by Melinda Minx
“So you’re like my shrink now?” I ask. “Shouldn’t I lie down instead of being chained up?”
“You’ll likely lie down soon enough,” he says, grinning, and then I see a flash of black in his hands. He moves toward me, and I feel cloth tightening over my hair and sliding down my face, and then I see nothing. The true pitch darkness is here.
“I’ve covered you with a shroud,” he says.
“A shroud?” I ask. “A regular blindfold isn’t dramatic enough for you?”
“I’m going to undress you,” he says. “We’re working on your anger today, which seems quite necessary at this point.”
I do feel the anger flowing, but he basically stuffed a potato bag over my head with no warning. I can’t see a thing, and—
And I smell him. His hands are pulling at the collar of my shirt. My lips part, and I realize with a sudden elation that he can’t see my mouth. I smile wide, knowing that he can’t see me at all. So maybe a shroud does have advantages over a regular blindfold. If I’m going to be blinded, I might as well get a little bit of extra privacy out of it.
I feel him pull at my top button, and I know it’s opening only from the cool feel of air hitting the top of my chest.
I hear the soft sound of his finger running slowly across the silky fabric of my shirt. I realize now just how quiet it is in this room. We’re in a sealed chamber. I can hear my own breathing louder than anything else.
I feel more cool air on my breasts as he pulls lower on my shirt. Soon he’s pulling the shirt away, but he stops with it just stretched out and open. I realize he can’t remove it without tearing it since my hands are cuffed and chained.
He touches the skin of my breasts, both at once, and I moan quietly. Does the shroud block sound too? No, if it did, I couldn't hear Dominick’s breathing the way I do.
Then I feel a warm wetness press against the soft skin of my neck. I tilt my head back for him, and he kisses slowly up my neck.
Soon he reaches the border of the shroud, and he stops. He whispers to me. “I wonder if you still look angry, Madrigal.”
Then he presses his lips back to my neck and works his way down. He kisses across the supple flesh of my breasts, and I feel him cup and squeeze my breast through my bra with one hand. He focuses his lips on the other breast, and I find myself desperately wanting him to tear the damn bra off.
Instead, he slips one finger down into it, and he pulls. “Your nipples are hard. Now, think about how angry you are at Mr. Humblebee, and all those customers like him.”
Some anger hits me, but I push it away. I don’t want to think of that now. I don’t care about it. But I should obey Dominick, shouldn’t I? Even if there’s no way for him to know if I obey or not, I still should obey. That’s what true obedience means.
So I think of Mr. Humblebee, who I realize is just Dominick. I think of other customers who have dismissed me because I’m a woman. Or because I’m young. They didn’t respect me for who I am. They wasted my time, they blamed me, they ignored their own faults.
The anger feels hot and fresh now, and—
And Dominique tears at my belt, and he pulls my jeans off so fast I can’t even think.
I let out a yelp, but the anger and surprise spikes my adrenaline. I pull myself toward him, but the chains catch and jangle. I twitch my muscles uselessly, and then I feel Dominick press against my panties.
“Anger makes you wet?” He asks.
I’m not just feeling anger right now, you idiot. I’m feeling a very confusing and frustrating jumble of emotions, and it’s not as simple as—
He presses harder and runs his finger along my mound and across my soaked panties.
I cry out, my body twitching and rattling the chains.
“I’ve brought your anger to the surface,” Dominick says. “Now I’ll tend to it.”
And without another word, he rips my panties down to my heels, and moments later I feel his lips press against the wetness of my pussy.
I try to lean back, to fall on my back and spread my legs wide for him, but the chains hold me upright.
“Grab the chains,” he grunts, “And pull yourself up.”
Is the sex dungeon a gym now?
“Pull,” he says, with fierce urgency.
I grab the chains and pull. My muscles bulge, but I’m not strong enough to lift my body off—
Dominick’s hands slide under my ass, and he lifts me. I feel him slide underneath me, and his lips and tongue press right against my wetness.
I let go of the chains, and it lowers me down harder onto his mouth. I’m sitting on him, I realize. I press my knees down and straddle him, but I keep my hands tight around the chains.
I realize that Dominick could easily have lifted me up, but he wanted me to use the chains. I can’t get more slack by moving down, but if I pull on the chains I can give myself more room to move up.
I tug on them as his tongue finds my clit, and it gives me some extra room to buck my hips. I slide my pussy all over his tongue, and I moan loudly as he presses into me in just the right spot.
I can hear how muffled my own moans are, but the shroud does nothing to hide how intense they are. Whenever I thought of obeying Dominick, or him dominating me, having him go down on me was not the first thought that sprang to my mind. The way he fingered my asshole last time was more in line with my expectations. Still, I’m pleasantly surprised.
He moves his tongue expertly up and down my wetness, and he teases my clit just right. He builds the orgasm up the way an expert sculptor would form a piece of clay. He doesn’t go in too hard or press too much, he touches my clit just enough to make me long for more, and he never gives me quite enough to push me over the edge.
He’s already clearly established that I’m not to beg him, so to bridge that gap between what he is giving me and what I need, I have to use the chains.
I pull on them, and I give myself just enough slack to raise up an inch or so. Dominick moves up to meet me, and I hold myself there. My muscles tremble and burn as I hold my body weight up. It burns hard in my back and shoulders, but I don’t let go.
Dominick’s tongue presses into my clit, and it feels so good that a gasp escapes my throat. Electricity surges through me, and just when I sense he’s about to pull away from me once again, I let go of the chains.
As he pulls away, I fall down onto him, and I hear him laugh as his tongue presses hard against me. I get what I want, and he doesn’t let off my clit this time. The electric feeling goes further out from between my legs. It flows out from my core and makes my whole body buzz and sing.
And he goes on like that, making me work for my pleasure, until I finally feel an intense pressure building up and beginning to release.
“I’m going to cum,” I whimper, praying that will mean he finishes me off without me having to pull myself up and down as an orgasm rocks across my body.
Then I feel him pull away. Completely. He disappears from beneath me, and I reach out and touch thin air.
“You’re not going to cum yet,” he says, his voice condescending and snarky.
“No,” I whimper, and when I try to reach down and touch myself, the chains stop me from getting anywhere near. I can’t even touch my nipples.
“Think again about how angry you are with Mr. Humblebee—”
“Fuck Mr. Humblebee!” I spit through the shroud. “I don’t care—”
“You sound angry,” Dominick says, his voice playful now.
I hiss through my teeth. “Dominick, I don’t care about him, I—”
“I’m going to help you cum, Madrigal,” he says. “But I want you to bring that anger back to the surface again. Hold onto it and don't let it go.”
Why would I want to think about my stupid idiot clients while I’m trying to have a mind-blowing orgasm—
“I can sense your hesitation,” he rasps. “Grab your anger, now.”
His voice is behind me now, and he slaps me, hard, on the ass.
I pull
on the chains to brace against the pain, and it hoists me up once again. When I release, he’s beneath me again. His tongue presses against my clit, and my eyes roll back into my head.
I remember why this is happening in the first place. I remember that he knows what he’s doing. I’m to obey.
I channel the anger. I let it wash over me and consume me. As the anger burns through my body, Dominick’s tongue flicks across my clit. I hear him sucking up and licking my juices as they begin to flow more and more.
I let the anger burn sharper. It stops being about my idiot customers. It’s anger at myself for being infertile. Anger at myself for being so fucking difficult that no man will put up with me, anger that—
A switch goes off inside me. The anger is gone. The raw heat and intensity of my rage is all still there, but it’s been replaced entirely with—
Oh. God.
My inner walls clench up, and a fucking river flows out of me. I feel myself gush white-hot. I’ve never gushed before, but I am now, and Dominick is doing everything he can to drink it all up, I feel his tongue moving, and I hear him sucking it up.
But senses like hearing and sight are nothing to me now. The intense ecstasy exploding within me is all I can really feel now. Even the place where his tongue touches my clit is too external now. The pleasure from that has already been pulled inside me, and like a gasoline fire, it cannot be extinguished, it can only burn itself out.
My muscles pull and ache and tremble as I thrash against the chains. My hips thrash wildly, completely lost beyond my control.
I cum and I cum and I cum, and when I think it’s over, my body thrashes again, and a new wave blasts through my body.
I do finally collapse, as much as the chains will allow. I hang limp with my arms outstretched, like a butterfly whose wings have been pinned.
Dominick has moved from beneath me, and he’s behind me now. I feel his arms wrap around my body, so I lean back into him. His wide chest catches my weight, and I rest my head against his shoulder.
“Good girl, Madrigal,” he whispers. “You are my star student.”
“I thought I was your only student,” I whisper, my voice faint as a feather.
“You are,” he says, stroking my hair, “But the organization is going to be very pleased with your performance.”
“As long as you are pleased,” I say, desperately trying to bring this back to the two of us. No contracts. No organization.
He bites my ear, and presses his tongue against it. I pant as the afterglow intensifies.
“Anger can strengthen the block we are working so hard to remove. So this is what you will do with your anger from now on,” he says. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. “I understand completely.”
Before he leaves the warehouse in his own car, I grab the contract out from my car and hand it to him. “I’m fully committed.”
The next day, after I’ve brushed my teeth—but not gotten dressed—I stumble down the stairs to make myself a coffee.
As I turn the corner of the stairs, I smell the unmistakable scent of coffee hit my nose. Did I somehow already start making it, but I was so tired that I forgot? Am I really that exhausted from my sex dungeon in a warehouse orgasm? Or—
I go down into the kitchen to see Dominick standing in my kitchen in a grey slacks, a white shirt, and a grey tie. His muscular frame really fills out the shirt, and his legs look—
Wait. What the hell is he doing in my kitchen? He didn’t stay the night—he’s never even been in my house—and I swear to God I locked the door.
“I got coffee brewing,” he says casually as he helps himself to my milk and granola.
“What... what are you doing in my kitchen?” I ask.
“Today I’m going to shadow you. Well, be your assistant—”
“I work alone,” I snap.
“Not today you don’t,” he says, opening drawer after drawer, poking his head in, and shutting each one. “Where are your spoons?”
“Dominick, how did you get in here?”
“You gave us full access when you signed the contract, remember?”
“Oh,” I mumble.
I need to remind myself to replace my app-enabled lock system with good old-fashioned dumb metal.
“Seriously, where are your spoons?”
I shake my head and turn around, pull out the drawer behind me, and give him a damn spoon.
“You want a cup?” he asks.
I look down and realize I’m wearing a sheer white t-shirt with nothing under it. My nipples are pointing out. Hard.
I can’t muster the effort to feel embarrassed. Not after everything this man has done to me. “Yes, Dominick, please pour me a cup. I’m going to go get dressed.”
He’s going to be my assistant today? What is the point of that? How is that going to help me? Is he going to surprise fuck me in the car or something? I really struggle to see this man outside of a sexual context, even though I do have a bunch of warm, fuzzy, and very confusing feelings about him.
I find myself going for my most revealing, but still acceptable for work, outfit. I put on a tight black skirt with stockings, and a white shirt that lets me leave a few buttons too many undone. I put on high heels that make my legs and ass look amazing, if I do say so myself.
I come back downstairs to my cup of coffee, and Dominick smiles up at me from the kitchen table. “Did you want granola too?”
He holds up an empty bowl, as if he’s been waiting for me to say yes.
I nod, and he jumps up and starts filling the bowl for me. “I added some of the raspberries you had in there to mine. I’ll hook you up.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re very generous with my stuff.”
He laughs, and I find myself smiling wide like a dumb schoolgirl. Like this, I can almost imagine that we live together, or that we slept with each other—like normal people do—in my bed, and we just woke up together.
I sit down at the table with him, and I eat my granola and drink my coffee.
“What do we have on our plate today, boss?” he asks, winking at me.
“Can I voice a concern?” I ask, instead of answering his question.
“Go right ahead.”
“If you remember how I was very angry about men like Mr. Humblebee, ones who didn’t take me seriously.”
He gives me a shit-eating, dirty grin, which I try my best to ignore.
“Anyway,” I continue. “I’ve worked very hard to get my clients and customers to take me seriously. If you’re going to make me walk around with a vibrator, or if you’re going to suddenly force me into some crazy voyeuristic sex situation in front of a client, I—”
“I’m not going to,” he says. “The point of today is for me to observe you during a normal day. I want to pinpoint other aspects of your block. It’s a recon mission, no troops will be sent in to penetrate any tight choke points—”
“Got it,” I say. “Spare me the metaphors. Today is actually very important, Dominick,” I say. “I’m meeting with some of my manufacturers who are here from China. It’s much bigger than a typical day for me.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “Lucky for you I speak Mandarin.”
“No you don’t,” I snap.
“Ni bu xiangxin ma? Ni zhen de tai—”
“Stop it!” I snap. “You can’t be for real. When the hell did you learn that between all your sex dungeon training and—”
“Let’s just say that my superiors have very high hopes for me. We are an international organization, after all.”
“Damnit,” I hiss. “I learned a few sentences I was going to try to impress them with. Now you’re going to upstage me, and you’re supposed to be my assistant.”
“Let’s hear it,” he says, draining the last of his coffee.
“Hear what?” I ask.
“What you memorized. Your Mandarin.”
My face turns red, and I suddenly don’t want to.
“It’s an order, Madrigal,” he says.
“Fine,” I say. I clear my throat and try really hard to remember all of the tones. “Wo. Hen…”
I see his face scrunch up like I’d just run my nails across a chalkboard. “Let me start over. Wo hen... hen gao xing ren shi—”
He holds up a hand. “Your pronunciation is terrible. I’m not saying this to be rude, but they literally will not understand you. It will show weakness more than anything else. Tactically, you’re better off making them struggle with English to talk to you, it gives you the upper hand.”
He’s talking about this meeting like it’s a battle. I like that.
“Then you can show off and break out your fluent Mandarin,” I say.
He shakes his head. “They’ll never guess I speak it. I’ll stay quiet and get intel for you. It’s pointless to show them my hand.”
“Oh,” I say. “That would be... very useful.”
10
Dominick
I sit in the passenger seat while Madrigal drives.
“We’re meeting at the Gold Dragon Hotel downtown,” she says. “I guess it’s good that you’re coming either way. I think there’s going to be several of them meeting me, and if it were just me there it might make my operation look small or something.”
I nod. “So what are you discussing? They didn’t come all the way here just to talk to you face-to-face, did they?”
“No,” she says. “They are here to find new customers, I just suggested we talk some things out in person while they are here.”
“Which things?” He asks.
“Honestly,” she says, “I’m about to axe them. They delivered good products the first few times, but I’ve been getting complaints recently. When I confront them about it, they tend to blame it on one-off problems. Like maybe the factory owner switched out the materials to save money, but they assure me they already fired him and that he was disciplined harshly. They promise it won’t happen again... until it does. Even when they reimburse me, it makes me look incompetent.”
“It’s likely intentional,” he says. “They are doing as much cost-cutting as you will tolerate.”
