Wild Submission

by Roxy Sloane

  Isabelle stifles a moan.

  “Tell me,” I order her softly, as my fingers dip deeper between her thighs. I find the swollen nub of her clit, and gently circle.

  She shudders. “I was adopted when I was thirteen. Before that, I lived with foster parents and in a group home.”

  “What about your birth parents?”

  Isabelle hesitates. I stop stroking.

  “I never knew my dad,” she says quietly. “My mom was an addict. She got busted too many times. They took me away from her when I was just a kid.”

  I feel a surge of anger, but I fight to keep it hidden. She’s opening up more to me than ever before. This is all part of her initiation, to belonging to me.

  “Do you remember her at all?” I ask, whispering in her ear.

  Isabelle shakes her head. “Not really. I don’t even have any pictures.” She pauses, and her voice is quiet and wistful. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

  “How did you come to be adopted by Charles and his wife?” I ask. I don’t want to push her too hard, too soon, but I have a burning desire to know the truth. I can tell she’s uncomfortable revealing so much about herself, so I make sure to keep my touch light and soothing, distracting her from the ugliness of the story she’s telling.

  “I was bounced around different foster families and group homes for years. Some of them were OK, but the others...” Isabelle pauses, and I feel her body tense again with the memories. She shakes her head. “Then I got lucky, I guess. I was in a group home when a social worker came one day. Said there was a couple, looking to adopt. I guess they’d seen my photo on the website. Even back then, I was pretty,” she adds, with a note of self-loathing in her voice. “They came to meet me, and that was it. They took me home with them the same day.”

  “How did you feel about it?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “They were good people. And I was lucky, I know. The money, the houses… They gave me everything money could buy.”

  There’s a lot she’s not saying. I realize that the Ashcroft I knew: so ruthlessly ambitious, always working, on trips abroad and in the office, wouldn’t have been a perfect father. I probably saw more of him in the past eight years than she did.

  I turn Isabelle to face me, and catch the flash of lonely vulnerability on her face. That’s why I kept her back to me this whole time—so she’d be as open as possible. I want to scoop her up in my arms and make love to her. Drive out all that sadness and isolation. Make her feel adored and treasured.

  “Lie down on the bench,” I tell her softly. Isabelle lets out a breath of relief. She clearly thinks our conversation is over, but it’s only on pause for now.

  She follows my command, draping her perfect body on the low, wide platform.

  “Spread your legs for me,” I continue. She flushes, self-conscious, but she does it all the same.

  I take a razor from the shelf and kneel down in front of her.

  “I said I’m going to get to know every part of you,” I tell her. “Look at that gorgeous pussy.” I smooth a handful of foam between her thighs.

  Isabelle wriggles.

  “Be still,” I order her. She stops moving. I push her thighs further apart. Her pussy lips part gently, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her swollen clit.

  I slowly draw the razor down over her mound. I rinse and repeat until she’s cleanly shaven and bare. Then I lower my head and drop a light kiss on the smooth skin.

  She shivers, arching her hips up against me. I can’t resist trailing my tongue lower, until it’s dancing over her clit.

  Isabelle lets out a breathy moan.

  God, she sounds so good. I lick lower, tasting her sweet, fresh taste. She parts her thighs wider, a silent invitation to take everything my body is straining to claim.

  But I pull back. I get to my feet, and offer her a hand to help her up. She’s a little unsteady, swaying against me as I lead her out of the shower and wrap her in a soft robe. I take her out to the bedroom, and gently set her down in the middle of my huge king bed.

  She lays there, her eyes bright with desire, her lips parted with anticipation.

  I take three steps back, and sit down in the chair at the foot of the bed.

  “Now, Isabelle, you’re going to do everything I say.”

  “Yes,” she nods eagerly.

  “Yes what?” I demand.

  “Yes, Master,” she quickly corrects herself.

  I reward her with a smile.

  “Good. Now I want to see you touch yourself. I’m going to watch you come.”

  FIVE: ISABELLE

  I freeze, staring at Cam with a nervous excitement. He’s lounging back in his chair, but his body looks tense and poised for action.

  “That was an order,” he tells me with a steely note. “Touch yourself, Isabelle.”

  My stomach twists.

  No one’s ever watched me before. Then again, Brent was never concerned with my pleasure. He only cared about his satisfaction, not mine.

  I take a deep breath. It seems so intimate, so vulnerable.

  You can do this.

  I’m not really sure what he wants me to do, but I’ve seen enough porn to have an idea. Brent loved to make me watch; he said I could learn a thing or two from the girls on-screen.

  Now, I bat my eyelashes at Cam and start squeezing my breasts like the girls in the movies. “Mmm,” I moan loudly, stroking down between my legs. I’m tender and turned on from that amazing shower, but I’m way too self-conscious right now to feel anything but awkward. Still, I fake it as best I can.

  “Oh,” I breathe, “that feels so good.”

  “Does it?” Cam’s voice comes, amused.

  I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, but he doesn’t seem impressed.

  My heart sinks. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I ask, confused.

  He shakes his head. “I told you, this is about your pleasure. What you want. You don’t have to fake anything with me.”

  Cam rises to his feet and moves towards the closet, flinging open the door. My pulse kicks. What could be in there? A moment later he emerges with a crescent-shaped black box and sets it on the floor beside the bed. There’s a remote control in one of his hands and I’m burning with curiosity now, but I know better than to ask questions.

  He lays on the bed beside me and runs a hand softly over my naked side. I shudder from the heat of his touch.

  “Stand up,” he commands, pulling me slowly off the bed. I do as he says, still wondering what he has planned for me. . “I want the real you. I want to know how you come when you’re alone. When no one’s watching.”

  His voice caresses me, his deep Scottish accent low and sexy as hell.

  “Now sit.”

  I settle onto the arched box, and as my thighs press against the sides, I feel a ridged texture underneath my freshly shaven pussy. My heart quickens.

  “This is a Sybian machine. It vibrates for your pleasure, but I control the speed. I’m going to blindfold you and watch you ride it.”

  A rush of anticipation swoops through me as he ties a soft cloth over my eyes and I feel the start of a slow vibration beneath me.

  “Think about how it felt in the shower just now. My hands sliding over those pert breasts, how you got wet just feeling my touch.”

  God, this is hot. He murmurs encouragement as I relax onto the vibrating box and stroke my nipples. Soft. Slow.

  “Can you feel it?” Cam continues. “How hard your nipples are. How your skin puckers, begging to be touched?”

  I slowly squeeze and roll my nipples into stiff peaks. A moan escapes my lips, and I hear an answering growl from Cam. So close, I can feel the heat from his body, smell his clean, fresh, masculine scent. The vibration gets more powerful between my thighs.

  “Now, lower,” Cam orders. “Show me how you like it.”

  My cheeks flush hot. My heart races as I obey his thrilling order.

  And then I move both hands lower, gripping tight to the machine betwee
n my thighs, grinding my clit against the powerful throb of the soft silicone.

  Yes.

  I moan again, louder, loving the feel of the machine pulsing against me just right, right where I need it most. My clit is swollen, throbbing, and now I find my rhythm, circling my hips in swift, sure strokes.

  I can feel myself losing control. It’s too much. “Cam,” I gasp.

  I feel hands on my waist as Cam lifts me back onto the bed and away from the machine. He knew it was too intense. He pushes my thighs back. Baring me to him.

  With the blindfold on, I can’t see what he’s about to do. All I know is, after riding the machine for him, I’m close. Too close. The tension in my body is tighter than it’s ever been.

  He’s still holding my thighs apart, his breath hot against my exposed, damp skin.

  He’s watching me. He’s seeing everything.

  I can’t wait any longer.

  But I don’t dare move.

  “Isabelle.” I snap to attention. “Touch yourself.”

  I slide my hand down to stroke at my soft, bare pussy. I arch up against my hand and slowly, push one finger into my wetness.

  “Ohh.” The intensity of my groan shocks me. Reality rushes in and my hand freezes. What am I doing?

  “Shhh.” Cam’s voice is calm. He covers my hand with his own. “Don’t stop, I’m right here.” He tugs off the blindfold and I see him kneeling between my legs.

  I swallow hard, staring into his eyes. They’re fierce, burning with lust. Slowly, he moves his fingers against mine, guiding my hand back to my clit and wet, aching pussy.

  “You like it slow, my sweet?” Cam murmurs in my ear. He guides my strokes, his large hand covering my own. Pressing my fingers deeper inside me. Pushing my palm to grind against my clit.

  It feels incredible. I buck up against the pressure, already hurtling to the edge but wanting so much more.

  “Tell me what you need,” Cam commands me.

  I whimper, not able to speak the words aloud.

  “Tell me,” he says again, and then his hand stops moving.

  “You,” I moan desperately. “Please, Cam. I need you inside me.”

  He answers by plunging two fingers deep into my slick pussy.

  Fuck!

  I thrust against him, out of my mind with the pleasure. He drives again, grinding his palm against my clit and curling his fingers, finger-fucking me with relentless precision. I cry out, writhing with need.

  “Now come for me, Isabelle. Let it all go.”

  His permission opens something inside me.

  I cry out as the climax rips through me, the most intense orgasm of my life. It leaves me gasping in a haze of pleasure. When I finally turn my head and open my eyes, Cam is gazing down at me.

  “Did you enjoy that?” he asks, stroking my cheek.

  I nod. Enjoyment is an understatement.

  “Good.” Cam smiles—but it’s a smile laced with something powerful that makes my stomach flip.

  “That orgasm was my gift to you, Isabelle, and I promise, this is just the beginning.”

  SIX: CAM

  I walk out of the room before I take her right now, just pin those slim wrists to the bed and slam my cock into her slick cunt the way she begged.

  “I need you inside me.”

  Fuck, I deserve a medal right now. But my rules are sacrosanct. No sex with my subs until I have total control. And Isabelle is only just beginning her journey.

  And beginning to test my willpower to the limits.

  I climb the stairs to my atrium, looking to find some clarity and peace. The room is on the top floor of the townhouse, a glass-walled playroom with views of the city lights and carefully positioned greenery to shield my activities from watchful eyes.

  I pour a drink and pace the small room, feeling like a caged beast.

  Nothing about tonight is going like it should. I should be in charge—of my sub, the situation and my own emotions—but I’m not. I can’t stop the feelings of possessive emotion that rear up whenever I’m around this woman. I thought that entering into the agreement with her would help keep those feelings contained. Create a familiar framework that would stop me from losing control.

  What was I thinking? Isabelle’s not like any other woman I’ve dominated before. Whether I want to admit it or not, she’s different, special.

  The rules exist to protect us both; that’s why there’s a contract. And already, I’m breaking them. Usually, I keep myself totally detached from my sub’s history or life story and simply focus on giving her pleasure, but being with Isabelle tonight, watching her eyes darken with passion and excitement as she touched herself… All I wanted was to know more. Experience more. I want to get inside her, understand her, and discover every little thing that’s hidden behind her perfect façade.

  I could tell myself it’s part of the game, but that would be a lie. This is way more than just my usual desire. It’s a restless hunger that won’t be satisfied.

  I sip my scotch and think about what she shared with me tonight, the brief details of her tragic life. She acts to the world as if she’s just another beautiful, frivolous girl, but the truth is, she’s been through more than I could ever imagine.

  Still, she’s hiding something from me. And I will discover it all. Stripping back her defenses one by one until she gives me everything. And I’ll give her in return, total freedom.

  The anticipation curls through me like a drug. Isabelle will submit, and I will know it all. Every inch of her skin, every moan of pleasure. Every dark secret in her past.

  Her surrender will be absolute.

  SEVEN: ISABELLE

  I wake the next morning back in the guest suite. After waiting for Cam in his bed for a half hour, I realized, the lesson was over. He runs so hot and cold, it’s hard to know what’s coming next, but that’s thrilling too. He’s unpredictable. Impossible to control.

  I stretch lazily and yawn. I haven’t felt this good in years. The morning sun is pale through the windows, and the whole world feels brand new. I shiver with bliss at the memory of his hands on me. Inside me. Nobody has ever focused so completely giving me pleasure, or been so attuned to what I want and need.

  But Cam was holding back, I could tell. His touch was maddeningly gentle, driving me out of my mind with need. I don’t want him to be careful. I want him to take me hard and fast, I want to feel him slamming into me with all the power I know is stored in that lean, muscular body.

  I hope he will. And soon.

  I hop out of bed and quickly freshen up. I pull on a silky, sexy robe and pad down the hall in search of the man himself.

  “Cam?”

  I enter the kitchen, expecting to find him there like every other morning so far. But the room is empty.

  “Cam?” I call again, but there’s no reply.

  He’s gone.

  My heart cracks a little. I like our mornings together, talking over breakfast. It feels like a routine, like I belong here, but clearly, Cam doesn’t agree.

  Then I see a vase of roses on the kitchen table, and a note with my name.

  Isabelle,

  You were beautiful last night. Thank you for sharing yourself with me. I look forward to tonight’s lesson.

  Cam

  I hug the note to my chest, beaming. I don’t know how I’m going to wait until tonight. I hear my phone ringing from the next room. It’s my friend Olivia.

  “Oh, thank God!” she exclaims, sounding frazzled. “I forgot to pick up the cupcakes for later, could you stop by the bakery on your way?”

  It takes me a moment to remember: today I’m supposed to meet with my friends to help organize an upcoming charity function. “Of course!” I exclaim, feeling guilty I’d forgotten. I was supposed to host, but Olivia has stepped in to help me out. “Just text me the details, I’m on my way.”

  “You’re an angel!”

  Olivia hangs up and I swing into action. Jeans and a casual T-shirt may be my preferred outfits when I’m
lounging around the house, but if I’m going to take my usual place in the society clique, I need to be at the top of my game. I select a cream designer dress from the wardrobe Cam ordered me, and add hand-tooled Italian leather boots and a huge pair of sunglasses.

  When I look in the mirror, I see my old self again. Isabelle Ashcroft, heiress and party girl. But it’s feeling more and more like a mask these days: hiding the true self I’m so scared to reveal.

  What if Cam sees me for who I really am?

  I feel a chill, but I shake off the thought. I head downstairs and hail a cab, stopping by Magnolia Bakery to pick up a box of cupcakes before arriving at Olivia’s apartment on the Upper East Side.

  “Miss Ashcroft.” The doorman tips his cap as he holds open the heavy glass doors. I nod back, struck with how many doors that name has opened for me.

  I didn’t lie to Cam last night, but I didn’t tell him the whole truth either. I glossed over my childhood, because I swore I was putting that life behind me, once and for all. From the day Ashcroft and his wife took me home with them, I was determined to belong in their wealthy, privileged world. I was young, but I learned everything I could about manners and etiquette, mimicking the people around me and researching online and in books until you’d never guess I grew up poor, eating boxed mac and cheese—on the good days.

  They wouldn’t regret choosing me. They wouldn’t wish they could give me back.

  Now, I’m a part of this world. Most of my friends don’t even know I was adopted, and those who do, barely remember. I’ve fooled them all with my performance, because it’s the one thing that keeps me safe from the shadows of my past.

  “Hi!” Olivia greets me at the front door, looking breathless. “The others are early, they’re in the sun room. You look great!”

  “Thanks again for playing hostess.” I step inside. The apartment is magnificent, a huge pre-war overlooking Central Park that’s been handed down in her family for generations. The tall ceilings and huge windows are highlighted with powder blue silk drapes, and priceless antiques are everywhere. Olivia keeps chatting as we head to the kitchen, where her housekeeper, Olga, is plating a perfect English tea on bone china plates.