Diamonds and Toads: A Modern Fairy Tale

by Saxon, K. E.

  * * *

  Chas rang Delilah’s doorbell and rocked back on his heels. The plastic bag brushed against his knee and he clenched the handle tighter in his fist. He’d been battling his conscience all afternoon, but ultimately, his need to do his duty to his family overrode his repugnance at being a lowdown sonofabitch to Delilah. He needed those funds! Even though they’d given him an extension, the creditors were chomping at the bit waiting for him to wire the money to them.

  That was why, an hour and a half ago, he’d pulled into the parking lot of the adult sex toy store and made his first-ever purchase from such an establishment. ’Course, he’d circled her block ten times before finally pulling into her driveway, his guilt still trying to talk him into doing the right thing by her—the noble thing—and leave her the hell alone. Leave her money the hell alone. But, in the end, the higher imperative won out over scruples.

  He’d have to get her real relaxed first, though, and then, afterward, he’d see if he couldn’t talk her into letting him manage her money. Just kind of off-handed like, so she didn’t get suspicious of his motives or anything. He figured the best way to put her in a pliable mood would be to help her out with her little problem. After he’d had time to think about it—a lot of time, actually. More time than he should have, in fact, since a good portion of that time had been more along the lines of fantasy than calculating social risk of discovery—he’d decided that if she needed to do this dominatrix thing as some means of relieving anxiety, then he’d be her guinea pig. It was the least he could do for her, let her use him, since he was sure as hell using her. Or going to. Once he managed to get his fists around a few of those millions of hers.

  A couple of clicks of the lock from the inside sounded and the door swung open. “At last,” she said. But Chas’s brain barely registered the words. His eyes—every cell in his body—were drawn, like a super-high powered magnet, to her seductively-clad body. Clearly, her intentions for their evening were much the same as his own.

  His brows slammed together. Except.

  The satin and lace she was wearing told him that hers had a much more romantic bent. And no doubt involved actual penetration—which he was determined to abstain from. At least he’d keep from screwing her literally, until he’d paid back what he owed her. Which, if all went as he planned, wouldn’t be more than a month or two down the road. “Jesus, Delilah.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.

  Suddenly, her hands were moving, sweeping the satin wrap around her, and tying the sash, effectively covering her much-too appetizing female parts from his view. “You don’t like it. How embarrassing. I just thought—well, it doesn’t matter.” She swung the door open further and whirled around. “Come in. Dinner is ready. I’ll just go change,” she said as she scuttled across the living room toward what Chas assumed was the hallway leading to her bedroom.

  It only took him a second to catch up to her. He grabbed hold of her arm and swung her around to face him. She stumbled and fell into him, her hand brushing his erection. They both gasped.

  He recovered before she did. “Don’t be embarrassed, Delilah,” he said. “I like what you’re wearing.”

  He felt her relax, though her shoulders still rose and fell with rapid breath. She had her head bent so he couldn’t get a good look at her expression. “Really?” she asked.

  “Yes. Maybe a little too much.” He nudged her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes and dragged her hair away from her cheek. Her face was as red as his father’s Ferrari. For some reason, his heart tripped and then a new rush of blood flooded his groin. What the hell are you doing, man?

  He let his hands drop to his sides and stepped back. “But, I—” His voice rasped.

  He cleared his throat. “I guess you should go ahead and change. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on eating with you dressed that way.”

  * * *

  Delilah bit down on the inside of her cheek. The pressure not to cry nearly overwhelmed her. He doesn’t want me. “Okay,” she said. But as she was turning away from Chas, she noticed the bag in his hand—and the emblem on the front. Her heart leap-frogged in her chest. She knew that store. Which meant he did want her! Without further thought, she made a grab for it and had it opened before he could put up the slightest protest.

  When she saw what he’d brought with him, a rainbow of happiness exploded inside her and eviscerated every last particle of despair. A grin broke over her face and their eyes met. “Why Chas H. Regan. You little devil.”

  * * *

  It was Chas’s turn to flush. His face felt as hot as a Houston sidewalk in the hell-month of August and his pits and hands were suddenly clammy with sweat.

  This was not going at all the way he’d envisioned. He’d had it all planned out: He’d have the upper hand. Be the one who was in control of the situation. He’d sit her down right here in the living room after dinner and have that long heart-to-heart about propriety, their social status, etc., etc., and then he’d offer to be her—what was it called? Oh, yeah—submissive.

  In private.

  Just between them.

  No intercourse, just fun and games.

  No one ever needed to know.

  He shrugged. “It was—just an idea. Since you seem to like kink.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Delilah took hold of Chas’s hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom. He didn’t protest when she pressed him into a sitting position on the edge of her bed. She felt the weight of his gaze following her around her bedchamber as she lit candles, dimmed lights, and chose her favorite mood music from her iPod.

  Next she pulled the red satin and black lace heart g-string from the bag he’d brought and handed it to him. “Take your clothes off and put this on while I’m gone.”

  “But, I thought—this is yours!”

  The look of horror on Chas’s face came near to ruining Delilah’s act. She controlled the grin that threatened by glaring at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “No, pet. Tonight, they’re yours.” She turned her back on him and strode over to her closet, taking out her boots and domme outfit. The smile she sent him as she slowly swept the door to the master bath closed had become her signature in the business; it was one of dark desire and profound promise, and it gave her an unimaginable thrill when she saw the primal heated response from him in the flare of his nostrils and the sharp intake of breath.

  “See you in a moment,” she purred.

  Thankfully, she’d placed her Kama sutra picture book on a shelf in the bathroom cabinet and she took a brief moment to study a few of the photographs, memorizing hand and body placement.

  Finally, she took in a deep breath and closed the glossy cover. Okay. You can do this. Her hand shook a little as she returned the book to its hiding place on the back of the third shelf. Just do your routine. No big deal. She nibbled on her thumbnail. Only this time, you’ll follow through with the promise.

  * * *

  Chas was so turned on, he could hear the rush of blood through his veins. He resisted an urge to readjust his cock inside the satin-soft g-string. Down boy. He was seriously out of his element and just about as embarrassed as he’d ever been, but hot for it, too. Except, of course, there’d be no sex between them. She didn’t have sex with her submissives, she’d told him so. His honorable intentions toward her were safe tonight.

  He looked around the room for about the thirtieth time. Decadent. That’s what this was. But—okay—fun.

  The music she’d chosen was—interesting. Electronic. Eerie, sexy, moody, and slow, with a female voice running through it that seemed more instrument than tale-teller. There was a promise of depraved sexual encounter inherent in its tone. It made him jittery all over again.

  Nothing was turning out as he’d expected. There were the nerves, for one thing. Plus this out of control thing was really doing a number on him. He’d had the notion that it would be more—something—a give-and-take thing, he gue
ssed? Except with toys and leather. But it wasn’t that way at all, and part of him—a surprisingly large part, in fact—didn’t give a damn. Which was scary as hell.

  He heard the sound of the faucet in the next room. Goosebumps formed on his arms. What other crazy stuff was she going to want him to do? Would handcuffs be involved?

  Before his imagination had traveled more than a pace down that path of sexual intrigue, she was there in the doorway. A sinful, dangerous silhouette holding her black leather flogger in one hand and dangling a blindfold in the other. The image decimated his tenaciously held honor and captured his starved libido in one fell swoop.

  She walked over to him, standing mere feet from where he sat. “Stand, pet.”

  He did as he was told, unable to keep his eyes from returning to her whip every second or so.

  Her eyes goggled at the obvious state of his arousal, but only for a flash of a second, before she shuttered the look behind a mien of authority once more. “Don’t look at me, look at the floor.”

  He dropped his gaze.

  “Now, there are a few ground rules we need to get straight before we begin. Say ‘yes, mistress’.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “My name is Mistress Domnonea. What is my name?”

  Mistress Domnonea? He hadn’t expected that. “Mistress Domnonea,” he told her.

  “Good.” The thwack-swish of the flogger against her thigh-high boot made him startle. He tensed.

  “This next is extremely important: You must never speak until spoken to, except to say ‘Yes, mistress.’ Do you understand?”

  He would have laughed, but the sound of the whip stopped it dead in his throat. “Yes, mistress.”

  “Take a step toward me.” After he did so, she stroked her hand over his cock. He sucked in a breath and shuddered as a bit of semen charged from his testicles. He groaned with pleasure.

  She released him. “Under no circumstances are you to have an orgasm unless you first ask my permission.”

  His balls ached. “Yes, mistress,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She began circling him. “You’ve done very well, pet,” she said, sliding her hand over his backside. When she was facing him once more, she leaned in and gave him a small kiss on the mouth. An almost uncontrollable urge to dive into her hit him like a right jab to the solar plexus, but the sound of the whip slapping her palm, jerked him back into their role play.

  “What is my name?”

  He had to think a second. “Mistress Domnonea.”

  “Now, pet, you’re going to be making a lot of noise in a few minutes and we must establish a safe word. Something that lets me know when you’ve truly had enough. Capish?”

  His heart hammered against his ribcage. A lot of noise? Eyes tripping down to the whip again, he somehow managed to say, “Yes, mistress.”

  “Why not ‘diamond’?”

  He smiled. “Yes, mistress.”

  “Tell me the safe word.”

  “Diamond.”

  “What is it?”

  “Diamond, mistress.”

  “And once more?”

  “Diamond.” He was getting the hang of this pretty well, he thought.

  “Good.” She stroked his ear with her index finger. It sent a lightning bolt of electricity directly to his dick. He couldn’t breathe for a second.

  “You may look at me now.” His eyes traveled up her leather-clad body to her face. “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Nice, mistress.”

  She slapped her whip against his buttocks. He flinched reflexively, surprised and relieved when it didn’t actually even sting.

  “Nice? No, no. That won’t do. Tell me again, how do I look?”

  He swallowed. “Sexy, mistress?”

  This time the whip whacked his thigh. “You didn’t say that as if you meant it. Again: How do I look?”

  Okay, tell her the unvarnished truth. “Mistress Domnonea, my cock has been like granite since the moment you entered the room in that pornographic but provocative number. I love your ass. It’s round and lush and I want to bite it. Your breasts, the way they’re nearly falling out of that top, makes me want to suck hard on them. Your face is beautiful—especially that mouth. It’s made for giving a man pleasure. I want nothing more than to touch you, devour you, and fuck you.”

  The creamy skin on her chest turned pink, so he knew he’d gotten to her with that, but he had to hand it to her, she never went out of character. Leaning forward, she slid her tongue across his lower lip. “Good, my pet,” she whispered against his mouth. “Do you want me to touch you?”

  His brain froze. He nodded.

  “I repeat, do you want me to touch you, pet?”

  “Y-yes, mistress. Very much.”

  “What do you want me to do to you?”

  “I want you to suck my cock, mistress.”

  “No, pet, the answer is: ‘whatever you want, mistress’. Say it.”

  He swallowed the panic. “Wh-whatever you want, mistress.”

  She smiled at him. There was more tenderness than decadence in her gaze. It calmed him a bit. “Who does your body belong to?”

  That stumped him for a moment, but then he smiled, proud of himself. “You, mistress.”

  “Good, pet.” She twisted her finger in the tie to his—her—g-string. “Take these off.”

  Holy hell. Was she really going to do it? Integrity and excitement had a righteous row inside him. Excitement won. “Yes, mistress.” He was bare-assed in under a second.

  “Now, walk over and face that wall over there.” She indicated the expanse next to her closet.

  He looked again at the whip, but complied.

  “Lean with your hands against the wall, and spread your legs.”

  For some reason, this sent a tingle of dread up his spine. He swiveled his head to look at her.

  “Do it!”

  He hurried to comply. “Yes, mistress.”

  She lifted the flogger up to his face. “Take a good, long look at this, pet. See how the handle is made for a woman’s grip? How lovely the red satin ribbons are that twine around it?”

  “Y-yes, mistress.”

  “Smell it.”

  He smelled it. It smelled of leather—and fear.

  “This is your friend, it tells you no lies, it allows no lies. It wants only for you to know its power and its swift discipline when you stray.”

  His heart rocketed around in his chest. What the hell had he gotten himself into? “Yes mistress.”

  She ran the flogger over his belly, dangerously close to his groin. His heart leapt into his throat. “What is your safe word, pet.”

  That calmed him. “Diamond.”

  “Good.” She dangled the tassels over his hard on and it jerked in reaction. He stiffened, both with fear and lust. “Arch your back and thrust your butt out.”

  “Why, mistress?”

  She spanked him with her bare hand. “No questions! Arch your back and thrust your butt out. Now.” When he still hesitated, she slapped his ass even harder. That time it really stung. Somehow, though, it only served to stimulate him more.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She tapped the flogger lightly against his buttocks. “What is your safe word?”

  “Diamond.”

  “Do you want me to flog you with this?” She pressed it into the small of his back.

  Yes! “Yes, mistress.”

  “Are you sure, pet?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Place one hand over your genitals.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She started whisper-lightly at first. It was like a lover’s caress. Pleasant, really. Mostly slashing over his bare bum, but sometimes on his back as well. The swats slowly increased in tempo and in strength, until he could hear the popping sound of the whip hitting bare skin. He started to hum and moan low in his throat with each new pass. Without conscious thought, he stroked himself to the increasing beat of her flogs. He was near to orgasm,
it was just over the next horizon, when she suddenly stopped, stepped back.

  “Take your hand away. If you have an orgasm now, I’ll never play this game with you again.”

  He dropped his hand to his thigh and dug his fingers into it, nearly twisting the skin off the limb. This was agony. More painful than the broken arm and trashed ligaments he’d gotten skiing when he was fourteen. When he thought his vocal chords would work again, he wheezed, “Diamond.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  “How does that feel?” Delilah asked, running the cool, damp cloth over Chas’s sizzling skin.

  “Good, mistress.”

  His breathing had returned to normal sometime in the last minute or so, and his eyes had lost that feral, dazed sheen. It was time to implement the next scene.

  Sometime during the previous interlude, she’d come up with a plan: She’d keep the play-act going even through her own initiation. That way, she could just demand that her submissive make love to her as if she were a virgin and she wouldn’t have to pretend to know what she was doing. Plus, if all went well, she’d never have to admit that she hadn’t done it before, that no one had ever even wanted to do it with her before—not as Delilah, at least. They sure the hell did when she was Mistress Domnonea, though. Another good reason to stay in character: it made her feel more desirable, more in control. Yes, the plan was brilliant.

  She turned around and showed him her back. “Unlace me.”

  She heard his breath increase, grow harsh. “Yes mistress.”

  * * *

  What game was she playing now? Chas fumbled a little with the ties to her tight latex dress. His palms were clammy and his fingers trembled, mostly from unspent desire at this point than from dread. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one. And he knew, he knew, that if she let him, he was past the point of honoring his own vow to be noble toward her. He was going to take her as many ways, and as often, as she would let him. And if she ever found out the truth about his nefarious motives for asking her to marry him, and hated him for taking advantage of her feelings for him on such an intimate, personal level—well, he guessed he’d worry about that then.