by Red Phoenix
Of all the men she’d known, he was the first to make her feel this way—wicked and dangerously sexy.
He let go of her throat, placing his hands on her hips for more leverage. His thrusts became even deeper, demanding she relax to take all of him, but he kept the rhythm slow and easy. It was as if he were making love to her.
She soaked in the sensations, embracing the resistance, the deepness of his penetration and the feeling of utter possession. She was his in that moment.
She looked back and watched his face as he fucked her ass, a look of impassioned hunger in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was playing out in his mind as he took her.
“You’re so tight, I don’t think I can last much longer,” he announced.
Knowing her body was such a turn-on to him heightened her own arousal and she wasn’t ready for it to end. “Don’t stop,” she begged.
He lowered himself, wrapping his arms around her as he grunted into her ear. “I want you to come for me.”
She whimpered as he changed the angle of thrust and hit a new area of stimulation. It slowly built as he rolled his hips in measured, rhythmic motions.
The feeling soon became overwhelming, but she fought against it, wanting her climax to build until it exploded with power. That was when he bit her neck and all reason left her.
She arched her back, inviting deeper access as her body convulsed with delicious release. He murmured huskily, “That’s it, virgin, come for me.”
She was speechless, her whole body shuddering after the climax had passed, completely spent by the passion and emotion behind the act.
“And now it’s my turn…”
He lifted himself up and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing his shaft so deep inside her that she gasped.
“My come is going to bathe your virginal ass.”
She held her breath so she wouldn’t miss a second of the experience. He didn’t move a muscle as he orgasmed. Brie felt the pulsing of his manhood and the rhythmic release of his warm seed inside her.
Sir’s low, subtle cries of passion took her back to their first night together—the night he’d claimed her anal virginity and her heart. The night he’d exposed that vulnerable side of himself for the briefest of moments.
As he lowered himself onto her now, with his shaft still buried deep inside, Brie reflected on how far they’d come. Sir nuzzled her neck, wrapping his arms back around her to hold her tight.
Condors forever…
Magic in the Air
Even though it didn’t feel like Christmas, with sunshine and warm weather, Brie couldn’t wait to celebrate her first Christmas with Sir.
“I just love Christmas, Sir! All the decorations, the cookies, the Christmas carols…stockings hung on the mantel, wrapped presents with bows, all made complete with a twinkling tree.” She sighed contentedly. “Nothing beats the magic of Christmas.”
He looked at her somberly. “I hate to tell you this, Brie, but I don’t do Christmas.”
Her smile faltered. “What do you mean, you don’t do Christmas?”
“The holiday is meant for children. I put away childish things long ago.”
She tried to hide her severe disappointment. “Not even a tree?”
“No. Look around this place. A dying tree would only disrupt the aesthetics of our home.”
Even though she preferred real trees, she offered, “Why don’t we get an artificial one? That way it won’t drop needles on the marble.”
“That’s not the point. It would be an eyesore.”
She could tell by the tone of his voice that he would not entertain a tree no matter how much she begged. “Can I at least hang up twinkling lights?”
“Brie,” he glanced around the apartment for emphasis, “Christmas lights would take away from the calm serenity I have created here. I prefer things the way they are.”
Her hopes dashed, she replied unenthusiastically, “Only if it pleases you, Sir.”
Sir put his hand on her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I prefer to work through the holidays. It gives me an edge over the competition. While others take off two weeks at the end of the year, I burn the midnight oil. I suggest you do the same.”
Brie sighed in resignation. “I can see how it’s a sensible choice, Sir, but it doesn’t seem very…fun.”
“Life isn’t all fun and games, babygirl. Surely you understand that.”
“I do,” she said in a lackluster voice.
“Do I need to remind you that you partnered with a man, not a little boy?”
She looked up into his magnetic eyes and smiled boldly, unwilling to give up just yet. “Still, Sir, I would like to get to know that little boy.”
He shook his head. “That boy died long ago. Best if you get that notion out of your head.”
“What about a candle, Sir?” she pressed.
He glared at her, but she met his gaze bravely. Finally, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. One candle—pine scented so you can satisfy your need for a tree.”
Brie felt a sense of victory, but hid it by lowering her head and stating humbly, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Bah, humbug,” he said, retiring to his desk, but she detected a hint of amusement in his voice.
Brie was grateful that Sir was allowing her the small privilege of a candle. It gave her hope that he would not be angry when she presented him with her Christmas present. Whether he did Christmas or not, giving a present on Christmas morning was important to her. More than he could ever know.
Brie waited in the notorious—at least to her—Room forty-two at the Submissive Training Center. Marquis Gray had set up the arrangements, fully supportive of her choice of a Christmas gift for Sir. He’d declined to assist her, due to time issues, but had assured her that his replacement would do an exceptional job. She was extremely anxious about meeting the person Marquis felt worthy to instruct her.
She heard manly footsteps approaching and held her breath as the door opened. The impressive male who walked into the room had Brie grinning from ear to ear.
“Boa!”
“Hello, Brie.”
“I had no idea you were a chef!”
“I’m not classically trained, but I’ve worked in a restaurant.” He shut the door behind him and handed her one of the aprons he was holding. “I was told we’re limited to short lessons, so let’s get started.”
“Sounds great.” As she put on her apron, she asked, “Did you run your own restaurant?”
“No, I was a sous chef. I actually met my Mistress there.”
“Oh, do tell,” Brie encouraged.
“Not until I test your cooking skills.”
She looked at him apologetically. “I don’t have any. Didn’t Marquis tell you?”
He chuckled. “I’d like to see for myself. Let’s make it something simple. Prepare parmesan noodles for me.”
“Like just noodles, some butter and cheese?”
“Sure.”
Boa stood beside the cooking station and asked her to begin. Brie took a deep breath before leaving him to search the pantry for the needed ingredients. Once she’d found the spaghetti noodles, she grabbed a stick of butter and a shaker of parmesan cheese.
His eyes followed her every movement in the kitchen, making even simple things like filling up the pot with water a little intimidating. To pass the time while she waited for the water to boil, she cut the stick of butter into tiny pieces, hoping it would impress him. Then she stood and watched the pot, silently willing it to boil faster.
“So, Boa, where did you learn to cook Italian food?”
“When I was a senior in high school, I transferred to Italy for a semester. It was there I learned my passion for cooking, and the importance of simple ingredients.”
“You believe you can really teach me how to make Sir’s favorite dish?”
“I have no doubt.”
She said dreamily, “All I want on Christmas morning is to see Sir eat my ribollita and sa
y ‘It reminds me of my fathers’.” Tears came to her eyes just thinking about it.
“I don’t know if we can get him to say those exact words, but your dish will taste authentic.”
Brie smiled at Boa. “That’s all I ask.”
When the rolling bubbles started, she took the dried pasta and broke it in half to fit in the pot. She set the timer to ten minutes and minced the butter into even finer pieces.
When the timer went off, she took the pot off the stove and strained the noodles. Taking out a separate bowl, she threw the cooked pasta inside and sprinkled the tiny pieces of butter on top. Happily, it didn’t take long to melt when she stirred it.
She portioned out a bowl for him to taste and shook a layer of parmesan cheese on top. It looked really bland, so she ran to the pantry and grabbed some parsley, throwing it in the bowl.
Brie smiled nervously as she handed the steaming pasta to Boa. “Bon appetit.”
He removed the parsley, stating, “Totally unnecessary.” He then took his fork and twisted several noodles onto it, staring at the forkful briefly before tasting it. He chewed it for several seconds before swallowing. “Do you normally cook pasta for Sir Davis?”
“He prefers to cook that himself.”
“I’m not surprised.”
She smiled sadly. “I did warn you that I have no skills.”
“Let me first go over your choices for the dish. Although I can understand why you chose dried noodles based on your limited skills, I have to wonder why you didn’t salt the water. Your noodles lack flavor.”
“I thought salting the water was supposed to make it boil faster, which I’ve heard is untrue.”
“You salt the water to give your noodles taste.”
She blushed. “Ah…”
“I also noticed that you relied on the timer to determine whether they were done. Do you know of any other method?”
“Well, I’ve heard of people throwing the pasta at the wall to see if it sticks, but that seems a little silly to me.”
He laughed. “Unless you like your walls covered in starch and your noodles overcooked, I don’t recommend it.”
“So how do you get perfectly cooked noodles?”
“It’s a closely guarded secret, but I will share it with you.” He motioned her close, as if he was going to tell her a coveted secret. Brie leaned in eagerly and heard, “You taste them.”
She snorted. “Very funny, Boa.”
“I’m completely serious. You take one out and taste it. If it has an undercooked texture, wait a little longer. If it’s mushy, throw the batch out and start again. While you can use a timer for guidance, you should never serve noodles you haven’t sampled first.”
He handed her a fork. “So taste the ones you served me and tell me what you think.”
She twirled the noodles onto her fork and took a bite. Two noodles were stuck together and almost crunchy in texture. “Undercooked?”
“No. You failed to stir the pot, so they stuck together. Personally, I wouldn’t eat this if you paid me.”
“So you want me to start again?”
“No, I want to teach you how to make fresh pasta. Your Master should never have to eat dried noodles. It’s a waste of calories.”
Boa gathered flour, eggs, salt, a clove of garlic, oil olive and a wedge of parmesan cheese and set them before her. “Simple, fresh ingredients.”
He piled up a mound of flour on the cutting board and made a well in the center. He cracked in the eggs, sprinkled a little salt and added some olive oil. Then, with his bare hands, he began to mix the ingredients.
While he mixed and kneaded the dough, he asked if she had any questions.
“Personal or cooking-related?”
“Either.”
“You said you met your Mistress at a restaurant. What’s the story?”
Boa’s eyes twinkled when he shared. “Mistress came to eat at the place I worked. She raved about the appetizer she’d had, and asked to see the chef.” He shrugged. “It happened to be the only dish of mine that my boss allowed on the menu. When she realized the chef hadn’t created it, she insisted on meeting me.”
“And that was the beginning of you two?”
He chuckled. “Actually, it took a bit of convincing on her part. You see, I considered myself a manly man at the time. Took a while for Mistress to introduce me to my more submissive side.”
He put his muscle into the kneading of the dough, moving with a fluid, thrusting motion. The movement was almost sexual in nature. She took a peek at his crotch area and noticed a very large bulge.
“You really get into cooking, don’t you?” she commented.
“Yes. I think that’s why I never made it past sous chef. I intimidated the other men in the kitchen with my passion for cooking.”
Glancing at his bulge again, Brie thought to herself, That’s not the only thing that intimidated them.
“Normally you let the dough rest for an hour, but I will just roll it out because of the limited time.”
Boa got out a small manual pasta machine and rolled the dough through it several times, making it thinner with each pass. Then he changed the setting and cut it into thin strips.
“It takes a lot less time for fresh pasta to cook.” He separated the noodles as he put them in the salted water and stirred it. While it boiled, he put some olive oil in a small sauté pan and used a garlic press to add several cloves of garlic to the oil. A minute later he pulled it from the heat, strained the noodles and put them in a large bowl. He drizzled the heated oil over them, added the parmesan and tossed the noodles lightly.
Boa handed her a fork and they both served themselves from the serving bowl. He added a final sprinkling of cheese, stating apologetically, “The pasta would be lighter if it had time to rest.”
She took a bite and purred. Such simple ingredients, but the texture of the noodles along with the tang of olive oil and toasted garlic was amazing. “I can make this?”
“Of course, you saw how easy it was.”
She laughed. “Marquis makes omelets look easy—that doesn’t mean they are.”
Boa patted her on the shoulder. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have several Italian dishes under your belt that I guarantee your Master will enjoy.”
He looked up at the clock. “Looks like we’re out of time here.”
After they’d cleaned up the kitchen, Boa escorted her to the school entrance. “So what does your Master think you’re doing right now?”
“I told him I’m using the Center’s resources to work on my documentary for the next two weeks, which is totally true. I just haven’t mentioned the extra time for cooking lessons.”
“Oh, the hoops a sub must jump through in order to surprise her Master.”
She grinned. “It’s not easy, I tell ya.”
He winked as she walked through the door. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Brie was in for her own surprise on Christmas Eve. She came home to find Sir standing in the hallway waiting for her—a mischievous smirk on his face.
“What’s up?” she asked cautiously, putting her camera equipment down.
He nodded his head towards the coffee table. Brie gasped when she saw what was sitting on it. She approached the tiny Christmas tree, squealing with delight.
“I won’t have dead things in my home, but I have no objection to a living piece of art.”
Brie stared in awe at the miniature tree, perfect in every way.
“It’s a twenty-six year old Christmas bonsai,” he explained.
She shook her head in amazement. “It looks exactly like a full-grown pine tree, only in miniature form.” She stroked the delicate limbs. “It’s like a little miracle.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
She stood up and hugged him. “I love it, Sir!”
“I enquired and was told that you can put miniature lights on it without harming the tree.” He took a box of tiny lights out of his pocket and handed it to her.
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She looked up at him, bursting with joy. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, Sir.” She bit her lip and said, “I bought you a little something, too. Can I get it, Sir?”
“It’s not a present, is it?”
“Oh no, Sir. It’s just something to get you in the mood.”
He raised an eyebrow. “In the mood, you say? Then you have my permission to get it.”
She ran to the bedroom, quickly retrieving her wrapped gift from the closet.
Brie walked back to him and knelt at his feet, trying hard to hide the silly grin on her face as she handed over the gift.
“I thought you said it wasn’t a present,” Sir admonished.
She shook her head and peeked up at him. “It’s not, Sir. I just like wrapping things at this time of year.” She watched with bated breath as he unwrapped her gift. He pulled it from the paper and looked at it oddly.
“It’s a Santa hat, Sir.”
“I can see that.”
“May I have it?” she asked.
He handed it to her.
Brie rocked off her heels and placed it on his head, adjusting it to a charming angle and moving the fuzzy ball to the side. She stood back to admire how adorable he looked. “It’s perfect!”
He tilted his head, frowning. “Seriously, Brie.”
It made him looked even more adorable, and she beamed with delight. “You make a stern, wise old Santa, Sir.”
“Wise?”
She covered her mouth.
“Come here,” he said, sitting down and pointing to his lap.
She was feeling particularly naughty and blurted, “If I lie on your lap, can I tell you what I want for Christmas?”
He gazed at her sternly, shaking his head as he pointed again to his muscular thighs.
Brie took a deep breath before lying down. He lifted her little red kilt and rubbed his hand over her ass. “This wise old Santa will show no mercy tonight.”
With that, he swatted her ass hard enough that the sound of it echoed through the quiet apartment. She cried out in surprise at the power behind his hand, then giggled.