I might be a wee bit wobbly when Edward leads me into the alcove near the coat check. While the attendant searches for our belongings, Edward pulls the suede pouch containing my bracelet from the front pocket of his pants. “Are you ready, Isabella?”
“Yes,” I answer him aloud, then mouth, “Master.”
He smirks as he clasps the jewelry over my wrist. He turns to retrieve the coats as they’re slid across the counter, and he holds mine up. I extend my arms behind me, but can’t seem to find the arm openings.
“Oh, you’re gonna be fun tonight,” Edward croons near my ear. “Here you go now, one at a time for beginners…a little higher, and…contact!”
I shrug myself all the way in and crane my neck around as far as it will go. “Don’t forget, no consequences,” I remind him.
He closes my coat around me from behind and pulls me back against his body. Pressing his lips against my neck, he amends my statement, “No alcohol-related consequences.” Leaving me shivering in my heavy winter coverings, he pulls on his leather jacket while stepping outside to line up the taxi. I have no idea what he’s planning—I never do—but the fact that he’s put the bracelet on me here tells me something is going to happen before we get home. I wrap my scarf around my neck, pull on my gloves, and focus on centering myself and not trying to guess Master’s intentions.
He comes back in to retrieve me, guiding me firmly by the elbow into the back seat.
“Fifty-seventh and fifth,” he directs the cabbie, and my mind instantly starts whirring.
Stop. Just focus on Master. I twist to face him and let everything outside of the two of us just blend into the night.
“You’re okay, right?” he asks. “Not too drunk?”
“No, I’m fine. Just don’t make me drive.”
He stretches his left arm out along the back of the seat. “Slide closer,” he commands, and I scoot along the vinyl and duct tape patches until I’m nestled into the crook of his arm. His right hand comes up to cup my chin and turns my mouth to his. “I need to kiss you.”
When he closes his lips over mine, it’s a total eclipse. He manages to demand just enough to leave me breathless for more. When he’s sated, Master holds me close, his eyes scanning knowingly out the window. I watch in utter fascination as the neon signs and street lights color mad streaks of green, yellow, blue and red across the face I’ve memorized in detail but yet sometimes don’t recognize at all. “Almost there,” he seems to say to himself.
He tips his head down and places a kiss on my forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight, princess,” he promises.
“I’m already having fun,” I confess. I’m utterly content tucked into his side. Whatever else happens is icing on my happy Master cake.
The taxi stops and Master unwinds himself from me. I refrain from groaning at the loss of his warmth. He’s got me in more of a mushy than horny mood at the moment, and I honestly pray I’m up to whatever task he has in mind tonight—not that his kisses and promises haven’t excited me.
“Care to join me?” Master’s amused face pokes into the car and I realize I’ve slipped off into a mini-daydream. He reaches a hand toward me, and I clasp it tightly while he helps wriggle me out of the cab.
My eyes scan the corner. It’s a pretty typical Manhattan block: neighborhood grocery/deli, electronics store, hot dog shop boasting “Voted Best of the Big Apple” and a giant bookstore. Just when I begin to wonder if one of these is a front for a BDSM club, Master pulls me close to his side and leads me into Rizzoli.
Once inside, Master says, “Go up to the counter and ask where the photography section is located.”
“But there’s a sign—” His forehead scrunches and I immediately realize my mistake. “Sorry,” I say quickly.
“Correction—go up and ask where the erotic photography is located,” he commands this time. His correction is thankfully mild, but I get the point. Without responding, I turn immediately to carry out my revised mission. “Hold it!”
I stop dead in my tracks and turn back.
“Ask that guy.” Master tips his chin toward the employee at the end of the counter, a round-faced twenty-something-year-old boy with at least three chins visible from here, dark, greasy hair protruding from his head at odd angles, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. I nod solemnly and move toward my target, Master’s eyes burning two holes in my back the entire way.
“Excuse me, er…Reginald?”
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“Could you please tell me where the erotic photography books are located?”
“Oh,” he answers, his chubby cheeks and multiple chins flaming bright red. “Let me see now…”
I chance a look over my shoulder at my very self-satisfied Master, who is leaning against the impulse bookshelf with his arms crossed his chest, as if he could gladly watch this show all night. I marvel at my body’s response.
Shouldn’t I be embarrassed? Oddly, I feel nothing less than empowered. I know for certain I would’ve wandered the store aimlessly on my own rather than work up the nerve to ask for help. Yet, because Master commanded it, there is no self-doubt. The wine doesn’t hurt any, either.
The boy taps away at his keyboard and scans the screen desperately, eager to be rid of my uncomfortable request. “I just can’t tell if it’s filed under photography…or…” Here, he leans around his computer and whispers, “e-ro-ti-ca.” Tap, tap, tap. “Here we go. Yes, you want to head upstairs to nonfiction and follow signs to photography. Then, you’ll see the…subsection,” he ends with a whisper.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling sweetly at him and returning to Master’s side. “He said to follow the signs to photography.”
Master’s eyes penetrate me, looking for signs of sarcasm. No way. “After you,” he says, sweeping his arm toward the escalator. He places his hands on the black moving banister at either side of my hips and steps his hard body up against my ass and we ride the electronic staircase upstairs.
“This way.” I lead, easily locating the nonfiction area and quickly zeroing in on the two shelves housing the desired books. “Here we are,” I announce with relief.
“Good job. Now I want you to go into the bathroom, take off your stockings and your bra—are you wearing panties?”
He smiles. “Excellent. Stuff those two things into your handbag and then join me back here.”
“Yes, Master,” I whisper with a thrill.
By the time she returns, I’ve chosen two “coffee table books” depicting bondage and domination. One is what I’d call tasteful, the other—not so much.
“I’ll take your coat,” I offer, and she transfers the bundle folded over her arm into my waiting hands. She’s still cloaked in her business suit, and no one but Isabella and her Master will know that she has nothing on beneath her skirt and blouse. Her eyes are a bit brighter than when she stepped out of the taxi; she’s starting to settle into the scene.
“Let’s sit down for a bit,” I say, leading her into a little out-of-the-way reading nook with two comfortable armchairs. Nonfiction isn’t exactly where the Friday night Rizzoli crowd is likely to hang out, and we’re in luck tonight…no people.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to one of the chairs and sit down in the other, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my thighs so I can speak to her privately. “I don’t want you to worry about posture or language or any other protocol right now. Just relax into that comfortable chair and take a slow walk through the pages.”
I hand her the more artistic of the two and take my own advice about relaxing while I carefully watch for her response. It’s not even a challenge to recognize the first picture that really captivates her. Her breath catches as she turns the page and she flicks her tongue across her lower lip. Her eyes slowly traverse down the page, click side to side, and travel up and down once more.
“You like that one?”
She blushes madly and looks up. “Yes.”
As much as I’m dying to rip the book from her hands and see what’s got her so aroused, I calmly direct, “Tell me what you see.”
“The…submissive is kneeling naked on the floor, sitting back on her heels, and her hands are bound behind her back. She’s wearing a black collar with dog tags dangling at the front. She has a fantastic body and a simple piercing in her navel. Her head is tipped back by her master’s hand on her throat and she’s looking up into his eyes with this…expression…” Isabella trails off, getting lost in the picture. I wait for her to catch up again.
“I’m sorry, I got mesmerized by her face.”
“All you can see of the master is that hand at her throat, pushing her just beyond the point of comfort, stretching her to her most advantageous…” She sucks in a breath and pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Oh, and you can see that he’s fully dressed, except his feet are bare.”
Isabella looks over at me again. I happen to know that’s a look she finds particularly commanding.
“Sounds like a nice picture,” I comment appreciatively, leaving the window open for her to add to her description, but she simply agrees.
“May I see that please?” I hold out my hand, and she sets it delicately onto my palm, watching attentively for my reaction.
“Did you not notice the silver food dish on the floor, or did you choose not to mention it to me?”
Isabella dips her chin and looks into her lap—dead giveaway, princess.
Clearly, she struggles with the admission, already realizing she’s sealed her fate. “Guess I left it out on purpose.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” I reply, filing the nugget away for another time.
She shoots me a pleading look, and for once, I leave it alone. I can’t be sidetracked right now.
“I agree with you; this is mesmerizing. Here, take this back now, and tell me what she’s thinking.”
Isabella studies the picture once more, then begins to free associate. “She seems both relaxed and strained at the same time; she seems to be giving her very best effort and she can’t quite do everything she wants to please him. She seems content—like his hand on her throat and whatever way he’s looking at her is all she needs…it’s so lovely. And she’s clearly aroused,” she adds, sweeping her hand over the page. “Those nipples are…begging for attention. She’s totally at his mercy and she seems to be craving every minute of it.”
“I picked this book for you for a very specific reason. These are not models. This photographer finds couples in the lifestyle and captures their very intimate moments together. I want to hear what you think the master’s face reflects back to her.”
“We can’t see his expression, but looking down on that kind of devotion, he would have to feel an enormous sense of pleasure and a great deal of pride.”
“He would,” I concur, drawing her eyes to mine. “And I do. Every single time.” I spell it out, just in case she didn’t feel the shift. I see the thin curtain of tears cloud her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart, that is exactly the way you’ve looked at me in scene, ever since day one. You remember how you shook, holding your dress up while I teased you with the feather?”
“I will never forget that moment as long as I live.”
“Neither will I—trust me. Now tell me, if this submissive can put that type of expression on her master’s face, would that not be the most enormous source of pride for the devoted submissive?”
“I can’t really imagine anything better,” she agrees, soaking in the connection to her journal entry that we have yet to explicitly discuss.
“Okay, enough talking for now. Sit back, relax, and look through the rest of the pictures. You don’t have to say another word. Just…let me know if you see something particularly moving.”
Pulling my ankle up onto the opposite knee and folding my hands in my lap, I lean into the leather armchair and simply watch as she leafs slowly through the pages. She pretty much had me hard as concrete over the cat bowl fiasco, and my shower session this morning is long expired. Occasionally, she turns the book to show me a picture, blushing madly all the while. She closes the back cover, finally, and awaits further instruction.
“Time to go.” I stand and offer her my hand, pulling her right into my body. “Your nipples are good and hard,” I murmur near her ear as I nip my way up her neck. “Wait till I show you the other book tomorrow.”
“Oh god,” she sighs loudly as I slide my hand between our bodies and pinch one of her nipples through the thin blouse. “I’ll bet your pussy’s nice and wet, too. Am I right?” I swipe my tongue across the tiny opening at the top of her blouse.
“Yes,” she swoons, grabbing onto my neck with both hands.
“I’ve got you,” I promise with a chuckle. “Go downstairs and buy these. I’ll meet you outside.” I hand her the two books and sixty dollars in cash before mounting the escalator while she gathers her things.
My outfit is all wrong; the suit carried over from the work day is unsupported by the proper necessities underneath, and I feel particularly awkward stripped from the waist down, my bare legs plunging straight into my winter boots. To add to my torment, Master has ordered my legs open in the taxi, tossing his coat across my lap to hide my treasures from the driver, but snaking his hand under my skirt and torturing me with endless wispy caresses.
I’m hot and bothered by the time we get to the apartment, and Master’s reminder that we’re still in scene is hardly necessary as he switches out the bracelet for my heavy collar right there at the front door. My mind goes straight to the girl with the dog collar and tags around her neck. I definitely crossed over from emo-swoon into horny sub mode at the book store—score one for Master.
“Still feeling relaxed?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.
“The alcohol’s worn off a bit, if that’s what you mean, Master.”
“How about a little amaretto, or Sambuca, just to draw out the mellow?”
“Sure, if you think I need it.”
He obviously does, because he leaves me there on my knees to go and pour me a drink. I hear the ice cubes clink into the glass and the neck of the bottle make contact with the crystal tumbler. Soon enough, he’s in front of me, holding a healthy portion of amaretto on the rocks.
“At your leisure,” he offers.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Up you go,” he says, helping me to my feet. “Wait for me over by the TV please.”
I stand where he told me while he brings over two stools from the kitchen island. “Here you go. Take a seat.”
I am feeling utterly ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem concerned with what I’m wearing right now. In fact, he simply plops down right in front of me on the other stool.
“So—” he starts playfully.
“So—” I respond nervously.
“Okay. Let me tell you where we’re going here, because I’m about to push at one of your soft limits.”
Churn, says the stomach. Trust. Trust. Truuuuuuust, says the brain. “That would explain the alcohol then?”
“Only enough to relax you, not enough to impair your judgment.”
“You’re freaking me out a little bit, just to let you know, Master.”
“Easy does it, sweetheart. This is actually quite simple. I want to take your picture tonight.”
Nooooooooooo! the fierce little soldier protecting my good girl place calls out, cocking her rifle at my Master. I frantically reach back mentally to my submissive checklist. Did I not place photography in the “neutral” category? Unless I want to safe word out of this scene, I need to relax and allow him to exercise his prerogative to explore.
Master watches carefully as my inner struggle takes place; as usual, he comes out on top. “You’re the boss, Master.”
The tension eases instantly. “You’re okay then?”
“I put my faith in you and you own me, body and soul…or something like that, right?” I have completely muddled the vow from my journal entry, but his bright smile tells me I hit the mark.
“Thank you for the gift of your submission,” he says solemnly. “And just to reassure you, these pictures are staying on the memory card in the camera, to be enjoyed by the two of us and nobody else.”
“Take off your boots and jacket. I’ll be right back.”
He kisses me on his way back to the bedroom, but it doesn’t stop my heart from beating wildly in his absence.
I shed my boots and sip my drink. Happily, Master returns swiftly in my favorite outfit—jeans and nothing else.
Well, not exactly nothing else, he’s sporting a camera with a long lens that looks like business. “Finished with that?”
I tip the glass back and swallow everything but the ice, handing it back to him. “Yep.’
He chuckles and takes it from me and sets it on the coffee table. “Good girl. Let’s have a little mood here.” He clicks the remote for his iPod and something with a South Beach beat pounds through the speakers. “How’s that?”
“Actually, it’s a little abusive. Got anything a little more…treble?”
He clicks through a few more songs and I shake my head no, no, no, and then he finds one that actually makes me feel it…a little sexy, a little daring. “That’ll work.”
Satisfied, he tosses the remote to the couch and places his hands on my shoulders.
“Okay, Isabella, it’s just you and me. Think of the camera as a part of me, another set of eyes, so I can see you in a new way. This is not a role play; I’m not asking you to travel outside your own head. I want you to pose for me. Understand?”
He leans back against his stool, planting his foot against the rung, and lifts the camera to his face. “Unbutton your shirt.”
My fingers move immediately to follow his order, but the first click of the shutter makes me freeze. Master moves the camera off his face and issues a firm command. “Don’t think, just obey.”
Modesty takes a back seat as I work the first button through the slot. “Nice,” he coaxes me, and I reach for the next. After the fourth button, he pushes off his stool and crouches in front of me. “One more, Isabella. Show me some flesh.”
I unbutton the last one with trembling fingers, and the blouse falls open, releasing my breasts into the path of his lens. “Beautiful, baby. I love your gorgeous tits. Feel the beat of the music…that’s it…move the blouse to the side…good girl…and now, take it off.”
He moves all around me, snapping pictures of my hands, my face, and mostly, my tits. The whole time, he continues his paparazzi rap, making me feel wanted and beautiful, reminding me it’s my Master I’m posing for.
“Touch your nipples, Isabella…roll them in your fingers…oh fuck, look at that pucker… so sexy…”
I’m just starting to get used to the strange sensation when he aims the camera between my knees and orders me to spread my legs for him. “Oh, Christ…so beautiful. All shadows and just a hint of pussy. Pull up your skirt and sit back down on the stool. Hell yes, Isabella…I bet that feels good. You’ve been wet since the book store…let me see you soak that stool…oh god yes…you are making me so hard, princess…”
The smooth surface of the oak stool feels cool and hard between my legs, but the friction is such a relief.
“Let’s get that skirt out of the way now…stand up and slide it off, yes, yes…wait, turn around and bend over…”
I hear the soft click, click, click and his low murmurs of pleasure as I bend over the stool and spread my legs for him.
“Shake that sweet ass for me, baby. You know how much I love it.”
I am dripping wet and aching to be touched, but it’s only the caress of the camera that he allows, so I give it everything I’ve got. Sinking, sinking into dirty girl mode and loving every minute of it.
“Turn back…oh yeah…” And then, Master reminds me with one swift hand motion, this isn’t just any photo session—this is his submissive giving herself to her Master. I sink to my knees and sit back on my heels like the girl in the picture.
“Hold your elbows behind your back,” he says gruffly, whirring away with the camera. “Give me your very best effort, princess,” he commands, and I stretch my back and look straight ahead.
He pulls the camera away and stands right over me, saying, “Look at your Master’s face right now, Isabella. Look at the love and respect I have for you right now. Can you see that?”
My eyes well up with tears because I know I look like the girl in the picture, and he snaps the shot.
“Fuck…open, open!” I practically catch my balls in the zipper trying so desperately to get my jeans out of the way. She drops her jaw and I push inside and for a few seconds, all I can do is just stand there and feel the exquisite relief of finally being out of my tight pants and inside her wet, warm mouth.
I regain my senses and grab the camera off the stool, watching her swallow me down through the telephoto lens and recording every few frames of the action. It’s incredibly erotic to actually watch my cock enter her mouth again and again, but more than that, it’s the expression on her face that nearly makes me blow my load just as I’m getting started.
She looks blissful and content and yet she shares that tension with the girl in the picture, because I know Isabella wants to do more for me than I’m allowing. I know she wants to use her hands and press all my buttons, and part of the submission is that she can’t do that right now. So she reaches and strives and she gives…
I hadn’t anticipated how excruciating it would be to hold onto the camera and watch the whole thing at close range—when it was my dick and my sub’s lips. I blame the close-ups for what happens next. As that rhythmic techno beat pounds into my system and she pulls me closer and closer to the edge, I just can’t be satisfied—artistically—with releasing into her mouth. My balls tighten up and I pull out, grabbing myself quickly with one hand and directing the spray across her tits.
There’s no way I can manage the camera at this point, so I just drop that arm limp at my side, pinch my eyes tightly shut, and howl at the ceiling like a wild beast.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the smile on Isabella’s face. I quickly lift the camera and capture the moment. I crouch down in front of her and get some great cum shots, using my zoom lens to capture a particularly interesting glob hanging from her right nipple.
“That was awesome. Thank you, my sweet subbie.”
I snap one more picture as she says, “You’re welcome.”
“Okay, princess, toilet, toothbrush, and towel and then it’s time for a slideshow.”
Once we’re situated together, Isabella sprawled along the cushions with her arms folded under her neck, one leg across my lap and the other flexed over the back of the couch near my shoulder, I set the camera to scroll on the slowest speed through the photos. “Tell me about the pictures.”
I brush my fingers along her stomach, building her smolder once again.
“You can really see my anxiety there,” she observes uncomfortably. I trace my fingers between her breasts as each button comes undone on screen. When the blouse falls open, I skim the outsides of her breasts and she sucks in a huge breath.
“You don’t have to hold back, Isabella. You may come freely.”
“Thank you, Master,” she answers, her eyelids fluttering as I circle her nipples.
“Just keep watching and narrating for me.”
“Once my shirt came off and you started dirty talking me…” Her words stop and so do my hands. Being the highly developed creature she is, it takes her all of two seconds to start up again. “I kind of got into it.”
“I’ll say,” I agree, pinching at her nipples and squeezing her breasts in my hands to match her motions on screen.
The shadowy close-ups of her pussy fill the picture and my hands slide to her thighs. Isabella lets out a low moan, and my fingertips trace wide circles. “Continue,” I urge gently.
“Here’s where I started to just let loose, I guess,” she admits with a shy little laugh at the end. “Oh, man…that’s pretty hot, isn’t it?”
I lose myself in the imagery of her conservative skirt skimming down over her bare ass, and I grab the camera and reverse to the last frame containing the skirt. We both gawk at the frozen image on the screen. Her legs are open as much as the dark, heavy fabric at her knees allows—just a sliver of space visible where the round curve of her bottom begins.
“Yeah, that is definitely a keeper,” I agree, lifting my hips off the couch and shifting myself inside my jeans. I press play, and the still shots where she leaned over the stool scroll past. They’re fantastic, but they don’t begin to capture her sexy movement. That doesn’t stop her from recalling, “I’m in full-on porn star mode there.”
The submissive poses follow, and I pause once more on the close-up I took of her face, tilted up to meet mine. The edge of her collar is visible just under her chin, and you can sense the lively bounce of her thick, loose hair in freefall beyond her head. But those aren’t the details that captivate me, and I know my princess is thinking the same when she says, “That’s the picture,” with breathy wonderment.
“What is that girl thinking?” I tear my eyes from the picture so I can receive her response.
Her breath catches over a sudden lump in her throat, and she turns to face me. “She knows she would do anything to earn that look from her Master…and…” A tear has escaped from each eye and I brush them away gently with my thumb, cupping her cheek and awaiting her conclusion with nearly unbearable anticipation. “She feels worthy of him.”
“That she is, my sweet, sweet princess. Right there, as my submissive, you are beaming and perfect. Just like I told you. I knew you wouldn’t believe me until you saw it for yourself.”
“Thank you, Master,” she sobs quietly.
“Thank you, princess.”
This scene could go one of two ways right now, and my dick puts in a convincing vote for Plan A. “We’ll come back to this,” I promise both of us, setting the pictures in motion once again.
The girl on screen now has my cock in her mouth and I’m suddenly jealous of myself.
Isabella’s voice surprises me. “I was so relieved when you gave yourself to me there.”
“That makes two of us,” I shoot back, thinking next time I’d better use the neck strap. My sarcasm quickly gives way to lust as the pictures capture my earlier movements and my hands find their way back toward Isabella’s gaping opening. “Let me narrate this part; you just watch.”
My thumbs draw nearer, playing at her glistening lips. “What utter joy when I sank into your mouth…your sweet lips pulling me in and your soft, wet tongue welcoming me deeper…”
Her breaths come quicker as I tease a finger around and around her most tender spot. “Look at your greedy eyes, princess, look how you want more, always more…”
I lift my hands from her skin and touch down right on her clit. She jumps into my hand and groans. “Oh, my greedy, greedy girl. Look how you swallow your Master’s cock and still, you want more. You want to taste my balls and put your hands all over me…” I cup her pussy and twiddle her engorged nub with two fingers until she’s writhing uncontrollably.
“Oh, princess, look at you there, with Master’s cum all over your tits. What a dirty, dirty girl you are.”
She tries to watch the screen, but her eyes pinch so tightly shut I’m sure she’s seeing stars. Her tits jiggle tantalizingly, her nipples point straight to the ceiling, and her hips jump right off my lap as she humps my hand to a long, loud orgasm.
Meanwhile, I’m two shakes of a stiff dick from coming in my pants, and I quickly wriggle out from under her legs and shuck my jeans once more. Positioning my knees between her thighs, I plunge into her slick pussy and pound her like there’s no tomorrow.
The beautiful thing is, as I remind myself just before my ecstasy spills into my perfect submissive, there is a tomorrow. And Master has definite plans.
A/N: That globule of cum was included especially for my dear friend Kitkat, who is always entertaining me with such delights!