Dominating Jess: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella

by Rachel Nixx

  “What do you mean?” I said to his chest.

  “I’ve never brought...” he paused and cleared his throat. “I’ve never brought someone I cared about before. I’ve always been really careful not to cross that line.”

  “Why me, then?”

  He leaned his cheek against the top of my head. “I don’t know.”

  I had fallen asleep like that, resting against him, and I hadn’t woken up again until the man on Jake’s right—the one I thought had been listening—had to get out and use the restroom. He touched me a bit too much while climbing over me and met my eye meaningfully when he did. I shuddered. Was this what it was going to be like? Would Jake just let anyone touch me when we got there?

  I was pulled back to the present as Zee hit me again with the whip. I screamed but this time, instead of the sound being short and sharp, I leaned into the yell. I let myself wail, and it felt good. At Jake’s table, he nodded without turning around, and I knew I’d done something right.

  Zee continued to hit me, moving the whip down my right leg, then my left. I could feel my skin getting red, then turning to liquid fire that ran up and down my sides. My flanks heaved as I breathed between stripes, and I dripped with sweat. The endorphins racing through my blood were so thick they were making me dizzy. I’d moved away from the pain—as if I stood next to it somehow—and into pleasure. My clit was throbbing, even though Zee had avoided all contact with that area.

  I lifted my eyes from the floor. Something had happened, and I struggled to figure out what it is.

  Oh. Zee had stopped. Was he on a union break? Would he go have a coffee and a smoke and then come back for more? I knew I couldn’t take much more of the pain, even though at this moment, just for this second, I was resting in it.

  Still on my tiptoes, I could feel his heavy tread as he walked away. He crouched at Jake’s table and said something. Jake nodded.

  Another man in a thin black business suit who looked like a concierge came up to me. I closed my eyes for a second, hoping Jake wouldn’t take that moment to look at me. I braced for what might be coming, biting my bottom lip, grateful that the heavy rubber wasn’t in my mouth anymore.

  Instead, though, the man reached over my head, undoing something above me. He lowered the hook, and he raised the rope at my wrists off and down, allowing me to bring my arms to rest in front of me, leaving them still bound. I gasped, not expecting the intensity of the pain in my shoulders—my muscles had stiffened into tight knots with my arms over my head for so long. I wished he would take the shackles off my feet, that he’d undo the rope at my hands, that he’d give me a chance to stretch like I would at home to ease the pain. I could picture three stretches I taught in my gym that would help me right now, could almost feel the relief they would bring. But instead, the concierge said, “Don’t move.” I’d been lifting one heel from the floor, putting all my weight on the other foot, but I stopped, bring both heels together. I was almost used to the stilettos by now. “Stay,” he said, in the tone he’d use to speak to a dog. I noticed for the first time that I could hear a classical piece being played quietly overhead. A Chopin nocturne, one of my favorites. I wondered if there had been music on the whole time, and if my senses had been too overwhelmed to notice it until now.

  I licked my lips and looked up at the red velvet draped ceiling. My mouth still tasted of rubber. I’d bitten the inside of my lip at some point during Zee’s whipping.

  I’d been whipped.

  In public.

  While being watched—well, watched might be overstating it since the card players were serious—by men I didn’t know. Glancing briefly around the room, I realized that there were a few women players, too. I hadn’t noticed them before, but now I could feel their curious eyes on me. A redheaded woman met my eyes. Emboldened by the relief from pain, I gazed back at her, admiring the way her crimson lipstick matched her hair. Her eyes narrowed and flashed to Jake, and belatedly, I knew I might have gotten it wrong. Shit.

  There was a subtle shift in the room. Men put their cards down as if they’d heard a silent instruction to do so. I heard chairs shifting as weight was moved. The nocturne was quieter now, or maybe it was the blood that was rushing in my ears that made it seem as if they’d turned down the volume.

  Jake stood.

  All eyes turned to him, including mine.

  He came to me, and I felt buoyed by relief. Jake was back.

  He touched the side of my face, caressing my cheek. Then he ran his thumb across my bottom lip and I felt my fingers tremble. Maybe we’d go back to the hotel now. Maybe, just maybe, we’d go to dinner together. I would order. For both of us. Losing control was hot, yes. Getting it back would be even better. I leaned toward him, hoping he could read in my eyes what I needed.

  He smiled. I longed to press my fingertips to that slight crease in his cheek, the one that deepened into a dimple when he laughed.

  “My sweet little whore,” he said.

  His hand went to his belt.

  My heart paused in its beating, stuttering before starting up again. Was he going to hit me with his belt? Would it hurt more because he wielded it? Less?

  He kept going, undoing his fly. Underneath he wore no boxers, no briefs. His cock came out and into his hand. It was the first time I’d seen it, and holy hell. It was glorious. Thick and heavily lined with ridged blue veins, just my first glance had me even wetter than I’d been a second before. I could feel myself dripping down my right thigh, a coolness remaining where the slick dripped.

  In one swift, startling move, he reached behind my head, gathering my hair into a tight ponytail and pushed me downward. I landed unceremoniously on my knees. Without giving me time to even take a breath, without letting go of his tight grip at the back of my head, he used his thumb to open my jaw and rammed his cock down my throat.

  I gagged, immediately. It was too much, too deep. I couldn’t breathe, and I panicked. I scooted backward on my knees, trying to pull my head away.

  Jake pulled out and jerked my ponytail down so that my face rose to the ceiling. I met his eyes, the panic still beating inside my rib cage.

  “You will not pull away from me.”

  With his free hand, he lightly slapped my cheek.

  “I repeat, you will never pull away from me,whore. Your mouth is mine to use any time, in any way that I want. You will keep your throat open, and your teeth clear of my skin. If you don’t, there will be severe repercussions.” He glanced around the room. “And I love repercussions.” Quieter now, he said, “Don’t try me. We’re friends outside of here. You can be the boss all you want. But here, you’re just a piece of sex equipment.” He smiled again, that sweet, crooked smile, and I lost my breath. “Now, open your beautiful mouth, slut. Take my cock. All of it.”

  I opened my mouth.

  This time he went farther, hitting my uvula, drawing back, and then ramming himself in deeper. Desperately, I tried to breathe evenly through my nose around his cock, but when it filled my throat completely, no air could reach my windpipe. My eyes watered and I concentrated on controlling my gag reflex by making a swallowing motion with the back of my throat. When I did, I was astonished at how far he was able to go. I’d given head before, sure, but I’d always used the time-tested surefire combination of lips, tongue and wetted fingers. A little tongue and a lot of rubbing got a guy to come without ever having to battle this assault. Whenever I’d watched porn, I’d always wondered how those women could take the whole cock into their mouths. Somehow I’d thought it was an optical illusion of some sort. I didn’t believe in sword swallowing, either. I’d accepted it as something I didn’t understand.

  Now I understood. Jake wasn’t fucking my mouth. He was fucking my throat.

  As he rammed himself in and out, using his hand fisted in my hair to slam my face against his crotch, I got it. For the first time I realized what it felt like to be used.

  And I loved it.

  No one but myself had put me into this position. Tha
t secret, verboten fantasy I’d always had of a man with his hips thrust forward, forcing me to take every inch of his huge cock? That fantasy that I’d always thought was wrong, or bad, was actually, after all this time, right. Jake was fulfilling it.

  And shit, I still couldn’t breathe.

  Every time Jake pulled back, I breathed in through my nose, using the short second he allowed me to pull oxygen into my lungs. I panted the air outward through my mouth as much I could around his cock. I could taste the salt of his pre-come and I struggled to swallow, again taking him deeper. Above me, I heard him groan, and the sound made me greedy.

  I moved with him now. His hand was still clamped to the back of my head, but he needed no pressure to move my face toward him. I bobbed close, away, close, away again. He was getting nearer to coming—I could feel it in how hard his cock was now, how his hand heated at my neck. I swore he was bigger now than when he’d first shoved himself past my lips and down my throat, and I’d thought he was huge then.

  I wanted him to come. I wanted him to be as far down my throat as he could be, cutting off my oxygen, when he came. I’d hold my breath, I would let him shoot. I wouldn’t even need to swallow, he’d be so far down me. My hips rocked as I deep-throated him, frantically trying to rub my clit on the front of my g-string.

  Then he pulled out. I sucked in a deep breath. Would he come on my face? Hit my breasts with his load? God, I’d never wanted a man to do that so much. I’d never needed it like I did now. I let myself feel the desire as I moaned low in my throat.

  “Stop,” Jake said.

  I didn’t even know what he wanted me to stop doing. I was doing nothing but waiting, lip bitten, and rocking my lower body...

  “You will not come. Until I make you, you’re forbidden to come.”

  I froze, heat rising through my body from my center. I could wait. I would wait until he came...

  But he was putting his cock away. Still rock hard, still glistening wet, gleaming from my mouth, he tucked himself into his pants as if he’d been working out and was just putting away the dumbbell. Like it didn’t matter.

  Jesus, it mattered. To me, it mattered. I wanted to feel him, hot against me. “Please... Can you...?”

  A dangerous stillness. He put one finger below my chin and lifted, as if he could make me stand just by pulling me from my jaw. And, it turned out, he could. I stood, waiting for him to lift my hands over the hook and leave me there again for the room to stare at. But instead, he took several steps away, hooking the lower leg of a chair with his foot and swinging it back to me. He put it front of me, the back of the chair closest to my knees. Without ceremony, as everyone watched, with one hand at my hip and the other at the nape of my neck, he bent me over the top of the chair. He placed my hands flat on the seat and growled in my ear, “Don’t you dare move your hands from that position.”

  I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

  He pushed the chair forward a few inches. I stretched, bending more at the waist, making sure I kept my still-hobbled feet together. My ass was in the air, and I thanked God at least I still had my scrap of panties covering me. At least I could pretend I had clothes on.

  Jake stood in front of me. My eyes were at his knee level, but I couldn’t help glancing up at his still evident bulge. Would he push himself into my mouth in this position? I couldn’t rock my hips, not the way they were being held up by the back of the chair, so I couldn’t trick him and get off—not that I would, anyway. The tone of his voice had scared me. But even if I couldn’t do that, I longed to take him again down my throat.

  But instead, Jake took a knife from a tray the concierge presented to him. A switchblade, with a dark wooden handle. My mother used to keep one of those in her kitchen drawer. She’d said it had been my father’s, and that she’d use it for protection if anyone ever broke into our house. But the only men that came in our house were men she invited, and I only ever saw her use the knife for opening boxes she got in the mail from QVC.

  Jake snapped it open. My heart froze just like it had when he’d used the knife in the square. But we’d said on the plane no blood, and he hadn’t broken his word earlier. If he did break his word, all bets were off. I didn’t know how I’d get out of here, but I would. Maybe that woman who’d met my eyes earlier would... I bit my lip and glanced to the right. She was watching, all right, but her eyes gleamed, her own cheeks flushed. She’d be no help.

  As he drew the silver blade, small and sharp-looking, to my cheek, my breathing started to judder as if I’d been running for hours. Pressing gently, he scraped the tip of the knife down to my jawline, and then traced me, as if I were lying on butcher paper on the ground and he was drawing my silhouette with a pencil. The metal slid, cool and terrifying, down my neck, over my shoulder, down the length of my outstretched arm, down my fingertips and then back up to my underarm. Without lifting the tip, he traced down the side of my breast to my hip, finally dragging it over the curve of my ass.

  I shook as if I were freezing instead of burning up.

  With one quick move, the tip of the knife lifted from my skin and then I felt it slide hard against my ass. I gasped. No pain. I must be feeling the back side of the blade. What then...

  And my g-string snapped.

  Holy shit, he’d cut my panties.

  Then the other side, another snap and a tug.

  I had no clothes on. Nothing to shield me from a roomful of greedy eyes, eyes that treated me as if I were their own.

  “Ahhh,” said Jake before he laughed behind me. “Oh, my friends. You really must see this.”

  What? What was he laughing at? Did I look ridiculous, ass up in the air like this? Were they all going to laugh at me again?

  “I wish you could see yourself like this.” A camera flashed behind me. “You really are magnificent. I knew you had a great body, but I didn’t really think you’d look this much like the good whore you want to be.”

  I lost my breath again at his words. I wanted to speak so badly, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I’d be allowed to say.

  “Look, friends,” he said, his voice booming. “Look how the whore drips!”

  His finger touched the lips of my pussy, and I made a low, keening noise at the back of my throat. Slick. I could feel how slick and wet I was. I was swollen. All it took was one finger barely grazing my slit to bring me to to the point of dizziness.

  Continuing in the voice he meant everyone to hear, he said, “I think you all should come close and see what I mean. See what a good slut we have with us in the room.” He translated, and the room broke into sound. Chairs creaked backward, glasses clinked onto tables, and excited voices rose.

  Jake leaned toward me and said in a lower tone, “Usually I line them up single file. But you? I think you can take whatever they want to do to you.”

  Was it possible for a heart to race so fast that it would just stop? My calves ached with the strain of being in an almost downward dog position in the heels. I dug the pads of my fingers into the seat of the chair, trying to make damned sure my arms and legs didn’t tremble. I couldn’t help the way I was breathing, as if I were being pursued, but I could at least try to control the rest of my body. My traitorous dripping body.

  Within a minute, I was ringed by people. Mostly men, they pushed forward, shoulder to shoulder, forming a solid wall of bodies. I was tempted to close my eyes, to pretend they weren’t there. But I heard Jake’s words before he said them: Keep your eyes open. And I did. I could obey in this. I would be brave.

  One solid, reassuring touch, then. Jake’s hand cupped my face as he knelt to look at me. “You’re doing great.”

  And with that, I knew I would do my best. For him. I wanted to do this.

  And for me.

  The first touch that wasn’t Jake’s was abrupt. A slap on my ass cheek, a sudden crack of noise and stinging pain. Nothing compared to the whip Zee had wielded earlier, but it landed on tender skin, nonetheless. So far today I’d been spanked and whipp
ed. Usually all my skin had to put up with was the smooth satin of my Muay Thai shorts.

  The slap was followed by another, a different hand, a heavier one. Then, before I could catch my breath, it was followed by a flurry of blows, many hands reaching forward to hit me. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of the chair, trying to keep myself still. I focused on one pair of shoes in particular. Brown leather wingtips, dusty at the tip. If I could just keep my eyes on those, just keep my breathing even, I could handle this.

  One particularly large hand landed with force right on my exposed pussy, the first time anyone had slapped me there. It hurt, yes, but it also brought me so close to coming that a tortured scream ripped from my throat. Quivers raced from my core to the top of my head, leaving me heaving. The same hand hit me again, and my clit, apparently so engorged it was completely exposed, almost exploded. I didn’t know how much more of that feeling I could take without collapsing. I prayed to something, anything, that the hitting would stop, and I wished at the same time that a fusillade of strikes would rain down, bringing me to orgasm.

  I was so beyond turned on that the shoes in front of my eyes began to look erotic. I focused on the way one lace had a frayed end though the rest of the shoes were in excellent condition, then on the curve at the instep. A hand, smaller and cooler, traced my bottom before landing with a surprisingly smart smack on my cheek. I stared harder at the shoes as I felt a pinch at my waist, and fluttering fingers at the back of my knee. A hand attached to someone I couldn’t see, just out of my line of sight, weighed my right breast as if he were going to purchase it, squeezing as if testing for ripeness. I felt the liquid connection between my nipple and my clit, and just as I thought he was going to let go, the man twisted my whole breast, wringing it with his fingers dug deeply into my flesh. Another person scratched the skin of my stomach with sharp fingernails.

  Hands, fingers, palms, everywhere. Every piece of my exposed skin was being touched, caressed, flicked, smacked. Tested. I was being tested by all of them. Someone leaned against my hip for a fraction of a second as he was jostled by the crowd (it had to be more than thirty people now, all pressing forward, toward me), and I felt the shape of the thin, hard cock in his pants.