by Savannah May
“And we have time to reconnect before your meeting. I want to get that outrageous outfit off you, you sexy little witch, casting a spell on me in public like this.”
We took a limo to the hotel and rode up to the room in a private elevator. As soon as the door shut on us, Josh turned to me and pulled me into his solid chest. Crushing my flesh against him, he bit a trail along the side of my neck, while squeezing an aching breast under his needy palm.
“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now, you've never looked better A/C,” he moaned in my ear, making me shudder all down my back. “California obviously agrees with you. Turn around and bend over so I can get that zipper.”
When the elevator made an unscheduled stop and the older gentleman and his wife appeared at the spreading doors, I was bent over with my hands on the wall. They couldn't have looked more surprised as Josh and I righted ourselves. What was I doing? I had planned on getting answers out of Josh, not submitting to his needs.
“I didn't come to play,” I told Josh when he pulled me into the suite he'd booked for the night.
“Of course you did,” he replied. “Now take that shirt off before I rip it off.”
“No.” I pushed back from him. Now he was genuinely shocked by the force of my resistance. “I want answers. Do you know my boss, more than by reputation?” I asked, watching his face contort through a series of grimaces that were completely open to interpretation.
“What do you mean?” he asked and I knew he was stalling, trying to ascertain what I knew. He should have made a career in the secret service.
“It's pretty plain. Do you know him and did you do something to me on his behalf?”
“A/C don't be mad like this. I didn't know you and I would- had no idea we were going to get- so close.”
“Is that what we are then?”
“How could I have known that you would turn out to be the perfect sub and I'd get so attached to you.”
“The perfect sub?” Was I pleased or insulted by that tag? “What is that exactly? I'm a pussy you can order around and thrash for fun?”
“No, the opposite in fact. Your sass and strength makes the domination so much more stimulating and builds a stronger connection between us.”
“And yet you didn't say I could stay with you in New York when I was desperate to leave Valentine Winery.”
Josh didn't answer but his features pulled a path through a set of expressions that told me I was correct. Our connection was not what I wanted it to be, just as with Valentine. Would the play ever transcend to something more, or was I only ever going to be a plaything? There was a splinter chunk inside of me that hugely desired the simple expression of being taken as a toy. But in that case, I wanted the gamer to be Valentine.
“I have to go,” I said. “I'm going to dinner on a yacht.”
Josh looked surprised and his expression was plainly looking for reasons to stop me leaving. I wondered why he didn't command me as before. Had our relationship changed that much?
“A yacht? With your boss?” he demanded.
“Of course. Who else would I be doing business with?”
“A/C, be careful of Valentine.”
“Now you're warning me off?” I said. “Isn't that slightly past due?”
“He's not what he seems to be,” Josh said. “More than what he appears,” he added when I looked skeptical.
“So now you do know him?” I snapped.
“I did know him, a little, when I was a child.”
“And yet you never mentioned it?”
“It was just a date, to see whether you liked to play. I had no idea we were going to be more. You know that.”
That much was true. He'd been clear he didn't do relationships and I'd pushed for one. So was this all on me? Only if I placed it there.
22
“This way, Miss Cannon.”
The concierge himself was waiting for me in the lobby when I hurtled from the elevator past six.
What?
How did the portly old controller of the hotel's comings and goings know me by name? He put me in a stretch, waiting outside, and waved off my fumbling in my purse for a bill.
A sleek black cigarette speedboat was waiting at the quayside, the black-suited man at the wheel looked like a James Bond caricature, slicked black hair, only missing a martini glass. He handed me down into the dark luxurious ride and drove at top speed across the bay, slicing through the waves like a chef's steel towards a monster yacht purring gently on the tide.
I was shown below deck into a circular room with a black stage at one side- low-lit and ready for a show. The men filling the space, all reeking of power and money and high octane manliness, wore beautifully cut tuxedos. They clasped crystal tumblers of scotch in smooth large hands and spoke languidly of politics and projects.
But their dates, if that’s what they were, or their slave pets- holy shit. The women sashaying between the masculine pillars of society were completely naked aside from a stunning assortment of footwear, enough to make Paris Hilton green.
Their outfits consisted solely of velvet ropes tied around their necks, with matching velvet tails swinging from the butt plugs. A couple of the women wore rope bondage such as I'd been tied into, shoving their breasts into bulges and sometimes, pulling their clits open.
When the waiter slithered across to take my order, it was on the tip of my tongue to order a crème de menthe frappe, just to be outrageously slutty. Instead I scoured the room until I met Jay Valentine’s eye. My heart leapt a trail across the lining of my chest, he was so gorgeous. His chiseled jaw and nose set him apart from all the other wealthy men, he had an aura of exquisite desirability around him like a bubble. I told the waiter, with my eyes still fixated on Valentine, the Vals champagne would be fine.
What had I gotten myself into now? My heart was doing the Riverdance under the expensive bodice of the restrictive outfit, but at least I was clothed and I made sure to hold Valentine’s gaze without flinching, somehow knowing I'd just been kicked up another pay grade.
“If you'd come this way, you will be prepared by the assistants,” the waiter told me with a patient expression.
I dragged my eyes away from Jay Valentine and followed him down a curved set of plush-carpeted stairs to an anteroom.
An assistant carefully unzipped the inverted U-curve at the back of the skirt and removed that section so my ass was exposed naked. Then he applied a good gob of lube before filling my tunnel with a plug that went in with far less resistance than the first time. Still it gave me reason to gasp and wince before the constricted walls of my ass relaxed to the invasion and I felt the deep dark pleasure of being filled in a place I'd never imagined.
The tail hung down between my inner thighs, the flesh bare above the just visible stocking tops. The shirt was removed so that only the gossamer gauze of lacy net covered my erect tits.
“Happy initiation,” the waiter assistant said as he led me back up the swirling stairs to the main room.
I shivered all the way through my core, tingling with feverish need and enthralled to be close to Valentine again. I was on edge with wonder at what tonight's game was to be, played out in a luxurious floating room far out to sea, full of billionaires and their pets.
And at the end of it, Josh would be waiting back at the hotel to hear all about it.
“Are you ready?”
With my eyes on the floor I noted I was biting down on the corner of my lower lip to try to convince myself that I was. The dresser, assistant, whatever his job description was, led me back up the sweeping stairs into the yacht's magnificent circular reception room. My knees almost buckled beneath me with the blood gushing through my veins with every step.
The lush, blood red velvet curtains were drawn closed on the windows, providing a frame for the black suited men. I was glad they were turned away from my entrance, to casually watch the show on the stage. But even the backs of their heads reeked of power and opulent wealth. So strange h
ow our human senses sniff out the sense of money. Or lack of it.
I had always been around money in my job as an interior designer. Part of the job was being comfortable around the mega-rich. But standing here in the midst of this group, the difference was palpable. The air was thick with absolute entitlement. The arrogance and sexuality that flowed from their pores and stifled the grand space. They gazed at the stage with detachment.
A blindfold naked young woman awaiting her punishment had not yet tugged on their interest. As I also waited to see what sort of pleasure they intended to take from my submission, my body quivered at what was coming. I realized I was enthralled from head to toe.
The few women in the room, either pets or initiates, sauntered languidly around. The velvet leashes attached to their collars were left to trail free. All of them were naked. Only I still wore the tight restrictive leather pencil skirt, albeit with the bustle shape semicircle removed so that my ass was totally exposed.
The girl standing on the low stage, more of a raised dais, wore only a dark red blindfold and the towering pair of platform heels that would have carried her through floodwaters.
The plug tail still trailed between her thighs, swishing lightly with every halting breath. Her long yellow blonde hair hung over her shoulders almost to her waist, reminding me of hippie chip girls from the 1960s.
Another young woman, an assistant but this one naked and wearing the same outfit of thigh-scraper heels and butt plug tail, filled the blond’s mouth with a length of magicians rippling silk. She pressed all the fabric inside until the cavity was stuffed and then tied off the ends behind her head.
With the pressure in my breasts rising until my skin was hotly tingling I scouted the room to locate my masterful boss. Valentine wasn’t present and my heart thudded with the thought that he had abandoned me to whatever this next level of submission was to be.
‘Happy initiation,’ the assistant had said after he had invaded my most taboo tunnel with the plug.
Now I felt like a fine bottle of Pinot Noir, corked and stoppered, although the sensation was becoming more and more pleasant. Once my body stopped trying to expel the invader a sense of fullness moved through my body.
As I raked my gaze across the men in the lavish room, seeking Valentine for some sense of stability in this environment, my eyes connected with those of an older man. I could tell he was rugged in age, with the still athletic body bristling his suit. The look in his eyes said he would take his pleasuring on me at the first opportunity.
In that moment, one glance informed me that he was a sensual expert and had every intention of sharing his knowledge through my body. I was shocked just how hungry I suddenly became for his touch. If Valentine had left me here, surely that was what he wanted too.
The exposed girl, in my imagination I named her Liberty, reached her hands behind to be bound together beneath the tail. Any twitch of resistance to her bondage would deliver a sharp tug on the plug in her rear. She stood in the dim spotlight, quivering all the way down to those impossible heels, patiently waiting with a docile stance.
“These are some exquisite pets you’ve brought out tonight,” I heard a man’s voice behind me.
“Elite bitches,” came the response and the men laughed.
The neat crowd of business leaders, senators, all men bristling with power and wealth, watched closely as the girl shivered through her emotions, vulnerable and exposed. Completely alone behind her mask. The show was about to begin and I noticed excitement rise under my full breasts. I desperately wanted to take her place.
Liberty wasn't alone on the stage. To one side of her, another girl with darker hair and much curvier, stood demurely with her head cast down. I named her Chastity. Her weighty breasts were crisscrossed with red welts from the punishment she had just received.
She was also blindfold and gagged, left in her own world of sensation to rake through her emotions. Her hands were tied together, but attached to a pulley contraption in the ceiling. She was pulled high, up on her tip toes and left hanging to feel and enjoy the experience of exposure.
It was impossible to tell what she was going through. Occasionally, one of the masters would reach out and graze his fingertips along her glistening naked slit. Or maybe twist her nipple into a corkscrew of pain. Or stepped back a pace to observe her reactions with interest. None of these men had ever ridden the opposite polarity of dominance. They knew nothing of the psychological demands of submission. To surrender control would be unthinkable to them and therefore highly intriguing.
I could tell they harbored a deep respect for their pets though. And deep down I believed Valentine held that same regard and fascination for me. Now his words at our first meeting, when he had forced me to strip naked in his office, came rushing into my mind.
"I think you enjoyed the power I gave you over a stranger. You discovered the construct created between clothes and nakedness. Now decide whether you want that feeling to develop further."
I recalled his statement because I’d been considering what he meant by the construct of clothes and nudity ever since.
Was being here tonight the next stage of my development?
23
I shuddered again wondering what I'd be required to do. The lights in the room dimmed so that only the soft spotlights on the two girls were visible through the gloom
I stopped search-lighting with my eyes trying to find my boss. Valentine had obviously not brought me here on genuine business. Those recent words, Happy initiation’ from the waiter boy repeated in my mind as I stared at the two blindfold women on the dais. What on earth could he have meant?
Was I being inducted into a sexual cult or had he been mistaken and confused me with the girls on the stage? My mind bounced like a ping-pong ball between the extreme scenarios.
When I felt the warm presence rise behind my left shoulder, my heart quickened. Pressure filled my breasts, pushing them out eagerly with anticipation for the Masters approach. I sucked my lower lip into itself, the tension of his closeness ratcheted through my invigorated body.
Every cell wanted to turn and drink him in up close, I craved an intimate smile after the relaxed evening we spent the previous night at his penthouse high above San Francisco. But something prevented me.
The tense crackle in the air behind me warned of a change in the game. We were no longer two equals sharing cooking and fine wine. The relaxed, beautiful man of the night before had disappeared into the shadows. We were master and servant and something told me Valentine was livid with emotional fire. It burned through my pores even though I couldn’t see him.
I swallowed hard, as though that could alleviate the tingling on the outer layer of my skin. Valentine was so close I felt his heavy warm breath skitter across my shoulders, so that the hairs on the back of my neck sprung to life.
“Ms. Cannon I'm glad you were able to join me, " he husked, his voice a gravel burst behind my ear.
Like Persephone in the Greek myth, I didn't dare turn around for fear of bursting the bubble.
"Your command is my wish, or something like that," I replied with a whisper touch of irony, but keeping my eyes fixed front to hide my overriding grin.
Game on tonight then, after yesterday evening.
"Still I'm surprised to see you, in view of your overlapping engagements," he said.
His tone turned dangerously low, making me shiver. I knew there would be some sort of punishment for having run out to see Josh. For some reason Valentine had a seriously negative vibe going on where Josh was concerned.
But I was vibrant with curiosity. I also longed to make him aware that I knew about his previous relationship with my ex, well not quite, ex-boyfriend.
"You mean my meeting with your childhood friend?” I murmured so no one around us knew we were having a chat, or that I was answering back.
I still kept my eyes fixed straight ahead against every impulse to turn and face him down with a challenge. Again the air between us thickened and I fe
lt his body bristle and turn rigid.
"No, I mean with the man I put through school and supported, no created, to become the renowned architect he is today,” he snarled, also under his breath. “The man who, without me, would be working retail at an electronics store, not dating smart strong and perfectly sub women."
All my sassy confidence. Along with any triumph I may have felt at having a secret, vanished, slithering away like water down a drain.
“I, oh, he only told me he knew you as a child, a little,” I spoke in a half whimper, confusion shaking me to the center of my trembling body.
"Yes the hubris of the boy never fails to surprise me,” Valentine said, then demanded; “did you have sex with him this afternoon?"
“No,” I replied automatically, right before my hackles rose at being questioned by a man I actually owed nothing to.
He was my employer I was his designer, not his slave. My relationship outside of work was none of his damn business and there was no excuse for this compulsive stalking of his.
Somehow we fallen into a bizarre relationship of him tormenting me physically, emotionally, psychologically, sexually – okay on every level – and I’d become hopelessly addicted to his game.
Bondage play with Valentine felt like a more intense form of communication than any of the quotidian dinner and movie affairs I'd had with Josh. I felt more connected to Valentine, who barely spoke to me, then to any man who'd regaled me with info drops about his inner self. I’d always really loathed those question and answer dates that felt more like school admission interviews.
In New York I'd always felt I should mail out my resume before a date. Indicate my short-term, long-term, and lifetime goals of the top of the page, finishing up with the clichéd old bucket list. Was that a way to know someone? To know whether you wanted them in your life or your body? As though life was a series of standard events to be crossed off until you came to the end. How were people matched like a computer dating service by the number of shared interests. I don't know, maybe it works for some.
