by Emma York
Going shopping, he’d said. What kind of shopping, I wondered.
I found out when we walked into the shopping centre in the middle of town. He headed straight for the escalator and I knew at once what he had planned. The sides of the escalator were glass. Anyone looking up as we ascended would get a clear view of me, all too clear a view of me. Still he hadn’t said anything and I wasn’t allowed to. I could only follow him up there, holding my breath and keeping my legs clamped together.
“Go into that clothes shop,” he said when the seven year journey to the top was over. I stood panting, catching my breath as if I’d run up there. My heart was still racing as he told me exactly what to do. “Go to the corner in the far right and examine the clothes. Do not move from that spot until I tell you otherwise.
I walked away from him, trying to act calm even if I didn’t feel it. I took as long as I dared moving through the shop, feeling sure every customer was looking at me, even though there were only a few in there.
In the far corner were women’s tops and I ran my hand through the racks, looking but not seeing the different designs. They were out of my price range anyway, this wasn’t somewhere I’d ever shop normally.
I felt his hand on my shoulder a minute later. “Don’t look back,” he said. “Keep browsing.”
I froze on the spot as his hand moved up my skirt, reaching between my legs, stroking my thighs. I glanced around me but we were hidden from view pretty well, unless someone walked around the corner, of course, which they might at any moment.
I felt myself getting wetter the longer he touched me, his fingers moving closer to my clit. When he touched it, I came in just a few seconds, the feelings more intense than anything I’d ever experienced. I quivered in place, my legs shaking as he held me up. Then his hands were gone and I was left panting and alone. I turned but he was nowhere to be seen.
The phone he’d given me beeped a second later as I was still recovering from what had just happened.
Go into changing room one. Undo your jacket. Tuck your skirt into your waist. Stand still. Wait.
I walked on uneasy legs to the changing rooms, my thighs slick with wetness. I picked up a random top on the way, needing an excuse to go in there. What was he about to do?
My nipples rubbed on my blouse as I walked, a constant reminder of how turned on I was by what had just happened.
I showed the top to the sales assistant, passing her by and entering the first room. It was enclosed by walls on three sides, a curtain sliding across to give me privacy. There was an armchair, a mirror, and a couple of hooks, that was it.
I faced the curtain, trying to control my breathing as I undid my jacket, my nipples aching to be touched. I lifted my skirt, doing as he said, feeling myself completely exposed, more so than if I was naked.
The curtain was pulled back a second later and there he was. If anyone else had passed by they would have seen me in that second but luckily it was just him.
As the curtain closed again, he growled. “Kneel.”
I did as he said at once, watching as he unzipped his trousers, reaching inside and pulling out his cock which was bigger than I remembered it, so hard in his hand, throbbing in the bright light of the changing room.
“Open your mouth,” he said and I obeyed at once, desperate to taste it.
He slid it in, stretching my jaw, almost choking me as he thrust towards the back of my throat. He grabbed my head, holding me in place, owning me in that moment. Then he pulled free, letting me take a gasping breath.
“Use your mouth,” he said. “Not your hands.”
He stood perfectly still, his cock jutting obscenely towards me, wet with my saliva. I clasped my hands behind my back, running my tongue along the shaft, finding the tip, circling it, toying with him, showing him how much I wanted him. Then I took him deep, sucking and licking, hungrily devouring him, drawing deep guttural moans from him which he made no attempt to quieten.
I looked up into his eyes, wanting only to please him, glad to see the lust there, the need that I was bringing out of him. I rocked my head back and forth, hoping I was doing the right thing. Without guidance, I couldn’t be sure but his face said he was enjoying this. I licked the tip again and as I did so, he took over, placing his hand on the shaft. “Don’t move,” he said, jerking suddenly fast along his length.
I watched in fascination, never having seen something like this before. As he moved ever faster, he let out a gasp and then muttered, “Don’t move,” again.
A second later, his cock twitched in his hand and my face jolted instinctively backwards as it was hit by hot wetness spurting out of him. I gasped at the feel and he fired more at me, some splashing onto my tongue, yet more running down my cheeks, dripping from my chin.
He smiled at me, his hand slowing as he dipped into my mouth again. “You are not to clear that away,” he said.
“Get up. Walk out of here and out of the shop. There is a ladies room on the ground floor. Only when you are in there may you wipe it from you. Go.”
I stood up, cringing inside. It was one thing for him to do that to me in private but for me to walk out there like this?
I untucked my skirt, zipping up my jacket, trying to ignore the drops of heat that had fallen onto my chest.
I looked pleading up at him but he just shook his head. “Obey,” he said, pulling open the curtain, looking once again like a perfectly respectable businessman.
I walked out, my toes curling in embarrassment as I marched hurriedly out of the clothes shop. He wasn’t behind me. I found the back stairs and went down them, hoping no one was coming up.
I stopped at the bottom. There was a sign for a fire exit. Before I knew what was happening, I was out through it and in the alleyway behind the shopping centre.
I started to run, wiping my face as I went, refusing to think about why I was doing this or where I was going.
I couldn’t have walked any further through the shopping centre. There were too many people. They would all have seen that on my face, known what type of person I was.
What scared me the most as I ran, the thing I refused to even give a moment’s thought to, was the fact that I wanted to do it. What did that say about me? That I wanted the world to see his cum on my face?
I was crying by the time I got home. It was all too much. I couldn’t cope with the intensity of what had happened. The fire exit had given me the easy get out. My subconscious had taken control and got me out of whatever weird state I was in, told me this was bad, this was wrong, this was definitely not what respectable women did.
I ran straight home and straight to my room, collapsing on the bed and beginning to cry. I felt awful. Not only had I run but there was no way of making up for this. I couldn’t take it back. I’d gotten too scared. I couldn’t be his sub, I couldn’t be his, I couldn’t be the things he needed. I was too weak, too pathetic, too tied up in what other people thought of me. I was a bad person for letting him do that and I was equally bad for running from him.
I wanted to do it. That was the worst thing of all. I couldn’t help but think of that as I lay there crying. I had enjoyed everything he’d told me to do and that wasn’t right. I wasn’t right in the head to have enjoyed it.
I pulled the blankets over me and closed my eyes, wanting the entire world to go away and leave me alone.
I heard a knock on the door a second later, followed by Emma asking, “Did you get enough for the article?”
I didn’t answer. I had no idea how to tell her there was no way of writing an article about the things he did without revealing the sort of person I was. Instead, I continued crying quietly. Eventually, she walked away. Then I was truly alone.
FOURTEEN - JAMIE
I was right all along. I should have trusted my judgment. Get too close to someone and you just get hurt. I followed her out of the clothes shop and watched her enter the stairwell. I headed down the escalator and waited.
When she didn’t emerge I walked through
the door and there was the fire exit hanging open, her retreating figure in the distance, running and wiping her face at the same time.
I had gone too far too quickly. I should have trusted my judgment. I should have listened to myself. I got too close to her, I went too fast and now she was running.
This was what happened when I let my guard down and tried to let someone in. Just because it had gone well up until this, didn’t mean things were any different.
She had obeyed every command though. I had only planned to make her flash in the clothes shop but I’d gotten too swept up in the excitement of the moment, unable to resist feeling her despite my better judgment. I should have known I was going too far, that I was getting too close.
It wasn’t her fault, not really. It was all me. I had lived by the rules for so long, get them submitting, then move on. But with her, it had seemed different. She had been more beautiful than the others for a start but it was much more than that. There had seemed like there was a connection between us, something I hadn’t felt for a very long time. I shouldn’t have trusted that feeling. It led to me letting my barriers down and that wasn’t going to happen again. I couldn’t handle the pain, not for a second time. It was already going to be tough to let her go.
But I had been so sure. With her obeying my every command. She had come so quickly with my hand between her legs, that screamed we had a bond. Then in the changing room, doing exactly as I asked, looking so fucking sexy when I walked in. Did she know I owned the place? That I owned the whole shopping centre? Probably not but it hadn’t mattered. It just meant that if I told them not to disturb us in the changing room, they would do as they were told.
So did she. Until she ran.
I hadn’t planned to put myself in her mouth. By then I was running on instinct but it was misguided, so I found out.
When I came, I did it on her face for no other reason than to show her what she was doing to me, how she was making me lose control of myself, of my tightly regimented world. And what did she do with that knowledge? Run.
I told her to walk through the centre as one final test. If she did that, I’d know she was the one.
I was an idiot. I should have known better than to believe I could let my guard down. When I did, what happened? I just got hurt again. Worse than that, I had to live knowing it was entirely my fault that I’d screwed up.
I should have taken it slower. I should have just treated her like the others, nothing more than an admission ticket to the club, someone to play with and discard. But no, stupid old me had to act like he was smarter than his instincts, that he could trust her, that he could trust anyone.
As I watched her vanish from sight, I vowed never to let my heart open up ever again. I’d been a fool but for the last time.
I marched across town to the office, ignoring anyone who spoke to me. I headed into the lift and when I got out the first thing I did was check the play rooms were locked. Good, I was never going in there again.
I went into my office, fury filling my mind. Empty the play room. Cancel applying for club membership. Go live in the mountains somewhere. Move abroad. Disappear. You can’t get hurt if you don’t engage with people. Look what happens when you try to fit into the world. They run. They take one look at who you really are and they don’t say, “Yes, I want to join you.” They run in disgust at the truth and the truth is you don’t deserve to be happy. You had your shot and it died in the hospital bedroom.
In the desk was a bottle of Scotch the office had bought to congratulate me on the double merger but it was about to be used not as a well done but as a full on drowning of sorrows.
I looked at the bottle and wondered how far I could get down it before I passed out. It turned out I managed the whole thing though it took most of the day.
“Hold all calls and meetings,” I said to Sally as I poured out the first glass. Her slightly tinny response came back a second later.
“Of course, Sir.”
That gave me the office to myself. Just me and the view out of the window and the glass of amber liquid in my hand. She was out there somewhere, the muse, the siren, the wicked witch.
I couldn’t hate her, even as I tried really hard. It was my own fault. She had promised me nothing. I’d made the assumptions all on my own that she was beholden to me. It had always been that way. I saw no reason to think this would be any different.
No one ever walked away from me. It was always the other way around. I did the leaving. She had run. She had seen more of the real me than any of the rest of them and that had been enough to make her run. I was an idiot to think it might have gone any other way.
I drank. I looked out of the window and I drank. At one point I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was dark out there. Most of the bottle was gone and as I shuffled through to the bathroom, I winced at the brightness of the light in there. I was going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. I just hoped it was bad enough to wipe her from my mind completely.
I stumbled from the bathroom a minute later. I wasn’t thinking about anything at all but my hand was on the door before I knew it. Then I was by the locked door, unlocking it, heading inside and closing it behind me. I shouldn’t have broken my rules. I should have kept my barrier up, the one that had kept me safe since Christine died.
Why had this affected me so much? I was Mr Tough, I could handle anything. Why couldn’t I cope with one woman walking away?
Maybe it was because she ran instead of walked.
I shuffled into her bedroom, stumbling towards her bed, sinking to my knees. I could still smell her on the blankets, like she’d only just stepped out and was on her way back.
But she wasn’t coming back. She would never come back, not to someone as twisted as me, someone who made her do things that made her so uncomfortable she had run away.
But I’d been so sure.
I shook my head, sliding slowly downwards until I was laid on the floor, my eyes closed, the room swimming too fast, making me dizzy.
I groaned out loud, drifting into unconsciousness again. When I opened my eyes, I rolled onto my side and that was when I saw it.
Under the bed. A black object just out of reach. Had I left that there?
No. The room was empty before she came. I’d double checked. But had I checked under the bed? I couldn’t remember.
Shuffling sideways, I stretched my arm out and just managed to catch it with my fingers, dragging it out and sitting upright, finding myself looking at a phone. Who did that belong to?
I pressed the power button. It wasn’t password protected. The screen just showed a background of the city walls. That didn’t say much.
There was an email app and I pressed the button. That would tell me who the phone belonged to. I could get my people to send it back to whichever previous client had left it here, that way I didn’t need to be involved.
It took three attempts to read the first email, the words swimming before my eyes, moving around and joining letters together before separating them a second later. Finally I got it.
It was from a magazine editor. Simon. I knew that name. Wasn’t he the one who’d set up the interview for me to promote my consultancy?
I read in increasing shock. Had she got enough detail for the article yet? Had she taken any pictures?
I was being set up. Who I was being set up by? I scrolled back up. The email was addressed to Rosa.
I froze in place, almost dropping the phone. That was why she’d run. That was also why I’d thought she was the one. She’d tricked me into believing it. All the time, she’d just been gaining my trust to fuck me over. I pressed the button to load the photo album and there it was, a photo of the Rose room. Had I come in before she had time to hide the phone properly? Was she in the middle of using it, heard me and threw it under the bed? I bet she wasn’t even asleep when I was sat there waiting for her to wake up. I’d been treated like and idiot and I was one. I’d let this happen.
It proved one thing. I was rig
ht to put my barriers back up. I was also right to get drunk. The only thing left to do was get drunker.
I took the phone with me back to the office, sitting looking at photos of her in her album, trying to hate her and finding it impossible. Even after all she’d done, all the lying, I couldn’t do it.
It should have been easy. I’d talked to her about being Sub Rosa. It was funny really, Sub Rosa being Sub Rosa. The kind of joke you might end up crying over.
Let her write the article, I thought as I drained the bottle and tried to work out how to get more. She could have the phone back. She could even use the photo. It didn’t matter. I was never going to use those rooms again. I wasn’t even going to be in the country any longer. I was going to disappear and whatever they wanted to say about me, let them, none of it mattered.
I got to my feet but felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I needed more drink. I was thinking too much and none of it was good. I needed to drink enough to hate her and that required a lot more than I had given the bottle was empty.
I staggered out to the lift, descending to the ground floor and falling out into the arms of the attendant. She almost fell over trying to hold me up. “Are you all right, Mr Spencer?” she asked as I slumped to the floor, leaning back on the wall with my eyes closed.
“Perfectly all right,” I replied. “Could you send for my car and make sure it has some whisky inside?”
It took several attempts to get the words in the right order but I managed it eventually and when the car arrived, I was helped upright by the driver who took me under the arm, leading me out to the waiting vehicle.
“I will never love again,” I said to him as he did my seatbelt for me. “I will drink instead. Drink doesn’t run away.”
“It does if you pour it down the sink,” he replied, closing the door before I could respond.
A few seconds later we were moving. “This hasn’t been poured away,” I said, unscrewing the top of the bottle. “Has it?”
