Doris O'Connor

by Riding Her Tiger

  Sheesh, what was he? The big bad wolf? She had to suppress a giggle. Did that make her Little Red Riding Hood in her itty bitty little red dress? Clearly I've still got Gran's silly stories in my head.

  She sobered when the mountain of a man continued to simply watch her, seemingly waiting for her to answer. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she automatically dropped her gaze to his heavy boots.

  "I'm here to see Ink. We have an appointment."

  She jumped at the rumble of laughter emanating from the broad chest, shaking in merriment. What was so funny?

  "I've never heard it called that before, little human. We best get you in there then. He's busy with a demonstration at the moment, but I'm sure we can find you some other entertainment while you're waiting."

  Estelle swallowed nervously at the wicked grin those words accompanied. His extremely warm hand settled on her bare back, and she had no choice but to follow where he led. The huge doors swung open as if by magic, and she was propelled into the gloomy interior of the club. Greeted by yet another mountain of a man, Estelle stopped dead. The place was huge and completely open plan. Comfortable seating was dotted around, the lighting muted and intimate. One side of the club was completely taken up by a long bar, behind which several scantily clad young women were serving drinks to a handful of customers. The opposite side was taken up by a stage, in front of which everyone seemed to have congregated. Estelle's breathing hitched, and she hugged her arms around herself to hide her nipples’

  immediate reaction to what was happening on that stage. Why she bothered she wasn't quite sure; the shadows were so deep near the entrance, she couldn't even see her feet properly. No one would be able to see her body's betraying signs of arousal.

  As if to put lie to that thought, the men she stood next to both turned and watched her. Their nostrils flared, as though they could smell the juices gathering inside her pussy, and she clamped her thighs together hastily. The men chuckled low in their throats, and Estelle's cheeks flamed.

  "As you can see Ink is rather busy." The blond beefcake, who must have been the one to open the door for them from the inside, flashed brilliantly white teeth at her. Estelle took a step back until she felt the heat of the other's man's chest burn into her back. Large hands settled on her hips, and she didn't even want to contemplate what hard object poked into her ass right now.

  She focused her attention on the row of CCTV monitors instead. That explained it. It hadn't been magic at all. One of the screens gave a perfect view of the outside of the club. The others showed various rooms that must be behind the many doors she could see on the sides of the club. One was occupied, and her blush intensified witnessing the ménage displayed on the screen, before she hastily looked away again.

  This evening would definitely prove to be an education it seemed.

  "Sign here, and then I would suggest you grab a drink and wait for Ink at the bar. His demonstration is almost over." The blond man shoved a 'rules of conduct' sheet under her nose, and Estelle scribbled her signature automatically. Ink had e-mailed her the rules only yesterday; the man was nothing if not thorough.

  Again her gaze strayed to the stage. Knowing it was Ink wielding that menacing looking whip made her insides quiver.

  Dressed in nothing but low riding leather pants, his back was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, clearly visible in the spotlights illuminating the stage. His muscles rippled, and his biceps flexed with every stroke he expertly delivered. The crack of the whip as it sailed through the air, before it curled across the bound woman's naked back and ass, made Estelle flinch.

  The blonde tied spread-eagled to the St Andrew's Cross, however, moaned her arousal. Ink alternated light touches with heavier strokes, building the crescendo, and the woman's groans and pleas, begging for her orgasm could be heard echoing around the club.

  The action on the stage drowned out the low music completely, and Estelle stumbled her way to the bar, fascinated to see this display of raw power and leashed aggression. There was something familiar about the set of Ink's broad shoulders and the way he held himself, but Estelle couldn't place it. She perched her backside on one of the high barstools, cursing inwardly at the indecently short hem of her dress that made not flashing her bits to the club a bit of a military operation.

  Though why that bothered her when half of the women and the men, too, seemed to be in various states of nakedness was beyond her.

  She suppressed a giggle thinking what the good nuns of her school years would make of this place.

  "What can I get you, doll? New here, aren't you?"

  Estelle forced her eyes away from admiring Ink's tight butt cheeks and smiled at the brunette behind the bar. Curves in all the right places, she was nonetheless much plumper than was deemed desirable these days. The tight corset cinched in her ample waist until her impressive bosom all but spilled over the top of the cups. Face surprisingly free of make-up, she was a natural beauty, and her open smile caused Estelle's tight insides to unfurl slowly. She hadn't realized how tightly coiled she'd been until now.

  "Is it that obvious?"

  The brunette laughed and winked at her.

  "Well, let's just say I've seen men on death row more relaxed then you, doll. I'm Cherie, by the way. Which of one these overgrown fleabags dragged you here tonight?"

  Again Estelle's eyes strayed to the stage, and Cherie whistled under her breath.

  "The man himself, hey? Well, good luck with taming him."

  "What do you mean?" Estelle asked, her insides once again churning at the shadow that crossed Cherie's features briefly as she, too, looked towards the stage.

  "Nothing, doll, don't you worry. He knows what he's doing.

  Ignore me." Cherie fixed a smile on her face and busied herself with wiping the immaculate bar top. When she did eventually look up, some undefined emotion in her deep brown eyes stopped Estelle from asking any other questions.

  "So, what will it be, doll?"

  "A black Russian, please, and my name is Estelle." Cherie smirked, looking behind her and made herself busy fixing the drink.

  "Someone called for me?"

  The deep accented voice rumbled through Estelle, and two heavily muscled arms came round her and caged her in against the bar. Eyes the color of coal connected with hers in the mirrors behind the bar, the man's white hair a direct contrast to the ebony hues of his skin. He, too, seemed a walking furnace. He rested his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply.

  "Hmm, so sweet and fresh and unclaimed." Cherie rolled her eyes at Estelle and passed her the drink she ordered.

  "She asked for a drink, not you. The lady is spoken for, so back off, Grisha." She smiled at Estelle and glared at Grisha.

  He chuckled again, dropped a kiss against the rapidly beating pulse in Estelle's neck and pulled back just enough to enable Estelle to swing round on her chair. One of his large hands settled on her thigh, just below her cunt, and she swallowed nervously. The sight of his dark hand was such a contrast against her bare flesh. Who'd have thought it would be so erotic? Or maybe this place was just getting to her. On the stage the blonde screamed her orgasm with one last whip cracking slap delivered across her dripping wet pussy. Even from the distance her juices could be seen trailing down her legs.

  Grisha's hand tightened on her inner thigh, and Estelle's heart turned into a sledgehammer, when Ink turned around. An intricate tattoo of a tiger's head trailed across his wide chest, over washboard abs and into the waistband of his trousers. The imprint of his long, thick cock strained against the zipper of his trousers, but that wasn't what made Estelle wish the ground would swallow her up. Ink had moved directly into the spotlight, throwing the angles of his face into sharp focus. Nathan Fielding's eyes connected with Estelle's, before his gaze dropped to Grisha's hand on her thigh, and he frowned.

  With the grace and speed of a huge cat, he jumped off the stage and advanced towards them. Estelle stopped breathing. She had been having online sex with her boss?


  Chapter Three

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, nooooo! Estelle didn't dare look up when Ink crossed the distance from stage to bar with just a few long legged strides. The heady musk of man, sweat, and faint traces of an unfamiliar cologne tickled Estelle's senses, and she couldn't help a small sniff of her own when Ink's booted feet stopped in front of her. Grisha had moved to the side, but his hand remained where it was, staking an unspoken claim.

  "Get your hands off my trainee, Grisha." The deep growl caused her pussy to clench, and a surge of moisture coated the Russian's hand. Estelle screwed her eyes shut, knowing she must have turned the color of her dress. Both men inhaled sharply, and a warm hand under her chin forced Estelle's head up.

  "She doesn't seem to mind my hand, Ink, quite the opposite."

  Grisha's voice was thick with arousal and a hint of laughter. Ink muttered something under his breath. He sighed, and his hot breath skittered across her face.

  "Look at me, Estelle." The quietly delivered words held an edge of steel, and Estelle's eyes fluttered open almost against her will.

  The submissive, newly awakened, side of her couldn't help but obey the command, and Ink smiled his approval.

  "Good girl."

  Grisha finally removed his hand, and she could see him licking his fingers slowly. He grinned and winked at her.

  "Tasty that one, Ink. When you're ready to share her, let me know."

  He chuckled at Estelle's sharp intake of breath. She watched him prowl away with mixed feelings, before looking to the floor. If she stared at the ground long enough, then surely, please God, that magic hole would appear. She couldn't shake the notion that it would have been safer for her to keep a hold of Grisha. She was all too aware of Ink's watchful stare on her. Arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised, he studied her thoughtfully. She kept her gaze on the floor, as she knew was expected of her, but she couldn't help a sneaky sideways glance at Ink. No, not Ink. Her boss.

  She bit her lip to stop herself from groaning out loud. He'd lost the glasses he wore to the office. He smelled different, and he seemed to have somehow grown a few inches, but it was definitely him. Why wasn't he saying something, for pity's sake? The silence stretched between them until she couldn’t help but squirm on her stool. His large hands on her thighs stopped her, and she held her breath as his thumbs massaged the tender flesh on the inside of her thighs. If he moved his hands any higher he would know exactly how aroused she was.

  He leant in close enough for his breath to raise the tendrils of hair sticking to her damp neck, and she bunched her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching out to him. He hadn't given her permission to touch him, and she didn't fancy the indignity of having her ass spanked in full view of anyone in the club, even if the thought brought with it a fierce wave of arousal.

  Grisha's laughter echoed across from the other end of the bar, and Estelle glanced across. He raised his glass at her and winked. She dropped her gaze again, but Ink had noticed. He released her thighs and cupped her chin again.

  "I hadn’t planned on sharing you tonight, but if that's what you need…?"His voice trailed off, and he smiled. "Like jumping in at the deep end, don't you, Estelle?"

  "I…I not really. I just—" Estelle's words stuttered to a halt.

  She couldn’t tell him that she'd come to this club to gain the experience to seduce him. In his Ink persona there was something quite frightening about him, the amber eyes holding hers captive, too knowing, and detached, as though he really had seen her for the first time today. Leashed aggression bubbled under the surface, all pretense of the civilized businessman gone. Some deep part of her responded to that aggression that she'd only glimpsed occasionally in the office – the same reckless part of her that had followed Ink's online instructions to the letter. The same part of her that had excitement pooling low in her belly at the mere thought of being at the mercy of two powerful men.

  "Don't lie to me, Estelle. I can smell your pussy from here.

  Your nipples are aching to be touched; your heart beat is galloping, and that's not fear in the air, but your excitement." He smirked and held his hand out. She knew he was giving her a choice. It was one of the most sacred rules in this game they played. It was always her choice. If she agreed she was at his mercy and had to obey without question. If she didn't agree he would not press her.

  She stared at that outstretched hand for the longest time. Did she dare? Would she be able to look him in the eye, come Monday in the office, or would he think she was a complete hussy? Was this her chance, or was she just blowing it by even being here? She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and his gaze followed that movement.

  He shifted from foot to foot, his expression unreadable as he simply waited for her decision. When she finally placed her hand in his, the approval she saw in his eyes soothed her nerves. He glanced behind her, and Grisha's warmth seeped into her naked skin.

  "Take her to the small dungeon. I'll be right there."

  "My pleasure." Grisha's smile showed in his voice, and Estelle shivered when he pressed an openmouthed kiss between her shoulder blades. His hands settled on her hips, and Estelle gasped at the press of his hard cock into her ass. "We'll have so much fun together, sweetheart. You'll see."

  "I'll hold you to that." Estelle flinched at the breathy quality of her voice, and the hands on her hips tightened to the point of pain.

  "Topping from the bottom will get that delicious ass paddled." He growled the words into her ear, and Estelle stopped breathing when he pulled the skirt of her dress up and delivered a quick slap to one exposed butt cheek. He massaged the sting away, and heat spread up from his hand on her ass, up her back and into her face.

  "Please, not here. Not in front of everyone."

  Grisha's amused chuckle wrapped itself round her, and he spun her around in his arms, until she was once again caged against the bar. The edge dug into her back, and she bit back the moan of pain.

  "Meaning I can turn that ass pink in the dungeon? Do I look as though I need your permission?"

  "For pity's sake, Grisha, stop torturing the girl. You heard Ink.

  Take her to the dungeon – that is if you're sure you want to, doll."

  Cherie's melodious voice came to Estelle's rescue. Grisha stepped back to give her some breathing space and smirked.

  "You okay, doll?" Cherie asked.

  "Yes, I think so."

  She turned round to smile at Cherie, who glared at Grisha, hands on hips.

  "You think? Hun, you've got to be sure. Once you step through that dungeon door, you know you have no say in what happens."

  Estelle glanced back at Grisha and then across at Ink in conversation with another Dom. As though he sensed her gaze on him, he stopped talking and looked at her. His eyes narrowed, and he frowned, some silent communication going on between him and Grisha. He said something to the other Dom, who also looked at her with a question in his eyes. Estelle swallowed past the lump in her throat when Ink advanced toward her. The tiger tat on his chest moved with the ripple of muscle as though it was a real tiger resting on his pectorals, and Estelle's gaze dropped lower to the bulge in his trousers. Her hands grew moist and her breathing shallow, and she wrenched her eyes back up to his face, just as he stopped in front of her.

  "Is there a problem?" His deep voice held a hint of impatience.

  Estelle shook her head, not trusting her voice at all.

  "It seems Cherie here is worried about your little sub." Grisha said, inspecting his fingernails as though he didn't care either way.

  The heated look he raked over Estelle's body told another story.

  "I'm merely making sure she's fully aware she knows what she's letting herself in for. She's new, and I bet she's never subbed before. Have you even given her a safe word?"

  "Are you suggesting Grisha and I would neglect our most basic duties? You forget your station, Cherie." Ink clenched and unclenched his fists, the tension coming off his tightly coiled body i
n waves. Without thinking about her actions Estelle stepped between him and Cherie. She put a tentative hand on his chest. The heat of his body burned through her skin, and she flinched at Cherie's gasp. Shit!

  She dropped her hand immediately and took a step back into Grisha.

  "Not a very wise move, sweetheart," Grisha murmured into her ear.

  "I know. I'm sorry." Estelle risked a peek at Ink's face. "I'm sorry…Sir." Ink's stern expression softened with her breathy words, and with last lingering look to Cherie, he settled his full attention on Estelle. "Follow me."

  Estelle did just that, aware of Grisha's quiet presence at her back, as she followed Ink's lead. He crossed the club and stopped briefly in front of one the many doors leading off the interior. He pressed a number sequence into the keypad by the door, and the heavily padded door swung open. A harsh fluorescent light came on and Ink stepped to the side, gesturing for Estelle to step through.

  Looking up to him for reassurance did little to help the army of butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence in her tummy again. He simply waited patiently, his expression unreadable, and Estelle realized that he was giving her a last get out. She straightened her shoulders and stepped over the threshold, dimly aware of the two men following. The door whooshed shut, and the lighting dimmed a little.

  The room was dominated by a huge bed, and Estelle's eyes widened taking in the various restraints, dangling from the ceiling and attached to each corner. A wide array of toys, whips, paddles, and various other equipment that she didn't know the names of was laid out neatly on a sideboard. A padded St Andrew's Cross stood in one corner, a spanking bench in another, and Estelle's clit ached imagining herself strapped to any of these things. She wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her dress, aware of the rustling of clothes behind her.