by Ash, Ingrid
“I pass what?” I ask him, sitting up and shielding my nakedness with my arms.
“The audition. That's what this is, after all.”
I didn't understand. If that's an audition, what the hell am I auditioning for?
“That doesn't make sense, you said I wasn't cut out to be a model,” I repeat bitterly.
“No, I said I had a more important job for you,” he says as he buckles his pants.
“And what would that be?”
He laughs, and kneels in front of me. “The job requirements are simple. I want you. More of you,” he says as his eyes grow dark and hungry again. He touches my neck gently with the side of his finger. “I won't share you, do you understand that? You're mine only, and you're to be here for me when I need you.”
I...what?
“And you're welcome to break this agreement anytime you want, but once you leave you can't come back. Those are the rules. Because our next session will get a bit more,” his gaze dashes over me again, “Intense.”
My eyes grow wide as a million dirty thoughts run through my mind.
He smiles devilishly. “So we'll see if you can keep up, Tamara.”
He hands me my clothes and I wonder where he gets off assuming I'm going to accept his deviant arrangement. But before I can protest he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and places them in my hand. “Just think about it. Oh and don't forget to lockup after I leave.”
“Lock up? Lock up what?” Nothing he was saying made any sense.
“Your apartment. I hope you like it.”
Confused, I glance around. My apartment? The penthouse? No he couldn't mean that.
“Wait, you don't live here?”
His face scrunched. “In this tiny place? God no.” Tiny, really? ”But I hope you find it quaint. If you need anything Ronald will check in with you in the morning.”
I stand there flabbergasted, not knowing what to say.
He steps in front of me, lifting my chin with his fingers and touching my lips with his own. His kiss is intense, almost as intense as his sex. His tongue presses against mine and I suck it mercilessly. I would take plenty more of him right here, right now. His mouth is intoxicating.
I quickly realize this arrangement will work out perfectly.
His lips leave mine and he says, “Good night, Tamara.”
CHAPTER 3
I guess you could say I'm a “kept” woman now. I live in the penthouse suite of the most exclusive apartment building in New York City. I have a driver, a black card, and a closet full of designer clothes. Yet most mornings I still awake thinking I'm back in that shelter, or nearly freezing on the streets, and most nights I fall asleep with the fear that I'll have to go back.
Why? Because this is only temporary and I'm aware of that. You can call me a pessimist, but I'm not, I'm a realist. I don't remember much about my mother, mainly because I don't care to, but one thing she taught me stuck with me. “There ain't no such thing as a fairytale. Especially not for people like us,” is what she always said. And she was right.
Every once in a while I wonder if she's still out there somewhere, and if she ever thinks about me...
But I know from experience that things get really good right before you hit rock bottom again, and that's why I'm looking for a job instead of sitting on my laurels and eating bon bons all day. Who needs bon bons, anyways? This opportunity is a godsend and I'm going to make the most of it.
After a long day of job searching I couldn't be happier to come home and throw my shoes off. Nothing feels better than having an actual home of my own to come back to.
I rip my shirt over my head as soon I enter my bed room, and then come to a full stop when I see him.
Mr. Cartwright is there, perched on the edge of my bed in all his sexy, erotic glory.
Now this I wasn't expecting.
I haven't seen Mr. Cartwright in two weeks since our initial... encounter. He's been out of the country on business since then, and wasn't supposed to be back until the end of the month. And it's been torture thinking about him every night.
But I quickly realize that he doesn't look happy.
“I didn't expect you back for two more days,” I stammer when I see him.
His face is cold and stoic, his jaw clenched. I've waited not so patiently for him to return and I've planned out in my head, multiple times, what I plan to do to him. And what I want him to do to me.
But now that he's actually here I have no idea what to do.
“Close the door, Tamara,” he says.
With a click, I shut it behind me and my hand stays wrapped tightly around the knob.
He doesn't move for a moment, just watches me intensely, the way he always does. His legs are apart and his hands are resting on his knees.
“I've heard you've been looking for a job,” he states.
That's what this is about? “Yeah? I have. That's what I just got back from doing.”
“And that is strictly against our agreement.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Since when?”
“Since now. So you are to cease your job search. Understood?”
“Um, no I honestly don't. What the hell is wrong with me looking for a job?”
“Do not question me.”
This all seems random, controlling, and frankly ridiculous. “What the—”
“Tamara,” he says in his stern tone and I fall silent. “You've lied to me.”
“I didn't lie, I just didn't get a chance to tell you yet. I didn't think it was that important.”
He shakes his head. “No, I'm not just talking about the job. You've lied to me about everything. Veronica ran a background check.”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Oh, but of course she did.
“And I don't like liars,” he continues.
“Look, I can explain,” I start, “and I'm sorry, I just—”
“Be quiet,” he commands, holding his hand up to me. “You will explain. I'll get the truth out of you. But you'll have to be...punished.”
Punished? What does he think I am, a child?
I stand there in stunned silence as I watch him remove his jacket—ever so slowly—and let's it fall to the ground beside the bed. He's wearing a fitted emerald button down that brings out his lusty, heavy lidded eyes and hugs the curves of his muscles and practically looks like it's made only for him – hell it probably is. Something tells me his brand of punishment won't be so bad.
“Remove your clothes.”
I hesitate before unzipping my pencil skirt, letting it collect in a pool around my feet. He looks hypnotized as he studies my body and I continue, removing my bra, slower this time.
His eyes flicker up to mine and narrow. “Come here,” he instructs.
I walk towards him wearing only my thong, and stop in between his legs. His hands come to caress my sides, his breath feels so good against my stomach. I run my hands along his arms, feeling the soft material of his shirt.
He stops abruptly, pulling my body down into his lap and positioning me face down against the bed and draped over him. Oh God, is he going to....shit he's going to do exactly what I think he is!
“This is going to hurt me a lot more than it will hurt you,” he whispers and I feel his thumb slide underneath my thong, snaking it down over my ass and letting it rest between my thighs.
He gropes my ass cheek and says, “Now, the more truthful you are, the easier this goes. And I will know if you're lying.”
“You don't need to do this!” I say, “I will tell you everything!”
“No, I have to make sure I'm getting the truth out of you,” he responds.
“But I—”
I don't even have time to think before his and comes crashing against my ass with a swat. A loud yelp escapes my mouth, and he asks “What's your name?”
“You know my name! It's Tamara. Tamara Pie—ayee!” I scream out again as he swats me again harder this time.
“How old are you?”
“I...I'm twen
ty....” I hesitate, allowing him to spank me again and my whole body jerks forward. “Twenty two! I'm twenty two,” I finally admit. He groans. He sounds angry but he won't allow me to explain anything.
“Where were you born?”
“Here, right here in New York.” His hand swats me again and it stings this time. “I swear!”
He moves on. “What are your parents names?”
I cringe a little. “Michelle! My mother's name was Michelle Pierce.”
He waits for a second. “And your father?”
“I don't know. I never knew him.”
I feel him sigh and he doesn't swat me after that. “Where do you live?” he asks, his voice sounding softer now.
“I....no place. Here, for now. I don't have a home,” I admit and the shame nearly kills me. It's not something I should be ashamed of, it isn't my fault the situation I was born into. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't.
He looks down at me with confusion, his eyes imploring mine. He rests a hand on the back of my thigh and tangles the other in my hair. Then he grips my hips, twisting my body so that I'm sitting upright on his lap. His features are more relaxed now but his eyes still look betrayed, and there's a twinkling of something else behind them. Could it be pity? Because I hate that; I don't want anyone's pity, especially not his.
“You should have told me this, Tamara,” he says, his voice softer than before.
Well you didn't exactly give me the chance now did you? Not that I would have divulged the information willingly...
But I don't apologize. I won't.
He pulls me in by the waist and completely removes my underwear. The hardness beneath his slacks brush against my thigh and I'm quickly reminded of what I've wanted for the last two weeks. His hand slips between my thighs and finds my slit— I'm wet, from his spanking none the less; I should probably be ashamed but at the moment, I'm not.
“Mmm, let me take care of this.” He moves and slides back towards the headboard of the bed, pulling me along with him. I'm seated between his legs now, cradled against his body, and his hand returns to my most sensitive area. My legs fall open wider as he massages my clit and I melt against him, grabbing the seams of his slacks tight in my hands.
His hand snakes down lower and finds my entrance. I can't help but let out a moan as he slips a finger inside of me, followed by another, massaging me from the inside me and driving me wild.
His hot breathe fogs the nape of my neck and he follows by dragging his tongue over the supple skin. When he nips it with is teeth I can't take any more—my back arches and I release on his fingers. He kisses me softly and I relax against his chest.
I turn towards him wanting more, but he slides his body from behind me and stands next to the bed. He looks down at me with playful eyes and runs his finger beneath my chin. “Haven't you had enough for today?” he asks mockingly.
No. Not even close. But I have too much pride to tell him that. Instead I jerk my chin away from him in a smug fashion, averting my eyes away. He chuckles at me as he retrieves his jacket from the ground. “I don't want to hear anything about jobs or work again. And you'd be wise not to test me.”
I'm not sure what it is with this man, but one minute he's making me hot with pleasure, and hot with anger he next. But I'm smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds me.
“Goodnight, Tamara,” he says as he leaves me alone in the penthouse.
I pull my knees against my chest and wrap my arms protectively around them. I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge, and as an added bonus, plenty of hot sex. For the most part. I can't complain. It's not like I need or want more from him.
I swear I don't.
CHAPTER 4
Be ready for me by 7pm.
It's a simple text message, but those few words are enough to send my world into a tizzy.
It's not like I have much else to do now that my job search has been abruptly called off. Instead, I spend the day in a haze – my thoughts are consumed with everything that Mr. Cartwright is: his touch, his stare, his intoxicating scent that lingers on my pillow after last night.
And tonight we're going to try something new.
New, huh? Consider my curiosity officially piqued.
It feels like each hour goes by slower than the last as I wait for Mr. Cartwright's return.
7pm comes and goes, and soon the 8 o'clock hour does as well. It's not until 9:45pm that I hear the front door of my apartment creak open.
I rush to the hallway, a little bit too eager. Mr. Cartwright is in the doorway and he smiles at me with that sexy, sinister grin of his as the door slams shut behind him. He's on me, all over me, before I can even say hell
He takes me by the waist and pins me between his body and the wall. My arms curl around is neck as his lips assault mine. I can't help but whimper feeling his tongue dart into my mouth as he pushes my legs apart with his knee.
His lips leave mine and he pulls back slightly, looking down into my eyes. “I'm sorry but I've been thinking about you all day,” he growls.
“It's okay,” is all I can muster up to say. I've been thinking about him, too.
“Good,” he says as that wicked look returns to his eyes, “because I have plans for you. And they're going to make last night look like child’s play.”
“What?” I ask confusedly. We didn't really even have sex last night he just....oh God. “What do you mean?”
“Come. You'll see.” He grabs my wrist and starts leading me down the hall, but I jerk away from him.
“Wait, you're going to hit me again?” Actually, it wasn't that bad. It was kind of hot even.
“I didn't hit you, I spanked you, there's a difference.”
I cross my arms defiantly. “Really is there?”
“Your body told me you liked it,” he replies with a smirk. Well he's not wrong about that. “Now, come along.” He proceeds to grab my wrist again. Clearly, this is not a man who's used to hearing no.
He leads me down the hall and around the corner before coming to a stop in front of that door. The large, reinforced metal one at the end of the hall. Earlier in the week I tried asking Ronald what was behind it and he avoided the question until he told me it was a safe. Right.
I snatch my wrist away from him again and say, “You know, I am apart of this too, right? I think I deserve a bit of an explanation before hand if I ask for one.”
Mr. Cartwright comes toward me, his green eyes growing dark as he corners me against the opposite wall. My heart races.
“I don't owe, you anything. You do as I say. Those are the rules, that's how this works,” he seethes.
Most of me thinks this is pretty fucked up, but a small part of me thinks he's right, and that part scares me. He turns from me again, pulling out his key ring and selecting a rather small silver key which he inserts in the door.
“Ladies first,” he commands as he holds the door wide open for me. He's holding me in an intense glare and I don't dare disobey.
The room is dark and I can't see anything in front of or around me as I step in. I hear the door slam behind us before he flips on the light. And that's when I see it.
Truth be told I'm not even sure what I'm looking at. The room is filled with all kinds of odd contraptions—some coming down from the ceiling, some bolted into the wall, and oddly shaped furniture throughout. And on the far wall I see a plethora of items I do recognize—rope, chains, handcuffs, and whips. And lots of them.
Oh, so it's a sex room. He as a whole room dedicated to sex, and that was the big secret?
I turn quickly on my heel only to face-plant against his chest. “You aren't going to...use all those things on me? Are you?” My face is twisted with shock and disgust, none of which seem to phase Mr. Cartwright, who now looks thoroughly amused.
“Oh, Tamara,” he says as he rests his hands on my shoulders, messaging them in a hypnotic rhythm. “You see, this is the problem with you. You don't know how to relax and let go, and let me take control.�
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Control. There it was, that word. I think back to the questions he asked me when we first met. “What are your fears?” he ASKED to me, and that's when I revealed that my biggest fear was not having control.
His pupils danced over my face wildly as his tongue coated his lips. “This is what you need. This is what you want. You must trust me,” he says, his hand slipping softly around the nape of my neck. He draws my hair back and plants his lips at it's base, nipping and sucking the skin with his mouth. It doesn't take much for his touch to make my body instantly respond.
He caresses my shoulder with his finger tips, brushing the narrow straps of my slip dress off my shoulders. I'm wearing one of his designer bra and panty sets—a rather demure white lace one with little powder blue bows on it. He seems to like the way it looks on me. He pulls me in close, his hands traveling down my spine and over the curve of my ass. He gropes my malleable flesh, while his lips exploring my neck. I bite my own lip hard as my body melts into his and my mind drifts to a very dirty place.
His hands come up to my bra, unlatching it in back and letting it slide over my shoulders and off my arms. He walks me backwards into the room, and then suddenly let's me go.
“Look around,” he says to me. “Since it's your first time, I'll let you pick your poison.”
My eyes survey the room. Every contraption looks foreign, odd or slightly dangerous. Something tells me I'm going to make this worse for myself, having no idea what any of this shit is. Just to the left of us is an S-shaped black leather sofa with strange straps coming out of the bottom. It looks like something out of the future, but it also looks like the most sane thing in the room.
“That one?” I say, pointing at it. His eyes light up and I'm sort of scared.
“The tantra chair, that's an excellent choice!”
God, what have I gotten myself into?
With his hand against the small of my back he leads me towards it. “Don't be scared, you picked a good one. You'll be comfortable.”
Well that's reassuring...I think?
“Here, lay down,” he instructs me. With my hips against the highest end of the chair, I lie flat, face first against it, the cool leather giving my bare skin a chill. Mr. Cartwright drapes his body over mine, takes my wrists and pulls them down towards the floor.
