by Dakota Trace
“I know, Dad.” He tossed his unearthed toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. “Can’t you get Seb to go with you? He loves cat fishing.” Toeing his loafers off, he turned on the shower. A courier had dropped a packet with requested preparations. His date had laid out exacting conditions. She would participate as long he followed a few simple rules. He must be clean-shaven, including his head. The woman must have a thing for bald black men. Which is a good thing. The first time he’d done it, his college girlfriend had scratched at his scalp when he went down on her. The small bite of erotic pain had tripped his trigger.
His dad continued to gripe, finally asking Wyk if he was listening. He dragged his attention away from anything to do with sex to focus on placating his father.
“I know I promised to come down this weekend. I’m sorry I forgot to call, but I got busy at work and it slipped my mind. I didn’t expect Nate to call me out of the blue a couple of weeks ago and ask me to stand up with him during his wedding. Even if I caught a flight back to Chicago tonight, I wouldn’t be much use to you. Jet lag can be a real bitch. So I called to let you know I wouldn’t be able to come tomorrow, before I head back down to the reception.” Satisfied with the water temperature, he shut the shower door. “I’m not about to leave my buddy hanging.” His dad understood loyalty. After a couple more minutes of good-natured grumbling, his dad agreed to call Seb before hanging up with an order to kiss the bride. Pressing the end button, he tossed his cell on the counter.
Flicking the small buttons on his dress shirt open, he rolled his head in an effort to ease some of the tension in his neck and shoulders, which had built up since the wedding. The event had gone off without a hitch. With Venus in control of the arrangements, no one had dared to mess up her cousin’s special day. But it’d done a number on his libido to see her lush figure draped in champagne pink chiffon and her dark red hair in an elaborate up-do. Not to mention the shimmery hose that peeked out from the fluttering hem of her dress. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how her long legs would feel draped over his shoulders as she ordered him to eat her pussy. The cool disdain in her eyes had done little to temper his ardor either. Just the sight of it had him wanting to drop to his knees and tell her to do what she willed with him.
He jerked the clasp on his tux pants open and eased the zipper down, being careful to not catch himself in the teeth. Letting the pants pool at his feet, he wrapped his hand around his dick to comfort it. He had no idea if sex would be on the agenda tonight, but a man could hope. It’d been too long since he’d been laid. He needed this, even if the match Madame Eve had set him up with was nothing more than a stand-in. He’d shave his entire body if that’s what it took.
He turned to the sink, as the bathroom filled with steam. The water needed to be hot or he’d stiffen up. Four years of playing college ball had left its mark on him. After the long flight out, the steamy shower would be a welcome relief. While he shaved his jaw, he thought about the questions Madame Eve had said the woman would ask before they proceeded. Some of them made him hard, while others made him feel raw, exposed. Could he do this? Could he lay his soul open to a woman he’d just met?
He wiped the moisture off the mirror. Then he lathered his scalp with shaving gel and scraped away the stubble with practiced motions while contemplating his decision. Yeah, he might be able to, given the right incentive. All he could do was pray the Domme knew how to handle an inexperienced submissive.
He would have to trust Madame Eve’s judgment. And after witnessing the wedding downstairs, he had to give the woman kudos. If she could find that stubborn bastard, Nate, a perfect mate, she could do anything. By the time he finished shaving, the glass had fogged over again.
He pushed his way under the spray and hissed in pleasure. Reaching for his bottle of body soap, he lathered up, paying close attention to every nook and cranny. After his long day of travel, he didn’t want to offend his date. Drawing a soapy washcloth over his balls and cock, he gave the flesh a squeeze and resisted the urge to rub one off. Mistress V, as she called herself, had forbidden any form of release while he got ready. So instead of a long jerk session, he would treat himself to the massage option on the shower head. Hopefully the pounding spray would help relax him before he met his date in the suite next door.
Chapter Three
Distracted from her steamy FemDom story by a sound in the next room, Venus cocked her head and set down her e-reader. Had her date already arrived? If it was Madame Eve’s selection, the man was early, really early. She enjoyed punctuality as well as the next girl, but thirty minutes? She had specifically requested his presence at half-past the hour. If the man couldn’t follow her orders, it would be a long night for both of them. Swinging her bare feet over the edge of the mattress, she continued to listen. When the sound came again, she lightly trod to the inner suite door she’d left ajar.
She gazed into the sitting room. Her date had arrived. Standing in the foyer, he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his T-shirt. Irritation flowed through her, despite the fine condition of his dark body in exercise shorts. His abs were well-defined, with a smattering of tight curls below his navel.
Her eyes strayed away from his washboard stomach as he struggled into the basic leash position she’d requested. Dropping to his knees, he parted his thighs. Her mouth went dry when the material of his shorts stretched tight over his upper legs and groin, cupping and accenting his cock and balls. She’d never seen a sexier sight, but when he gave a muffled grunt as he crossed his arms behind his back, she shook her head. The over-anxious fool would end up with a pulled muscle or something if he wasn’t careful. She entered the room with a sigh, shutting the door behind her. The loud click had the man’s head swinging up in her direction. Thankfully, she stood in the shadows cast by the lone lamp on the far side of the room, because nothing in her life as a Domme had prepared her for the reality of Wyk Havas kneeling before her, his body exposed to her gaze. Her heart raced. She backed up until she ran into the closed door.
This had to be a joke. Madame Eve couldn’t have set her up with Wyk. There would be no way her boss would ever submit to someone like her. She fumbled with the door handle, in an effort to escape, but when he continued to kneel, not speaking, her nerves settled. Perhaps he did want this. Other than his early arrival, he had followed her instructions. Not to mention the key card he had to possess to enter her suite. Even though it looked like this man was her date, she still worried it was a sick joke on his part. More than once she’d cursed her loose tongue when she’d accepted his offer for after-work drinks. After a few too many glasses of red wine, she’d have spilled more than the mere fact she was a Domme if it hadn’t been for the shocked look on Wyk’s face. And my boss never treated me the same again.
“Mistress V?” Her name came out a bit hoarse, drawing her attention. His dark eyes shone with uncertain need as he fidgeted under her stare. A sigh escaped her when he used her Domme name. She could do this. He probably didn’t have a clue he’d flown halfway across the country for a date with his assistant. Would he be angry when he found out? An idea formed in her head.
“Eyes down, slave.” She injected enough steel into her voice that his gaze lowered. “When was our set meeting time?”
“Eleven-thirty, Mistress.” He started to lift his head, but stopped when she growled with displeasure.
“And what time is it now?” She moved toward the sideboard. Unzipping her bag, she pulled the satin sleep mask out, along with the flogger. With the items in hand, she approached him on light feet until she stood close enough to hear his shallow breathing. A low sound passed his lips. He sounded nervous. He had reason to be. A ticked-off Domme was never a good thing—at least not for the submissive.
“It was a few minutes past eleven when I left my room, Mistress.” He shifted to look up at her.
“Eyes down, slave.” She dropped the blindfold between his knees. “So you arrived a full thirty minutes ahead of time.”
“Yes
, Mistress. I was anxious.”
“Why?” She glided to his left, circling him as she did in her dreams. His back was as tempting as his front, the well-defined layers of muscle trembling under his chocolate skin. She itched to place her mark on them. To cause his dark flesh to redden from her flogger, to dig her nails into his shoulders while she rode him, or to test them with her teeth. Would she be able to tell, or would his coloring hide the evidence of her claim on his body?
“I don’t know, Mistress.”
His evasive answer pricked her ire, and she flicked the flogger against her denim-covered thigh. He jumped at the sound. “If you’re going to lie to me, this date is over. Honesty is one of the rules you agreed upon. Without it, your submission will be as flawed as my dominance. I refuse to fail because you lie to avoid the reason you came. Leave, if you can’t give me the truth.”
“Fine.” He rolled his shoulders. “I saw a woman earlier. One who…I hope this date will prepare me for. I needed to get started on it, before I chickened out.”
Hurt that he’d come to her for another threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed the feelings back. “So this date is a dry run for the woman you want?”
He nodded.
“Words, slave.”
“Yes, Mistress. I hope this will prepare me for what she needs,” he whispered.
“And what about what you need, slave?” She studied the back of his bent head. He’d freshly shaved his scalp. It sent a thrill through her that he’d done so to please her. If she touched, would it be soft as a baby’s bottom?
“I want this—I think.” His uncertainty radiated off him. It excited her, but part of her, the more jaded part, insisted she walk away. She’d never taken an unwilling submissive, and she wouldn’t start now.
She stroked the flogger over his bare shoulder, letting the leather strands brush his skin. His breath caught in his throat, and a shiver worked down him. Oh yes, he liked the play of leather against his skin, but she needed some assurance he could handle her desires. If he could, she’d use the blindfold and take what she needed. Screw what would happen at work on Monday. Perhaps, if she did it right, Wyk wouldn’t even realize it had been her. But first she had to give him one last out, one more chance to call it off before things got serious. “You think you want this?”
He started to nod but uncertainly and frustration flashed across his face “I want to serve. To submit to her. To have her tell me how to please her; to have her withhold my pleasure when I screw up.”
Her nipples tightened against her tank top as her cream dampened the seam of her jeans shorts. “What if this woman yearns to teach you? What I enjoy with a submissive may not be what she enjoys. Each Domme is different. You could be wasting your time learning my preferences.”
His shoulders sank. “It’s more than that. I want to see if I can do this. If I can offer my submission to her. If it will fill up the empty spot inside of me.”
She’d warned him. If he still insisted, she would take what he had to offer. “Fine, slave. I’ll give you a choice. You have five minutes. In front of you there is a sleep mask which will double as your blindfold. If you decide you don’t want to go through with this, simply leave. I’ll contact Madame Eve and tell her we didn’t mesh. Perhaps, she’ll be able to find another better suited for you. However, if you wish to see where this leads, when I return I expect you to be wearing the mask and nothing else.”
“But the letter said to wear exercise shorts, Mistress.”
She smiled at his protest. “Just like the letter said you were to arrive at eleven-thirty, slave. Tit for tat. You broke one of the rules, so I am within my limits to change another.” She moved toward the bedroom. “Five minutes, slave.” Then she slipped into the bedroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it. Every part of her hummed with tension. Dear Lord, please let him decide to stay.
Wyk let out a ragged breath after the door shut behind Mistress V. She had to have recognized him. He’d nearly died when he’d caught a glimpse of her lush form before she’d stepped back into the shadows. His heart pounded until he thought it might jump out of his chest. The moment was upon him. He had to make a choice because once she came back into the room, there would be no escape. He weighed his decision. He wanted what she had to offer, but what price would he have to pay for the experience? Because his executive assistant would be ruthless. He just wished he could figure out what Venus wanted. Should he take the risk and gamble on winning? Go along with her ruse, in hopes she wouldn’t run in the harsh light of day? Or call her on her deception, before admitting how desperate he was?
He couldn’t hide his desire for her. She wore a pair of jeans shorts and a royal blue tank top that molded to her curves. It’d taken all he’d been able to muster to drop his head and not reach for her. At first he’d thought they’d have a knock down-drag out battle over the irony of Madame Eve’s choice, followed by her kicking him out of her room. But she hadn’t. Instead she’d used the shadows to her advantage. She’d circled him, questioned him, even teased him with the flogger from the dark bag on the sideboard. It’d only stroked his need higher. What other goodies had she stashed inside it, and what she would do with them if he stayed?
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and stared down at the blindfold. In the end, he had to decide if the promise of more was worth the risk. She could very well walk away in the morning as if nothing happened. If I let her. He tried to weigh the pros and cons, but it didn’t seem to matter in the end. He had chosen his path the moment he’d walked through the door of her suite. There would be no backing out. He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow. He wanted what Madame Eve had promised in her e-mail—a night to remember.
Rising to his feet, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the shorts. He shoved them down and kicked free of the silky material. The neat freak in him bothered by the idea of leaving them on the floor, he folded and set the shorts on the sideboard. Then he returned to his previous position. Kneeling with his legs parted, his dick exposed, he snagged the blindfold from the floor. It took less than thirty seconds for him to slip the simple mask over his head and position on his face. Now he waited for his prickly assistant to return.
Chapter Four
Cracking the door open, Venus resisted the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. She would look at this as if Wyk were any other sub who wanted, no, needed her attention. If he stayed. He might have decided to leave. To find out, all she had to do was enter the sitting room.
She gathered her Domme persona around her on the chance he remained, then strode into the room. The sounds of her bare feet were muffled by the plush carpet. As she moved past the settee, she stumbled to a stop. In all his luscious nakedness, her boss knelt with his thighs parted, exposing his semi-erect cock. Her pulse skittered at the picture he made, with his skin bare for her touch while the red sleep mask rested over his eyes, a brilliant contrast to the dark creaminess of his body.
“I see you’ve decided to stay, slave.” She sat down on the settee, her gaze hungry.
“Yes, Mistress.” His response wasn’t the meekest she’d ever heard, but he seemed comfortable enough for a man in his position.
“Good. Before we start, do you have a safeword?” She swung her leg over the edge of settee.
“Ah...no. Do I need one?” He tipped his head.
“Yes. Never scene without one, slave. Until you can decide upon a personal one, why don’t we go with the word ‘red’? It’s a classic stop word that any Domme worth her salt will recognize and halt without question.”
He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
Shifting her weight forward, she studied him. “Limits. What boundaries will you not cross? If I told you I wanted to bind you, flog you, have you eat my pussy before I shove an anal plug up your tight ass, what would you say?” She studied him.
Wyk’s tongue peeked out to touch the top of his lip, before darting back in, his nostrils flared. “Where do I sign up, Mistress?” His che
st expanded and between his thighs his cock filled until it lay thick with a slight curve against his stomach. She focused on his words to resist the urge to move to his side so she could touch the straining length.
“So you’re not opposed to a bit of pain with your sex?” She toyed with the lashes on the flogger.
“No, Mistress.” He licked his lower lip this time. “I once had a girlfriend who loved to smack my ass when I got out of the shower. She never did understand why I chased her around the bathroom, afterward, then pinned her to any hard surface I could find, so I could fuck her.”
She squirmed against the cushion and pushed the image Wyk had painted away. “And what about eating pussy? Not every man enjoys it, but it’s something I will demand. Will I have a fight on my hands in order to feel your tongue on my clit?”
A low groan escaped Wyk’s chest. “Only if you try to push me away before you come, Mistress.”
She chuckled at his response. “If I decide to give you the gift of my orgasm, slave, it is my choice. You should be thankful if I allow you to sip at my folds.”
“And I will be, Mistress. Just don’t expect me to be happy if you take away my treat before I’m done.” He shifted a bit on his knees.
“So you don’t mind pain with your sex, you love oral sex, but what about anal? I brought a plug with me—one that has never been used—and unless you call it one of your hard limits, I will shove up it your tight ass before the night is done.”
“Ah....” He cleared his throat a couple of times, but Venus could be patient now that she had him. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be averse to it, Mistress.”
“Not adverse to it? Does that mean you’ll tolerate the plug, or that you’ll beg me for more?”
Wyk hesitated. “I honestly don’t know, Mistress. I’ve had nothing back there bigger than my pinkie or my last girlfriend’s tongue.”
