Overtime

by Roxie Noir

  Then, she freshened up and went downstairs. She had caterers and florists to wrangle, and the board was due to get there starting at four that afternoon.

  Valerie hauled ass all day. By ten that morning, she had nearly even forgotten that there was a fairly large plug in her ass: she was too busy making sure that the tables were dusted, that flower arrangements were symmetrical, that all the rooms were as they should be, that all the other help knew the schedule and the import of the retreat. She had to brief the cook on food allergies — somehow the information had never gotten down to him, and he was irritated that one member had a shellfish allergy. She had to talk to the groundskeepers about getting the lawn properly mowed early that day, and as they argued, she thought: what kind of estate gets its grass cut on Friday, anyway?

  Jasper arrived by noon, but they barely spoke. There wasn’t even a formal check: instead, on a stairway, he slid his hand over her ass, since she was in pants.

  “None?” he murmured so only she could hear.

  “None,” she confirmed, and then they were back in the whirlwind.

  By the time the first board member arrived, she was running on pure adrenaline, and the rest of the night flew by: cocktails, then dinner, then after-dinner drinks as everyone spoke to each other. She identified the Yale MBA by his yammering on about The Art of War. They were mostly men, mostly white: no surprises there, not really. At last, they had all gone up to their respective bedrooms — or maybe each other’s bedrooms; God only knew Valerie was in no position to judge — and there she and Jasper were, looking at each other from across the room.

  She stood still, her feet aching in her high, high heels, and waited for him to come to her, which he did, slowly, something strange in his step.

  When he reached her, he touched the side of her face and she looked up at him, still taller than her even with her wearing heels, melting into her touch.

  Finally, she thought, and her eyes slid closed.

  “Valerie,” he said. He slid his thumb across her lower lip. She trembled at his touch. “I’m afraid I need you to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she looked directly at him.

  Did I do something wrong? She wondered. What was it? Should I be jealous of someone?

  “All right,” she said. Her voice sounded unhappy, even to her.

  “I’ve just had a very long day,” he said. “My feet hurt. My back hurts. My bones hurt. I don’t have the energy to give you what you deserve tonight.”

  She lowered her eyes and tried to mask her unhappiness.

  Just undress and I’ll ride you, she thought. You won’t have to do anything. But she knew that what he said was the rule: she was in no position to disagree.

  “Yes, Mr. Declan,” she said. He kissed her on the forehead — a chaste kiss, not a lover’s kiss, she thought bitterly — and disappeared up the staircase.

  Valerie sat a while on a couch facing the fire, wondering how she could be so miserable in such a beautiful place.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She finally fell asleep that night, only to wake the next morning to a voicemail. She usually turned her phone to silent at night, so it was six in the morning when she heard Ethan, her ex, drunk and maybe crying, talking into her ear.

  “Hey, Val,” he said, sounding dejected. “It’s Ethan. It’s like, one am Friday night, and I was just calling to, you know, say hey.” Silence for a few seconds. “I just really miss you, you know? Like, I think we were good together, and now I wish I hadn’t... oh fuck it,” and then the line went dead.

  Valerie listened to it twice, looking out her bedroom window and onto the beach, the sumptuous bedroom behind her, everything in it belonging to her boss who would flog her and order her around and make her cum but who refused to fuck her, apparently.

  Finally she tossed the phone onto a chair and crawled back between the covers, still soft and warm from where she’d slept in them.

  Ten more minutes, she told herself. Ten minutes and then you get up and you deal with your day like a grownup.

  She nestled down into the heavy blankets, the canopy over her, and she started to feel better.

  It was just a booty call, she thought. He was drunk and horny. He doesn’t really miss you. Or, if he does, it’s better that you’ve broken up.

  She sighed and started out a window, where a boat was moving slowly across the pale blue-grey ocean, clouds far off in the distance.

  He wasn’t that good of a boyfriend, and you know that.

  Valerie lay there for a few more minutes before finally forcing herself out of bed and into the shower.

  When she went downstairs Jasper was in the dining room. He was wearing running gear, which somehow looked expensive even though it was soaking in sweat, and guzzling water out of a tall glass.

  Of course he runs every morning, Valerie thought, annoyed by the thought.

  Somehow, he still looked commanding and in control, the rivulets of sweat running down his neck only making him look like a king who worked hard, rather than a peasant.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said. One of the chef’s assistants bustled in, put a big bowl of berries down on the table, took Jasper’s empty glass, and left.

  “Yes,” said Valerie. She was in no mood for him to be so well-rested and chipper, particularly after her night and morning so far.

  The assistant left and Jasper strode over to her, stopping about a foot away. She could smell his sweat, salty and a little metallic, still too fresh to actually smell bad yet.

  Worse, she felt herself begin to melt inside, just a little. She still wore the plug — despite being upset and a little angry, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take it out.

  “Ready for a big day?” Jasper asked.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Valerie said in what she hoped was a properly peppy tone.

  “Good,” he said, smiling.

  Then he bent down, took her jaw in one hand, and kissed her, hard, standing in the middle of the dining room. As his tongue pushed its way through her lips, her teeth, as he plundered the inside of her mouth, his other hand roamed up the back of her pants, over her ass, feeling for panties.

  He broke away from her, smiling. Then he plunged his hand down the back of her pants, past her ass, and touched the plug just once, lightly.

  “Good girl,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Valerie absolutely hated how wet she was at that moment, how, even though she wasn’t quite in the mood, she still couldn’t get enough of this.

  “Of course,” she said, the words please fuck me, right here, right now, trying and failing to bubble up to her lips.

  “I’ve got to go shower,” he said, his hand now out of her pants, he now a respectable distance away. “I can entrust the day’s preparations to you?”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Declan,” Valerie said, once again the good employee.

  He nodded once. “Good,” he said, and strode away.

  Valerie watched him go, taking the steps two at a time, wishing she could be there, with him, in the shower.

  Then she grabbed a handful of berries, tossed them into her mouth, and went to go make sure the makeshift board room — technically, it was the second dining room — was prepared for the day-long meeting.

  Everything went beautifully, not that Valerie had the time to appreciate it — she ate a salad for lunch, standing up, running back and forth to be sure that everyone had enough soap in their bathrooms, that dinner was going to be on time, that it wasn’t going to rain, that everything was generally in order. After the dinner, Valerie somehow felt both wiped out and energized, but mostly glad that everything had gone so well.

  It’s still my job, she reminded herself. I still need to do my job well.

  As the board members had drinks on the patio, watching the sun set to the west, Valerie slumped onto a stool in the kitchen with the rest of the help.

  “You did fine,” offered the cook. “This is much better t
han last year. That assistant spent half the day crying. I heard she didn’t last too long after this disaster.”

  “I heard she was a crier,” said Valerie. “The bisque was amazing, by the way.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” the cook said, sprinkling sugar over berry tarts. “They pay me the big bucks for my soup skills.”

  Valerie laughed, and then someone else came in and needed something new fixed.

  Finally, the board members started trickling upstairs in ones and twos, bedroom doors shutting, the house quieting down at last. Valerie didn’t know if she could handle running into Jasper again, or, more specifically, she didn’t know if she could handle getting shut down by Mr. Declan again. She’d barely even had time to think over Ethan’s voicemail.

  She decided to go outside, onto the patio. She took her shoes off and walked on the beach, almost down to the water line.

  This house was beautiful, she thought, and insanely expensive. She couldn’t even imagine the amount of money it must take to just maintain somewhere like this, let alone buy it in the first place, and Jasper acted like it was nothing.

  I’m never going to understand, she thought. If I had that kind of money I don’t think I’d buy this house, nice as it is.

  Then, she saw a man’s shape, backlit in the patio doors. He stepped outside, and just by the way he walked, she knew it was him.

  Make him come to you, she thought, looking at him. Her hair blew back in the wind and she felt a little like she was in a romance movie from the 1940s. He leaned both elbows on the railing separating the patio from the beach, and then, Valerie felt herself begin to walk to him.

  Dammit, she thought as she padded through the sand, barefoot. She reached the patio and walked over to him, perching her own elbows on the railing, about a foot away from him.

  “That went very well,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  She nodded her head in acknowledgement, looking out over the sea.

  “Are you feeling well?” he asked, brown furrowing a little.

  Valerie looked over at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” he said, taking a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Well.”

  She looked up at him, her knees going weak again, the plug in her ass suddenly making her tingle all over, the constant reminder of his dominance over her.

  “I’m well,” she whispered.

  Jasper smiled. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Go up to my room. There’s something there for you. I’ll be up in ten minutes.”

  His hand traveled down her back, to her ass, then, gently, between her legs.

  “Yes, Mr. Declan,” she whispered, and walked off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When she reached the top of the stairs, Valerie looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then she opened the door to Mr. Declan’s room, silently, slipping inside and closing it behind her. His room was the only thing on the top floor, taking up a space easily two or three times the size of her apartment, with a wall of windows facing the ocean.

  How does he heat this in the winter? She wondered.

  Then she reminded herself that this was a summer house, that people as rich as Jasper had entire houses they simply didn’t use for eight months out of the year.

  On the bed was lingerie: stockings, a garter belt, and a lace chemise, black, somehow clingy and thin and floaty all at once. It had spaghetti straps and came down just below her ass. She put them on and looked at herself in a full-length mirror.

  Hot, she thought. Through the chemise she could see everything: her nipples, the outline of her breasts, the garter belt. It ended above the tops of her stockings, and the whole thing was stretchy - very, very stretchy.

  Between this, the plug, and the knowledge that something was about to happen, Valerie was already very, very turned on. She walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit beach, wondering how long Mr. Declan would take.

  A few minutes later, the door behind her opened and then closed. Valerie’s heart leapt in her chest. She turned around.

  “Perfect,” said Mr. Declan. He ran his fingertips from the points of her shoulders down her body, right over her nipples, to the V of her crotch. With one finger, he lifted her chin.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

  “It’s all right,” she said.

  “Even doms need a night off sometimes,” he said. “Thank you for understanding.”

  He brushed his fingertips over her nipples again, making her shudder with desire. Then he took her by the hand and led her to another door in the room.

  “I’m going to show you something,” he said, and then opened it.

  She’d assumed the door led to a closet, but she was wrong. It was lushly appointed, of course — everything in the house was — but most notable was the collection of ropes, handcuffs, leather whips, and chains all around the room, neatly organized. Two leather cuffs were attached to a large hook in the ceiling by chains, and Valerie knew what they were for right away.

  “Arms up,” Jasper said. He didn’t have to tell her twice. Someone had measured properly, because they were exactly the right length, and fit comfortably around her wrists when her arms were fully extended. The insides were just soft enough that she could let her arms hang, but not for too long.

  Valerie stood, her breathing fast, as Jasper fastened the cuffs around her. As he did, he spoke, his voice lowering to the leonine growl that seemed to slice right through her to her innermost desires.

  “Now,” he said. “I need you to stand here, very still, and not a make a noise.” His ran his hand down her whole body, from upraised fingertip to upper thigh. “Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes,” Valerie whispered.

  He walked around her, dragging his hand, brushing it across her stomach, whispering across both nipples. She gasped air into her lungs but didn’t say anything.

  He stepped closer, took her nipples in his hands, and pinched them. Hard, then harder, and Valerie bit her lip, but she still didn’t make a noise.

  “Good girl,” he said, and let go. Then he turned his back on her and opened a huge floor-to-ceiling cabinet, full of small cubbyholes. Each was labeled, meticulously.

  Of course they are, Valerie thought.

  He saw her looking, and half-smiled. “I hate it when I can’t find my nipple clamps,” Jasper said, and drew out a long, thin, silky chain. It practically dripped through his fingers. He closed the cabinet behind him and came toward Valerie. “I guess I’m a control freak in more than one way.”

  I guess, Valerie thought, but she was interrupted when he came to her, stretched the neck of her chemise so it was below her breasts, and then licked each nipple once, blowing on them.

  Instantly, they puckered and hardened, and he snapped the clamps on them at the same time, expertly.

  Valerie made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh, a sharp exhalation, trying not to make any noise. Jasper tapped lightly on the chain between her nipple clamps, making it sway and wiggle, every sort of pressure sending tiny shockwaves through her whole body.

  Then from the wall, he took a length of velvet ribbon and turned to her again, walking behind Valerie, and typing it around her eyes. He took extra care not to get her hair caught in the bow, and then, moments later, she felt the biting sting of something whipping her across the back.

  “Oh!” she said, accidentally. She immediately bit her mouth closed and grit her teeth.

  “Shh,” said Jasper.

  Valerie nodded, not making a sound. The small whip struck again, a paper-thin welt raising itself across her back, underneath the lace chemise. It sent sparks and pins and needles through her, this pain that was barely pain, that was closer to pure sensation. Then he pulled the bottom of the chemise up to around her waist, over her supple, plush ass, and went to town.

  Jasper was good: he never hit the same area twice. Valerie ground her teeth together, determined not to
cry out again as the lash came down again and again, never quite painful but never unremarkable, either. She thought she could feel each welt raise itself individually, a whole collection of stripes of her ass, burning and sensitive, but above all, longing for Jasper’s touch.

  Finally he stopped. Valerie was panting, her weight hanging from the chain above, blindfolded, not sure what was coming next.

  “Spread your legs,” he said, and she did, eagerly. Valerie arched her back, wanting to give him access to her — maybe now, she thought, is when we fuck. It can’t be soon enough.

  There were his fingers, sliding gently along her wet slit, just barely coming up to rub her clit once, then twice, then moving away again. It took all of Valerie’s willpower not to moan in desperation or need.

  “Get ready,” he whispered.

  Valerie didn’t know for what.

  Then there was a sharp sting on one labia, and a moment later, a sting on the other. A noise made it out of her mouth, a strangled gasp from her throat.

  “Pussy clamps,” Jasper whispered. Then he tapped the end of her buttplug once, twice, and Valerie felt like she could barely stand anymore. Everything felt magnified: the whisper of the chemise on her skin, the air moving past her cunt, Jasper’s light touch on her ass. She had the sensation of suddenly feeling in technicolor, like Dorothy in Oz.

  Jasper’s hand, back on her clit, moving in slow circles, him close behind her. His hand bumping against the clamps on her pussy, a feeling like constant electricity flowing from pussy clamp to clit and back, like being in the middle of a thunderstorm.

  His voice in her ear.

  “Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asked. One hand moved up her front, to lightly touch the chain on her nipple clamps, spreading more electricity.