First Time

by Lynn Burke

  We sat in silence a few moments as I gave her time to come down. I knew the moment reality settled back over her brain—she stiffened in my arms.

  “Shh…” I kissed her forehead.

  “Wh-where’s Stephen?”

  “In Chantelle’s office, most likely.”

  “I … I climaxed.”

  “You did,” I said, lips returning to her forehead.

  “Oh, my God.” She clenched her eyes shut and frowned, face flushing red. “That’s the first time … Stephen…”

  “He wasn’t happy.”

  Becky pulled from my hold and sat, knees drawn up and face buried in her arms. A shudder rippled through her, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her trembling body against mine.

  “He’s going to kill me,” she whispered. “You, too.”

  “He’s not going to touch either of us.” I rubbed my hand along her back.

  She lifted her head and glanced around the room, swallowing. The fear in her eyes twisted my stomach, and I clenched my jaw against the need to break Stephen.

  “How about you go to the bathroom and clean up, then we’ll go talk to Chantelle?”

  She nodded, and I helped her stand.

  Her ass jiggled as she shuffled away, and I groaned. Her scent still clung to my nose and my fingertips from the non-accidental brushing along her thighs. I lifted my hand to my nose and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with Becky. Sweet and musky—God, how I wanted to explore her folds with my tongue, lips, and teeth.

  Not until Stephen is a part of her past and she’s ready to move on.

  I wrapped up my ropes, and when Becky returned from the bathroom, face still pink and eyes wary, I took her hand. We walked the carpeted hallway in silence. The rest of the evening belonged to Chantelle and whatever plan she had up her sleeve.

  We entered the lounge, and Becky tugged her hand from mine, stepping behind me, head down and shoulders slumped. Anger flared, and I pulled her back up alongside me, wrapping my hand around hers. “We’re not scening and you’re not my sub.” Yet, I wanted to add. “I want you to walk with me.”

  She lifted her gaze to my face, eyes widened and inquisitive.

  Offering a smile, I headed toward the double doors, gripping her hand.

  Chantelle had told me she would have Stephen taken to her office if he reacted to Becky’s release like she’d expected him to. She had said she would keep him there until Becky was calm and ready for the confrontation.

  “Go get dressed,” I said, nodding toward the women’s locker room off the reception area.

  “I only have a coat,” Becky said, “and Stephen has the key to the locker in his front pocket.”

  Fucking dead of winter, and that asshole didn’t allow her any clothing. “There are robes on the back of the stall doors. Grab one of those for now.”

  She returned a minute later, a navy-blue silk robe covering her from lush breasts to mid-thigh.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Face pale and lower lip between her teeth, she shook her head.

  “I’ll be right there beside you, and there are two bouncers with Stephen. I promise he won’t touch you.”

  “O-okay.”

  One last smile and nod of my head, and I rapped on the door. One of the bouncers answered and stepped back.

  “Come in,” Chantelle called.

  “Ladies first.” I laid my hand on Becky’s lower back, and she trembled beneath my touch. She stepped into the office, and I followed on her heels.

  “You lying, conniving bitch,” Stephen spat, standing from the couch to our left.

  Titus, the bouncer standing beside him, grasped Stephen’s shoulder and forced him back down.

  “Cock-sucking whore. You’ll give in to the jolly green fucking red-headed giant and hold back your orgasms from me for eight fucking years? You’re nothing—”

  “Enough.” Chantelle’s Domme voice cut Stephen clean off, his trap slamming shut.

  Ball-less pussy. I wanted to laugh. All fucking talk.

  Chantelle rounded her desk and hugged Becky. Indiscernible whispers passed between the two women before Chantelle stepped back and led her cousin to the chair facing her desk. “Care to tell me what happened?” she asked, perching on the edge of her desk between Becky and Stephen.

  Becky glanced over her shoulder at me, a flush rising up her face. “I … uh…” She cleared her throat and turned back around. “Stephen volunteered me to be Master Cooney’s assistant,” she whispered, lowering her head.

  “Go on,” Chantelle said as Stephen muttered something under his breath.

  “He tied me up.”

  “And?” Chantelle prompted even though Becky’s tone and slumped shoulders said she didn’t wish to continue.

  I didn’t care for the way she put Becky on the spot, making her uncomfortable in front of me and two other men, but she’d asked me to trust her.

  Becky turned toward Stephen.

  “Whore.” He spat on Chantelle’s carpet.

  She jerked her head back down.

  I clenched my fist as Chantelle ignored him. “What happened, Becky?”

  “I-I…”

  “She had her first fucking orgasm, that’s what happened,” Stephen grumbled, his brow furrowed. “Unfaithful bitch supposedly can’t come with me for eight years and gets off without anyone touching her dry cunt.”

  Chantelle turned toward Stephen as Becky cowered.

  “I hardly think her cunt was dry if she orgasmed. Perhaps the problem is yours.”

  “Mother fucker!” If anger was visible, Stephen would have had steam shooting from his ears like in all the cartoons. “Not my fucking problem!” he hollered. “I’ve put in every effort to help her get off. Every kink imaginable, and she never allowed herself to respond to me. Canes. Whips. Chains. I’ve fucked her every which way, every hole, and she’s always denied me!”

  “Is it true that you denied Stephen your climax?” Chantelle asked Becky, her voice soft and gentle.

  Becky shook her head.

  “Lying whore!”

  “I don’t know why I came tonight,” Becky whispered, tears coating her voice.

  “I’ll tell you why.” Chantelle squatted beside her cousin, her pencil skirt tightening across toned thighs. “It’s because Master Cooney knows how to read a submissive’s body language. Unlike Stephen, who likes to play at being a Dom, Master Cooney knows how to turn a woman on with the gentlest touch, a single whisper—”

  “Fucker!”

  “—and give her the release her body has been denied her whole adult life.”

  “I never fucking denied her!” Stephen’s cheeks mottled, his eyes bugging like a lunatic.

  “Master Cooney is not an abuser using a title to satisfy his own sick desires.”

  “Why you cock-sucking—” Stephen leaped up and took two barreling steps toward Chantelle, arms outstretched.

  Titus tackled him from behind.

  Chantelle didn’t flinch as Stephen screamed every explicit word imaginable, promising to kill her. Becky. Me.

  “I’ll cut your fucking balls off, Cooney, and shove them down your throat!”

  My brow raised, but I didn’t reply.

  Titus yanked Stephen to his feet, both arms behind his back as he continued to spew nonsense.

  “Becky,” Chantelle said, gaze on her lowered head. “I think it’s best for your own safety if you don’t go home with Stephen tonight.”

  “The fuck she won’t!” Stephen fought to free himself, but the bouncer didn’t budge. “She belongs to me! She’s mine and does what I say!”

  “Not tonight, Stephen.” Chantelle stood and turned to face him, chin tilted up to stare down at him. “You are going to go home without Becky. You are going to leave this establishment, and if you cause a problem, I’ll be more than happy to call the police.”

  He glared at her but didn’t say a word.

  “You’re both going to have some alone time to calm down. Under
stood?”

  Chantelle tilted her head toward the door, and Titus dragged Stephen along.

  “Becky needs her locker key,” I said before they reached the door. “It’s in his front pocket.”

  The bouncer by the door fished the key free and handed it to me, Stephen squirming in Titus’s hold and cursing the entire time.

  “Titus,” Chantelle said without looking away from Becky, “see Stephen to his car and make sure he leaves the area.”

  “Will do. Let’s go.” Titus pulled Stephen out the door, and the other bouncer followed on his heels, shutting us in quietness.

  Chapter Six

  Becky

  I wanted to curl up into myself and die. Heat filled my face, tremors owned my body. Stephen wanted to kill me, and my climaxing problem was no longer a secret. I had no place to go, no close friends in the area I could call. Stephen had dragged me across the country from Oklahoma not long after graduation and had kept my friend-making to a minimum.

  “Daniel,” Chantelle said, “I would like you to take Becky back to my place.”

  A tear slid down my cheek.

  Chantelle squatted once more beside me and gathered my shaking hands between hers. “You’re going to make yourself at home in my condo. Food, wine—whatever you want or need, help yourself. The guest room is yours for as long as you need it.”

  “Wh-what about clothes?” More tears slid down my cheeks as I tried to focus on her face. “I’m like twice your size.”

  She squeezed my hands and smiled. “I have a few things here I can send with you, and tomorrow we’ll find a way to get you to your house while Stephen is working, so you can get some of your own things, okay?”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip, contemplating Stephen’s mental well-being. “I doubt he goes to work tomorrow.” I shook my head, concern for him twisting my stomach. “He doesn’t do well on his own. Never has. What if he drinks himself into a stupor and misses work again tomorrow? He’s down to his last strike with the post office.”

  “Stephen is a grown man, Becky,” Chantelle said, her voice stern. “He is more than capable of caring for himself.”

  I wanted to argue but knew she was right. How often had he told me that he didn’t need me, that he could just as easily make it on his own? Of course, within an hour, he always apologized.

  Used to.

  Chantelle pulled me to my feet and hugged me. “Daniel will take you to my place. If you want him to leave, he will. If you want him to stay, he’s more than welcome to.”

  I nodded against her shoulder, breathing deeply to dry my tears. A night away would be best. Give Stephen time to calm down, and me time to process what had happened to me while bound in Master Cooney’s ropes.

  “Thank you for offering your place,” I said, pulling back and trying for a smile. “I’ve never seen Stephen so angry, so hell bent on hurting someone.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” Chantelle asked, holding me at arm’s length.

  I nodded.

  “If you’re even half tempted to go home anytime soon, I want you to think about what would have happened if you’d gone home with Stephen tonight. Think of the pain and bruises he would inflict. Think of the verbal abuse he would have thrashed you with.”

  Fresh tears coated my eyes, and I nodded. Imagining such things wasn’t difficult.

  “Good.” Chantelle released me, and I wrapped my arms around my midsection. She retrieved her key ring and pulled one off, handing it to Master Cooney behind me. “5C. You know which building, right?”

  “I do.” Master Cooney’s deep, quiet voice anchored my mind. I wanted to lean back against him, soak in his strength, his peacefulness.

  Chantelle returned to her chair and moved her mouse around, clicking on her computer a few times. “Titus took Stephen out the front. You parked in the back as usual?” she asked without lifting her gaze from the screen.

  “Yes.”

  She nodded and stood once more, rounding her desk to hug me again. “Everything is going to be okay,” she murmured. “I want you to just relax tonight. Take some time to think and unwind, okay?”

  “Okay.” A sigh shuddered over me, and Chantelle released me.

  “Now, let’s go to the women’s locker room and see if we can’t find you something a little more appropriate to wear for this cold weather.

  ****

  My mind raced while Chantelle rifled through two closets of clothing she kept on hand for emergencies or play. While most were inappropriate for venturing beyond the doors of her kink club, she had a few leggings on hand, one of which fit my fat thighs and ass. A man’s 2XL t-shirt covered the rest of me, and I tugged on Stephen’s favorite ballet flats and my tattered coat.

  Master Cooney waited for us in the reception area. He’d traded in his leather pants for relaxed-fit jeans and a Patriot’s sweatshirt. His gaze slid down over the only coat I owned, a flicker of a frown denting his brow for a split second.

  My face heated, and I turned away.

  “Are those the shoes you wore here?” he asked, standing from the chair he’d been lounging in.

  I nodded.

  “Did Stephen tell you to wear them?”

  I nodded again, shifting on my feet.

  “Fucking bastard,” Master Cooney muttered.

  “Call me when you get there,” Chantelle said.

  “Will do.

  She hugged me one last time. “Get some rest, Becky. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up for me.”

  I worried the inside of my lip, wondering if Stephen drove like a maniac. Where he was on the drive home, and how deeply he hurt.

  Master Cooney grasped my hand, drawing me back to the present. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He led me out another door, down a short hallway that ended at a locked door. With a swipe of a key card, a beep and unlocking mechanism sounded. Down a flight of stairs, and we entered a private parking garage.

  I walked in silence—by his side, same as in Chantelle’s lounge. Not a slave, but an equal. Warm fuzzies woke in my stomach, and I glanced up at his bulking form.

  He smiled down at me, and the fuzzies fluttered.

  Whore, Stephen’s echoing voice rang in my ears, and I turned away, a rock replacing the lightness in my center.

  Master Cooney led me to a black SUV, clicked “unlock” on his keys, and opened the passenger door for me. He waited until I settled and buckled the seatbelt before shutting me in.

  The scent of new leather and his citrus cologne filled my nose. I inhaled deeper, my mind quieting, the rest of my body more alive than what was probably appropriate.

  He climbed in without a word.

  I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as he started the car and pulled out of the garage. What sounded like sleet pelted the windshield, but I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes to find out.

  We drove in silence, and my mind returned to Master Cooney’s rope, gentle touches, and kind words. He had called me sweetness. Told me I smelled good. Warmth oozed through my body, settling in my pussy. I shifted on the seat.

  I ought to be ashamed of my body’s reaction to someone other than Stephen, but in that moment couldn’t bring myself to shame. Arousal was an alluring, beautiful thing, the euphoria following a climax a feeling I hoped to experience again.

  The car slowed, and the sound of sleet stopped. Another parking garage.

  Master Cooney backed into a visitor spot and cut the engine. He hopped out and rounded the front of his car to open my door as I reached for the handle.

  “Thank you,” I said, climbing out.

  He took my hand again, and I fought the desire to lean against him, stealing his strength since mine waned. Thank God for elevators, I thought as the overhead ding rang for the fifth time. The doors swished open to a carpeted hallway, cream-colored walls, and soft overhead lighting. A side table with fresh flowers and a handful of paintings gave the hall a warm, homey feel.

  5C lay at the end, and Master Cooney
let us in without a word.

  He closed the door behind me while I glanced around.

  Open-concept living room in front of me, massive windows overlooking Boston’s skyline. Kitchen to the right with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

  “I’ll take your coat,” Master Cooney said from behind me.

  I unbuttoned and pulled it off my shoulders, but he grabbed hold of it and helped me finish.

  A real gentleman.

  My throat tightened, and I cursed PMS, Stephen, his decision to move us away from our families, and my weakness in allowing him to treat me with such disregard. A lick of anger tightened my spine.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Master Cooney asked, moving into the kitchen.

  “Please.” I pulled off my slippers.

  “Beer? Wine?” He pulled open the fridge. “OJ, almond milk … cranberry juice.”

  “Water is fine. Are you going to stay?” I asked as he retrieved one glass.

  “Only if you want me to.” He filled the glass with ice and water from a contraption on the refrigerator’s door.

  Our fingers brushed as he handed me the glass, and I bit the inside of my lip, nodding.

  I settled in the living room, the silence of Chantelle’s condo like a soothing balm over my conscience. A clink of ice in another glass, and seconds later, Master Cooney rounded the couch. He hesitated, and I scooted over, hoping he would sit by me rather than in one of the two chairs.

  A small smile flitted over my lips as he took me up on the silent offer.

  He held up his tumbler with its amber liquid. “To a night of freedom?” His low voice swept over me, and I shivered.

  Freedom. Oh, the implications that word had on how I had chosen to live my life.

  “To freedom,” I whispered, clinking my glass against his. I swallowed a few gulps as he sipped.

  “My father was a lot like Stephen,” Master Cooney said, lowering his glass.

  I frowned and shifted to face him. “In what ways?”

  “He was extremely unkind with his words toward my mother.” He glanced down at the tumbler all but lost in his large hand. “He was fond of inflicting pain on her, too, but at least took care to only cause bruises where no one would see them.”