by Penny Wylder
When you’re spread open underneath me, coming over and over again on my mouth and cock, money will be the last thing on your mind. What do you say to that?
It takes me a second to breathe, imagining the scenario he painted, my body conjuring up sense memory of him to complete the scene. Dammit, now I’m wet and flushed and this isn’t how I thought the conversation was going to go. He’s better at this game than I am, and I need to step back and think about that. I need to be ready so that when I’m face to face with him, I don’t get blindsided by the sheer force of his charm and will.
So you Doms don’t mince your words, do you?
I don’t. And for the record, the only acceptable response to the above, is ‘Yes, Sir.’
Go to hell.
Get it out now. When you’re here, your ass will be under my hand for speaking to me that way. And believe me, that will be more fun for me than it is for you.
There’s a small winking face at the end of that text, mocking me. I have no words for what’s going on in my body and brain right now. Then another text.
Sweet dreams, Emma.
Sweet dreams? With the way I’m feeling, my dreams are going to be anything but sweet. Hot, sweaty, and unfulfilling is more like it. I don’t text him back—I’m too busy digging through my dresser drawer to find my under-used vibrator. I’m not even there yet and he’s got me so tuned up that I have to get off. What have I gotten myself into?
Six
Matthew continues to text me on Wednesday and Thursday, and even though I’m not a prude, the blatant sexuality of his texts still makes me blush. My vibrator has gotten more use in the last two days than in the last six months combined, and it feels like it’s not enough. Suddenly there’s a sex-starved monster inside me and she will stop at nothing until she’s fed.
There’s mention of how he’s going to taste me. How he’s going to take me slowly. How he’s going to make me beg. I threw that last one back in his face, but he just laughed. I don’t know what it is about his utter confidence that fascinates me. If it were someone else I think it would drive me up the fucking wall, but with him it somehow works. I know I barley know him, but somehow I can’t imagine a Matthew that wasn’t that confident.
Thursday night, I text him.
Are you sure I don’t need to bring anything? Not even a toothbrush?
He texts back instantly, like he was waiting for it.
No. Everything is taken care of.
Okay. That’s nice. I don’t remember a time that a trip was stress-free like this. It’s not even that long of a trip. Yesterday he told me where he lives, and it’s on the other side of Atlanta. A little far from the city, but not so far into the country that I’d consider it isolated. I’ve scoured the internet for pictures of his house, but there are none. There are barely any pictures of the animal sanctuary that he’s famous for.
I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask him why there’s nothing about him online. Somehow I figure that’s a better in-person question.
Typically, right before I take off for a weekend, I’m packing frantically. I don’t really know what to do with myself since I’m not. When I texted Jess earlier to tell her that I was going, she suggested that we get drunk and celebrate, but I really don’t want to show up at his house hung over, so I said no. Lily just texted me a smiling face. I know she’ll want to hear as many juicy details as Jess when I come back, and when she gets back from her honeymoon.
Eventually, I settle on reading. I’ve had books on my nightstand for ages that I’ve been meaning to pick up but somehow I never find the time. I read until my eyes won’t stay open anymore, and I force them open just long enough for me to set my alarm. There’s no turning back now.
* * *
A limousine. He sent me a fucking limousine. This isn’t what I thought he meant when he said that he’d send a car, but the giant, black, shining monstrosity is stretched out in front of my apartment building and there’s even a uniformed driver waiting by the door.
“Ms. Silverman?” he asks as I walk up.
“That’s me,” I say, and allow him to open the door for me. I slide into the limo and realize that I’ve never been in one before. I’ve never had ‘let’s rent a limo’ type friends. It always seemed like an unnecessary extravagance. Now that I’m inside one, I think we may have miscalculated. This is fantastic. There are little water bottles and so many air vents I could probably have the air conditioning blowing on every part of my body at once.
I lie down on one of the bench seats as we begin to move. How often do you get to lounge in a limo alone? I might as well take advantage of it. But almost immediately I’m cold and have to turn the air conditioning down. I had no idea what to wear today—what do you wear to meet the man who’s going to boss you around for three days? —and I ended up in a halter top and jeans. Too much exposed skin on my top half to have the air blasting.
With it on a lower setting, it’s way more comfortable, and I start to drift off. I woke up multiple times this morning afraid that I had missed my alarm, and I’m sleepy. I don’t even notice I’m drifting off, but a jolt under the wheels wakes me, and I see that the city is gone and we’re driving down a lane with tall trees on either side. Through the foliage, a house appears, and I have a hard time keeping my jaw off the floor. That’s not a house, that’s a fucking mansion.
All old stone and ivy with one of those circular driveways that every rich person seems to have, it’s easily one of the most beautiful houses I’ve ever seen. I can’t even imagine what the inside looks like. We pull up to the front doors—double and glass covered in wrought iron—and Matthew steps out of them, coming down to greet me.
He’s wearing jeans too, which makes me feel better, and a button down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. I know plenty of women who would write songs about those forearms, and I’m determined to make sure that he never knows that I’m one of them. He stands on the bottom of the wide stone steps leading up to the door and waits.
The chauffeur hurries around and opens the door. “Thank you,” I say, realizing that I could easily have opened the door myself if I hadn’t been ogling Matthew and the house.
“No problem, Miss. Enjoy your day.”
Now that I’m face-to-face with Matthew, I have no idea what to say. He’s still sexy as fuck, and after all our racy text messages, I’d be happy to skip directly to the fucking. I don’t think that’s going to happen, though. We both stand silent as the limo disappears down the drive, and until there’s nothing but the sound of birds to hear.
“Good morning,” he says, smiling a little.
“Morning.”
“How was the drive?”
I stretch my arms and back. “I slept for most of it. The car was really comfortable. I’d never been in a limo before today, I didn’t expect it to rock me to sleep.”
Matthew chuckles. “I’m glad you liked it. Come on, I have breakfast waiting. I thought we’d talk for a bit.”
“Talk?” I raise an eyebrow, “We’re not going straight to the dungeon?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be happy to know that my playroom has heat and carpeting. I’d hardly call it a dungeon. But no, we’re not going directly there.”
I follow him into the house and a gorgeous entryway decorated in shades of cream. It looks like one of those houses you see in films, perfectly staged with a blend of art and antiques. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he smiles over his shoulder at me. “I’ll give you the grand tour after breakfast.”
“From how big it looks on the outside, the grand tour might take the whole three days.”
“It does seem that way sometimes,” he says, chuckling again.
This is definitely not what I expected. I mean, I knew he was rich and that he’d live someplace big and gorgeous, but I was expecting something more…gothic. This is the opposite. It’s light and open and doesn’t feel the least bit oppressive. I suppose it’s not fair that I would assume
that, but still…even lily’s wedding was black and crimson. Even though it’s extravagant, it’s shockingly normal. Peaceful, even.
We’re winding our way through hallways that are smaller than I imagined, and suddenly we’re at a tiny door and back out into sunlight. A small courtyard of brick and ivy is on the other side, with a bistro table and chairs. Breakfast is laid out on the table; everything from croissants and orange juice to what I think might be apple strudel.
“One of the house’s little secrets, and my favorite breakfast spot,” he says as he sits.
I take the seat opposite him. This doesn’t seem real. It’s like a movie or something. “So what are we talking about?”
“Well,” he says, an amused look on his face, “I thought we could get to know each other a little better before we talk about how things will go for the next few days and negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” I wasn’t aware I was going to have to haggle.
“We’ll get to that. Tell me a little bit about yourself, and feel free to eat.”
I grab a croissant off one of the plates in front of me and move the butter over so I can reach it. “To be honest, there’s not a lot to tell about me. I live on the other side of Atlanta, and I work as a Junior Publicist at Jones & Burke.”
“That’s an excellent firm.”
I nod. “I majored in marketing in college and got an internship there. I was lucky enough that they wanted to hire me right after I graduated. I’ve been there ever since. I don’t have any roommates or pets. A few close friends. My parents have both passed away.”
“How do you know Lily?”
“We were roommates in college,” I say around the bite of croissant I just shoved in my mouth. “She was my best friend. We’re both terrible at keeping in touch and we live just far enough apart that it’s inconvenient to see each other. The wedding was the first time I’d seen her in person for two years.”
He looks surprised at that. “So when you came to the wedding, did you know that she was in the lifestyle?”
“I had no idea. My invitation said that the wedding would be non-traditional and that’s it.”
He laughs that same ringing laugh that I remember from that night, and my breath catches. It really is a beautiful laugh. “You must have been shocked.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s not all that I need to know about you, but those are good basics. What would you like to know about me?”
I take another bite of croissant—which is absolutely perfect—and swallow before I answer. “I Googled you.”
There’s that half-smile again. “So you already know the basics.”
“Kind of, though I couldn’t find any pictures of this place on the internet.”
Matthew nods. “I prefer to keep my private life private. I’m not enough of a celebrity to have to worry about press or paparazzi out here, but when you live my lifestyle, keeping a low profile is important. As I know you’re aware, not everyone is comfortable with kink, and I want everyone in the scene who visits my home to feel safe.”
“That’s a good reason.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Were you thinking of bad ones?”
“Maybe.”
He shrugs. “I suppose from an outside point of view it does seem odd.”
I finish my croissant and pour myself a glass of juice. “So what are we negotiating?”
“You certainly cut to the chase.”
I try my best not to glare at him. “I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Very well,” he clears his throat. “I’ve gone back and forth on what I should expect from you. Every Dom/sub relationship is different, and every aspect is negotiated so both parties are comfortable. Since you’re new to the lifestyle, I’m willing to bend a little more toward vanilla. Or what you’d call ‘normal.’”
“Things like what?”
“I don’t often have submissives in my home,” he says. “But when I do, I require that they remain naked unless I permit them clothing. I thought that might be a shock for you, so I’m willing to compromise by letting you wear lingerie I have provided.”
My mouth falls open, and then I close it again. You knew what you were walking into, Emma. Remember that. You agreed to come here and do what he said. You’re probably going to have sex with him anyway, so lingerie isn’t a big deal. “Fine,” I say.
“I also usually require my submissives to address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ at all times. Since we’re not in a relationship, you’ll only be required to use my title in sexual situations. Keep in mind that I will decide what a sexual situation is and what it is not.”
“Your title?” I scoff.
A lazy smile crosses his face, and even though he’s at ease, I can tell it’s not a pleased smile. “Yes, my title. Part of a power exchange is recognizing the person to whom you’ve given that power. Calling me Sir is a simple way of doing that. Manners and structure are important in BDSM. Have good manners, and you’ll be rewarded. Bad manners, and you’ll be punished.”
I smirk. “Yes, Sir.”
“I need you to choose a safeword. You will always be able to use ‘red,’ but I find it helps for beginners to have more than one.”
“How do I pick?”
Matthew reaches forward to the table and pours himself a cup of coffee from one of the pots. “That’s up to you. Some people pick something that they hate. Some people pick a word that reminds them of when they feel safest. But it has to be something that you absolutely will not forget, even if you’re panicking.”
I think about it, and the memory comes to me almost instantly. Lemon pie on a sunny day and the feeling of utter safety and perfection. “Lemon,” I say.
“You won’t forget that?”
“Never.”
He nods, accepting it. “Good. If you use it, everything stops. Don’t use it lightly. It’s not something you use if you’re unsure or uncomfortable. If you need a moment to check in with me, tell me, or say yellow and we’ll slow down.”
I nod. I can do that, and it’s a relief that we’re not going to be hurtling down a path that we can’t come back from.
“Moving on. I need to know your boundaries. How far are you willing to go sexually?”
There’s a little thrill of surprise that goes up my spine. “I get a choice in that?”
“You get a choice about everything. I’m not going to force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. It is perfectly possible to have a Dom/sub relationship without sex. In my opinion, sex does add to the experience, but I would never force it.”
“I’m fine with sex,” I say, feeling a tiny release of tension in my shoulders that I didn’t realize was there.
His smile is as bright as the sun that’s shining down on us. “I was hoping that you’d say that.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you were, based on those text messages.”
Across the table I see his eyes darken with heat, and I had forgotten how compelling they are. “I’m very much looking forward to it. But since you said yes, there is something I won’t negotiate on: your orgasms belong to me.”
I blink at him. “What does that mean? I’m assuming that I’m not going to be having sex with someone else, so of course they belong to you?”
Mathew laughs, and I think that even though he’s really laughing at me, it’s out of delight rather than mocking me. “No, you won’t be having sex with someone else. I mean that just like in that hallway, you only come when I allow it. You need permission. You are allowed to ask, and I expect you to tell me if you are so close that you think you can’t control yourself, but letting go before I agree will land you in trouble.”
“I mean…that’s weird, but I guess it’s fine.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee. “There’s one last thing. You’re new to this, and we both know that you’re here to prove me wrong. But I still expect you to submit and obey. However, be
cause you’re new, I want you to know that at any point if you don’t understand a command or you are uncomfortable, I expect you to tell me. Even if I have given you the command not to speak. Especially if I’ve given that command.”
“Okay.” My voice sounds smaller than I’d like it to.
“Communication is the most important thing between a Dom and a sub, and I don’t want you lying to me. You won’t hurt my feelings. I need you always to be honest with me, no matter the situation.”
I take a sip of my juice. “I can do that.”
“Do you have any other questions?”
“Are there…” I swallow, “are there going to be punishments?”
“Possibly.”
I wince. “I really don’t like pain.”
He chuckles, “I’m not a sadist, and I didn’t think for a second that you were a masochist. Not all punishments are painful. But,” he says, that amused mask back on his face, “if you’re a good girl, you won’t be punished.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He snorts. “I’m sure you will. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house and where you’ll be staying.”
I follow him back inside, hoping I didn’t just agree to something I can’t do.
Seven
The house is huge, and every new room seems to be bigger than the last. As Matthew guides me through the house, I’m incredibly aware of him. He guides me with gentle touches to my shoulder and lower back, just enough to sensitize my skin and leave me anticipating when and where he’ll touch me next.
On the staircase, there is a window with a view to a pond and a weeping willow. I stopped to appreciate the vista. It looks like it could be a painting. As I turned back to follow him, I found him so close, just looking at me. I thought he was going to kiss me, and even though I was furious with myself for being so into him, for wanting him so badly when it’s only been a couple of hours, I wanted him to kiss me with every cell of my being. He was so close that I was shivering, and I know there wasn’t a draft.
