by Amy Valenti
“I’m sure if I have a quiet word with the waiter, he can send someone out to procure some new underwear for you…”
Now it was my turn to kick him under the table. “Don’t you dare!” I hissed…then remembered I was supposed to be his submissive. “Sir,” I added belatedly.
He laughed aloud, as if he were genuinely enjoying my rebelliousness, and took my hand across the table. “You know, most Doms would tan your hide for insubordination.”
“I’m not good at this,” I mumbled, staring down at his fingers entwined with mine. “If you’re looking for Little Miss Subservient, I don’t think I’m your girl.”
It almost hurt to say the words. I wanted to see where this was heading, and to suggest that I wasn’t right for him wasn’t exactly the best way to convince Marc of that. But it was only fair that I was honest.
He squeezed my fingers. “Then it’s a good thing I like subs with a little spirit.”
* * * *
Marc was a great conversationalist—easy to talk to, and never self-absorbed. During the first two delicious courses—mushroom filo tarts followed by the juiciest steak I’d ever tasted—he eased away from trying to make me squirm, which I appreciated. Instead, he coaxed details of my life from me. Where I was from, what I liked to do with my spare time…
At first, I was hesitant to reveal too much, not wanting to come across as boring. When he got me to admit I spent a lot of my free hours watching horror movies and reading terrifying books, he surprised me by being entirely knowledgeable on the subject.
“What? Did you think I spent all my time away from the office reading financial reports with my feet up on a human footstool?” he teased, after the waiter had taken our empty plates and retreated.
It was such a shallow view for me to have had of him, and yet, I’d known him so little until this meal. “Sort of. Sorry.”
“I cook, too,” he added.
Now that surprised me. “No way. Why would you cook if you’re rich enough to get someone else to do it for you?”
Marc drained the last of his water—since he was driving, he’d only had a small glass of wine, and I’d followed his example—and shook his head as he set down his empty glass. “It’s fun.”
I shuddered. “My idea of hell. Having to peel and chop and time everything so it’s ready at the same time, and make sure it doesn’t burn or go mushy from overcooking…”
A sudden gleam came into his eye, and he leaned forward. “Then I guess I’ll know to put you on kitchen duty if you step out of line, won’t I?”
I bit back a curse at having given him ammunition. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair to give you a punishment you hate if you genuinely deserve it?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, and he laughed at the expression on my face. I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll try to be good, Sir.”
Marc slipped seamlessly into his Dom persona. “I’m glad to hear it, Eleanor. Now, touch yourself for me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I think you heard me. Put your fingers between your legs and rub your clit.” He looked expectant.
I swallowed, glancing around me. The table was mostly hidden from the rest of the restaurant’s view by a screen, but the waiter was bound to come back and ask us about dessert at any moment. What if he saw?
Gazing back at Marc, though, I couldn’t deny that my pussy clenched with want, tingles rushing through my nerve endings at the predatory expectation in his eyes. I craved the pressure of my own touch almost as much as I craved his.
“If someone sees me…” I tried to protest, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“I can see the whole restaurant from here. I’ll warn you to stop if it’s needed. Do you trust me, Eleanor?”
It wasn’t him I didn’t trust—it was myself. What if I got carried away, didn’t want to stop? Or what if the waiter walked in when I was mid-orgasm, helpless to control my reaction?
I was committed to this path of delicious sin, though. I nodded and leaned back in my seat, tracing my fingers up my inner thigh. Daring myself to begin.
I cupped my entire pubic mound in my hand and squeezed the flesh, squirming a little at the rush the indirect pressure gave me. I wanted to shut my eyes and give myself over to the moment, but I was too tense, too fearful of discovery. But even that was a buzz in its own right.
“Does it feel good to give up control of the situation?” Marc asked softly. His attention flicked from me to the rest of the restaurant for a second, then back, reassuring me that he was keeping an eye out for company. “To let me think, while you just concentrate on feeling?”
I slid my fingers between my pussy lips, coating them with slick moisture before lightly brushing my clit. The pleasure was more intense, and my thighs trembled involuntarily. “Yes,” I whispered, knowing I was blushing at my own brazen behaviour, but unable to stop myself from continuing, rubbing steadily and easing my thighs farther apart.
“Where your fingers are right now is where my tongue will be when I get you home. I’m going to suck on your clit until your knees buckle and you even forget how to moan, then drive inside you to feel you ripple around my cock as you come.” His voice was low and intense, only just loud enough for me to hear, and I wasn’t sure what affected me more—my own touch or his provocative words. I gasped, slipping a finger deep inside myself with one hand and keeping up the rhythm on my clit with the other.
“I could bend you over this table and fuck you right now, and you wouldn’t stop me, would you? You’re just so desperate to get off…”
I whimpered under my breath, knowing he was bluffing but turned on by the mental image nonetheless. My excitement was mounting, my breath beginning to catch, and I cared less and less about the consequences of being caught with each fresh surge of lust that took me higher. I just needed relief, needed the orgasm he’d so cruelly denied me earlier if he’d just let me take it—
Marc tensed and shifted in his seat, his attention turning from me to the rest of the room, then back to me. “Stop, Eleanor.” The words were calm, but with an edge that told me to obey him right now.
I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap, straightening as much as I could and almost crying out at the ripple of need that surged through my neglected pussy. Taking deep breaths, I strove to regulate my breathing, trying to look nonchalant as the waiter walked into my line of sight.
“Can I offer you any desserts this evening?”
I had no doubt that no matter how many rich, chocolatey, creamy confections they served, none of them could entice me into ignoring the insistent calls of my libido. I shot Marc a pleading look, but remained silent.
Marc’s lips twitched with the urge to break into a grin, but he kept his amusement under control. “No, thank you. I think we’ll skip dessert. Could you put this meal on my personal tab rather than the company’s, and take an extra thirty percent for yourself?”
While I stared at him in disbelief—he’d as much as told the waiter we were going to make a swift exit, straight towards Marc’s bedroom!—the waiter nodded and stepped back. “Thank you, Mr. Cassidy. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” With a quick glance in my direction, he walked out of my view.
When Marc saw the look on my face, he laughed softly. “Relax, beautiful. He’s too busy calculating his tip to worry about anything we might get up to.”
I tried to work up some righteous indignation, but I was still too turned on from my aborted self-pleasure session to muster much. “Can we get out of here? Please, Sir?”
He raised an eyebrow. “We can go right now if you want to, but unless you give me a couple of minutes to calm down we might attract more attention than you’d like.”
Wha…? Oh… The realisation that he was hiding a hard-on under the table made my mouth water and my fingers itch to curl around his rigid cock. I swallowed and nodded, dropping my gaze to the table as if I could see through it to the bulge in his pants.
Ma
rc muttered a soft curse, but he looked amused. “You’re not helping the situation, Eleanor.”
I tried not to preen at the effect I was obviously having on him. “Sorry, Sir.” Instead of letting my imagination run riot, I ran my fingers—now dry, despite where they’d been just a couple of minutes earlier—through my hair and stood up carefully, smoothing down my skirt so I wouldn’t flash any of the unsuspecting diners we walked past on the way to the exit. By the time Marc had risen from his seat, showing no signs of arousal, I was calmer again, and impatient to leave.
“Let’s go.” He held out his arm and I took it. We strolled casually through the restaurant and thanked the maître d’ as we left. It only took a minute for the valet to retrieve Marc’s car, and as I settled myself in the passenger seat, Marc slid behind the wheel.
After turning the corner and driving out of sight of the restaurant, he pulled over and turned to face me. I blinked at him, confused. “You okay?”
“We need to decide on a destination.” He gave me a slow, thorough once-over, making no attempt to hide it. “Do you remember what I said to you this afternoon, when we discussed tonight?”
I have an entire dungeon’s worth of equipment at my place, Eleanor… I’ll pick you up at eight and take you to dinner. It’s up to you where we go from there.
“How could I forget?” I said quietly, gazing back at him with an equal amount of intensity.
He nodded and asked the question that would determine the course of the rest of the evening, letting his Dom persona drop and allowing me to see a hint of vulnerability. “Do you want me to take you home, Nell?”
I leaned over and brushed that certain lock of hair I loved away from his eyes, then smoothed my fingers down his face, over his jaw. “No, Sir. I don’t.”
Marc studied my face for a moment, as if he were looking for doubt or fear in my expression. He wouldn’t find any. I was nervous, sure, but more than anything I wanted to see what would happen next. I was crazy about him, addicted to him, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Three
The drive to Marc’s place was quiet. We spoke occasionally, but the air was charged with anticipation and I was too busy letting my imagination run away with me to think of much to say.
His place was definitely on the good side of town, but it was nothing like the sprawling estate I would have imagined someone with billions in the family to live in. It was spacious and elegant, but not showy or needlessly elaborate. As we drove through the gate and up the short driveway, I examined the place.
“It’s gorgeous.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, but I could tell he was pleased I approved. “It’s home.”
A valet didn’t rush to our aid as we left the car, and a butler didn’t greet us when Marc unlocked the front door and ushered me into the foyer. Everything seemed quiet, though there had been lights shining from a couple of the downstairs windows when we’d been outside.
“Do you live alone?” I asked, as Marc shut the door behind us.
He shook his head. “You’ll meet everyone else soon enough. But for now, I want you all to myself.”
I turned back to look at him just as he stepped closer, and forgot how to breathe when he pulled me against him. His kiss was soft and slow, as if I were something to be savoured, and it made me weak at the knees. I wrapped my arms around his neck for balance, and he guided me backwards a few steps, still kissing me.
He broke off when we reached the bottom of the stairs and nuzzled my ear. “Bedroom or dungeon?”
I’d spent most of the evening dying for him to order me to my knees. I wasn’t going to back out now. “Dungeon, Sir.”
His smile was swift and almost ravenous. “You have no idea how much I was hoping you’d say that.”
Before I could reply, he pushed me back against the wall and kissed me until I was breathless and trying to rub against his hard-on, which was rapidly growing against my abdomen. Then, all of a sudden, he broke away—out of the kiss, out of my arms—and began to ascend the stairs without sparing me a backward glance. If not for his terse command to follow him, I wouldn’t have known whether I should stay put.
I headed after him up to the second floor, and to the back of the house. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door at the end of the hall, then gestured for me to go inside.
I walked into the room and stared around me, almost unable to believe my eyes. The space was easily as large as my entire apartment, and there were various pieces of fetish furniture dotted around the place. Not that I’d have known what fetish furniture looked like until that moment, but there was no mistaking it for anything else.
“Whoa,” I murmured.
Some stuff was obviously for leaning over or reclining upon, whereas other pieces of equipment came with leather straps or lengths of rope, obviously meant for tying a submissive to them. There were a couple of hooks attached to the ceiling at one end of the room, and in a corner was the biggest bed I’d ever seen, complete with a headboard pretty much designed for attaching handcuffs to.
All this, I took in during the few moments it took for Marc to step into the room behind me and shut the door.
“Tell me if this is overwhelming.”
Still looking around me, I had to admit it. “A little, Sir.”
“Overwhelming enough to want out?” He slid his hand to the back of my neck and squeezed gently, reassuring me.
“No, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, and his hand fell lower, to the zip that would unfasten my dress. I closed my eyes as he dragged it down slowly, revealing the naked skin of my back inch by inch.
Oh, god… The anticipation was killing me. I’d calmed down a lot since the restaurant, but his kisses, followed by this almost ritualistic unveiling of my flesh, had sent my pulse skyrocketing again.
“I think this dress has served its purpose,” he said softly. “It’s beautiful, but I’d much rather see what’s underneath.”
The decorative chains on the dress clinked as it fell to the floor around my ankles. I resisted the impulse to hug myself—the room was warm, but being naked made a shiver run through me, and I wasn’t sure whether it was more to do with self-consciousness or the slight change in temperature.
“Hmm…” Marc circled me, looking me over with complete focus. “As much as I’d love to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing but stockings and heels, it can wait until another day. Take them off.”
I quickly shed the items in question, then curled my toes into the thick carpeting as I waited for more orders. Even though this would be my second scene with Marc, I still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
He stood in front of me and tilted up my chin with a finger, encouraging me to look at him. The open desire in his expression made me want to throw myself into his arms, but that wouldn’t be appropriate in my current role. Instead, I met his eyes, hoping he could see how much I wanted him.
“Take off my shirt.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, partly to acknowledge his request and partly because he’d told me he loved to hear me say it. He smiled a little, but didn’t rise to my bait.
Speaking of things rising… I glanced down at the obvious ridge in his pants before turning my attention to his shirt buttons. I would have loved nothing more than to unzip his pants instead, but his warning about making me cook as a punishment for misbehaviour was enough to make me obedient…for now, anyway.
Somewhere along the way, Marc had shed his suit jacket and his tie, and his top button was undone already. I rested the heels of my hands on his chest as I slipped the next button free of its hole, and the warmth seeping through his shirt made me long to press my naked breasts against him.
I took my time, ready to speed up if he ordered it, but he seemed content to watch me. I had to untuck his shirt from his pants to get to the last button, and took a little creative detour, putting my arms around his waist to pull the back of his shirt free as well as the front. I buried my f
ace in his neck for a moment as I did, then distanced myself again as he drew a breath—probably to reprimand me.
He kept quiet while I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, which were just muscular enough to make me mentally drool. Although I was desperate to kiss my way down the light trail of hair that began below his navel and vanished beneath his waistband, I took a deep, shaky breath and circled behind him instead, to pull the shirt down his arms and off more easily.
Reluctant to set the warm bundle of fabric aside, I returned to my original position with it still in my arms. Marc raised an eyebrow immediately.
“Are you trying to cover yourself up, Eleanor?”
“No, Sir.” I hastily let the shirt drop into the pile with my dress, stockings and shoes.
For a second, I thought he was going to pursue the subject, but he changed tack. “Put the clothing by the door, then come back and kneel at my feet.”
I did as he asked, wondering if he was checking out my ass as I bent over to pick everything up. Of course he is.
While I was busy, Marc took a seat on a two-tiered bench of some kind. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what it was, but I was pretty sure I’d find out at some stage. I approached him and knelt at his feet as he’d asked, feeling something click into place in my mind as I assumed the same submissive position he’d coached me into in his office. This just felt…right.
Marc reached out to run his fingers through my hair, as if praising me for my obedience without actually saying anything. I smiled down at my lap, unable to keep myself from thrilling at the contact.
“Stay where you are,” he murmured, then stood up and walked out of my line of sight.
I was a little nervous, but I did as I was told, listening to him moving around the room.
“It’s been a long time since anyone but me has been in here.”
I wanted to turn and watch him, but I resisted the impulse. I wasn’t sure if I should speak or not, so I settled for listening, wondering what he was about to reveal.
