by Isan, Amy
A knock on my door forces me to scramble to my feet. I try and straighten my wrinkled clothes just as the door swings open. It's Michael.
He leans on the doorframe and eyes me suspiciously. "What were you just doing?" He points at the floor. "Why is your phone under your desk?"
I'm flushed and sweating. I was fidgeting when he walked in. I probably look like I just murdered someone. I swallow hard and take a deep breath. I walk behind my desk, and lean down to pick up the phone. As I set it on the surface, I open the microphone. I ignore my chair. "Taking a break."
"You don't get a break, Marcy," my boss says. His voice slices into the air. "I just heard from HR you fired Stacie? This looks really bad."
After the pink slip scare and James fucking with me, I can barely handle this right now. I'm at my absolute limit. I clench my fingers along the edge of the desk and fight to keep myself from shaking. Even more, fight myself from throwing the desk over on my boss and letting it break his legs. "What looks bad? That I fired someone incompetent?"
"She wasn't incompetent, just because you didn't like her. For whatever reason. I don't understand you women sometimes..." he tries to act like he said it under his breath, but his voice was loud and clear to me.
"Stacie was the definition of incompetence. The person who hired her should be fired for not seeing right through her at the interview. God, I saw her resume, too. It was full of shit."
"I hired her." He glares at me. It isn't a confession, it's a warning.
"Oh?" I say as I release my grip from my desk. I walk around to the front, while dragging my fingers along the polished surface. "So you should be the one getting fired?"
"I don't know where you're going with this but you better stop it right now, Marcy, you're walking on dangerous ground."
"How dangerous is it?" I dare him. I'm standing eye to eye to him now, my heels giving me the extra three inches I need to equal him. His face is flushed and he's staring at me like a lion stares at its prey. If the lion was wearing an ill-fitted button up and had sweaty palms. I push the gaze right back at him, just as his eyes flicker down to my breasts. I see where he thinks this is going.
"Did she suck your cock, Michael? Did she suck it to get the job?"
He's sweating. I can smell the stale coffee on his breath and his off brand deodorant. His sweat stained undershirt. His confusion. His anger. His impotence and the arousal it gives him.
"I bet she did a real good job, to push that kind of resume past anyone else. If I had seen it before the hire, I would've blocked it immediately."
He takes a step back from me and shakes his head. A strange smile crosses his lips. "What are you going to fire me, too?" He chuckles. "You don't have any proof, of anything. So what if she sucked my cock? So what if I blew a load all over her face? She liked it. She wanted it."
"Did she?" I take another step closer to him and stare him down like he's a child who won't listen. My glare makes him shiver visibly, which only makes me shudder with euphoria. "Or did you grab her head and force her to gag on your disgusting cock like the stupid animal you are?"
"I —" he hesitates.
"You want me to suck your cock now, too?" I ask. I lift my hand and twirl a couple of loose strands from my bun. I recall the unevenness of it, the strands that were cut lost in my car somewhere. "You'd like that?"
His face is like a red blister, ready to pop. He looks around, eyeing the blinds and checking, actually checking, if we'd have the privacy for something like that. He thinks I'm serious. I laugh, unable to keep it to myself.
He's bewildered and even more confused. "You're fucking crazy."
He moves toward me again, his hands raised and formed into claws. I stumble back against my desk and press another small button on the top of it. He stops dead in his tracks and stares down at it like it's an alien machine.
"I just recorded our conversation, Michael. If you're here to bust my balls about firing Stacie, who deserved it, or to give me shit about handling James Pierce, that's fine. But I don't want to see your face in my office again. Don't you dare knock and come inside uninvited." I narrow my eyes and imagine him shrinking into a pool of tears. He isn't crying, but his sweat might be that salty. He backs away, unable to say a word, and leaves my office.
I exhale slowly, savoring every second of power I had over him. Every moment of eagerness I saw wash through him and then drain his face pale. That kind of power. It's a head rush. I sit in my chair to catch myself, and pull myself forward against the desk again. I open the top of the desk phone and pull out the memory card and toss it on my desk. With a key from my ring, I unlock my drawer and place it inside with the others. A good handful of a dozen or more cards are scattered at the bottom of it. Other bosses who thought they were better than me. Who thought I was gunning for their position and tried to get me to quit. Who thought they could saddle me with grunt work.
They're all the same. Lustful, hungry, stupid animals. And just like animals, easy to manipulate and control.
All but one. I give him full permission to take that from me. That control I lust for so much, I let him have all of it.
But now there's another who doesn't bow before me and it infuriates me.
I need to eat. Then I need to get to the hotel and meet the Stranger again. Twice in one week... we haven't done that since the beginning.
Chapter 5
The hotel lobby is empty. The gold walls and high chandeliers seem pointless without an audience of people to stare at them. They aren't as lustrous as they were when the building was first built. The receptionist recognizes me and doesn't say a word as she gives me my keycard and a small sticky note with the room number on it. The Stranger always gets here first and settles everything, which makes it that much easier for me to slip inside and slip out of my skin.
This time, the room is on the fifteenth floor. I step into the elevator, also empty, and tap the button. The elevator whirs to life and lifts me up, each story passing by in the blink of an eye. As I coast to a stop, the blood rushes to my head.
Not from the ride. Something else. A nagging feeling. Like an itch I can't quite reach. An inch at the back of my mind, inside my skull, inside my brain.
The gift he sent me is in my coat's pocket, and I can feel the bundled up material pulsating. It's my imagination, but in my mind the blindfold has a will of its own, all coiled up inside that dark hole. Will he be glad I brought it? Sometimes, it's hard to tell what he thinks. He's unpredictable like that, but that's what I like.
I find the room, 1539, and slip the keycard into the slot. The indicator light on the knob turns green and the deadbolt clicks open with a mechanical noise. Inside, the room is unsurprising. The decoration the same as the others, but the bathroom and beds are on the opposite side of what I'm used to. A nicer room than last time, at least. He splurged. I don't know where he gets the money, I certainly don't pay him for our time.
Sometimes I feel like I should. If he demanded it, I'd feel forced to give in. But he never has. I don't know if he ever will. My heart pounds the inside of my ribs like they're prison bars as I step around the corner to the bedroom. The Stranger is standing near the sliding glass door, staring over the cityscape. Night has fallen and the windows of a few other buildings are lit up. The rooms are lit up in a scattered way, as if the lights were left on by mistake or their owners are there, working hard into the night. Avoiding family? Who knows.
He's dressed sharp. A jet-black suit. He's holding his gloved hands behind his back, their leather skin stretching with his grip.
I'm staring so hard at his hands that I trip on the corner of the nightstand. He clears his throat. "You came."
"You didn't think I would?" I ask, surprised. I purse my lips, catching myself: "Sir."
He lets out a dark chuckle, the vibrations of his voice on my chest like a drum. I already feel like I'm covered in sweat. Walking into this room isn't walking into a normal hotel room. It's a jungle. The heat is cranked up, the humidity is hi
gh, and my nerves are on edge. I don't know if he does it all by himself, like some supernatural force, or if my body is just so sensitive to his every... whim.
"No. I knew you would," he says. He turns around to face me, and his mask greets me as it always does. Anonymously. I always think, 'this time, he'll go mask-less, and I'll finally get to see who he is.' I don't know why. If I knew who he was, it would ruin the magic, right? Or would it just mean I could have him whenever I wanted?
The mask isn't full-faced. It only covers everything from the nose and up. The slits around the eyes are so thin I can't even make out his eye color. The first time we met, I teased and tricked to slip his mask off. He made me never forget that moment with a bruise I asked for.
One that I'd brush against in the shower and think of, not with pain, but appreciation. The first time he lashed out at me and I deserved it. The first time anyone really had, and it was freeing. It was that lack of control that excited me. That time, it was enough of a release to keep my frustration and anxiety at bay for weeks.
But then the pain faded and I needed more. I always needed more.
"I don't even know what you'd do if I missed a meeting," I say, as I sit on the queen bed.
"I do."
He doesn't continue. He takes a step closer to me, and I remember his gift. Usually he fashions something out of my clothing or a pillowcase, so having a real blindfold might be interesting this time. I fish out the long scarf-like fabric and present it to him like I'm a servant and he's my King.
He fingers it a little before picking it up and staring at it. "You brought it. Excellent."
I nod and keep my eyes averted from his mask. I'm hunched over, my elbows planted on my thighs and my nape exposed. If he were a wild animal, he could decapitate me if he wished. What could I do to stop him?
"I also, received your gift." One of his gloved hands disappears in his pocket and he pulls out the underwear I mailed off to him. "It was very pleasant. The thought of you walking around the entire day, wearing nothing under those clothes... was delightful."
His voice always has a growl to it when he's turned on. I don't need the voice to cue me in though, his erection bulging through his pants is enough as it is. I stare at it, and he smiles. It's a distinct sound.
"Not yet, little thing," he coos. "Not yet. You're not dressed yet."
I squeeze my eyes shut and he throws the blindfold around the back of my neck and brings it up. He loops it around my eyes several times and makes sure it's snug. He unclasps his mask and it rocks back and forth on the nightstand. He doesn't always take his mask off after blindfolding me, but I know I'm in for a treat when he does. The blindness makes everything so much more heightened. Sometimes I can feel where he's coming from because of the air, other times, he'll lick my ear and send electricity down my spine. Now comes the hard part.
"Undress."
"Yes, Master," I say. The words soothe me. I mean them. I unclasp my bra and slip it out of my top. I undo my pants and start pulling them off my legs, squeezing them around my ass and thighs until they hit my knees. Even blind, I can feel his gaze burning my skin like the summer sun.
I take the rest of my clothes off until I'm naked save for my panties. "Those, too," he says.
"You usually do that..."
He clicks his tongue several times. Surely, he's shaking his head. I stop short of finishing my sentence and replace it. "Yes, sir."
"Good."
I peel my panties off and let them drop between my legs and onto the floor. I thread my legs out of them. Bare and blind. The comforter on the bed is warm against my skin. He's dressed and... dangerous.
"Put these on." He tosses something at me. It falls on my lap with a gentle touch. The underwear I mailed him. I feel for the opening, and without hesitation, slip them on. They're not the cleanest, but he's given me an order and I have to follow them. No matter how strange, dark, or disturbing. It's what I want.
Chills crawl across my skin, leaving me dressed in goosebumps. I itch my arm and start scratching to relieve the anxiety, but he grabs my hand and stops me. "Let it overtake you."
I inhale deeply and fight the urge away. I have to control myself.
He unzips his pants and brings my hand toward his cock. The warmth radiating from his body is enough of a clue to alert me. I find him instinctively, having practice with this. Just as I'm about to wrap my fingers around him, his voice comes out in a sharp breath of air: "Don't stroke it." I keep my hand hovering over it. "Squeeze the base," he says. "Tightly."
I do as he says, encircling his cock with my hand and lowering it until I've met his body. There, I squeeze my fingers together and feel him throb beneath my touch. He let's out a small grunt, the kind that could send me over the edge if I was adequately ready. I'm getting wet again, I can already tell. This pair of underwear is receptive to that kind of thing, the heat of my body melting me like ice cream.
The Stranger takes a step forward and plants his feet around mine. I sit up on the bed as he grabs the back of my head. I can't fight him, I'm not allowed. I don't want to, anyway.
He brushes the tip of his cock against my lips, as if that's the secret technique to part my lips. I widen my mouth and he slowly fills me up. My tongue is held down and I fight my gag reflex. Even after all this time I have to keep working on it. I keep the impulse down, breathing hard through my nose and squeezing his cock even harder. He chuckles.
His hand is still planted on the back of my head. He starts to stroke his cock using my lips and tongue. I do my best to keep him protected from my teeth, to make sure he can move as smoothly as possible. Each thrust empties my lungs and makes me fight back. Each one makes my thighs slicker with hot anticipation. He hasn't done this in forever.
He groans loudly. His cock swells in my mouth, and I widen even further to receive his load. He brushes my hair back and withdraws his cock from my lips, one last string of spit connecting the glistening head to my tongue. I tilt my head up to him, even though I can't see him. "Why?"
"Not yet. Don't ask questions. Get on the bed, your hands and knees."
I nod and fall backwards. I roll onto my stomach and lift myself up, my legs are weaker than I thought they would be. Not from stress or pain, but... him.
I hear his gloves get pulled off and dropped on the nightstand next to his mask. It clatters a little as each one strikes it. Immediately after, his warm hands are caressing my ass, moving down my thighs to my inner knees, before sliding inside and pushing my legs apart.
"Delicious. As always." He stands and I hear him rustle around in the small bag he always brings. I can't see it through the blindfold, but I recall seeing it before. It isn't quite a duffel, but it has no labels or any defining marks. The kind of bag you'd see a bank robber use.
He walks across the room again, the warm air pushes against my wet body. I feel him climb on the bed and hover over me, his presence larger with my sight blinded. His aura is dark and meaty.
"The Medusa..." he reflects, I shake my head. "What was the reason you made that our word?"
"You told me to... sir. I like the idea of being able to turn you to stone." I crack a smile. "Not that I've needed to use it even once."
Warm leather touches my neck and wraps around my head before the cold buckles rasp my nape. A shiver climbs up my back as I fight back the urge to groan. He clasps the brace shut and locks it. The collar is familiar to me. The leather molded over the weeks and months to fit my clavicle and neck just so. He rubs his hands together, warming them after handling the chilled leather. His voice is like dark chocolate, almost too bitter to take. "Ah, very clever." He attaches a lead to the collar, the chains clink lightly against each other. Their affect on the weight of the collar is noticeable.
He withdraws himself from the bed. His hand touches my back as he does, his light touch making me quiver just a little more. Just that tiny amount. The length of static. It changes everything.
With the collar making it hard to swallow, I let the
spit build up in my throat. I can still breathe fine, but the thought is there. The idea is there. If things got rough, I could choke. I have before.
I have. I still didn't say the word. He was rough that day. That's the kind of day I need again.
"What brings you in early this week?"
What is he, my doctor? I scoff and he yanks on the leash attached to the collar. It jerks my neck up and I cough, fighting against the tension in the lead. I can't keep my balance and I lash one of my hands out just incase I need to try and grab something. Maybe I can grab a bedpost. It's worse because I can't see. "What was that?" He pulls the leash taut and I feel the blood drain from my legs and face. That dizzying feeling is uplifting. Euphoric.
"Nothing, Master." I'm meek. He slackens the leash and I collapse back on my hands and knees. He pushes my hands out from under me and I drop, facedown, onto the bed.
"No more hands. Your attitude needs adjustment first."
"Yes, sir." I answer, fighting back another cough. My eyes are watering, not that he could tell through my blindfold. My makeup, no doubt, is rolling down my cheeks. Something fucked up about feeling like a dirty mess. A disgusting animal.
I love every second of it. He coils the chain around his forearm like he's tangling with a python, and with it taut again, leans in close. I can feel his breath on my neck, it swirls down around my face and off the bedding. It's humid. The blindfold forces sweat to build up on my brow.
"You've got a nice sheen going on," he comments. He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to disobey and do something wrong. I've played this game before, I'm just a bit rusty. A bit shaken about Stacie earlier that day. Not just Stacie, but James.
And my dream about him.
The Stranger pushes a finger between my labia. The surprise makes me breathe sharply, the chill rushing over my teeth. He strokes his finger along my wet lips, dipping inside me every so gently, before pushing in again. I want to curl my legs up and try and capture him, but I know that'll get me punished. I want to be rewarded.
