by Cole, Harper
"Huh." So what he was saying did kinda make sense, I guess. "What other, uh, foibles do you have, then?"
He smiled as if I'd asked exactly the right thing. "Well. I consider this a date, and therefore, while we are out together, I am the man on the date and you are the woman. Would you agree?"
"Well, duh. No shit, Sherlock."
"And that is my first foible. I do not like the use of bad language by women. Except in very particular circumstances."
"Like sex."
"Exactly so. In public, however, I hold my companion to high levels of common decency."
There was no way I was going to hold my tongue and censor what I wanted to say - even if I thought I was able to, which I probably wasn't. I shrugged, and his attention was momentarily elsewhere as he found a parking space on the street, and jumped into it before it was snapped up by someone else.
For the next four hours, we slogged our way around the culture and art and architecture of London; not just the British Museum, but galleries and exhibits and boutique stores and God knows what else.
The only thing I wanted to look at was Andrew Walker-Wilkinson, and he knew it.
It started to drive me crazy. I found myself leaning close to him as we stood and stared at inexplicable sculptures, and he would seem to lean back just enough that I could feel the warmth of his body - but no more. He would lightly brush against me but if I moved to respond he suddenly wasn't there in that space any longer; it was an excruciating dance of barely-there flirtation and it was driving me insane.
He would murmur low in my ear and it was usually something innocuous about the sights around us but from time to time he caught me out, flattering me with a compliment. He kept me on my toes, shifting from innocent conversation to sudden random phrases about my eyes or my body or my intelligent comments.
He was slaying me, and I was loving it, and I wanted to slap his face for it, too.
It was clear that he wanted to be with me; as we strolled out into a park, he took my hand and let his thumb rub idly over my skin. As he spoke to me about plane trees and larches, he bent to my ear and his low voice thrilled me. I didn't have the first clue what he was talking about any more. I just listened to the timber of his voice.
When he suggested we go to a restaurant, I agreed. He pulled out his cellphone and had a quick conversation with someone unknown, then smiled at me with his devil's smile and said, "We'll be dining at eight. I hope you like seafood."
"Are you kidding me? I love seafood."
"Excellent."
We were like that - paused, facing one another for a long second - and it was one of those gaps where the man leans in and kisses the woman. I mean, it was obvious. I held my breath, and waited.
And he smiled and tipped his head back fractionally, as if he wasn't going to do the expected thing.
So I took the lead, and reached out for him, slipping my hands under his jacket to circle around his waist, and he slanted his head to one side and smiled.
"And what's this?" he said, as if he didn't know.
"Kiss me," I said.
He laughed and took my hands and held them away from him. "Now here's another one of my foibles. I am very attracted to you, Jasmine. And you are attracted to me. I do intend to take this further. But not right now. This shall be at my say-so."
"Say what? So you get to call the shots?"
"Exactly so."
"This is not fair."
"Now listen to me," he said, still holding on to my hands. He moved in closer, towering over me. "It makes things easier. Relax, Jasmine, and allow me to direct things. Trust me. I'm not asking for some foolish abrogation of responsibility; far from it. But I am asking to steer this relationship - if it is a relationship - this meeting of two people, whether for today or for a week or whatever - and I promise you, you shall enjoy it. But you must give things over to me."
"Absolutely not!"
He pressed against me. "Try it."
"Jeez!"
"Relax."
"Hell no!"
"Give in."
His hands were tight around mine. I thought about it. So maybe I could do this. I knew the theory, or so I thought. Let him be all dominant and I'd get the best sex of my life - wasn't that how it worked? And sure, I'd had those fantasies. Who hadn't? I'd read those Alpha Male romances and all. But right now, standing here, as he asked me to give up my free will to him, I found that really difficult.
It was an adventure, I reminded myself. And the way he'd tied me up had turned me on. Perhaps it really was going to be "easier" but I struggled to see how.
"Right, okay then, whatever," I said at last. My mulish agreement made him laugh.
"Good girl!" he said at last, and rewarded me with a sudden kiss, a hard and biting press upon my lips that made me dampen with its intensity. As I clawed at him, needing more, he broke away as quickly as he'd started, and I was damned if he didn't actually wink at me.
I swore at him again, under my breath, as he turned and grasped my hand to lead me away through the park.
* * * *
The meal was wonderful and I did start to relax. Afterwards, he took me to a wine bar that had a private area upstairs; the way was barred by some pretty impressive looking door staff, but they nodded us through without a comment.
The décor was plush and opulent, and tended towards velvet rather than crisp white glass and marble. We settled in a long, low couch and a waitress brought us drinks; I had a cocktail in an elegant glass, but he went for brandy, like the old-school man that he was.
"We've got to talk about you being in charge all the time," I said. Sure, I had relaxed, but it was niggling at the back of my mind. There were implications to this that troubled me. I wasn't the sort of woman that I thought I was, if I gave it all up to him.
He crossed his ankle over the opposite knee, and rested his arm on the back of the couch; taking up as much space as possible, the typical alpha male.
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"So, like, what is it all about? Are you some big …"
"What?"
My mouth had dried up. I wanted to say, "Are you some big Dom?" but I felt ridiculous all of a sudden. Yeah, I had read about the whole "BDSM" thing - not just Fifty Shades, but other stories too. Spanking, getting tied up, that was all just fun and games. The whole thing about getting dressed up in leather and latex didn't appeal to me one bit, though.
And the thing was - I'd never spoken about any of this. Now, faced with a man who potentially was a "Dom", as far as I could guess, I didn't really know what to say.
I basically didn't want to look stupid. I wanted him to think that I knew what I was talking about. I took a deep breath, and hoped I wasn't going to fuck it up.
"Are you a Dom?" I said, wondering at the last minute if I was supposed to say "Dominant" or "Master" or something.
"Yes."
Was that all he was going to say? He seemed amused at my lack of confidence, and that made me pissed.
"So what does that mean, exactly?" I said. "You get to choose the wine and shit like that?"
Too late, I remembered his warning to me about foul language. He leaned over and took hold of my jaw line, turning my face to his. No one batted an eyelid.
That was the nature of a club like this, I realized. Exclusivity meant freedom.
"It means I am in a position of leadership and power. I control and I direct. I act in the best interests of my submissive and it is down to me what those best interests are. I set the rules and I expect them to be followed. And when they are not, I mete out the appropriate punishment so that my submissive may learn to do better."
I shivered. "Isn't this all just a pretty nice way to justify bullying?"
"You choose to come here with me and you can choose to walk out, right now."
He let go of my jaw and sat back.
"If I do go-"
He shrugged. "It would be a shame. We have so much potential, you and I."
I
t occurred to me that anyone could call themselves a Dom. It's not like they carried certificates around with them. I was sure that some of them were using it as an excuse for being a bully. So how would I be able to tell?
"You get off on telling a woman what to do."
"I suppose you could say that. But there are so many layers to it. It's a two-way process, in spite of what you currently think. It's empowering for you, and it's humbling for me."
"Bullshit."
"And that is the second time you've sworn in my presence."
I was tired of his half-explanations. "So what you gonna do?"
"We have set no boundaries, agreed no terms, explored no limits, hard or soft. I am constrained, therefore, in what I can feasibly do to you."
"Jeez, what would you do to me?"
"It totally depends on what turns you on. And what does not. For the moment, I am inclined to play it safe." He placed a hand on my thigh and slowly crept it up, sliding my hemline higher until his fingers were resting on the top of my suspenders.
"Doesn't feel much like a punishment to me," I said, leaning against him a little more.
His hand went higher, right up, pushing between my legs to cup me. I was suddenly uncomfortable.
"Hey, this is a public place, you know."
"On the contrary," he said, whispering in my ear. "This is a very private place indeed."
It was wrong - it was dangerous - for all his talk of politeness and propriety, this was way beyond the bounds of normal behavior. Yet as his strong hand clamped over my pussy and his finger pushed at the thin fabric of my panties, I knew I wanted him to do this.
But I also knew that I didn't want him - or anyone - to know that I wanted him to do it.
I am not totally sure I wanted myself to know it, actually.
His lips began to nibble at my ear lobe and a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine. I reached out and put my hand on his leg, but he whispered, "No, you cannot touch me. Yet."
My hand obeyed even before rational thought had decided what to do. I wrapped my hands around the edge of the couch, clinging on as he worked with confident, sure strokes between my legs. No one looked our way but surely they were aware of what was going on! I found myself arching my back and thrusting out my breasts. If I were going to be seen as some kind of slut, I figured I may as well go the whole nine yards.
Somehow that internal acceptance unlocked something in me. My thighs were quivering now as he rubbed on my clit and I knew my juices were soaking through my panties and my dress. Look at me, I started to think, as people walked by. Look at how debased I really am. My internal monologue would have shocked me if I'd had much capacity left to think it through.
But instead I was becoming consumed by my own lust. His touch was igniting the fire in me, and rekindling the memories of the previous week. I hadn't even had time or inclination to masturbate lately and now I needed release, and I needed it badly.
"Oh God," I hissed as the heel of his hand ground against my swelling clit. His fingers had pulled my panties to one side and were shoving in and out of my pussy; I could feel the wetness all around my upper thighs. Was I really going to cum, right here? I stifled my gasps, determined not to make a sound. Please God don't let me scream, I prayed.
My legs were almost jerking up and down now, and my fingers dug into the plush fabric of the edge of the seat. Just a moment longer-
He pulled his fingers from me, and my pussy gaped. He fished in his pocket with his other hand, and withdrew a large square handkerchief. It was one of those real ones, cloth, not paper. He began to clean his fingers, wiping himself clean with a studied concentration.
The bastard. I wasn't done.
And then I understood his punishment and I could have cried with frustration.
So - now what? I struggled to decide on my next move. If I let him know how badly that hurt, he'd be satisfied that his punishment was working.
But that meant admitting that he had been successful, and that idea rankled.
If I played it cool, like it didn't matter, would he seek to punish me in another way?
"Jeez," I said, letting out a long, slow sigh.
"You are magnificent," he told me, as if that would make it all okay again. He pulled the hemline of my dress down. "But please. Do make yourself presentable. Another drink, perhaps?"
I nodded, and blushed furiously as the waitress skipped over. He dropped the stained kerchief on her tray and she whisked it away, returning within moments with a clean tray and drinks for us both.
I didn't know what to say. Where the hell does conversation turn after a stunt like that? It really was easier to just wait and let him take the lead.
He said something about the history of the building we were in; I didn't pay attention. It was enough that he was talking and I could nod and pretend to listen. My whole body was throbbing. I wondered if I could scurry off to the bathroom and relieve myself in the stalls, but I balked at that idea. It felt somehow dirty.
But hell, I was going to have to finish the job somehow, and soon. The pressure in me needed a release.
I drank quickly and he did not; he sipped at his drink, keeping steady eye contact with me, and I knew that he was still playing with me.
And sure, I could have gotten up and walked away.
But I did not. I wanted to play this game, and see where it went, and my heart was pounding with anticipation because I knew this was going to be dangerous now.
My tension and lust did not abate. By remaining there I was pretty much saying to myself and to him that I wanted this, and now I couldn't wait to see what would happen next.
Chapter Seven- Jas
Suddenly he slammed his tumbler down onto the table and turned to me. His eyes were burning with lust and that took me by surprise. He'd been so calm and cool and in control but now I saw that he, too, was stretched out taut as I was.
"You're still here," he said, as if he'd been reading my thoughts.
"Yeah." I licked my lips. It was supposed to be provocative but I just felt nervous. "Yes I am."
He moved up against me, then, his bulk making me shiver as he held my throat and growled into my ear. "You will call me Sir when we are together in lust. And whenever we are together, let me assure you, we will be together in lust."
I didn't quite catch his meaning but I think I could work it out. I nodded slightly, hampered by his hand. "Sure."
"Sure," he said, the word mockingly strange in his accent. "Sure, what?"
"Sure … Sir."
I was rewarded with a kiss again, hard and deep and swift that left me gasping. Then he pulled away and hauled me to my feet. Before I could think, or protest, he was hurrying me out the door and down through the club, waving at the staff; I hadn't seen him pay for anything but no one seemed concerned.
I was more bothered about the stain of my own juices that I knew would be apparent across the back of my dress, but I was dragged on, relentlessly.
He talked as we went.
"You are magnificent, Jasmine Turner," he said, a long monologue pouring from him as we elbowed through the crowds to the exits. "Beautiful, intelligent, fiery and stubborn. Flawed and intriguing. I could fight you all day and all night and never get tired of that. You have depths that I want to swim in. I want to make you scream with pleasure and with pain and back to pleasure again. I want to show you your own soul; I want to reveal the places within that you don't yet know exist. And I do this for my own pleasure as well as yours. And now…"
We stopped on the sidewalk and he waved for a cab. He'd drunk too much to drive us anywhere, and I was suddenly struck by his law-abiding nature, underneath it all. I nearly smiled.
"And now," he continued, as we slid into the back of a traditional London cab, "now it is time for my own pleasure."
He pulled me around and pushed at me, sending me to my knees on the spacious floor of the cab, facing him. I didn't dare to look down at what I might be kneeling in. My hands gripped his thighs a
s I looked up at him. I knew what he meant me to do. I wondered if he would command it.
Some strange new part of me wanted him to command it.
I think I wanted to find out if I'd fight him or if I'd simply obey. Because I kinda wanted to do both.
The cab moved in fits and starts and I knew the driver would be able to see what we were up to. Andrew had spoken to him as we had gotten in, but I didn't hear what he said. I had no idea where we were going - or if the cabbie had been told to simply drive around in circles for a while.
"Now unbutton my trousers and suck me," he said.
I don't know if it was nerves or alcohol but I giggled when he said "trousers" because he sounded so British.
His hands suddenly clasped the side of my head and pulled me forward roughly. "You stayed with me. You got in this taxi. Now do what you have agreed to do."
I hadn't - had I? Yes, I had. I knew what this entailed. Still, I fought him briefly, almost for the look of the thing as he dragged my face toward his crotch.
My heart was hammering loudly and when I shifted position, my slippery panties slid next to my skin, and I was reminded of my arousal. And when I pulled his cock free from his pants, my pussy resumed its earlier throbbing. God, I wanted that monster inside me.
That didn't seem to be his plan, tonight. He was hard already and maybe he had been for some time. I leaned forward, pushing my body between his thighs, and he squeezed me which sent a thrill right through my ribcage and down my spine. Suddenly I wanted him to squeeze me harder - hurt me almost - make me feel as much as it was possible for me to feel.
Was that what he meant about pleasure to pain and back to pleasure again? I wanted to know.
I needed to know.
Was this BDSM?
So I pulled back and he grabbed my head again, his fingers knotting into my hair, and jerked me onto his cock so that my mouth had no option but to close over him. His thighs gripped me and his hands moved my head back and forth; this wasn't any kind of blow-job. This was a face-fucking and I was merely the object. The receptacle. I was being used.
