by Ash, Ingrid
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Trust me,” he says bluntly.
One by one, he pulls a strap from beneath the sofa and secures my wrists in place. They don't look at much but when I tug on them I realize just how secure they are—I couldn't get free of these things if my life depended on it, and that's kind of scary.
He leaves me there, feeling helpless and exposed, as he moves across the room.
“Uh, should we have a safeword or something?”
He snickers as he stares at the opposite wall. The one with all the chains and whips on it—fuck.
“Pick a number?”
“What?!”
“A number, Tamara. One through eight. Pick one.”
“God, um...seven?”
“Lucky number seven it is!”
His sadistic enthusiasm makes me think I've made the wrong choice. I see him pull something long and black off the wall. It looks like a whip. Like one giant whip with multiple whips built in! My eyes flare as he comes back towards me with it.
“No! Hell no! You're going to whip me with that thing?”
“Again, trust me,” he says as he takes my other wrist and shackles it as well. “Do you trust me, Tamara?”
“I...” I'd be lying if I said I did, and I already know how he feels about liars.
“Well you'll learn quickly,” he says
My mind is reeling. He's going to whip me like a dog! “M—Mr. Cartwright,” I stammer – fuck, I don't even know this mans first name and he's about to beat me with God knows what, “Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you, okay? I swear I will never do anything like it again.”
“Tamara I've forgiven you for that. This has nothing to do with your punishment. This is for your pleasure.”
“My pleasure? How?”
“Did you not enjoy last night?” he asked.
Dammit. I don't respond, I just sort of...squirm. And he gets it.
He chuckles. “It doesn't even hurt. It's just a flogger, much different from a regular whip,” he says as he tickles my behind and back with the tassels. Oh. Alright, that doesn't feel so bad. “Just be glad you didn't pick number six.”
Mentally noted.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he walks around me, 'flogger' in hand, stroking it like it's his dick. He positions himself behind me and begins to reach back with it and—damnit, I'm not ready for this!
I close my eyes tight and blurt out, “Safeword! What about the safe word?” I say interrupting him.
He groans. “Fine. Your safe-word is, petunia.”
Weird choice, but I'll go with it.
“Are you ready now, Tamara?” he asks me, gently tracing my spine with the fringe. It's way more relaxing and tantalizing that it should be.
I close my eyes tight and whisper, “I'm ready.”
The anticipation just might be the worst part, and something tells me that Mr. Cartwright knows this. He's standing behind me so I cant see him at all right now, but I can hear him shuffling with my eyes closed, bracing my body for the impending impact of the whip. He waits a good minute before he finally—
“Eeep!” I yelp as the leather collides with the soft flesh of my ass. It's more shocking than painful. It leaves a dull stinging feeling, but it doesn't hurt.
“Not so bad, right?” he asks, rubbing my ass with his fingertips. His hand feels a hell of a lot better than that thing.
Before I can even answer he hits me again, my body jerking upright. “Don't do that,” he says, punishing me on my back with the flogger. I instantly lay back against the chair.
“Just a few more,” he says, but Mr. Cartwright is relentless. He hits me again and again, but slowly and tortuously. I groan and moan and struggle against the straps that bind my wrists, feeling them dig into my skin, but it doesn't compare to the stinging that whip.
“Stop struggling, or I'll make this even harder.” he says, and I instantly still my hands.
He whips me three more times in a row – it's making me wet and it hurts so good, but I'm not sure how much more of it I can take.
“How many more?” I dare to ask.
“Just a few, but if you aren't good I'll double it.”
I shut my mouth, along with my eyes. A muffled whimper escapes my throat as the punishment of my ass continues. I bite my lip hard, feeling the crack against my body two more times. And then, he stops.
He leans against me, his slacks brushing against the backs of my thighs. I can hear his heavy breathing. “You did excellent, Tamara. I'm impressed. Most crack after the first few sets,” he says. I can't help but wonder how many women he's put through this. I can't help but wonder how many other penthouses he has, around the world, with kept women just like me in them.
He softly caresses my curve and my back. “Does this feel better?” he asks.
“Mmhmm,” I mumble, biting my lip as the dull pain subsides. His own lips touch my cheek and he nips at my skin, groping me at the same time. My body arches and I moan out for him. His lips trail slowly over my back. God, he knows just how to torture me with anticipation.
I hear him undo his belt, followed by the sound of it hitting the floor. He unbuttons his zipper behind me, and grips my hips to position me just right. My wrists tug tighter against the restraints. I feel his cock slide through my cheeks, teasing my hole, and I grip the rope above my head tightly. My mind screams, just fucking get in me already!
“Do you like this, Tamara?” he asks seductively as he continues to tease me.
“Yes,” I pant.
“Do you want me inside you?”
“Fuck, yes,” I hiss.
“How much?”
“So much...” I reply breathlessly.
“What do you say?”
“I...what?”
“What do you say when you want something?”
“I want this, please.”
“Please who?”
“Please, Mr. Cartwright.”
“Mmm,” he moans and I feel the head of his cock penetrate me. I groan, throwing my head back he pushes deeper and deeper into me, gripping my hips tighter with every stride. I feel his skin against mine as he fills me completely with his length. His hand winds around my thigh, disappearing between my legs as he begins to rock slowly into me. He stimulates my mound with his finger and I groan at the top of my lungs, barely being able to contain it all, and he's just getting started.
His hips begin to pull back farther from me and he thrusts into me, harder and faster each time. He groans, sexily, as I wrap my foot around his ankle, barely being able to move any other part of my body. He's holding my body tightly against his as I climax into him. Losing control with him is absolute ecstasy.
He comes not long after I do, his body propped up and arching over mine. His hands come to my shoulders and he moves my hair to place a kiss on the back of my neck. “You are delicious, as always,” he says.
He moves to set my wrists free from the restraints and pulls me up to my feet.
I see him move to adjust his clothes and pick up his belt. Fuck no. He's leaving again, like that? Almost literally leaving me hanging?
“Where are you going?”
“What's it to you?” he replies rudely.
“Nothing, I'm just wondering. Every time we....you just ...run off.”
He smirks. “And? I'm a busy man. I have things to do.”
Yeah, and probably other people to do. My lip turns up into a pout and I cover my chest with my arms. “Fine.” And it is. We both got what we needed out of this situation. It is a business deal, and nothing more. I'm fine with that.
Or at least that's what I tell myself...
He takes my chin between his fingers. “Be waiting for me in here – and naked – tomorrow, by 6.”
My eyes narrow and I say “By 6 you mean 10 pm again?”
His smirk fades and he grabs me tightly by the ass, pulling me against him. That fucking hurts.
“Don't sass me or I'll make you pay for it
tomorrow.”
I gulp, without saying another word. He was as intimidating as his was sexy.
He lets me go, watching me intently as if to warn me, silently, with his eyes. He turns and exits the room without as much as a goodnight.
I'm left naked and alone in his torture chamber.
CHAPTER 5
Hey Tamara,
Thank you so much for submitting your wonderful resume! We here at Fanciful Flourishes think you might be a good fit for our team, and would like to meet with you ASAP. We will be interviewing possible candidates at our studio tomorrow, between 3pm and 6pm. Hope to see you there.
Xoxo,
Melissa Fredrick
FANCIFUL FLOURISHES FLORAL STUDIO
The email came at 8am sharp, and was there and waiting for me when I awoke a few hours after. I've deleted plenty over the course of the past couple days – it's crazy just how many businesses and offices want you when you have a fancy zip code. I'm so used to rejection that I almost didn't even bother applying to this fancy Soho flower shop, it seemed too far fetched. But then again, so did the Cartwright Agency, and look where that got me.
I scroll over all the emails on my phone, most of them spam, but I keep scrolling back to this one. The pay is great, it's in a nice neighborhood, and most of all it sounds fun. Jobs aren't meant to be fun, right? I mean, do people honestly get paid to play with flowers all day?
With a sigh I pull the mail up again and hit reply.
Dear Ms. Fredrick,
Thank you so much for your consideration. I am more than honored to be considered for a position on our team, however at this time, for personal reasons, I must respectfully decline.
And I can't bring myself to type anything more than that. I need my own money, I need to control my destiny. Mr. Cartwright just didn't understand – maybe he would understand it better if I explained it better to him? No, no he wouldn't. We're from different worlds and he would never understand.
I sigh as I discard the draft.
Dear Ms. Frederick,
Thank you for your consideration and for extending me the opportunity to interview for a position on your team. I look forward to meeting with you first thing at 3pm tomorrow. Have a wonderful day.
Regards,
Tamara Pierce
I hit send.
Fuck, what did I just do?
Everything will be fine. How will he ever know? He never calls me or drops in in the middle of the day anyways, and I don't need a driver to get there after all, I have my old standby – the subway. This is going to be a piece of cake.
Finally I have something to get my mind off of Mr. Cartwright. Time to plan a professional, yet stylish, outfit for tomorrow.
*
I get so distracted with planning for tomorrow that I forget about time – I'm sitting at the laptop googling possible interview questions while Netflix blasts in background. I almost don't hear the door creak open. I look at the time – it's 6pm sharp. And Mr. Cartwright is on time.
I barely get a chance to click the browser off when he appears in the door frame, his sturdy frame fully erect with a fitted tan suit hugging his body just right. He looks delicious, but his eyes are wild.
“What are you doing?”
I jump up and reply, “I—nothing, I'm sorry I just lost track of time.”
He glares at me out of the corner his eye, suspiciously – hell my face must look suspicious now and I can't help it.
“I thought I told you to be in my room and naked when I got here?”
“I'm sorry I--”
“Do you not take the things I say seriously?”
“I do, I do, I'm sorry,” I say as I move towards the hall, but he stays planted firmly in the frame, not letting me pass.
His eyes soften and he places his hand around my neck, thumbing the skin lightly. “How should we remedy this, Tamara?”
I swallow hard. God no, not again. “It won't happen again. I swear.”
He sighs and turns to his side, placing the key in my palm. “You have 1 minute.”
I nod nervously and shuffle to his chamber, hastily unlocking the door and leaving it slightly cracked open for him. I strip off my clothes and throw them in a pile in the corner right before I hear the door shut.
No way was that a full minute.
I turn around see Mr. Cartwright standing in he middle of the room, his jacket stripped off in a pile on the floor behind him. He beckons me with nothing more than his eyes and I move to stand directly in front of him. Nervously, I reach for the buttons of his collar and he grabs my hands, stopping them.
“No, that isn't how this works, you know that. Get on your knees.”
Now this – this I can do, and it's a million times better than any punishments. I kneel down, eye level with his crotch as he removes his belt. I don't dare touch his bulge, as much as I want to, secretly getting satisfaction out of the fact that he's already obviously half hard just thinking about me. He bends forward and I feel something slip around my neck. It's his belt. What? He fastens it like a collar firmly around my neck and I don't like it one bit. It's not too tight, but it certainly isn't loose nor is it comfortable.
“You'll wear this our entire time together,” he tells me. It could be worse.
He leaves my presence for a moment and my eyes follow him as he moves behind me.
“Turn around,” he bellows, and I obey without hesitation, but it doesn't stop my curiosity. I can still hear him fiddling with things back there – what the hell is he going to do to me now?
I hear his footsteps come up behind me – grabs my arms and thrusts them behind me. Click. Click. I'm bound by the handcuffs again.
He's in front of me again and he slowly unzips his pants – it's like torture. He pulls out his cock – it's long, thick and delicious, as usual. He puts the slick head against my lips and I look up at him.
“Open.”
He doesn't have to ask me twice and I part my lips and feel his length slide over my tongue. Mmm, he even tastes delicious.
I hear him groan like he never has before. His hands get lost in my hair and he rocks into me, bringing my head closer to him with each stroke. I wrap my tongue around him, flicking the tip of his cock as he pulls out and I feel him pull my hair tighter. He continues to fuck my mouth, deeper and deeper as I take in his full length, lapping up every inch of him.
With a loud erotic groan he comes and I swallow every last drop.
He looks down at me and doesn't say anything but I know that he's pleased. Did I just succeed in making Mr. Cartwright speechless?
“Get up. Get on the table,” he commands, and I follow, moving across the room to the cold metal table on the other side. It's freezing and not comfortable, but I try my best to perch myself on it's edge.
“No,” he says, pulling me off and spinning my body in the opposite direction. He uses his weight to pin me against the tables edge, pushing over it head first, and his feet kick mine wide apart. With one hand in my hair he holds my head tightly in place and uses the other to position his cock against my entrance. I moan as he pushes into me, hard, with one full thrust. His other hand grabs the end of his belt and I gasp as I feel tighten around my neck. Did I do something wrong? Yesterday was a walk in the park compared to this. I start to panic and wonder if he somehow knows about the email. Is this how he's punishing me?
He fucks me hard and rough, relentlessly thrusting his hard cock into my body. The pain of it quickly turns to pleasure as I feel the most intense orgasm rising up inside of me, and then exploding like a million different colors. God, the high is so intense; even more so than the times before.
He jerks inside me as he comes, and falls resting on top of my back with his hand still tangled in my hair. His chest heaves and I feel the heat of his body against mine. His tongue traces the side of my face as my heart rate begins to settle.
“Stay,” he says before he removes himself from me, and I feel exposed standing there naked with my ass in the air yet ag
ain. He returns seconds later, removing me from my handcuffs and lifting my body up off of the table.
He removes his belt from my neck, gently caressing his hand in it's place. I'm still breathing hard from what he just did to me.
He stands there looking at me awkwardly, as if he wants to say something but won't. I'm not sure how to read his expressions, usually this is the time that he leaves abruptly, so I didn't come expecting anything different.
“What?” I ask softly.
His features settle and he leans into me, nuzzling his face against my mine. His lips linger on my cheeks, his hands cupping the sides of my head, and I don't understand how this man can go from dominant and rough to gentle and loving in 4.5 seconds flat.
Loving?
His hand falls to my shoulder and he pulls back, looking me in the eye again. I don't say anything this time.
Then he turns, retrieves his jacket, and leaves. Just like he always does.
CHAPTER 6
I can't think about Mr. Cartwright today; today is all about my interview – looking the part, sounding the part, and ultimately, nailing it. The former is the easy part – with a closet full of designer clothing I have more than enough choices that will surely impress my potential boss. Ultimately I decide on a conservative but rather stylish yellow silk dress – it's bright and cheery, and the color of sunflowers.
I continue to go over possible interview questions in my mind during the subway ride in to town. I have a list of almost 100 on my cell phone, but clearly some of those are for more corporate jobs and wouldn't pertain to me.
Still I can't help but get distracted, checking my messages once in a while. I haven't heard anything from Mr. Cartwright all day.
After the train reaches my stop I walk a few blocks, past all the luxury showrooms and designer shops. It takes me a minute to realize I can actually shop in these places if I want – deep down I still feel like an outsider, regardless of the color of my credit card.
