by Vremont, Ann
My lips parted, my brain too fuzzy from the suggestion to whip out a quick retort. I had not come to the club prepared to have someone like Richardson work me over psychologically. A rookie mistake that made me think Craig still had good reason to call me cub.
"Ever so slightly repressed, I see. Not unusual in a budding submissive." Richardson opened a drawer on his desk and removed a glossy book the size of a trade paperback. He pushed it across the wooden surface then settled deeper into his chair. "Our interview is over for now. I suggest you read the literature and decide if you are interested in pursuing a second, more intimate, conversation."
********************
"Baby, whatever you're smuggling in that bag of yours, it's not going into the restaurant." Opening my door for me, Craig plucked my computer bag from my hands, gently drew me from the cab of the vehicle then locked my bag in the trunk.
I tried to glare at him, but I didn't want to further rouse his curiosity as to what had me so worked up. I had stuffed Richardson's book inside before rushing downstairs to meet Craig in the paper's garage. I had spent the remainder of my workday before that sneaking glances at its content. Richardson was dead wrong, of course. Beyond the exposed flesh, the pictures did nothing to arouse me.
I mean, sure, a fabulously sculpted male like the one sliding his arm around my waist dressed in tight leather pants and shirtless made me a little wet during my research. I could picture Craig in the outfit, his bulge a little bigger, his skin slightly paler. Yeah -- wet, wet, wet. But the nipple clamps, the bar holding the woman's legs open, her pussy exposed and drooling with need, and the flogger -- so not my thing.
Okay, her pussy drooling with need, seeing that much arousal, was hot, too -- but the cause of all that moisture, not at all.
Feeling Craig's hand discreetly slide over the top curve of my ass, I twitched. Chapter Three -- The Fine Art of Spanking steamrolled through my head. The pink and swollen outline of a palm print on one butt cheek every bit as large and pale as my own, the man's disappearing hand as her thigh shielded his penetration of her pussy.
Craig slid his hand a little lower and I twitched again.
"Jumpy, cub. Going to tell me why?"
I blinked, felt my cheeks heat. He laughed, dipped his head and whispered in my ear. "I'll lick it out of you tonight, baby. I won't let you come until you tell me."
Swallowing a moan, I leaned slightly into him for support as we followed the maître d' to the table. If Craig kept talking to me like that, he would have to carry me to the car. I couldn't walk with that kind of ache filling my pussy.
Holding out my chair, he gently folded me into it before taking his seat. Once we were alone, he leaned closer, his voice low as he teased me. "Do you know your perfume changes on you when you're aroused? I wanted to pull the car over and fuck you half a dozen times on the way here."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at him when his gaze could melt steel. I was trying to work up the nerve to open them when a familiar voice shattered my building calm.
"If I might interrupt for a moment."
My head snapped up and my gaze jerked right to where John Richardson stood a few inches from my elbow. Before I could open my mouth, Craig spoke.
"That depends, John."
My head whipped left to look at Craig. He was on a first name basis with John Richardson, the owner of Cathedral?
What…
The…
Fuck…
"Just a moment, at the bar if you prefer." Richardson skillfully scooped my hand up, leaned low and brushed his lips across my fingers. "You'll forgive me, Miss Lane, for the intrusion."
I peeled my attention from Richardson to look at Craig again. His gaze on Richardson, Craig's face had hardened, the expression most likely imperceptible to someone who hadn't spent the last year in a deep, yearning study of all things Craig Spence.
Rising, Craig gave me a small, meaningful look that I couldn't interpret. I watched them reach the bar and begin talking, their bodies close, heads bent as if conspiring. Craig looked my way twice, his gaze hooking and holding mine each time. With the distance and lighting, I felt more than saw the color rise on his cheeks and the flare of his nostrils.
Holding his body stiffly, he returned to the table. Richardson followed, securing my hand one last time before leaving us to our dinner.
"I do regret we won't be having a second conversation anytime soon." He squeezed my fingers lightly, his lips less abstract than before as they pressed against my skin.
The second my hand returned to the table, Craig covered it with his. He held it while we ordered, his thumb rubbing against my flesh as if he could erase Richardson's kiss.
Slowly I put two and two together, my body heating as I pictured Craig in the photos I had studied that afternoon. Richardson had hinted that members of the media were patrons of the club. Craig definitely had a dominant streak in him -- anyone at the paper who had spent more than a few minutes around him would agree.
But was he really a Dom? Did he get turned on by spanking and flogging and all of the other acts I had view on those glossy pages? Did he want me over his knee, ass bare to his hand as he alternated between spanks and rough thrusts inside my pussy.
I started to shake, so much that he gently squeezed my fingers.
The food arrived and he released me, but not without a warning.
"Baby, if you don't want me taking you right here on the table, you need to eat fast."
********************
We skipped dessert.
Somewhere between the restaurant and his home, Craig regained his self-control. He didn't touch me in the car, kept his gaze laser-focused on the road and speedometer. Ushering me into his house, he pointed at the chair near his fireplace.
"Stand over there."
Dizzy with need, I walked the dozen plus feet to the chair and stopped. Somewhere in the back of my brain, a feminist manifesto played. The rest of my body told me to ignore the bitch.
Yeah, ignore her. I mean, why was she or a man or another woman allowed to define feminism for me or what it means to be a woman? I could think women deserve respect and an equal voice and still want Craig to turn me over his knee, fingering and spanking me until I came screaming his name. I certainly shouldn't lose my F card just because the very idea of it made me wet.
Did it make me wet?
Craig stepped behind me as I pondered the question, his nose pushing against my hair. He inhaled, no other part of his body touching mine. "Damn, baby, your scent is all vanilla and cinnamon right now. So edible."
He placed something on the floor then stepped around me and took a seat in his chair. One hand held a tumbler of dark amber liquid, the other Richardson's book.
"Did you get that out of my bag?"
"Yes. John said you received a copy." He took a sip of alcohol then set the glass on the table. His foot pushed at something on the floor and I looked down to discover my black pumps. The ones with the silver studs that I had worn that last day at Belinda Lee's sex parlor.
I had brought them into the office that morning intending to wear them to dinner. I had chickened out after examining Richardson's book, stowing the pumps in my desk at the last minute. Maybe it wasn't time to tell the bitch to shut up. "Did you search my desk?"
"No. I saw you shove them in your bottom drawer so I liberated them." Sucking on his bottom lip, he opened the book to chapter three and traced the full curve of the woman's round ass. "Put them on, cub."
I hesitated. He looked up, his will palpably pushing at mine through his eyes and the firm set of his mouth. I kicked my flats off and nudged them under the chair.
"Lose the skirt, too." He didn't watch to see if I complied. "You were dancing in your chair after you came back from South Bay. And this is why you were jumpy going into the restaurant. You were thinking about my hand here…"
He touched lightly against the palm print on the woman's fair skin before trailing his finger down to where her thigh shie
lded the man's fingers inside her pussy. "And here."
Out of my skirt, I stepped into the pumps. His gaze drifted back to me, the reddish-brown brows lifting as he realized I had on a garter belt and stockings. The book slid from his lap onto the leather cushion. He stood, moved in front of me, his hips pushing against my padded ones. His hands found the opposing edges of my panties and he jerked, ripping them from me.
"Spread your legs."
I did, immediately, the contractions rolling through my pussy causing my clit to jump rhythmically.
He stroked his fingers between my labia as he stared intently at my face. "Remove your blouse before it's in pieces."
He kept rubbing between my legs as I struggled to comply. His touch robbed me of any dexterity. My elbows tangled in my sleeves above my head. He captured the fabric, trapping me. I couldn't see him, could only feel him and hear his slow exhalation.
"You have no fucking idea how sexy you are," he whispered through the cloth. "How hard you have my dick."
If any man could make me come with just his words and body heat, it was Craig. I trembled, my knees pushing together to keep me upright.
"Trust me, baby."
I wasn't sure if it was a question or a directive, so I answered. "I do."
He stripped the blouse the rest of the way off and dropped it to the floor. My bra closed in the front and he pinched the closure and dragged the straps down my arms, leaving me standing in front of him in a garter, stockings and the black studded pumps.
"Perfect." Tugging at one nipple as he continued stroking my pussy, Craig kissed a hot, wet line up my throat. Starting a slow grind of the nipple, he bit lightly at my chin and pushed two fingers into my cunt.
"Ten months," he groaned. "No Cathedral, no other women. Just my hand and fantasies of you, little girl."
My head rolled back against my shoulders. Soft, needy moans whispered up my throat. Hips and thighs strained, moving with Craig's fingers until my entire body started to tremble.
"Look at me, Valerie."
I tried. It hurt to see so much passion in his gaze, all of it directed at me. I dropped my head. Releasing my nipple, he put one fingertip against the underside of my chin until I looked into his eyes.
"Ten months," he repeated. His thumb pressed against my clit, the rough, calloused texture of his skin like an electric jolt. "Wanting, wondering if I could have you and, if I did, would my needs drive you away."
My head started to roll back again, moving in an inverse relationship to the thrust of my mound against his hand. Craig threaded his fingers through my hair and lightly tugged me forward again.
"Look at me, love." The pressure against my pussy increased, his big, strong hand roughly gripping and playing my clit and cunt, seesawing a line of pleasure against the shaft while his fingertips fucked in and out of me. "Wondering if they did push you away, could I live without them."
He drew me tightly to him, his hand wedged between our bodies, my breasts mashing and rubbing against his chest from the beast dancing inside me. He pumped, teased, controlled until my climax oozed and squirted against his hand and I was reduced to a shuddering mass of wet flesh.
Only then did he ghost his lips across mine.
"Time to find out."
********************
Love
His use of the word had echoed through my head as I came. My other two lovers had never deployed it. Neither had I. I felt it now, but wasn't sure I could trust the feeling. Craig Spence is one hell of a force to be reckoned with. His smiles are enough to make some women faint and he'd been doing a whole lot more than just smiling at me. And all of it after a year spent thinking he didn't like me -- was at best neutral to my existence as a human being employed in his newsroom.
"Trust me, love." He wrapped his arms around me, his shirt off now that we were in his bedroom.
I trembled in his embrace, at his second use of love and apprehension at the things he wanted to do with me. I didn't know which would be worse, finding out I hated it or liked it. If it was beyond my comfort zone, I might lose him.
"Shhh…" He kissed the tears that had started to slip down my cheeks. "When you let me into your snug, lush ass at Belinda Lee's, that was new, right?"
I nodded.
"And you worried it wouldn't feel good." He kissed me, his lips salty with my tears.
I nodded again, relaxing as his tongue pushed into my mouth and his hands caressed my arms and back.
"You're still in the driver's seat, baby." He kissed my neck, hitting all the little hollows and prominences he knew would make me melt. "You still have your safe word. You remember it?"
"Magenta." How the hell could I forget! That day would be indelibly marked in my mind and flesh, whether I never had another lover beyond Craig or had a dozen men fill me before I died.
"That's my sweet cub." He kissed me again, his hands on my cheeks and his mouth so gentle I could cry.
Cub
I smiled at his use, realizing for the first time why he never dropped it, never would as long as he desired me. It was only one letter off from sub, the role he wanted me to fill in harmony with his dominant nature. And he had much to teach me beyond the newsroom. More importantly, it was his promise to protect me, to keep me safe and see to all my needs, in and out of the bedroom.
My hands finally remembered they could move. I wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging to him as his kiss roughened to something more feral that had him growling and me moaning.
Yes, yes, yes
"Fuck, baby. You're killing me."
Craig guided me over to a thick mat he had placed near one wall. Between the mat and the wall stood a padded bench. I had noticed the bench my first morning in his home when he sat on it and slipped his dress shoes on. Now I knew its secret purpose.
He slid his hand under the bottom of the bench, releasing a spring lock. Lifting the padded lid, he exposed the contents hidden inside. I rolled my lips at the kinky bounty. Silk to bind and blindfold; two floggers, one with knots tied in the suede strands; lubes and other unknown tubes of liquid; clamps and clips; dildos, plugs and vibes; more toys hidden inside pouches; and, tight against the back of the bench, a spreader bar.
Craig guided me onto my knees, my front pointed at the bench and wall beyond. He knelt behind me, his taller frame against my back as he reached around and handled the toys. Removing a black leather pouch, he loosened its draw strings and upended the contents into his hand. A black and silver metal cone with a padlock, the object scared and excited the mother-loving-hell out of me.
He gave a little twist at the end and the black cone revealed itself as three hinged petals, the twist opening them one notch. He twisted a second time and then several more, pausing between each expansion to let the toy's full utility sink deeply into my conscious.
"Not yet, love." The petals retreated and he replaced the toy in its pouch before withdrawing a smaller plug made of red latex. "I'm going to fill your lovely ass with this and make your deliciously tight pussy that much tighter."
He rubbed his cheek against mine, almost as if seeking my approval and acquiescence. As long as I didn't say Magenta, he knew he had it.
Placing the plug on the mat, his hand moved to cup my pussy. Sifting through the bench, he nuzzled my throat. Lifting some clamps and what looked like small weights, he groaned. "These are definitely for today, cub. I've been aching to put these on your thick nipples, to flick them with my tongue while I'm fucking your sweet cunt."
I twitched, his words rolling through my pussy as surely as a fist or cock. His fingertips found my clit, increasing the strength of the twitch until I bucked against him in the start of another climax.
Swift and sharp, he swatted my mound.
"Not yet, cub," he rasped. "Not until I tell you."
I nodded.
"Don't just nod, baby. Tell me yes."
"Yes." I turned until I met his gaze. "Yes, sir?"
His mouth pinched to the side for a second a
nd then he nodded. "At least until you can say yes, love."
I closed my eyes and leaned my face against his, tears starting to leak from me again. I intended to surrender all of my body to Craig in that bedroom, but was afraid to surrender my heart, even if it already belonged to him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He shushed me, secured the clamps, weights, plug and lube in one hand and carefully drew me to my feet with the other. He led me to the bed, placed his cargo on the nightstand and helped me onto the mattress, my heels, stockings and garters still on.
Like a sculptor, he molded my limbs how he wanted them, leaving me center of the mattress, facing the dresser mirror, kneeling with my knees a foot apart, my index fingers locked behind my back, my torso straight and my shoulders thrusting behind me so that my breasts stayed high.
He stood at the end of the bed, blocking my view of the mirror, and stripped.
So fucking gorgeous. I licked my lips, hoping that part of his plan including fucking my mouth with his glorious cock. Big, big, big. Squeezing moisture onto my thighs, my cunt contracted around the memory of it inside me.
His gaze all serious, Craig climbed onto the bed with the plug and lube. Flipping onto his back, he stuck his head between my legs, licking his way from my clit to my cunt to my perineum until he reached his real target.
My clenched anus.
Parting my cheeks, he began to lick the hole's rim of muscle. Vocal, his groans told me how much he enjoyed it, sweeping me back to the first time he had licked me there at the sex parlor. Shoot me if it didn't make me insane with need. The extreme intimacy of the act only increased the pleasure he delivered to the already highly sensitive flesh.
Moaning with him, I relaxed the muscle and his tongue pushed forward. One hand moved from spreading my cheeks to fucking deep inside my pussy, his fingers curling and hooking against the forward wall of my cunt.
My gaze swept up and down, moving between my body in the mirror and the way his hips danced as if his cock steered his hand inside me.
"Please," I moaned, remembering his prohibition against climaxing without his permission. "Please…"
