I’m bracing myself for anger, but he nods thoughtfully instead. “And you are concerned that this is a slippery slope?” he asks to clarify.
“Exactly.” Ever since he’s told me he’s dominant in bed, I’ve been trying to figure out what the boundaries are and where the roles start and end. I’m not going to lie – a guy telling me what to do makes me nervous. Not in the bedroom, but about how it starts bleeding over into my real life.
“Let me set your mind at ease,” he soothes. “I just didn’t want you walking back alone in the dark.” He flashes me a grin. “Especially if you are rather inebriated.”
“I think the phrase I use is buzzed to the gills,” I quip. “It’s New York. I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” he agrees readily. “And it isn’t like I’m going to drop everything I’m doing to hover protectively over you. I do have a life, after all. I was just free and I thought you might appreciate the company on the walk back.”
We’ve pulled up at the front door of my apartment building. Distracted by our conversation, I haven’t noticed the minutes tick by. I guess he’s right. I do appreciate the company. “Fair enough,” I fix him with a stern look, “but you’ll have to do as you are told tonight.”
I’m proud of my firm tone. I sound like I’m in control. I’m so jittery about this, yet I can’t turn back.
“That’s the deal, yes.” We enter my apartment. It’s tiny and suddenly, it feels suffocating. The bed looms in front of me and I gulp. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. “You look nervous,” he says gently. “Relax, Natalie.”
I’m unprepared for his understanding. In this game we are playing, I’m relieved that some boundaries are crystallizing. I’m a little more reassured that he isn’t going to transform into someone I don’t know at all.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for just a second to center myself. When I open them again, I’m ready to do this. It’s time to take charge.
“Can I get a back massage?” I ask. Okay, I guess I should be ordering him but there’s a line between dominating him and being rude, right? I figure that asking nicely never hurt anyone.
“Of course,” he says, suppressing a smirk. “Shall we move to your bed, Natalie? Get naked, lie down on your stomach.”
Maybe that’s how you give orders. Firmly. In a perfectly level tone, as if the idea of being disobeyed hasn’t even occurred to you. Nicely done, Mr. Ashburn. It appears I have some studying to do.
In response to his question, I wave him in the direction of the bathroom where I keep the massage oil. It smells like jasmine and eucalyptus and mint and musk. I bought it just for this occasion. In the store, I carefully sniffed at each oil and picked this one because something about the aroma of it reminded me of sex.
Now, my insides clench as he unstoppers the lid and the fragrance fills the air.
“Are we going to do this with clothes on, Natalie?” His voice is dry and my cheeks colour in response. Suddenly, I’m shy. My emotions are oscillating like crazy between determined and tentative.
He shoots me a mocking look and my resolve hardens. Damn him. I’m not going to be intimidated by his amusement. I pull the red silk shirt I’m wearing over my head and reach behind my back to undo my bra strap.
“No, allow me.” His voice sounds a little ragged. “Let me take care of you, Natalie.” His eyes are hot with lust and an answering desire envelops me. I’m in danger of setting aside my entire agenda and just jumping him. Especially when his hand caresses my back as he slides my bra off my shoulders and shivers of complete lust run through my body.
I resist, but only just. His fingers unzip my grey pencil skirt and he pushes the fabric down past my hips, stroking and touching each bit of flesh as it comes into view.
Let him take care of me, he’s said. If this is what it feels like, I’m happy to comply.
I shed my panties with embarrassing haste and he guides me to my bed. I lie face down and I feel his legs straddle my hips. I think my ovaries are going to burst into flames.
He warms the oil between his palms before he massages my body. His hands glide firmly from my lower back up to my shoulders. He caresses my upper arms before repeating the motion. I shift my legs restlessly as his fingers splay and graze at the sides of my breasts. I ache for more. I need to turn over and have his strong hands rub oil into my front.
When every muscle in my body is relaxed, he moves lower. He drips oil on the back of my thighs, and his hands knead my calves and my thighs. I stifle a moan as his fingers tease at the cleft between my legs. His sure strokes get closer and closer to my core.
A small whimper escapes my lips. For a second, I flush at the loss of control, then I shrug. Part of being in charge is about the attitude. About owning my own desires and not being ashamed of them. “Touch me,” I order. “Stop teasing me.”
“Of course.” I feel oil drip between my ass cheeks, followed by Ted’s strong fingers, rubbing the liquid between the already slippery lips of my pussy, between my tightly puckered asshole. Lazy sparks of pleasure dance along my entire body, emanating from the spots where his hand caresses my skin.
His fingers part my folds and slide in, eased by both my arousal and the lubrication provided by the massage oil. As he pumps in and out of me, I feel him bend towards me and his mouth bites gently at my ass cheek. I close my eyes, groan out aloud and allow myself to just feel.
I’m turned around and oil is drizzled on my breasts. My nipples are already erect and each time his thumbs drag across those nubs, I shudder at the feeling. His lips dip towards them and his teeth nips at my flesh.
Oh, Ted Ashburn is good at this. This slow, deliberate seduction, this extended teasing and touching that has me feverish with need. I moan and I writhe, but his hands still me.
Uh-uh. Ted seems to have forgotten who is in charge. As amazing as this massage feels, it’s time for a reminder. I run my fingers up his white shirt. “Take this off,” I order.
His eyes lock on mine as each button is undone. When his chest comes into view, with each hard muscle absolutely begging me to touch, to lick, to bite and to feel, I have to fight against the desire to lick my lips. On Tuesday, when he cooked me dinner dressed in nothing other than a pair of briefs, I had to use every ounce of willpower not to pounce. Today, my self-control has fled the building.
Today there will be touching and so much more. I’m not going to deny myself.
I swing myself off the bed. “You are terrible at giving up control,” I tell him. “Did I ask for a striptease?”
He grins, unabashed at my rebuke, but doesn’t bother contradicting me. We both know my words are true. “Stay,” I toss over my shoulder as I make my way to my small, decrepit dresser. I’m about to wipe the smugness off Ted Ashburn’s face and I’m quite gleeful about the reaction I’m going to get when he sees the leather wrist and ankle cuffs I’m holding.
One eyebrow shoots upwards as he takes in the contents of my hands. I want to skip about and clap my hands. It’s not often I can cause a crack in Ted’s normally unflappable façade. “Nicely done, Natalie,” he congratulates me. There’s no mockery in his tone, only warmth and approval. He’s pleased with my initiative. “I’m assuming these are for me?”
I nod. “Take off your clothes,” I order. I guess I could ask him not to do the striptease, but I’m actually looking forward to the fun and games. Of course, I’m not going to tell him that.
He complies silently, his intent gaze never leaving mine. His dick is erect, ready. No surprise there – we are both almost painfully aroused by this situation. “Is that for me?” I tease. My fingers reach up and finger my nipples, pinching and pulling, imagining it is Ted doing this to me.
My lips part in a silent moan. It is not possible to keep this surfeit of desire concealed. Like a glass filled to overflowing, my arousal runs free and threatens to drown me.
I’m rarely at a loss for words but in this moment, I can’t speak. In silence, I push him to
wards the bed. The room is quiet, punctuated only by our heavy breathing. My fingers shake as I buckle the straps around his ankles. There are no convenient spots to fasten the ties on my bed if I want to position him in a spread-eagled position, so I fasten the two cuffs together. Unlike us girls, Ted’s legs don’t need to be spread open for me to access his love stick.
His cock strains towards me. I lick my lips. I yearn to wrap my mouth around his thickness, hear his moans as I pleasure him, but there’s an agenda and sucking Ted’s dick is not part of it. “If you behave,” I say to him, “I’ll give you a reward.”
Hey, I listen to those boring HR lectures. Evidently, people are motivated by rewards, not punishment. I’m about to test my theory on Ted Ashburn.
His eyes are heated; his expression is strained. I wonder how it feels to give himself so willingly to my control. I wonder what it would feel like to be tied up, knowing that your only path to pleasure is through your partner. But if he feels disquiet or uncertainty, it’s not visible in his eyes. He looks the way I feel – the anticipation of this moment has built to a point where any small touch risks a complete combustion.
My nerveless fingers fasten the cuffs around his wrists, tying them together and positioning them above his head. As I do that, my breasts graze his face and he captures a nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting till I moan with pleasure. But though I’m not at all averse to Ted playing with my nipples – c’mon, I’m not made of stone – Ted’s repeatedly doing things he’s not supposed to be doing and that has got to stop.
Back I go to the dresser and when I return, it’s with a riding crop in my hand. Thank heavens for online shopping, amirite? I trace the leather over his nipples, over his rock hard abs and around his balls. “Perhaps the rules aren’t clear,” I tell him. “Do only what you are told.”
His eyes have widened on seeing the riding crop. Perfect. That’s the reaction I want. “Don’t move your hands or your legs,” I command.
I trace the crop along his hips. He shivers slightly. His eyes are hazy with lust. “Tease,” he accuses. There’s a drop of precum beading at the head of his cock. His arousal is visible and the urge to sink down on that hard shaft overwhelms me once again.
Agenda, Nat, I rebuke myself. Stick with the plan, but this time, I can’t resist. I straddle him, facing his legs and bend my mouth towards his penis. The way I’m positioned, I’m very aware that he’s getting a great view of my pouty, glistening pussy lips, maybe even of my puckered asshole, hiding between my firm cheeks.
An image flashes in my head of his big hands parting those cheeks, forcing a finger inside my butthole. My face flushes at that vision. Okay, I’m much more turned on at that idea than I should be.
He moans as my lips wrap around his cock. “Ah, Nat,” he hisses out. “Such a great view. You are driving me insane, sweet Natalie. It’s killing me that I can’t touch you.”
That’s the plan, Mr. Ashburn. We’re perfectly on track.
His cock jerks in my mouth, but I’m not going to let him come so quickly. “Not yet,” I growl. I lift my head off him and pivot my body. My thighs straddle his shoulders, spread wide open. My pussy’s right in his face. “Suck,” I order.
“Gladly.” His response is instantaneous. His talented tongue gets to work as I sit on his face and rub my pussy over him. I throw my head back as his lips suck my labia into his mouth and the tip of his tongue circles my clitoris.
I want to sit aloft him, though each spike of lust wracking my body prevents it. I slump back on his body, but my hips stay pushed into his mouth. I’m not letting him stop. No. I need this. This is flaming, burning sensation and I can’t turn away, even if I want to. And I don’t want to.
The sounds of my whimpers fill the small room. My fingers reach for my nipples and I tweak them hard. I feel his eyes on me as I touch myself. “Very nice,” he groans into my pussy. “One day, I’m going to make you sit with your legs spread open and you are going to masturbate for me, Natalie.”
“But not today,” I remind him firmly. “Less talking, more sucking.”
Okay, I have to struggle not to laugh at that last bit. Or groan aloud at the sheer corniness of that line. ‘Less talking, more sucking?’ What am I, a character in some kind of sleazy b-grade skit?
His eyes dance with amusement, but he obediently resumes his work. My body trembles and shakes and shivers of desire run through me. My thighs lock around his face, keeping his mouth on my pussy. I never want to let go.
My first orgasm catches me unawares. I can feel myself rise towards it, but it takes over so quickly, so unexpectedly. It usually takes me much longer to get off when a partner’s going down on me. “Ah fuck,” I scream out. “Oh god Ted fuck me. Please, don’t stop, don’t stop…”
The words are rambling and incoherent, a stream of consciousness bursting from my mouth. There’s no thought left in my brain. My hands reach out and grip his hair, holding his head where I want it, pulled away from my clitoris. I need a moment before I’m ready for another round.
Then again, there’s that dick. Fine, I find it difficult to resist that dick. Trust me, if you could see what I see, you’d find it impossible to do anything other than roll a condom over and sink down on every hard inch.
I almost want to film this. Almost. Even I have standards.
I slide my hips back and get a condom on him. His eyes follow my fingers and he clenches them shut when my hands close around his shaft. “Natalie,” he groans as I pump him. “You are such a tease.”
“I am,” I retort. I impale myself on his dick. If I had more willpower, I’d tease him. I’d rock back and forth, rubbing his head against my lips till he begs me to continue. But alas, I want him with painful need that will not be denied another moment.
Lust is openly etched in his expression and we both hiss in pleasure. I raise and lower on him, riding him as if the only thing that matters is my pleasure. I swivel my hips and grind. His hips pound hard into me, slapping against my skin.
The next time I do this, I’m going to untie his hands so he can play with my breasts while I’m fucking him. Also, if I thought the smell of the massage oil reminded of sex before? Now, there’s no room for doubt.
His thick cock stretches me. Each stroke hits the back of my pussy, causing me to groan loudly, yet I don’t pull away. I repeat the motion.
His fingers fist in his bindings. “Natalie,” he clenches out. “I’m so close.”
I want to prolong his torture by preventing him from coming, but to do that, I’ll have to cease my own movement and I don’t want to. I’m rocking back and forth on him, pumping up and down, chasing my own climax. Stopping is not an option.
It’s a gigantic cliché, but I want to come at the same time as him. “Come for me,” I gasp out. I’m watching his face, trying to gauge the precise moment he’s going to orgasm.
When his face tightens just so, I know he’s almost there. I speed up and my fingers rub feverishly at my engorged clitoris. We both scream out at the same second, then we slump against each other, sated.
My second climax is a doozy. If I had to grade it, it would rate even higher than the first one. I mean, I like his tongue. He does impeccable work with it, but at the end of the day, there’s no substitute for dick.
Lying in bed with him afterwards, I realize that if Joan was here, she’d point out that my blackmail has now escalated to sexual assault.
Chapter 9
The weekend draws to a close much before I’m ready. It’s Monday morning far sooner than I’m ready for it.
The reality is that I can’t go on like this. I used to wake up anticipating my week. Now, the emotion that’s at the forefront is dread. I’ve made it for four years by managing to suppress my feelings and by pushing my unhappiness to the background.
As annoying as I find it, Ted’s obvious enjoyment in his job has stripped away some of the lies I tell myself. There’s never been a day in the last four years where I’ve been as enthusiastic about ge
tting to work as he is on a daily basis. His presence at SB&C has helped me confront my own lack of motivation.
Monday rolls by. My tension rises as the day goes on. Every time my phone rings, I jump. Every time someone walks into my office, my hands shake. I’m a bundle of nerves.
My friends would say that my conscience is finally beginning to trouble me.
Talking about my friends, I haven’t heard from them. Usually, there’s some funny email conversations through the weekend, a couple of snarky text messages here and there, but I haven’t heard from them since Friday. I’m reasonably sure I’m getting the silent treatment.
I can’t pass up a dare and I’m stubborn as all fuck. These personality flaws aren’t serving me well. What was an initial light-hearted conversation in a bar has escalated dramatically. The entire situation is now well beyond my comfort zone, but I’m too obstinate to set things right. Two weeks, I repeat to myself. I want my two weeks.
Monday blends into Tuesday. Ted continues to bring me lunch every day. I contemplate asking him over to my apartment again. When I close my eyes, all I can remember is his strong hands massaging my body. I dream of his talented tongue caressing my pussy, pushing me to climax after climax. I can’t stop craving his hard dick driving into me. My body vibrates with desire every single time he walks by. Lunch is an exercise in frustration.
And he can tell. His eyes are amused when they survey me. “Order me to your place,” he suggests. “You want more, don’t you, Natalie? You understand the allure of control now?”
I do understand. He closed his eyes and jumped off a metaphorical ledge, trusting that I would catch him. That kind of faith is such an aphrodisiac. If the situation was flipped around, I wonder if I’d be able to do the same thing.
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