Dark Secret Love: A Story of Submission (Black Lace)

by Alison Tyler

  “I understand,” he said, “but that doesn’t change one simple fact.”

  Could he hear my heartbeat? The throbbing rhythm of it? Could he see my muscles, coiled tight? Could he tell that I was holding my breath?

  “Does it, Samantha?”

  Slowly, he parted the cheeks of my ass. Slowly, his fingertips started to make lazy circles around my rear hole. I knew what he wanted me to say. I understood my role.

  “No, Sir.”

  “What fact is that?”

  “I lied to you … Sir.”

  “Look at me.”

  I turned my head to face him, watching as he removed his hand, as he brought his thumb to my mouth, set it on my lower lip. Without needing to be told, I sucked it in, wetting it. He gazed at me, his face so serious, then pulled his hand away. As he continued to talk, he slowly slid his thumb inside me, pushing into my ass.

  “I can’t allow you to get away with that. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You can tell me anything. You can confess any desire. I won’t ever reject you for what you want.”

  I nodded, my body still tense, feeling him fucking me with his thumb.

  “But, baby, don’t ever lie to me.”

  Now, I shook my head, trying to show him with my eyes as well as my words that I understood. “No, Sir,” I said, my voice a rush, a whisper. “No.”

  He regarded me carefully before shifting positions so that his hand still had access to my ass, but his cock was now directly in front of me. “Suck it,” he said. “Suck it hard. Get it nice and wet for me. You know where it’s going to go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  Over the Knee

  I didn’t think we would sleep that night. In my poetic world, I imagined we’d be awake to greet the first golden lights of dawn (or, since this was L.A., the first gray light of smog), the way I had watched the sunset over Sunset. So I was surprised to actually wake up, to realize that I had slept, and not only slept, but slept late, long, and hard.

  The scent of coffee—my favorite AM aroma—woke me. Jack wandered in, a cup in his hand, and set the mug on the bedside table. I was confused for a moment as to why he didn’t simply hand the coffee to me, and then I remembered: my wrists were still cuffed. Gently, Jack unlocked the handcuffs, freeing me, and he rubbed the skin firmly, soothing the marks there, before handing me the coffee.

  It was strong and black. I don’t know how he knew. I’m a java purist as well as a slut. I will drink almost any sort of coffee. I don’t care if it comes from some fancy French press or out of a bottle of freeze-dried crystals. But I take my coffee hot and black. No flavored creamers. No sugar. I’m pathological about this.

  Jack watched me savor the first sip, and he seemed to appreciate my pleasure. He was already dressed in faded Levis and a white button-up shirt, crisp but casual. He looked well rested, but he couldn’t have slept any more than I had.

  “What time is it?” I asked. The clock was turned away.

  “After ten.”

  I started to move. I’d known it was late, but hadn’t thought it was that late.

  “Sit back,” Jack said, “don’t worry.”

  “I’m going to get fired,” I said, my mind scrambling. I’d have to wear yesterday’s clothes, which were somewhere in a heap on the living room floor, and I’d have to lie and say I’d gotten caught with a flat or run out of gas, or something. Oh, Jesus—

  “I called in sick for you,” Jack said, clearly amused by my panic. “I know KC. Don’t worry. He’s an old friend. We go way back. And I called in sick for myself, too.”

  I stared at him, surprised that he’d been so on top of things. I shouldn’t have been. Jack was always organized, precise. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me. “You think we met when my dog knocked you down, don’t you?”

  A spark of fear went through me. He wasn’t going to say that we were lost souls from previous lives, was he? That we met because of destiny? I stared warily at him, but nodded.

  “Think back,” he said, “several years back. To a party at Jody’s. When he sold his first movie of the week.”

  I remembered the party well. Byron had been flirting with a lady in our office. The one who ultimately outed me and Connor to Byron. I’d watched the two of them together, head to head, gossiping, and I’d gotten drunk. There had been more than a hundred people at the party, toasting Jody. People were so excited for him.

  But where had Jack been?

  “Watching you,” he said. “You had on—”

  This I could answer. Byron’s older sister often passed her old clothes on to me, and to her, “old” meant worn once or twice. This was a Sonia Rykiel three-piece cream-colored outfit. A short pleated skirt, low-cut halter, and cardigan-style jacket. The halter sagged on me—my chest didn’t begin to compete with his sister’s fake tits—but the outfit was hot. I loved it.

  “And you kept snagging glasses of champagne as they went past.”

  “I didn’t like how Byron was acting.”

  “Understandably,” Jack said. “I asked Jody about you that night. I’ve been waiting for you, kid. I want you to know that. Last night was no one-night stand.”

  I was paying attention, watching his blue eyes.

  “I want you to move in, Samantha. To get your stuff from that sad little house up in Hollywood and bring it here. I’ve got two places in L.A. This and one in Malibu. That’s where the dog is, in case you’re wondering. I spend the weeks here, generally, and weekends at the beach.”

  I was listening intently, trying to process the situation. Byron and I had known each other for months before I moved in with him. I thought people were supposed to date for a while first. But Jack didn’t want me to go back to Nate, to be anywhere near him. I understood this, even if he didn’t speak the words aloud.

  “You have to accept certain stipulations”—lawyer talk—“if you’re going to accept my offer,” he continued. “But I don’t think you’ll have a problem with them.”

  Still, I waited, focused, the coffee working through me. “You’ve dabbled with this sort of lifestyle before. Clearly, you were introduced way back in school. And you’ve had some fun in the past few months. But with me, things will be different.”

  He paused, and I took the opportunity to speak. “How?”

  He gripped my hand and stood me up. I was naked and humbled. “I’ll dress you,” he said. “You can make suggestions, of course, and you can tell me your opinions, but I will have the final say.”

  “Byron was like that, too,” I said, speaking without thinking. “He didn’t like my pants without pockets. He didn’t like my glasses.”

  “I’m talking about when we’re home, and when we go out to certain types of clubs. I’m talking about collars,” he said. “And outfits. Special outfits. If I want you naked at home, you will be stripped down. If I want you in a schoolgirl outfit, that’s what you’ll wear. Do you accept that?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Accept it? I loved it.

  He led me down the hallway. “I’m giving you a little tour,” he said, taking me back to the living room. In each room, he revealed secrets to me: paddles kept in the top drawers of chests. A crop in the closet. Some implement of punishment in every single room, always at easy reach. My heart raced as he let me touch each one. I wondered if he could sense how turned on I was, and then I wondered about the women he’d dated before me, the other ladies he’d put over his lap. Had he been with someone at Jody’s party? I tried to remember.

  “Yes,” Jack said when I got up the nerve to ask. “She was beautiful. Think back.” And he described her, half-German, half-African, a tall, slender lawyer from his office. They weren’t dating. They were friends, both with the same closeted appetite for young, submissive females. “She was the one who spotted you first,” he grinned. “But I got lucky.”

  Jack led me through the whole apartment, and then sat down on the sofa and pulled me onto his lap. I felt awkward being na
ked while he was dressed. This was something I needed to get used to. My body was sore as well, from being used the night before. Being punished. Being fucked. I tried to remember everything we’d done. Some parts of the evening had become a blur.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to process.”

  “But you accept.”

  Now I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  He smoothed my hair off my face. He ran his fingertips along the ridge of my collarbone. He held me to him so that I could smell the scent of his skin. I stayed like that, in his arms, as I tried to imagine what life would be like in this condo. I had lived with Byron for three years, first in the Fairfax section of Los Angeles, and then in a townhouse by the beach. This place was in the heart of Sunset, and Jack moved in the same circles as my former boss. I felt overwhelmed at the thought, but safe in Jack’s arms.

  “We’ll go out for breakfast,” he said, “and then we’ll get your stuff.”

  I nodded. “But maybe I should call,” I said, not even thinking of Jack’s reaction. “Garrett and Nate might be worried. I’ve never been out all night. Not since I moved in with them.” There was silence, and when I looked up I saw that Jack’s face had darkened. I felt my heart sink. Was he upset with me? Had I said the wrong thing?

  “It’s commendable of you to be concerned,” he said finally, handing me the phone from the table next to the sofa. “Make the call.” There was a pause. “But you’ll have to pay.”

  “Pay?” I stammered over the word.

  “Nothing major,” he said, “An over-the-knee spanking. No panties. You make the choice. Leave them wondering what happened to you, calling the hospitals, calling your job, or assuring them both that you’re fine and climbing over my lap to accept the punishment for caring what another man thinks about you.”

  Jack was jealous. Nate had gotten to me first. Jack had been watching, waiting, biding his time, and yet I’d left him in Beverly Hills and gotten what I’d needed from Nate and Garrett. At least temporarily.

  “Your choice,” said Jack, offering the phone again. I sensed which decision he wanted me to make, and I dialed the number with trembling fingers, relieved when the machine picked up. “It’s me,” I said, “checking in to let you know I’m fine. I’ll be home later on today.”

  Jack didn’t say a word when I hung up the phone. He looked at me, and I understood the silent message. He’d already showed me where the paddle lived in this room, in a drawer under the bar. I got up, so aware of my nakedness, and retrieved the weapon, then handed it to Jack, my eyes down, my breathing shallow.

  No words. No instructions. This was a test, and I was determined to pass.

  I draped myself over his lap, and felt his hand caressing me, the way he had the night before, up and over the curves of my ass. I have—false modesty aside here—a fine ass. In high school, when my friends and I became aware of the more attractive parts of our appearances, it was my signature: Elena has killer breasts. Caitlyn has blue eyes you could swim in. But I have a hind end that men naturally want to cup in their hands, stroke, and in the case of someone like Jack, spank.

  He ran his palm over my skin and I could feel the welts from the previous night, little echoes of pain, reminders that I would have for quite some time. Then he hefted the paddle and began to spank me.

  Jack was a master, plain and simple. He knew how to create a rhythm in which I was momentarily lulled into believing I could handle the punishment. And then he would land a startling blow, wringing a gasp or cry from me, making me lift up slightly before catching myself and lowering my body back into the proper position.

  I didn’t count. He didn’t ask me to. He simply paddled me until he got what he wanted. At first I held my body as still as possible. Next I squirmed, unable to stop, and he kept me in place easily, gripping my sore wrists in one hand and pinning them in place at the small of my back. Finally, he won the tears of total submission, when I simply pressed my face against the cool leather sofa and cried.

  “That’s the last time I ever want to hear that you care what another man thinks.” Jack pushed me off his lap and over the coffee table, so that he could review his work. “The only man you need to worry about is me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I sobbed. “Yes, Jack.”

  “Clean yourself up,” he said, giving me one last slap on the ass with his hand. “And we’ll go out to eat. I want to watch you try to sit comfortably while you order your breakfast.”

  I headed down the hall to the bathroom, bare feet on the cold wood floor. I closed the door behind me and started to adjust the temperature of the shower. And when I looked in the mirror at my reflection, I saw excitement in my eyes—pure pleasure that didn’t reflect even an ounce of the pain I’d just received.

  Chapter Twenty-Three:

  A No-Win Situation?

  “Tell me about Brock.”

  I flushed and looked down at my breakfast, a fancy fruit plate filled with papaya, mango, pineapples. Although the exotic assortment was beautifully arranged, my appetite had vanished.

  “Look at me when I speak to you, Sam.”

  I gazed back at him. I had known when he asked me for my list of lovers that he wasn’t simply being curious. He had plans. He was a lawyer, after all. He used whatever facts he possessed to his own advantage.

  “He’s the man who showed you what you were really like, isn’t that right?”

  “No,” I shook my head, scared to disagree with him but needing to explain. “I already knew. He was the first one who saw what I wanted. Who understood.”

  “And you idolize him for it.”

  I’m not an idiot. I figured out immediately that this was one of Jack’s trick questions. Not really a question, even. Yet he clearly expected a response.

  I shifted on the chair and Jack grinned. He was enjoying how difficult sitting still was for me. My ass throbbed from the pre-breakfast spanking. And Jack hadn’t let me slip my panties back on. All I was wearing was the slinky sundress from yesterday and those tie-up white shoes.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “we weren’t together all that long. It wasn’t good all that long. But at the start, it was kind of … magic.” It had been. I no longer had to fantasize. I had a real-life, flesh-and-blood man to take care of my needs, my kinkiest desires.

  “And what happened? Why did you split up?”

  “He disappeared. He’d told me on our first date that he was in ‘importing and exporting.’ I hadn’t know that meant drugs. I was naïve. What did I know? One day he didn’t show up for a date. I didn’t hear from him for almost a week.”

  “What did you do?”

  What did I do? I cut my hair. And dyed it fuchsia. I wore his sweatshirt every day. I stopped even pretending to care about what people at school thought about me. I got too thin. I tried to track him down, and his roommate told me to forget he had even existed.

  “I mourned him.”

  Jack stared at me for a moment, and I wondered whether he would accept this answer. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I refused to speak to people. Did he guess that’s what I meant by my three-word response?

  “And then what happened?”

  “He came back. Called me and asked me to meet him at a coffee shop. When I saw him there, I couldn’t even go in. I walked away. He ran after me, chased me down, dragged me to a park bench and started to talk. He said that if he’d told me the truth when we first met, I’d never have gone out with him. Probably true, but I don’t know. He had a pack of Marlboros in his chest pocket and he opened it up and showed me the twenty joints all rolled neatly inside. He said he mostly dealt coke to the higher-ups in Silicon Valley. He said he loved me.”

  “And you believed him?”

  I stared directly into Jack’s eyes. “Yes,” I said evenly. “He did love me.”

  I knew that if we hadn’t been in public, Jack would have slapped me for my tone of voice. I don’t know how I knew. I
just did. Jack’s expression hardened, and I swallowed over the lump in my throat but didn’t look away.

  “You asked me,” I said, “and you told me not to lie to you.”

  “And then what?” Jack pushed on.

  “We went to this twenty-dollar-a-day hotel on the edge of town. Creepy place. And we stripped down and messed around. But it was different.”

  “That was it?”

  “No, of course not. It dragged on for a while. We both pretended that everything was the same as before, yet now he seemed determined to show me that he was broken. Dirty. Damaged. He was more open about his underworld dealings. He called me from jail. He asked me for money. And then he disappeared again, and I went off to school.”

  Jack nodded, and I felt him memorizing my story. Learning it.

  “Tell me three bad things about Brock.”

  I thought I had. “What do you mean? He was a drug dealer. He lied to me. He disappeared.”

  “No. Tell me three things that you don’t like to think about. Three things that fill you with shame.”

  He was trying to break down my memory of Brock. I got it. But I didn’t like it. I could feel Jack looking at me, waiting, and I tripped through my mental storage and shared what I could.

  “When he came back, somehow he’d lost his power. I don’t really know why. But he had. He begged me to take him back, and it made me cold inside. I despised feeling like that.”

  “That’s one.”

  “I flirted with someone else in front of him. I wanted to see him get back in charge, and he wouldn’t. He refused. I couldn’t get a rise out of him, and I hated him for that.”

  “Two.”

  “He tried to be gentle with me. He tried to show me that he could fuck me sweetly, and it killed me inside. I felt wretched afterwards. He couldn’t get an erection, and I felt as if it was my fault.”

  “Not your fault,” Jack said. “Stupid man. He thought he was giving you something you wanted, when it was the last thing on earth you craved.”