by M. S. Parker
I was glad she had at least some experience. I wasn’t in the mood for introductory lessons tonight. We’d have a quick chat to ensure we were both on the same page, then set up our safe word before I took her back to one of the rooms. The routine was familiar, comfortable. The prelude to a few enjoyable couple of hours.
Many people outside the lifestyle think that everyone into BDSM enjoys the same things: handcuffs, whips, leather, and chains. The recent influx of modern romance books and movies with their bossy alpha males hadn’t helped change that impression. Sure, I knew plenty of Doms who were into all that but not me. No, my preferences leaned toward artistic bondage. Ropes and scarves caught my attention.
Which was why Rae would be trussed up on the massive bed that took up most of the far wall. As soon as we’d stepped into the room, I’d told her to strip, but there hadn’t been much for her to take off. Her tight, tiny dress had been the only thing she’d been wearing. Once it was off, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back and let me look her over.
Small breasts that were barely a handful, with tight pink nipples. A bare pussy, with the tattoo of a butterfly right above it. The name Rae at the small of her back in fancy script, which meant she was using her real name. No piercings or scars.
Once I positioned her on her stomach on the bed, I opened one of the drawers beneath it and pulled out a series of silk ropes. They were softer than regular ropes, and more colorful, which was what I wanted.
I turned on the speaker that pumped the club music in, so even though neither of us spoke, the room wasn’t silent. I let my fingers trail across her skin as I positioned her just the way I wanted, and her eyes followed my every move. I slid my hand under her, ran my thumb across one hard nipple, and saw her shiver. She whimpered as I parted her legs, brushed my fingers against her damp core.
When I finished, I stepped back to admire my work. Her legs were spread and bent, tied with the rope. I’d bound her arms behind her back too, then connected wrists to ankles. The colors of the rope showed up nicely against her skin. A perfect image.
Perfect image…
That was when it clicked.
I’d taken erotic photographs, but never anything like this. Granted, I’d never done anything quite so explicit, but this could be a good idea.
Rae wriggled on the bed, reminding me that this wasn’t the time or place to be musing on my artistic issues. I could figure that out later.
Right now, I had a naked Sub on the bed in front of me, and a body full of tension that needed release.
I walked around to the other side of the bed and moved onto my knees in front of her. I reached up and grabbed a pillow, arranging it under her chest to raise her up enough to keep her from getting a crick in her neck. Some controlled pain was one thing, but general pain was something else. Some Doms might have liked to make their Subs uncomfortable, but that wasn’t my thing. I never kept my Subs bound beyond what was necessary. I was all about the look and the control, not the pain. Not that I’d ever judge those who were into the more masochism side of the lifestyle. It just wasn’t me.
I brushed some hair away, stroked my thumb down the side of her face, let it brush the corner of her mouth. She wasn’t wearing much make-up, which was a plus. I always preferred the natural look, the more minimalist, the better. She was beautiful without it. High cheekbones and big eyes. She had the sort of lips I couldn’t wait to see wrapped around my cock.
For a moment, I had a flash of another set of lips, ones curving into a teasing smile, and wondered what it would feel like to have those in front of me.
I pushed the errant thought aside and reached into my pocket for a condom. Rae licked her lips as she watched me unzip my pants. I didn’t take them off. I rarely did when I was here. It was just sex.
I pressed my thumb against the seam of her mouth. She sucked it into her mouth, flicked her tongue against the tip, and I made a sound in the back of my throat. I rolled on the protection and put my hand on the back of her head, holding her in place as I guided my erection between her lips.
Her mouth was hot and wet, even through the latex, and I flexed my fingers in her hair. Shallow thrusts mingled with incredible suction had my balls drawing up, pleasure coiling at the base of my spine. She knew what she was doing.
I let the sensations wash over me until, finally, I backed away, sliding from her mouth with a faint popping sound. Her breathing was harsh, but as I moved around behind her, I could see how wet she was. Still, I slipped my fingers between her legs, parting her until I could stroke her already swollen clit. Even as I moved from making firm circles over that bundle of nerves to sliding two fingers into her cunt, I had the eerie feeling of deja vu, like this was something I’d done so many times that it had become rote.
“May I come, Sir?”
The question snapped my attention from the strange path my thoughts had been taking.
“Please, Sir.”
I could hear the strain in her voice as she tried to stop herself from squirming, and I twisted my fingers, searching for that sweet spot inside her.
“You may come when you’re ready,” I said as I brushed my knuckles against her g-spot.
Her pussy tightened around my fingers as she shuddered. She was strangely quiet as she came, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in her voice as she breathed, “Thank you, Sir.”
I grasped her forearms, using them for leverage as I slid inside her. She felt good wrapped around me, rocking back to meet each thrust. I set a steady pace that was neither too fast nor too slow. I didn’t want to drag out the experience, but I also wanted to make her climax again. I was a firm believer in the power of positive reinforcement, and nothing said you did well like an orgasm. And she’d earned at least two of them.
After several minutes, I increased my speed, shifting her body until I rubbed against her g-spot with every stroke. It wasn’t long before she came again, this time letting out a groan as her muscles squeezed me. I swore, eyes closing as I followed.
And for those several brief seconds, I forgot about my pushy agent sending me an assistant. Forgot about my lack of inspiration. Forgot about how this was just another physical release with absolutely nothing else behind it.
Five
Sine
Three days.
That’s how long it had taken to organize the office, and then all day yesterday to get Alix’s bills and payment schedules synced with his appointments so that everything was all in one place. We’d had a bit of a row on Wednesday when I’d asked about handling his bills. He’d insisted he was an adult and fully capable of paying his bills himself. It probably would have escalated to the point where I would’ve said something I shouldn’t have, but in the middle of it all, as if God was sending a message, the lights went out.
He hadn’t apologized when I politely informed him that the electric company hadn’t received his payment...or when I confirmed that he’d paid his bill for his city apartment twice. He had, however, told me to call him Alix instead of Mr. Wexler, so I’d counted it a win.
With a bowl of cereal in my hand, I scowled as I looked at myself in my bathroom mirror. I’d made the mistake yesterday of taking advantage of the June sunshine after work and had gone for a run in Central Park. The run hadn’t been the mistake, but not buying stronger sunscreen was. I didn’t burn as badly as I could have, but my nose and cheeks were redder than I liked. With fair skin like mine, burns and more freckles were the only response to the sun, but this looked more like I was blushing, and I didn’t want Alix to think I was embarrassed by the subject of his photographs.
I’d been very careful not to show any reaction to the photographs he was taking or to the way his model pranced around half-naked. I wasn’t paid to be an art critic or his conscience. My job was to make sure the lights stayed on, and he didn’t double-book.
I put the bowl down and smoothed foundation over the sensitive skin, taking care to blend the edges. I rarely wore makeup, but I felt like representin
g a photographer meant being a bit more aware of how I looked. Alix hadn’t said a word to me about my attire, but I’d seen the looks Giselle had sent my way every afternoon when she saw me. I didn’t care what she thought about me as a person, but as a representative of Alix, I needed to make sure I always looked professional. Going to work with a bit of a sunburn made me look more like a child who’d been playing outside than an adult, so using makeup to keep the red to a minimum was necessary.
I needed to go shopping, I thought as I smoothed down my sundress. Back home, I’d always dressed comfortably, which for me had usually meant jeans with a variety of t-shirts and sweatshirts, often hand-me-downs from one brother or another. In college, I’d scoured thrift stores for slacks and blouses, and those had serviced me well in my previous jobs. Now, however, it was far too warm for pants and I certainly wouldn’t wear shorts, but I’d never fancied capris, which meant I’d be wearing dresses or skirts. I’d give Alix no cause to be ashamed of my appearance.
I tugged at the dress, wishing it was a bit longer. If I remembered to bend at my knees instead of the waist, I should keep from embarrassing myself. Alix and I had developed a tentative truce at the moment, and I didn’t want anything to spoil that, especially me accidentally flashing him a peek of my white cotton panties.
When I arrived at the studio, he was already there, tossing pillows and blankets into different piles, then frowning and doing it again. He glanced up as I set his coffee on the table next to his laptop, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t take his reticence personally. My observations over the past week had shown me that he didn’t talk much in general, at least not when he was working. Direct questions with a point were answered, but personal inquiries rarely received answers, though he was warm enough when he gave those few answers to make me think that it was more about where his thoughts were when I asked than it was about him trying to keep his distance.
I took my coffee back to my office, already thinking about today’s tasks. Ms. Holloman had asked me to send her a report of everything I’d done at the end of my first week, so that was my top priority. If I could land this job on a permanent basis, it’d go a long way to making me feel like I had enough job security to renew my lease. It’d also get Mam and Da off me about coming home.
“This is home,” I reminded myself softly as I settled in my chair.
I took my time with my report, wanting to be thorough enough that Ms. Holloman could see that I was necessary, but not so detailed that I sounded like I was bragging. It was a fine line to walk, that was certain.
With that out of the way, I moved to Alix’s email, weeding out the junk, the proposals no reputable artist – or decent person in general – would accept. Like an offer to star in an adult movie titled Sorority House Humping III.
When it was almost time for lunch, I called over to the Indian restaurant on the list of take-out places I found in the desk and put in an order for delivery. Less than twenty minutes later, I walked back through the studio and called over to Alix that I had lunch.
“Thai?” he asked as he came into the office.
“Indian.” I gestured to the cartons on the desk. “Lamb curry, chicken makhai, chana masala, and shrimp biryani. Take your pick.”
“Do you have a preference?”
I looked up, surprised at his question. “Not really.”
I watched as he picked up one of the cartons, then leaned on the desk next to me. The previous times I’d ordered lunch for us, he’d taken his back out to the studio to work while he ate. Today, though, he stayed.
Stayed and glowered at the lamb curry like it had personally insulted him.
I picked up the chana masala and took a few bites, but he still didn’t say anything. Coming from a huge family, I liked the relative quiet I found here, but now, with neither one of us speaking...it didn’t take long for it to make me feel awkward enough to break the silence.
“Is something wrong?”
He raised his head, those gray eyes not revealing anything below the surface. “Pardon?”
I gave him a partial smile. “You’re looking at that food like it did you wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow, but a corner of his mouth tipped up. I’d seen him with polite, professional smiles, but this one had some good-natured humor to it. “My parents and I spent a summer touring the UK when I was fourteen. Aside from taking pictures when I was there, the accents were my favorite part.”
“As long as you don’t go asking me to say anything about a pot o’ gold or a certain sugary cereal, you can listen all you want.”
The words popped out before I could decide if they were appropriate or not. Then he laughed, and I decided that there was something to be said for a relaxed work environment. The sound rolled over me, liquid heat that warmed me to the core.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed a good laugh.”
“I do what I can.” I took a couple more bites and waited for him to do the same before asking, “Is something bothering you?”
He frowned again and set down the carton, folding his arms across his chest. “That is the question, isn’t it? Why do I bother?”
I tilted my head. “Have I missed some American idiom I’ve yet to learn?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been having issues with my work for a while now. I’ll come up with a good idea, and I’ll try it out, and maybe the first couple pictures will be okay, but then...” He sighed. “I can’t think of how to describe it. I’m not good with words. That’s my cousin Erik’s forté. I just take pictures.”
“I don’t think there’s anything just about the pictures you take.”
“Thank you, Sine.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I might’ve agreed with you at some point in the past, but now...I don’t know why I’m even trying anymore.”
I glanced toward the office door as something occurred to me. “I didn’t see Giselle out there.”
Alix pushed off the desk and began to pace, a sort of wild, restless energy buzzing around him. “That’s because she sent me a text to say that she’d been offered a more lucrative job with a higher profile release. Since I said I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do, I told her to take it.”
“That’s a breach of contract, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Not really, since it was my decision not to press it. Besides, I couldn’t really blame her. My newest inspiration wasn’t doing shit.”
I considered him, worried at the lack of confidence showing in his eyes. “Maybe the idea was right, but the model was wrong.”
I had a mouthful of food when he slowly turned at looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. Shite. That hadn’t been the nicest thing to say. I wasn’t trying to be mean, and it really wasn’t anything against Giselle.
I swallowed and scrambled to undo what I’d done. “I didn’t mean it like–”
“You’re right,” he cut me off. His eyes were strangely bright. “I had the wrong person.”
“Giselle is beautiful,” I stammered. “And there are hundreds of other beautiful models out there. All of them just as professional as Giselle and I’m sure she’d understand that you’d be needing a different look. It’s nothing against her, you see–”
He was smiling again, and I knew it was because my accent had gotten thicker. Or, at least, that’s what I thought he was smiling about. Then he said five words that told me I had no idea what was happening.
“You can be my model.”
Six
Sine
I laughed as I waited for Alix’s self-control to break and join in. Because it had to be a joke. While I knew my build might be good for modeling sportswear or children’s clothes, I was at least eight inches too short for any photographer to look my way.
But he wasn’t laughing or even cracking a smile now. All he was doing was looking at me with those eyes. That steady gray gaze that seemed to be waiting for me to realize that he was serious.
Fuck.
He was serious.<
br />
The laugh died in my throat even as my pulse raced. This wasn’t possible. I had to be reading him wrong. Or maybe he was one of those total pricks who got off on cruel jokes. Because there was no way he meant that he wanted me to be a model.
I liked to think I had a fair grasp on my qualities, mentally and physically. I didn’t think I was ugly, but I knew the difference between cute and beautiful. And I knew that strength and independence wasn’t what most men found attractive. They definitely didn’t want pseudo-sexy pictures of pint-sized tomboys.
Short girls were supposed to play up their curves or show a lot of skin. Or both. Tall ones who were slender showed off their long legs and the fact that they didn’t always need to wear a bra. Slinky dresses with high hemlines and low necklines came in all sizes. Makeup. Feminine haircuts. High heels. Jewelry. Maybe a sexy tattoo.
Everything women did was supposed to express our sexuality, make us sensual. We were supposed to be attractive, even when downplaying the physical. And the girls who didn’t follow those rules, regardless of how they looked, were somehow less. Dismissed by the majority.
I could own my intelligence, my strength, who I was. But that didn’t mean I was sexy, no matter how much the media liked to say that confidence was sexy. The two guys I’d slept with hadn’t seen me that way. There was no chance that after a week, a man like Alix would see what they hadn’t.
“You made your point,” I said finally. “I don’t know enough about photography or modeling to make any suggestions.”
“That’s not what I said.” He took a step toward me, his gaze moving slowly down my body.
I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heat seeping across my skin. I’d never had anyone look at me like that before. Like they could see every flaw and imperfection, but that it only made me more interesting instead of less desirable.
