by Cynthia Dane
Iced
The last time Monica was monetarily spoiled like this she bought a Château and stocked it with BDSM-loving women ready to make that money back.
“How about this one, Miss?” A docile woman in her early 20s knelt in front of Monica’s dais and showed her a dark purple gown covered in sparkling sequins. Made by anyone else and it would look like a tacky prom dress. Styled by M. Francisco, the latest and hottest designer from Italy? It was a gorgeous piece meant for charity dinners or a wild night on the town.
Monica fingered the material and decided it was too scratchy for her skin. “Thank you, though. It’s a lovely color. Do you have something like that, but in silk or satin? Cotton voile?”
“Certainly.” The girl got up and hustled to the back of the dress shop, where she stopped to confer with a woman older than her on where she might find such garments.
So far Monica only had one purchase, and this was after trying on gowns for about an hour. Her choice of the moment was a deep red Queen Anne dress that cutoff at the knees and had a hem of black Chantilly lace. Bonus: she already had the perfect pair of red and black heels to go with it, as well as the gold jewelry to accent it.
Standing a few feet away was Henry, having decided to stay close but stay out of Monica’s way as she found new and exciting ways to spend his money. At first Monica vehemently turned down the opportunity to go shopping with Henry’s credit card. Yet the moment they entered the city he brought it up again, insisting that they stop at a boutique or two.
“Why?” Monica had asked, content to pass through the city and go straight to his mansion. “I have plenty of dresses and shoes. My closet is practically overflowing with cocktail and cotton dresses. They’re all I wear, Henry. If you ever see me in pants, check my temperature.”
“You may have a lot of dresses,” he said, pulling out his wallet and thumbing through his myriad of golden credit cards, “but none of them came from me.”
Monica liked the red dress because it went with the shawl Henry gave her on their first supposed date. Oh, and because she looked great in a nice red dress. But she couldn’t live with only red. And if she only bought red, Henry would give her a hard time about that as well.
“My dear,” Henry said, leaning against the wall and flipping through slides on his smart phone. “Come here.”
Monica, standing alone on her dais while the girls of the shop looked for things in her petite size, turned to him with bemusement on her face. “Everything all right?”
“They will be the faster you get over here.”
With her shoes already off, Monica hopped off the dais and went to him, her eyes darting around the room in case someone was watching. Unless Henry wanted to show her something on his phone screen, who knew what he would ask of her.
“Am I taking too long?”
“I don’t care how long you take.” He put his phone in his front jacket pocket. “Just as long as we make our dinner reservations at seven. Until then, who cares?”
“As long as you’re not bored.”
“Around you?” He leaned down and pressed his head against the top of hers. “How could I possibly be bored? Now…” His hand appeared between them, palm up, fingers wiggling in expectation. “Give me your underwear.”
“What?”
Henry’s voice, as deep as it was expecting, rumbled into Monica’s ear. “I told you to give me your underwear. Or are you a bad girl who isn’t wearing any?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I’m wearing a dress. Of course I’m wearing them.”
“Excellent. Give them to me.”
“Why?”
She looked at him with the expectation that he would tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.
“Because I told you to. Or should I punish you later?”
“No, sir.” Monica looked around the room, making sure that none of the staff were back yet. She pressed herself against the dark corner of the gallery and reached beneath her skirt. “You realize that I have to try on dresses here, right?”
“Yup.”
Well, that was one way for a man to enjoy himself while his girlfriend shopped with his credit card.
Monica waited for him to shield her before she slipped out of her silk panties and shoved them into his waiting hand. With a smirk the size of the sun on his smug face, Henry stuffed the silk into the same pocket he held his smart phone in. He crossed his arms across his chest and pretended to find the crown molding of the boutique fascinating as one of the shop girls came back with a white dress tossed across her arm.
Even though she wore a slip through her taking off and putting on, Monica was still acutely aware of the lack of clothing between her legs. While she pulled off her current dress and put on the white one, she thought of Henry standing at the entrance, holding her underwear in his pocket as if he owned them. Today he does. Ah, now it all made sense.
The way he asked for them.
How insistent he was on buying her clothes that day.
Now, how he gazed at her as she twirled in a white chiffon gown that looked like it could be a wedding dress at a golf club. What a way to get married. Monica stopped and laughed, the girl looking at her as if she were loony while Henry held in a laugh of his own.
He does own me. He was dressing her up like the princess he was going to kidnap and have his way with. This meant that while Monica should find something she enjoyed wearing, this was more about Henry’s tastes than hers. Find something that knocks his socks off. She turned down the white gown because it was too frou-frou for her seductive style. I need to make him hard the moment he gets a look at me.
“Bring me something black,” she told the girl. Before she departed to the back room, Monica took her by the wrist and brought her in close. “Something sexy.”
The girl took a look at Henry and then back to Monica again. She nodded, her feet whisking her to that back room again with the white dress in tow. Monica didn’t want to look like a fairy princess. She wanted to bedeck herself in a gown fitting a sultry one.
She stood in nothing but her half-slip and bra, her delicate curls resting on her bare skin and falling before her face. At first she didn’t mind avoiding the mirror, but then she caught a glimpse of it, and inside the reflection was Henry gazing at her in the hungriest way imaginable.
Chills shook her body. Suddenly Monica was very aware of her breasts pushed up in her lacy pink bra, the one she put on that day to entice him when he would undoubtedly start undressing her that evening. She never counted on being taken to a boutique and put on display in front of him. Nobody batted an eyelash when she stayed behind as I started changing clothes. Perhaps the staff people here automatically assumed they were a couple. Did they look and act like one? Henry certainly put his protective hands on her more than once.
Ah, Monica had forgotten how exciting it could be… this paraded around business.
Men liked to show off their money. They liked showing off their business conquests. And they definitely liked showing off their women. Especially those alpha Doms with nothing better to do than take over other companies and then carry their subs around.
It sounded so animalistic. So primal. So what Monica needed – and wrote in her missive to Henry two days ago.
She saw him take it out now. A single piece of paper he kept in a different pocket. With pen in hand, he crossed something on the list off. Monica didn’t know what it could possibly be.
“Here, Miss!” The girl returned, carrying two different black dresses. She held them up in front of Monica. One was a svelte mermaid that would more than adequately hug her curves. Monica looked it over for a while, fingertips feeling the soft fabric and debating whether or not the restrictive movement would be worth it.
Then her eyes went to the other dress.
A short, flared skirt supported a high-neck and strapless bodice that, when Monica looked closer, sported a keyhole on the chest. She plucked that dress from the gi
rl’s arm and held it to her body. “I’ll try this one on.”
Sure enough, it was perfect.
What set it apart from a regular brunch dress was the keyhole that rested right at the top of Monica’s cleavage. Combined with her curls, she had the air of a woman ready for a fancy dinner. Like the one Henry was going to take her to shortly after this.
“Looks like a winner to me.” He was behind her, peering over her shoulder but not touching her. “You should get it. And wear it out of here.”
That was her cue that they were done shopping.
She did as subtly ordered. The clothes she wore into the store were boxed up with the red dress, and the helper snipped off the tags once Henry’s credit card went through. Monica excused herself to the powder room to freshen up her makeup and ensure that it matched her new dress. Once the mascara was gingerly applied and a fresh coat of blush put on, she pulled back her curls into a loose bun that rained upon her shoulders.
When she stepped back into the boutique, the bags were already in Henry’s car – and he was staring at her, eyes dancing between her face and the dress on her body.
Restlessness didn’t settle in until they stepped outside, Monica without her coat or shawl. For a spring day it was rather cold, the temperature snapping against her arms as she waited for Henry’s driver to open her door. The moment Henry put his hand on her back a cold breeze blew by, reminding Monica that an important piece of clothing was currently in her Dom’s front jacket pocket. Holy… Her eyes widened, and Henry had to push her toward the car to get her to sit.
Dinner reservations had been made with privacy in mind. That’s what Monica discovered when they arrived and the host took them into a small back room with low lighting and candles burning brightly in the center of a two-person table. Champagne was readily available, but Henry ordered a vintage wine the moment they were seated.
“Very good,” their waiter, a man dressed better than most office workers said. “Would you like to order dinner or at least appetizers, Monsieur?”
French food, huh? Monica smiled over her water glass. She deferred her order to Henry who decided she would like the chef’s choice. “No appetizers. The wine will tie us over until the main course.”
“And should the meals be served at the same time, monsieur?”
“Absolutely.”
“The lady’s meal will take about forty-five minutes to prepare.”
“That’s fine. We’ll be extra hungry.” Henry winked at the waiter. The man in a tuxedo was off, and the door to their private paradise clicked shut.
Both wineglasses remained empty. Henry sat expectantly across from Monica, candlelight licking his skin and making his eyes glow in the same hunger she saw in the boutique.
Monica crossed her legs. It was the only way to keep her naked thighs from going crazy.
“You know,” she began, reaching for the wine bottle and opening it without a second thought. A steady stream poured into Henry’s glass. “I love it when a man knows how to order for me.”
Now it wasn’t just candlelight licking his lips. It was a smile, too. “I know.”
Steady. Low. Monica had entered a scene and barely realized it. “Should I pour myself a glass too, sir?”
“Of course. And I expect a different word out of you, Monica.”
She steeled herself in her chair. “Of course. Master.”
This was it. This was what Monica had been waiting for. What I wrote in my letter. Her need to serve and submit at the same time. Henry was good at getting her to submit easily enough. But she wanted more. She wanted to serve – to have him become her whole world for a while.
She poured herself some wine and held it up for a toast. Henry matched her. “To new adventures,” he said. Their glasses clinked together and he drank, his eyes still boring right into hers.
Bitterness washed down Monica’s throat. She did not flinch. “Are you pleased with my dress?” She tugged on the keyhole, revealing more skin for Henry to devour in the candlelight.
Be honest. Monica didn’t want platitudes. She wanted compliments, but only if she had earned them. The dress? Henry chose that. Her hair and makeup? That was all her. While Monica liked the way she looked that night, she would be happier knowing that Henry also thought she was gorgeous. From the way he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and licked it… perhaps she was on the right track.
“I think you tempt me on purpose.”
Well, of course. Monica couldn’t say that. Her stomach also growled, but Henry had made a point of making sure they weren’t disturbed for a long while. What’s his plan? He wasn’t…
Was he?
Monica really, really wished she had her underwear on right now. Especially when this dress was brand new and she was waking up to certain ideas.
“It’s not my intention to tempt you, Master.”
Henry drank more wine. “Yes it is. You’ve been tempting me since we first met. Do you know how hard I have to work to keep myself steady around you?” He leaned forward, his dark blond hair almost brown in the low light. “Women like you get off on grabbing a man’s cock in public.”
Did this count as public? “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No you’re not. Look at the way you’re wearing this dress. You want me to stare at your breasts all night.” The last of the wine disappeared past his tongue. Monica picked up the bottle and offered him more. He readily accepted.
“What can I do to please you?”
Henry glanced into his pocket. His phone? Her underwear? The list. The damned list of things Monica said she wanted from the Dom who promised to help heal her. Anything off that list right now would be… She sucked in her breath, which made her chest more prominent.
As expected, his eyes lingered on her keyhole. “Contain yourself. We’re in public.”
Tingles forced Monica to cross her legs in the other direction. She looked at the fine tablecloth, mind racing with what Henry could be playing at. Deep down, she knew. Humiliation. The thought shouldn’t have made her nipples harden in her dress, and yet… “I’m trying, Master.”
The best part? She didn’t have to be demure. She didn’t have to sweeten her voice. She was still the same Monica she had always been. For her, this wasn’t acting.
“Try harder, for God’s sake.” Henry held his wineglass but didn’t drink. “If you don’t tone it down, I may be forced to deal with you.”
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
“Shit.” Henry stood, his chair shooting out behind him and the wineglass nearly spilling on the white tablecloth. “Why do you have to be so bewitching? You’re turning me into a sick man, Monica.”
She cast her eyes down. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered.
“Sorry isn’t good enough. You clearly don’t know your place.” Slowly, Henry rounded the table, standing only a few inches from his sub. His hand gently patted her head and fingered her curls. “You need to learn that you can’t tempt me twenty-four hours a day. I’m a man with a schedule. I need to be… collected… for the other people around me. Whenever I’m with you…” His hand slipped down her chest, clutching her breast and rolling her nipple through both dress and bra. Monica whimpered. “I want to lose my fucking mind.”
Two fingers pushed into the keyhole, wetting themselves in the sweat of her cleavage. Monica regulated her breathing but could not stop the fluttering of her eyelashes as she sat perfectly still.
“I have to constantly ask myself if I’m going to deny my need for you.” Henry pulled his hand out and placed it on top of Monica’s untouched water glass. “Or am I going to indulge in you? You know what I want to do, of course.”
Ice swirled in the glass. Monica watched him pick a sizable cube and pull it out in one motion. “I want the same thing, Master.”
“Of course you do.”
Cold. Bitter, biting cold stung Monica’s cheek as the ice cube began melting against her skin. Her
lips parted, some of the water dripping into the maw of her mouth. When Henry drew the ice cube back toward her ear? The lights blurred before her.
“You can’t contain yourself.”
The ice awakened every part of Monica. Her hips tightened in her dress. Her legs parted. Her hands created hard fists on the table. The only thing keeping her in place was the fact Henry had yet to ask her to do anything.
“No, Master.” Her voice was already ragged. The ice cube, now smaller, made its way down her neck and onto the dress. “I’m so sorry. I can’t contain myself.”
“All you want is sex.”
“I want to serve you, Master.” The ice cube teased the edge of the keyhole before disappearing into her cleavage. Monica hissed.
