“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” I mumble. I feel them watching me as I head down the hall.
I enter the playroom and undress, then kneel as ordered, and wait, heart pounding, clit pulsing in anticipation of what is to come. The warm air that blows from the room’s heating vent feels cool against my naked skin. In spite of my excitement, I’m shifting my weight, hoping they’ll get here before my knees give out. I hear heavy footsteps coming toward me, then enter the room, and the men stand gazing down at me.
“Well isn’t this a sight to behold,” Sir says, reaching down to tease the crack of my ass. I arch my back slightly and sigh with pleasure. By now my legs begin trembling and I’m ordered to rise and present myself—legs apart, shoulders back, hands behind my head. I stand proud, smiling, knowing the pose makes my breasts stand out. Charles is eating me up with his eyes.
Sir cuffs my wrists and attaches them to chains that hang from the ceiling.
“I’ve laid out some of my favorite toys,” he tells Charles, indicating the various implements of pleasure spread out on his desk. “I’m going to give D a warm-up with some of these toys and show you how she responds to them. Feel free to join in. The more the merrier.”
He begins with the small rubber whip, which is actually my favorite, dangling it over my breasts, whipping them lightly and making my nipples even harder than they already are. Behind me Charles’s big, warm hands slide down over my back and rear before delivering a series of smacks to my asscheeks.
The two Doms switch positions. Sir moves behind me, spanking me with the long-handled leather paddle, which makes a loud slapping sound as it strikes. Charles, facing my front, gazes into my eyes as he tweaks my nipples and then amuses himself by lightly slapping my breasts, making them swing back and forth.
“Ohhh, Sirs,” I moan, as the sensations intensify.
“She responds well to nipple clamps. Try the small red ones,” Sir suggests.
“Excellent idea, don’t mind if I do.” With an evil grin Charles clips each of my nipples, teasing them with his fingers. My breasts begin to tingle; they feel lit up from the inside out.
“Try this larger one on her pussy and clip her lips together,” Sir says. “You’ll get quite a rise out of her that way.” I yelp as he applies it. “And here, hang this weight from it.” He hands Charles one. I yelp again as it’s attached, and I feel the weight of it swinging between my legs.
Both Doms step back to admire their work. “Let’s try something different,” Sir says, and disconnects me from the chains. “Would you care for a blow job?” he inquires politely.
“Well, yes, just to be polite,” Charles is grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” I wonder aloud, teasing.
“Of course not,” Sir says. “Get down on your knees, woman. Ask Charles if you may have his permission to give him a blow job.”
“May I please have your permission to give you a blow job, Sir?” I ask Charles, kneeling before him. My voice is a whisper and my face flames with embarrassment.
“Yes, of course, my dear, since you’ve asked so respectfully.” As Charles says this, he unzips his fly, freeing his cock from his pants.
It’s half hard and growing rapidly, with a mushroom shaped head and a thick, veiny shaft. I reach for it, feeling it grow in my hands. I inhale its musky fragrance, licking at the salty drops of precome that form at its tip. Unhinging my jaw, I draw the full length of it into my mouth, feeling it press against the back of my throat. Charles sighs deeply with pleasure, clasps his hands behind my head, holding it in position, and begins pumping his hips.
“Good at it, isn’t she,” Sir comments.
“Oh god, yes,” Charles says, moaning. “Can she do this all night?”
“Probably,” my owner replies. “Shall we find out?”
I’m aware of Sir watching me. I’m making him proud, I think, and although my jaw begins aching, I keep on, desiring only to please.
“I’m getting ready to come,” Charles says urgently, pulling out. Wrapping my hands around his cock, I stroke him to orgasm. His thick white come sprays out over my breasts. I look up at Sir beseechingly, my pussy clenching, longing to be fucked.
“You’ve earned it, D,” Sir says, understanding my need. He bends me over his desk, while Charles settles himself comfortably in Sir’s computer chair to watch the action. I squeal when the weighted clips are removed from my pussy lips and moan as he enters me, fucking me hard. Reaching down, I rub my clit with my fingers. I’m so turned on I come almost immediately. The orgasm is powerful and goes on for a long time. Sir comes with a groan and bends over me, nuzzling my neck and stroking my hair.
“Bravo, my friends,” Charles says, with a big wide smile. “Good show.”
We tidy up and move to the living room, where I serve the men wine and the rest of the chocolates. They sit on the couch chatting, caressing me affectionately while I sit at their feet.
“Tonight has been fun,” Sir tells Charles. “Let’s do this again soon.”
“Just let me know when,” Charles replies. He reaches down to cup my breasts in his hands. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Mine too, Sirs,” I say, grinning.
The evening with two Doms is a success beyond my dreams.
THE ASSISTANT
by Tiffany Reisz
“What would you say to a three-day weekend?” Lennon asked, and Ivy could have rung his beautiful neck for even suggesting such a thing.
“Why?” she asked, turning from the filing cabinet in his private office to face him. She’d been digging for something she hadn’t actually needed, which she did about five times a day simply to have an excuse to go into Lennon’s office.
“Why? You don’t say ‘Why?’ when your boss offers you a three-day weekend. You say ‘Hell yes, boss. Best idea I’ve ever heard.’”
Ivy pursed her lips at him. “Why?” she asked again.
“You and I both worked all weekend last weekend,” Lennon said, leaning back in his vintage leather swivel chair. He put his hands behind his head and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to contradict him. Ivy envied the hands on his hair. Lennon was a young silver fox, and didn’t seem to mind at all that he was mid-thirties and already mostly gray.
“No big deal.” She waved her hand and sat in the club chair across from his desk. When she crossed her legs, she watched him, hoping he’d look at her legs. He did for a split second before meeting her eyes again. “It’s not like you didn’t pay me overtime.” And it’s not like she hadn’t loved every second of it. Weekend work meant Lennon out of a suit and in jeans and his favorite ratty concert T-shirts. Saturday had been Pink Floyd. Sunday belonged to Eminem.
Lennon leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and looked her in the eyes. Blue eyes, bright but tired.
“Katie broke up with me,” he said.
“What? Why?” Breaking up with Lennon seemed as insane as setting a Rembrandt on fire. Who did that?
“This is awkward.” Lennon wrinkled his face up, and it was as handsome wincing as it was smiling.
“Me?” Ivy asked.
“She said I spent more time with my assistant than I do with her.”
“You do.”
“If you weren’t, you know, you, it wouldn’t be a problem. But you are you and that’s a problem. For her, not me.”
“Did you just tell me I’m pretty?”
Lennon glared at her. “You know you are. Katie wouldn’t care about that if I didn’t spend my weeks with you and my weekends with you. She says you’re my work wife.”
Then make me your real wife, you beautiful idiot.
“So why the three-day weekend? You trying to get rid of me?” Ivy asked.
“Never,” he said vehemently, and she cherished that vehemence. “Jack’s taking me out tomorrow for a recovery day of hiking and drinking. Then he’s forcing me entirely against my will to go to a party at a friend’s house Saturday night. And if I’m not here, there’s n
o reason for you to be here.”
“Three-day weekend it is then.” Ivy stood up and smoothed her skirt down. “And thank you. I got invited to a party too this weekend,” she said, a lie. It wasn’t a party so much as brunch with her sister. “Maybe it’s the same party as yours.”
Lennon stood up and walked around his desk. Gently he lifted the little gold Star of David pendant she wore on a necklace. His fingers were so light on her skin she felt goosebumps all over her arms. And Lennon stood so close she could smell his light cologne.
“No offense, but I don’t think you go to the same parties Jack and I go to. Although if you want to come with us, you can. Beautiful women are always welcome at that house.” He said it like a dare, like a challenge.
“Is it one of those parties?” Ivy asked as Lennon played with the six corners of the star. They were as comfortable with each other as people who worked in close quarters had to be. She’d smack his hand when he reached for her food. He’d let her sleep on his shoulder when they took red-eye flights to London. But this little moment felt different, felt personal.
“One of those parties, yeah…” He looked a little embarrassed and she adored him for it. He’d been careful to keep his personal life separate from his professional life, even with her. But one Sunday afternoon she’d had to run to his apartment for reasons entirely work-related, and while he’d been on the phone in the other room, she’d glanced through a half-open door and seen Lennon’s bedroom. A leather flogger sat on the pillow and handcuffs dangled from the headboard. When Lennon had caught her looking he’d blushed and stammered an apology. She’d told him she didn’t care as long as what he was doing in his free time was consensual. It had been the first thing she’d thought of to say and only later had she realized it made her sound boring, virginal and utterly vanilla. What she’d wanted to say was, “The handcuffs? The flogger? Lennon, that’s nothing to apologize for. It’s sexy as hell, and I volunteer as your next victim.” There hadn’t been a night since she hadn’t fallen asleep dreaming of his body, that bed, and those handcuffs on her wrists while she made herself come.
Ivy wrapped her hand around his fingers holding her pendant.
“Lenn—”
Lennon let the pendant go like it had burned him.
“You work for me,” he said.
“I know. I know.” She raised her hands in surrender.
She knew. She knew. They’d had this discussion once before on a night flight when neither of them could sleep but seemingly the rest of the plane could. He’d admitted his attraction to her, and she to him, and the only thing that had stopped them from joining the mile-high club had been Lennon’s innate sense of decency that kept him from sleeping with an employee ten years his junior. She knew if she made the first move it would happen. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Lennon took a step back. She stopped herself from taking a step forward. “Have a good three-day weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Ivy smiled. “Monday.”
Then she took her file, walked out of his office, and sat at her desk. She didn’t trust herself to walk back into Lennon’s office without declaring her love and/or lust for him, so instead she opened their messenger app and typed, “Need car service for the party? Where? When?”
Lennon wrote back thirty seconds later. “Yes, please. Saturday, nine. 152 Riverside Drive. Warn the driver we’ll be dressed weird.”
“How weird?” she typed back.
“Eyes Wide Shut weird.”
“I’ll make a note in the comment field.”
And that’s when it hit Ivy…she knew where the party was. She knew when it was. She knew she could go to it if she wanted to go to it.
She wanted to go to it.
Lennon had said “Eyes Wide Shut weird” and implied he’d be dressed in some sort of costume. That would make it much easier to slip in and out. She didn’t want to do anything but see him, and be part of his world for a little while. She wouldn’t even talk to him. But to pass unobserved she’d have to dress the part herself. Saturday morning she made an appointment with her stylist who did her hair in a complicated and very un-Ivy updo. She bought a slinky white dress and a white masquerade mask. Lennon had never seen her wear her hair like this. He’d never seen her wear white. And with the mask covering half her face, he’d have no idea it was her. Since it was one of “those” parties, Ivy also invested in a pair of white seamed stockings and a garter belt and white high heels with white ribbons that tied at the ankle. Once dressed she looked the opposite of her usual work self. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.
When nine o’clock rolled around, she grabbed a cab. On her way there she told herself that if the party wasn’t her scene, all she had to do was turn around and leave. She could do this. Get in, get out, don’t cause trouble. Don’t reveal herself and whatever she did, no contact with Lennon. None.
The cab dropped her off, and she paid her driver. It took her a couple seconds to work up the courage to step out and climb the stairs of the black-and-white three-story townhouse. Through the door she could hear the sounds of music and laughter and the usual party revelry going on inside. Before she knocked she tried the knob and found the door unlocked. As quickly and quietly as she could, Ivy stepped inside.
Oh.
Oh…
Oh, no.
Lennon hadn’t been exaggerating. It really was one of those kinds of parties.
Everywhere she looked she saw couples coupling. Kissing in doorways, draped over each other on sofas and in the room to the left, some sort of sitting room, she saw a woman kneeling on her hands and knees on a coffee table while a man in a dark three-piece suit and devil horns fucked her from behind. They weren’t alone in the room, not at all. People stood around watching, cheering. Someone even held a stopwatch in his hand. Cash was scattered on the table around the woman’s hands and knees. From what Ivy could tell it was a contest and The Devil was contestant number two. The previous contestant had fucked the woman twelve minutes and sixteen seconds before coming. The current contestant just fucked his way past the ten minute mark. Someone in the crowd said they were neck in neck. Someone else said they were cock in cock.
Ivy stared, mesmerized by the scene. It was porn—beautiful, erotic, playful live porn—and she couldn’t look away. Her nipples tightened under her low-cut dress and her pussy swelled at the sight of the woman taking the cock so casually in a room of a dozen people. Ivy flushed and felt herself growing wet, and her vagina clenched at nothing, wanting something inside it.
“Want to play?” came an accented voice from behind her. She turned and saw the man who’d spoken. He wore a military-style long coat, white shirt open at the collar, plus breeches and Hessian boots polished to a high shine. He was impossibly handsome, with shoulder-length, dark, wavy hair and a wolfish gleam in his dark eyes.
“I…no. Just watching,” she said.
“I shouldn’t play anyway,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I always win. Hardly fair, is it?” He lifted her hand to his lips at if to kiss the back of it. Instead he flipped her hand over and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. With a wink he walked away, no doubt seeking out more amenable prey.
Ivy turned to leave and came face to bare chest with a man wearing nothing but leather pants. Nothing. Not even shoes. He had shaggy hair, brown skin and a wicked smile. She felt a sudden pang of attraction to him.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I—”
“You must be new,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
“I’m very new. Very, very new.”
“We like newbies around here.” He cupped her chin. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Ivy opened her mouth, closed it, then saw Lennon striding down the hallway toward the front door. He wasn’t dressed nearly as oddly as everyone else at the party. He had on black trousers, a black vest, and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled to his elbows. His only nod to the party atmosphere was t
he black mask he wore over his eyes. Impossible not to know it was him, however. Not with that smile and that salt-and-pepper hair.
“Him,” Ivy whispered. “I want him.”
“You sure about that?” the man in the leather pants asked. She couldn’t believe she’d spoken her wish aloud.
“I am.”
“Then kiss me.”
She kissed him and found his mouth warm and his lips skillful. She’d been so busy with work for Lennon she hadn’t gone on a date in six months. Whoever this man was, she didn’t know, but she also didn’t care. He had big hands that felt good on her waist, and a girl needed kissing sometimes. Even by a stranger.
And then Ivy was off her feet. Entirely, completely and totally off her feet, being carried over the man’s shoulder.
“Oh my God,” she said, and the man heard her.
“I’m a firefighter in real life,” he said, slapping her on the ass. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
“Glad one of us does.”
“Come on, man,” he said as he carried her into a room. “I caught something for you.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t have, Jack.” Ivy recognized Lennon’s voice.
“You’ve had a hard week. You’ve earned some fun.”
So this was Jack, Lennon’s kinky friend who dragged him to parties? Is this something they did together? Share women? Ivy wanted to be jealous if it was, but instead she found the prospect arousing, the thought of being passed back and forth between them.
Ivy gripped the sofa cushion hard and tried to get her bearings. She was in a room, a very nice but small room with antique furniture like out of Pride and Prejudice or something. Door closed. No lights on but for the fire burning in the fireplace. No bed. Fireplace with an ornate, dark-wood mantel and a low fire burning. Other than the couch she and Jack sat on, there was one armchair across from them and a huge steamer trunk that acted as a coffee table. Lennon sat in the chair and held his wine glass lightly between his fingertips. He was watching her.
“This is how it works,” Jack was saying as he slowly eased her panties down her legs. “Since you’re new…I do whatever I want to do to you and you say ‘Red’ when and if you want me to stop. And what I want to do to you is fuck you while my friend watches. Then he will do whatever he wants to do to you. He won’t be nearly as gentle with you as I will. Yes? No? Red?”
Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 Page 19
