by Chloe Cox
The humiliation had been excruciating. Somehow Stella had been supremely rejectable, even in a French maid’s outfit and fuck-me heels.
But now, watching these women serve drinks in their tight tank tops with the nipples cut out, and their short skirts and garters, Stella thought back on how sexy she’d found the idea of serving her man. Maybe not necessarily Robert, specifically, not in retrospect, but…her man. That’s why she’d rented the maid’s outfit, and not the nurse’s. She was getting a little excited just watching the scene over there.
“Ah,” the Sheikh said.
You have got to be kidding me, Stella thought, reddening. Does he really, legitimately read minds? She squirmed a little against his grip, but that did not help. It only made her think about his touch, and how, only minutes ago, he’d nearly made her come with just his fingers and a slight pull on her hair.
And then told her he wouldn’t let her come until he commanded it.
Stella’s skin went hot. Why did the idea of that drive her wild?
“Stella, do not retreat into your thoughts,” the Sheikh said into her ear, squeezing her to him with a delightful pressure. “I don’t think you have looked hard enough. Look at the table, Stella.”
One of the servant girls stepped aside, and Stella looked.
Oh. My. God.
The table wasn’t a table. It was a naked woman, lying on top of a table, covered in sushi. The businessmen ate off of her as though she weren’t even a person, as though her body were just part of the meal. Whoever she was, she was naked, in public, on display, like an object, a possession.
Like I’m his possession, Stella thought, and immediately her pussy began to pulse, angry for attention.
“It’s called nyotaimori,” the Sheikh said. Stella could feel his warm breath, so close to her face, and his hands on her chin, still gentle. She wished he’d let his hands roam a little further, and was instantly ashamed of herself.
“I see that you have a reaction to this, Stella,” the Sheikh said. “What is it that excites you?”
“I don’t know if I’m excited,” Stella lied. “She’s just…in public…”
Stella could swear she felt him smile. Something in his body changed. She was suddenly even more aware of it, next to hers, as though it exerted a real, physical force on her. Sheikh Bashir, she thought, physical miracle.
“What do you find amusing, Stella?”
“Nothing.”
“Get up out of the booth,” he said, and suddenly he was using that tone. That tone that brooked no disobedience. Stella froze for a moment while her brain realigned and reminded her of what she had agreed to. Slowly, she scooted her way out of the booth, sad to be leaving the warmth of Sheikh Bashir’s body behind. She stood and turned to face him, inexplicably contrite. I haven’t even done anything wrong, she thought. What the hell is happening to me?
The sight of Sheikh Bashir stilled all her thoughts. Somehow, he was imposing even while seated.
And those eyes.
“Strip,” he said.
What?
Stella shook her head, glancing at the other occupants of the Black Room. They’d notice if she just took her clothes off. This wasn’t like before, in the privacy of a room. Surely he didn’t mean…
His face said that he did.
“As I guessed, Stella, you have both an attraction and repulsion to revealing yourself in public. Believe me when I say that we will address this in the future. But for right now,” he said as he slipped out of the booth and stood far above her, “you have disobeyed a direct order, as I thought you would. And so it is time to see how you react to discipline.”
CHAPTER 6
Stella gulped. Discipline. That word again. She had kind of just dismissed it as a joke, but the Sheikh didn’t appear to be joking at all.
“Listen,” she said. “I don’t know if this is really…”
“You signed the contract,” he said. Without even looking at her, he grabbed her wrist and began walking towards the various pieces of equipment at their end of the room.
“I’m an adult!” she said, and tried to twist from his grip.
The Sheikh turned. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look upset. He only looked…completely certain.
He said, “You are an adult who signed a contract.”
And he pulled her to him, twisting her arm behind her back and rendering her immobile. Then he fixed her with that stare again, and Stella couldn’t look away. It would have felt as though she were admitting her own inconstancy, her own inability to control herself, to even know herself. Somehow that was worse than whatever he had planned. And somehow, that look, those eyes, told her that he knew it, too.
And the plain fact was, she had her safeword. So why didn’t she want to use it?
“Do I have to throw you over my shoulder like a petulant child, Stella?” he asked.
She grit her teeth. “No, Sheikh,” she said. “I signed a contract.”
Stella closed her eyes. It was almost worse, in a way, than if he’d dragged her, kicking and screaming. He hadn’t had to. He’d simply pointed out that he already had a deeper control over her.
“Open your eyes, Stella.”
She did. In front of her was a two tiered padded bench of sorts. To her left was a table, laid out with various instruments. A flogger. A cane. Something else that looked horrendous. She blanched.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Even the idea…
Sheikh Bashir gripped her chin again, and examined her face.
“Tell me what it is that you think you object to,” he said.
“Pain,” she blurted out. “I don’t…you shouldn’t inflict pain on other human beings. It’s not right. There’s already so much pain in the world…”
Stella’s eyes began to swell with tears, and she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry. I must look like a two year old, she thought, and it was infuriating. Why cry? Why would this make her cry? What right did she have to be disappointed in someone she’d known for less than a day?
“Look at me, Stella,” he commanded. She forced herself to comply. Sheikh Bashir’s own eyes were soft, and seemed…sad? Now what the hell was going on?
“It cannot surprise you to learn that some people derive pleasure from certain kinds of controlled pain,” he said.
“I know,” Stella said, sniffling. “I don’t understand it, but I know.”
“But you are not one of them,” he added.
“No.”
“There are many iterations of the dynamic between Dominant and submissive, Stella. Some Dominants adhere to a form of discipline that involves genuine unpleasantness for their submissives. I take the view that if such measures are necessary, the relationship is already a failure. To me, discipline is another way to teach, and to learn. And to grow closer.”
He let those words hang in the air between them. Stella couldn’t be sure if they were meant for her, or if he spoke to some woman from his past. We’re all haunted by the ghosts of past relationships, aren’t we?
And then: Wait, grow closer? With me?
Sheikh Bashir stroked her cheek, his eyes softening. “I would never hurt you, Stella, or any other woman who did not want to be hurt. It is important to me that you know that.”
“Ok,” Stella managed. “Thank you.”
“Good,” he said, and stepped back. “Now bend over the bench.”
Stella actually imagined a record scratching. What had they just been talking about? She tried to step back, but Sheikh Bashir caught her wrist.
“You must decide if you trust me, Stella Spencer. As my submissive, you will bend over this bench, and you will be disciplined. Otherwise you will leave, and our contract will be terminated.”
Stella felt totally unmoored, untethered, battered about. It was ludicrous. All of this was just absurd. She had no frame of reference for situations like this, no idea what the rules were for these kinds of relationships. She looked at Sheikh Bashir’s patient and i
mmovable face, and it looked like it contained the whole world. She realized: I don’t have any idea what to do all the time anyway. She hadn’t felt like she could rely on her perceptions of people or relationships since Robert had shown her how wrong she could be about both. It was like the Sheikh only pointed out to her what her life was already like, as though, so far, every interaction with him was simply life with the volume turned way up, and with all the boring bits taken out.
Had she felt able to trust any one else since the divorce? Had she even considered the possibility? Of course she hadn’t. And that seemed a terrible way to go through life.
Slowly, Stella nodded. Her feet seemed to move forward of their own accord. Her arms gripped the edge of the upper tier of the bench, and she carefully placed each knee, one and then the other, on the lower tier.
And then she bent over, resting her stomach on the upper tier, her breasts pushed forward and her eyes facing forward. She had a perfect view of the rest of the room. She would know if anyone looked back and saw her.
“Good girl,” she heard the Sheikh say.
He placed his hand on the back of her neck, slipping it under her hair, and that touch made all the difference. Stella focused on the feel of his warm, rough hand as he slid it down her back, over her hip, and onto her ass, and on the fire that he left in his wake. She’d never been this responsive with anyone.
“Stella, I have made a few observations,” the Sheikh said, his unmoving hand still drawing all her attention. “You have an unquiet mind in times of stress. You are insecure. You are so preoccupied with these insecurities that I suspect it is difficult for you to feel ‘in the moment.’ And that,” he continued, “is unfortunate.”
Now the hand moved down the sensitive underside of her thigh until it reached the hem of her tight dress.
“Because I demand your full attention, Stella,” he said, and began to pull her dress up.
She may have squeaked. Her naked ass was exposed to the air now, and her pussy, too. Stella gripped the end of the bench as if her life depended on it, and prayed the men on the other side of the room wouldn’t look up.
Is this really happening? she thought. Is he really going to—
He spanked her. Hard.
The blow echoed up and down her body, obliterating all thought, all feeling, all sensation apart from where his hand connected with her ass. That it had really happened was stunning, a sideways shove that pushed her completely out of the realm of the ordinary world and forced her to take every new stimulation on its own terms.
And then he did it again. She felt his open palm cup her ass, heard the smack of flesh against flesh. Briefly she wondered whether any of the businessmen, busy with their debauched meal, might hear, might care to look up, but before her mind could follow that thought down a trail of what-ifs and worry, he spanked her again.
“What did you do wrong, Stella?” he asked, and smacked her on the other cheek.
“I…”
“I asked you a direct question.” His hand connected again, this time lower, where her cheeks joined. The vibrations went straight through her pussy, and she felt her thighs shake.
“I disobeyed an order,” Stella gasped.
He hit her again. She was beginning to feel light all over, as though teased with thousands of feathers, and she was having trouble focusing on anything other than the pulsing ache that gathered around her pussy.
“Will you repeat that mistake?”
She shook her head. It was not enough. “Perhaps I need to call those gentleman in the booth to act as witnesses,” he said. “Perhaps I should invite them to take a turn?”
She startled, and reflexively tried to push herself off the bench, but he pushed her back down and held her there. She whimpered, and one large hand took hold of her shoulder while the other delivering a loud smack against her ass before burying two fingers in her pussy.
“No, Stella,” he whispered in her ear. “That is my prerogative, if I wish.” His fingers swirled slowly inside her, building up that pressure. She wanted to come so badly, and yet, if she did, she’d have disobeyed another order, and who knew what he would do then.
“Please,” she panted.
“I think you care entirely too much about what other people think, Stella,” the Sheikh said. “But that is something I can use. And I will. But not yet.”
And suddenly, he was gone. Stella looked wildly over her shoulder; he was already walking toward what she guessed was the entrance, with the unstated implication that she was to follow him. The sudden shift left no room for thought. Hastily she pushed her dress down and trotted after him, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while her body still burned and her ass still stung.
“Sheikh,” she began, and then realized she didn’t even know what questions to ask. She was too disoriented. The pulsing in her core hadn’t yet dissipated, and thinking about anything else was like trying to talk over a fire alarm. Every thought led back to how she might get him to let her come.
He grabbed her hand, and gave it a squeeze. In the dim light she could see that he was smiling.
“I know what I need to know for now, Stella Spencer,” he said, still striding ahead of her. He led her directly to the elevator bank, and pressed the button.
What? What does he know? What could he possibly have discovered?
“Now where are we going?” she asked. She pawed at the hem of her dress with her free hand, just to give herself something to do. The Sheikh’s shoulders, barely contained in that fine suit, were incredibly distracting.
Sheikh Bashir did not deign to answer her, but instead simply pulled her in after him as the elevator doors opened. Stella stumbled, crashing into his chest.
That didn’t help.
She stayed there, breathing in his exotic cologne and his own spicy scent, feeling the heat of his chest on her cheek. Maybe if she asked very nicely, he might let her come…
“Stella,” he said.
“Mmm?”
“The door has opened.”
He peeled her off his chest, and this time put his arm around her waist to guide her out of the elevator. They were on the floor just below Club Volare, where the luxury suites were located. As they approached one large, expensive looking door, Stella’s brain finally caught up with the rest of her: this was a hotel suite. Men only brought women to hotel suites for one reason. This was it. She was about to get her wish.
Can I really do this?
It wasn’t what she’d expected to think. She’d been so dazed by what had happened in the Black Room, by Sheikh Bashir’s uncanny perceptions, by the completely unexpected way she’d responded to, well, spanking. By the way she simply responded to him. But now the reality of the situation, and all the attendant expectations, crowded in on her. She would technically be paid for sex. Put whatever sort of gloss you want on it, but that’s what was about to happen.
And she hadn’t been with anyone since her husband. Her ex-husband. Not since she’d been humiliated and left, not since she’d finally become convinced that she must just be crap in bed, not since…
Oh God, she thought, what if I really am terrible? What if he decides I’m just not worth it?
Stella fought the urge to run away as Sheikh Bashir punched in an access code and the door swung silently open. She stared rigidly ahead as he led her into the beautiful room, too anxious to even look at the Sheikh.
I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t—
“Stella,” Sheikh Bashir said, and gently pulled her into another kiss.
It was even better than the first one. Softer and sweeter at first, as though he really was just trying to calm her, until he began to lose himself in it. Stella felt the lust in him, the hunger—hunger for her—and with gratitude she let go of all those terrible thoughts and replaced them with one word: yes.
But Sheikh Bashir pulled away. “Not yet, Stella,” he said. “Remember my rules. You will submit, and you will beg.”
A little electric thri
ll ran straight through her. She was almost prepared to beg now. And yet, what could further submission mean? The Sheikh only smiled, and dragged his hand up the side of her body to give her nipple a little pinch.
“’Til tomorrow, Stella,” he said.
And just like that, he left her alone in the richest room she’d ever seen in her life.
Stella would have been embarrassed to admit how long she stood there in the foyer of her gorgeous suite with the empty look of a lobotomy patient. It took a while to return to normal levels of functioning, but when she finally did, she found everything had been provided for. There were clothes in the closets, food in the refrigerator, wine in the…well, it looked like a wine closet. A temperature controlled wine closet.
There were towels in the marble bath.
Stella did a full inventory, but eventually had to admit three things: no matter what she did, she wasn’t going to get the Sheikh out of her mind, her body wasn’t going to stop telling her to get an orgasm any way she could, and that marble bath was just too inviting to pass up.
She had every intention of masturbating in that bath. And yet, to her frustration, and with no small amount of wonder, she found that she couldn’t.
The incredible truth was that she didn’t want to disobey Sheikh Bashir al Aziz bin Said. Stella Spencer wouldn’t come until he commanded it.
CHAPTER 7
She was truly a rare find.
Bashir hadn’t had this much fun with a woman since Cambridge, only this time, he was aware of the woman’s true intentions. With no surprises waiting in the wings, he was free to simply enjoy her. And Stella Spencer was a continual source of joy. It was as though she were incapable of dishonesty or calculation, and putting a surprised smile on her face was quickly becoming Bashir’s favorite pastime.
He wished he could have stayed the previous night, to see her reaction to the room and all the little comforts he’d requested, but Bashir was only human. If he’d stayed, he would have spent all night inside her, but it wouldn’t have been the quite the experience he knew it could be for either of them. Some things took time and preparation.
