by Linnea May
Of course, this one is easy to overstep. I’ve done it before, in the heat of the moment. But I’ve never enjoyed it as much as I am with her, and I’ve never made it part of a ritual.
I can’t lose myself. I can’t lose control. This is a slippery slope, and I know I’m only getting started. Today, I’m willing to go even further than I did before. I’m jumping in with my eyes open, risking more than just our contract.
Yet, I will do it. The thought of following through excites me too much to neglect this wish. I have to see what it’s like. I want to see how far I can push things without losing myself too much.
Her eyes find mine when I stop our kiss, their gray-blue depths piercing through me with understanding. Despite her helpless behavior in the beginning, I cannot help but see the intelligence that radiates behind her eyes. She’s smart. She gets me.
That’s why she’s so dangerous.
“Good morning, my pet,” I whisper.
She’s never allowed to be the first one to speak, and her first words are always the same.
“Good morning, Master,” she says, her voice so soft that it kills me.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask her.
“Well enough,” is her reply. She always says something along those lines, and I never follow up with a question.
“Let’s have a shower,” I tell her, unhooking the leash from her collar. She can remove it on her own because she’s still wearing a training collar, but she never has. I told her she wasn’t supposed to do it on her own. It was the first command she obeyed without having to be reminded several times.
“Together?” she asks as I lead her to the bathroom, pulling her by the ring at the front of her collar.
“Yes,” I say as we walk through the door. “Together.”
She watches as I take off my clothes, her eyes wandering along the lines of my tattoos. I know she has questions about them that she doesn’t dare ask. Too often I have ordered her to be quiet when she started poking at things I wasn’t comfortable talking about. The tattoos are part of that, and she seems to sense it. They are reminders of a past that I would like to forget, a past that I’ve put behind me. They remind me of the pain I caused and the lives I destroyed when I lost control over myself. The black ink adorns my skin like a curse.
She’s shy every time we do something new, and today is no different.
“Turn on the water,” I command her, mainly to stop her from gawking at me. It’s flattering, but unsettling at the same time.
She turns around, deliberately hollowing her back and stretching her legs to give me the best view of her round ass. It works like a charm. When I lose the last item of clothing to follow her under the hot shower, I’m hard and ready, my cock yearning for the body that’s mine for twenty-eight more days.
She squeals and smiles at me when my length pokes her in the small of her back as I join her under the welcoming water. My hands are on her wet body in an instant, following the outline of her narrow shoulders, traveling down her arms, grabbing her wrists to keep her eager hands in place. She has turned into a cock-hungry slut, hardly able to keep her hands to herself every time she sees my hardness. For the past four days, she has been getting fucked every single day, at least once, but her hunger for me only grows, just like mine for her.
“No hands,” I tell her, leaning in closer so she can hear me over the running water. “Just your lips, my pet.”
Even in the hot steam of the shower, I can see her cheeks blushing, while she lowers herself down to her knees. Her eyes never leave mine, even when she bends forward, placing her hands on her thighs so tightly as if they were glued to her skin so she isn’t tempted to use them. I groan when she takes me between her pouty lips, her tongue gliding along the lower side of my shaft as she swallows me down. The pouring water is playing havoc with her breathing, making it hard for her to take my length without catching her own breath. She’s trying so hard to take in all of me, but fails at it every time. When she withdraws to gather her breath, she casts me an apologetic smile. I pet her head.
“You’re doing excellent, my pet,” I praise her, and she rewards me with the cutest smile I’ve ever seen on a woman’s face.
Her lips are wrapped around my cock again within moments, her head moving back and forth as she drives me closer to insanity. She stops for a moment, sucking on my length so strongly that it almost hurts, creating a vacuum with her mouth that allows her to play along my shaft with her tongue. The feeling is sublime.
“Fuck, who taught you that?” I ask her, out of breath with pleasure.
She sucks and then retreats, kissing and licking the tip of my hard cock while she bats her eyelashes up at me.
“My Master,” she says, smiling at me seductively.
“Get up,” I tell her. “Now!”
Her eyes rest on my length for one more moment, painted with a hint of disappointment as she slowly rises to her feet.
I pull her closer, my hands cupping her full ass, while I press her core dangerously close against my erection. Shit, I’m going to lose it if I can’t fuck her now, bare, just like this.
Never fuck a whore bare. Never.
But she’s more than a whore. She’s not like the others. And I know the girls of my agency are safe and clean because they have to get tested before entering my home.
“Are you on birth control?” I reassure myself, my eyes locking on the gray-blue depth of hers.
She’s breathing erratically, suffering in heated need just as I am.
“Yes,” she replies, her eyes so dazed with lust that I pray to God I can trust her. “The depo shot, I just got one about a month ago.”
“Good,” I say, claiming another kiss from her while pushing my pelvis against her cunt. “Because I need to feel you. All of you. I need to fuck you bare.”
She doesn’t say anything in reply, but wraps one of her legs around me, shifting her hip so that my glistening tip is teasing her entrance.
I don’t hesitate another moment and buckle my hips forward, stretching her with my rock-hard girth while lifting her up, pressing her slim back against the wall. She wraps both of her legs around my waist, supporting herself as good as she can while I fuck her like a wild beast, consuming her bare for the very first time.
She moans and yelps, her cries partly drowning in the steaming water that’s running down on us. Her muscles tense around me, as if she was trying to hold on to me. The pressure almost sends me over the edge way too soon.
“I’m going to come inside you,” I tell her.
A smile scurries across her face and her muscles tighten anew, forcing a release out of me that I wasn’t yet ready for. I explode inside of her, filling her with my cum, as violent waves of pleasure grip my body. But even in the midst of my rapture, I never lose our stance, I never let go of her, holding her safe and as closely as possible during the highest moments of pleasure.
Chapter 31
Liana
He tenses up, his hands clawing into me with such ferocity that it hurts, his cock throbbing incessantly inside me. I’m trying to hold on to him, relishing the warm sensation of his release as it coats me inside. This is the first time he didn’t make me come first, but I’m confident that he won’t leave me unsatisfied.
He doesn’t let go of me. Instead he buries his sweating face against my shoulder and wraps his arms protectively around me, squeezing me so hard it takes my breath away.
“Master,” I utter, suffocated by the sheer intensity of his embrace. “I can’t breathe.”
His grip loosens instantly, and he supports my body as my legs slowly find their way back to the tiles. He’s breathing heavily, his dark hazel eyes shimmering with a spark I haven’t seen before. The water is still running, surrounding us in a hot and comforting cloud of steam.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You look-”
“Yes, fine,” he interrupts.
It’s as if my question brought him crashing back to reality, reminding him of who he is an
d what he’s to do next. There was a moment during which he wasn’t the same man who brought me here, the man with the stone-cold exterior. I could feel the shift in his embrace.
“Finish getting ready,” he tells me. “I’ll be back.”
He puts some distance between us by taking a step back, rinsing himself one last time before leaving me alone in the shower. He snatches a towel on his way out of the shower, quickly wrapping it around his buff waist before shutting the bathroom door behind him after he leaves.
My eyes stay locked on the door for a few more moments before I can pull my attention away. I finish showering and then do as he asked, getting myself ready for him, as I do every single day. By the time he returns, I’m sitting on the floor of my room, entrenched in a fresh and flowery smell, my body silky smooth and slathered in lotion, my hair put up in a simple up-do, and my face masked in a subtle layer of make-up. I felt a little chilly, so I covered up the white set of lingerie I’m wearing for him with the red fur coat. I must look like a naughty version of a female Santa, but I don’t care. He has never gotten mad about me wearing the coat for some reason, even though it hides my body from him, which is something he appears to hate more than anything.
He’s dressed to the nines when he returns, wearing a navy blue suit with a matching slim tie and a crisply ironed white shirt. His hair is slicked and combed to the side, looking particularly handsome today, but he hasn‘t shaved. The stubble around his angular jaw is darker than it has been on other occasions, giving him a more mature look.
I realize too late that I’m staring at him, instead of lowering my eyes in that coy manner he wants. But he doesn’t get mad.
“Look at you, drooling all over your Master,” he says, smirking at me as he approaches. “Aren’t you a good little pet?”
I blush and lower my eyes, at once noticing that he’s carrying something with him. In his right hand, he’s carrying a canvas tote bag, which he places right in front of me.
“Why so dapper today?” I ask him, shyly reconnecting my gaze with his. “Any special occasion?”
He winks at me. “Who says I’m not wearing this to impress my pet?”
The heat in my cheeks intensifies. “Are you?”
“Maybe,” he says. “I have something for you.”
He points to the canvas bag that he placed in front of me. “Look inside.”
I nod and follow his command, curious to see what he has brought me. He has brought me things before, usually little packages that were wrapped up so beautifully that I felt bad for ripping them open. But those packages have always been smaller than this bag, and they usually contained lingerie or jewelry he wanted me to wear for him. Is this a special new outfit he ordered for me?
I begin rummaging through the bag, not sure if I can trust my eyes when I realize what it is.
“Beautiful clothes,” I say, my voice filled with wonder as I look back up at him. “For me?”
He chuckles. “Of course.”
I’m so startled, I don’t know what to say. For almost two weeks now, he has been insisting that I remain naked, or almost naked, for him at all times. He has repeatedly told me that I won’t be wearing any clothes for a while, and that I should never ask for anything, but instead comply with his wish to see as much of my naked body on display as possible every time he walks in.
Does this mean he’s letting me go?
The bag contains two outfits, a casual option with a light beige shirt with a deep waterfall neckline, a matching cardigan, and dark blue skinny jeans, and the other is a slinky cocktail dress in a very similar color to the red fur coat.
“For… when?” I ask him, unsure what to make of this. “And… where?”
“For whenever I allow you to wear it, or tell you to,” he says.
I wrinkle my eyebrows. Why can he never give me a precise answer to my questions? He must know this is all so confusing to me.
Unless this is part of that deal I should know about. The deal he made with the real Ruby Red. Is this another one of those times when he expects me to just understand because it was in the contract I supposedly signed?
“Thank you,” I say, knowing that it’s expected of me.
“I want you to wear something for me right now,” he says, gesturing toward the clothes in my lap. “The casual outfit. I want to see what your ass looks like in those tight jeans.”
I nod and get up to get dressed. It’s weird how quickly one can get accustomed to not wearing clothes. The upscale fabric of the shirt feels weird against my skin when I slip it on, so strange and unfamiliar. The strange sensation is even stronger with the jeans.
I’m surprised to find that everything fits perfectly. Then again, he has studied my body enough over the past few days to get a good idea of what size I might be.
He looks pleased when I present myself to him, the first time I’ve been fully dressed since he took me.
“Very good,” he comments. “Just one thing, though.”
He steps closer and his hands reach up to my throat, unfastening the collar that has been around my neck constantly for the past eleven days. I’m dumbfounded by his action, and equally surprised to find myself somewhat disappointed. It almost makes me feel... naked.
“Are you letting me go?” I ask, my heart heavy with fear. Now that I’m confronted with this possibility, I cannot bear the thought of leaving this house. Of leaving him. How am I supposed to just go back to my old life after all of this? How am I supposed to go on with a life that now seems to have so little to offer?
My thoughts scare me, but I cannot help it. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with him, following our twisted routine. This is my new constant. I don’t know how to go on without him, out there, by myself.
But he’s shaking his head. I’m almost relieved.
“Of course not,” he says, as if it should be obvious to me. “It’s time for a change.”
I don’t know what he’s implying with that comment, but he doesn’t give me time to ask.
“For now, I want you to come with me,” he says. “And have breakfast with me.”
He takes my hand, not leading me by the collar for the first time. We approach the door of my room, the door that leads to the corridor.
“Breakfast?” I ask, bewildered. “You mean… downstairs?”
He lets out a little chuckle as he turns around to face me.
“Yes, downstairs,” he answers, and then he opens the door for me.
Chapter 32
Joseph
She shouldn’t be here. Every part of me knows that she shouldn’t be here. I’m breaking the rules in a way that’s ten times worse than anything she has ever done.
But I cannot help myself.
With these girls, I’ve always done whatever came to me. I’ve always followed whatever intrinsic wish I felt like, not holding myself to any rules, only them. The rules exist because I know what I want and what I don’t want at any given time.
So, in a way, I’m still following that rule. I’m doing something I want to do, something that feels right to do with her. As Ruby walks quietly next to me, so pretty, I’m surprised to find myself wanting exactly this. I want to see her in casual clothes, and I want to do casual, everyday things with her.
It’s nothing to be afraid of. In a way, it can be expected after all this time. I’ve never done this, I’ve never had the girlfriend experience. It’s new to me, exotic almost. Trying out new things has always filled me with the thrill I need, the thrill I need to maintain balance.
So what if my newest adventure is being normal, normal like an ordinary person?
She’s tense as she walks next to me, her eyes wandering at everything around her as we make our way down the stairs. It’s hard to tell whether she’s just looking around out of curiousity, or if she’s looking for ways to get away. She knows she shouldn’t even try anything of that sort because it would make our contract null and void. Everything she has done so far would be mean nothing, she wo
uldn’t receive her compensation, and she wouldn’t get far legally either, if that was her aim.
But she’s still playing her part to perfection. As real as her terror was in the beginning, I can’t risk that she may be thinking about trying to escape.
When we reach the first floor and I lead her to the kitchen and dining area, her gaze turns to plain amazement as she takes in the high-ceilinged room. Bright sunlight is shafting through the wide french doors and floor-length windows, bathing the area in its warm light, while the frost-covered grass outside is a clear indication of the crisp temperatures. The amount of light filtering through the windows coats the entire kitchen in an ethereal glow.
“Wow,” she breathes. “This is beautiful!”
She’s right. This room has always been my grandmother’s favorite place, and I can see why. The French-style kitchen is decorated in mostly ivory colors, with only the counter tops making a stark contrast with their dark gray granite finish.
I cannot remember the last time I had someone else down here. I don’t entertain in this house, unless it’s for a business meeting, and those are usually held in the reception hall. The only other person who’s down here on a regular basis is my main maid Marjory. But she has only been here once since I took Ruby in, and that was just to quickly clean the lower floors, something she hurried to do while I paced up and down the halls, nervous about having one of my staff here while I have a slave upstairs. Marjory knows about the situation, at least partially, and she’s only allowed entry to the house because I can count on her discretion.
It still makes me nervous to know that she’s coming by today while I’m out of the house. It’s simply a matter of bad timing because I promised her that she could have a week off after this so she can go see her newest grandson, and at that point, I didn’t know I would have this meeting in town today, of all days.
It’ll be okay. Why wouldn‘t it be? Even if Ruby notices someone else is in the house, why would she cause any trouble? I convince myself that it will all be okay and that she won‘t scream like hell if she thinks the maid will help her escape.
