Take the Heat

by Skye Warren

  As she’d knelt in that locked sun-soaked office, looking up at those intense blue eyes, she bared her breasts for him at his barked command. As he’d berated her for her shitty job performance, his heavy cock rearing over her waiting lips, it was the first time she’d stopped railing against the unfairness of it all but rather wondered what that cock would feel like on her tongue, how much she’d reluctantly begun to respond to it.

  Sure, she still knew it was wrong, but she knew then that she could go the distance.

  At first, it was mostly her days ruled by her tormentor in CEO’s clothing, with more than one walk of shame from his office in the prescribed slutty heels, her pussy throbbing, his seed seeping down her leg.

  But occasionally he’d wanted more than her days, and Will took care of that little problem too, sitting impatiently while Alyson interviewed—and instantly fell in love with—Maria, the rosy-cheeked nanny with the warm smile, the same woman who’d raised Will’s own nephew.

  More than a few late nights saw Alyson kissing the sleeping Noah good night while Maria let herself out quietly. Alyson would sit in the dark next to her beautiful blond-haired boy, listening to him softly snore, the clamps under her blouse tormenting her, her nipples going from a throbbing to numbness—one of the myriad little punishments Will enjoyed inflicting, relishing the knowledge that he could discipline her even from afar.

  By degrees, her world became his. She’d bend for him in his office for short, sharp appointments with his hand, followed by the hard pounding of her pussy over his creaking desk, his fist twisted in her hair. A Saturday summons to his home for reviewing reports, a whipping for her soft, swinging breasts, and riding him, his big cock forcing yet more dark, humiliating climaxes from her bound, blindfolded, and gagged form. She’d long ago given up the idea of disobeying his dictates—and he knew it—and as the days wore on, that fact worried her even more than the warring of fear and twisted, confusing anticipation that crept into her mind each time he called her to one of his little “appointments.”

  By dint of agonizing discipline, his slave-driving work ethic, and a sexual use of her that had reduced her to little more than a play toy for his lusts, a change had been wrought in her. No longer was she ever late. Her mind, if not her conscience, was clear. Her work improved. She was able to be fully present with Noah, focused on her beloved son, enjoying each moment with him, knowing how precious and wonderful even a moment’s peace had become to her.

  It was the most difficult when she’d seen that faraway look in Will’s eyes, that look he took great pains to hide from her but hadn’t always succeeded. When he was kind rather than cruel. When he held her, stroking her hair while she sobbed against his chest, his caresses soft after a harsh spanking. And when he allowed her into his bed, her heart twisting as he curled around her, his arms gathering her close in his slumber, his breath gentle against her hair as, over and over, he whispered her name.

  The day came where Alyson worried less about how many days were left in her sentence, and instead thought of what might come afterward.

  And wondered whether anything should come afterward.

  * * *

  7 months later

  He would be there any minute, and she’d be in deep shit if she wasn’t ready. As she always did while waiting for him, she went over The Rules:

  1. You will be on your knees, facing the door, when I arrive home. You’ll be naked and bound.

  She’d made her way into his bedroom—he’d given her his key after the first month—then she’d knelt on the thick gray carpet. It was always a moment of panic before she cinched that last cuff, the steel cold against her wrists. The manacles attached to thick leather thigh cuffs, keeping her hands out of the way, her breasts utterly defenseless. The scent of his body permeated the room. She’d hated it once, the scent of the one who tormented her.

  But she didn’t hate it anymore.

  2. You will obey any instruction I give you. No exceptions.

  It had started that first day at work. He’d actually sent her an e-mail:

  “Go to the restroom, take off your panties and bra and send them to my office via interoffice memo envelope.”

  Alyson remembered reading it several times in disbelief. She’d known she should’ve taken that e-mail, and the countless other instances of correspondence, and gone to the police. Sure, she’d go to jail, but she’d take him down too.

  But still she hadn’t done it—and it took her seven months to be able to admit the reason why.

  3. You will not protest, save crying out or screaming—unless you’ve decided not to honor your obligation.

  The thick steel rings still made her nipples tingle as she knelt in the cool, quiet bedroom. She hadn’t even cried out when they’d been done, quiet tears wetting the hair at her temples. He’d told her to have her nipples pierced, and she’d obeyed. Simple as that.

  Her life had become his rules, his demands, his lusts. And her job was to submit herself to all of them.

  His bedroom door opened, then closed, the air currents moving over her naked body. Her gaze fixated on the pattern of the carpet, not daring to meet his eyes until he gave her leave to do so. The gleaming black of his Guccis stopped before her. He tested her hard nipples, pinching, elongating them, lifting the rings on his fingertips a moment, his pleased murmur making her blush. Then he unlocked her cuffs, and his hand tapped her thigh.

  “Up on the bed. Tits on the mattress, ass up.”

  Scrambling to obey, she rested her cheek on her arms, the cold metal of her nipple rings pressed against her flesh. His thick cock slid into her, and she sighed as his hands took firm hold of her hips.

  “I thought about this cunt at the shareholders’ meeting today. Thought of you waiting here for me, on your knees. Obedient.” His palm slapped her ass hard, and she hissed with the sting. “Squeeze. That’s a girl.”

  He took up a hard, punishing thrusting. Her aching nipples rasped against the comforter. He gathered up her arms, holding her wrists in his hand at her back, using them as leverage to thrust yet deeper, the hard head battering her cervix with a confusing pleasure/pain on each strong plunge. She moaned as he slapped her bottom once more, the heat flaring, her pussy clenching in sympathy around the mercilessly thrusting cock.

  “Don’t come; don’t you dare,” he rumbled behind her, his big hand pinning her to the mattress. With a groan he bucked against her, the springs of the mattress whispering in time with the heavy thrusts. Pressing close, he held himself deep, Alyson gasping, the hot seed blooming within her. Her clit throbbed, as bereft of his touch as the impossibly hard points of her nipples.

  Her hips rotated against him, a slight movement, but one she knew he prohibited. A hard slap to her ass followed, his voice a warning growl. She murmured disappointment as he pulled himself from her.

  “On your back, girl. Up to the headboard, arms back.”

  His strong arms helped slide her up, locking her wrists in the familiar leather cuffs, the blindfold shutting out all light as he cinched it tight behind her head. His hands urged her legs apart.

  “Open.” He slapped her thigh, the bright flash of pain making her squeak. “Come on, farther. That’s good.”

  The muscles of her inner thighs ached, stretched wide, her shaved, splayed pussy dripping with his semen, embarrassingly wet, the scent of sex heavy in the air. With her sight denied her, she was at once eager and fearful of what he had planned for her next.

  The rough pad of his thumb slicked back the hood of her clit, the calloused digit working it almost painfully as she panted.

  “Look at this poor little pussy, come dripping from it,” he said, his tone rich with pleasure. Her sex was stroked, the outer labia pinched and massaged between knowing fingertips. Then a broad, wet tongue rasped over her exposed clit, and she arched up with a harsh intake of breath, her thighs rigid.

  “Oh God, please…”

  “Be still. If you’re good, you might get what you need.”


  An orgasm? My freedom? Your affection?

  Fingers slid inside her wetness, curling, making her groan. He’d never touched her like this before, yet he knew exactly where, how to touch her. The pleasure built as he stroked her with one, then two fingers, occasionally licking her hard, throbbing clit with the rasp of his tongue.

  “You’re going to come for me, girl. I want to see you squirt all over my fingers.” The mattress dipped to one side, his forearm against her rib cage. His lips took hers then, at first softly tasting, exploring, then hard, his tongue driving deep, claiming. “So helpless, girl. Mine.” His lips brushed against her cheek, breath warm on her skin. “Are you mine, my little thief?”

  The words were on her tongue, confusion, fear, and a new unsettling elation warring within her. What did it mean that she wanted him to take her, that she wanted to feel those soft possessive lips upon hers once more? To kiss him forever, until she could forget what she’d done, could accept what he’d done, what had led them to this day.

  “I need…” This was more than she could cope with, these emotions welling up within her, the power of them so unexpected, so shattering. This was much more than survival, than penance, than duty, more even than lust.

  His fingers slipped inside her once more, his thumb circling her clit as he worked that spot within her until she moaned.

  “Come for me, girl. Show me. You’ve got no choice.” His lips sucked her clit into his mouth, her moans vibrating through her whole body as she arched up. Fingers worked her harder, her hips writhing as he thrust within her drenched sex, the coppery smell of his semen mixing with the thick scent of her own arousal.

  “Oh fuck.”

  “That’s it. Be a good girl. Surrender to it. Surrender to me.”

  Another devastating curl of his fingers and she was panting, pulling at the tight bonds holding her wrists, her heels beating upon the mattress.

  “Please, sir! Please…”

  “Come now, Alyson.”

  She screamed, the heavy feeling coming deep within, and the familiar split second of panic that she might pee all over his bed. She squeezed down upon those fingers, and her pussy gushed, soaking her thighs and his hand in her juices, her loud moans almost pained, her abdomen clenching tight, over and over.

  “Oh good, so good,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “I want more, girl. More!”

  His thumb rasped her clit, and she went over, every nerve ending firing at once, all sound, all sight, all awareness leaving her in a white-hot burst of pleasure.

  He kept working her gently, silently, those fingers knowing just what she needed and what she feared, playing with her too-sensitive clit, stroking the swollen, burning lips of her sex. He kissed her inner thighs, the stubble at his chin rough against her tender skin.

  “Sir, please. I can’t. Not anymore, please.”

  “Shh now.” He released her arms, his body sliding up between her legs. She murmured as the hot weight of his erection rested across her inner thigh. Then his thumbs eased her open, the broad head of his cock seeking the entrance, sinking slowly within her, every inch of him reawakening nerve endings as he stretched her. His cock fully seated within her, his fingers removed the blindfold, and he loomed above her, the deep blue eyes so close, intent, fathomless.

  Beautiful.

  She closed her eyes against it, her emotions raw. She should hate this man, despise him for what he’d wrought upon her. But as her pussy drew him deeper, her arms around him, her heels crossing at the rise of his strong buttocks, she knew the awful, bittersweet truth of things.

  And it was something that could never be.

  “Look at me,” he said, his voice ragged. “I want to see your eyes.”

  Her gaze met his, and he took her then, savagely, that fiery blue gaze pinning her beneath him as surely as his thick, thrusting cock had. He didn’t speak a word, his jaws clenched, sweat gathering at his upper lip, his veined, muscled arms surrounding her, his breath coming in quickening grunts.

  A single tear escaped and ran down her temple as she looked up at him, her sex clenching upon him, a last long moan rising in her throat as his thrusts rose to a punishing, fevered pitch. He fell upon her as he came again, his powerful body freezing, then pounding against hers as he groaned his pleasure.

  Finally he stilled, his heavy body a pleasing weight upon her own, and she stared up at the ceiling, his lips moving against her neck, whispering one word:

  “Alyson.”

  They lay together then, his hand stroking the mess of her hair, her body curved over his, neither saying a word in the quiet, dark night.

  And as Alyson feared what would come, what had to come next, sleep finally claimed her.

  * * *

  She found his card on her keyboard at work the next day. On it were written four simple words:

  “Last day. Obligation fulfilled.”

  She walked down to his office, thinking of the times she’d made that same walk with her heart in her throat. Now, she made it with tears in her eyes. But Karen’s sympathetic smile told Alyson what she already knew.

  He was gone.

  It was Christmas Eve, and Connie let her go home early to hug Noah, to never let him go, to whisper in his ear as he giggled that she’d always love him, that he’d always be her little man.

  Christmas morning, as she sat snuggled on her couch, her cup of coffee warming her palm if not her spirits, she watched Noah dive into his presents, helped by Alyson’s mother and, at Noah’s insistence, Maria too.

  As Alyson tried to push the thoughts of Will away, bury them for good, Noah jumped into her lap.

  “Whoa, tiger, you’re gonna spill Mama’s coffee!” She pecked him on the nose, and he smiled, his brilliant green eyes sparkling.

  “You missed one, Mommy.”

  The white envelope was pressed into her hand, and he laid a wet little-boy kiss on her cheek, bounding off to play with his new toys.

  She tore it open, the outside of the card showing a picture of two silver interlocked rings. Inside, written in the familiar spare script, were five simple words, and as she read them, tears streamed down Alyson’s face.

  “First day. Obligation never fulfilled.”

  Acquitted

  Giselle Renarde

  “I can’t believe I raised such a naive daughter.” Her mother set down the knife and said, “You really think he’s innocent, don’t you?”

  Lucy’s spine straightened vertebra by vertebra against the wooden chair rail. “Me and twelve members of the jury.”

  “She doesn’t just think he’s innocent,” Caroline said, clasping Lucy’s hand. “Sean is innocent.”

  “Thank you, Caroline.” Lucy glared across the kitchen. “It’s nice to have somebody’s support in this family.”

  Their mother went on chopping carrots and said nothing.

  “People like you don’t even care about the truth. You just believe what you want to believe.” Lucy started feeling itchy all over. That was her body’s new reaction to this interminable argument—burning up from the inside out. “Can you even imagine how it would impact your life, being wrongly accused?”

  “And of murder,” Caroline said softly. She didn’t mention the rape charge¸ but that was just as well.

  The kitchen filled with the metronomic sound of Mom slicing carrots, smashing her knife against the cutting board like she had a bone to pick with that block of wood.

  Lucy’s blood boiled. What was point? She’d tried; she’d failed. Grabbing her purse, she said, “I can’t take any more of your judgmental bullshit. I’m outta here.”

  Her mother slammed down the knife as Caroline pleaded, “Don’t go. At least stay for dinner.”

  “I’m making your favorite,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, well I never asked you to,” Lucy shot back. “The only thing I ever asked was for you to be nice to the man I love. Why can’t you treat him like a human being?”

  “Because,” her mother shouted. “There’s someth
ing off about that boy. You’re still young, Lucy. You don’t see it. You don’t understand that charming isn’t the same as good. In fact, the charmers are the ones you have to watch out for.”

  “Yeah right, Mom. You would know.” Lucy looked to her sister for back-up, but Caroline’s mouth hung mutely open. “Just because you have lousy taste in men doesn’t mean I do.”

  Lucy didn’t stick around for the retort. She stamped out the door, slamming it behind her just like she used to as a teenager. It bugged the hell out of her that her own mother couldn’t be supportive of her relationship. What was the point in hating all her boyfriends? It only made Lucy cling to them tighter.

  Mothers didn’t understand anything.

  When she got home, Sean looked up from the TV. “Hey, I thought you were eating at your mom’s house.”

  “No,” Lucy grumbled.

  Sean turned off the television and rose from the couch. “Hey, hey now... why the long face?”

  Lucy shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s something, I bet.” He wrapped his arms around her, and as soon as the warmth of his skin played off hers, she lost it. “Tell me all about it, babe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She soaked his top with tears as she stammered, “She always does this, every time I love someone, but it’s worse with you. She thinks you did it.”

  “And that makes you wonder if I did?”

  “No!” Lucy pulled back so she could look him in the eye. “Sean, no, never. If I thought for a second that you did it, would I even be here right now? Would I have let you move in with me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, with what might have been a smirk on his lips.

  She whacked him on the shoulder. “Come on, dude, you know I have faith in you.”