Declaration to Submit

by Leeland, Jennifer

  He’d had a plan? She stared down at the page and tried to read it. The perfect secretary was nowhere to be found. Tears blurred her vision. It hadn’t been an accident, a quirk of drunken fate that had brought her here to this room, this moment. He’d wanted her, planned for her. That didn’t sound like a man just wanting a quick fuck.

  And there it was. That was what was bothering her. Part of her believed that she was some project, a bet, a dare, something inconsequential like a purchase order. She felt like a company being raided and examined instead of a woman. Yet the feeling of being overcome and overwhelmed by a man was intensely exciting. It was as if she didn’t know herself anymore. Even though she wanted to be taken over, it still felt wrong to want it so much.

  “Nell,” he said, his tone softer. “Relationships are complicated enough without kink. Add that and it’s damn near impossible. Sign the contract, and we’ll have my version of a first date.”

  She laughed, a short explosion of sound that took all the tension out of the moment. “All right. I’m pretty sure waking up naked in man’s bed precludes a first date, but I’ll go along.”

  The contract was actually a well-written piece of work. In every single paragraph was the understanding that she consented, that she agreed to use a safe word, that she and Mark practiced safe play. There were elaborate definitions explaining Mark’s role as her Dominant and her role as his submissive.

  His list of responsibilities was long and interesting. He was to maintain her physical and emotional safety at all times. He was to remind her of her safe word every hour if not more frequently. He was responsible for safe sex, which was surprisingly optional, her pain level, and her health during the length of the contract. It seemed to Nell that he was responsible for a lot. It never occurred to her that a Dominant would be required to care for a submissive so conscientiously.

  Hints of such considerations were everywhere online, but this was the first time she had experienced it. She’d seen evidence of caring Dominants online, but not in written form, like a contract. Of course, she had never heard of a Dominant obtaining a submissive in this manner either.

  There was an entire paragraph on punishment and what sort of things could be used. Some of them sounded downright scary. Restraints, ball gags, clit stimulators set on a very low level for sixty minutes, flogging, caning, clothespins. Clothespins?

  But the last paragraph was the most important and the one that answered her concern about speaking up. Absolutely no stipulation within the contract overrode the submissive’s or the Dominant’s right to safety. If at any time the submissive or the Dominant felt unsafe, play would stop, and no punishment ever occurred when a safe word was spoken.

  Her hand didn’t even shake when she signed the contract and wondered what she’d just done.

  Mark slid the contract over and signed it. When he placed it back in the briefcase, she knew the business had begun, and she was now Mark Conners’s submissive.

  THE INTENSE RELIEF Mark felt was more than he’d expected. This wasn’t the first time he’d signed a contract with a submissive. It wasn’t the first time he’d targeted a woman and won. It was the first time he’d experienced anxiety that she might say no.

  He hadn’t known when Anelda Armstrong’s personnel file crossed his desk that she was going to occupy his mind so often. Whenever he gathered information on companies, he researched thoroughly, and somewhere along the way, he’d crossed an invisible line with Nell. All the other women he’d dominated had been under the “easy come, easy go” category. He couldn’t put Nell into that category at all.

  Her fingers were clenched, and her gaze focused on the table. She was rigid, her back straight, but her head bent. He studied her closely now that she belonged to him. The surge of satisfaction in his chest was out of proportion to the situation. She was a submissive. She was a woman who wanted to have kinky sex. That was all it was, nothing more.

  “First things first,” he said, his voice sounding strained to his own ears. “Sex is negotiable, Anelda.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Do you want to make sex a part of this?”

  He didn’t want to give her the choice. He wanted to take that decision away, to demand what he was sure they both wanted. Yet he also knew she’d look back on this moment and resent that he’d taken away her choice. So he forced her to decide.

  She gazed at his hand, and he remained still. “Do you, Sir?”

  His breath left him. Shit. She had no fucking idea what she did to him, how she tormented him. Few women he knew were natural submissives, instinctively plugging into that dominant part of him that wanted to take all the decisions away from her. The tone of her voice, the trembling of her hand all told him that she meant exactly what she said. She would give up her will to defer to him.

  But he didn’t want that…yet. Not for this. “Anelda, I want you more than I want to breathe, but I will not violate our agreement. I respect us both too much for that.”

  The moment was charged with an emotion he couldn’t put a finger on, but when her stare swerved to focus on his face, he sensed electricity between them.

  She swallowed and placed her hand in his, squeezing it as if she hung on to a lifeline. “I wanted you the minute I saw you. Is that crazy, Sir?”

  Slow and easy. He had to go slow and easy. At this rate, he’d come in his pants before he laid a finger on her. Deliberately, he used her given name to keep control uppermost in his mind. As he gently pulled her to her feet, he kept his gaze on her face, reading the myriad of emotions that flashed in her eyes. “No, Anelda. It isn’t crazy.”

  He tipped her chin and leaned down. This kiss, this moment that he’d craved and plotted for was one he hungered to savor. She parted her lips, and he resisted the urge to swoop in. She would know his possession soon enough. For now, he wanted to touch her, cherish her.

  In an instant, he sensed the deep well of passion inside her, the warmth, the love she kept beneath her cold exterior. He wanted it, needed it, in a way he hadn’t felt before. It startled him and made his heart accelerate. Whether his pulse increased because he was aroused or terrified was unclear, and he set those thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand.

  Relaxed, she was molded to him, fitted over his arm like a rare silk tie. She whimpered against his mouth, and he growled. His cock jumped, and he tightened his hold, some distant voice in his head reminding him not to crush her. She wound her arms around him, clinging, desperate.

  He drank in her surrender; then with purpose, he gripped her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back. Inexorably, he drove her to her knees, never breaking his lips from hers. She strained to stay connected, her mouth open and willing.

  When he finally allowed her to breathe, he stopped at the sight of her. Her hair was loose and flowing, mussed by his touch. Her lips were full and used, ready for his cock if he wished it. Her eyes were half-closed, drowsy, contented.

  She sighed, and his control almost snapped. Temptation was in every curve, every heavy-lidded glance, every tremble of her newly awakened body. He could take her now and give them both pleasure.

  But that wasn’t what she had signed up for.

  He stepped back and commanded her attention. If sex had been all he wanted from Anelda Armstrong, he would never have considered the fraternization clause. He had sensed in her the strongest need to connect, to belong. It was hidden in her words, the way she treated her staff, in the matriarchal role she played.

  It took several minutes for Nell to realize she wasn’t being seduced any longer, and that made him smile. She had been alone too long, and he was going to see to it that it didn’t happen again.

  When she opened her eyes and stared at him, he raised his eyebrows and glared. To his delight, she immediately lowered her gaze to the floor, hurt and confusion tightening her features. Later, she would be glad he hadn’t rushed this, consummated their connection too soon.

  “Have you thought of a safe word yet, Anelda?

  He lo
ved the way her gaze sparkled as she glared at him. After all, the more she broke the rules, the more he got to punish her. She lifted a hand and brushed her hair away from her face. “Why do you keep calling me Anelda, Sir? It’s demeaning. Everyone calls me Nell, and I prefer it that way.”

  “Why do you have such a difficult time following the rules?” She immediately shifted her gaze but only to stare over his shoulder. “A safe word, Anelda,” he said in a hard tone.

  Confusion filled her eyes, and he had to force himself to remain aloof. She had to understand what she faced. Every resistance was a challenge to his dominance, and he would meet it. But he would not engage unless she had a way out.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded.

  “Sir. Why are you doing this, Sir.” He towered over her and blocked the exit with his body.

  “Sir,” she whispered. “Why are you doing this, Sir?”

  “Because you want to belong,” he said simply.

  Her breath hitched, and she made a slight noise, almost a heartbreaking sigh. It tore at him, made him long to hold her. But beginnings were fragile. She was fragile. If he was too soft, she would wiggle out of it, convince herself it meant nothing.

  For a full minute, she said nothing, made no sound at all. Her head was bowed, and the curtain of her hair hid her face from him. This was the turning point. Mark knew it. She’d thought the decision was made, little realizing it would be made again and again, every step of the way. But this was the final step toward something else, something kinky.

  She raised her head but didn’t meet his gaze, keeping hers on the floor. “Salmon.”

  He almost laughed. “Why salmon?”

  She tipped her shoulder slightly. “I hate salmon. If I don’t like something, it’ll be easy to remember.”

  “Salmon it is.” He leaned down and gripped her elbows to raise her to her feet. “Come with me.”

  As she rose, she shot him a nervous glance and bit her lip. The trick with Nell was to keep her from getting the upper hand. When she let go of control completely, he wanted to be there. To get her to that point was going to take time. Maybe more time than he had. He had to give her a taste, and that might be all she allowed herself.

  It was important to have few expectations of her. He’d been planning this, thinking about scenes, learning about her for months. She hadn’t a clue how to get what she wanted. Not in a way that demanded honesty.

  The problem with corporate success was that it often came from manipulation, from intense planning, and from sticking to procedure. And though Mark had known what scenes he wanted to play out with her from the beginning, she was on the defensive. He had to expect subtle defiance.

  “Stand here. Hands behind your back, please.” He led her to the middle of the sitting room and retrieved his duffel bag. He’d packed a lot, not knowing what Nell’s triggers would be, not knowing what she might need.

  To Mark, being a Dominant wasn’t just giving orders or having control over another person. He wanted her willing, so aroused that she’d surrender. It was Nell’s unshakable control coupled with the glimpse of her vulnerability that appealed to him, spurred him to pursue her.

  One by one, he removed toys from his bag. He was well aware that his collection was intimidating. Six dildos each of varying size. Three floggers, one leather, one rubber strands, and one suede. Three butt plugs and a set of nipple clamps. A vampire glove, the silver pins glittering in the sunlight that peeked through the window. Two paddles, one with holes in the surface, the other with smooth black leather. Two bundles of rope, one thick and rough, the other smooth and soft. One leather slapper, a set of handcuffs, and finally, a blindfold. The last item made Nell shoot him a worried glance, but he placed it next to the other items.

  “Last night, you were inebriated in public at a ConFed event.” Mark hardened his voice and glared at her sternly. He loved the way she trembled. There was something sexy about her trepidation and her reluctant arousal at his strict tone. “Our first order of business is your punishment.”

  She swallowed but remained still. Her fingers twisted together until her knuckles were white. Her feet were bare, and her hair was a riotous mess around her shoulders. Her gaze was on the floor when his attention was on her, but she would sneak a glance at his face when he looked away.

  He turned her so that she faced the couch. “On your knees.”

  Slowly, she sank to her knees, her hands still clasped behind her back. He pressed on her neck until she bent her head to the couch cushion. She turned her head, and her cheek rested on the couch, her hair a fan spread across the surface. “Ass up,” he snapped.

  He had moved the coffee table and slipped in behind her. As he picked up the black leather paddle, he caught her worried stare. “What’s your safe word, Anelda?”

  “Salmon.” Her voice sounded strained.

  “I’m going to spank your ass ten times. I’m not holding back.” He met her stare steadily. “I don’t want you to be quiet or stoic. I want to hear how much it hurts. But if it’s too much, you will say your safe word. Understood?”

  Her lower lip trembled. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  Her smooth, round bottom shook as he brought the paddle back for his first strike. “You have a beautiful ass.” The way her dress hugged the curves of her hips and stretched over her butt made his dick as hard as a rock.

  “Thank you, Sir.” The last word was a screech as he swung hard and the paddle cracked against her butt.

  “Count them,” he demanded.

  WHAT THE HELL was wrong with her? She’d told him she only liked pain after an orgasm, but this felt good and bad and right and wrong all at once.

  Her breath hitched. “One.”

  The paddle whistled through the air and slammed into her ass. “Two,” she sobbed. Fuck. It hurt. Her butt was on fire, and her nails dug into her wrists. Yet something warm and sweet spread across her chest, making her nipples hard little points.

  The next three strikes were peppered over her ass quickly, with sharp bites of pain spreading over her thighs. She squirmed to get away from it. “Three, four, five.”

  His hand slid over her aching flesh, and she moaned at his touch. As his fingers crept beneath the hem of her dress, she arched closer, the contrast overwhelming every conscious thought. It burned. It throbbed. And yet her pussy dripped with excitement from it.

  “Five more, Anelda.” He removed his hands from her agonized flesh and lifted the paddle again. The next blow forced her face into the couch. She smelled the musky scent from where he’d slept the night before. It was more intoxicating than the tequila that had driven her to this room in the first place.

  “Six,” she said. Her voice cracked. His next two strikes were quick and hard. “Seven, eight.” She squirmed and twisted as fire spread over her ass. Her hands curled into fists. He struck her the last two times, and the pain, once unbearable, was gone, replaced by something else, something that burned just as hot. “Nine, ten.”

  She trembled, irrevocable words hovering on her lips. He bent down, his bare hand on her skin, his cock hard against her hip. “Your pussy is wet, Anelda. Do you want to come?”

  She cried out when his fingers flicked her clit, and she arched closer to his hand. “Yes! Please. Please.”

  “This is punishment, Anelda. You will not come without my permission. Is that correct?” He squeezed her left buttock, and she hissed from the pain. It still stung and throbbed.

  She nodded quickly, but that apparently was the wrong thing to do. He slapped her ass sharply, and she yelped. “Yes, Sir. That’s correct. I won’t come unless you give me permission.”

  The relief was crazy. Why would she suddenly feel so light, so free? Every muscle relaxed as if he’d just poured warm water over her skin. She melted into the couch, her mind drifting. No, she would only do whatever he wanted her to do.

  All her life, she’d had to manage her employers, her family, her friends to keep them on the right path to what
ever fulfillment they were trying to achieve. Her own satisfaction was in serving them, or so she told herself. But even as she took care of the business of other people’s lives, finances, and dreams, she never felt a part of them.

  Mark Connors was focused on her and only on her. He’d profiled her, studied her, somehow discovered this twisted part inside her that needed to be given permission to exist. It was the most real she’d ever felt. And the most vulnerable. How the hell could she explain it to anyone else?

  She was making more of this than what it really was. It was just kinky sex. That was all.

  “I see it didn’t take long for you to go back in your head,” he snapped.

  Cold metal slid around her wrists as he cuffed her. He gripped her elbow and pulled her to her feet. He turned her and pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit on the couch. Her ass was on fire, and the pressure from the cushions made her skin sting. She started to squeeze her knees together to maintain her modesty, but Mark placed his feet between hers.

  “Spread your legs.”

  The order should have offended her, maybe even frightened her, but she dropped her knees apart and bowed her head. She could feel the burning on her cheeks from the humiliation. No underwear and her legs spread, her dripping pussy was open to his gaze.

  “Your cunt is beautiful,” he said in a quiet, calm voice.

  She moaned as the desire to arch, to stretch, to rub against her clit almost swamped her good sense. Somehow, she knew if she wiggled at all, he would punish her again. She bit her lip and shifted slightly, enough to feel the rough material from the couch against her bare thigh.

  So intent on the sensations that bombarded her, she missed when he moved to the coffee table and obtained another toy. Sudden pressure at her pussy’s entrance made her gasp. He slid her dress up to her waist, and she stared down at the silicon dildo glistening with lube. It was huge, bigger than her forearm. She’d never had anything that big inside her before. “Mark. Sir.”

  His gaze met hers. The molten-hot expression in his almost black eyes and the strain around his mouth made her breath quicken. “Anelda. What do you need?”