by Sky Corgan
“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Xan breathes, pumping into me a few more times before his breath hitches and I feel his cock pulse and spurt into me. It feels like another punishment. Is he coming inside of me this time because I tried to quit? Alarm fills me, but I don’t push him away. The truth is that I like it when he comes inside of me. It makes me think that he might want a family with me, even though that’s illogical.
If I were a smart girl, I’d be in self-preservation mode. But Xan makes me stupid. There’s no doubt about that.
He pulls out of me and turns away, placing his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. When I look up at him, guilt assaults me as I see several light lines of red down the back of his shirt. I made him bleed. I knew I had clawed him, but I hadn’t realized how hard at the time. As hard as you could. You did it as hard as you could because you wanted to make sure that any woman he’s with after you will know that you were there first.
I don’t feel half as bad about it as I should.
“Sorry about your shirt,” I mutter as I struggle to sit up and pull down my skirt. Both are difficult with my hands bound.
“What about my shirt?” He turns back to me to free my wrists.
“You’re...bleeding.” Please don’t get pissed.
“You did claw me pretty hard.” His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, but there’s no disapproval in his expression.
“You’re not mad are you?” I cower slightly.
“No.” He laughs. “I’m not mad.”
“Good.”
“I never would have imagined you’d be full of so much passion. To be honest, Christiana, you never cease to amaze me.” He brushes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, his eyes and voice full of affection, making me swoon. I hate how easily he’s able to cast his spell on me.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” I avert my gaze, suddenly feeling ashamed that I gave into him so easily.
“I’m glad it did.” He rests his forehead against mine, drawing me back to him.
“Me, too.” My treacherous mouth betrays me. “So what happens now?”
“Now I go get changed and head to my meeting. And you take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. Go spend time with your mother. Send her my regards. But promise you’ll come back to me.” There’s far more desperation in that last sentence than I ever could have imagined. It’s like he’s afraid that if he lets me go, I’ll disappear.
“Thank you, Xan.” I stroke his hair, just wanting to feel close to him for a while longer because I know this tender moment between us is fleeting.
As if reading my mind, he pulls away, turning from me to exit the room. I’m left alone and dazed. Nothing that just happened makes any sense. He should have fired me; I haven’t been a great assistant to him by any means. Why didn’t he? The only thing I can come up with is that maybe he really does care for me. Maybe he’s not the monster I’ve made him out to be.
CHAPTER NINE
THINGS TAKE A STRANGE BUT pleasant turn after that meeting in Xan’s office. There’s sex. Lots of sex. Sex in the office. Sex in my bedroom. Even sex in the dining room one night after a meal that Xan particularly liked of boeuf bourguignon. We celebrated it being the first dish I didn’t mess up. The fact that he admitted that my cooking sucks was met with much laughter. He’s a trooper for having held it in for so long. Even more so for eating my dishes without complaint.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve gotten a lot closer. There have been less barking orders and more easy smiles. I’m enjoying the change, but at the same time I’m not...because I’m falling in love with him.
As time passes, I feel less like his assistant and more like his girlfriend. He still makes me wear swanky outfits around the house. He still sends me out for groceries and condoms—which I definitely don’t avoid buying anymore. And when I finish my tasks for the day, he lets me go and visit my mother. The only condition is that I have to be back by the time he gets home. He even bought me a cell phone so that he can text me and let me know when that will be. I’m never late. He’s been too gracious for me to screw this up. And to be honest, I love being with him. It’s like night and day from the first week I was here.
“I want to show you a special room today,” he tells me, leading me down the hall by the hand.
When we stop in front of the Renaissance room, I giggle. Looks like it’s time for him to deepen our bond by confessing his hobby.
He takes a deep breath as if he’s embarrassed by what’s inside. “I don’t want this to scare you away. I know I’ve asked a lot of you these past few weeks.”
Briefly, I consider telling him that I’ve been in the room before. Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t figured it out yet. It’s obvious he has cameras all over the place.
“It will be fine.” It’s not like collecting period furniture is a big deal anyway.
He holds the door open for me, allowing me to walk in first. I can see him visibly tense as I step past him and flip the light switch on. Everything is how I remember it.
He follows me in, closing the door behind us. I’m not sure how he expects me to react, so I turn to him, clasping my hands in front of me.
“What do you think?” His eyes flit to the various pieces of furniture around the room.
“It’s neat.” I nod.
“Neat?” A short laugh escapes his lips. “Does anything in here in particular interest you?”
I know he wants more of a reaction from me, so I stroll around the room, admiring each piece, though my curiosity is only for his sake. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Different places.” He follows me. “Some of it was custom ordered.”
I stop at a rack on the wall. It’s the only thing that seems out of place. Hung on it are a variety of things: riding crops, floggers, paddles, manacles, and rope. Are these costume accessories, maybe? I open the closet, but there are no clothes inside.
When I finish my tour of the room, I come back to the middle. Xan stands before me at parade rest. He’s staring at me expectantly, and I suddenly feel nervous.
“Do you ever use this stuff or do you just collect it?” I ask because I can’t figure out what more he wants from me.
He smirks, and there’s a trace of wolfishness in his expression that makes me quiver on the inside. “I’ve used all of it before. Does that bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?” I keep his gaze, trying not to seem too confused.
“Would it bother you if I used it on you?” His eyes narrow, searching me for something.
“I’ve never roleplayed before.” I turn my attention to the throne, wondering if he’d want me to be his queen. That doesn’t make sense, though. In reality, I’m his servant. Why would things be any different if we played pretend? I should leave my wife fantasies at the door, but it’s hard not to want to picture it. “I mean, I played the Virgin Mary in a Christmas play one year, but that was when I was a child. I don’t think I was very good at it.”
His fingertips caress my cheek, drawing me back to him. The tenderness of his touch makes me swoon, but there’s something dark in his eyes that goes beyond affection. “You have no idea what this room is, do you?”
I chew my bottom lip, wondering if I misread everything. If I get this wrong, I’m going to feel like an idiot. “Storage for Renaissance reenactment.” I cringe even as the words leave my mouth.
Xan guffaws so loudly that it echoes off the walls. I cower beneath my stupidity. That was kind of cruel.
He shifts his gaze, thinking for a moment before he looks back at me. “Do you remember the porno we watched when you first started working here?”
“Yes.” I nod. We haven’t watched another one since.
“I do stuff like that in here,” he gets to the point.
“Stuff like that,” I parrot.
“Would you like for me to show you?” His voice is sensual silk once more.
I think back to the rope bondage in the video. Then I think abou
t things I’ve heard the women talk about on the production floor of Checkmarks Scholarly. This must be the BDSM stuff they were referring to—the thing they all wanted to try, but their husbands or boyfriends were too lame to get into, as they told it.
“What would we do?” Being tied up with rope looked uncomfortable, but the wife in the video seemed to enjoy it. Would I enjoy it, too?
I trust Xan enough to let him do it. It’s become obvious these past few weeks that he cares for my safety. And while he can be a bit harsh sometimes, I don’t worry that he’d ever really harm me.
“We’ll start slow.” He looks past me to the rack on the wall.
“But what does that mean?” I wring my hands in front of me.
“You’ll see.” He smirks. “Now take off your clothes.”
I do as I’m told, removing the black lingerie I’m wearing and neatly folding it before asking Xan where I can place it. Modesty has gone out of the window. Xan has me well trained at this point. And just hearing him tell me to take off my clothes turns me on, because I know that sex will almost always follow.
He takes a collar from the rack on the wall and places it around my neck before going to retrieve a length of rope and setting to work binding my arms behind my back. He’s every bit as fast and skillful as the husband in the video was. As he ties me up, I find myself wondering how many women he’s done this to. Obviously, he’s well practiced. This isn’t his first time; it could be the hundredth, for all I know. How many women have had the same treatment in this very room? It hurts my heart to think about it. I don’t want to think about it because it ruins the mood. It tarnishes my fantasy that Xan will always be exclusive to me.
I know he’s exclusive to me right now. Our lives are too intertwined for me not to know his business. He comes home to me every night. He never talks about other women. If there is someone else, he’s hidden her well. No. I don’t think there’s anyone else. It’s just me—the way it should be. The way it should always be.
Once I’m bound, he leads me over to the cage and has me crawl on top of it. There’s a thick layer of padding covered by black vinyl. It’s cool to the touch and just cushy enough not to be uncomfortable.
“Bend your knees,” he tells me. “And arch your back. I want to see that pretty pink pussy of yours.”
His dirty words make heat swirl in my depths and spur me to action. I listen to him disrobe behind me, seeing articles of clothing tossed to the side in my peripheral vision. It’s the weekend, so he’s dressed casually. He always looks best naked, though.
I enjoy the helplessness of my situation far more than I thought I would. The rope keeping my arms held behind my back is tight, but there’s a strange comfort in not having to fight to stay in place. My nipples perk as they rub against the vinyl below me.
I wait impatiently for Xan to put his hands on me. He teasingly slips a finger between my folds, brushing from my clit to the edge of my entrance, then back up again. I can’t help but squirm, my body silently begging for more of his touch.
“You look so fucking hot like this.” He wets his fingertip before sliding it back between my legs and making torturous light circles around the tiny bundle of nerves there. The pressure is far too gentle to send me over the edge. Just enough to make me want more.
“Please, sir,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming as he reduces me to my most basic form.
“Please what?” He pulls his hand back and probes at my opening with just his fingertip. Then he hisses, “Oh, you’re already getting wet. I bet you want something inside of you. Is that what you’re about to beg me for?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod as best I can.
He kneels beside me, his voice devilish. “What do you want inside of you, Christiana? One finger? Two? My tongue? My cock?”
I bite my bottom lip, too embarrassed to respond. The fact that he’s not touching me anymore is driving me mad. “Anything, sir. Any part of you.”
He rakes his fingers through my hair, brushing it over my shoulder so that he can see my face better. “Any part of me, huh? That’s not very specific.”
“Please, sir. Just please.”
“Just please,” he parrots, though there’s no mocking in his tone. Then he stands behind me again.
My breath hitches as he slides two fingers into me all the way to the knuckles and curls them, pumping fiercely. Each inward thrust rolls over my G-spot, and I clench around him. Right before I hit my breaking point, he stops. A cruel trick.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, moving more slowly, allowing my orgasm to recede but refusing to let it slip too far away.
“Yes, sir,” I whimper, my hips bucking back toward his hand.
“Or would you prefer something bigger?” He withdraws from me, not giving me time to answer as he crawls onto the table.
I groan as I feel his bulbous tip press between my pussy lips. When he fills me with his girth, it’s absolute bliss. And at the first thrust, I come all over his dick.
He doesn’t even give pause, pushing deeply into me and fucking me hard. The friction elongates my orgasm, the compressed position of my body making him feel extra large inside of me. I’m so consumed by everything that all I can do is moan and cry out.
He cups his hand over my mouth, leveraging his grip on me to buck harder. My neck aches from having my head pulled back, but everything else feels so good that I barely notice the pain. I fall into a strange high when we’re together like this. It’s something I can’t explain, but it’s almost a religious experience. My body is buzzing with desire. My heart is full of love. I’m surrendering to him completely. It’s an absolute powerlessness that I never knew I craved. Being used by him. Fucked by him. His toy. And he’s my everything.
“Oh yeah, your pussy is so fucking tight like this.” He leans over me, jack-hammering into me like he has limitless energy. I’m not sure if I have another orgasm or if the one I had before just doesn’t end. All I know is that my body is alight with contractions, and no matter how hard I clamp my pussy around his cock, he keeps fucking me until my muscles give out.
“Do you want me to come in your pussy?” he asks. “Want me to stretch your pussy nice and wide and fill it with my seed?”
“Yes, sir,” I say into his palm.
“Will your little snatch eat it all up? I don’t want a drop wasted.” His breathing is ragged from keeping up such a strenuous pace.
“Yes, sir. Please come in my pussy, sir.”
“I’m going to come in you bare. I want to fill your womb so full that I’m inside every inch of you.”
My throat tightens from the thought that he’s going to come inside of me unprotected. I didn’t get pregnant the first time, but there’s always the risk. Does he really understand what he’s saying or is he just caught up in the heat of the moment? Either way, I hate to admit to myself that I want it, too. I want to feel his hot seed inside of me. Nothing is better than when he comes. And there’s a deeper intimacy knowing the risk—knowing that he’s willing to take it with me.
Xan sits up and holds onto the rope bound around my wrists for the home stretch. I squeeze around him as best as I can, my muscles fighting to milk out his come. I wait for him to nut inside of me, but he abruptly pulls out. There’s no warm spray on my back. Instead, I feel firm hands lifting and turning me over. Xan places me on my back, splaying my thighs before entering me again. We have sex a lot, but it’s incredibly rare that he lets me see his face. Most of the time, I’m on all fours. It’s been an oddity to me, but I just figured he prefers it that way. And to be honest, it makes the experience less personal, which helps to keep that thin border of reality that we’re only boss and employee intact.
This. Seeing him like this. His handsome face. His hooded eyes. His slightly parted lips. The light sheen of sweat on his toned chest and abs. It’s too much. I come the second he slides back into me, and within a few short bucks, I feel his cock thicken. A curse passes between his clenched teeth, and then my insides turn warm as
he paints them with his seed. There’s no protection. It’s just part of him filling part of me, offering a deeper relationship than what I think he’s prepared to give.
I bask in the romantic intimacy of the moment until my orgasm subsides, and then the worry sets in. The realization that we did something wrong. That if I become pregnant, there likely won’t be a happy ending. There would be no wedding bells. No lying in bed at night with our baby between us. No happy family.
I would be outcast like my mother.
I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling lost in thought while Xan goes to get a towel to clean us off. I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, but I can’t convince myself of that. And again I wonder how many women he’s done the exact same thing with.
“Are you alright?” he asks, perhaps noticing my closed off body language.
As soon as he unbound my wrists, I sat up and hugged myself. I could just be cold, but that’s not it. My expression speaks volumes that I’m not okay.
“Don’t you worry about me getting pregnant?” I can feel his seed seeping from my pussy. It’s slick and sticky at the same time. There will definitely be a wet spot when I get up. Hopefully, he doesn’t mind me getting it on the furniture, though it would mostly be his own fault for coming inside of me.
“I try not to think about it.” He hands me the towel before scratching the back of his neck. Awkwardness fills the room like a deadly fog.
“You try not to think about it.” I look at him incredulously. “Isn’t that a bit irresponsible?”
“You said that I could,” he tells me pointedly, his voice full of warning. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t want it, too.”
“That’s not the point, Xan.” I wipe the wetness from between my legs. It feels like a never ending trickle is coming out of me. How much can one man come?
“Don’t worry about it.” He brushes the conversation away, walking over to his pile of clothes to get dressed.
