Vouloir

by J. D. Chase

I trained him. Then let him loose. He had a crazy twelve months, on my advice—I’d done something similar in my time, gaining invaluable experience. Then he’d returned to me. But, at the time, I had a live-in slave. A 24/7 sub. I could have been greedy—God knows I was tempted. But it wasn’t what he needed. It wouldn’t have been fair. So I cut him loose.

  He was snapped up almost immediately. He’s loved. He’s treasured. He’s lonely, owned by another club Domme but she’s back in Australia, her homeland, to support her father who is battling cancer. He undertook a vow of chastity for the duration but she gave him an escape—probably because she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. She expressly excluded me from the conditions of the vow. It makes sense; I trained him. I know him like no other. And I respect both of them.

  As I look down into those sincere eyes, I can’t help but smile. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist, I thought I’d end up wearing him down one day but here he is, sacrificing his own feelings to help me. That humbles me and, right now, if there was another way, I’d take it. But I need to restore the balance of power. I need to push the darkness inside me back into its little box. And I need Gabe to help me secure the lid.

  ‘Strip, you worthless piece of crap,’ I sneer, knowing that it will give him as much a thrill as it does me. ‘Let’s see if you’re still as fucking hopeless as before. Or whether you’ve finally managed to man up.’

  It’s like flicking a switch. The fire ignites in his eyes before he begins to unbutton his shirt. I’m almost beside myself at the prospect of getting my hands on such a fine specimen of manliness again. I flick my eyes to Dean; he’s watching closely. I’ll show him how gracious submission should be. I point my crop at my feet and Gabe sinks to his knees in one, fluid movement. I begin to feel like myself again, drawing back power from him. Power that I need to survive.

  I study him kneeling before me, naked and proud. The sight is breathtaking, it screams masculinity. I wrap a leather blindfold around his head before trailing the narrow tip of my crop from his chin to his beautiful cock. I stroke it gently and watch it flex in needy anticipation. I’m almost salivating. I know what this man is capable of.

  ‘On the couch,’ I hiss. ‘Let’s see whether you can control yourself these days.’ His control was amongst the best I’d witnessed. But then I trained him.

  I watch him spring effortlessly back onto the soles of his feet and turn to the couch. He’s effectively blind but he doesn’t stumble. He’s used to it. He memorised the location of every item of furniture as soon as it was game on, maybe even earlier, and his spatial awareness is well honed. He reclines on the couch, tucking his hands underneath him. He’s a mass of rippling muscle . . . but my eye is drawn to one muscle in particular—and it’s not even a muscle at all. It’s more akin to a sponge inside . . . and it’s soaked up more than enough of the life force it needs to spring into action. I swallow.

  I’m gagging to witness his impressive control and see just how accomplished he is nowadays. Tease and denial is a passion of mine. And his. I’ll take him right to the edge, right to his limit. Then deny him release. Tease. Deny. Repeat. He’s mine for the duration of this session. That means his orgasms belong to me. I’ll dictate if, when and how he comes. I feel for him though, he’ll find himself torn. As much as he likes to impress, he is always tempted to err. Who can blame him? My punishments are always so pleasurable.

  I put my crop down. A true Dominant has no need for props. They’re an accessory, not a necessity. I trail my fingertips across his pecs, watching goose bumps rise in their wake. His skin is a silky smooth coating on top of well-toned muscle. I reach the top of his mouth-watering V and pause, my fingers almost vibrating with need. I curl my fingers and gently rake my nails down the diagonal recess next to the raised contour of solid muscle. Oh. So. Slowly. I feel him shudder under my touch.

  It’s been too long. Too fucking long. Now, as my hand closes around that delectable cock, I intend to claim what’s rightfully mine. Albeit temporarily.

  It’s show time.

  And just like that, the lids on my little boxes close tightly.

  Now to nail the fuckers shut.

  I’M BEGINNING TO THINK that being around this sex therapist is like being trapped on a rollercoaster. It’s a complete head fuck. Her behaviour and persona is so changeable. I’m wondering whether she needs therapy herself. She clearly has issues.

  One minute I respect her as a professional. The next I want to fuck her. One minute she’s fearless, the next she’s a mess. Then she’s back, as if nothing’s happened. Then I respect her again . . . and on it goes.

  Right now, I want to fuck her.

  Watching her command a six-foot guy so effortlessly is mesmerising. It’s like she has him under hypnosis. Her skilful hands and mouth are waging war on his cock.

  Not a war like that psycho bitch waged on my cock. No, this is a war of pleasure. He’s trying hard to hold off coming—I can see it in his face, the tension in his muscles and the way he’s breathing. She taunts him softly, telling him that he’s not to come. But she’s relentless in her efforts to make him do what she’s told him not to. Then, when he finally gets close to losing the battle, she denies him anyway. Her fingers move elsewhere.

  But soon she’s back and the process begins again. One time it might be by her hand. She spits on his cock to get it wet and slippery and then she wanks him. Sometimes gentle, concentrating on the head as her other hand tickles or massages his ball sack. Sometimes, she wanks him so hard I can hear his balls slapping.

  The next time, it might be using her mouth. Fuck . . . that’s a sight to see. I’d pay good money to have her take my cock all the way fucking in, just like that. And the noises she makes. It’s so damned erotic, just watching. It must be fucking incredible to experience. Her hair is loose and it’s sticking to her face with saliva.

  And don’t get me started on her tits. Every time she leans forward, they defy any gravitational force. I’ve willed them to fall free but, so far, they haven’t. I imagine it’s me lying there, feeling her hands and mouth on my cock, and those tits are swinging free, rubbing against my body. Soft and full. I doubt I’d be able to keep my hands off them—something he’s managing to do.

  He’s so fucking disciplined. He’s everything I’m not.

  I couldn’t do that. I’d come in seconds. It would all be over. I wonder how long it’s taken him to exercise such control.

  She’s insulting him again. I can see they both get off on it. It reminds me of my boss saying those crude things to me. It was the first time a woman had spoken to me like that. Hell, it was the first time I’d ever heard any woman speak to a man like that during sex. It confused the hell out of me. I liked it but I didn’t think I should. Hearing Veuve say derogatory things to Gabe, knowing that they both love it, is incredibly horny.

  I feel a bit like a perv, sitting here watching. The only saving grace is that my cock is so sore that it can’t get a proper hard-on. That’s another first. I feel horny in my head, but my cock’s not interested. I shake painkillers out of the foil packet in my pocket and throw them back. Anything to take the edge off the pain.

  Now what’s she doing? Just how long can they keep this going? Surely, he can’t hold off much longer? And surely she’s in need of a thorough fucking now?

  I don’t get it. I have so many questions from the other night that I’ve not had a chance to ask. I thought I was going to be a Dom and after what that crazy bitch did to me last night, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved with this type of thing at all. But if I did, I was going to be the one in charge.

  But watching these two . . . I think I get it. If that bitch, Elaine, had done this to me . . . excepting the fact that I’d have shot my load in her face within the first minute, I’d probably have loved it. It would have been a shock to the system, but I think I’d have got it then.

  Having a woman dominate you with such skill, as Veuve is doing the barman, is challenging. It’s like a game. A ga
me of pleasure—for both of you. And surely, if you play this game a lot, you get better and better at prolonging the game. Men who fuck a lot are said to last longer. Surely this involves the same philosophy.

  Fuck me backwards! She’s climbing on top and sitting on his face, facing away from him. His cock is going mental. He can’t last now. No way. She’s grinding her pussy all over his face and now she’s reaching forward to wank him at the same time. Man alive, there’s no man in the land that wouldn’t blow his load right now. I don’t fucking care who he is, how much of a porn star, no man could hold back. I feel like I’m about to come and my cock isn’t even properly hard.

  No way! She’s not even letting him come. She’s backed off again. Just look at that self-satisfied smile on her face.

  Now what . . . oh, she’s nipped the inside of his thigh! That made him jump. And again!

  She looks over at me. She’s so fucking turned on, it’s like there’s a neon sign over her head. She wants fucking. Badly. But how will she get that if she lets him . . . oh, I see, if he can’t hold it back now, he doesn’t get to fuck her afterwards. Will she let him come under her hand or her mouth? Or will she let him fuck her?

  So that’s his reward; he’s earning the right to fuck her. And by then they’ll both be so turned on . . . will that make it more intense like when I stroke my cock but take my time? They’ll be gagging for it. How would that feel? I can’t imagine it. But I want it. Oh man, do I want it.

  I want someone to look at me like that.

  Touch me like that.

  I want to be taught how to hold back.

  I want to be taught to be like the man, lying before me—almost overcome with pleasure but fighting it. Earning the respect and a whole new level of pleasure from the woman who’s now sucking on his cock like it’s her last meal, whilst grinding herself on his face.

  What’s his tongue doing right now? I know what mine would be doing.

  Oh God, what does she taste like? How does she feel?

  She pulls back, releasing his cock. He’s close. He must be. She sits back more forcefully on his face and threatens to suffocate him. She looks at me. Or at least she looks in my direction—it’s like she’s looking through me as she thrusts her hips, sliding herself back and forth across his face.

  She lifts off and I hear him gasping for breath. My God, his cock’s lurching. And fuck me, it looks swollen to its limit. There’s no way he can take any more, surely.

  I see her eyes focus on me. My heart thuds.

  ‘You want some?’ she asks. Her voice is deep—so sultry and seductive. I nod before I even realise the implication of her words.

  She climbs off him completely and beckons to me. I go over, trying not to look like an eager puppy. But what the fuck am I doing here? I suddenly feel awkward. I mean she’s with him and . . . what am I going to do?

  She turns so that her back’s to me then bends over him. She slides her feet apart and looks at me over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine. I think she reads my anxieties because she gives me a smile. I know she understands and I relax myself, just a little.

  Then she slides her hands back and grasps hold of her inner thighs, pulling them apart. She dips her back and I can no longer see her face. I hear that sinfully seductive voice though . . . she says simply, ‘Drop to your knees and eat me. And do not disappoint.’

  Then, she begins to suck his cock again, noisily.

  I mean . . . she’s sucking his fucking cock. He’s just had his face in her pussy and now she wants me to lick it. And not disappoint?

  I’m frozen to the spot. In what? Terror? No. Shame? No. Surprise? Yeah, but I’m getting used to that.

  I’m standing here out of sheer indecision. Minutes ago, I wanted to be him. So what the fuck am I waiting for?

  I slide onto my knees, barely noticing the wave of pain in my groin. No, I’m too busy grabbing hold of her hips and sinking my face into her.

  I’m learning. I forget my previous M.O. of tender licks and tonguings . . . I get stuck in. I find her clit and suck it hard. I’m rewarded when she tenses her thighs and pushes back into my face. Then I do what she demanded. I eat her. I suck, lick, slurp and nip as I pull her hips back, into my face, my fingers digging into her fleshy hips. I grind my nose against her. I rasp my stubble against her. I eat her as though my life depends upon her coming on my face.

  My face is covered. My eyes. My nostrils. I shake my head experimentally as I suck on her clit and she pushes back into me. I think I hear her moan but I’m not certain. To make sure, I redouble my efforts.

  Nobody is more shocked than me when she comes on my face. I feel her legs tremble and she reaches back, pushing my face into her from behind. I can’t breathe but I don’t stop sucking on that clit, holding it with my teeth as my tongue strums across it until I can’t feel it anymore.

  She releases me and I pull back, gasping for breath. My lungs are burning as I draw down huge breaths. Dots blur my vision. But I don’t care. I did it.

  I fucking did it!

  And I feel elated.

  But then . . . oh my fucking God . . . then, she turns and kisses me hard on the lips.

  ‘That, was fucking good,’ she says. There’s fierce pride in her voice. ‘Now, for your reward.’

  I frown. Reward? What reward?

  She tells me to pull down my clothes and lie down on the couch. Gabe gets up, a smile on his face. No wonder; lucky bastard!

  Oh, but then she leans over me, telling me now to worry, that she’ll not hurt me. She starts to suck my soft cock with such tenderness and care that I actually don’t feel the pain. I’m floating on some cloud somewhere. I’m having my cock sucked by a fucking sex professional, for fuck’s sake.

  I feel a rhythmic motion and, when I tear my eyes away from the sight of her, servicing my cock, I see that Gabe is taking her from behind. Gently.

  She takes one of my hands and presses it to her pussy. I recoil, shocked. I mean, there’s a man’s cock down there. She keeps hold of it and presses my fingers to her clit. Then I understand and begin to rub gently. She takes my other hand and presses it to her tit. I begin to caress her gently but she slaps at my hand, knocking it away.

  I watch as she pulls and pinches her nipple. I mean . . . pulls! Pinches! Rolls! Like it’s a fucking toy, made of rubber or something. Then she puts my hand back. I try and, after a few moments, I hear her moans of pleasure. I flick her nipple. Hard. It just popped into my head, so I did it. It makes her jump but the moan she gives makes my cock flex. But, with her mouth on my cock, I barely feel the pain.

  As my cock grows harder, so does my confidence. Or at least it feels that way but it could be because she’s taking my cock into her throat. Another first for me! Her pace is still slow and she isn’t sucking hard so it’s more pleasurable than painful. She’s placed her hands either side of me to brace herself but I can feel that Gabe’s now fucking her a little more forcefully. Not hard. Not fast. But he’s picking up the pace.

  I picture what we’d look like to anyone walking past. My eyes flick to the doorway. Oh my God. There, over Veuve’s head, I see the young cleaner standing and staring at the scene before her.

  I smile at her. Her eyebrows raise. I feel like a fucking stud. I’m world class porn star.

  Okay, so it’s an illusion.

  But it’s a start.

  And right now, the possibilities are more than I’ve ever imagined. Confusing as fuck, but there are possibilities aplenty.

  I like women dominating me sexually. I like to be given orders. I like to please.

  I’m a submissive.

  And a fuck off muscly bloke like Gabe is a submissive and proud as hell of it.

  Well, fuck . . . maybe this is for me.

  I LET MYSELF INTO my flat and head straight to The Kid’s room. He’s fast asleep, bless him, so I head back to the kitchen. I dump my bag on my way to the wine rack. I grab a bottle; the nearest one to hand. It doesn’t really matter. I just need ten minutes to si
t, sip and switch off.

  This afternoon has gone unexpectedly well. Gabe has declared that his momentary lapse of chastity doesn’t count because it was therapy for Dean—the pace was dictated by Dean’s injuries and was in no way what I or Gabe wanted or needed. But Gabe knows that he broke his vow for me; to bring me back from the darkness. He did it to remind me of my identity; my rise from the dungeon of despair to the Dominant I am today. That is the only guaranteed release from the shroud of darkness when it descends. It doesn’t happen often but I have triggers and sometimes they come at me from nowhere. At the memory, I hastily pour a glass but as I watch the deep, burgundy liquid form a puddle in front of my eyes, I’m reminded harshly of the events of the night before. My stomach churns.

  I pour the contents into the sink, turning on the tap to wash it away. I feel sick. I think it’s safe to say that I’ll be laying off red wine for a while. This is what I do. I push things out of my mind. I could be accused of not facing up to things—I have been, many times. But it’s how I deal with things. But now the sight of the wine has allowed memories of last night to creep back inside my head. I’ve heard nothing from Bernie, since she updated me on Dan by text a little after I got home, not realising that I already knew. And I’ve heard nothing from anyone else at the Trust. They failed him. Repeatedly. There’ll be an inquest and they’ll be looking for a scapegoat. Someone to blame. They have blood on their hands but they’ll happily wipe them clean on my reputation.

  I’m ready for it, should it happen. I’m already dealing with the facts of the matter. I’ve already constructed another little box in my head. Over the coming days and weeks, my feelings of helplessness and guilt will become confined to it, before the lid is closed. If I’m implicated, if Bernie’s friend doesn’t keep schtum, it will take longer—the inquest could be twelve months away but, barring any blabbing, there will be no surprises. I don’t regret breaking the rules; I know that visiting Dan at the hospital was the right thing to do. I had to try to give him hope.