The Christmas She Rules

by Jennifer Leeland

  “Do you want to come, Christian?” Her voice was soft and her nails scraped over his shoulders.

  “If you wish it, Mistress,” he choked out.

  “Where do you want to come?” she asked as if she was curious. There was nothing in her voice that showed she’d just had an intense orgasm. Had he imagined it?

  “Wherever you wish, Mistress,” he said, his voice husky. His arms were sore from being hyper-extended behind his back and his balls throbbed as he struggled to hold back his release.

  The belt loosened and his hands were free, but she had told him no touching. He shook his fingers to get the blood back in them. She put her boot on his shoulder and shoved. He tumbled flat on his back.

  She jerked his pants off in one strong move and his cock sprang to attention. He ignored the fact that every patron in that club was riveted by him and his Mistress. She gazed at his cock until he thought he’d die if she didn’t touch him. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth to stay silent. Her heels clicked as she strode to a box of condoms in the corner and even the action of ripping open the package was sexy and erotic. She hummed a sound of approval as she slid the rubber over his rigid flesh.

  With a flick, she lifted her hem and impaled her body over his pulsating cock. His come boiled and his balls tightened, but he held on, even as she lifted and slammed down again. She raked her nails down his chest and broke the skin. The pain almost made him lose his grip. I will not come until she orders me to. Even if she won’t let me come. Jesus, her pussy is so hot, so slick.

  He growled, a guttural sound from the back of his throat. He wanted to beg. He wanted to thrust his hips upward and let loose his come inside of her. He knew if he hadn’t been sheathed in that condom he would have completely lost control of his response.

  She ground her hips into his with short, fast strokes. Then she leaned down and whispered, “When I come, you come.”

  “Mistress,” he groaned.

  “Mmm?” she murmured in his ear.

  “May I touch you? Please, Mistress?” His voice was low and husky as his fingers ached to touch her skin.

  “You may,” she murmured.

  She arched back and he slid his fingers up her thigh and reached her clit. He pressed it at first, but then he rolled the erect nub between his thumb and index finger with short, staccato pinches. Fresh cream flooded her channel and dripped over his balls. His breath stopped as he struggled to regain control of his body. Then her hips started to roll faster and harder over his cock. Desperately, he kept pace with her by timing his pinches on her clit with the action of her body. She made a keening sound that sent electricity through him and her pussy clenched around him in a hard orgasm. With one more thrust upward he exploded, his come filling the condom to the point he worried it wouldn’t hold it.

  Her body continued to convulse around him and he kept the friction on her slick channel until she slowed and relaxed. He reached up and placed a hand over her heart. The pumping beneath her skin gave him a satisfied feeling. He’d made her heart thump erratically, as erratically as his was right now.

  She lifted her body off of his and gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. “You put on a good show.” Her hand reached down and the collar loosened from his neck. It signaled the end of play and Christian resisted the urge to grab her hand, stop her from ending their time together.

  She straightened her skirt, picked up her panties and swayed as she strode out of the cage. “Tomorrow night. Be here. On time and ready for me this time.” The heels on her boots clicked in the ensuing silence. Twenty people stood around the cage, silent, stunned.

  He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his come leaking from the condom that had loosened now that his cock was spent. There was no way he was coming back. Fear replaced well-being. This woman saw too much. It was too intense, too much. He wasn’t ready for something like this. He’d leave a note thanking her and then stay away from the club for a while.

  Even as those thoughts raced through his mind, he knew he’d be back. He closed his eyes and groaned. He needed her. No other woman had touched him the way she had. But he meant nothing to her, just a toy, a passing submissive in her world of whips and dildos.

  Carefully, he rose and stumbled out of the cage.

  ***

  It had taken every ounce of strength and all the years of training as a Domme for Pamela to walk calmly away. As she strode out of the club, her wet and pulsating pussy reminded her of just how much she had let her control slip. Maybe it was because most of the playing she’d done recently had been topping women. Perhaps she was egged on by the silent crowd that lent energy to everything she did.

  But it wasn’t either of those things.

  That man filled the emptiness and dissipated the loneliness that had driven her to San Francisco in the first place. Her hands shook as she slid into the driver’s seat of her car. What was she thinking? She’d come here to play. She wasn’t looking to find anything deeper than that place of power that passed between a submissive and his Domme. Certainly not any emotional attachment.

  The drive back to her friend’s apartment steadied her nerves. She was in control. The man beneath her didn’t matter. No one at the club knew she’d never had public sex in that way before. She’d had men lick her clit to get her off, but producing a condom and fucking a man in front of twenty strangers was not her style.

  It was the way he’d held back, hung on. It was the way his face had strained and his jaw clenched to gain control of his cock. For her. The fact that he seemed to want to touch her, obey her, be one with her.

  Stop it! She wasn’t a young newbie anymore. She’d been in the lifestyle since her twenties. So why did this man test her hard-earned control? Why had she wanted to drag him into a corner and mark him?

  It was him. Something in the way he submitted to her drove her to want to possess him. She’d seen other Dommes fall victim to that power. Even the infamous David Peters had been broken in the end. She’d seen the way a submissive would do anything for a Domme. Anything. Her brother had done it and paid the highest price of all. She shoved those thoughts away. Hadn’t she come three hundred miles to drown those memories?

  As she twisted the key to her friend’s apartment, she made the decision. She was going home. It would be Christmas in three days. David would be having his annual party on Christmas Eve. She’d sip a martini and forget about the reluctant submissive at The Cage.

  Without removing her club outfit, she called David’s number. When he answered, she felt an overwhelming relief. “David, I’m glad I caught you at home.”

  “I’m usually home at midnight. What’s wrong?”

  She hadn’t realized how late it was. Feeling foolish, she stammered a little. “I think I’ll be home for the Christmas party after all,” she said. Her voice sounded high and strained even to herself.

  After a moment of silence, David asked again, “What’s wrong, Pamela?” His voice was coaxing and soft.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I-I-I’m not sure. I met a man.”

  “At The Cage?”

  “Yes.” She stopped, uncertain how to explain, to describe what Christian did to her, to reveal how addicted to him she had become.

  “And it’s rattled you.”

  “Yes,” she sobbed.

  “What happened?”

  With her knuckles white around the receiver, she told David about her encounters with Christian. She stumbled over the description of how she’d fucked him right there, in front of anybody who wanted to watch. She closed her eyes and waited.

  “It sounds like he’s a talented submissive.”

  Anger shot through her like lightning. “It’s not like that!”

  “He’s a stranger, right? That makes it easier.”

  “What do you mean?” she snapped.

  “You don’t have to dig any deeper if it’s someone you don’t give a shit about.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “No, I’m right. Don’t
come to my party to run away from yourself.”

  “David—”

  “Call me when you get home.” The connection clicked off.

  Pamela stared at the dead phone. That bastard! That cold-hearted fuckwad. She wasn’t going back to that damn club. And none of David’s manipulations could make her.

  She ripped off her clothes impatiently and crawled into bed. Sleep eluded her. Every submissive she’d played over the years drifted through her memory. Even Stephanie had been a lighthearted encounter. She’d been an unhappily married woman whose husband told her if she needed to be flogged she should find herself a Dominant and leave him alone. As a female, Pamela had been a safe choice. But maybe David had suggested her to Stephanie for another reason? Did he realize there would be little emotional connection between them? Oh, they were good friends and Pamela knew how to get Stephanie off during their sessions, but there had been no hard feelings when her husband had decided he wanted to play her.

  Every man or woman who had been topped by Pamela moved on with little or no regret. It made her sad. This time of year emphasized her lack of family, her losses.

  Tears dripped onto her pillow and she cried until her nose ran and her throat hurt. What an empty life. What was she going to leave behind her? Nothing. If she was wiped off the face of the earth no one would be heartbroken. A little depressed maybe, but not devastated. Her family had disowned her years ago, convinced she was going to hell for her bisexual and deviant tendencies. And for other reasons she wouldn’t think about. Her friends were close, but no one really breached the wall around her. How had she reached this point where she faced another holiday alone and depressed?

  David was right. She’d chosen a stranger so that she wouldn’t have to, once again, deal with the fact she couldn’t do relationships. She swung her legs out of the bed and washed her face. Could she face one more session with Christian? Could she give into the power and be his as much as she claimed him?

  She’d have to. The alternative was going home to face David as a failure and that she just couldn’t do.

  When she climbed back into bed this time, she fell asleep immediately.

  Chapter Three

  The fog seemed thicker on the third night that Pamela strode into the The Cage. There, in front of the counter, with the collar she’d chosen around his neck, was Christian. He was shirtless, on his knees and beautiful. Long marks ran from his collar bone to his ribs from where she’d scratched him the night before. He didn’t glance up, but she noted his nostrils flared and his muscles tensed when she approached. He was as in tune with her as she was with him.

  “A private room, Dominique.” She kept her gaze on his kneeling form as Dominique handed her a key.

  The other woman hesitated and Pamela finally met her gaze. Her blue eyes held a question and Pamela nodded. “I will follow the rules. If you need me to keep it public, I will.” And she meant it. It meant more to her to be a part of the lifestyle than the easy exchange of fluids. Dominique must have heard the sincerity in her voice.

  “The cupboards have all the things you’ll need. There’s a box outside the room. Please leave them there when you’re done.” Dominique’s eyes twinkled. “The other patrons will be disappointed.”

  A faint smile lifted Pamela’s lips. “I’m not sharing tonight.”

  The other female Domme nodded and handed her a leash. Pamela’s eyes widened. “How did you—”

  Dominique smiled. “I’ve seen that look before. I’ve felt it before.”

  “Thank you.”

  The other woman waved her away and Pamela clicked the leash on Christian’s collar. “Let’s go.”

  The private rooms were in a labyrinth of hallways and it took a little while to find the room she’d been given. Chris stalked obediently behind her and she enjoyed the sensation that it created.

  She found the right door and opened it. Inside the room was more like the dungeon in David’s basement. A St. Andrew’s cross stood in the center of the floor. Wrist and ankle restraints protruded from the wall with benches underneath them. The one thing she wanted tonight was also there. Hanging from the ceiling were two heavy ropes with manacles on the ends.

  Christian crawled to the center of the room and she removed the leash. “Get up and stand there.” She pointed beneath the ropes.

  When he reached the manacles he shot her a quick glance. It was clear this was not one of the pieces of equipment he’d been used in before. Pamela picked up a small step stool in the corner of the room and set it up beside him. “Raise your arms.”

  He stretched his arms up and she caught a whiff of his scent. Sweat broke out on his skin as she clicked the manacles around his wrists. The rope was adjustable and wound through a pulley so she could haul him up so his toes hovered over the floor. She watched him carefully. New experiences were iffy with submissives.

  “Christian? Remember to tell me if you don’t find something pleasurable,” she reminded him.

  “I’m…fine, Mistress.”

  “Tell me how you feel,” she asked as she strode around him and inspected every inch of his body.

  “The stretching hurts my arms, but it also turns me on. I keep wanting to reach with my toes and touch the floor.” He blinked and gazed at her. “I’m not used to being hung up in one of these things.”

  She nodded. “Do you want to stop?”

  He gave her a steady glance. “What are you going to do?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Don’t you trust me?”

  His jaw clenched. “Yes, Mistress.” He dropped his gaze.

  “You told me how you feel physically, Christian. Now tell me how you feel.” She flicked open the button of his pants and unzipped his fly.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean,” he said with a frown.

  “How do you feel?” Her hand stroked his thigh and over his hipbone as she walked around him.

  A little breathlessly, he said, “I…feel helpless, hung here. And we’re alone which makes me feel both afraid and fucking hot.”

  She allowed a small smile to cross her face. “Of all the things we did the last two nights, what was your favorite?”

  He swung his head and his look smoldered and burned. “When you allowed me to lick your pussy.”

  “And why is that?” she demanded with narrowed eyes.

  His eyes widened. “Because I wanted to taste you, touch you, and you let me.”

  Shaken, but unwilling to let him see, she turned her back to him and strode to a cabinet. She removed two items from inside the cupboard. A strap-on dildo and a bottle of lube.

  She contemplated his reaction to the items. The twitch of his cheek muscle and one blink of his eyes spoke volumes. He’d never been fucked in the ass. He had no idea how she’d spent her day. Dominique had been cagey about this man, but Pamela had been persistent. Finally, the club owner had given her the information she needed. Whatever this submissive touched off inside her, Pamela wanted to exorcise it, play it out, get rid of it.

  His skin was unmarred by tattoos, though he bore several scars. On his back were flogging scars. Not unusual for a man with a pain fetish. The round, puckered skin about the size of a quarter in his shoulder was not usual. A bullet hole? Possibly.

  Her nails raked over his skin and explored the cut of his muscles, the bulge of his arms, the dip of his lower back, every delicious inch of his body. Even his feet were sexy. Large, lean and firm, like the rest of him, his feet jerked when she scraped the bottom of them. He stared at her as she knelt to explore his ankles and knees. His cock sprang away from his belly as if reaching for her, arching toward her face.

  She rose slowly and gripped his balls in a painful grip. His breath hissed as he inhaled and his penis throbbed against the back of her hand.

  “You have never been fucked in the ass.”

  “No, Mistress,” he choked out and his hips jerked slightly.

  She released his balls and knelt again. At his feet were two small openings in the floor. She
flipped open the lids and removed two more shackles. He licked his lips and his face lost color as she splayed his legs and manacled his feet to the floor. Immobile, he was completely at her mercy.

  In front of him, with his eyes riveted on her, she stripped off the leather skirt and studded blouse she’d chosen to wear. The boots stayed on. Naked, she allowed him to look, but when her gaze met his, he immediately lowered his eyes. She smiled. The hot, needy expression in his face was erotic and stimulating. The fact that he both resisted and accepted her provided a tug of war within her own mind. He attracted and repelled her. His submission drew her like an addict to a drug, but repelled her by its very potency.

  Part of her was terrified.

  She pushed the thought away and focused on this moment, the sexual tension, the swirling energy that surrounded them. Deliberately, she encircled her waist with the belted strap-on. The dildo was long but not too thick. She dribbled lube over the tip of it and used her hand to stroke the dildo like it was a real cock. The action rubbed two prongs against her clit, part of the equipment that gave the user pleasure as well as the used. She reveled in the way Christian’s eyes turned a tawny gold, bright, feverish and focused on her hand. His cock strained and the muscles of his legs tightened.

  He was a stunning figure, taut, hard, beautiful. Even as she tormented him, she devoured him in her mind. A feral part of her brain wanted to brand him, make him hers, mark him so he would never forget her. Foolish thoughts for a Domme who only intended to play with a submissive for a short time. Very foolish. But those foolish thoughts raced through her mind when a drop of precome leaked from the tip of his cock.

  Finally, she stepped around him, adjusted the step stool and stood behind him. The tip of the strap-on pressed against his anus. He tensed. She squirted lube on her fingers and explored his ass. He was so tight, so hot. The way his ass muscles clenched around her hand and his head dropped back was magnificent. Two fingers, three, then his hips rotated and he groaned.