by M. A. Ellis
“Yes.” She arched her back, tried to slow her breathing.
“Did you come more than once?”
“Yes.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted, jumping when he grabbed her leg and lifted it upward onto the barstool he had quickly repositioned. The faux leather cushioned her knee, the angle allowing a brush of air to cool her heated flesh.
“Can you control your orgasm? If I order you to hold back, not to come, can you do that?”
The scrape of another stool being moved diverted her attention and a moment later he had her other leg in a similar position, her pussy effortlessly on display.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried,” she said, sucking in a breath when he caressed her ass with both hands, the whisper-soft designs causing goose bumps to rise.
“This time, I’ll allow you to keep your eyes closed, but know that in the future, you’ll watch me. Agreed?”
She shook her head, unable to muster any other response as his fingers reached the fabric covering her labia.
“This time, you can just focus on my touch. This isn’t the place to work out any of your fantasies, although I have to tell you, I’m looking forward to that one we discussed. The one in the dead of night. It’s hot. Well thought out on your part. Which is what play dates are all about. Perfectly orchestrated desires.”
He gave her covered pussy three firm little taps and a shudder rippled through her body, from her toes all the way to her bound wrists and she clenched her hands into fists.
“You’ll be punished for the error in clothing, though. But not here. Not perched how you are. Where one solid swat might send you careening into the tap. Of course, you could just hold on with your hands to steady yourself. Maybe we should try that? But it’s probably best if I just focus right here.”
He flicked her clit and Isabel rocked forward, involuntarily clenching her muscles.
“Your ass, tightened like that, is a delight. I’m going to look forward to using it in every way possible but not until I fill you first. Right here.”
He palmed her fully and a tiny moan escaped her lips. The contact started a throbbing low in her belly and she leaned forward, trying to press her abdomen against the bar.
“You’re hot, Isabel. And already wet. What are we going to do about that?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer so she remained quiet and did as he said. She focused on his hand. His fingers. The way they stroked her swollen labia in a slow, random pattern that was quickly driving her upward. It had been too long, that was the only rational explanation for how terribly hot he was making her. With great skill and a pace so slow she wanted to cry, he worked his way to her clit, tracing wide circles around the little nub but not touching it, even when she did the unthinkable and rocked her hips backward so he was forced to brush it dead-on.
“Isabel,” he warned.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gritting her teeth as she tried to divert her attention. He wanted her to hang on and that wasn’t going to happen if she kept thinking of how long his fingers were, of how badly she wanted him to slip one inside her channel and try to find her G-spot. He could, there was no doubt about that.
He will. And you’ll love it. And come like a crazy woman.
He picked up the tempo and the change in her breathing seemed thunderous to her ears. She was sure he heard it, knew how important it was for men of his temperament to be able to read the women they were mastering. The thought turned her on even more and she failed to stifle a groan. A second later her thong bit into her leg as he wrenched the fabric to one side. She held her breath and waited for his fingers. She wanted them inside her. Wanted her labia stroked. And it was…with the broad flatness of his tongue.
“Oh my god.” The ties around her wrists didn’t give an inch when she pulled at them. She wanted free, wanted to reach back and touch him even though she was aware that wouldn’t happen. Not until he was damn well ready to release her.
But now, with his tongue flitting from her clit to her dewy slit and then delving inside, she wanted to reconsider. He was hot on oh so many levels. In a moment of brief clarity, she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before but then the familiar sensation of impending release was upon her. He was going to let her come, not make her hold back, and it felt delicious.
“Oh my god, Chris.”
And then he was gone.
His hands, his lips, his warm body.
Her head snapped up and she watched him wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, watched him inhale deeply before lowering his hands to his hips with an air of finality.
“No,” she cried, shaking her head as the cool air teased her wet pussy. “You can’t.”
“I can,” he replied, pulling first one stool and then the other away so her legs dropped. “Every time you disobey. And every time you use my real name. When I’m dominating you, you’ll call me Sir or nothing at all. I won’t demand you try Master. But you will show me respect. It’s a lesson easily learned, Isabel.”
Her limbs were trembling and she remained on her toes but brought her thighs close together, intent on shifting her hips back and forth to alleviate some of the pressure.
“Your pussy’s so swollen, that’s not going to work. Even as sweetly waxed as you are, and I do love that, by the way. It makes the tormenting so much easier.”
“Let me come.” Her words came out as a growl.
“Uh-uh-uh. No ordering. What type of hierarchy would that set? You demanding and me giving in? That might work with other men. You’ve got the looks, the clout, the tight little box. Any guy would happily do whatever it was you asked of him. But I’m not any man. You know that now.”
Despite the throbbing in her cunt, Isabel was coherent enough to know what he was about. She could counter his psychological warfare.
“So you’ll feel less of a man by letting me have my way this first time?”
He stared at her, his eyes stormy, and Isabel pulled on every reserve of determination not to look away.
“Mmmm. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled. “You’re a smart woman. You know enough about the game that I think you could easily be a Domme in your own right.”
“Let me go, Chris.” She’d had enough. He could release her and she knew exactly what she’d do and she thought he’d be okay with it. Had he not been keeping his cock away from her gyrating body parts, she’d actually know if he was interested. If he’d kiss her again and let her hitch a leg over his hip. Let her undo his belt and drop his zipper. Let her—
“Which do you want? Let you come or let you go?”
“Let me go and I’ll make myself come,” she said brazenly. She was rewarded with the arch of one of his brows.
“Another challenge. You’re really not implementing anything you’ve learned over the past few days, are you? Submissive means just that. Even if it’s for ten minutes. You’re submissive for the session. That’s how it works when you’re not a lifestyler. And you have to know that I’m impervious to a challenge. It just makes me want to be more of a prick.”
He cupped his hand over her mons, curling his fingers so they brushed the opening of her vagina while the heel of his hand exerted just enough pressure above her clit that Isabel thought she might die.
“Because I love that sparkle in your eyes, I’ll compromise. You stay tied and I’ll let you get yourself off.”
She eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say a word. She’d never done anything so bold and he had to know that.
“This,” he flexed his wrist and Isabel eagerly pushed her body against his hand, “is what I’m offering. If you really want to come that badly, show me.”
His eyes, his tone, the words. They blended together in an undeniable challenge she knew she should refuse but the throbbing between her thighs overrode common sense and she moved her hips, attempting various angles and small rotations until she maneuvered his fingers where they needed to be.
�
�Right there,” she whispered, closing her eyes to block out his intent gaze. She’d praise him later for the way his hand remained stiff, how he didn’t move his fingers one iota while she pressed against them with increasing speed and force until the fullness that had receded to just below the surface rose once again.
Her body ached with raw need when her orgasm hit and she silently rode the waves, only cognizant of the fact he’d moved away from her and was back around the bar when he grabbed the loop holding her hands together. She opened her eyes and watched him produce a pair of scissors and cut the tie that was looped around the tap. Had he not been holding her, she might have slid to the floor, but he waited until she eased backward onto one of the stools before removing the other tie and rubbing her wrists. She blinked, surprised at the knifelike tingles that shot to her fingers and offered him a tiny smile.
“I hope you found that rewarding, babe. Because it didn’t do a fucking thing for me.”
Stunned, she watched him walk away. She heard the distant slam of a door and flinched, her wet nether region rubbing against the seat of the stool in a manner that had her on her feet in a heartbeat. She pulled her thong back into place and yanked her skirt down, the heat of embarrassment flooding her face. It wasn’t how she should feel, not after that. Disappointment and something that resembled shame weren’t meant to be part of the afterglow.
The fact that he was dissatisfied hurt, but the callousness of his words sparked a different emotion. He’d called her babe for god’s sake. He knew how impersonal that was. What kind of way was that to treat someone you supposedly wanted to be with?
He doesn’t want to date you, Izzi. He wants to be your Dom. Big difference.
But that still didn’t allow for humiliating her. They’d covered that in their talks as well. Humiliation wasn’t one of her turn-ons.
“Well screw you, Chris Greene.” She stalked across the room and grabbed her sweater and her purse out of the booth where she’d left them.
You told him you didn’t want the screwing part, remember? Everything was supposed to be of a tutorial nature. Exploration. Enlightenment—
“Oh shut the hell up,” she muttered, heading back to the bar and grabbing a cocktail napkin. She rummaged in her purse for a pen and jotted him a short and to-the-point, two-sentence “fuck you”.
* * * * *
Chris stood, straight arming the wall of the office as he counted to fifty, inhaling and exhaling at each increment of five, until his breathing returned to normal. He stared at the faux grain of the ancient wood paneling and shook his head.
He’d been so damn pissed when she walked in wearing that outfit. Every guy there had turned and stared as she bounded up to the bar to say hello to him before grabbing a booth for her and her two girlfriends. Disobeying from day one was not what he had anticipated. Not from their chats. She’d seemed so pliable, so willing to accept his suggestions.
But then she’d misbehaved and his need to remedy that, coupled with the fact the dearth of customers had forced him to let the wait staff go home early, overrode his well-laid plan. No, if Karma wasn’t a bitch, he’d have slid into the booth when her BFFs departed and told her he was the Master. That he was the one giving her all the sound advice while exploring the degree to which her kink factor came into play.
But in the blink of an eye, it’d been the two of them, him with the power to clear and close the place, and Isabel walking across the floor toward him, those hot legs stuffed into the even hotter boots. He’d done what he could. He’d improvised.
“Call me the fuckin’ MacGyver of bondage,” he mumbled, threading his fingers through his hair. He had already called the taxi for Elaine and keeping Isabel right where she was had seemed the perfect solution. His goal had been to slowly tease her but then her damn scent had worked its way into his system and straight to his dick and all he could think about was the fact she’d have to taste as good as she smelled. As sweet as the wetness making her pussy glisten.
“Shit. What the hell happened to your control, dickwad?” He hadn’t been that unfocused since the early days of his training. He stared at the closed door and knew for a fact she wouldn’t be out there waiting for him. If she were, he’d think a great deal less of her. She was a strong woman and that held a great deal of appeal. Unless he misread her, and he was certain he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be waiting to apologize, even if she recognized myriad things she had done wrong from a prospective-sub standpoint.
Chris made his way out of the office, into the empty bar and walked straight to the door and locked it. His hunches were correct. All that remained was whether she’d talk to him again. Whether she’d have the balls to walk in the door for the next hockey game. Or if she’d actually contact him online. He doubted that would be the case.
He went to the cash register, ready to empty it when the note caught his eye.
You’re a tool. Never call me a slut again.
“Duly noted, Izzi.” He laughed, his spirits rising. A “tool” wasn’t as bad as it could have been. And “again”…well, that just held all sorts of hope for another chance. And one more chance was all he needed.
Chapter Five
“I think you should give him another chance.”
Isabel ignored Lucy and struggled to get the balloon onto the air valve of the helium tank. Twenty down…another forty to go.
“Give me that,” Lucy said. “You must totally suck at putting on condoms.” The young woman had the balloon on the valve filled and tied in five seconds flat. With a smug look she handed it to Isabel and waited for her to attach the glittery pink string.
Isabel paid no heed to the comment or the look, wondering what had prompted her to share a few details about her public display of lack of decorum. She hadn’t mentioned names and she sure as hell hadn’t mentioned the masturbation portion of her evening’s entertainment, but she’d brought up the fact a friend element was in play and that he had pushed her to the point that she let her temper rise. Then felt bad after.
She didn’t have to tell her friend that the whole event made her reevaluate her reactions and expectations. Lucy had come up with that kernel of knowledge on her own, perceptive twenty-six-year-old that she was.
“You’re still pissed and it was four days ago. As my Mima used to say, ‘shit or get off the pot, Missy’.”
“Classy woman, your Mima,” Isabel replied, wondering why the Tri-County Diabetes Foundation’s annual fundraiser, which was slated to start in less than four hours, wasn’t diverting her from thoughts of Chris. Activity buzzed around them as the volunteers worked to get table decorations just right and gift bags in order and, for once, Isabel felt good about delegating and not interfering with the people she had put in charge. In fact, it was the first time she hadn’t spearheaded the entire event, just stepped in and volunteered for the decorating committee and nothing more.
“She was that and more,” Lucy replied. “As soon as we’re done, let’s head up to the suite and get ready. If we stay down here, you’ll be tempted to step in and help, I just know it. And who doesn’t want a go at that awesome shower?”
Isabel laughed. She’d seen showers much bigger and five times more opulent but the suite that had been donated for the volunteers’ convenience was beautiful and much appreciated.
“Jennifer still won’t tell who sprung for it, but they’ll be here tonight she said. Guess they had a family member who had Type Two. She said their loved one passed away just last year so it’s a new donor.”
“New blood is always good but never at that cost. As for stepping in, I have moments of thinking I’m totally burned out,” Isabel admitted.
“Well, that’s nothing a hot, forbidden love affair won’t cure. One with a guy friend who seems waaaaaay off-limits. Just sayin’.”
“Speaking from experience, Lucy?”
“More times than I care to remember,” she admitted. “And still friends with them all.”
“That’s amazing,” Isabel said. She re
ached out a hand, waiting for Lucy to give her the last balloon but the girl brought it to her lips and inhaled deeply then put her hands on her hips.
“Totally doable, so don’t let that be a deterrent where your guy is concerned. Heeheeheehee.”
Isabel shook her head and laughed, maybe she needed to be a little more carefree. Which would probably entail getting in touch with Chris sometime soon and asking if they could talk.
“Come on, duckie.” She looped her arm through Lucy’s. “Let’s grab a couple pinots and waddle on up to the room and you can soak to your heart’s content. We have until five thirty, when housekeeping comes in to clean up before the mystery patrons arrive.”
“And what are you going to be doing since your hair and makeup are already fabulous?”
“I think I need to send an email.”
“To him?” she asked expectantly.
“To him,” Isabel replied.
“Yay!” Lucy said, clapping her hands. “This is going to be epic.”
Epic was not the word Isabel was thinking of. Not by a long shot.
* * * * *
Chris stared at the email and weighed his options.
I’d like to see you. So we can talk.
This could definitely go one of two ways, both of which he’d make sure ended with Isabel screaming his name. He had known she wouldn’t show up at the bar, that would have been too easy. He also knew she was probably struggling with her emotions and that was perfectly normal. But as of this morning, he was pretty certain he was going to have to reconsider his stance on waiting for her to come to him.
His cell rang and he looked at the number, not surprised to find Larry was saving him from making the call. The guy did have a sixth sense.
“Hey, Larry.”
“Whoa, you sound pretty damn happy. What the hell’s changed in the last three hours?”
Chris chuckled. “I need a favor.”
“Right. That doesn’t answer my question at all, and what is this now? Favor number four? Or is it five?”
