens the drawer and takes something out, then he returns to her. The front of his boxers is tented with his obvious erection.

  A hot flush spreads from her cheeks down to her breasts.

  He shows the object to her. It is a flat paddle – made of some sort of flexible wood. It has designs and cravings upon it of an ethnic variety that she does not recognize.

  “I bought this from Bali,” he says.

  She licks her lips in trepidation. Her eyes begin to fill with tears.

  “Please, sir . . . ”

  “Yes?” He pauses.

  “I-I . . . don’t think I can take the pain.” This comes out in a rush. She has always been afraid of pain, she who has never been spanked or beaten in her entire life. She’s also afraid of needles and doctor appointments and anything associated with bodily pain. Yes, she knows she’s a wuss, but she can’t help it.

  He smiles, and there’s a glint of something tender in his eyes.

  There’s a lyrical wistfulness to his voice as he says, “When I was a child, I didn’t think I could take the pain either. But then he made me take it, and he made me what I am today. You will be much improved for it.”

  Tears come to her eyes. If her palms weren’t involved in balancing her current state, she would have clenched them.

  He walks to her left side.

  “Are you ready, Susan?”

  The air is electrified with charged particles. She can almost smell the burnt iron crust of the atoms between them.

  No, she wants to say, I will never be ready.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” he cautions her.

  The first blow takes her unawares.

  Twack!

  Oh my God. Her buttocks are running all over with fire and tears of pain squeeze out of her eyes. It hurts. It really hurts! She didn’t think that a slender paddle like that could cause so much pain, but it does.

  Twack!

  She gushes out a cry this time. The tears spill over to her cheeks. There will be no one to hear her in the office now – not on this floor. It occurs to her that she can stop this anytime. Concede a walkover to Leonard Drake. Please, sir, I yield my contention to Leonard. Make him VP instead, not me!

  But why should she? Just because she can’t stand a little pain on her well-fed buttocks?

  Get a hold of yourself, Susan. You’re made of sterner stuff than this.

  She finds herself clenching her buttocks to lessen the impact of the blows. He continues to spank her thoroughly, as though she is a child that must be chastised. The sharp sounds of the paddle in contact with her rapidly reddening flesh echo in the otherwise still atmosphere.

  Thuck!

  A sob worms out of her throat.

  Twack!

  Twack!

  She can hear his breathing grow harsher – not with effort, she’s sure, but desire.

  The hot tears run and run down her cheeks and drip off her chin onto the glass table. She lets out a piteous cry with each strike of the paddle, each a little louder than before. Her helplessness seems to spur him on further. Now she can hear the paddle whistling through the air before the inevitable smack on her rump, which she has no doubt is very red by now.

  There’s something debasing about this whole scene . . . and yet gratifying.

  She hardly realizes he has stopped. Her butt is a fiery explosion of pain and heat, and her eyes are so blurred she can scarcely register what’s before her. He is a vague vision in front of her. She blinks.

  He has taken off his boxers, and his cock is a rigid magnificent beast before her. Its uncircumcised head poises in front of her mouth, and she can see every curved vein upon its shaft. His entire organ glistens, full to almost bursting with whatever sap it has accumulated.

  A lump forms in her throat.

  “Suck me,” he says hoarsely.

  Without warning, he shoves his cock towards her mouth. She opens it hungrily. In it slides. She tastes his silken skin upon her tongue, which is immediately flattened by its enormous girth.

  He crams his cock down her throat as far as it would go. She gags.

  “Good girl,” he says in a soothing voice, his hand on her hair. He strokes her head almost lovingly. “Now suck me . . . hard.”

  She tries to, but his cock is so large than she can barely maintain her cheek muscle traction around it. She tries to flick her tongue around his shaft, but even that is difficult. She wants to tell him to take it out – to let her caress it with butterfly licks first outside her mouth – but she cannot speak. So she keeps her mouth open and her cheeks as closed in as possible while he pumps into her in a semblance of fucking.

  Her teeth graze upon his foreskin.

  “Suck me harder.”

  She increases her suction pressure. Her cheeks bulge with the effort.

  “Harder.” His voice grows harsher.

  A thrill runs down her spine and between her legs as she redoubles her effort.

  “Not good enough,” he says, withdrawing his cock from her mouth.

  There’s a sudden hollowness in her throat and green zigzags appear before her eyes. He moves to her side and picks up the paddle. Before she can plead with him, a sharp twack comes down on her buttocks again. The pain is hot, exquisite.

  She cries out.

  He paddles her several times more until she’s weeping and tears are raining down her face.

  “Please, sir, no more. Please . . . let me suck you again. I’ll be better.”

  He stops the spanking and moves to her front.

  In goes his hard cock – and she swallows it with vigor.

  She’s somewhat enjoying this, she realizes. The pain, not so much, but his complete domination of her is a role reversal she has never experienced before, and she finds it deeply sexual and thrilling.

  She sucks and sucks at him until she’s seeing stars in her eyes, and she’s gratified to hear his breathing grow harsher and feel his fingers digging into and clawing her hair.

  “Ohhh,” he moans, and the sound is music to her ears. The thought of pleasuring this powerful, dangerous man and bringing him to the cusp of orgasm is heady – intoxicating.

  He thrusts his cock into her mouth repeatedly. She suppresses her gag reflex and lets him go as deep as he can go – right against the back of her throat. He does it again and again, and his breathing grows so ragged that she is sure he will come this way.

  And then he stops.

  He withdraws his still rock hard cock from her mouth.

  She pants with the effort, and sweat beads her brow. Her tears have dried on her cheeks somewhat, and she is glad she wears no mascara because it would have run, smudging her face.

  “Are you on the pill?” he rasps.

  “Yes.”

  Since she has started having sex with Brad Thornbird, she has been on the pill because he likes to do it without a condom.

  “I’m going to fuck
you. Keep still.”

  He’s not asking for permission, she understands. Her palms and knees are already aching with the prolonged maintenance of her current position. She closes her eyes as his shadow passes over her as he moves to her side. So he’s going to take her on all fours, like an animal. There’s something intensely erotic about the idea.

  “I want you to feel me and only me,” he says.

  He picks up his tie – the very one he has so callously dropped onto the floor – and wraps it around her eyes.

  “Oh,” she cries as he tightens it and ties it behind her head. Darkness immediately closes in on her. She can feel the two arms of the tie draping down her neck, the silk a whispery touch against her flushed skin.

  She hears his footsteps with her heightened sense of sound. She can feel his hands on her hips. He caresses her buttocks – those very buttocks he has inflamed with his merciless spanking of it – and his hands are cool and soft and gentle.

  The head of his cock nudges the hole of her wet pussy. She moans as her womb actually contracts with need. She wants him inside her – needs him desperately.

  He thrusts into her without warning. She lets out a little scream at the sudden pain. It soon abates, and her moist, dripping passage is filled with his thick, warm flesh, and her walls are pushed apart to its maximal circumference, and he feels oh so good and large and omnipresent. He is right. In her darkness, all her senses are attenuated to that one region where he is joined to her, and she can feel every nuance, every curve of his molded flesh inside her.

  He begins to fuck her . . . hard. It is as he promised. His hips slam against her buttocks, and his cock pistons in and out of her well-juiced vagina easily and lavishly. She can hear the moist, slick noises of their union, and it is all she can do to maintain her balance on the glass table.

  He grunts with each stroke, and she responds in kind. Her palms and knees are sliding forward, pushed with each roughshod pummel of his thrusts. He grabs her hips to steady her.

  Her moans become louder as his pumping intensifies. Oh, but he feels so good. She’s filled in every way she imagines possible – her erotic folds all expanded. His member goes in as deep as he can possibly go, right up to the hungry mouth of her roiling womb. It’s good, hard sex – the kind she is not used to getting often. Her lovers are mostly gentle, a little clumsy and trigger happy.

  One of his hands creeps down to the front of her sex.

  As he continues to impale her, his fingers grope for her clit. She moans as he begins an oscillatory massage, once again delving into her clefts and igniting her most intimate recesses. His cock strikes a special spot in her passage – one that sends her into a frenzy of enhanced stimulation.

  She whimpers, and he takes it as a signal to drive himself into her harder. And all the while, his fingers worry her tender nub of a clit. Harder and faster, and faster and harder, until she’s panting, and whimpering, and moaning, and crying out loud, and babbling “please please please please” over and over in some sort of senseless evocation.

  In her simulated darkness, there comes an explosion of color and non-color, of sight and sightlessness, of sound and no sound. She feels herself rising and falling and expanding and falling off the edge as her climax takes her. A hard surface slams against her breasts, and she understands that she has fallen on her belly, and his hands are buoying her hips up. The crest continues to float her up. And she feels a hot spurt flood her pussy, and it’s deep and oh so satisfying. It fills and fills her until she’s brimming, and spilling it over her rim, and she feels it trickling down her inner thighs and down, down, down to her knees.

  Oh, oh, oh, oh!

  He’s panting hard too. He squeezes her buttocks as his orgasm abates. His breathing slows, and he finally pulls his cock out of her wet, wet pussy.

  He slides his hands over her back and breasts. With a sharp tug, he whips her makeshift blindfold off.

  The ceiling light floods her eyes, and she squints in the sudden brightness.

  “You can go now,” he says. “Come see me first thing in the morning.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  She’s trembling, and so he helps her off the table. Her ass is smarting and his semen is still trickling out of her pussy. She can scarcely maintain her balance as she gets down on her feet. She almost topples over in her heels, but he grabs her waist in time.

  She’s face to face with him. Breasts to naked chest. She gazes into his shimmering blue eyes. His face is flushed and his lips are parted, and his brow is just as sweat-dripped as hers. A look of clear and sudden confusion graces his handsome features.

  She so badly wants to kiss him.

  Her hands go to the back of his head of their own volition. She’s pulling his head towards hers before he can react.

  Her lips graze his, but he pulls his head sharply back before she can deepen the kiss.

  “No,” he says. Then, more firmly, he repeats it. “No.”

  “But why?”

  His rejection sends a splinter of pain into her heart.

  “I don’t kiss. Let’s leave it at that.” His tone is flat.

  He pulls farther away, leaving her rudderless and bereft and just as confused. He turns his back on her and begins to gather his clothes. She feels that she has glimpsed a moment of rare vulnerability, something he has never revealed to anyone in the office.

  Something made him this way, she’s certain. He’s such a compelling enigma, and she can’t help but be drawn to him.

  “Put your clothes back on, Susan Chalmers,” he says. “I’ll keep those panties of yours as a souvenir.”

  “Yes, sir.” There’s nothing she can do but obey.

  Once they have both dressed, she turns to face him again.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

  “Yes, tomorrow.” He has recovered his full composure and he is his confident, magnetic self once again. “I enjoyed that, Susan Chalmers. We shall try something different tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Her bare buttocks flinch under the material of her skirt where it brushes her skin.

  She leaves, not trusting herself to look back.

  She knows her dreams tonight will be all of him.

  TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED FURTHER TO SUSAN AND CHANNING, PLEASE SEE:

  The ‘Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire’ series

  His Indecent Proposition

  His Indecent Demands

  His Indecent Desires

  His Indecent Secrets

  His Indecent Revelations

  Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire Box Set

  Dear Reader, thank you so much for reading this story.

  Please go to http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ to join my mailing list (for all three pen names: Aphrodite Hunt, Artemis Hunt or Dawn Steele), or email me at mercy740@hotmail.com . I will endeavor to update you whenever a romance is released.

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  The Inheritance: Anything He Craves

  (A Billionaire Erotic Romance)

  by

  Terry Towers

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  Chapter 1

  "I'm so sorry Angelica; my hands are tied on this."

  Angelica Lawson sighed as she looked across the desk at her Uncle Clayton, her grief-stricken blue eyes meeting his sympathetic brown ones. Uncle Clayton was the brother of her recently deceased father, Richard Lawson. He was now the executor of her late father's estate, which equalled a hefty sum of 2.3 billion dollars. Her mother had died after a yearlong battle with cancer two years ago and now she'd just lost her father in a fatal car crash. With both her parents dead, twenty-two-year-old Angelica was left alone with her Uncle Clayton being her only known living relative.

  "But w
ho is this... this... Logan Sinclair? And why in the name of God would he want me to get to know the man, much less live with him for a month!" It simply made no sense to her. No sense at all. And by the look on her uncle's face she doubted she was going to like the reasoning behind it.

  Clayton steepled his fingers under her chin and shook his head slowly. "I told Richard to tell you about Logan years ago. Begged him even. But for whatever reason he wanted to keep this a secret. Logan is, in a way, your brother... well, of sorts. But not really..." Clayton sighed. Opening the top drawer of his desk he pulled out a bottle of aspirin, opened it up, shook a couple into his hand and tossed them into his mouth, chasing them down with some water.

  "What!" She shook her head, her shoulder-length blonde hair fanning out around her. "No, Dad wouldn't have kept that from me and Mom."

  "Your mother knew, Angel." Clayton reached across the large oak desk and covered her hand with his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Richard was briefly married before he met and married your mother. He left his first wife for your mother actually."

  "But, I–" Her head was spinning. How could they have kept something this big from her? She had always thought their little family was close. She thought her parents respected and cared for her enough to tell her everything. It just made no sense. "So Logan is his son?"

  Clayton shrugged. "Yes and no. Richard's first wife couldn't conceive a child so they adopted Logan when he was five – which makes him twenty-eight now. But, Richard wanted a biological child; he kept saying he couldn't establish a bond with Logan. Not the kind of father-son bond he'd been wanting. So he met your mother, got a quick divorce and went on with his life."

  "I just can't..." Her father had always been such a great man, it seemed so unlike him. How could he have abandoned them like that? It seemed so cold. Completely unlike the Richard Lawson she called her father.

  "I'm sorry Angelica, but it's true. I think this is his way of trying to make up for what he felt was a selfish act. He didn't want you to be without a family, aside from me, and I think he wanted to make it up to Logan, in his own way."