by Tara Jones
“Slower,” she hissed, although I could see in her eyes that she really wanted me to do something entirely different. “Fuck me slowly.”
And it suddenly occurred to me what she was doing. She was as turned on as I was, and I felt her squeeze around me, wet and ready, but clearly she enjoyed ordering me to take it slow against my will more than letting herself come. The fact that she enjoyed power over pleasure, and that she was half of my size and still managed to control me made the experience deeply exhilarating.
I licked my lips, trying to control myself.
“I’ll try,” I said between clenched jaws and started to move against her with at a slower pace, gliding in and out of her almost all the way, but without leaving her.
I paused, before I deliberately slowly entered her again, all the way, inch by inch. I repeated it over and over until it felt like I was making love in slow motion. It was incredibly sensual, but also rather maddening. I wasn’t sure how long I would last, but I decided to do my best.
“Now go deeper,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming in the light.
I noticed how her body started to stiffen just before she came. Obediently I did what she told me to, while I fought for self-control. I wouldn’t let myself come until she told me, I vowed and tried not to focus too much on how good it felt to press myself deeper and a little bit harder against her, or the sensation of my hands gliding over her wet and soap-covered breasts.
“Like this?” I mumbled, my lips seeking hers.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly and I felt her body move against me, matching my rhythm.
“Please, let me come,” I begged desperately at last, unable to hold back anymore. “Please.”
I think it was the final comment that really pushed her over.
“Yes,” she moaned and closed her eyes. “Come inside of me,” she said, almost in a whisper.
She sank her nails into my shoulder and screamed with pleasure while I thrust harder against her, pressing her back resolutely against the frosted glass. I felt the muscles in her soft thighs tense around my waist as she cried out. I came instantly, shoving myself hard against her almost in desperation a couple of final times before my release left me.
For a short second, all I could concentrate on was not passing out before I slowly sank to the floor, pressing her soft body close, so close to me.
“You still owe me an explanation,” I said later when we went to bed.
For some reason, although we had already had mind-blowing sex, it felt oddly intimately to lie down next to her in her large bed. She had an old-fashioned iron-wrought bed with hideous bed sheets that had small pink flowers that reminded slightly of Laura Ashley design.
“I most certainly do not,” Eleanor mumbled drowsily and curled up next to me.
I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer.
“I think you do,” I said softly. “I saved your life, remember?”
“Mmm. Well yes, I guess you did that,” she said sleepily.
“Who was it that tried to run you over with the car earlier today?” I asked.
“Mmm.”
I wondered if she really was as tired as she sounded or if she pretended to be more drowsy than she actually was to avoid my question.
“I’ve a feeling that you weren’t entirely surprised about what happened,” I said neutrally and added, “You reacted very quickly...”
“Maybe,” she mumbled and was quiet for a while. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”
“Good.” I kissed her forehead.
“Oh, and Peter?
“Yes?”
“Remind me to punish you tomorrow for returning your library book too late,” she mumbled softly before she fell asleep.
Her last comment left me feeling wide awake, and it took quite a long time for me to go to sleep. I lay awake for a long time, watching the brightly lit Tower Bridge and London’s skyline, wondering how on earth I had managed to end up in a luxury apartment with a mysterious red-headed librarian sleeping on my arm.
***
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* * *
Dominated by the Librarian
(Male Submission)
Part #4: Surrender to your Mistress
by Tara Jones
I woke up in a rather unpleasant way.
I had a nightmare about a mad car chase–clearly a result of Eleanor’s insane driving the day before–but in my dream she drove over the edge of a bridge, and we ended up in the Thames. The murky water was slowly filling the car, but I couldn’t get out! The doors were locked and cold water was leaking in through the edges of the windscreen. It was getting harder to breathe as the pocket of air at the ceiling of the car was getting smaller and smaller and smaller…
I opened my eyes and nearly fell out of the bed in shock when a pair of unemotional blue eyes with vertical black slits for pupils stared back at me from inches away.
It took me a disorienting moment to realize that one of Eleanor’s Siamese cats was sitting on my chest and effectively preventing me from breathing properly. Besides its failed attempt to try to suffocate me, it was also apparently having a staring contest with me before I was even awake.
Bloody cat, I thought drowsily.
“Sod off.” I tried to push it off the bed.
The cat meowed loudly in protest, and Eleanor moved in her sleep next to me. She slept on her side, facing away from me. I felt her warm body against mine, which made my morning erection stiffen as it pressed against her lower back. In her sleep, Eleanor arched her spine gently against me, unaware of how amazingly sexy that was. I groaned softly in response and moved a little bit closer. I wanted nothing more than to hitch up the white lace edge of her cotton nightshirt, grab her hips and take her slowly, before she was fully awake, and squeeze her breasts lightly between my fingers.
But I had to get rid of the meowing and clearly retarded cat first.
“Hush you,” I hissed to the cat, which without any sense of remorse professionally burrowed a set of razor-sharp claws deep in my forearm, making a matching mark to the claw marks that Eleanor had left earlier, only smaller.
I stifled a short cry of pain.
Eleanor had called the cats Twix and Cadbury, but in my mind I had renamed them to more suitable names: Dexter and Hannibal.
And with good reason, I thought crossly as I watched small drops of blood forming on my arm.
“Bastard,” I muttered and threw a dirty look at the cat, which instantly started to lick one of its paws in an incredibly uninterested way, like it had no idea of what or whom I was talking to.
My eyes wandered back to Eleanor. She had long, curly hair that was spread out over the pillow and pale perfect skin without even a single freckle, despite her ginger hair.
She looks younger than 25 when she isn’t wearing her glasses, I thought.
Eleanor usually wore oddly old-fashioned tweed jackets and strict, knee-length pencil skirts, but in bed she wore a white simple nightshirt with a little lace. Still, the nightshirt was quite conservative. In fact, it looked vaguely like something that innocent virgins walking around abandoned castles in the middle of the night would wear in old, black-and-white vampire movies.
Still, I noticed I could almost see one of her pink nipples through the thin cotton material, and I felt my erection stir at the sight. I licked my lips unconsciously.
Eleanor had sensual and generously sized breasts, which were too large to fit in my hands easily. In fact she was feminine, curvy, and almost voluptuous in a classic kind of way, from a time when women were allowed to look like women and not like underweight models. And to be honest, it made her proper cotton nightshirt look provocative and somehow wrong, in an incredibly sexy way.
The cat interrupted my sinful thoughts. It bumped its head against my elbow to remind me of its existence, while purring loudly and trampling around in the bed in a deliberately clumsy way. Eleanor stirred in her sleep again.
“You’re going to wake her up,” I wh
ispered, trying to talk sense into the cat. My mind had already formed several pleasant plans of how to wake Eleanor up, many of which involved tearing off her innocent-looking nightshirt. None of my plans included stupid cats. “Please go away!”
The other Siamese cat had joined us and stared at me flatly. It meowed loudly, like it was saying, ‘Yes, we’re going to wake her up, unfortunately… unless you get your arse out of bed and feed us, puny human.’
This wasn’t actually that far from the truth, although I would never know it.
It was, however, clear to me that the cats would do anything in their power to stop me from having a satisfying morning.
Perhaps if I’ll give them something to eat, they’ll stop pestering me? I thought with a sigh.
Reluctantly I left the bed and Eleanor’s warm body.
I hadn’t known Eleanor for very long, but I felt oddly connected to her. I couldn’t describe what it was, but I knew that I had never felt anything like it with any of my previous lovers or girlfriends, including Christine. She was my latest ex, and we had been together for a record time in my experience, almost two years to be exact.
Secretly I wished that I would be together with Eleanor longer than that.
It was a foggy early morning, and Tower Bridge outside Eleanor’s ridiculously luxurious penthouse apartment was hidden behind veils of mist. I started to get dressed slowly while the cats purred around my legs in an unbelievably false way, now that they were getting what they wanted.
If cats had thumbs and could open tins all by themselves, they would probably keep humans as pets and not the other way around, I pondered.
My ankle ached from the day before, and I noticed that there was a large purple bruise around the side of my foot where I had been hit by the car.
I swore silently when I suddenly realized that I was already supposed to be at work. I started searching after my mobile phone, trying to come up with a valid excuse for why I would show up late when we had a really, really important meeting with potential customers that morning. Not that I was looking forward to yet another pointless discussion about ‘the customer’s vision about the journey for the visitor on their website’.
Jesus Christ, we’re building websites, not trains. Still, I didn’t want to be unemployed either. Well, sometimes being smart and quiet was… being wise, I concluded.
That’s when I heard the noise. It was a strange sound from somewhere at the other end of the apartment.
I froze. Even the cats seemed to have turned into immobile twin statues next to me. They were both staring uncannily at the same direction the noise had come from.
Burglars? The thought crossed my mind. Or perhaps Eleanor has a cleaning lady that she had forgotten to mention? I speculated, unconvinced.
I cast a quick glance at Eleanor, who slept curled up under the sheets. I didn’t want to wake her up if I was wrong. She looked so peaceful and beautiful that I almost forgot about the strange sound, when I heard it again.
My attention snapped back. The sound had seemed to come from the front door at first, but now, as I tip-toed through the apartment, I could localize it to the open kitchen area.
What if there really were thieves? I wondered, slightly on edge. Not that I was nervous, just precautious. Or maybe it’s the same people who tried to kill us yesterday!
The thought sent a chill down my spine. Armed with my mobile phone and ready to press the speed dial to the police, I moved forward against my better judgement.
My bare feet didn’t make any sound as I walked on the luxury hardwood floor, dodging in between the numerous bookcases that were scattered around the spacious room.
Eleanor was a librarian, but also a serious book collector and most of the penthouse apartment was filled with endless bookcases and shelves, all overflowing with books.
I had a feeling that somewhere an interior designer was crying because his fragile artistic vision of a modern luxurious apartment filled with uncomfortable, modern furniture made out of steel and contemporary white skin sofas, had been replaced by mismatching bookcases and second-hand furniture. It looked like someone had successfully made a smash and grab at several book shops and randomly collected whatever they could get their hands on.
I continued forward and tried to remember the layout of the kitchen, from where I had heard the noises. It had an open design with an island… And there had been a set of kitchen knives next to the designer espresso machine.
It’s one of those wooden Japanese sets, with only the handles sticking up from a large block of wood.
I remembered it clearly.
A mad idea started to form in my mind, and without really questioning myself I decided to act instantly. If it really was a thief or one of the men that had tried to kill us yesterday, then I had to do something before they knew we were here.
Silently I crept closer to the kitchen and listened. The cats followed me, clearly interested in what I was doing. Or perhaps they were just happy that I was heading towards the kitchen.
Well, at least the furry monsters are quiet, I thought to myself.
I heard new noises from kitchen. It sounded like they were very close. I took a deep breath and then swiftly took two steps into the kitchen area, grabbed the handle of one of the knives from the wooden block in one smooth motion and held it in front of me.
“Don’t move!” I said in a determined voice.
I instantly realized that I had been absolutely right. About ten feet from me stood a woman with her back to me, dressed all in black from head to toe.
So not the cleaning lady! I thought triumphantly.
My instincts had been right all along.
“Turn around,” I ordered. “And raise your hands so I can see them.”
She did as I told her and slowly turned to face me. I tried not to be distracted by the fact that the woman in front of me was unnervingly attractive. She had high cheekbones, slightly slanted almond-shaped eyes, and a curved nose that looked somewhat Slavic. Her skin was the colour of copper and didn’t match the rest of her looks, but it made her look strangely exotic.
She also looked perfectly lethal, in her black clothes with her dark hair in a tight braid that fell down her back. Despite wearing a black-hooded jumper and army trousers with leg pockets, it was impossible to miss how fit she was. She looked lean and strong, in a feminine way. She had the body of someone who did a lot of rock climbing in their spare time.
Or possibly some sort of violent martial art training, I added with a sinking feeling.
I made sure to keep my distance from her.
“Ah,” she said calmly. “Peter Thompson, I believe?”
She spoke with a slight Eastern European accent, which instantly made me think about Russian hit men.
“What? Wait… How do you know my name?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
“Of course I know your name. I’m Miss Eleanor’s personal security agent,” she said and paused before she continued, “And I think I’m better armed than you, yes?”
She lowered her hands and revealed a shoulder holster that held a heavy-looking handgun with a brown grip.
It looked intimidating, to say the least.
“Oh,” I said.
To make things worse, I realized that what I had thought was the handle of a sharp and vicious Japanese kitchen knife turned out to be a blunt sharpening steel. Feeling more than a little bit stupid, I hastily returned it to its original place in the wooden set.
“So… Who are you then?” I asked hurriedly to cover up my mistake.
She frowned at me, “I told you, I’m Miss Eleanor’s security guard.”
“Yes, but what’s your name?” I tried again.
This conversation wasn’t going anywhere.
“Her name is Kithira Jurowski,” Eleanor said behind me and yawned. The cats had unfaithfully abandoned me and were now stroking their heads lovingly against Eleanor’s ankles as if they hadn’t seen her in days. She was wearing her black glasses
and a white silk bathrobe over her nightshirt, the latter doing nothing to hide the sensual silhouette of her breasts and hips. “She’s my body guard, my secretary, and my personal assistant. Among other things.”
“I see,” I said, still feeling rather confused.
“She also makes breakfast in the mornings,” Eleanor added and I realized that the odd sounds I had heard were from the half-finished breakfast that stood on the kitchen counter.
“I was here yesterday evening, but I heard that you were… pre-occupied, so I didn’t interrupt,” the burglar/security-agent/kitchen-staff girl said casually.
She swiftly opened a tin and poured cat food into two beige ceramic bowls. The two Siamese cats purred loudly as she placed it on the floor next to the over-sized industrial kitchen stove.
Her comment caught up with me and I felt myself starting to blush against my will. I remembered yesterday’s events quite clearly.
Oh, my God! She heard us… She must have heard me! Begging to–
For a second I thought about fleeing the apartment. Not even collecting the rest of my clothes. Just run. But I was too tired and besides things just couldn’t get anymore weirder than this, I concluded.
I was wrong, but I was obliviously unaware of it.
“That’s all right,” Eleanor said without even raising an eyebrow at Kithira’s remark. She sat down on one of the bar chairs next to the gigantic kitchen island. “Is the coffee ready?”
“Of course,” Kithira said and immediately served an espresso that looked so strong it almost made my eyes water. “And you, Mr Thompson, you prefer Earl Grey tea? Yes?”
I didn’t even want to know how she knew that.
“Yes, please,” I said weakly instead and sank down on a chair next to Eleanor.
It turned out that Kithira was an excellent chef, in addition to all of her other skills, and before I knew it I was being served a full English breakfast that not even the best hotels in London could beat. It made me feel much better and after my second cup of tea, life started to look bright again.
