Serena's Submission

by Jasmine Hill

“I’m going to take you now. You come when you’re ready,” he said, his voice thick with need as he removed her blindfold and she heard the rip of a foil wrapper.

  He positioned himself over her, his naked body hard and muscular against hers. He braced his arms either side of her head and gazed into her eyes before thrusting hard into her, sheathing himself to the hilt.

  “Oh God,” she cried out as she tilted her hips up to meet his thrusts.

  “So tight and hot,” he hissed before he withdrew and plunged into her once more.

  He ploughed into her hard and fast then his lips were on hers, hot, urgent and insistent, plunging his tongue into her mouth so she could taste her own salty arousal as he swallowed her moans with his kiss.

  “Come for me, baby,” he murmured against her lips as he drove his cock hard into her again, grinding his pelvis into hers and circling his hips to provide a perfect friction where she most needed it. Her sensitised clit couldn’t take anymore and she climaxed loudly and forcefully, crying out as her body went rigid and tremors of pure pleasure washed through her.

  With three quick thrusts he groaned loudly and followed her over, shoving into her so hard she could feel him pulsing in release at her very core.

  Chapter Eight

  Serena had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang, signalling Aaron’s arrival. She had invited him to dinner. The lasagne was out of the oven resting and the salad just needed to be dressed. She hurried to open the door.

  Aaron had brought a bottle of Australian red which they enjoyed over dinner. They chatted amiably, suffering no awkward silences or lapses in conversation. They were so comfortable with each other, so at ease, it was as if they had known each for years.

  “That was delicious,” Aaron said appreciatively when they had finished their meal. “I can add fantastic cook to your attributes.”

  Serena beamed. “Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Do you have room for dessert?”

  “I always have room for dessert, baby,” he said grinning lasciviously.

  Serena grinned back at him and playfully swatted him with her napkin. “Later, Romeo,” she replied as she collected their plates. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the living room while I get dessert organised.”

  * * * *

  The living room reminded him of Serena—calm and peaceful. It was furnished with comfortable though stylish easy chairs and a two-seater matching lounge. One wall was entirely devoted to a floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelf. He studied the spines of a few of the books—she had all the classics from authors such as Austen, the Brontës and Eliot as well as a lot of classic poets such as Keats, Donne and Wordsworth. He noted that she also enjoyed thrillers, romance and crime novels as well as non-fiction. Her taste in books and reading was eclectic—just like her, he thought with a smile.

  He strolled over to a desk tucked into the corner of the room and idly scanned the top. He was about to turn around when something caught his eye. Scattered on her desk top were typed and written notes but one name stood out to him like a beacon and made his heart stutter—the words Club Erebus were written time and again on various pages.

  He grabbed one of the pages and scanned her notes. His pulse thundered in his ears as his brain clicked into gear. It didn’t take him long to realise that she was writing a story about the BDSM scene and in particular about Club Erebus. The one saving grace, if in fact it could be called that, was the fact that as far as he could tell she hadn’t used any personal names.

  Serena chose that moment to enter the living room with dessert and some plates. She stopped dead on the threshold as she noticed him standing by the desk with her notes in his hand.

  He glared at her—he was so irate he was physically shaking. He turned towards her, his eyes narrowed in anger.

  * * * *

  Serena couldn’t get her legs to move—she was frozen to the spot staring at Aaron as he waved her notes in the air.

  “Something to tell me, angel?” he asked, his voice dangerously low as he stalked towards her with panther-like grace and predatory intent. She automatically started to move backwards into the kitchen, where she fumbled the plate of dessert onto a table and backed further into the room.

  Aaron continued to advance on her until her back was against the wall. He braced his arms either side of her head, his muscular body pressed against hers, caging her in. “Are you going to answer me, Serena?” he breathed against her ear. “What were you planning to do? Write a story?”

  Serena willed her heart rate to slow down as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Aaron was angry, very angry, and she somehow had to try and make things right with him.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” she said to him. Even to her own ears her defence sounded weak. She forged ahead. “I am a journalist and I was going to write a story about the BDSM scene, but that was before. Since I met you and we have come to know each other I decided that I couldn’t write it. Tomorrow I was planning to throw away all my notes,” she finished breathlessly. When she had started out on this adventure for a story she hadn’t expected to become so swept up in the BDSM scene, and she definitely hadn’t expected to meet someone like Aaron.

  He narrowed his eyes and stared at her intently.

  “You have to believe me, Aaron. I didn’t expect any of this to happen between us. I suppose I expected, somewhat naively I know, that I could watch from the sidelines—an observer but not a participant.”

  “And you think that would have made it okay to write about people’s private lives?” he hissed at her.

  “I was never intending to use anyone’s name or particulars,” she said in a small voice. “It was just about the BDSM scene in general.”

  “So everything that we experienced together is based on a lie. You must have thanked your lucky stars when I came along and practically handed you your story,” he stated, his voice cold.

  “No!” she cried out as she grasped his upper arms, imploring him to listen to her. “You showed me things I would never have experienced but for you. You told me that I was a natural submissive and showed me that you were right. Don’t you see, Aaron, how naturally I have taken to the submissive role? I was surprised at first, until I realised how much I like you dominating me, how much I want you to dominate me.”

  She was still caged within his strong hold, his body pressed against hers. She watched as he eyed her warily.

  “Please, Aaron,” she begged. “Remember what you said to me the night we first met?” He was silent so she continued. “You told me that you wanted me to submit to you, that you wanted to train me and become my Dom. Isn’t that how you still feel?” she asked tremulously.

  “You will also recall that I said the most important aspect in a D/s relationship is trust. How can I trust you, Serena?”

  She slumped in resignation. He was right, she had betrayed his trust in the worst possible way.

  She looked up at him imploringly. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “God, Serena, do you realise how angry and disappointed I am right now? I don’t know what to think at the moment.”

  “Then don’t think,” she said desperately. “Just know that it was a stupid idea that started off my BDSM investigation but that it led me to you. I would never hurt you like that, Aaron, what we have means too much to me. I just didn’t get around to destroying all those notes—notes which I made, by the way, based on my initial investigation and that first night at Club Erebus. If you read them, that is all you will see because I had no intention of writing the exposé after that.”

  He chuckled grimly. “It’s quite ironic that I was trying to get you to trust me when all this time I couldn’t trust you.”

  “But you can trust me, in fact you could always trust me like I trusted you—think about it, I put all my trust in you. I didn’t question you, I just did what you asked.”

  He raised his head and stared down at her i
ntently as he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. He ran his thumb down the side of her face before he cupped her chin in one hand and grasped the nape of her neck with the other.

  “You’re right, baby, you always did what I asked,” he agreed before his lips closed over hers and he kissed her roughly, pushing his tongue into her mouth and bruising her lips with his. It was as if he was pouring all of his anger into the kiss—punishing her yet possessing her at the same time. Her heart rate spiked and desire pooled low in her belly as she kissed him back, desperate to have him forgive her. He stopped just when she thought she would run out of air and she took a deep shuddering breath when he pulled away.

  “You are mine. I am your Dom and don’t you forget it,” he growled, sending a quiver of desire through her. “Are you going to be a good little sub from now on?” he said fervently, still grasping her head.

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything you ask, Sir.”

  “Good girl, but you know what I have to do now, don’t you, baby? I’ll have to punish you for being bad and this time it will be more than just a spanking with my hand.”

  Serena’s heart skipped a beat and she shivered in anticipation of her punishment. Her relief was palpable. He still wanted to be her Dom and she wanted nothing more than to be his sub.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said with a contented smile. “I need to be punished.”

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  From Leather to Lace

  Jasmine Hill

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Sarah Maddox zipped up her thigh-length stiletto boot and stepped back to study her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She looked pretty damn good. She had piled her dark hair on top of her head and the eye mask she wore made her look almost cat-like, her full scarlet lips a startling contrast. A leather choker was around her neck. Below the choker her cleavage spilled out of a corset tied gaspingly tight. The black leather mini she wore barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Two inches below started her stiletto boots.

  “Perrrfect,” she purred. “Goodbye, Sarah. Hello, Mistress Kitty,” she said to her reflection.

  She removed her mask and tucked it into her handbag and after donning a full-length black coat she left her apartment. When she arrived downstairs the car was already waiting.

  “Hello, Monty,” she greeted the driver as she slid into the back seat.

  “Good evening, Mistress,” he replied as he pulled away from the kerb and smoothly merged with the traffic.

  Her place of work was normally only a ten-minute drive from her apartment if the traffic was light, and about eleven minutes later Monty pulled to a stop in front of an understated multi-storey building. After parking, he made his way to the back door and assisted her out of the car.

  Kitty thanked him, punched in the security code and entered the building through a discreet doorway. As she did so, she stepped into Fantasy.

  From the outside the building looked identical to many others and could have been a typical office complex but on the inside it looked magical. Glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, the walls were adorned with mirrors and expensive pieces of erotic art, plush lounge suites were expertly scattered to ensure privacy, and crystal glasses and expensive bottles of champagne and liqueurs adorned mirrored tables to be enjoyed with caviar and oysters. A selection of Venetian-style masks was also provided in which the clients could relax anonymously. Music was piped in through discreetly hidden speakers—never obtrusive, the music was selected for its mood-enhancing qualities.

  Another very important detail about Fantasy was that all clientele were assured absolute privacy and discretion. No real names were used and no contact details recorded. Madam Boudica followed a strict booking system and, whilst convoluted, it ensured that a customer’s privacy was guaranteed. Clients booked under an assumed name that was used for all subsequent bookings. Another assurance against identity exposure was the wearing of masks. There was also one particularly important rule—no sex with the clients.

  Mistress Kitty made her way over the plush carpet to the office to check her diary. Each of the girls had their own diary listing their clientele for each evening. The left-hand column recorded the client’s pseudonym, the middle column listed the particular fantasy the client wished to indulge, while in the right-hand column was recorded any particular requests or special instructions. She ran a manicured finger down the list of clients. All were regulars except for her first client of the evening—a Mr X.

  Not very original, perhaps he is new to the scene.

  Written in Mr X’s right-hand column was, ‘New client to Fantasy—enjoys pain but NOT domination.’

  Mistress Kitty was intrigued. Whilst her clients’ penchants ran to varied extremes, most of them enjoyed being dominated in some fashion. She took the lift up to level two where her dressing room was located. All the girls had their own dressing rooms complete with a shower and a bath and even a bed to which they could retire for a recharge nap. She checked her watch—she had half an hour before Mr X. She thought about how she should approach the session with her new client and decided that she would start off slow to get a feel for his expectations. All new clients were interviewed by Madam Boudica and given strict instructions regarding Fantasy rules and policy with particular attention to safe words and safety, but it was important for each Domme to personally connect with her clients.

  She touched up her makeup and at the appointed time she donned her mask, left her dressing room and made her way to the dungeon.

  When Mistress Kitty opened the door of the dungeon she did a double-take and drew her breath in sharply. Mr X was already waiting and the man who stood in front of her could only be described as an Adonis! A mask covered the top part of his head and hair but she could see that he had deep brown eyes and full lips. His shoulders and chest were hard and muscular, his stomach rippled and his long, powerful legs looked like they could snap her in two. He was tall, so that even in her stilettos he seemed to tower over her. He had a small amount of chest hair that trailed down his lean stomach and ended below the waistband of his black leather pants.

  Mr X was unlike most of the men she was used to seeing in Fantasy and she imagined her surprise was evident. She tried quickly to regain her composure as she stepped into the dungeon but she could see by his wry grin and raised eyebrow that her agitation hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  She felt instantly off balance from his reaction. She was the one who was supposed to be in control. In here she called the shots. Now this man, without uttering a word, had totally unnerved her and was obviously enjoying doing it.

  Determined to regain the upper hand, she lifted a stiletto-heeled boot until it rested against his hard stomach then she kicked him back against the wall—his body hitting brick with a satisfying thud. Then pinioning him by the chest with her whip, she swiftly looped each end through steel rings set into the wall and brought one knee up to rest dangerously between his legs. She saw with satisfaction the spark of fury in his eyes then thought of the instruction—‘enjoys pain but NOT domination’—and here she had dominated him so quickly he hadn’t seen it coming. It wasn’t her usual approach to defy the client’s wishes but for some perverse reason she was getting immense satisfaction from his barely suppressed anger and it was important that she maintain the upper hand.

  Stepping back, she stood akimbo as she studied him, giving him a moment to adjust to the whip restraint before she spoke.

  “I hear you like pain, Mr X.”

  “I wonder that you didn’t receive the rest of the instruction,” he growled, “for if you had, you would know that I do not enjoy being dominated.”

  “You do realise that a big part of BDSM is domination and submission? In here I am the Dominant, Mr X. There are other Fantasy employees who cater to dominant clients.”

  “I am well aware of that. Madam Boudica told me the same thing but you come highly recommended and I must say my friend d
efinitely did not exaggerate your considerable assets,” he responded as he swept his eyes appreciatively over her body.

  She studied him a moment longer as she wondered idly who had recommended her and why. Then with one quick movement she lunged forward and once more rested her knee at his crotch. She placed her hands on the wall, caging him in, and leaned close to speak in his ear.

  “How shall we play this, Mr X? You want to be whipped but not bound—is that right?”

  Not waiting for him to reply, she unlooped one end of the whip then the other but kept her knee resting firmly between his legs.

  “Of course the client is always to be kept satisfied,” she purred, drawing a nail slowly but deeply down his chest. She felt his cock harden against her knee at the erotic contact and drew her hand down farther, nails raking his skin until she slowly removed her knee from between his legs. As she did so she gripped his balls and squeezed carefully but firmly. She felt him stiffen against her as he groaned.

  “You don’t like being dominated, Mr X,” she said softly, “but now I have you by the balls.”

  As she looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, his eyes narrowed in anger then with a low snarl he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it painfully until she relaxed her grip. Smiling cruelly, he seized both of her wrists and secured them with one hand behind her back while with the other hand he grasped her chin.

  “You’re not playing nice, Kitty cat,” he spoke low in her ear. “Deliberately provoking me is not a smart move.”

  She couldn’t miss the muscular solidity of his chest as he pressed her body hard against his and despite her predicament she admired his obvious strength and powerful physique. She was determined to regain the upper hand, however, and she struggled desperately to escape his grasp and regain control, but his hold was too great. She lifted a booted foot, intent on kicking him wherever she could find purchase, but he quickly anticipated her and clamped both her legs between his more formidable ones. She was now wholly at his mercy as he held her in a bizarre parody of a dance dip.