Dominant Persuasions Anthology: 12 Tales of D/s, Where Mastery Meets Passion

by Anthology

  The light turned green, and the SUV turned the corner and disappeared. Patricia’s shoulders drooped, an outward sign of anxiety and disappointment.

  Suddenly, the world went black. A hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her impending shriek. Her heart beat fast, but she willed her body to calm down. This was what she wanted. She had asked to be kidnapped by a dominant stranger. He was going to spend the weekend using her body for his pleasure.

  The deal she had worked out with Whitney specified the kinds of things to which she consented: kidnapping, bondage, spankings, and a whole host of sexual things she had always wanted to try. These were things she had been too ashamed to share with Justin. Even if he was still sexually attracted to her, he wouldn’t understand this side of her desire. Being a submissive herself, Whitney had understood Trish’s desires, and she’d promised Trish that she knew the perfect Dom. It was somebody Whitney had known for years and trusted implicitly.

  “Patricia?” The gruff voice sent shivers down her spine. His chest pressed against her back. He was roughly the same size and build as Justin, exactly as she had specified. The match was almost uncanny.

  His hand remained over her mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded. Her head didn’t move all that much, but she knew he felt the motion of her confirmation.

  “I’m going to release you. Don’t turn around or move until I tell you to do so. Do you understand?” He whispered the words in a sexy, husky voice that also managed to sound enough like Justin’s to put her at ease.

  A thrill ran from her belly to her pussy. She craved this kind of danger. She nodded again, and he released his hold.

  Light flooded her eyes, blinding her to the empty road in front. She took a deep breath through her mouth, and the darkness returned. This time, a silky blindfold pressed against her forehead and cheeks. He adjusted the elastic strap behind her head.

  “Can you see?” The sexy growl had morphed, and now it sounded less like Justin.

  Patricia shook her head. No light peeked in from any point. The swatch of silk hugged the curves of her cheeks and molded to the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m going to guide you to the car. Follow my directions exactly. From this point forward, you are slave, and I am Sir. The safeword is ‘red.’ Do you understand?” He spoke this directive in a gravelly whisper, telling her things she already knew. She had chosen the safeword and the terms by which they would be known. Though she wasn’t sure about being called ‘slave,’ it had sounded sexy in the romance novels she’d read, so she’d decided to take a chance on it. Thrusting them into roles depersonalized the experience the way she wanted.

  She wondered if he would ever use his real voice. The force and strength weren’t disguised, but she still wanted to hear what he really sounded like. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” He hissed the question, a silent warning in the single word.

  It did the trick. “Yes, Sir.”

  Using grunts and growls, he guided her to the car and helped her inside. Strong hands aided her in securing the seat belt, and she panicked a little. He leaned across her, and Patricia inhaled his clean scent, looking for any clue that might tell her something about her mystery man. From the few times he’d brushed lightly against her, she knew she liked his build, but she wasn’t able to discern anything more. The scent of her fabric softener and mouthwash disguised any scent he carried.

  The door closed, blocking out the distant sounds of traffic. The opposite door opened and closed. Patricia listened to the small noises that indicated his movements as he latched his seat belt and started the car. Butterflies fought epic battles in her tummy.

  Silence filled the SUV. No music played on the radio to distract her from thoughts about what might happen in the next few hours. Minutes stretched. The dull sounds of other cars faded, and she guessed they were heading out of the city.

  She hoped to God he wasn’t going to murder her and dump the body. She’d known Whitney forever. Certainly her friend wouldn’t set her up with a Dom in whom she didn’t have 100% confidence. Right?

  Nothing about this man seemed overly dangerous or threatening. Though his voice had been gruff and low, he didn’t sound cruel, and he had been courteous when he’d loaded her into the car. She wished she could see his eyes. The eyes revealed so much of a person’s soul, and Patricia had always found herself attracted to eyes. Her husband had gentle blue eyes. She used to get wet just looking into his expressive baby blues. How long had it been since she had taken the time to actually look at him?

  “Take off your shoes and socks.”

  The directive, like the ride, was quiet and controlled. This man exuded strength, which she liked. However, her panties remained dry. Her body didn’t respond the same way as the myriad heroines in her favorite erotic novels. So far the experience interested her. Except for that first moment, no sense of excitement had rushed through her veins. She had thought waiting would increase her sense of anticipation, but she found waiting while blindfolded to be highly overrated as a method of increasing anything other than her frustration and impatience.

  Patricia toed off one sneaker and then the other. She peeled away the plain white ankle socks and wiggled her toes against the floor mat. It was clean, scratching gently at the bottoms of her feet.

  “Good girl. Lose the jeans.”

  Patricia hesitated. “We’re in public.”

  “No talking, slave. Remove your jeans or you will be punished.”

  She knew they were well outside of the city limits. She knew the countryside boasted very little population. The chance of anyone seeing her was slim to none. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to unbutton her jeans. Nobody but Justin had seen her naked in more years than she could remember. She wasn’t young and svelte anymore. Two pregnancies and the passage of years had left their marks.

  More than that, Patricia wanted Justin. This fantasy was doomed from the start because Justin was the only man she wanted to see her naked, to touch her, to kiss her. She couldn’t do this. The fantasy had sounded so wonderful in theory. Whitney had promised the fulfillment of her deepest desires—but her deepest desires involved her husband.

  Tears soaked the back of the blindfold, pressing hot against her eyelids. “I can’t do this.”

  Silence greeted her declaration. This fantasy belonged to him as much as it belonged to her. Patricia’s heart beat faster. What if he didn’t let her out of her agreement?

  “Please take me back. I can’t do this.” She choked on the words and begged with every fiber of her being.

  “No one is around, slave. No one will see you but me.”

  There was something in his throaty whisper, something familiar that reminded her too much of Justin. Her heart broke as the reality of what she was doing crashed into her better sense. She was cheating on Justin. She was cheating on the man to whom she had pledged her fidelity and love. He deserved better than this. Her tears came faster.

  “Red. I can’t do this. I’m married. I love my husband. This was a mistake, a huge mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She didn’t care that he heard her sobs.

  The car slowed, and Patricia breathed a sigh of relief as she anticipated the U-turn that would take her home. She could be back before Justin ever knew she was gone. This would be yet another thing to throw into the chasm between them.

  Gravel crunched under the tires as the car stopped. Patricia yanked away the blindfold. It wasn’t that she wanted to see this mystery man as much as that she wanted to apologize for ruining his fantasy.

  She turned to him and gasped. Unreadable blue eyes stared at her. Tiny, familiar laugh lines edged them, though no smile lit his face. His lips were drawn tight against his teeth in an almost grimace. Several expressions—anger, hurt, determination—suggested themselves, but nothing definite manifested.

  “Justin.”

  “Trish.”

  Humiliation and shame warred for space in her chest. Both burned hotly on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I w
as thinking. I don’t know why I did this.” She reached for her socks.

  “Leave them.”

  The hard edge to his voice halted her actions. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

  He turned to stare at something near the steering wheel. “You were planning to cheat on me.”

  She had nothing to say to that. A denial would be appropriate, but it would be a lie, and she had already apologized—not that a mere apology would do the trick. What she’d planned to do was unforgivable, and she wouldn’t blame him if he asked for a divorce.

  “It’s my fault,” he said. His strong, confident voice came out quiet and subdued. “I work late all the time, and I’m frequently gone on the weekends. I leave you alone a lot. You joke about being a single mother, but it isn’t a joke, not really. When I stand back and I look at my role in our family, I don’t see that I’m necessary.”

  She had to interrupt him. “You’re necessary, Justin. The girls love you. They miss you when you’re gone. It’s just that they’re so used to you not being around.” Having made the wrong point, she trailed off. This was another thing to add to the list of ways in which they no longer communicated. Everything she said came out wrong.

  His long fingers splayed across his thighs. He pressed the tips hard against the muscles there, rendering the skin around his nails a bloodless white. “When I found out what you were planning, I was so pissed at you.”

  She held her breath and tried not to look at him. Anguish felt like fire ants marching down her throat and biting the lining of her stomach. She didn’t bother to wonder how he’d found out; Whitney had obviously told him everything.

  “But then I thought about it from your perspective.”

  Something in his voice changed. He traced the seam on the side of his jeans, and she knew his anger had fled. It terrified her because at least if he was angry, then it meant he still cared.

  “I’m not having an affair, Trish. I’ve never even thought about having one. I can’t remember the last time I made love to you. We haven’t had sex in months. I miss it, but I’m not looking elsewhere.”

  She had wondered about his fidelity so many times, but she had always avoided thinking about what it meant for their relationship. The idea of him with another woman made her feel numb inside. She had been too afraid of the pain to face the issue head-on. The sad state of their relationship was a painful topic, but she knew Justin needed to have his say. She owed him that much.

  “When we decided to have kids, we promised each other that our relationship would always come first, that we would make a point to communicate with each other. We haven’t done that, not really.”

  She knew what he meant. Telling him the times and locations of their daughter’s soccer game wasn’t conversation. It was small talk, filler. It was all they had.

  He fiddled with the locking mechanism on the keychain dangling from the ignition. She watched him from the corner of her eye. “When Whitney came to me, and I saw your answers on the questionnaire, I was a little shocked. Mostly, it made me sad.” Now he looked at her, piercing her with those eyes she never could resist. “I wondered why you never told me you wanted those things, but then I realized the answer was pretty obvious.”

  Patricia closed her eyes against the judgment she knew was coming. The things she had asked for on her application went far beyond the occasional kinky games they’d once played. Whitney had explained the difference between a flogger, a tawse, and a single-tail. Terms like “butt plug” and “anal beads” were no longer vague images in her head. Even nipple clamps came in a variety of styles she never would have imagined. In fifteen years, Justin had never indicated an interest in any of those things.

  While talking with Whitney, she’d felt safe, and that had given her the confidence to explore these new ideas. Her friend had not judged her, but she’d definitely betrayed her, not that it mattered. Actions had consequences, and she needed to take responsibility for what she’d done. Right now, she only cared about what Justin intended. “Are you going to divorce me?”

  He stared at her for too long. His silence and lack of reaction made her heart ache. She hadn’t meant to voice that question. She didn’t want to give him an out.

  Finally, he shook his head. “No, Trish. I don’t want to live my life without you. I would kill the man who touched you, but I would never give you up.”

  She sagged with relief, but her body trembled uncontrollably. He clicked the release on her seat belt and pulled her across the console and onto his lap. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and he smoothed back her hair. It had been so very long since he’d held her. The sweetness of his care made her shake harder. He stroked her until her tremors subsided, and then he just held her against him.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you asked me to take you home. Truthfully I was surprised you got in the car. I honestly thought you’d chicken out way before now.” He murmured the words against her temple. The caress of his lips against that sensitive patch of skin made her yearn for far more than she had a right to expect.

  A bemused laugh forced its way from her chest. “I only got into the car because when you blindfolded me, you pressed your chest against my back and I, well, you felt like you.”

  Justin grasped her chin, tilting her face to his. The kiss was gentle, full of tenderness and regret. Though he had said he would never let her go, Patricia wondered where this fiasco left the state of their marriage.

  When the kiss ended, she shifted, trying to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. The futility of the effort struck her full on, and she gathered enough courage to ask the question she should have asked when she tore the blindfold off to see him sitting in the driver’s seat. “Justin, what are you doing here?”

  She expected him to shrug or feign indifference, but steely determination glittered behind his eyes. “Whitney was convinced that you wanted me to fulfill your fantasy. Once I saw your answers to her survey, I understood what she saw. I hoped she was right.”

  She nodded, a little overwhelmed by their friend’s perceptiveness and the lack of anger in Justin’s response. “What now?”

  His smile was too cocksure. “The way I see it, we paid for a rental car and a nice cabin in a remote area with a wicked-looking dungeon decor, and the kids are with your parents. You take back that safeword, and I’ll carry out my end of the bargain.”

  Shock rendered her immobile. Finally she lifted her face and leaned back to look up at him. He was a half foot taller than her, and the height difference hadn’t completely disappeared because she was sitting on his lap. She let her eyes drink in the lines and contours of the handsome face she knew so well. “You’re not into any of that stuff.”

  Now his grin turned wicked. “Oh, honey, Whitney had been training me in the finer points of bondage and sadism for the past six weeks. All those nights and weekends when you thought I was working late, I was attending munches and beginner Dom classes. I’ve spent hours talking to other Doms and watching them with submissives. I even have a mentor. There are so many things I want to do to you, most of which never occurred to me before I saw your questionnaire.”

  He ran his hand from her knee to her hip and back, a lazy gesture that soothed her nerves.

  Patricia bit her lip. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to ask you to do something that doesn’t turn you on.”

  He palmed her breast. Heat penetrated the tank top and the thick layer of her bra. “It turns me on, honey. The idea of having you tied up, your ass in the air with my handprint all over it, begging for more—that definitely does it for me.”

  Relief was temporary, because she realized what he’d described. She swallowed. “Will you punish me for this?” She didn’t elaborate.

  He nodded, a brief, swift acknowledgment, though his eyes never left hers. “I’ll teach you to even think about letting any man but me put his hands on what’s mine.”

  With that, he pinched through the fabric, rolling her nipple b
etween his fingers. Patricia yelped even as the pain dissipated and tingles radiated in its wake.

  “Tell me you want this, Trish. Tell me you want to belong to me. Tell me you want me to use your body, to torture you for my own pleasure until you sob and beg for release.”

  Cream soaked her panties, generated from a combination of the pinch and his description. This was the fantasy she’d wanted. She took a deep breath. “Yes, Justin. I want to belong to you. Only you. I take back the safeword.”

  He eased her back into the passenger seat. “Stay put.”

  Patricia watched as he exited the car, biting her tongue in an effort to remember her place. This was an unfamiliar side to the man she had married all those years ago. A stranger wore her husband’s body and sported a devious smile she hadn’t seen in far too long.

  He came around the front of the SUV and opened her door. “Come here, Trish.” He held out a hand to help her from the high seat.

  Patricia looked at the gravel on the shoulder of the road and then at her bare feet. Glancing at Justin, she hoped for a reprieve, but she found no mercy there. Still she hesitated.

  With an impatient growl, he lifted her from the seat and shoved her against the outside of the back door, pinning her with his chest and hips. A thrill ran through her body, sending heat to her core. She hadn’t realized her forty-year-old husband was still strong enough to sling her around. He looked good, but he hadn’t been to a gym in years. She knew her eyes were wide, and she made no effort to temper or hide her reaction.

  The gravel beneath her feet was not an issue because he barely let her toes graze the ground.

  “You need a lesson in following orders, my sweet slave. That’s twice now.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Twice?”

  He kissed her, crushing her lips to his and forcing his tongue between them. He established mastery and control. Patricia’s knees turned to jelly, and fire raced to her loins.

  He cupped her mound through the thin denim covering her lower half. His heat fed hers. She moaned, a sound he captured in his mouth. He rubbed the heel of his hand against her pussy. Patricia ground against the pressure, soft mews issuing from deep in her throat.