by Linnea May
The door closes, and her nervous breath tells me that she expects me to jump her. That’s what happens in the movies as soon as a couple finds themselves alone in an elevator, right? And I can see why. The small enclosure provides a degree of intimacy that a normal-sized room doesn’t, but the privacy is only temporary, adding a degree of excitement.
She tenses up next to me, her eyes meeting mine when she dares to look up. Her expression is laced with anticipation, and the way her tits heave under the thin fabric of her sheer blouse is driving me insane. I want to rip that blouse off her beautiful body and push her against the wall to have my way with her. My entire being yearns for this girl, fueled by almost a year’s worth of self-inflicted abstinence.
Not a moment too soon, the elevator doors open, releasing me from the temptation.
Soon. Soon, I’ll be able to do all of those things that I want to do to her.
The elevator leads right into the penthouse, which she finds surprising. Her mouth and eyes widen in awe as the light-filled hallway opens up in front of us.
She’s shy and doesn’t dare to move until I place my hand at the small of her back to gently push her forward. The sun is just about to set in front of the floor-length windows opposite us, and while I’m used to the view, it’s astonishing to her. She’s naturally drawn to the spectacle of orange and bright violet colors outside, casting their warm streams of light inside the living room.
“Wow,” she breathes, as she approaches the window and is finally close enough to touch the glass. There’s something childlike about the way she admires the view. Something so innocent and pure that even I can’t help but be affected by it.
“It’s quite a sight,” I admit.
She huffs.
“Quite a sight,” she copies me. “I can’t think of anything more beautiful than this.”
“I can.”
She turns around to face me, tilting her head to the side with a questioning expression. “Like what?”
I take a step forward, touching her cheek as I lean in closer to catch her eyes with mine.
“You,” I whisper. “And I bet this sunset doesn’t match the glow on your cheeks when I make you come. Again and again.”
Chapter 11
Laura
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this is just a normal date. He has prepared a healthy Japanese dinner for us, a gigantic spread of sushi rolls, edamame, little pieces of fried chicken, steamed dumplings, and miso soup served in exquisitely designed tiny bowls.
The dining table is close to the open kitchen, which is connected to the living room, still bathing in the last rays of the setting sun. He pulls the chair away from the table for me to sit down, like a true gentleman.
I sit, awkwardly fixing my skirt, even though I know he hates it.
“I included some vegetarian options,” he says, casting me a quick glance to communicate his disaffection with my attempts at modesty. “Just in case.”
“I’m an omnivore,” I say. “I eat everything.”
He laughs and sits down opposite me. “No one eats everything.”
“I do,” I insist. “There’s nothing that I don’t like.”
He casts me a naughty smile.
“I’ll remember that you said that,” he says mischievously, as he pours me a glass of champagne. “Please, eat.”
It’s the first of many orders he will direct at me, but this one is easy to follow. Despite my angst, I’m quite hungry. We clink glasses in a silent toast and begin to eat, engaging in harmless smalltalk about the food. If he’s trying to loosen me up and make things easier, he’s definitely succeeding.
I can’t believe I’m being paid for this, for spending a night with a wealthy and influential man like him. So far, there’s nothing unpleasant about it except the unease I feel about being compensated for sleeping with him, just like a whore or escort. I prefer to compare myself to the latter.
“Since you’re not asking any questions, I assume you’re just waiting for me to tell you what’s next,” he says after a while.
I’m in the process of swallowing a delicious piece of avocado maki, and his comment catches me off-guard.
“Um,” I hurry to say. “I’m assuming we’ll eat and…you know, do stuff afterward?”
I sound like a goddamn teenager, but I can’t help myself. I’ve never been good with words, and since this is my first time, especially not in a situation like this.
“Do stuff,” he mirrors me, shaking his head as he suppresses a laugh. “We’re not going to do stuff tonight, little girl. This is just preparation. We’ll talk, and if we can come to an agreement on everything related to my offer, you’ll sign a contract.”
He pauses, his piercing eyes catching my gaze as if to make sure that I’m listening.
“Believe me, things will be very different once we do stuff,” he adds.
“Oh,” I say. “So, I’m not… I mean, we’re not –”
“Not tonight,” he says. “We need to get some things settled first.”
“Uh, okay,” I say, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “Like what?”
“For starters, I need to know your hard limits,” he says. “Things that you’re absolutely not okay with doing.”
“My hard limits?” I repeat.
He lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Your innocence is as alluring as it is exhausting,” he laments. “I’m sure it will be easier if I just come right out and ask.”
He clears his throat and takes a sip from his champagne, leaning back in his chair before facing me again. The suit jacket stretches around his upper arm when he brings the flute up to his lips. He must be ripped under there, and a naughty voice inside my head is begging for him to take off his jacket. I’ve never seen him without one, but I’m sure it’s a sight to behold.
“Do you like spankings?” he asks, ripping me away from my musings. “Do you like to be choked? Tied? Whipped? Caned? How hard? Can I leave marks on your perfect skin? Can I fuck your ass? How about your nipples? Are they sensitive? Do you like it when they get played with? Tortured?”
My entire face is glowing with heat, and I hope to God that I don’t look as flushed as I feel. But his confident smile tells me that my heated embarrassment is clear as daylight and written all over my face.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done any of those things, so how am I supposed to know whether I like it or not? All I know is the way it makes me feel when I hear him talk about it, when I think about him doing all those things to me.
It excites me. My heart is pounding and my core is throbbing with curious agitation. I’m aroused just by listening to him.
“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” I ask in a hoarse voice.
He nods.
“That’s what I want to do to you,” he says. “That and a whole lot more. I’m not going to tell you everything, but you’ll be on your knees a lot, you’ll cry, you’ll moan, you’ll scream, and you’ll beg.”
“Beg?” I whisper. “Beg for you to stop?”
A smirk graces his handsome face.
“That, too,” he says. “But first and foremost, you’ll beg me to fuck you.”
I inhale audibly, trying to calm myself down.
“That’s a very bold thing to say,” I tell him, clearing my throat and reaching for another piece of sushi. “You certainly don’t lack confidence, do you?”
I’m trying to appear unimpressed by his sinister promises, but my hand is shaking so much that it’s hard for me to hold on to the chopsticks, let alone balance the damn sushi roll with them. I’m making a fool of myself, and he couldn’t be happier to witness it.
“Perfect,” he comments.
That’s all he says. I don’t know what his remark was aimed at, but it unsettles me even more. I finally manage to get a hold of the sushi and deliver it to my mouth as quickly as possible, occupying myself with chewing to escape the feel of his curious eyes. Of course, there’s no way
for me to get away from him. He observes me with an intensity that borders on creepy.
“I know you didn’t ask, but here’s what we won’t do,” he says, finally breaking the awkward silence between us. “I’m not a fan of knives and needles. I won’t cut your skin. There also won’t be any medical play, golden showers, or anything that’s related to it.”
He lists those things as if he’s reciting a cake recipe, not showing the slightest hint of embarrassment or disgust, as if it’s something people talk about every day. I’ve no idea what medical play could entail, but I know I’m happy that there won’t be any of the other things he’s mentioned. They were so far off limits for me that I hadn’t even considered the possibility.
“That’s fine with me,” I respond. “More than fine.”
He regards me with a serious look. “Good.”
Silence stretches between us, before he asks another question.
“Can I fuck you bare?”
I regard him with a quizzical look, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Are you on birth control? Are you clean?” he clarifies. “Is it safe to fuck you without a condom?”
“Oh,” I blush. “Yes, it is.”
He smiles. “Good. Very good.”
His eyes scan the table between us.
“Are you done eating?”
I hurry to nod. “Yes, it was very good, thank y–”
“No need for pleasantries,” he interrupts, simultaneously jumping up from his chair.
I follow his move automatically and stand up myself, my eyes following him as he takes his glass and the bottle of champagne and gestures over to a seating area in front of the window in the living area.
“Come,” he says, and turns around, walking toward the sofa.
I grab my glass and follow closely behind him, my heart pounding so wildly that I’m sure he must hear it.
He sits down, facing the skyline below us. It’s almost completely dark out now, and the living area is only lit by a few candles on the dining table. The feeble light doesn’t seem to bother him, though.
I follow his motion to sit down next to him. My unruly skirt travels up my legs once again, but when I try to fix it, he grabs me by the wrist with unusual force.
“Why are you wearing this skirt if you’re shy to share your body with me?” he asks. “Let me enjoy the view.”
I swallow hard and nod without saying a word. He takes the glass out of my hand and places it next to his on the coffee table.
“Now, before we get to the paperwork, there’s one final thing we need to resolve,” he says, locking me down with his hypnotic eyes. He places his warm hand on my thigh.
“What should I call you?”
Chapter 12
Ryan
“Why not just call me by my name?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “Laura.”
“That won’t work,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. Again. A habit that must stop.
“Is this part of the rules? Detaching my name, my identity?”
This time, I’m the one frowning at her. “Don’t be so judgmental.”
It’s distressing how close she is to the truth. Not using their name is a way for me to maintain distance between me and my temporary submissives. This one night is nothing but a brief retreat, an escape from the obligations consuming my everyday life – and a purge. I can only maintain control if I stick to these self-imposed rules. I have to.
I can’t get attached to the girls, and I never have – and I cannot become attached to her either, as much as she may mesmerize me. With her it might be even more important than ever to keep my distance. She’s not just a regular high-class whore, and I’m totally aware of that.
“Yes, it is part of the rules,” I say, catching her curious gaze. “You said you oppose my usual go-to title.”
“Title,” she repeats, huffing with disgust. “I’d hardly call it a title. It’s an offensive slur, nothing else.”
She’s sitting up unnaturally straight, preparing herself for my comeback.
“I bet I could get you to a state of mind where you’d love to be called a slut,” I say, lowering my voice as my hand carefully travels along her thigh. Her breathing hitches instantly. She’s so determined, so strong, but so responsive to my every move. Breaking her might be the most satisfying conquest yet.
“A space where you’re nothing but a drooling bitch in heat, dizzy with lust, on your knees, begging for me to give you another release, to fuck you silly. A place where you not only endure pain, you welcome it, you crave it, you need it, because it gets you off,” I whisper, observing every breath she takes, every flickering of her painted eyelashes, as feeble as her response may be. She’s barely moving, but telling me everything I need to know. “Some people call it sub space – have you ever heard of it?”
She takes in a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure as her body overpowers her mind.
“No,” she whispers, turning her blushed face to look at me. “But I’d like to see what it’s like.”
I smile at her, squeezing the flesh on her thigh so hard that she flinches. I bet she’d drool all over my fingers if I decided to explore the area below her skirt right now. Sweet Laura is so unraveled, she’d open her legs for me willingly, granting me access to her throbbing core without the slightest protest. I wish I could test my theory, but I can’t. Withstanding those urges is what this is all about. She’ll be all the more delicious once I can finally have her.
She’s wearing her brown wavy hair in an up-do tonight, delicate strands trailing out and framing her oval face. A wisp of hair is falling across her eyes when she lowers her gaze away from mine. I have yet to decide whether I prefer her hair up or down.
“Good girl,” I praise her. “I’ll be honored to take you there. But don’t think it will be easy.”
She chuckles.
“Mr. Hawkins, I don’t know you very well, and I probably never will, but I think it’s safe to say that I understand one thing,” she says, her eyes locking back onto mine. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”
I don’t know how to feel about the way she’s looking at me. There’s an eerie degree of understanding behind the green of her eyes. It feels as if she can see right through me, as if she can read everything I’m hiding from her. She knows I’m fucked up. There’s no possible way for her to know anything, but she looks at me as if she does. She can’t know about the disastrous turn my life took years ago, when the cravings took over and my life was almost shattered into as many pieces as my heart was.
I shake my head. Fuck that. I’m imagining things. She’s a beautiful girl who’s perfect to serve as this year’s fuck doll. That’s it. That and nothing more.
There we go. Doll.
“Doll,” I say. “That will be your name.”
“Doll,” she repeats, surprised at the sudden detour of our conversation.
She cocks her head to the side and moves her lips as if she’s tasting the word. “That could work…”
“It will have to,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “Fine.”
I have so much to teach her. She’s enjoying the privilege of a fool’s license for today, but once we’re under contract, I’ll no longer tolerate her ways of speaking to me.
“So, um, what happens next?” she asks.
My hand is still on her thigh, and I can tell she’s genuinely aware of my touch. The knowledge that I could fuck her right her and now is agonizing.
“If you agree to do this –”
“You know I do,” she interrupts me.
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Impatient, are we?” I ask. “You better watch that tongue, doll.”
Her eyes narrow and she lifts her chin in a clumsy attempt at defiance.
“Make me,” she hisses.
The terrified gasp that escapes her lips when I reach for her throat is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. My hand closes around her dainty neck and I push
her back against the cushions of the sofa, while forcing myself beneath her skirt with the other hand. She’s too perplexed to struggle, but her hands instinctively fly up to her throat, clawing at mine in a futile attempt to free herself. Her gesture is anything but convincing, especially considering that she does the exact opposite with her legs. A single pinch at the inside of her thigh suffices to beckon her to open up for me, granting me more than enough leeway to caress her soft lips through her soaked panties.
“You may not like the name, but you are a little slut, aren’t you?” I hiss, my face so close to hers that I can feel her erratic breath on my lips. “Look at you, so wet and hungry for my cock.”
She moans when I pull the fabric of her panties to the side, invading her private area with an impatient force that conveys my need for her. I part her soft lips and stroke along her wet entrance. She presses her eyes shut in shame when a slick sound reveals her arousal. Her mind is struggling, screaming for her to resist my invasion, but her body betrays her. I don’t know if she does it willingly, but her hips move forward, egging me on to fuck her with my fingers.
I laugh and shake my head.
“My, my,” I say, drawing one last desperate gasp from her by deliberately caressing her hardened clit when I withdraw my hand. “Will you be a good girl for me now, or do I need to spank you, too?”
The flicker in her eyes tells me that a spanking sounds more like a promise than a threat to her right now.
So cute.
I let go of her throat and sit back on the sofa, nonchalantly reaching for my glass to take another sip. She remains in her indecent pose, her legs partly spread, her hands absentmindedly wandering to her empty throat, and her eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the ceiling above her.
This is all new to her. Whatever she just felt, she’s never felt it before, and it scares her as much as it excites her.
What a lucky man I am.
“Will you be good from now on?” I ask her, mainly to rouse her from her dazed state.
She clears her throat and slowly sits back up, placing her arm on the backrest of the sofa as she faces me. I can tell that she wants to fix her skirt, but she resists the urge, deciding not to push me any further.
