“Shut the fuck up!” I land on him, shoving him to the ground and then I land a punch. It’s off-center, but enough to cut his lip with one of my rings. “Shut up, you motherfucker!” He struggles under me. Tries to push me off, but I won’t allow it.
I take his fingers and bend them back. I promised to break them all for touching Bianca, and I might just do it now. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole.”
“Come at me, bro. Give me what you got, Boy Toy,” he giggles.
I bend back the fingers I have in my hand until he screams. Somebody pulls me off him. As I’m being pulled away, I land punches, or at least I hope I do.
I go for the creeper again, but Alex pulls him off the floor and out of my reach. And Paul is holding me back. I roar in anger, flexing all of my muscles against the hold Paul has on me. He’s lucky he works out. If he didn’t, I’d throw him to the ground along with Creeper Dude.
“Let me go! This bitch needs to learn to shut his fucking mouth.”
I’m pissed at him. Pissed at myself. But more than that I’m scared I’ve just lost Bianca forever. And if I have, I’ll take out her loss on that shithead's face.
I surge forward.
Creeper Dude matches me, but we’re kept apart by Alex and Paul still. “Just try it, bitch,” he taunts.
“Keep talking, dickwad,” I shout back. “When I get done with you, you won’t be able to talk ever again.”
Surprisingly, Mariah and Jane are around me. Touching each of my shoulders. “Jordan,” Jane says, “forget him. He’s not important.”
“Yeah,” Mariah agrees, looking at my rival like he’s nothing more than a cockroach. “Ignore the troll.”
“You’ve got to go after Bianca,” Jane says, gripping my shoulder as hard as she can. “You’ve got to explain to her. Apologize to her.”
“Before she leaves,” Mariah adds, working with Jane to shove me out of the battle zone. “Hurry!”
They don’t need to tell me anymore. I leave behind my beef with Creeper Dude and follow my thundering heart to the entrance of the café past open-mouthed servers and patrons. I run down the stairs. Jump down them, practically taking two or three or four, at a time.
Even as I move, I smell Bianca hanging in the air. The whisper of her perfume. Her soap.
I jump off the last stair and run as fast as I can toward her room, my chest and lungs burning with exertion. God dammit, I think, rubbing scared and angry tears from my eyes, I can’t lose you, Bianca! I can’t live without you. I stumble under my speed and the weight of my grief. I can’t go back to my normal life. I can’t go back to being single after this.
The creeper is right. I’m not really a man. I’m a coward. A yellow-bellied little bitch.
If I was a man, I would have defended my relationship with Bianca in front of everyone. Instead, I cowered away too scared to man up in the moment.
I haul in a breath doing my best to hold back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. God dammit, Bianca. I can’t live without you. I won’t. If I have to, I’ll shout it from the rooftops. From the top of the ski slopes.
I love you dominating me.
I love you controlling me
I love you spanking, flogging, kissing me.
I love...
I love you.
Chapter 19 – Bianca
In all of my tears and confusion, I’m not sure how I made it back to my room. Or how I managed not to bawl my eyes out in front of everyone I passed on the way. But the moment I sag into my door, I slide to the floor. I sit there and sob. Lament my horrible luck.
My stupid belief that Jordan was different from the rest. You stupid, woman, you chose the wrong guy as a sub, I yell at myself. You fell for a pretty face and a dirty mouth.
I did it again.
There's no fool like an old fool.
My mind wanders to all the times Jordan said he was my good boy. Promised he would be. You lied! You made me think you were different. You made me think you were brave and proud of being with me. That you loved being dominated by me, but you didn’t. I gave parts of me to you that I’ve never given anyone ever. Parts of me I can never reclaim.
With these thoughts, I get up and start packing. Not just my pink bag, but my suitcase, too. As I pack, I do my best to catch my breath. To breathe through my tears and hiccups, but it’s hard. I barely manage.
“You were just ashamed of the whole thing. Ashamed of me.” I grit my teeth, remembering how I let him fuck me. Take my virginity. “You just did it to get in my holes, didn’t you? It wasn’t really about serving me or being a ‘good boy.’”
I pack the rest of my stuff, angrily jamming pieces of clothing into corners, pouches. I don’t fucking care where any of it goes. I’m so done with everything and everyone. With believing anything good will ever come to me and be for real.
“It was all about serving yourself. Your own selfish needs and kinks.” As I say this, I cry too hard to speak or move. I fall against my packed bags, wondering why Cupid has to be such a profound dick to me.
It’s around then I hear what I’ve been dreading and pining for. The sound of urgent, pained pounding on my door. It’s followed by Jordan’s equally pained and urgent voice.
“Bianca! Bianca, please open up!” He pounds on the door again. “Please let me talk to you. Let me explain. Let me make it right.” Despite hearing tears in his voice, I’m too angry and hurt to care.
“No!” I bellow, “go away, Jordan! Save your sob story for someone else.”
“Please, Bianca.” The crack in his voice makes him sound as though he’s about to be sentenced to death. Have his head chopped off. I know which one of his heads he deserves to have chopped off.
“Please! Just open the door.” He sobs. Choking on emotion. “Please, Bianca! Please let me explain. Let me make it right.”
Somewhere in his pitiful pleading, I find myself leaning against the door.
Without thinking, I open it and see his sad and sorry display. But only to chew him out to his face. For being a liar and a fraud.
My heart skids to a full stop. Ceases to beat for a few seconds.
The moment I open the door, he drops right to his knees in front of me. In front of a hallway full of people, including his friends.
More tears burn the edges of my eyes.
But I hold them back. I refuse to unravel in front of him. Refuse to show him what he’s done.
Shamelessly, he kneels at my door sobbing. His shoulders hunched. His head bowed. His hands face up on his thighs.
The moment he sees my shoes on the floor next to him, he shuffles forward. Bows even lower, kissing my feet. Crying into them.
“I’m sorry, Mistress. Whatever I did — whatever I didn’t say back there that you needed me to say — I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a coward. I’m sorry for not defending you the way you defended me.” He stares up at me, tears leaking out of his eyes like his spirit liquefied.
My traitorous heart reaches out to him, aching to go to him, but I snatch it back. I can’t allow him to hurt me again. I can’t fall for his lies. But his contrite words and actions begin to thaw my anger. My frustration. My disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Mistress. Please let me be your good boy again. Let me be good for you today and every day after this.” He brings his lips and face down to my shoes, drowning them in kisses.
“Punish me again, Mistress.” People’s mouths fall open at the word ‘punish’ but that doesn’t stop Jordan. He continues speaking, begging, pleading as if he and I are the only ones here. “Punish me for my bad behavior, so I can be the good boy I was.”
His eyes find mine. “Please, Bianca!” He sobs pitifully, like a little boy without his mother. “Without you, I’m nothing. I don’t care if I lose all my money tomorrow, along with my business. I can’t live life without you in it.” He gestures helplessly. “I love you.”
His words hit me like an atomic bomb of love. I take a few staggering steps back. Shocked by his declaration.
> Dare I take a chance on him? Dare I believe him? Dare I trust him?
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I swear.”
He turns to face our audience.
“I love this woman. This strong, dominant, beautiful woman. She could tell me to ski naked, and I would. She could tell me to eat my food from a dog bowl, and I would. She could spank me and whip me with all her might and I would love her even more.”
The women in the group look visibly moved while the men look perplexed and bemused.
Jane delicately dabs her eyes and Alex hugs her close. Paul opens his mouth to say something, but Mariah grabs his hand and tells him to hush.
Jordan lifts his face to mine. The distraught sadness in his eyes shows me he’s throwing all he has and all he is into this moment.
My boy. My good, good boy.
I’ll make him pay dearly but for now, I take his hands and pull him to standing, then I smother his face in kisses.
“Come here, Jordan.” I hug him tightly soothing him. Quieting his tears, even as people still watch us from the hallway. “I love you too, you silly boy!” Now I’m the one who’s crying my eyes out. But not from anger this time. From pure joy. “I’m never letting you go after this.” With that, I kiss him again and run my fingers through his hair. “I don’t care if I have to put a collar and leash on you.”
“Please do,” Jordan says meekly.
I take him inside and close the door.
“Though you don’t have to worry," he promises, "I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.” He kisses my hand the same way he did when we first met. “Even without a leash, I’d stay right by your side forever.”
“And I yours, sweet, sweet Jordan.”
Epilogue
Jordan
In her room again, I feel like I’ve passed through the gates of Heaven. Been saved from my greatest sin by Bianca’s compassion.
As she leads me toward the bed, the floor to ceiling windows give a sense of floating. Of being in the ether, between the blueness of the sky, and the whiteness of the snow.
Besides stretching floor-to-ceiling, these windows also run the length of her room on one side, creating an open, vulnerable feeling to the space. Like there’s no wall. Just an expanse of trees and snow in the distance.
“Come, my good boy,” Bianca whispers, acting like she’s going to set me on the bed and make me comfortable, “let me reward you for everything you’ve done today.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I shuffle towards her, doing my best to appear submissive, but, at the very last second, I turn things around on her.
Sensing this is what she needs, I grab her and kiss her deeply. I let her taste my tongue. I stand her up and begin moving her toward my goal. The windows.
Once I have her back against the windows, I kiss her neck, her throat, her collarbone. I pay special attention to her chest, unbuttoning her blouse and bra as I go. I then move my lips down to her breasts and nipples.
“You’re the one who deserves the reward, my lady,” I whisper, licking and nibbling at her. Every place I nibble and kiss is quickly freed of clothing. From her belly to her hands and fingers, everything is bathed in kisses and caresses. “Being back with you is the greatest reward I will ever receive, and the only one I need.” Saying this, I remove her bra and blouse completely, and kneel before her to begin undressing her bottom half.
She gives me a happy, soft sigh. “What would I ever do without you, my precious boy? You know exactly what your mistress needs, don’t you?”
I nod eagerly, happy that she’s allowing me to reward her, and I start pressing kisses on her tummy and pelvis. Then, as my mouth makes its way to the waistband of both her slacks and underwear, I move them down. Slowly, inch by inch, pressing my lips against her. My tongue.
I mutter sweet words to her about how she is my gracious mistress. My compassionate, most-wise mistress.
Through this slow, sultry process, I get an eyeful of her curvy hips. Then her thick and dark pubic hair. From there, I’m blessed with a look at her inner thighs, and the slightest whisper of pink hanging between her legs.
Though I would like nothing more than to take a taste of her lusciousness, I don’t dare do it now. Not until she’s fully undressed, and right where I want her.
“I want nothing more than to put my mistress on display,” I murmur, feeling her shiver as I kiss my way down her legs, and pull her slacks and underwear off her feet. Her panties are still damp from when we made out earlier today. As I remove them, I appreciate a pool of thick, dried whiteness there.
I leave Bianca’s black high heels on because I love the shape they give her legs.
“Would my Mistress object to being put on display while I pleasure her?” I move my position on the floor, so I can see her eyes, see the desire in them. “While I eat her for my lunch?”
Bianca’s eyes sparkle mischievously. It’s as if she’s been waiting for me to ask.
“If my mistress has no objections, of course,” I say, keeping my voice and posture submissive, though I know she can see the little curl to my lips.
“I have no objections to either request, Jordan,” she says, guiding me off my knees and to my feet. “You’ve been a good enough boy today, you deserve nothing less. But don’t think I won’t punish you later for your behavior in the café.”
“My mistress is very generous,” I say, grabbing for a nearby chair. Something to seat myself in once I’ve put her on display.
I set the chair a short distance away, enjoying her look of interest. Intrigue.
Once I’m satisfied with the distance and height of it to Bianca’s pussy, I push her up against the window. Her breasts are pressed against the cold, smooth glass.
Immediately, I get the reaction I want. A startled, pleased moan. A squeal almost.
And that’s nothing. The minute I sit down in the chair, scoot it up to her soaking, slippery pussy lips, and begin to eat, she cries out for her salvation.
Bianca
I’m up against the window, my plump and erect nipples pressed against the cold, winter-frosted glass. I squeal, feeling my whole breast squish into the clear, smooth surface.
Never in my life have I allowed myself to be so vulnerable. So open to anyone and everyone seeing me. But I love it. I love the intense shyness I’m experiencing along with the voyeuristic thrill of it all. Add to that the fact that Jordan’s unyielding hands are at my back and shoulders, pressing me into the space.
In the next second, Jordan parts my legs. They’re splayed wide as if he wants the whole wide world — every lonely heart still in Aspen — to see my hairy pussy. My big puffy lips. Mere moments after spreading my legs, he scoots the chair closer.
Seconds after that, from behind, his mouth lands on me. On the opening of my pussy. I haven’t been eaten out here very much, so with his first lick—flick of his tongue—I squeal. Which is also not common for me, but I’m still feeling so open. So exposed. Any of the people driving on the freeway, or in the parking lot below, could see me if they happened to look this way.
Those thoughts seem to make me more sensitive because it isn’t just the first lick that has me being noisy, it’s every subsequent movement. Every follow-up wiggle and penetration of his tongue into my hole.
In no time, I’m building up to my first orgasm. A tight, snappy thing — something that has me wanting to reach down and touch myself.
But, like how Jordan was when I had him up against the wall for his punishment, I keep my hands pressed against the glass.
As if sensing my desire for some frontal stimulation, Jordan brings a hand around, and plays with my clit, hitting every bit of hungry flesh. Every bit of folded skin.
As he touches me, he buries his mouth deeper into the back end of my pussy. He licks deeply, deliciously. The combination of being eaten and fingered is overwhelming.
Before I can even register it, my orgasm is on top of me. Consuming me. Dragging me under until I’m ga
sping for air.
“That’s it, Mistress.”
My body convulses against the glass. My screams fill the room. Shudder after shudder wrecks me. Jordan keeps tonguing and fingering me, taking everything I have to give.
As my first orgasm clears, I’m already climbing to my second one because, in addition to licking and sucking on my lips, Jordan has, without my being aware, eased a thumb into my ass.
He doesn’t do much more than wiggle it around. Shake it like a mini vibrator on my rim, but that’s enough to bring about my second orgasm.
As it rolls over me, I’m so drunk on Jordan — so hot and bothered by what he’s doing with his tongue, fingers and now voice (he’s started making humming noises, as if my pussy’s juices are the best thing he’s ever eaten) — that I have to do something to cool down. To satiate my hunger for him. Curb my desire to ask for his cock in me right now.
A third orgasm builds as Jordan asks me how I like the sensation of the cold glass on my nipples. He rolls his thumb over my clit thoughtfully, adding, “How do you feel standing in front of the window like this? Standing where anyone could see you naked and panting like a porn star?” His observation is right on. I am panting and moaning against the glass like a porn star, and it makes me even more turned on. Even more sensitive to his touch.
“I like being on display,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even. Steady. Commanding in some way. “Your mistress doesn’t mind who sees. Just like her good boy doesn’t care who knows how much he loves to submit.”
This riles me up even more. Just thinking about Jordan kneeling the way he did at my door. Sounding the way he did — so brokenhearted and lost — makes me stiffen. My clit swells, despite feeling that I’ve already gotten as big as I ever will.
Thinking about what a good boy Jordan is, and how lucky I am to have him, my fourth orgasm grips me. The way it rips through me is like sweet torture. It’s not light or floating. It’s hard and fast like I’m taking flight. As I come, my breasts and nipples slam against the glass. The coldness is oddly arousing.
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