In White Leather And No Regrets, Ariyel Esmund introduced Ren Noletta, a bookkeeper, to an erotic world of dominance and submission. And then he introduced her to his friend, Creed Bennett. The two men took Ren on a journey of discovery until finally she had to make a choice between white leather or black.
Now, in a new environment of whips and chains and floggers, suspension bars and bondage, Creed will take Ren even further with an exploration of her darker, hidden desires. Not regretting her choice, Ren continues sexual lessons with her new Dom, a mysterious man with closely held secrets. But rather than being put off by Creed's reticence to share every facet of his life with her, Ren is drawn deeper into his compartmentalized lifestyle.
Though Creed is a man who rules his world with a strong hand, he uses slightly different methods of seduction and domination on Ren rather than forcing her, and she falls for him hard. New York City is a different beast from her tame-cat environment of lonely, small-town life, and Creed gives Ren new, unexpected boundaries to challenge her.
Will Ren accept the additional tasks Creed presents? And where exactly does love fit into the texture of this frighteningly, deliciously demanding relationship?
This story is a work of original fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
This book remains the copyrighted property of the author.
Copyright 2017 by Adrianna Dane
Cover Art Designs by T. A. Gallup
This story was originally released in October 2012 by Amber Quill Press/Amber Heat
CAUTION: This story contains explicit sexual situations and strong language. You must be over the age of 18 years of age to read this story.
Black Leather
And
New Boundaries
By Adrianna Dane
Dream Romantic Unlimited, LLC
Table of Contents
Black Leather and New Boundaries
Author Bio
Networking Links
Black Leather and New Boundaries
Adorned and Possessed. Ren knelt upon the bed, naked, legs spread, her simple adornments—her master’s braided black leather collar, the rings piercing her nipples, her clit, the intricate black rose and winding ivy tattoo stretching along either side of her spine, his initials tastefully enfolded into the design on her ass cheeks. As yet, her flesh, still flushed pink and soft as silk from her bath, was unmarked by the black leather flogger. She felt warmed and loved by the powerful aura of his impending presence surrounding her, even though he’d been kept out of town on dangerous business far on the other side of the world.
Her hands were clasped at her nape, her chestnut mane, shoulder-length and sleek, providing a curtain to brush against her bare shoulders. Her breasts were lifted by the pose, her rouged nipples beaded and pierced with shiny ebony rings. Her pussy was wet in anticipation of the arrival of Master. Her clit was engorged and sensitized to such an extent that just a touch of his finger would likely send her off and flying if he should allow her to come.
It had been a simple call at midday that had brought her to this state of heightened expectancy.
“I’m home. Be ready for me at ten.” The line went dead. A man of few words, yet powerful enough. Ren didn’t require an extended conversation to build her excitement. Creed was back and just those few words had her wet and longing for his touch.
Creed Bennett, her lover, her master, the man who shaped her dreams and fulfilled her desires. At five o’clock sharp she turned off her computer, closed the files lying open upon her desk, left her office, and said goodnight to her co-workers. She didn’t hurry from the office, she measured her steps as she made her way along the carpeted corridors of the ultra-modern international firm where she was employed. She rode the subway home, her thighs slick as she anticipated the evening ahead.
Creed encouraged Ren to stretch her boundaries and because of that expectation she saw and experienced things with a special heightened fascination for life. Every experience seemed tinged with some measure of sensuality to it. Even the hot, crushed ride on the New York subway held an element of excitement. The smell of sweat, cheap cologne, too much alcohol, stale cigarette smoke, so many warm moist bodies pressing in. It all involved a state of living, of pursuing, of eclectic movement. Some people that were bored, some sleepy, some angry, others frustrated. All, sitting or standing on this subway train, in transition in some way, just like her. What would she discover if she could look into each of their minds? What would they see if any of them could look into hers? It was a fascinating thought. She couldn’t help the secret smile, the glow she felt inside. Ren’s life seemed fresh and new to her—and exciting in practically every aspect.
A new job, a new apartment, a new city—that newness had not yet settled into mundane. With Creed as her beloved master she didn’t think boring was likely a word that would rise to a prominent position in the near future.
Disembarking at the 110th Street station, she crested the steps with the rest of the crush hurrying home after a grueling day and finally surfaced to a different cacophony of sound and motion. She walked the several blocks to Broadway and stopped at the grocer’s to get the few items she would need to prepare dinner. Creed was not one to want a heavy meal after a long plane trip. He preferred to eat light. In her head, Ren reviewed the contents of her cupboards and refrigerator and what she would need to prepare a broccoli and mushroom quiche. She chose eggs, cream, fresh broccoli and mushrooms, and a block of fragrant complex aged cheddar cheese. Greens, radishes, no onions for the side salad. She smiled as she perused the display of choice cucumbers and red, ripe tomatoes, choosing carefully. As an afterthought she added several pomegranates to her basket. Stopping at the refrigerated case she selected Stella Artois lager beer. She knew it to be a favorite of Creed’s. At the checkout, she handed the clerk the two blue cloth bags she always carried in her leather briefcase—one of the few environmentally conscious things she tried to practice with some regularity.
One last stop along the way at the wine shop. Wine was one of her few guilty pleasures to relax her as she transitioned from work to leisure, to submissive. She chose the Chilean merlot with hints of black current, rich cocoa, accents of licorice and plum—a dark and fleshy taste. Perfect to put her in the right frame of mind.
It was almost 6:45 by the time she reached her luxurious 1930’s restored apartment building located on Central Park West, and the doorman, dressed in a spotless uniform of maroon and gray, courteously opened the door for her to enter the building.
“Would you like help with your bags, Ms. Noletta?”
Ren smiled her gratitude for the offer. “No, but thanks for asking, John.”
He touched his cap as he gave her a slight nod. “Have a good evening, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I plan to. You have a good evening as well.” Oh, yes, her evening was going to be especially pleasing. She crossed the restored art deco decorated lobby and took the elevator to the twelfth floor.
Creed had arranged the apartment for her. It was sublet from a rather famous recording artist who was out of the country for a lengthy spell and she hadn’t wanted the apartment to remain vacant during her absence. Creed had not gone into detail, but Ren had to wonder how close the relationship with the woman had been—or perhaps still was. Nevertheless, once Ren saw the apartment, especially the bedroom, how could she refuse? Magda Stone, rock star, obviously had an interest in th
e same lifestyle as Creed because the bedroom was outfitted quite adequately with leather restraints, and the artwork on the walls was quite breathtakingly erotic. Not to mention the handcrafted and intricately designed scrolled bed frame that was so well suited to their more vigorous engagements. The apartment itself was obviously decorated by someone with very creative eclectic tastes.
When Ren entered her apartment, she took the grocery bags to the kitchen and placed them on the black granite counter. She set the wine to chill, then put the groceries away. She folded the bags she used for shopping and returned them to her briefcase.
As she moved into the living room, she began to strip. An Anne Klein suit, altered for her, in a muted burgundy weave, she slipped off the jacket lined in black satin and flung it across a burgundy leather modern easy chair, and then she unzipped the mid-thigh length skirt and shimmied out of it, leaving it on the floor at the entrance of the sunken living room. She unbuttoned the pale pink silk blouse, which billowed like a cloud as it slid down her arms to land on the plush cream carpet. She kept on the black leather garter belt, the flesh-colored stockings, and, of course, the stiletto burgundy leather pumps from Bloomingdale’s. Creed loved her in heels—always in heels.
Ren crossed to the smoky glass door. She unlocked the latch, opened the door, and stepped out onto the terrace. She glanced up at the cloudless blue sky and laughed out loud in sheer unfettered giddiness. She inhaled deeply, sucking in the New York-tinged smoggy atmosphere of factories, traffic, chestnuts roasting, the roar of aircraft above, angry traffic, horns honking from below, then she exhaled slowly. It was good to be alive. And it was wonderful to be in New York City.
She whirled around and strode back inside and into her kitchen. She pulled out an open bottle of merlot from the fridge, a wineglass from the cupboard, and poured herself a glass. She went into the living room and slipped a nice easy-listening jazz CD into the player. Then, returning to the kitchen, she grabbed a frilly white apron and tied it around her waist. She laughed at the absurdity of being dressed in not much more than an apron as she turned to preparing the quiche. Creed would have appreciated it if he’d been here and that was enough for her.
She set the oven to pre-heat, then cut up a pomegranate and nibbled on it. A dab of juice landed on her breast and she couldn’t help smiling as she recalled the last time she and Creed had shared a pomegranate…in bed. There was juice everywhere, on her body and his. He licked her clean, and then she’d licked him. The hot little memory played across her mind as she grated the cheese, chopped the broccoli and mushrooms, began to combine the remaining ingredients, and finally poured the mixture into a baking dish and put it in the oven. As she leaned in to place the clay baking dish just right, her ass high in the air, she could almost feel Creed behind her, his cock pressing into her pussy, fucking her, as she closed the oven door, her body angled just so for him to penetrate her deeply.
Juices dripped onto her thighs as Ren turned to the sink. She washed and dried her hands, then removed the apron and hung it back up. She set the timer, poured herself another glass of wine, finishing off that particular bottle, nibbled on another piece of fruit, then went back out onto the patio. She left the door open so she’d hear the timer when it went off.
On more than one occasion they’d used that timer for other than monitoring the oven. Drawing out her orgasm, how long it took for her to bring him to climax, how long it took her to come after a proper erotic spanking. Fucking on the counter, in front of the stove, bound to the cupboards, splayed across the round breakfast table for Creed’s midnight snack. It seemed every part of this kitchen had some erotic memory attached to it. The spacious kitchen offered many tantalizing possibilities.
On the terrace Ren dropped onto a cream-colored lounger, leaned back and took a sip from her glass. With her other hand, she cupped her bare breast and toyed with the small black ring piercing it. She set the glass on the scrolled, black, wrought iron table next to the lounger and slid a hand down across her tanned stomach to toy with the ring piercing her clit. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Just a few more hours and he would be here. She thought back to the session they’d enjoyed just before he left for the Sudan. Some rather vague references to pirates terrorizing the waters and causing some issues for one of his clients. He was never very specific about his jobs abroad. She knew enough not to be too direct about her curiosity, or her concern. There were some boundaries she knew not to cross. At least not yet.
There were so many long periods of silence when he was away and she couldn’t help worrying about his safety. But she kept those worries to herself. She focused instead on the times when they were together. There was almost a poignancy to those interludes because often she didn’t know for how long he’d be in town, nor where he would be going next.
Creed never failed to delight and to challenge her. He had loved her, he had dominated her, he had punished her, he had possessed her in every way, giving her a new appreciation for so many things.
Ren forced her thoughts away from the dangers of his profession. Instead, she recalled the events of the last few months with a certain fondness and impending expectation. She had never regretted her decision in coming to New York with Creed. She’d never looked back. But then she’d learned not to look back early in life. Sometimes, it seemed her whole life, from the day she was born, had been about taking chances. But now, she considered the recent past and how far she had come and how much it excited her living in Creed’s world.
* * *
Ren’s introduction to this new environment had been a slow, sensual progression as she turned her back on the relationship with Ariyel Esmund, her first dominant lover, a man who had tutored her in submissive ritual and responsibility, and her current Master’s best friend and colleague. It seemed a long time since she’d worn the white leather that had been Ariyel’s preference. Now her focus had narrowed to encompass only Creed—her master, her dark lover.
Creed had made it clear that there were new boundaries he expected her to respect. First, she wouldn’t be living with him on his private estate out in the more rural Westchester County. He expected her to be as independent as she was before she’d met Ariyel, perhaps more so, with some adjustments in her lifestyle. He offered her a choice. She could work for his organization, but he preferred she opt for the second and find other employment, and he’d help her find an appropriate position. Her business wardrobe was to be her own choice with a measure of guidance, and financial support, from Creed. At night, he expected her to wear what he determined appropriate, which usually included black leather, black silk, sometimes red lace, or nothing at all. Her financial affairs, including money she made from her employment, would be hers to handle. He was not interested in trying to micro-manage her life. But there were other expectations he had.
He expected her to follow the rules whether she was at her Manhattan apartment on her own, or at his estate. He wanted her somewhere safe and protected, and he paid the exorbitant rent for the residence on Central Park West. He’d taken her to several specialty shops and exclusive stores such as Saks, Bloomingdale’s, and Lord & Taylor, among them, to shop for an appropriate business wardrobe, which he also paid for. He’d introduced her to an all-inclusive beauty salon and spa, and a special dresser named Simone, whom he expected her to frequent, and he set up an account for her to do just that. Ren had wondered at the time if Simone was his lover, but knew it wasn’t appropriate for her to question. And her master always disciplined for any infraction to his rules. In most every way, at least for those first few months, Ren was a kept woman—pampered, protected, loved, desired, submissive to Master’s will, and loving it.
For a time Ren’s life had settled into a rather adventurous routine as she took her time in becoming familiar with New York, her apartment, and Creed’s expectations. But nothing ever remained comfortably unchanged, and one evening, even as she awaited Creed’s arrival, she sensed things were about to shift again.
* * *
“Tonight we’re dining with an associate of mine,” Creed said when he’d arrived at her apartment one a Friday night. He went directly to her bedroom closet and chose a cocktail dress for her to wear. Black silk, not leather, which surprised her. Smoky colored stockings, black satin garter belt, and, of course, strappy black stilettos.
Taking her hand, he helped her off the bed.
“Dress for me,” he said. He moved to a red velveteen easy chair and made himself comfortable. Taking her time, because by now she knew what he liked, she began to dress slowly, attuned for any instruction he might offer at any given point. Facing him, she first settled the garter belt into place. She then picked up the stockings from the bed and moved closer to Creed. She draped one of the stockings over the back of his chair. She then stepped in front of him, turned away, and rolled the stocking carefully to make it easy to put on. Slowly she leaned forward, bending at the waist, ass high in the air in perfect display, and settled the stocking over her toes.
As she rolled the stocking up over her heel, her ankle, her calf, her knee, her thigh, Ren’s anticipation mounted. Even knowing what was likely to happen, she gasped when Creed’s hands settled on her ass, plumping her flesh, exposing her anus. Her heart fluttered, her hands shook, as he slipped a finger between her pussy lips.
“You’re wet,” he said.
She heard the drawer slide open on the red side table next to his chair. She knew what was inside—one of the thick dildoes he liked to ply her with. There was an assortment of them in that particular drawer. She wondered which one he’d chosen this time. Short and fat? Long and thin but covered in tiny bumps all over? The curved one? The straight one? The beige one? The black one? Or one perhaps he’d not yet used? With thumb and forefinger she anchored the stocking in place at her thigh.
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