The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book One)

by Deena Ward

  How long had it been since anyone had been inside me? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. Not now.

  He slid his fingers in and out of me. Slowly, he increased the force until he was pumping his fingers into me. Pumping, pumping. Deliberately and forcefully, he pounded his fingers into my pussy. Those fingers felt so large and long in my pussy, and I pushed against him.

  Straining to get closer, I ground myself into his fist as he finger-fucked me. He began pumping into me harder, pounding me, really, the impact becoming increasingly painful. I stopped straining toward him. And yet the pleasure, God, the pleasure. It grew too.

  Pounding me, pounding me. Instinctively I tried to shrink away. Pound. Thrust. Deliberate. Rhythmic. Harder, ever harder. Pleasure and pain. I wanted it. I didn’t want it. His fingers inside me. Then gone. Then pounding. Forceful. Distinct. I grunted. Mmph. Pound. Mmph. Pound.

  Finally, I had shrunk away from him so far that I was back to standing flush against the wall, my face once more pressed up against the paneling. But the pounding didn’t stop. Mmph! Pound. And then I couldn’t stop myself -- I tried to close my legs around his hand.

  A big mistake on my part, I quickly discovered.

  The Businessman immediately stopped. Just like that. He made a clipped sound of disgust and quick like a flash of lightening, he smacked my ass three times. Smack! Smack! Smack! Hard as hell. Not playful. Not fun. Hard as hell. And it hurt like hell. I cried out. What was this?

  His voice was low, but I could clearly hear it over the distant noises from the bar. He said, “Resume the pose.”

  I thought, “What?” I was confused and befuddled from desire and heat and pain. I wasn’t given any time to think about it.

  Smack! Smack! Smack! He struck my ass again. I cried out again and started pulling on the restraining tie.

  “Stop,” he said.

  And oddly enough, I did.

  He continued, “Either you resume the pose immediately or I will stop doing this.” He slid his hand between my closed legs and slipped his fingers into my pussy. His fingers began some kind of dance in there and it made me groan.

  “Decide now, or we’re done,” he told me.

  His fingers were magical things inside me, making me not care about the pain of the spanking, or anything really, except that he not stop. It became clear what I needed to do, and all I could do was wonder that I had ever been confused.

  So I resumed the pose, of course. Whatever he wanted. As long as he didn’t stop.

  He twisted his fingers around inside me, making me squirm. With his other hand, he slowly rubbed my ass cheeks, soothing the fiery results of his swats. I moaned.

  The building heat from the spanking and his rubbing added to the sensuality of what he was doing inside me. What was he doing anyway? I had never felt anything like this. I moved my hips in rhythm with his clever fingers, a need building inside of me for more, more. Something more. My pussy still ached from his pounding, and my ass still burned from his spanking, but those fingers of his ... oh well, those fingers working and working. Mmm. There was no getting enough of it. I closed my eyes and felt it all.

  His voice came through to me, seemingly from a distance, and yet close all at the same time. “You have a beautiful ass,” he said. “I would imagine anyone walking down that hall over there would love to see it. Don’t you think?”

  I groaned. Oh God. The hall. My naked ass and pussy. Anyone could see. But more than that -- HE was seeing me. I didn’t know. I couldn’t think.

  He said, “Shall I fuck you now?”

  This, I did know. I panted and answered a breathy “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  I opened my eyes. “Yes I want you to fuck me,” I said shamelessly.

  He stopped moving his fingers, though he left them inside me. Then he stopped rubbing my ass. I held my breath. Now he would pull out his dick and ram it into me. That’s what I wanted and needed so very badly. I needed him to be in me, to fill me.

  He leaned forward and said in a near whisper, “You might be a very foolish young woman.”

  I couldn’t think much about this, though I had no doubt he was right. I had no doubt he was right about anything and everything, as long as his fingers would start moving again, or he would fuck me. Whatever. Was that foolish?

  He continued, “You stepped into a dark hall with a stranger, in a noisy bar where it’s unlikely anyone would hear you if you screamed.”

  I nodded. He was right. That was very stupid of me. But I really couldn’t be bothered by that for long, not when his other hand had just slipped around my hip and found its way to my clitoris. He began to rub it gently. Oh God. Tingles and heat. And growing pressure.

  He shifted a bit so I could see his face, see into his dark, dark eyes. “But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt tonight,” he said, “and assume this isn’t something you would normally do.” His fingers began to twitch again inside me.

  He said, clearly and distinctly, as if he wanted to make sure I registered each and every word, “I’m going to believe that you saw what I did.”

  I moaned and pushed against him, rolling my hips. I wasn’t certain what he meant. The world had become a place of pure sensation. His fingers. His magical fingers. And when would he fuck me? I didn’t want him to stop what he was doing, but at the same time, I was ready for him. I wanted it.

  “Please fuck me,” I said. The blatant content and pleading tone would surprise me when I remembered it later.

  His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at me, then he smiled a wicked smile.

  “You don’t get what you want,” he said. “I get what I want.”

  And with that, he pulled out of me and began to spank me again, this time on my pussy. Smack! A sharp fiery pain. If I started to pull away, he pulled me back and smacked harder. Smack! On my ass. I fought my instinct to pull away, and did my best to hold the pose he had wanted before.

  Then his fingers were inside me again. And he resumed rubbing my clit in the most delicious way. Circling my little nub around and around. And his fingers inside me, doing their special dance.

  He did none of this quickly, or in a rushed frenzy. Far from it, in fact. Each action was measured and considered. Even when it began to change, everything was done in a measured way. He pulled his fingers out of me and slapped my pussy. Then he shoved his fingers into me as he had done before. Pound. Pound. Pound. Was he twisting his hand? A deliberate one, two, three. Then a withdrawal, and a fierce blow to my pussy or my ass.

  Pound, pound, pound. The staccato burst of a stinging slap to my pussy. And all the while he teased my clit with feather touches and circles and flicks. I could have come at any moment. The sensations had nearly peaked in my lower belly, the tightness ready to release, but each time I was close, he would change up the rhythm somehow or change the pressure, or whatever it was he was doing, and the imminent need to come would decrease. Then he would begin building me up again.

  Each smack of my pussy and ass was distinct. Each thrust into me done with a controlled fierceness. I felt each act individually, even as they bled into the sensations of the whole.

  He smacked my ass and pussy, and pounded me until tears began to run down my face and I was gasping for air. Fingers in me. Fingers out. Pinches. Flicks. Spanks. I wanted to get away but there was no way I could or would. I wanted the release. He was driving me to the point that I was rising to meet him as he pumped into me. Please, please. I may have even said the words. And then ...

  I came. I came hard and total. My body rocked from it. I shuddered as the orgasm rolled through me. The Businessman found some spot inside me and rubbed it hard and flicked it as I came. I went to an even higher level. The orgasm was shattering and lasted longer than I had known was possible. The pleasure of it. God. It was nearly too much, nearly more than I knew how to deal with.

  As my orgasm slowly died away, The Businessman removed his fingers and cupped my pussy in his hand, holding me, most likely fee
ling the twitches of my clit and pussy as my orgasm subsided. A pulse. And then another. Then longer until the next.

  When it passed at last, The Businessman stopped holding my pussy, and I slumped against the wall. I no longer gasped for air, but I was still breathing fairly hard and my heartbeat had yet to return to normal. From time to time, little aftershocks skittered over my body, leaving goosebumps in their passing.

  I was only vaguely aware of The Businessman pulling my skirt out of the waistband and wiping his fingers on the inside of the fabric. The skirt fell against the back of my thighs. My legs felt shaky and quivery.

  He reached out and grabbed the hair at the back of my head and tilted my head up enough to look at him looming over me.

  I whispered, “Who are you?”

  “You know who I am ... and I know you. We knew the instant our eyes met,” he said.

  I knew that he was right in one respect, that I had felt something, something powerful when I first saw him. But I didn’t know what it was, other than desire. Was it something more? What did he mean when he said I know him? Desire is not knowledge ... is it? I gulped hard. His eyes were so intense and black.

  He whispered in a way that was almost sinister, “Our kind will always find one another.”

  The way he said it. The fierce look in his eyes, the stern line of his lips. So powerful.

  I thought, now he will take me, and I will fly apart in this dark hall in this loud bar. He will throw me on the dirty floor, and I won’t care that it’s dirty. In fact, I’ll like that it’s filthy.

  He’ll take me from behind and shove his dick into me and fuck me until I beg for mercy. And I ... will fly ... apart.

  Except none of that happened. He didn’t take me.

  The intensity left his face as if it had never been there. Had I only imagined it? No, I hadn’t imagined it, but it was gone nonetheless, replaced by a smooth calmness. He gave me a small smile.

  He untied my hands, smoothed out my clothes and pushed my hair into some sort of order. He stuck my purse under my arm.

  He took me by the hand and led me back into the main hallway then to the door of the ladies restroom. I followed along like some silly, brainless thing.

  “You should clean yourself up,” he said. “Your girlfriends will be getting worried about you.”

  He leaned down and gave me a strangely chaste kiss on the lips.

  He smiled and said, “It was a pleasure,” then he opened the door of the restroom and gently nudged me inside. The door closed and he was gone.

  I was alone.

  I thought, “My name is Nonnie Crawford. And yours?”

  Chapter 2

  I sat in one of the stalls in the restroom trying to put myself into some sort of order. I wondered how long I had been in that shadowy corridor. I couldn’t be certain, but I was sure that it had been long enough for my friends to become worried about me.

  Where were they, anyway? I could have been robbed and stabbed by now, or dragged off through some back door and raped and killed out in the back lot, my body left lifeless and crumpled next to a smelly dumpster.

  When I go to a bar with friends, I expect them to look after me. They should have been running through the bar calling my name, frantic and insistent that everyone help look. So where were they? I wanted to stalk out into the bar and chew them out for putting me in danger.

  I stood up to go do just that ... but I stopped, and sat back down. I wasn’t really angry at my friends. I was angry at myself. They hadn’t put me in danger; I had managed that all on my own. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had I been thinking?

  I hadn’t been thinking. I had been acting on some bizarre compulsion. It had been an anomaly, an erotically-fueled error of judgment. It was simple luck that I had survived no worse for the wear, the only repercussions being a sore bottom ... and the loss of a pair of panties.

  I groaned. God, I had no panties. I wanted to go home and climb into my bed and sleep the sleep of the stupid and wicked for a week.

  I sighed and went to the mirror. I expected to see some smeared and smudged Smoking Gun mugshot looking back at me. But no, it wasn’t too bad. Tear tracks on my cheeks were the most obvious evidence of my encounter. It was nothing a little water and some mascara and lipstick couldn’t fix. By the time I completed my repairs, the only reminder on my face was the heightened color of my cheeks.

  I was thoroughly aware of my underwear problem when I left the restroom, and couldn’t resist holding one of my hands against the side of my skirt. Just in case, I thought. It was nothing more than a gesture, but it made me feel better.

  I didn’t look at The Businessman as I passed by him, though I could see from the corner of my eye that he had resumed his former position and was chatting with the same older man as before. I held my gaze to the front, seeking out the safety of the table where I had left my friends.

  As soon as I saw them, I knew why they hadn’t come to find me -- two men had joined our table. Of course. They probably had no idea how long I’d been gone. Too busy flirting.

  I sat down to a flurry of introductions and smiles and comments of how they were starting to get worried about me and was I okay and so on and so forth. I gave all the right answers. And then it turned out that the two men had a couple more friends who managed to squeeze in around the table, bringing more drinks for everyone. Oh boy. This was too much. I accepted the drink, though. I needed it.

  I played the game as best I could and hoped to cover my distraction. I snuck an occasional glance toward The Businessman, but never caught his eye.

  It struck me as bizarre that I knew the name of the man sitting next to me, Kevin, but that I didn’t know the name of the man standing across the bar, the man who had ripped my panties to shreds and done things to me that made sitting in my chair more than a bit uncomfortable. Why had he not told me his name? Rude. Disdainful. As if I wasn’t worthy of knowing his name. As if my name was not worth knowing.

  I began to consider walking over to him and demanding he tell me his name. And then I would tell him mine. I had nearly worked up the courage when I looked his way again and saw he was gone. I scanned the bar. He wasn’t there. Wait. There he was. He was leaving the bar with his friend. I could have caught him still, I thought, as the door closed behind him. But I didn’t.

  I stayed put and half-listened to Kevin tell me about some concert he had attended.

  Perhaps it was best that The Businessman go.

  The remainder of the evening dragged on until I had to plead a headache to get my friends to take me home. They were jolly on the drive, having met new men, exchanged phone numbers and done all the things they had hoped to do at the beginning of the evening; in other words, they had the dates that might fill future Friday nights.

  I made it into my apartment without a skirt catastrophe. I showered then pulled on a t-shirt and climbed into bed. I was asleep within moments.

  I slept hard and dreamless until nearly noon the next day, which thankfully was Saturday. When I first woke up, I didn’t think about what I had done the night before. I just did what I normally do in the mornings, a routine which begins with coffee.

  I didn’t think about anything at all until I sat down at the kitchen table to drink my coffee. Ouch. Still a bit sore. From ... oh yeah, that’s right. I was still sore from letting a stranger have his way with me in a dirty back hallway. I closed my eyes and groaned. Ugh.

  The rest of my day proceeded in pretty much the same fashion. I would keep myself busy and sidetracked and then I would remember and begin the self-chastisement, and then I would do something so I’d forget, and repeat, and repeat.

  I had no plans for the evening apart from watching a movie I had rented earlier in the week. While watching the movie, memories of what happened in that corridor kept popping into my head. Eventually, I gave up and turned off the movie. I sat there, thinking.

  I am a powerful woman. I left my husband mostly because he was weak and I no longer wanted his weakness
in my life. I had determined that I did not owe him anything anymore, that it was not my mission in life to prop him up and do for him what he was too weak-willed to do for himself.

  For more than 10 years I had propped up the dying love of a pair of high school sweethearts who had foolishly married right after graduation. I had always been the sturdy support while he was the dreamer. He dreamed and I worked. I studied and barely made it through college, while he dreamed some more. I found a new job that paid our bills, while his dreams faded and I encouraged him to keep them alive.

  I remember days without end of him lying on the couch. Had he been drinking? Probably. It didn’t matter, really. It didn’t sustain him.

  I sustained him. He drank my power as if he deserved it, as if I owed it to him. He took it and left me with nothing for myself. When I truly understood this, I left him. And we were broken apart forever.

  I wanted more for myself. I wanted everything.

  Last night, only a few hours after the declaration of my freedom became legal and official, I was supposed to be beginning this new life where I claimed myself for me. My power belonged to me and I would give it away to no one.

  And then, I met the eyes of a stranger. I looked at him and with no thought at all, I allowed him to diddle me in a dirty hallway. He used me, pawed me, fingered me, then left me without telling me his name. Without asking for mine. He seized my power from me with appalling ease, my power to say no, to tell him that was not who I am.

  I was not some easy slut who allowed anyone with a penis to do as they pleased with her body. But The Businessman did as he pleased. And I let him. It was raunchy and filthy and ...

  It was the most erotic encounter of my life.

  I sat perfectly still. There was the truth. It was the most erotic moment of my life.

  For all the wrong I had done the night before, there was a rightness there, too. The clench in my belly when he posed me for his enjoyment. The fear and anticipation of a witness peeking at me from the main hall. The biting restraint of his tie wrapped around my wrists. The sting of a slap. His hands sliding over my body, inside my body.