Her Two Doms (2 page)

She pounded on his back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving you what you’re asking for.”

She kicked and pummelled him.

“Behave yourself,” he warned. He gave her shapely ass a sharp swat. He closed and locked the door, then carried her across to a kneeling bench and deposited her on the vinyl-covered pad.

She started to rise, but he was having none of it. He forced her down. He used a leather cuff attached to the bench to quickly fasten her wrist in place.

“Release me,” she said over her shoulder, eyes flashing fire.

“Submit,” he countered.

“But—”

“The time for talking is done, princess. The only thing that will end this is your safe word.”

Disobeying his direct order, she stood. She was attached to the bench, so she wasn’t going far. He strode to the far wall and pulled down a crop.

Her face drained of colour. “What are you going to do with that?”

He walked behind her. She tugged on the wrist binding, doing an impertinent dance. He snagged her free wrist and firmly pressed the crop against the backs of her knees. She turned her head to look at him. She wanted to know where this was going—he could see it in the depths of her unblinking blue eyes. But, even more, she needed him to prove he was man enough to make her surrender.

Challenge on.

Despite her wriggling around, he smacked the backs of her legs. No way would he unleash the full power of the implement on her gorgeous, creamy skin, but he wasn’t averse to using a bit more power to win this battle of wills. “Yield, sub.”

“I…”

He gave her a second stripe.

She gasped.

“Kneel and put your other wrist on top of the bench.” He waited a moment to see if she’d use her safe word. When she didn’t, he laid the rattan to her again, slightly harder this time.

He gave her no time to recover before he cropped her again.

“Fine,” she said.

He impatiently tapped the crop against the side of his leg. “Fine?”

“I’ll kneel.” She glared at him, then flicked a glance to the crop. “Just don’t hit me with that thing again.”

“Three seconds,” he said.

She pushed it to at least four seconds, but she complied.

Without being prompted, she placed her hand on top of the bench. Even if she couldn’t verbally admit she wanted this, her actions spoke volumes.

He laid the crop on a nearby table and returned to her. She didn’t flinch as he secured her wrist in place.

She tested the limits of her restraints.

“Too tight?”

“Physically, no.”

“Emotionally?”

From the look she shot him, one would never guess she was kneeling, strapped to a bench, her entire body exposed and waiting for his discipline.

“Emotionally?” he repeated.

“I don’t know you,” she said. “I wanted to play with Master Devon.”

“And yet you’re here of your own free will.”

“It doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You’re free to leave.”

“I know.”

He softened towards her. She was fighting her fear, not submissively like he would have preferred, but she was trying. “Why do you engage with Master Devon or BDSM scenes?”

“I’m not here to talk.”

“Humour me.”

“Is this eating into my time slot?”

He knew the terms of her contract. “It’s a freebie.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited, making it clear he wasn’t moving on until she answered his question.

“We could do this across a table with a cocktail.”

“We can do this with you shackled and on your knees, as I prefer.”

“I need a glass of wine.”

He shook his head. “I don’t play with subs who’ve been drinking. If you still want a glass of wine later, I’ll treat you to one in the bar.”

“You’re a monster.”

He said nothing. By him establishing rules, by doing what he said he would, she would trust him faster.

Finally she exhaled, blowing back those unruly wisps of blonde hair from her forehead. “I take only a few vacations a year. On the cruise, I have complete anonymity.”

As beautiful as she was, as high-profile as she was, that wasn’t totally true. She would likely be recognisable almost anywhere she went in the world. But everyone aboard, including some politicians and entertainers, was required to sign a confidentiality agreement. No cameras were permitted. The organisers respected privacy.

“I like small amounts of pain. I like giving up control.”

He doubted that. But the exquisite sight of her on her knees, bound for him, made him wish it were true.

“I don’t have a serious relationship,” she said. “And I don’t like playing at clubs. There’s too much exposure. And, believe it or not, it’s damn hard for me to find a man who’ll date me, put up with my hours and work demands,
and
spank my ass when I get home.”

“I’d spank you when you got home, princess. You’d no doubt deserve it.”

“Bastard.”

Point proven.
“What is it about the pain that you like?”

“Could we just get on with this?”

“I haven’t started the clock yet, and I like to know something about my subs before I play with them.”

“I’m not your sub.”

“I can release you any time you safe word.”

She sighed. “Pain helps me focus. I have a difficult time letting go of my work. I even use nipple clamps when I masturbate.”

“The light alligator ones?” he asked.

She was silent for a moment, maybe realising that she’d been caught in a lie and wondering about the repercussions. “I actually prefer Japanese clovers.”

He crouched in front of her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, unblinking. He grabbed her chin and held it tight. “Never, ever lie to me again.”

“I—”

“I’m inflexible,” he told her. “I demand your honesty. If you lie about the kind of pain you want, you’ll never be satisfied. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir,” he corrected.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

“Tell me what kind of scene you were hoping for tonight.” From his earlier meeting with Devon, he had some idea. She generally wanted a fantasy that wasn’t too far from reality. She wanted a strong man to dominate her because she was high-and-mighty. She wanted to be fucked, and she wanted to plead for it.

He wasn’t generally into fucking subs. He had no problem bringing them off, and the more they got into it, the more he enjoyed it. And that could provide plenty of masturbation material. But he found actual penetration sometimes confused a relationship, leading a woman to believe he was more interested than he was.

“When I came here…” She paused and licked her lower lip.

“Honesty,” he reminded her.

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Get over yourself.” He took the sting out of the words with a quick grin.

A few seconds later, she spoke, “I wanted to pretend to be a wayward secretary who’d displeased her boss one too many times.”

“Go on.”

“I wanted to be bent over a desk, have my skirt lifted, and have my butt reddened.”

“And now?”

“Now…” She paused again. “Now I don’t want to dictate the scene. I really want to let go. I don’t want to know what to expect.”

He released her chin. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to let you be in charge.”

She swallowed.

“Anything you want to say?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He waited.

“No, Sir,” she amended.

“I’m going to release your hands. Then you will ask my permission to stand. You will remain in place while I undress you.”

“All of my clothes?”

“That will be my decision.”

She frowned, and he didn’t hurry her. He’d already pushed her. He was curious to see whether or not she would safe word out, scurry away, and wait for the comfort and security of playing with Devon.

About thirty seconds later, she said, “I’m ready, Sir.”

Now that he’d established his dominance, she seemed willing to trust him. He was unaccountably proud of her. He nodded and stood. He released both of her wrists and took a couple of steps back and looked at her.

“May I stand, Sir?”

He nodded.

She moved with an elegance and grace that spoke of submission. Quite a difference from her mannerism in the courtroom, he imagined.

“I, um, am not quite sure what you want from me now.”

“If you have questions, you may request permission to speak. Otherwise, you wait on my pleasure.”

She looked at the floor. At least Devon had taught her a few things. “Remove your blouse.”

Without glancing up, she shrugged out of the material.

He took it from her and placed it on the table, near the crop. “Now your skirt.”

She reached back to lower the zipper.

He could watch her all day.

She wriggled her hips, allowing the skirt to pool on the floor.

His cock hardened at the sight of her. She wore a black garter belt. A scrap of material passed as a thong, hiding her cunt. “Now the underwear.”

As if she were doing a striptease, she hooked her fingers beneath the waistband and drew the lacy fabric down her hips and thighs.

She had a small strip of pubic hair that he suddenly found more erotic than if she had been shaved bare.

He was reminded how long it had been since he’d had sex. The sight and scent of this proud, determined woman made him want to forget everything he knew about creating a scene and just bury himself in her.

He drank in a breath. More to distract himself than anything else, he scooped up her clothes and tossed them on top of her blouse. “Turn your back to me, spread your legs, and show me your ass.”

She swallowed. But she didn’t argue.

Slowly she turned, parted her legs, and bent. Her hair started to come loose from its confines.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Your ass is very spankable, sub.”

She remained silent.

“I complimented you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I expect you to respond.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now reach back and part your buttocks.” He ignored his hard-on as she spread her butt cheeks. “If you had any idea how gorgeous you look…”

“Sir… I…”

“You’re nervous. It’s not a bad thing to be nervous, Victoria. You’ve got your safe word. I warned you I will push your limits. Who knows how many chances we’ll have to scene together? Tonight is your opportunity to explore. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, Sir.”

“I’m going to touch your cunt.”

Her leg muscles stiffened. He moved in closer and stroked between her labia.

She gasped.

“Grab your ankles and contain yourself. Unless you’d like me to restrain you?”

She grabbed her ankles.

“You’re very wet,” he said. “Slick.” He ran his finger back and forth.

Victoria’s breaths were ragged, but she remained in place.

“I think it’s not just pain that turns you on. Submission does, as well.” He pulled back the hood of her clitoris and pressed against the hardened little nub.

“Oh my God!”

“Problem, subbie?”

“I think I already need to come, Sir.”

“Just from my touch?” But he knew it was more than that. It was from the way he relentlessly demanded more and more from her. If she were honest with herself, with him, she’d likely admit to having got damp when he’d slung her over his shoulder.

Her knees buckled before she forced herself back into position.

“Perfect,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come, Sir.”

“Not yet.”

“Then…”

“Ask, Victoria. Ask for what you want.”

“I want your finger inside me.”

“Inside you, where? Your hot pussy? Or your tight anus?”

She froze for a moment.

He dragged some of her wetness backwards and pressed a finger to her anal whorl. “Do you want this?”

She shook her head. Her hairdo lost the battle against gravity and her movements, and the length of it spilled free. He imagined his hand dug into her hair as she sucked his dick.

He backed away from her rear entry and continued to tease her pussy.

“I need you inside me, Sir.” Her body jerked. “Your finger, your cock, just please let me come.”

He pulled away his hand, leaving her on the edge.

She took several shallow breaths, and he saw her shoulders shaking.

“Thank me for my attention.”

She muttered something under her breath. He grinned, convinced her words were anything but gratitude. “Excuse me?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“For?”

“Thank you for your attention, Sir.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Stand. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind your neck, chest thrust forward.”

She took her time. He mentally added another stripe for each second she delayed.

Finally she stood there, oh so beautifully, in her heels, bustier, garter belt, and stockings. If he’d been Devon, he wouldn’t have given up time with her. “Don’t move.”

The scent of her arousal was sharp in the room, making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything other than burying himself deep inside her. Clearly he’d been working too hard recently, not taking enough time for the finer sex. He’d have to change that when he got home.

He walked behind her and began the tedious process of unhooking the bustier. Scissors would be faster. “You’re looking more and more like the perfect sub,” he said when her back was bare. He tossed the expensive piece of lingerie on top of the growing heap of garments, then looked at her breasts.

Her small nipples hardened.

His dick pressed against the inside of his jeans.

If he didn’t end this scene soon, he’d have to find a private spot to masturbate. He hadn’t had this much trouble staying focused in a decade. “Have you ever been tied to a St Andrew’s cross?”

Tension, thick and hungry, wrapped them.

“Once,” she whispered.

“How was the experience?”

“I safe worded.”

“Because?”

“I wasn’t in control.”

“I want you to give your control over to me, willingly.”

In a totally feminine, appealing way, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth. When he was sure she wasn’t going to respond, she looked at him and said, “Yes.”