by Deena Ward
By the second year of my marriage, I learned why my husband actually married me. It hadn’t been for the sake of our baby, or to provide for us; it had been because he wanted someone to take care of him.
I remember him storming around our one-room apartment, berating me for not making enough money for him and his band to go on the road. It was all my fault, he said. All my fault because I hadn’t listened to him, hadn’t done what needed to be done.
He wanted me to give up night school and become a stripper. Better money, he said. I didn’t need school, he insisted, because he would be a star soon, and you didn’t need a college degree to be the wife of a rich rock star. All I had to do was to sacrifice for him now, and I would be repaid later.
I was actually proud of myself for telling him no, that I wanted to stay in school, that I would stay in school no matter how much he yelled at me. I told him to get a day job to make the money to go on the road. He kicked the furniture and stomped out of the apartment. I didn’t see him for a week.
I find it hard to accept, now, that I was proud of telling him no. I’m disgusted with my past self that I allowed him back into my life, let him stumble back into my bed, drunk and stinking after a week on the streets doing God knew what. I should have thrown his ass out the door.
I could say no to his demand that I become a stripper. I couldn’t say no to the marriage.
So many wasted years, supporting a man I loathed, and who loathed me in return in spite of my efforts to appease him. Not his fault, though. My fault. I knew the truth by year two of my marriage. That it took me eight more years to finally unload him ... well, that was on me.
I desperately needed to shake the blame for those ten years of bad decisions and lost chances. I longed to banish the taint of my failed marriage, of failed dreams.
I was now twenty-nine years old. I had a college degree, a decent job, a place of my own, and a sense of urgency to claim a different destiny. Divorcing my husband was only the first step. I needed something more than a job and an apartment. I needed what I had never had.
A great love, a great passion. That was what I wanted. To float away in undeniable desire. Love could do that for me. And if not love, then passion alone could surely do, for now.
Two men offered me passion, Michael Weston and Gibson Reeves. Michael, tall and lean with the charm of a continental playboy. Gibson, who I still thought of as The Businessman, tall and muscular, with a handsome but inscrutable face.
Both of them, dominant males who saw something in me I hadn’t known was there. A sexual submissive, driven to be taken by their power. Me, into BDSM. Were they right about me? I didn’t know, for certain, but I wanted them to help me find out, was more than excited by the prospect of their special assistance.
Michael proposed five nights to explore my newly-discovered kink, and I had accepted. As for Gibson, I wasn’t certain what, precisely, he might have planned for me. After the fiasco of my “interview” at the Frederick Hotel, he simply said he wanted to see me again. For one night only? More than that? I didn’t know. But if things didn’t work out with Michael, it was likely I would be calling Gibson to find out exactly what he had in mind.
For now, my immediate future passion lay with Michael. And oh, how I anticipated seeing him again, although I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Michael would be making the rules.
My job would be to please him, to see if by pleasing him, I pleased myself. I did not take my job description lightly. I swore to myself that I would do my best.
We had completed our agreement to take mutual STD tests, and now were waiting for the results. The wait was excruciating. Time passed in slow motion.
I attribute this to the phenomenon of time passing normally until you decide there is something you want to do. At that point, the universe conspires to slow the rotation of the Earth, the solar system and the Milky Way itself, resulting in a few days of normal time stretching into the length of a month. Stephen Hawking has probably written something about this. If he hasn’t, he should.
I slept poorly, often awakened by sexy dreams starring Michael and sometimes Gibson. This might not have been a bad thing if I could have stayed asleep all the way through the grand finale of my dream. But no, every time I was getting ready to orgasm, I would wake up. It was frustrating beyond belief, and possibly another result of the universe conspiring against me.
Finally, after an age, our test results came in; we were both clean. I would see Michael that night.
I received an e-mail from him telling me to be ready at 7:30 that evening. He didn’t say what we would be doing, only told me to dress casually.
At precisely 7:30, he knocked on my door.
I took a last look around my apartment. Everything was tidy, though the place wasn’t much to look at. I had lived here for over nine months, but I never seemed to find the time or inclination to decorate. There was little in the apartment beyond the basic utilitarian needs of furniture to sit on and a bed to sleep in.
When I left my ex-husband, I didn’t take many belongings with me. I wanted to leave everything behind me, and I pretty much did exactly that with the exception of some old photos, my clothes and shoes, and general necessities like toiletries. Everything else could be replaced with something new, something not contaminated by my old life.
I rented the second apartment I viewed. I would have rented the first one I looked at if I hadn’t seen a cockroach in the kitchen. My current place was clean, free of bugs, had a new paint job, and was in my price range. Sold.
It wasn’t a large place, with only one bedroom, a small bathroom, and a large open-room design that was a combination living room, dining room and kitchen. As I glanced around the living room, I noted how bland it all was. I wished I had spent some time and money on it, put something into it that would show something about me.
My heart beat quickly when I opened the door to Michael. He looked wonderful, even better than I remembered. His shiny black hair was pushed behind his ears and curled at the ends right above his shoulders. He wore a blue silky shirt and a tight pair of faded jeans. He smelled of musk and the outdoors.
He was tall and made my apartment seem smaller than normal.
He smiled at me and said hello. He held my hands and kissed me gently on the lips. I kissed him back, a little shyly, then gestured him into the room and shut the door behind him. I squirmed a bit when he looked around the room, but he made no comment on the place.
He said, “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks. You look great, too.”
He frowned. “It won’t do, you know.”
“What won’t do?” I asked.
“The pants you’re wearing. They’re forbidden, I’m afraid.”
“Do you have a grudge against pants? I thought these were pretty nice ones.”
He tsk-tsked me, then said, “Right out of the gate and you’ve already broken a big rule. I was afraid, after our first time, that you might be a difficult one. You’ll have to be punished, of course.”
“That’s not fair. You never told me not to wear pants. Anyway, you’re wearing jeans, so what’s the big deal?”
He chuckled, and said, “I’m teasing you. I just thought you looked pale, and now there’s some color in your cheeks.”
“I think you like keeping me off-footed.”
“Off-footed. I’ve never heard that one.”
“I may have just made it up.”
“Then I must be making you nervous.”
I thought, nervous maybe, but most likely, you’re making me brain dead, which is what happened to me the last time I was with you.
I changed the subject and asked, “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you. Those pants actually are going to have to go, you know. From here on out, you don’t wear pants when you’re with me, unless I specifically tell you to.”
To think that I had been worried he might be critical of my apartment, when he only had eyes for my apparel. I s
aid, a tad snippy, “Okay, I guess. I can change into a skirt if you’d like that better.”
Two minutes and he’d already annoyed me. It was difficult to stay annoyed, though, seeing the sexy way he was looking at me.
He said, “One idea I’d like you to become accustomed to is that all your holes belong to me, and I should be able to access them as easily as possible. Pants make access difficult, therefore, no pants.”
“My holes,” I said.
“Exactly. Your mouth, your pussy, your asshole. They’re all mine.”
I wondered how long it would be before I wasn’t surprised by his bluntness. It was something of a struggle to keep up.
I said, “I see. What about my nose and ears? Those have holes.”
“Those are mine, too, but I’m not likely to fuck them.”
“Ugh.”
“Your disgust doesn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of turns me on.”
“What about my breasts? They aren’t holes, so are they mine?”
“Oh no,” he said, passing a wolfish gaze over my chest. “Those are definitely mine, too.”
“Do any of my body parts still belong to me? How about my wrist? I’m kind of partial to it.”
He took me by the arm and raised my wrist for a light kiss. “Never. It’s mine. Everything is mine.”
Tingles spread up my arm from where his lips touched my skin. “Funny. I don’t remember putting myself up for sale.”
“Scandalous! You aren’t for sale. You’ve given yourself to me, and I’ve happily accepted.” He looked into my eyes. “By agreeing to be my sub, you’re allowing me to do as I please with your lovely person. Yes, I know, there are limits, and I’ll respect yours as they come up. But still, you’re all mine.”
Michael’s light blue eyes seemed to darken when he spoke of owning me. I couldn’t look away. I said, “I suppose we should talk about those limits.”
“There’ll be time for that later. Right now, I want you to take off those pants.”
“Right now? Right here?”
“Yes, right now. Take them off.”
“You’re just saying that to get me off-footed again.”
He said, “Not true. I really want you to take your pants off.”
“It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think? I mean, you just got here and all.”
“Maybe it’s a test.”
A test. Of my obedience? I had sworn to myself, going into this thing, that I would approach the situation seriously and honestly, that I wouldn’t back away from anything that wasn’t truly dire. This wasn’t dire. Far from it. In fact, his command had unloosed more than a few zippy twinges down low in my belly.
I took a deep breath and, savoring a moment of feeling super daring, slipped off my shoes and pulled off my pants, tossing the pants onto a nearby chair.
Michael approached me then reached between my legs and slipped his fingers under my panties and into my slit. His fingers were warm and electric on my flesh. Gulp.
His fingers slid easily into my folds and I realized I was already damp. I wasn’t surprised by it. I had been in a half-state of arousal ever since I told him I wanted to see him again.
Michael smiled and removed his hand. He said, “I had a certain plan in mind for us this evening. But now that I’m here, I think an adjustment might be required.”
He continued, “You say this is sudden, but to me, I feel like it’s been forever. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I met you was fuck you senseless. Besides, I don’t want to risk you breaking the rules and ruining everything again. Guess I’m going to have to fuck you right now.”
My heart gave a loud thud in my chest.
He began unbuttoning my shirt. “I seem to recall you wanting me to fuck you.”
I winced at him recalling the embarrassing way our first time together had ended. Please, I thought, don’t piss me off now. Or worse, humiliate me.
He tossed my shirt on the chair, then he turned me around and undid the fastenings on my bra. He said, “I’ve thought of that so many times since I last saw you. And I’ve regretted that I couldn’t grant your wish.”
He slipped my bra off my shoulders then sent it flying away to lie with my other clothes. He turned me back around to face him, then tugged my panties down to my knees. In a few seconds, I was standing naked before him. I shivered, but not from cold.
“I love your body,” he said. Then he removed his shirt.
I was pretty fond of his body, too, and reached out to touch his sculpted chest. He pushed my hand away.
“No, you don’t touch unless I tell you to,” he said. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then removed his jeans and underwear. “You have to earn that privilege.”
We stood there, looking at one another, naked. His cock stood out stiff and proud. My breath grew ragged, and I noticed Michael’s, too, was getting harsher.
“Tell me again,” he said, “that you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to fuck me.” And I definitely meant it.
“Call me Master,” he demanded. “Say, I want you to fuck me, please, Master.”
Don’t miss The Playboy’s Proposition
The Power to Please, Book 2
Coming in March 2013
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For Hedon
Thank you ... for everything
About the Author
From a young age, Deena Ward has believed she was meant to be an author. She thinks there could be nothing finer than having a job that demands she spend hours and hours of every day in worlds of her own creation.
She lives in the midwest with her partner and a rowdy, plump beagle.
Connect with Deena Ward
Web site: www.deenaward.com
Twitter: @deenawardauthor
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The Businessman’s Tie, Book 1 of The Power to Please
Copyright © 2013 Deena Ward
All rights reserved
Cover Image Copyright © Warren Goldswain, 2013 Used under license from Shutterstock.com
This e-book is intended for the use of the sole purchaser only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, stored or distributed in any form without prior written permission of the copyright holder.
This e-book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or people, is purely coincidental.
This book contains scenes of a graphic, sexual nature and is intended for mature audiences only. Please purchase and read only if it is legal for you to do so.
The best sex is always safe, sane and consensual.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Excerpt from The Playboy’s Proposition
Dedication
About the Author
Web Site and Social Media
Copyright
