by Desiree Holt
Thinking back, I tried to remember the last time I’d sucked a man’s cock. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it, but I’d always made it clear to my slave boys that I considered it a submissive act. Maybe that was why Marcus had asked me to do it. Or maybe he just enjoyed blow jobs. Either way, I was determined to treat him to one he wouldn’t quickly forget.
Pressing the hot bar of flesh to my lips, I breathed in his scent. Even fresh from the shower, he still had a subtle, enticing musky aroma. When I swallowed the tip, feeling it push deeper till it lodged snugly against my cheek, Marcus sighed, and twined his fingers in my hair. As I began to bob my head back and forth, I realised he was using that light grip to control my movements, pushing me down further on to his cock. What else could I have expected? He was in charge here, after all. Not that I minded. He was big, but not so hefty that sucking him was uncomfortable, and I felt a thrill of pride when I pulled back for a moment and saw just how far down the length of him I’d managed to smear Scintillating Scarlet, the sticky lip gloss ringing his shaft like a bold tattoo.
“That’s it, girl,” Marcus murmured. “Show me how much you love to suck your master.”
The domina lurking within me bridled at the comment, but I knew that, if the roles had been reversed, I’d be demanding that he called me ‘mistress’. I’d have made him crouch between my legs, naked, and worship my pussy with his tongue—and I’d have expected him to show me the same kind of reverence I now showed him, as I licked and lapped my way down to his balls. Taking each of the tight, wrinkled spheres in my mouth in turn, I gently teased them.
“Ah, yes. So good…” The words seemed almost wrenched from Marcus’ throat, but even in his obvious ecstasy he still had the presence of mind to issue a further command. “Move lower, girl. My arse needs some attention.”
I didn’t consider disobeying him, completely wrapped up in the thrill of submission. Tracing a slithery, wet trail with my tongue tip along the seam that divided his balls, I came to a halt at his pinkish-brown pucker. Even here, his skin held a faint fragrance of his grapefruit body wash, and I wondered if he’d had this moment in mind as he’d lathered himself in the shower.
What would my boys think if they could see me now, diligently licking Marcus’ arsehole—and giving him immense pleasure in the process, if the speed of his breathing and the erratic jerks of his hips were any clue. It came as a shock to realise I really didn’t care. If they thought any less of a mistress who showed such an aptitude when it came to switching roles, then they weren’t the kind of submissive I needed in my life.
A groan from above my head let me know Marcus was on the verge of coming. He didn’t need to issue any further orders. Taking his helm in my mouth once more, I wanked his shaft with short, swift strokes, and felt the salty reward of his cum skating over my taste buds.
I would have basked in the satisfaction of bringing Marcus to a climax that left him temporarily lost for words, if I hadn’t had such urgent needs of my own.
“Please, sir, I have to come,” I said, unable to keep the beseeching tone out of my voice. Was this really what submitting to Marcus had reduced me to?
“Well, you know what to do.”
He sat back, zipping himself into his jeans, and waited for me to begin. How many times had I been in the same position, watching some submissive put on a show for my pleasure, even though they didn’t know whether I’d allow them to come? Yet I didn’t hesitate. Dropping a hand into the fork of my thighs, I fingered my clit. Marcus’ gaze focused on my cunt as I rolled the slippery bead in frantic circles, as though he was filing the image away for future reference. Would he lie in bed, remembering the way I’d played with myself so obediently for him, while he tugged his cock? The thought—that I could inspire his lust just as much as any of his previous submissives—was all it took to have me crying out helplessly, carried away on the floodwave of orgasm.
Only when my head had cleared did I realise that I hadn’t asked for Marcus’ permission before coming. He made no comment, other than to ask me to refill his glass with champagne, but I knew that mentally he’d filed the offence away. Maybe I was about to learn what gaining demerit points involved.
Chapter Three
Marcus chose not to enlighten me about his system of punishment that day, or on any of the following Sundays when I went to his cottage. Instead, he worked on my obedience training.
After that first visit, he established a routine. The moment I stepped through his front door, I was to strip down to stockings and suspenders, then arrange myself in a ‘display’ position, on my haunches with my thighs spread wide and my fingers linked behind the back of my head. The pose offered Marcus an uninterrupted view between my legs. I couldn’t help noticing that he gazed at my pussy with the same rapt attention as my slave boys had whenever I’d ordered them to worship me there, as though it were a sacred place. Even as a submissive, it seemed I still retained some basic, elemental power, try as he might to take it away from me.
When Marcus had discussed his experience of switching with me, he’d told me how he’d wanted to experience pain as part of the learning process. So I’d expected my training to involve a spanking or two, maybe even a session feeling the sting of his favourite short-tailed flogger against my bare bum cheeks. I’d seen him wield the whip with great skill before now, leaving Lydia’s pert, olive-skinned bottom blushing a delicious shade of crimson and the girl a helpless mess, sobbing her gratitude and desperate for sexual release. I’d convinced myself I could take whatever physical punishment he chose to give me, but until now he hadn’t given me the opportunity to put that assertion to the test.
More humiliating than striping my arse, at least in Marcus’ mind, was forcing me to do chores. It made sense. How many times had I told him that, after a week spent behind the counter in my café, brewing tea for customers and wiping down tables after them, the last thing I wanted to do was cook and clean? Dusting, vacuuming, doing laundry—all those tasks I’d delegated to Chris, watching him work while I relaxed on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine. To add to Chris’ discomfort, I would dress him in a pair of my frilliest knickers, though he couldn’t have been too unhappy at being forced to wear them, for his hard cock would always peep out over the waistband as he worked. What a mouth-watering sight it had been, and I couldn’t deny I missed it, but Marcus had been right. Chris had been willing and eager to obey my kinkiest command, but, once the scene was over and he was back in his everyday uniform of T-shirt and jeans, we really didn’t have anything to talk about. Whereas Marcus and I…
Oh, we talked about everything from how Marcus’ investment portfolio was doing to the Danish police procedural TV show we were both hooked on, but that came after he’d put me through my paces.
With a white apron tied around my waist that did nothing to cover my breasts or bum but simply gave Marcus an erotic spectacle to enjoy, I would clean the framed photographs and other knick-knacks on the living room mantelpiece using an old-fashioned feather duster I suspected he’d bought specially for me. He hadn’t yet had time to unpack all the books he’d brought with him from his old flat, so I had the task of dusting each one before placing it on the bookcase in his bedroom, arranging the titles in alphabetical order by author. Plenty of bending and stretching was involved in the process, and the thought of what I might be showing to him as I worked had me blushing. Yet I couldn’t deny that my pussy was wet and my nipples little chips of diamond as I busied myself around his home. There was, too, a definite satisfaction in a job well done, and of following his every instruction to the letter.
And when the dishes were washed, dried and stacked in the kitchen cupboard, Marcus’ shirts crisply ironed ready for the week ahead and a chicken, stuffed with garlic and herbs, roasting in the oven, my master would show his gratitude.
Unlike that first time, I didn’t have to make myself come. He did that for me, using his fingers and the toys he’d ordered me to bring from home. Those, though I could barely admit i
t, were the moments I lived for—Marcus’ strong arms around me as he pressed the buzzing tip of my favourite vibrator to my clit, sending shudders of delicious pleasure through me. I’d always laughed at the women who went weak in the face of Marcus’ handsomeness and charm, but now I found myself succumbing to his undeniable aura. I’d thought I’d been happy with the boys who’d been my lovers and slaves, but now I had an experienced dominant doing his utmost to show me what it meant to be a submissive woman, and I couldn’t deny I liked it. It didn’t mean I wanted to follow his instructions forever. But for now, these Sunday sessions—and the cyber chats we shared, where my temporary master ordered me to strip, apply clips to my nipples and use the vibrator on myself—satisfied my need to experiment with this previously unexplored side of my sexuality. Each time, I promised that I wouldn’t make myself come again until the next time I saw him, and each time, difficult as it proved, I kept that promise.
So it came as some surprise to see Marcus stride through the door of the Lapsang Lounge on the last Thursday afternoon before our month was up, shaking the last drops of water from a black umbrella.
“Hi, Selina.” He scanned the chalkboard high on the wall behind the counter, making a selection from the drinks I had on offer. “I’ll have a pot of Darjeeling and a slice of that nice-looking carrot cake, please.”
As I scooped tea leaves into the steel ball designed to hang in the teapot and allow the flavour to diffuse, I asked, “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“Oh, I had a meeting with a developer just round the corner.” I knew Marcus did consultancy work, now he’d sold his original firm, though I didn’t always pay complete attention when he was giving me the details of the clients he dealt with, and the big-money projects in need of his specific expertise. “It finished earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d pop in for afternoon tea.” His grin hinted at something more intimate, but I told myself that it was simply my imagination working overtime. I’d grown so used to meeting Marcus purely for the purpose of submitting to him over the last couple of weeks, was it any wonder that my body now had trouble reacting to him as it had when he’d simply been my closest friend?
“Take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you,” I told him.
I knew exactly where Marcus would choose to sit—in one of a pair of leather, wing-backed armchairs that flanked a table pushed into an alcove to the left of the counter, offering him a discreet view of everyone who entered or left the café. This was an old building, long and narrow, with odd little nooks and crannies that had just enough room for a table and a couple of chairs, offering privacy for anyone who wanted to sit and chat over coffee without being overheard. At the back, just before you reached the stairs that led down to the kitchen, was a wider area, where I’d installed two old but comfortable leather sofas. At the moment, one was occupied by a couple of yummy mummies, with identical blonde highlights and floral jersey Boden dresses over skinny jeans, gossiping as they took a break from their shopping. The only other customer in the place was sitting at the long wooden table opposite the counter, browsing on his computer. The Lapsang Lounge was popular with students from the local university, who liked to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi access the café offered. They tended to buy the cheapest coffee on the menu then make it last as long as humanly possible, but at least most of them had the grace not to do so at my busiest times.
I knew the red-haired lad currently hunched over his netbook, cappuccino at his elbow. Jamie was in the second year of a psychology course, and he would often engage me in conversation as I leaned on the counter. He claimed he needed my opinion for whatever essay topic he was wrestling with, but his bantering comments always carried a flirtatious tone. More than once I’d caught him regarding me from beneath his fringe when he thought I wasn’t paying him any attention. Blue-eyed and lean of build, with the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, Jamie could best be described as seriously cute. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d mentioned a girlfriend back home in Leeds, I’d have been tempted to train him up as one of my boys. A night spent at Club Severe, or in the playroom at the home of a dom like Marcus’ friend, scene veteran Sir Jeremy, would give Jamie more insight into human psychology than any number of dry, academic textbooks.
The moment I passed the table where he sat, Jamie just happened to look up. Catching my eye, he gave me a smile, which I returned. I didn’t think Marcus had noticed, until I set the tray containing his pot of tea and slice of cake down before him.
“He likes you, doesn’t he?” he said, smiling slyly.
“Who? Jamie? Oh, we chat about stuff. When they’re finally going to finish the road works outside the Tube station, who’s going to win X Factor, you know…”
“Yeah, yeah. And he’s just your type. Floppy hair, shy grin, ‘submissive’ written all over him…”
Marcus’ voice was pitched low enough that Jamie couldn’t possibly hear him, but still I squirmed inwardly. Some kind of mischief was being planned here, I knew it.
The matching blondes rose from the sofa, gathering up their shopping bags, and headed to the counter to settle their bill.
“Come back here when you’ve dealt with them,” Marcus commanded me. With those few words, he’d slipped from teasing friend to authoritative dominant, and, despite myself, I couldn’t help but respond. When we’d made our bet, I’d never have believed such a strong submissive seam ran through me, but it seemed Marcus had found the way to tap into it.
Having given the women their change—a fair proportion of which went into the tip jar on the counter, I was gratified to see—I returned to Marcus.
“Very good, Selina. Now, I want you to go to the customer toilet, take off your bra and bring it back to me.”
Surprise must have been evident on my face, because Marcus gave a low chuckle.
“Yes, you heard me right. Do it, girl, or you’ll be looking at demerit marks.”
So he expected me to play out a scene in the mundane surroundings of my own café. I should have told him I had customers to worry about—the blondes might have left, but Jamie still sipped at his cappuccino, and someone might walk through the door at any time, wanting service. Instead, I turned and made my way to the toilet, tucked away beneath the staircase leading to the upper floor. With every step, I felt my panties, soaking wet already, clinging to my pussy lips. Locking the door, I regarded my flushed expression in the mirror. I shouldn’t want this—not here, not now, not with the growing certainty that whatever he wanted me to do would involve Jamie—but I did.
Unbuttoning my blouse, I shrugged it off my shoulders. When I flicked open the front catch of my bra, my breasts spilled out, nipples crinkled and tight. For a moment I imagined someone reaching from behind me to cup them, and rolling the little buds between his fingers. Marcus, Jamie—it didn’t really matter who. I just needed to be touched.
Hurriedly fastening the blouse once more, I couldn’t fail to notice how the thin white fabric did nothing to disguise the dark discs of my areolas beneath it. I might as well have walked back into the café topless.
Feeling vulnerable, but extremely turned on, I walked back to Marcus, aware of the cotton blouse rubbing against my sensitive nipples. Without being asked, I set my bra down on the table before him, hoping Jamie wouldn’t glance over and spot it.
“Good girl.” Marcus unlatched his briefcase and slipped the garment inside. “Now, if you want to get this back, you have to go over to Jamie and let him see what you’ve done. Let him get a good look.”
“But, sir…”
“But nothing, girl. We both know how much you want to do this.” He forked up a piece of cake and popped it into his mouth, signalling that the conversation was at an end.
Heart hammering in my chest, I went over to the table.
“Are you okay, Jamie? Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m fine thanks, Selina. I—” The expression on his face as he looked up and registered my bra
less state might have been comical in any other circumstances. I revelled in the way he tried, and failed, to keep his eyes above chest level.
Making no indication that I was aware of Marcus watching me, I leaned over the table. In that position, Jamie would have the perfect view down my blouse. “What are you reading?” I asked, gesturing to his computer screen. “Anything interesting?”
“Not really. It’s—” He struggled to sound coherent, the effect of the blood rushing from his brain to pool in the place that needed it most. If I reached beneath the table, I knew I’d find his cock hard in his jeans. Would Marcus want me to do that? Did it turn him on to think of me playing with Jamie’s firm, young dick?
I never got the chance to find out. Jamie’s phone burst into life, the blaring ring tone startling both of us. Hoping he’d ignore it, I was disappointed when, instead, he answered the call. “Yes, just a moment.” He gave a little shrug. “Sorry, Selina, it’s my course tutor. I’ve got to take this… Yes, yes, I’ll be there right away…”
Fumbling in his jeans pocket, Jamie threw a handful of coins down to pay for his coffee. With a regretful backward glance, he hurried out of the café, dashing off down the rainy street.
“Hard luck, Selina.” Marcus came up behind me, pulling me into an embrace. I could feel his cock poking urgently at my arse through his smart suit. It seemed Jamie wasn’t the only one aroused by my exhibitionistic display. “And you were being such an obedient girl, too. I bet you’d have done anything I asked you to. Sucked his cock. Let him fuck you…”
I groaned at the thought. Jamie, taking me over the counter from behind while Marcus watched, stroking his own cock as he urged the boy on. What a beautiful picture it made.
“You need to be fucked, don’t you?” Marcus husked in my ear. “You’re so ready for it, I can tell.”
“Yes, sir.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded lost, helpless. But a submissive couldn’t demand her master bend her over the table and fuck her, however much she might need it.
