by Anthology
He let go of my wrists and we held each other, with his cheek nestled against mine, his stubble feathered against my skin.
“That tickles, but it in a good way. The best way.”
His lips adorned mine with a tender kiss. “You’re the best. I thought about what it would feel like to be inside you many times. You’ve exceeded my expectations.”
Before he pulled out, his cock twitched and swelled anew. “Princess, what are you doing to me? You’ve just smashed those expectations.”
I twirled my fingers in his hair. “I don’t think it’s me. It’s your magic wand.”
He grinned and kissed my nose. “You’re the one that’s magic. Without you it’s just a wand.”
“May I taste it, Sir? Is it okay to ask?”
“You can always ask. And in this case, the answer is fuck yes.”
He was playful for a moment, swaying in and out of me. Then his eyes brimmed with heat and his cock released me. “On your knees, Sylvie. Hands behind your back, and keep them there.”
I scurried to my knees on the floor, lacing my fingers behind me. Andrew’s robust shaft rested at my lips, dripping in our cum.
“Lick me clean princess. Make me rock hard, because I’m going to fuck you again.”
I parted my lips and took him into my wet, wanting mouth. The sweet, tangy flavor of our cum enlivened my taste buds as I guzzled him inside further. His hands coiled around my head, holding me firmly in place, as he controlled the fucking of my mouth. He took it easy on me, rocking in and out careful not force me to his balls. But I wanted to prove myself, show him I could do it. I wanted to please him. And, to see what kind of chastising awaited me.
Once his cock hardened in fullness, he fisted my hair, and soldiered on with rougher, more rampant strokes that toyed with my tonsils.
His voice grew hoarse. “Your mouth is so sweet. You suck cock like a dirty little whore. Good girl.”
That was all I needed to hear. I brought my hands to his fine ass and clutched him tight, forcing him further in my mouth, hoping he would unleash his load down my willing throat.
He stopped mid thrust and seized my wrists. “That’s very naughty, Sylvie. What did I tell you?”
“To keep my hands behind my back.” I cast my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry Sir. I only wanted to please you.”
“Look at me.”
When I saw the disappointment in his face, my eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Sir?”
“You please me when you obey.” He got down on the floor, and drew me to his lap. “Hey, come here. Please don’t cry. You’re learning. It’s going to take time.”
“Are you going to punish me now?”
“No. I would rather talk about it. Communication is everything.” He arched an eyebrow. “Wait. Did you misbehave on purpose so I would punish you?”
I nodded. “Um…kind of.”
“Sylvie. That’s not how this works. At least that’s not how I work. But, I’m starting to see I have a princess mixed with a hint of brat.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but if you’re saying I disobeyed in hopes of getting a spanking, then yes.”
His voice turned gruff. “If that’s what you need, then ask me. Don’t play games. I don’t respond well to games.”
I swallowed hard. “Sir, I need you spank me.”
“You won’t pull a stunt like that again?”
“No Sir. I promise.”
He shook his head. “You realize I’m spoiling you already?”
“I do. But, I want to feel like I’m floating again. I want to feel that with you.”
He pressed his lips to mine. “Okay. Only, you won’t be floating, princess. I’m going to make you soar. Go outside on the balcony, bend over and wrap your arms around the pillar.”
I jumped up and padded across the floor. “Are you coming with me?”
“No questions. Just march your sexy ass out there.”
This time, I did exactly as I was told. My arms snaked around the pillar while the afternoon breeze wafted over my skin on the secluded balcony. I waited patiently.
Eventually Andrew’s footsteps sounded behind me. “Very nice, Sylvie.” His large hands fondled my cheeks. “I’ve wanted to smack this ass since the day I met you. So firm and seductive, like it was crying out for discipline.”
Five biting spanks followed and my body simmered with adrenaline. His hand dipped between my legs to investigate. “Just as I expected. You’re drenched. I can’t wait to get you to my place and test your limits with a flogger, a crop, a paddle, a belt, and a cane.”
After he said each instrument, he accented it with another unrelenting slap on my bottom. I was bent over, naked, gaining a scarlet bum and I never felt more free in my life.
“Oh Sir. Please, more.”
He wrapped my hair around his hand and pulled. “Yes. You’re a good girl.”
The reddening of my ass continued as my arousal gushed and flowed down my legs in rivulets. Then he ceased and without warning, his huge, rigid erection slammed inside me. My wetness engulfed his cock, and he pulverized me full throttle with masterful strokes, while his hands dug into my hips.
He took everything he wanted from me, but gave so much more in return. I shrieked like a horny slut becoming a slave to his cock’s pleasures. He plunged me to my depths, and my mind flew to the heavens and hovered over the clouds.
My body screamed with passionate hysteria as each punishing stroke pushed deeper and harder inside me. I relished every slaying fuck thrust he delivered to my pussy.
I clung to the white pillar, holding back my orgasm until Andrew gave me permission.
He grunted. “You’re all mine, Sylvie. You belong to me now. Come. Come for me.”
Andrew’s words catapulted our dueling orgasms. My release ripped through me. This beautiful agony of wicked pleasure transported me to a blessed paradise, as he emptied himself inside me.
My ragged limbs nearly gave way, before he hoisted me in his arms with ease. He whispered soft encouragements as he carried me to bed.
For the longest time, he held me to his heart, and stroked my hair while my body came back to earth.
As I laid there savoring the sweetness of him, I discovered something Andrew knew all along. I didn’t need to change. I was perfect, just as I am. I was his.
THE END
One Last Cigarette
CHAPTER ONE
I am restless, writhing in my own skin, ready to explode, on edge. I thought my morning run would help, but fuck no. I know what I need, as it’s been a while, and it’s not a jog. I put my hands in my lap, pushing back from the light table, close my eyes and focus on the sounds of supple leather cutting the air, the faint memory of the sweet sting that rings in my blood that my body and mind ache for.
“Hello, earth to Jackie. I don’t have all fucking day. What are you doing?”
Fuck, her shrill voice pulls me from my reverie and I open my eyes to see her pointy little nose an inch from my face.
“Jesus fuck! I swear to God, Jackie. Your head has been somewhere else all week, you need to check the fuck in, shit is about to get busy here and I need you. What the hell is going on?”
I honestly cannot answer. It’s the lack of focus. I shake my head without an answer and pull the slide from the light table.
“Here, this is the one,” I say, pushing it into her hand as I stand, towering over her slight frame, her pixie hair and angry cat tipped glasses. Such a fucking brat sometimes. “I’m sorry, Imogen, I just wanted it to be perfect.”
“Finally, thank you. Now, was that so hard?”
I want to slap her smug face; she makes it hard, everything, all the time. It must be the artist thing, I don’t know, but damn. When I heard she was coming to the magazine and I was going to get to work for her, the illustrious Imogen Salvin, I was ecstatic! What an opportunity, but God, what a bitch. She is moody and treats the models like meat, which doesn’t bother me all that much as most of them are comple
tely clueless anyway. She has finally stopped asking me to get her coffee, but has no qualms asking me to run her personal errands, no matter how intimate.
I stew as I pick up her dry cleaning on my way home, followed by her snippy little dog I picked up from his sitter. As I hang her dry cleaning in her hall closet and freshen the dogs’ water, I look around at her townhouse. It’s a beautiful brownstone that she has torn limb from limb, gutted and filled with abstract junk that holds no aesthetic pleasure for me. I lock the door behind me and walk the fifteen blocks home, all the while fixated, anxious. I’m simply unable to shake the stress of the day, the whole week really. I know what I crave, and I know it’s been too long. Just like that, my prayers have been answered. As I’m walking up the steps to my fourth floor studio, I get the call. Like Pavlov’s dog, I begin to pant and my pussy gets slick with anticipation
“This is Jackie.”
“Good evening, Jackie.” Her syrupy purr sets my pulse racing and I know what’s coming. “I have a special request for you, Sugar.”
“Perfect! What is it?”
“You remember Mr. Bohm?”
Just the mention of his name sends a delicious shiver running down my spine. How could I forget? The man is a whiz with a strap, and a beast between the sheets. I lick my lips like a stalking lioness before I respond.
“I seem to recall a Mr. Bohm.” I play coy.
“Mmhmm,” Missy replies, knowing full well what the man is capable of and that I am his willing test subject. “Well, this time will be different. He has requested you specifically, for him and his wife.
I pause for a moment. His wife??
All night I toss and turn, aching for that strap, eager to meet with Mr. Bohm yet again, and anxious about what it will entail. His wife…
I rise with the sun and bound out of bed like a child on her first day of school. I can’t wait for the day to be over. To be strung up and spanked within an inch of my sanity. That is what I need, and I know full well that Mr. Bohm will give it to me in spades.
I pick up coffees and Imogen’s favorite croissants before heading in early to make sure everything is just so. There is a big meeting this morning with the legal team from San Antonio. So big that Ellie Cline, herself, editor extraordinaire, is making an appearance. The only time she conducts business directly is on the red carpet or at a black tie party, apart from the occasional snarky comment that will be printed on Page Six about some poor, unsuspecting socialite’s unfortunate choice in clothing.
The air teems with activity as the elevator doors open on an already bustling scene. Assistants buzz about with stacks of paper, cups of coffee and a possessed look in their eyes. I make my way down the glass lined hallway to my little cubby that is tucked behind Imogen’s palatial office when I see the legal team, a sea of suits, sitting casually around the conference room table. Laptops are out and fired up, iPhones in hand, and a feisty looking Ellie is already anchoring the head of the table. I duck around the corner and run headlong into a dark blue suit, a wall of muscle and fine fabric and I lose the coffees. So much for the fine fabric. When I look into his eyes, I’m struck down and go blank. Crystal blue eyes reflect the blue of his threads, a deep dimple on his right cheek stretches into oblivion as he grins at me, not even flinching at the hot coffee I just spilled down his leg and into his fine leather shoes. FUCK!
“Oh Lordy,” he crinkles his eyes and lets out a long, high whistle. “Looks like I’m a bit worse for wear all of a sudden. I am deeply sorry I got in your way, Miss.”
The twang that falls from his tongue lights my insides on fire and I’m stuck, rendered speechless, until I hear Imogen.
“What the fuck, Jackie?” She comes rolling out of her office, barefoot, with a picture light strapped to her head.
“I’m sorry.” I look up at him before turning to her. “I’m sorry, I was bringing you coffee, but...”
“But, I’m so clumsy and ran right into the poor little darlin,’ I do apologize for that. I’m just not familiar with my surroundings and got turned around, it was absolutely my fault. Strike one, I suppose.” He says with a wink and I smile back, before dropping to my knees to collect the mess that continues to seep into the carpet.
“Jackie, take this gentleman, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Tommy, ma’am. Tommy Clarke.”
“Yes, well, how nice to meet you, Tommy,” she sneers with a pretend smile, “Jackie, show Mr. Clarke to the Editorial Closet, I’m sure there is something there that you can change into. Sadie!” She calls looking over her shoulder and another lowly assistant, from an even darker corner comes scurrying to her attention. “Sadie, clean this mess up.” She looks at me on the floor, signaling me to rise, practically tugging at me with the force of her mortified gaze. ‘Get up,’ she mouths.
I feel his warm eyes watching me as I lead him down the long corridor to the studios and the mythical Editorial Closet. I turn the lock and open the door on the most spectacular wardrobe anyone could ever dream of.
“This,” I pause for effect, spreading my arms like a game show presenter, “is the Editorial closet. This is where we keep all the samples the designers have sent us for the layouts.”
I weave between racks and racks of labels; Dior dresses fill one rack and Chanel fills another. I turn, only to find Tommy shuffling through a rack. “It seems you have a nose for this,” I tease as I step up next to him at the Tom Ford rack.
“Something you should know about me, Miss…” He raises his eyebrows in question and I lag for a moment before blurting my name in his face.
“Jackie, just Jackie.”
“Alright, well, just Jackie. I love few things in this world. My momma, the Lord and a decent suit.”
“That seems rather simple.”
“Ain't nothing wrong with simple. Now, what do you think of this one?” He pulls a light gray three piece wool summer suit that I can just imagine would look divine on his narrow hips and broad shoulders. Damn, the man is built like a Greek statue.
“That’s a beautiful choice, there doesn’t seem to be anything simple about your taste,” I tease.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” he says as he shimmies out of his jacket and begins to pull his shirttails from his trousers. “The beauty is in the simplicity. A man is at his most effective when he appears effortless and at ease. That’s Tom Ford.”
I can’t help but be struck by how very unsimple this man actually is. I watch as his strong fingers make short work of his shirt buttons and move swiftly to his cuffs. He removes two platinum cufflinks each engraved with what I assume is a monogram. I put my hand out to receive them and he grins.
“I do apologize,” he says, dropping the cuff links into my outstretched palm. “I suppose I’m being something of a brute changing in front of you. I wouldn’t want to insult you, just Jackie. Is there somewhere I should change?”
His shirt front falls open, followed swiftly by my mouth. His chest is chiseled, but not from the gym, from genuine hard work. His skin is taught and tan, freckled and dusted with fine blonde hair. Where only six should reside, a cool eight pack begs for a lick, and I quickly contain myself before I drown in my own drool. Damn, it has been a while. I direct him to the changing stall in the back of the closet and quickly scurry out, waiting for him at the entrance, flushed, bothered and wet as the day is long.
When he finally emerges, he is a vision, better than any editorial because he is here, in front of me, and I can touch him. Well, not really, but hypothetically. I return his cufflinks as his phone begins to go off and with an apologetic look in his eyes, he thanks me for the suit with a wink and a smile, and hurries back into the conference room.
Throughout the day I am able to catch a glimpse of him from behind the glass, at times pacing the length of the room; and at times furiously typing away on his computer. When he speaks they all listen, and the more I watch I begin to realize, he isn’t just a suit, he seems to be the suit. Even Ellie hangs on his every word, and I�
��ve almost never seen that.
I let my mind wander to that sweet southern drawl as I mindlessly comb through Imogen’s email and before I know it the day has passed with nothing but a coffee stain to show for it. I begin to gather my belongings when I look up and he is standing at the end of my desk, his hands in his trouser pockets. He has left his jacket in the conference room and stands before me in his waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up over his roped forearms.
“May I take you to dinner tomorrow night?” A wide grin spreads across his handsome face, his light eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and I return the grin, naturally. “I would be honored if you would show me around your fine city.”
I’m thunderstruck and excited. The first time I’ve felt this way in what feels like forever.
“Yes, I would like that.”
His boyish grin and sparkling eyes make my knees weak and quickens my breath. He slips his card into my hand before swiping one of mine from the little plastic card holder on my desk.
“I’ll call you,” he winks, and I watch him go as the gray Tom Ford suit saunters down the hallway with a triumphant stride.
Before I can begin to fantasize about Tommy and those broad shoulders, I get a reminder call from the Agency and my whole focus changes to thoughts of the belt, the sting, the sweet release, it’s been too long. Mr. Bohm and his wife are about to get the ride of their life.
CHAPTER TWO
In the cab on the way to the Bohms, I check my bag to make sure I am prepared, as Mr. Bohm has always had very strict instructions. No panties, hair up, makeup flawless, and the taste of cigarette smoke on my breath. I pull the almost empty pack of Pink Elephants from my bag that he purchased for me last time he was traveling in France. Beautiful little pink sticks of poison with just a hint of vanilla. He loves the taste of tobacco on my mouth, and if I’m honest, I’ve grown quite accustomed to the fetish as well. Mind you, I have managed to restrict my smoking to these appointment days only. As I exit the cab I put the cigarette to my lips and light it. The cool white smoke wafts above me as I inhale, pulling the smoke deep into my body and exhale blowing a tight, spiraling smoke ring as I look up at his three story brownstone in the heart of Tribeca. I lick my lips, tasting the faint hint of vanilla and tobacco, a taste that has come to mean one thing so closely related now to this life. This lifestyle that I chase, this hunger I struggle to feed. Smoke and leather are my scents of choice these days.
