by Linnea May
"The light can be changed," she says, facing me. "There's a panel to your right. You can turn it up, or down, change the color, whatever you like."
I see her gesturing in the dark and look in the direction she's pointing. A little red light helps me find my bearings, and the first button I push is the one I was hoping for. The room gets lighter, but just barely. I leave my finger on the button and turn to look at her as I adjust the lighting to where I want it. Dim, but enough to see her, all of her. I need to see her face, not just the outline of her perfect body.
I stop adjusting the light as soon as I can see the smile on her face.
"That it?" she asks. "You can try other colors, too."
"No," I say. "This is fine."
"You're the boss."
She makes a move to walk toward me, her smile transforming into a seductive smirk.
I raise my hand to stop her.
"I didn't tell you to move," I snarl. "Stay where you are, directly under the light."
A hint of confusion crosses her face, but she nods, tipping her head back to spot the light above her. She positions herself right under it, never losing control of her movements. They're too perfect, too practiced. Nothing about the way she's moving since we got up here seems natural.
She's still looking at me with that professional allure when I approach her. Curiosity curls inside me, asking to test her, to see what it is like to be served by her. For the moment, I decide to listen to that inquisitive voice.
I come to a halt right in front of her, burying my hands inside my pants pockets while my eyes rest upon her. Even with her height and the ridiculous heels she's wearing, she has to tilt her head back a little to meet my gaze. Yet I don't think I've been as close to eye level with a girl standing before me as I am with her now.
I'm standing close enough for her to feel the hardness growing inside my pants. I deliberately lean my hips forward, touching her leg, just to see how she will react.
Her face looks so innocent, so pure, even with all the makeup and black lace adorning her sinful body. But her actions reveal her professionalism. She doesn't shy away from my growing bulge, but instead moves her leg to return the touch, as if we were greeting each other this way.
I don't give her any commands or any kind of reaction, but just study her, observing her routine. She bites her lower lip, but not like she did before. This time she does it knowingly, putting her entire expression into it as her lashes flutter in sync. Her hands reach forward, skillfully opening the button of my suit jacket before she reaches underneath it, stroking along the side of my torso. She inhales audibly when she can feel the muscles underneath the thin fabric.
"Damn, you must work out a lot."
Even her compliment sounds fake, despite being honest. I know what I look like, and I know the effect a ripped chest has on women. She likes it, and her adoration is not a lie, but the way she expresses it doesn't feel natural.
She's too impatient, too. As soon as she got a first feel of my upper body through the fabric of my shirt, she decides to travel upward, bypassing my strong pecs, my collarbone, and going right for the tie around my neck. She’s about to loosen the knot, and that’s when I stop her. I reach up and grab her wrists, shaking my head to signal her no. We exchange a quick look, before she nods with understanding. However, her next move is no less blatant.
Her hands trail down across my chest, cherishing the sculptured body I don't allow her to see just yet. She doesn't stop at the waistband of my pants, but continues further, placing her palm on top of my steely readiness. My cock twitches at her touch, especially when she tries to wrap her fingers around me, only stopped by the fabric separating us.
"Wow," she breathes. Her eyes follow to where her hands are as she takes a step back, holding onto my leg with one hand, while the other still cups my growing bulge.
She's just about to go down on her knees when I hold her back by placing my hands on her shoulders.
"Stop."
She freezes, not moving even an inch while I keep her in place, my hands closing around her small shoulders. Slowly I retreat from her, taking a step back and putting some distance between us. I can tell that she wants to follow me, but she manages to refrain from doing so.
"You said I could make this room whatever I want," I say, my voice eerily low.
She nods.
"Well, here's what I want," I continue, crossing my arms in front of my chest while I lock her in place just with my gaze. "I don't want you to act as if you're on a job. I don't want you to go through your routine, simply intent on pleasuring me."
She inhales, about to say something, but I stop her by simply raising a finger.
"I know you will say that's not what you're doing," I tell her. "But that would be a lie, and you know how much I hate being lied to. It would be an insult, and you don't want to insult me, am I right?"
She shakes her head. "No, si— Damon."
"Good girl," I praise. "Now listen, here's what I want you to do. It's quite simple, really. I want you to undress in front of me. Get naked, completely naked."
I take another two steps back, my arms still crossed and my cock still pushing against its fabric cage, yearning to be inside her. There's nothing I would rather do right now. I want to bury myself between her legs, have her warmth wrapped around me while I fuck the living hell out of her—but I want to do it right. I couldn't enjoy her if she insists on continuing her act, as if she's nothing more than another whore, faking, acting, and lying. I want the real her.
She looks at me with a puzzled look, but starts obeying when I jut my chin forward.
"You're not suddenly shy, are you?" I ask. "You must have done this thousands of times."
She casts me a look, raising an eyebrow.
"Not really," she whispers, as she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra. "Most men know to appreciate a fine piece of lingerie."
"Don't insult me," I warn her. "Just do as you're told."
Her eyes flicker, and for a moment, I can see her shine through. The real her. I'm presenting her with something new, with something she can't quite place, and she doesn't know how to deal with it. I like that.
Piece by piece, she peels herself out of the black lace adorning her body, removing the bra first and exposing a small set of firm tits with pink nipples. When she steps out of her high heels, she loses about five inches of height, but she doesn't shrink as much as most girls do. She sheds her wrist cuffs, the garter belt and the stockings, carefully rolling them down her long legs before placing them on the floor next to her feet. The last item she removes is the tiny black thong that barely covers anything but her pussy.
The sight of her bare lips drives me insane, sending another rush of hunger through my core and causing my cock to twitch with desperate need. Shit, she looks even more perfect than I imagined.
She looks at me, fighting the natural inclination to cover herself while I devour her naked body with my lustful eyes.
"Completely naked I said."
Confusion travels across her expression before she realizes what I'm talking about. She's still wearing the black choker.
"I didn't put this on you," I say, pointing at her neck. "And while I like the look, I don't want you to wear something around your neck that you didn't get from me."
I close in on her and reach around her neck, unhooking the choker myself. It lands on the floor next to her clothes, and she looks up at me with a trace of reproach. She doesn't fight me when I grab her by the shoulders again, moving her a little, so that the light from above is shining once again on her face.
"Now, listen to me, little one," I whisper, leaning in close to her ear without removing my hands from her shoulders. "This is what we're going to do...."
Chapter 20
Elene
"This is what we're going to do..."
I shiver when he whispers into my ear, his heated breath tickling the skin on my neck.
"You're going to stand here, your posture straight, hands down, head up, eyes on me—and you won't move an inch unless I tell you to," he orders. "You won't lean into me, you won't try to evade me, you won't touch me. You will just stand here and listen to what I'm telling you. Do you understand?"
I nod, unsure whether I'm allowed to speak.
His hands imprison my wrists, and he draws my hands down to position them next to my hips. I remain dead still, exactly as he has placed me, when he withdraws his touch and shifts around so that he’s standing behind me. I can feel his body heat at my back, and slowly I begin to understand why he was so adamant with his orders. I feel naturally drawn to him, my body yearning to slant toward him like a flower reaching toward the sun.
But if there's one thing that I've learned, it is to obey my client’s rules. I'm a good girl, and I crave to hear those words from Damon’s lips more than I ever have before.
So, I don't move. I don't follow my heart, but instead I listen to the rational voices in my head. I don't even flinch when his finger strokes the side of my cheek as his fingers comb a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm going to look at you now," he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath makes my skin prickle. "I'm going to study every inch of your beautiful body, take in every part of you for as long as I want. You are not allowed to cover any part of yourself. You are not allowed to hide away from me."
The sound of a muffled yelp travels through the curtain, distracting my attention away from him for a split second. I know it must be coming from one of the red rooms, the rooms dedicated to inflicting pain. And I'm fairly certain that I recognize the voice...
"Stay with me," he hisses behind me.
I tense up, expecting a blow, but he doesn't strike me. Why is he not disciplining me? He's so strict with his commands, so determined that I obey him, but he hasn't laid a finger on me once to remind me of my place.
In a way, this is way worse than being struck for disobedience. I react to pain; it brings something to life, something deep within me. A slice of pain equals pleasure. It works for me. It's familiar and reliable for evoking bliss.
But this? This is new. It's… different.
I take a deep breath, continuing to stand frozen in place, and I can sense that he’s circling me. He's skulking around me as if he's that feline predator again, inspecting his prey before striking and devouring it.
I want to close my eyes, or at least lower my gaze, when he pauses in front of me. He stands in place, still inspecting, his eyes traveling along the curves of my body, doing just what he said he would do. His gaze stops at different places, resting on the side of my hip for a moment, then on my belly before slowly wandering up to my small tits.
He is standing about three feet away from me, still studying me, just looking. Yet I feel as if he's touching me, as if it's not his eyes but his skilled hands that are exploring my body inch for inch. I've never been ashamed about being naked in front of a man. It was part of my job, it was expected, and once you've done something hundreds of times, it comes as natural to you as brushing your teeth. Even nakedness loses its taboo after a while.
But now, I can feel the shame of humiliation glowing on my cheeks. My pulse races, and I'm trying my best not to let him see me trembling as he takes me in. My head moves down, tilting just for a second, before I catch myself and remember his instructions. It's too hard to look him in the eye, because it’s a dead giveaway about the part of my body he’s currently staring at.
But I need to focus on something while he examines me. I opt to analyze his hair, my gaze latching on to the dark brown wayward strand on the right side of his face partly covering his eye.
"You are fucking perfect," he whispers. "How can someone so corrupted look so pure and innocent?"
He looks up, catching my gaze.
"You're so beautiful," he says. "I almost feel sorry about the things I will do to you."
The things he will do to me?
My eyes meet his, filled with questions. Is he going to hurt me? But if he were into that type of thing, why did he ask to be taken to the black room instead of one of the red ones?
"Turn around for me, Elene."
The way he says my name gets me every time. His voice is husky and deep, more like a sigh, and somehow laced with affection. Every time he calls me by my name it feels as if he's reaching right inside me, squeezing my racing little heart before he retreats as quickly as he charged at me.
I do as I'm told and turn my back to him. Losing eye contact should make this easier, but on the contrary, I feel even more exposed. And he only makes it worse when he utters his next command.
"Bend over," he says, as if it were the most natural thing to do. "Bend over and show me that pretty little ass."
I blush but comply, making sure to hollow my back when I tilt my upper body, because I know it will make my ass look so much better.
"Good girl."
The words drape me in a warm and comforting embrace, spawning arousal at the same time.
"Now show me that beautiful pussy," he orders next, and I inhale, gasping with shame.
I turn my head, casting him a look over my shoulder. He's still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his strongly muscled chest, jerking his chin forward.
"Don't play that shy act with me," he barks. "I told you, you have nothing to hide in front of me. And it's not like you haven't done this before."
This is where he is wrong. I haven’t ever done this before. I've never been asked to expose myself in this way, and I'm most definitely not playing any kind of act right now. This is embarrassing as hell—but also so fucking hot.
I can't help but mewl with shame when I reach backward, grabbing my ass cheeks and pulling them apart as much as possible. I expose the most intimate part of my body to him, illuminated by that damn light right above my head.
But it's not even the gesture or the situation alone that fuels my embarrassment. No, it's not just that.
I'm afraid that he might see.
I'm afraid that he might see how wet I am.
My core has been tingling with need ever since we climbed the staircase and proceeded down the long hallways to this room. My insides are brewing with anticipation, because I've been waiting for this, for him. And it has only gotten worse since we stepped inside this room and he started commanding me around. I was shaky with lust and humiliation once he told me to undress in front of him. I took my time, not only because I was nervous, but because I enjoyed the way it made me feel. It was new and confusing, but my heart fluttered with every piece of clothing I took off.
"That's it," he breathes. "Stay like this."
I hear him moving behind me. He's coming closer; I can sense his short but heavy-footed steps, barely audible on the soft carpet beneath our feet. I see his shadow approaching from my left. He comes to a halt, and while standing next to me nonchalantly places his hand on my bare behind. He pets my ass softly, but even this light touch sends sparks shooting through me. With every caress, his hand is moving closer to my wet center, until the tips of his fingers are only inches away from my hot core.
I start trembling, unable to control myself.
"Stand up."
His voice pulls me up like a string is attached to my head. I follow instinctively, my hands leaving my behind and returning to their previous position right next to my hips. His hand remains cupping my left butt cheek while he moves even closer.
"Do you want me to touch you?" he asks.
"Yes," I breathe hoarsely. My voice sounds weak and lacks the resolve it normally carries, but my answer is clear nonetheless. "Yes. Very much."
"Do you like this?" He probes, squeezing my ass. The grip comes so suddenly and with such force that I can't suppress a moan of pain. His fingers pinch into my flesh, sparking a familiar thrill, before he releases the tension just a second later.
Oh, God, I need more of that.
I don't need to verbalize my reply, because the sigh that escapes my lips is telling enough.
"You like it rough, don't you," he assumes. "You like to be bent over and fucked, hard. You like to be spanked and have your hair pulled. You like to be used like a little fuck doll and have your tight little cunt stretched by a big, thick, voracious cock, fucking you until you beg him to stop. Don't you?"
My heart is pounding. Every sentence, every word eggs me on, causing the voice inside my head to scream, "Yes! Yes! Yes!", while my body boils lustily with desire. Shit. I don't think I've ever been this horny.
"You like it when men make you scream, when they make you beg, when they take from you until there's nothing left," he goes on, fueling my excitement. "You like to feel the brute force of their cocks inside you even days after they've used you. Don't you?"
My chest heaves. I'm panting as if I'd just run ten miles to get here, as if he'd chased me up and down the stairs instead of just making me stand here and listen to his words. I'm watching him study me, barely touching me in the process.
He's driving me insane.
I'm frantically trying to catch my breath, but the way he's looking at me now is only making things worse. I can feel his dark eyes nearly penetrating me, watching every move I make, relishing in the sight of my heavy breathing.
"Spread your legs apart," he says in a low voice, inciting me to move by pinching my ass again.
I widen my stance, tiptoeing wider on my naked feet until he seems satisfied. Without my heels on, I'm so much shorter than he is, a feeling that's rare for me. I love how he towers over me. It's intimidating, making me feel overpowered even when he's not doing anything other than just standing next to me.
He lets go of my ass and suddenly I’m unbalanced, feeling lost without his touch. For a moment, I fear that he may move away again to stare at me from afar. I don't want him to go, to leave me standing on display like that again.
