What's Her Secret?

by Geraldine O'Hara, Natalie Dae, Nichelle Gregory, Crissy Smith, Lisabet Sarai

  About as hard as his cock.

  I widened my eyes. He’d stayed hard. Did wearing a blindfold turn him on that much? Maybe not being able to see sharpened the senses, made soft bits inflate and raring to go.

  Good grief…

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked in my Pussy-low tones.

  That’s it, talk just like that. You can do this, Mandy.

  “You,” he said.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking—all of it.” I paused, clearing my throat. “I want to see what you’re seeing.”

  “I can see you standing there, right where you are now, and you’re taking your corset off. Do it, Pussy. Take it off.”

  Fuck me sideways…

  “Okay.”

  I moved my hands from my breasts and undid the rest of the zip. The relief was massive—the corset had been tighter than I’d thought—and my boobs burst out like no one’s business. I stared down at them and wondered how he’d see them.

  Would he like them?

  “I can hear you, hear the leather creaking,” he said.

  “So what else can you see?”

  “You throwing the corset on the bed then taking your knickers off.”

  Oh, God… His voice, it sends me to Want Sex City.

  I tossed the garment to the bed, just as he’d said, and pushed my knickers down my legs. Air rushed to my cunt and cooled it, and I suppressed a shiver at standing there naked with my underwear pooled at my ankles. If he took that blindfold off now…

  “Step out of them,” he said. “Then come over here—and bring the rose with you.”

  I did as he’d asked, flicking my knickers off my foot, alarmed that they flew through the air and landed on top of the bedside lamp.

  “Leave them there,” he said.

  “You’ve got exceptional hearing if you can tell where they landed,” I said, voice drenched in need. And my word, I needed him.

  “Get the rose and come here, Pussy.”

  I shuddered—what the hell was it about him that set me off like that? I was just about ready to do anything he wanted—anything at all.

  I collected the rose and walked over to him, my legs refusing to behave as they usually would. They were beyond rubbery now, and if he did have the luxury of sight, I wouldn’t look too appealing, staggering over to him like I’d forgotten how to conduct myself. The heels weren’t helping either, so I stopped a few inches in front of him and bent to take them off.

  “Don’t you dare,” he said. “You’re going to fuck me with them on.”

  He could see, couldn’t he?

  “Is that blindfold see-through?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Then how…?”

  “Just do what I say, when I say it, Pussy. Give me the rose.”

  Lord, he had a commanding tone, one I never would have suspected he would own. Oh, I’d heard it in my pre-sleep imaginings, had him behaving just like this, in fact, but to actually have him speaking like it, acting this way for real?

  I handed the rose over. “What else can you see, Leon?” My voice had gone down a note, and I worried I’d sounded like a man.

  “You getting a condom and putting it on my cock.”

  I took in a deep breath, went to my bag and ferreted around for a condom. I found one in the side compartment, then returned to stand in front of him. Feeling bolder and wanting to pre-empt him, I tore the top strip off then knelt between his legs. The scent of his manliness wafted toward me, and Christ on a blow-up banana, it just about did me in. I closed my eyes for a second or two to imprint this memory into my head, then opened them again to find his banana had blown up even further. I stared, goggle-eyed, and told myself to calm the hell down.

  “I can smell you,” he said.

  And I can smell you…

  “Do as you’re told and put it on, Pussy Pwoar.”

  I blinked several times in an effort to control myself. I shook all over, head to sodding toe, and wondered if nerves were doing a number on me or if the fact that what I’d dreamt of was so close—very close—was sending me off-kilter.

  As if I put condoms onto cocks every day, I placed it over his tip then rolled it down his length until it fitted snugly at the base. Even bolder, I took him in hand and gave him a few up-and-down strokes. My nipples perked and my cunt grew wetter. Heart rate skyrocketing, I coached myself to slip further into my Pussy role.

  “I can see you sitting on me,” he whispered, breath breezing over the top of my head. He dragged the rose down my arm, the petals super-soft. “I see you easing down, nice and slow, and sucking in a breath as my cock stretches your cunt. Can you imagine what that would feel like?”

  I could imagine it all right, but I wanted to know—to feel, to experience, to revel in being so full of him I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “Yes,” I managed.

  “I’ve thought about it,” he said, drawing the rose up again. “When I’m in bed. When I’m at work. When I’m in the pub and you’re only a few feet away. It drove me mad, not knowing.”

  “Then I’ll put an end to the madness.” Something took over me—carnal need, the desire to fuck him senseless, I didn’t know—and I stood. “You’re going to stretch my cunt, fill me up, make me come so hard.” Before I could be surprised at myself, I went on. “I’m going to milk your cock so thoroughly you won’t know what hit you.”

  “Christ, Mandy…”

  “It’s Pussy to you, and don’t forget it.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders. The touch burned, zinged through me, and my breathing turned ragged. My clit pulsed with need—I wanted him to rub it until I came, bucking and juddering on top of him, screaming out his name, not caring who the hell heard me.

  “Suck my nipple,” I said, thrusting a breast toward his mouth. “Suck it hard—I like it that way, nice and hard with little tweaks of pain.” I steadied myself with a hand on one of his shoulders then held the curve of my breast in my other palm, guiding my erect nipple toward his lips—lips I’d never thought would be anywhere near me like this. “That’s it, take it in—all of it—and suck it, nip it, swirl your tongue around it.”

  His tongue and teeth action set a series of convulsions off. I clamped my legs together, squirming, needing some friction between my legs.

  I inhaled a huge breath. Let it out. “Touch my cunt,” I ordered.

  He reached out, found the spot right away and eased two fingers into my slit. I opened my legs a little. He drew his fingers upwards, dropping the rose to the floor, and I bucked from the shock of sensation streaking to my clit. He smoothed his fingers higher, brushed one tip over my pulsing bud. I snatched in a breath, biting on my lower lip to stop myself crying out. He knew just how much pressure to apply, just how I liked it.

  “Such a wet, beautiful cunt,” he whispered. “Sit on me.”

  I held both of his shoulders again, and while he fondled my clit I hovered over his cock so it settled at my entrance. I waited a moment, then sank down slowly, groaning at the stretch, the feeling of being so full of him my head was spinning. I’d finally got what I’d wanted for so long—him inside me, him wanting me as much as I wanted him. It felt surreal for a second or two, as though a dream. A tweak in my cunt told me otherwise. This was no dream. Leon’s cock was inside me and I’d be coming hard and fast in my immediate future. My whole body seemed to buzz from excitement, and I wanted him to touch me everywhere, all at the same time. It was like I couldn’t get enough of him, like my longing for him had burst, spreading through my body with the intent to wring me out.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said, my breath coming out staggered.

  He let out a low moan. He was breathing quickly, the air he released hitting my chest, cool yet sexy at the same time.

  “How does it feel?” he asked.

  “Oh, God, it feels so, so good. I’m…I want…”

  “Come.”

  I rode him with quick, rigid pumps. My thigh muscles strained and I dug my nails int
o the top of his back. He moaned and rubbed my clit, gripping my hip with his free hand, tugging me down hard and pushing me up fast.

  “I could see you,” he said. “Saw everything you were doing from under the blindfold—and you’re beautiful, Mandy, fucking beautiful.”

  Far from being mortified that he’d seen me, I hung my head back and rode him faster, reveling in what he’d said. He’d seen me undressing, seen me staggering toward him, and he thought I was beautiful. Beautiful.

  He sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, and the pleasure rippled from there right down to my cunt. Desire heated my skin, my blood, and sent me hurtling toward the edge. I chased my orgasm, the sheer need to come, to get that rush of release pushing me down onto him and lifting me back up. His cock thickened, his hold on my hip tightened, his suck on my nipple strengthened—and the place I’d been running to, arrived. Pleasure hit me full force, and I worked harder, pressed into his fingers on my clit, grinding against them. Sparks of bliss plundered through every part of me, and I cried out his name, part of me wondering if this was all a dream, if we were really here, fucking like this. He let my nipple go, and I looked down to find him staring up at me through a gap below the blindfold. I bent my head and kissed him, a fresh wave of pleasure assaulting me until I writhed and went out of rhythm. My whole body tingled—I couldn’t get enough—and the barrage of pleasure threatened to swallow me whole.

  “Fuck,” he said on an exhale. “Fucking beautiful, Mandy.”

  I registered he’d used my real name, loved the sound of it, and worked his cock, clenching my muscles tighter. His cock thickened for a second then pulsed, and his measured strums on my clit changed to fast-paced, frantic jerks that sent me headlong into a second orgasm. He groaned hoarsely, gripped my other hip to slam me down onto him, his cock throbbing, ticking to the beat of my clit.

  The second wave had me blurting out a string of oh-oh-oh and digging my nails into him even more. I held on, spasming and riding out the pleasure, teetering on the edge of a faint.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t…take anymore…”

  He raised his hips, the position of his cock grazing the ridge inside me, and I was bowled over at how so much sensation could come from just one fuck. I was wrung out, weak, but I couldn’t stop coming. The waves were intense now, there, so very there that my clit, cunt lips and hole were throbbing with them.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Take it all. Take it just like that.”

  I took it, hung back off him and let him piston me up and down. The strength in my legs had deserted me, gathering, it seemed, between them, right in the heart of the pleasure. He licked between my breasts and up as far as my collarbone, and I eased forward to stare down at him. I took his blindfold off and, out of breath, kissed his perfect mouth. He slowed me down until I was at a complete stop, still kissing, still caressing my clit. That kiss—it said so many things. Need. Want. Love.

  Love?

  He broke away and looked at me, and I fancied his eyes were the windows to the soul, like people said they were. Through the panes I saw a lifetime of being with him, of laughter, fun, hot sex, companionship—the whole kit and caboodle.

  He wouldn’t want that. He was a free spirit—no way would he want that.

  “When can I see you again, Pussy Pwoar?” he asked, lifting the hand from my hip to push some wayward strands of hair from my face.

  “Next week,” I said, thinking it best not to push it. “Maybe Pussy can fuck you every weekend.”

  “And what about Mandy? When can I see her again?”

  He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, and bloody hell, I only went and melted.

  “Um, I’m not sure Mandy’s available. She’s—”

  “Beautiful, and I want to see her before I see Pussy. I want to see Mandy every day, every night. I want to make love to Mandy, to see her laugh, to hold her hand, to put my arm round her when things get tough. I just want…Mandy.”

  I didn’t know what to say—couldn’t say anything for the lump in my throat.

  “Say something,” he said, trailing a fingertip down to my breast. He eased his fingers from my slit, raised them to his mouth and sucked on his fingers. “Tell me this isn’t the only taste of you I’m going to get.”

  I blushed, blinked, cupped his face in my hands. “You can taste me any time you want. Anytime.”

  “Then let me take you to bed. Now.”

  I smiled, my heart so full it hurt. He stood with me still on his cock, then took me to the bed, placing me down gently. The loss of him inside me was acute—I wanted him back there, filling me, pumping into me—so I closed my legs to help ease the throbbing.

  He stared at me from the foot of the bed. “You might want to rest for a bit before we…”

  “I might,” I said. “If I were Mandy. But Pussy’s a bit of a saucy tart, and she might not want to.”

  He smiled, his eyes holding a glint of mischief, then got on the bed, covering my body with his.

  “I could get used to his,” he said, then kissed my neck, featherlight pecks that had my tummy tumbling.

  So could I. Bloody hell, so could I.

  About the Author

  Geraldine O’Hara is a multi-published author in three pen names writing several genres. She lives with her husband, children, and three cats in an English village. She writes full time and is also a cover artist and blog designer. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Natalie Dae and Sarah Masters.

  Email: emmyellis@live.co.uk

  Geraldine loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Geraldine O’Hara

  The Key

  THE SUBMISSIVE’S SECRET

  Natalie Dae

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Diesel: Diesel S.p.A.

  Mercedes: Daimler AG

  Chapter One

  Diary, October 7th

  “Will you come clubbing with us tonight, Lori?” Fiona had asked.

  I’d shaken my head, as usual.

  Friday nights were reserved for something else entirely.

  “Why not?” she’d asked. “You never come out with us now. Got yourself a secret man, have you?”

  How did I answer something I didn’t want to answer? How did I tell her that on Friday nights I did something they just wouldn’t understand? How the hell did I remain polite when, because I was being pushed on a regular basis by my work colleagues, I wanted to tell her to leave it, please, just leave it?

  I’d shrugged. “Just a bit busy, that’s all.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Things.”

  “What things?”

  I’d smiled, thinking of what I’d be doing. “Just things.”

  I’d gotten up, walked away from the packed table, and Fiona had said to the others, “What’s she hiding? What’s her secret?”

  I’d left the pub. My ‘secret’ was a secret for a reason. I hid what I hid for a reason. What I did on Friday nights was something just for me. My thing.

  And I wasn’t going to share it with anyone except my Swedish Dom.

  * * * *

  I sensed him behind me, my Dom, and resisted turning around to look at him. This week had dragged, my need to be with him seeming to make the days crawl by slower. I remained staring at the optics behind the bar, paying the label on a bottle of vodka particular attention, my senses buzzing.

  Orchestral music filtered through speakers set high in every corner, a soft, haunting melody I’d always associate with him. Jaska, the man who had so far met my every need, whom I’d learnt to trust like no other.

  “What are you doing in a place like this, pet?”

  His voice had flowed effortlessly with the music, as though he’d sung the words. My stomach muscles ti
ghtened—excitement, so much excitement inside me—and I swallowed in an attempt to calm the rapid-fire flash of butterflies’ wings in my windpipe.

  They fluttered on. They always did.

  “I’m here to meet my Master,” I said.

  I sat rigid, dying to swivel on the barstool and face him. To take in his beautiful face, the way his cheekbones tapered toward his jaw—a jaw that some people would say was glass, so finely sculpted that it appeared fragile. It was always coated with stubble—God, I loved that—the darkness of it a shade blacker than his short hair.

  “I see.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I shivered with delight, unable to hide it, and imagined him smiling.

  “And your Master,” he said, “has been waiting for you. Over there, in the corner. He saw you come in, had the urge to get up and meet you straight away, to greet you like a lover, but that wouldn’t do, would it? We’ve never worked like that.”

  “No,” I said.

  “But at some point…” He squeezed my shoulder, as though reassuring himself I was still there. “At some point things will have to change, you know that. It’s always been there between us, that knowledge. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad thinking about it.”

  I’d been dreading this moment ever since I’d met him eight months ago. That he’d have to set me free, let me experience the BDSM world with others, express myself. He’d said once—about five months ago if I remember correctly—that he was enjoying showing me the ropes more than any other sub he’d trained. I’d laughed at that—he’d shown me more than just ropes—and thought to myself that it would be ages before I’d have to face what was ahead. Time, though, was a cruel bitch, and she’d swept by too fast, turning weeks into months, drawing the inevitable closer. I’d told myself to be strong, that I could handle whatever came my way since Jaska had come into in my life. But I’d been fooling myself.

  Not having him in my life? No, I didn’t want to contemplate that.

  I held my breath then let it out slowly. “Which way will they change?” I hadn’t even needed to ask that question. I knew the answer, but a part of me wanted to see if anything was different now that we’d spent so many Friday nights together.