The second time I ride up the elevator with my silk knot bracelet, it’s because my Master actually commanded it, not simply because I was playing make-believe and wishing my outlandish fantasies might somehow come true. Where before, the excitement and danger of my “friend” Edward’s superpowers had merely been hinted at, this time I know for certain the absolute authority Master wields over me. And where those first tingles of dread and exhilaration were spoiled by guilt, this time there is absolutely none of that; wild, eager, lustful anticipation has only to share emotional head space with a fervent desire to please the man who has promised to tell me exactly how to do just that.
What secrets will be revealed tonight? What treasure trove of Master’s secret desires might I have opened with my simple inquiry? Dare I imagine I might be treated to a peek at the Master’s checklist? The answer key to Edward Cullen? Shivers rush down my spine and cover me in goose bumps. I have no idea how I’ll slog through another four hours of work this afternoon.
I tuck the ends of the silk knot under the sleeve of my jacket as the elevator doors open on my floor. As much as I love my collar and my bracelet, this knot is a hearkening back to that pivotal moment as well as a promise of a different sort. I welcome the slight discomfort, a constant reminder that I am cherished, desired, and controlled.
“Oh, Bella, great, you’re back,” Jessica babbles as I near her cube.
“I finished the research you asked for on those prospects. Did you want to go over the reports?”
“I finished the research you asked for on those prospects. Did you want to go over the reports?”
“Sure, Jessica. Why don’t you bring everything into my office?”
I clear off the side table, and we wade through the mounds of information at our fingertips. “I wonder how they ever used to do this in the good old days,” I muse aloud.
“I have no idea,” Jessica answers. “Thank goodness for computers, eh?”
An unfortunate snort escapes me before I can holster it. Computers, the start of it all. “Right.”
“Oh hey, Bella, you’ve got something sticking out there…oh, I’m sorry, is that meant to be…shoot, I’m such an idiot…shutting up now.”
I blush as brightly as she does at the sinister-looking scrap of green poking out near my wrist. I figure the best way to combat our mutual embarrassment is simply to address the kinky elephant in the room. “Oh this? It’s a present from my Secret Santa.” I offer no explanation as to why it’s tied in this unlikely location.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” she says, admiringly. “I got a gift certificate to Massage Envy and a dozen white carnations from mine.”
“Classy,” I comment playfully. “Well, to be fair, my Secret Santa was Edward.”
Jessica gasps. “Oh my gosh! Is that how you two met? That is so romantic!”
I finger the silk for a moment, giving myself time to organize my thoughts on the subject. It’s a question that is bound to come up time and time again, including tomorrow with Edward’s parents. Why not tell the story this way? It certainly sounds better than, “Actually, your son happened upon my penchant for writing erotica and watching sadomasochistic porn.”
“As a matter of fact, it is,” I answer.
She claps both hands over her exuberant smile and squeals, causing me to chuckle. “There’s hope for us all,” she marvels, tearing up and surprising me by making me do the same.
After a morning of responding to inquiries seeking my time and expertise from the Big Kahunas upstairs, all politically correctly cc’d to Rosalie, naturally, I’m happy to have a few minutes to myself upon returning from lunch. I consider a quick yank in the men’s room, but I have no desire to diminish my submissive’s capacity to fulfill my desires, bless her devoted heart.
I love it when a plan comes together, I muse happily, returning to my desk for a chaste afternoon. Well, almost chaste. I’d had in mind to contact Marcus even before my chat with Isabella this morning in the car, and it’s simply not possible for any thoughts of Marcus to be entirely chaste.
To: Marcus Andrews
From: Edward Cullen
Date: January 9, 2012
Subject: My girl
Hey, old man! How’s it hanging? Yeah, yeah, I know, “It doesn’t hang, it points to magnetic north.” Or was that just when I was around? Enough about your wrinkly old cock, let’s talk about me.
Long story short, Edward Cullen is hanging up his little black (berry) book for good. I’ve met the perfect girlfriend, lover, and submissive all rolled into one. She’s spectacular and oh, did I mention she writes fetish porn?
She’s brand SPANKIN’ new, Marcus, yes, I got myself a virgin subbie! Isabella’s doing great and her online journal gets some nice hits on the sub side, but she’s reached the point where she wants another dom/domme to confide in. It’s got to be someone who won’t let her down. Not you, big guy, you know me too well! Got any bright ideas?
Here’s an invitation. Come out to dinner with us. Join us for a public scene, and NO, you old pervert, there will be absolutely no touching.
Kiss kiss – oh scratch that. Still a hard limit.
The ride up the elevator in our building is interminable. Master stands in front of me, facing the doors, his finger looped between the scarf and my wrist. The moment the car spits us out on the nineteenth floor, he leads me without looking back, exactly as he did when we exited the Town Car and proceeded swiftly through the lobby, politely nodding to the random personnel who line the walls of such a place.
He unlocks the door with a quick flick of the wrist, pulls me inside, and without so much as a glance my way, orders me to my knees. As he speeds toward the bedroom, Master whisks off his belt and tosses it onto the floor. My mind spins with the promise inherent in this gesture, but I strenuously avoid guessing what he has planned. I try to clear my mind and focus only on the one thing I’ve promised both of us—Master’s every wish will be my command.
He returns a few short minutes later with two handfuls of tools, but my focus is on his bare chest and the way his trim waist disappears into his low-slung jeans. If previous experience is any indicator, Master is commando underneath. The click of my collar is Pavlov’s bell, but it’s not my mouth that wets at the sight of my sexy Master. We’re already in scene from lunch, as Master reinforced in the car ride over here in vivid detail.
“Did my mark on your wrist make you feel owned all afternoon, Princess?”
“Did you think about me while you were working?”
“Did you dream about what I was going to do to you later?”
And finally, “Are you ready to fulfill my every desire.”
“Yes, please, Master.”
He lays out the instruments in his hands along the coffee table, making sure I see each one. Crop. Leash. Feather. Tiny vibrator. Serious vibrator. Nipple clamps. Rope. And the final item—a pair of black leather gloves. I have to take a deep breath and re-center myself after the gloves are dropped. Imagining the feel of them against my bare skin is almost too much.
I push to my feet.
“Take off your clothes.” He puts out his hand and I strip off my jacket and hand it to him, followed by my stockings, skirt, and blouse.
As I reach for my bra clasp, he stops me. “Show me your nipples first.”
My hands shake as I reach into the cups of my bra and scoop out my twin mounds of flesh, arranging myself over the useless cups. “Excellent; they’re nice and hard. You may remove your bra now.”
“Thank you, Master,” I answer, a warmth spreading between my legs as I swiftly deliver the bra into his outstretched hand.
“You’re welcome,” he smiles. “Hands and knees, girl.”
A wave of lust shudders through me as my palms and knees hit the floor. I spread open my thighs and arch my back. I suddenly have an insane desire to wag my ass and rub my cheek against his leg. He must somehow read my need, as he crouches down in front of me and cups my chin lovingly, running his fingers through my hair. My breath catches in a swoon that nearly bowls me over in its intensity.
“Who’s my sweet subbie?” he asks in a voice one would use for speaking to a beloved pet.
“I am, Master.” No question.
Seemingly overcome by the same wall of emotions that just hit me, he pinches his eyes shut and kisses me ever so tenderly. As he pulls back from my lips, his thumb trails a delicate arc along my cheek while he stares into my eyes. What are you thinking, Master?
At close range, his voice is a hushed whisper. “Master is very, very pleased with you. You know that, right?”
His genuine praise raises a shiver on my skin, and I lean into his touch along my cheek, enjoying what I perceive to be a rare sanctioned opportunity to break my posture for an unfairly induced swoon. My elbows nearly buckle with the strain of holding myself upright in this moment. “Thank you, Master,” I answer most reverently.
Does she have any clue how it makes me feel, truly makes me feel, that she only desires to please me? If not, then I still have work to do on my communication skills, because submission as perfect as hers deserves the utmost respect. “Thank you, princess.”
Okay, on with the scene before we both turn into a couple of blubbering teenage girls at a Nicholas Sparks movie. I lean back onto my heels and transition back to a more Masterful voice for both our benefits. Sensing the shift in mood, Isabella regains her composure as well.
“Isabella, you know how much your Master loves to eat, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.” A small smile breaks the tension in her mouth.
“And you wouldn’t want to stand between me and my dinner, now would you?”
“Well,” I twist my face into a chagrined expression, “I’m afraid that’s exactly where you are.”
As expected, she appears puzzled.
“Tonight is about fulfilling Master’s wishes and desires, and do you know what my number one desire is?”
Her face turns pale as she realizes she can’t answer my question. “I’m not sure, Master.”
I smile comfortingly so she knows she’s not in trouble. “That’s okay, sweetheart. We’ve only discussed it once, and at the time, you didn’t realize it was me you were speaking with.”
Now I’ve got her really confused. “Do you remember your late night conversation with Black Velvet, about your popcorn fantasy?”
Her paled cheeks fill in with a bright blush. “Yes, Master.”
“What’s the holy grail for a dominant, Isabella?”
“When Master’s pleasure alone triggers his submissive’s orgasm?”
I cannot resist petting her once again. “That’s right. And that’s what I want from you tonight…for starters. Are you ready to fulfill my wishes?”
“Your wish is my command, Master.”
“Attagirl,” I praise her, the new catch phrase lighting a spark in my belly and conjuring all kinds of lovely visuals. “Crawl over and pick up my belt in your teeth and bring it back to me.”
“Yes, Master.” I hop up onto my feet as she starts her journey across the expanse of the floor where I made sure to leave it. Sweet Jesus, I love to watch her crawl for me, I muse, enjoying the hell out of the slight sway of her breasts and the promising space between her open legs. I have to adjust myself when she bends down to grip the leather in her teeth; if the visual of her ass was unbearable, it’s even worse when she turns back, revealing the uncloaked desire in her eyes.
“Nicely done,” I tell her, bending to retrieve the object from her mouth. Careful not to touch her, I fasten the belt around her waist, buckling it at her back tightly enough that it won’t slide. “Bring me your leash.”
Her response is predictable; my girl loves that leash but she’s not yet to the point where she can let that be known. She crawls over to the table, manages to take the metal chain into her mouth and delivers it back to me. I promptly clip it to the buckle, give a sharp, “Heel,” and lead her around the room.
While we walk, I help her sink into sub space so she can accomplish the challenging task before her. “You know why watching you crawl for me is right up there on my wish list, princess?”
“Because it makes you so horny to be my devoted pet. To be mine to control, turning you this way…or that.” I spin us around and she stumbles. I stop dead in my tracks.
“Oh, princess, that wasn’t up to your usual standard. Looks like someone needs a little help from my riding crop. Go on. Bring it to me.” I let the handle of the leash slide onto the floor and she drags it over to the table, pulling the crop between her teeth and delivering it to me. I crouch in front of her and take her offering. “Ask for the help you need, princess. Use your kinky words.”
She licks her lips and struggles for a second before coming out with, “Please, Master, use your crop to remind me how to be a better pet for you.”
“Delightful,” I answer, taking up her leash again and cropping her right cheek. “That’s for a right turn. And this…” I swat the left, “is left. Heel.”
After a random and torturous zigzag circuit around the room, directed by an insistent crop and a firm leash, I’m poised atop the coffee table on hands and knees, desperate for my chance to bring Master his pleasure as well as my own. His zipper is exactly level with my eyes, and I can’t help but lick my lips at the bulge clearly outlined by the straining denim.
“Okay, princess. Here’s the deal. Neither one of us is having dinner tonight until you have your first orgasm…”
My first. Be still my pussy.
“…which you are not permitted to have until after you’ve brought on mine…”
Shouldn’t be too difficult…
“And here’s where you get to fulfill my ultimate desire. Your total surrender to my needs is going to make you so crazy with lust and desire that you are going to get off without being touched anywhere near that –how do you writers describe it?—‘bundle of nerve endings.’”
Holy shit! Master’s just commanded spontaneous combustion! I know I’ve done it a few times in my sleep when a particularly steamy dream took hold and I’ve woken up with a puddle between my legs, but there’s always been some friction involved, a human cricket rubbing my thighs together. Master will allow none of that, I’m quite sure.
What if I can’t manage it? He’s not going to eat until I do? A hungry Master is nobody’s idea of a good time.
Sensing my apprehension, he grabs my hair roughly in one hand, tugging my eyes upward. “I’m demanding this of you because I know you can do it for me. There’s no place for doubt, not of yourself or of me, so you leave it all behind and focus on pleasing me with every fiber of your being. Now, beg for what you want, Isabella.”
I know exactly what I want, what he’s offering me. Deep breath. “Please, Master. May I suck your cock?”
“Not yet,” he answers surprisingly. “First, I want you to bathe my balls with your hot little tongue. And make sure you don’t miss any spots.”
A thrill of excitement courses through me. Master has just pinched back the edge of the Magic Curtain.
“Your wish is my command,” I answer, letting him know that I understand the enormity of his gift. Master releases my hair only long enough to open his pants and push them down to his knees. Holding his shaft out of the way with one hand and grasping my hair again with the other, he steps closer, granting me access to his private pleasure. I close my eyes and let my tongue play over and around his sac, pulling each side into my mouth and caressing him with my warmth. Master exacts his pleasure, gyrating above me to place the exact parts inside my mouth where he wants attention. I lap at him enthusiastically while committing each detail to memory.
When Master moans out loud, the sound echoes deep within me, and I redouble my efforts.
“So fucking good, princess,” Master praises, thrilling me with his words. But suddenly, he pulls off and lets go of my hair. Worried I’ve displeased him, I wait anxiously.
“Act Two,” he says. “Face up on the couch, head here, hands behind your back.”
I scurry into position, not a clue what’s next. I vaguely notice Master shrug off his jeans and pick up something from the table before moving behind my head.
He adjusts my position, gently tilting my neck so that my head is tipped backwards over the rolled arm of the couch. He taps on my chin. Cupping my neck with one hand, he steps closer and lines up his tip with my mouth.
“Ahhhh,” he groans, sliding himself between my waiting lips. My nose is buried in the soft skin I’ve just lavished with my tongue. Engulfed by his sex with all five of my senses, it’s so easy to lose myself and live for Master’s pleasure. He steadies me with one hand while he pushes in and out, smothering me in every good way. I inhale deeply and drink in the musky swirl of sex and arousal. His balls slap against my cheeks, and his rough grunts tug at the place between my legs as if directly connected by invisible wires. My eyes are buried in a sea of skin and motion and darkness.
Suddenly, there’s another stimulus I wasn’t expecting, an insistent cool brushing across my nipple, but what is it? Could be the crop, but no, now it’s a twist, a harsh pinch; Master’s rolling my nipple between the leather fingers of his glove. The pain is exquisite pleasure and I moan around his thick cock. The sensation moves to the other side, and I find myself pushing up into his hand, greedily reaching for more of the rough treatment.
“That’s it, girl. Spread your legs wide open so I can watch you come for me.”
I split my legs apart the width of the couch, but a sharp sting on the inside of my right thigh tells me I haven’t pleased him. “Open, princess. All the way. You know how to spread your legs. Hook that foot over the back of the couch!” All this he orders while thrusting, thrusting, thrusting into my mouth. Slapping his balls against my nose and cheeks. Blotting out everything but his sex.
“That’s better.” Thrust, grunt, slap. “Suck. This. Cock.”
Thump! The crop hits just out of reach of where it might be useful. Again and again, a wafer thin soft, dull thud, just above the thatch of new hair. It’s maddening. I press my hips up and the crop comes down harder with a thwack! and my muffled protest is absorbed by his dick in my mouth.
“No, girl. Just the cock.” Cock. Cock. Cock.
“Taste it.” Salty. Bitter. Thud! Thunk!
“Smell it.” Sweat. Earth. Tap! Tap!
“Take it all…grunt… ungh … ahhh… fuuuck …!” Nipple twist, pinch!
Master spills his seed inside me in deafening silence, the hand at my neck tightening and holding my chin firmly against his pelvic bone. I draw stream after stream of hot cum into my upside-down throat. And then, he breathes again. Quick, desperate gasps of oxygen.
The view alone would’ve done it for me—pointy peach puckered nipples lifting shamelessly for the brutal torment of my glove; tight abs straining for more of the square tip of the crop; shining greedy pussy yowling open and desperate for any kind of touch.
But of course, there’s so much more than that—the tight embrace of her lips around my shaft, the eager lapping of her tongue, the suction in her cheeks and throat; the desperate groans that tell me she’s living my pleasure as her own, not to mention the delicious reverberations around my cock; the elegant curve of her neck in selfless offering.
And yes, the utter submission. Let’s be real, her face is wholly buried in my balls and cock at the end of a long day and I have purposely not freshened up for the occasion. Nor have I been a total jerk and pressed her into extreme tongue service; that is simply not necessary tonight and I don’t want to turn her off to the experience; not that her dom would need her to love it, but her boyfriend might find that handy at some point down the road.
She’s so close, teetering on the edge, just a little more… It’s got to stay about me; she won’t get there for herself. I slide out of her mouth and gently return her neck to the support of the couch. Straddling her face, I rub myself along her cheeks, rolling my balls over her nose and mouth, keeping her trapped in my scent and the feel of me as I bend forward with both hands and twist her nipples between my gloved fingers. She cries out beneath me, and I switch to a soft teasing caress toward her belly and further, into the soft curls of her hair. I extend the crop and flick insistently from her knee to the juncture with her pelvis, careful to stay away from the bull’s-eye. Her face under continuous assault by my gyrating hips, her nipples harshly manhandled, and her pussy teased from alternating sides, she’s engaged everywhere at once. Time for the final erogenous zone.
“I wish you could see yourself from my vantage point right now, princess, all spread out for your Master, open and wanting.” She groans into my balls and I know I’m on the right track.
“Your sharp little nipples can’t get enough of Master’s leather. Reach for more. Beg me with your body!”
She raises her chest to meet my hand, and I reward her by quickly scrubbing back and forth across her pointy nubs.
“What about Master’s crop? You want more of that too, greedy girl? Open your legs and lift for your Master! That’s it, pet.” She flinches each time the little square of leather slaps down on her thighs, her belly, her patch of hair, and then she’s up again, eager for more.
“Your moaning and begging are making me hard again already. I think you might actually have to suck me off again before dinner!”
I know full well I’m not using up my stamina that way tonight, but I make my case convincingly by pumping my hips against her face. She responds gracefully, lifting and opening herself to me even more. I tease and smother and root her on, and finally, I see the beginnings of an orgasm.
It starts out as a tiny flutter of her hips, and as it builds to a steady beat, I mirror her rhythm with the crop.
“Look at you, not even tied down and that pussy is spread open and dripping for your Master.”
“Unnnghhh,” she moans, lifting, tensing, pleading without words.
“Show Master how much you love having your face smothered by my balls,” I tease, grinding against her face. “Open that sweet mouth of yours and give me more of that tongue loving. Ah…that’s it. So sweet, pet. Aren’t you the luckiest subbie, having such a generous Master, letting you lick my balls all over…”
And…that does it.
I feast my eyes on the most glorious airgasm I have ever witnessed. Her head thrashes wildly beneath me and I step back so she doesn’t hurt one of us. The sweetest wail escapes her as her muscles clamp open and shut and a trickle of clear fluid coats her opening. Her flesh is a carpet of goose bumps, her face the picture not just of bliss, but pride.
When the ride has finished, she blinks up at me and starts to giggle. Smiling back, I support her neck with one hand and help her up to a sitting position. She sighs as her gorgeous afterglow kicks in and I can’t resist kissing her. She tastes like ass—my ass, to be exact—and how could I fault her for it?
“I did it, Master,” she beams proudly.
“That you did, princess. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Go heat up the leftovers. I’m starved.”
“Still hungry?” Master asks, swiping away a drop of sauce from the corner of my mouth. It’s bound to happen when one is seated naked on her Master’s denim-clad lap, her wrists fastened tightly together behind her back while being hand fed beef stew.
“No, thank you, Master. I’ve had enough.”
“Up you go, then, princess,” he says, pushing his chair back and helping me to my feet. Master regards me for a moment, then says, “On second thought, back onto your knees and rest your cheek right here,” he directs, tapping his left thigh and scooting his chair under the table.
Master chuckles at my indecision and approves of my final choice. “Of course I want you facing me, sweetheart. Just like the rose that opens toward the sun.” The sun, indeed. My view from here is the sun, moon, and stars—the inseam of his jeans, his tight midsection with those deliciously defined obliques, and the smattering of light hair from his belly button downward; every visual line leading straight to Master’s pleasure zone, and thus, mine.
We sit quietly together while Master finishes his dinner, the only sounds in the room his occasional moans at my mother’s cooking and the soft clank of silverware on his plate. Master draws his cupped hand over my forehead, along my loose hair, and halfway down my spine. He repeats this soothing motion over and over, pulling me into a trancelike state. My eyes threaten to close, but I’m not sure it’s allowed.
He sets down his fork finally, relaxes back in his chair and brings his other hand to play through my hair. Without meaning to, I sigh rather loudly.
“I do have the sweetest pet, don’t I?” he muses softly, allowing himself a few more strokes of my hair before sighing himself. His hands still in my hair and there’s a definite shift in his tone. “Time for more wish fulfilling. On your feet, girl.”
Master leads me toward the hallway and I ready myself for the bedroom, whatever that might mean tonight. But once we reach the narrow passageway, he stops and turns me in his arms. I feel the soft tug of the knot at my elbows loosening and the unraveling of rope.
“Pop quiz, princess. If my satisfaction triggering yours is number one on my list, what do you think comes next?”
My brain is still fuzzy from the kinky cuddle session, but I give it a shot. “Taking me hard and fast?”
Master guffaws behind me and peeks around to ask, “Are you sure that’s not just wishful thinking?”
“Maybe, Master.” Clearly, that’s not right.
“That’s definitely on my list, sweetheart, but we’re not there yet. Don’t worry, we have all night.”
All night. First orgasm. Holy hell, what does he have planned?
“Hands in front now, straight out toward me. That’s a girl.” He winds the rope expertly between and around my wrists with the practiced ease of a boy scout. Or a sailor. Or…yum, a Navy Seal trussing up a prisoner.
“What ever are you thinking about, my kinky girl?”
Shit. Busted. “Merit badges,” I answer vaguely. He regards me for a moment before returning to the task.
“Step back for me,” he commands, drawing me into the mouth of the hallway, and I cannot imagine why. Until, that is, he tosses the end of the rope up and over the chin-up bar I’ve never noticed before. Suddenly, it all becomes clear as my hands are drawn higher and higher, until finally, they’re straight up over my head.
“Feet spread against the walls,” he says, and I sink just a bit further into sub space. There’s some rustling at the belt buckle on my back, a couple experimental tugs, and then it’s over. I am locked in place. “So, have you figured out my second favorite thing yet?”
His eyes sparkle gleefully as he stands in front of me, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork. “No, Master.”
“No?” He scurries to the coffee table, snags the feather, and brushes it over my belly. “How about now?”
Millionaire Master, maybe? “Making me come with just the feather?”
“Ah,” he smiles. “More wishful thinking. No, princess, I’m afraid not. Not right now, anyway.”
A shiver overtakes me as I realize he’s either going to tease me or tickle me, or maybe a whole lot of both. Any way you slice it, I’m in for a rough ride.