Bad Boy Dom

by Holly Roberts

  I felt the whip pull tightly before loosening and it was all I needed to take me into a full-fledged orgasm. My cries were almost as loud as the music.

  I felt her hand on my shoulder and then trailing through my hair. Again, her warm breath stirred across my skin as she spoke into my ear. “Do you know who is singing?”

  The waves of my orgasm had finally subsided, but as the voice sounded through the room I suddenly knew the answer, and it almost caused me to come again.

  “It’s Krispin Righteous, Mistress.”

  “Yes, it is and I want your body to dance to his voice. I want your pussy to throb with the vibrations of his vocal cords, and I want you to imagine being fucked by him. I want to hear every orgasm you’re having. I want them loud.”

  It was torture. It was raw. And these were undeniably the best orgasms I’d ever experienced. So much pain and pleasure, all at the hands of my Mistress, with his throaty voice of pure sex in the background, blending with my cries of ecstasy, until finally I begged her to stop.

  Chapter Seven

  Kris…

  Nicole was not exactly what I needed, but she was close. Damian made sure I sat and spoke to the eager sub and reviewed her wants and needs as well as her hard limits. She had few, but I was comfortable with only going so far. I remembered what Lydia said about her career and asked her questions during aftercare. It was the first time I worked on enjoying the experience. I was glad I did. Nicole was a medical examiner. I found it fascinating and my usual fifteen minutes turned into an hour.

  She spoke softly about her work and obviously loved her job. She never asked about my band or for me to sing for her. It was surprisingly pleasant and made me forget the gorgeous brunette sub for a while.

  Unfortunately, when I left Nicole at the club and went to my room, my dreams were filled with every conceivable first meeting I might have with the mysterious, green-eyed sub. I woke up with a throbbing hard-on and equally throbbing headache. I stepped into a hot shower hoping for relief from at least one of my torments.

  Getting out of the shower, I called room service for coffee. I had barely put the phone down when knock sounded at my door. Wrapped in a towel, I answered to find Lydia, a stroller, and a guitar case.

  “I see you’re not quite ready for company.”

  “I just need pants,” I smiled. “Coffee is on its way so the chances are good that I won’t eat your child.”

  Abigail reached a hand toward me and I would have scooped her up but I was afraid the towel would slip and her mommy would get the full effect of my softening boner. “Pants first and then baby drool if you don’t mind.”

  Abigail didn’t like my rejection and her shrill cry rang throughout my poor head. Lydia’s laughter didn’t help.

  I walked away, turning my back, and pulled on my dirty jeans from the day before, complete with underwear stuck in the legs which only added to the convenience of leaving clothes lying around. I was damn good at being a bachelor.

  I didn’t bother with a shirt, but walked back over to the stroller. It took a moment but I figured out the latched straps and picked up my screaming early morning fan.

  One lone tear ran down her face. I couldn’t help myself and kissed it from her cheek.

  “Her girlfriends will be so jealous when I tell this story,” Lydia laughed.

  “Fame is short-lived and her girlfriends won’t be as impressed as you seem to think by the time you get to tell the story.”

  Abigail’s cries faded to gulps and a quivering lower lip. Her hand reached my chest hair without me realizing what she was going for and my loud, “Ouch,” made her mother laugh louder.

  “Chest hair is new to her because Damian has his waxed.”

  “I understand why, but that sounds damned painful, too.”

  “You guys are such sissies.”

  “Please don’t expect an argument from me. Women can keep childbirth and cramps. I’ll settle for football and beer.”

  “Wise choice. Who’s your team?”

  “There’s only one team.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Broncos, the best the NFL has to offer.”

  “We will agree to disagree on that one. My husband would kill me if I didn’t support the Texans.”

  “They suck, but like you say, we’ll agree to disagree.”

  I sat on the couch and unwrapped tiny fingers from my chest’s short and curlies. Lydia picked up a t-shirt from the corner of the chair and handed it to me before sitting down on the floor and crossing her legs.

  “She has a one track mind after she finds a new toy. It’s too early to hear your sobs so the best thing to do is cover yourself.”

  I placed Abigail on the couch by my side and quickly pulled the shirt over my head. She didn’t seem to mind and crawled back into my lap.

  “She really does like you.”

  “She gets her good taste from her father, I’m sure.”

  Lydia laughed again but then became serious. “I spoke to Nicole late last night. You’re a good dom.”

  “We can agree to disagree again. I want to be a good Dom but I’ve made past mistakes and have a lot to make up for.”

  She ignored my statement. “What did you think of Nicole?”

  “I liked her. I liked her a lot, but will the truth piss you off?”

  “I prefer the truth.”

  “I dreamed the entire night of a beautiful, leggy brunette and I don’t even know her name.”

  A long sigh met my answer. I took my eyes off Abigail and looked at her mother.

  “Her name is Angela.” An unflinching stare came with Lydia’s words.

  “Why don’t you want me around her?” I knew the answer. My past was not a good one but I needed to hear her say it. But, I didn’t get exactly what I wanted.

  “You’re both wounded,” she said. “You could be the best thing that ever happened to each other or the worst. I don’t think I can take that chance with Angela. I care too deeply.”

  My heart dropped into my belly. I didn’t want to hear about Angela, my erotic dream girl, being damaged. It hurt and I didn’t know why.

  I met the blue eyes staring intently into mine, “Tell me about her wounds?”

  “Sorry, but that I won’t do.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, and brought the soft baby body into my chest and hugged her. She squirmed and struggled to get away after a few seconds. I loosened my arms and tried to adjust her on my lap but she wanted down. I let her feet land on the carpet and she walked the couch’s length using her hands to hold her up until she hit the end. Her diapered bottom plopped onto the floor and she crawled to her mother. I watched as she scrambled into Lydia’s lap and then began tugging at her top. Surprisingly Lydia’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink and I laughed.

  “My sister nursed my nephew and niece so I’m used to booby-sucking. And, before you yell at me for my word choice, please know it’s what my sister calls it.”

  “Booby-sucking. I’ll need to remember to let Damian in on that one.”

  Her cheeks grew rosier but this time I didn’t laugh. The picture of Angela suckling a baby flashed through my mind and the words ‘booby-suck’ took on an entirely different meaning.

  “It’s time for us to go. I wanted to return your guitar so if you felt inclined, you could write Abigail another lullaby.

  “You women are entirely too greedy.”

  “Yes, we are.” She paused for a moment. “Damian and I are here for you. I think you are a good Dom, you just need to trust yourself.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad I came back.”

  “So are we.”

  She fastened a squirming Abigail into the stroller, then turned and pushed it down the hall to the elevator. As she and Abigail disappeared inside, a valet wheeled a cart out of it. The coffee arrived just in time, and I gladly handed him a generous tip.

  Chapter Eight

  Angela…

  My sleep was surprisingly uninterrupted and
I felt refreshed when I woke. Mistress knew, even in her deviousness, exactly what I needed and she never failed to give it to me. I made coffee in the small kitchen and then carried it to my desk where my laptop rested. I was on a mission, and just before my brain shut down the night before, I decided to spend some time getting to know my bad boy — computer style.

  It wasn’t hard to do. I entered his name in the search engine and one through twenty of sixty thousand links popped up. Sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll; it listed everything. I didn’t believe each and every article, but pictures didn’t lie and in most of them, Krispin Righteous was high as a kite. It made me wonder about his relationship with Damian.

  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Kevin’s number.

  He was awake. “Hi, dear.”

  “Hi, Kevin. I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How much alcohol did Mr. Righteous drink last night?”

  “That’s easy. None. Mr. Righteous is a recovering addict and currently, his hard liquid of choice is Mountain Dew.”

  “Yuk.”

  Kevin laughed, “There’s no accounting for taste with the terminally gifted.”

  “Did he tell you he was a recovering addict?”

  “No, and I could be in a lot of trouble for mentioning it, but I was working here two years ago when he was escorted from the club and dumped in a cab. The tabloids said he was in rehab a few weeks later. I'm worried about why you’re asking.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Honey, he might be a recovering addict on the road to Soberville,” Kevin said, “but he’s no good for you. Is that why you were upset last night and had to take some time off?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “And Lydia’s aware of the situation?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry but I should go.”

  “Do you want to catch a movie today? Oscar and I want to see the new Tatum Channing flick.”

  Even through my sadness, that made me laugh. “Don’t even try to tell me he’s gay.”

  “He dances too well to be straight. We’re thinking he’s in denial.”

  After my giggles died away, I turned him down. I could feel waves of sadness taking over and even though I knew I shouldn’t be alone, I didn’t have the energy for a movie.

  My eyes traveled back to the laptop and I concentrated my search on rehab for the rich and famous Mr. Righteous. After an hour of reading and watching his videos on You Tube, I gently lowered the screen and walked away from my desk. The man had the sexiest voice alive but he was pure poison for me.

  Mistress wouldn’t want to cause a burn so soon after our last pain session. The stripes were still faintly visible, and last night’s impromptu session of continuous orgasms was not what my body needed. I began cleaning and organizing my suite. Again.

  By three o’clock, I was grimy and covered in sweat, so I headed to the shower. I wasn’t on the schedule for work but I had no idea what to do with my poor, pathetic self.

  I threw on a modest skirt, added a button-up light pink blouse, and headed to the main hotel lounge. I gave up a small utility apartment in California to follow Lydia to this dream high rise wonderland. My job came with a small suite that I could never afford if it wasn’t for Damian and Lydia. Anything the glamorous hotel had to offer was mine for the taking. My life had never been better but my sorrow had never been deeper.

  I wanted more.

  Victor wasn’t at the piano, so I took a seat in a back booth. I was disappointed because the waiter was new and he stumbled while taking my order for cheese-covered curly fries and a cherry coke. I knew he was seeing only a beautiful exterior and had no idea of the devastation that lay within.

  My food hadn’t arrived when I heard the keys of the piano clink. I leaned over and peered around the seat in front of me, ready to give Victor a smile, when my entire body froze. Krispin Righteous sat down at the grand piano and adjusted the bench seat.

  Fuck! I snapped back behind the cover of the booth and tried to calm my erratic heartbeat. When the first chords of Frank Sinatra’s “Ain’t She Sweet” began, I sucked in air and rested my forehead against the table. My tears fell.

  “Um, here’s your order.”

  I lifted my head knowing the waiter could see my shoulder’s shaking and had to know I was crying. I wiped my face inelegantly against the sleeve of my blouse and tried to smile. It was completely inadequate but his eyes traveled past my face and down the front of my shirt. If I complained to Damian, the waiter wouldn’t keep his job for long but really he was little more than a kid; I didn’t have the heart to be angry.

  When he left, I moved the food aside. I let my tears continue to fall while I waited the new piano player out. I wanted to get back to my room and never come out.

  Chapter Nine

  Kris…

  If the club clientele knew I was here, then so did the media. Going for a walk outside in downtown Houston was out of the question. The gym wasn’t too crowded, so I worked out for more than an hour. I signed two autographs but everyone else left me alone to enjoy the torture I imposed on my body. Healthy mind, healthy body had become my mantra. But my sweaty daydreams where full of Angela’s gorgeous body while my legs ate up the miles on the treadmill.

  I let the shower spray soothe the ache in my muscles. My hand went to my cock and the rhythm of my fist built until I released a forceful stream of cum down the drain. I needed that. But really, I needed her.

  I’d been to the lounge before and knew the Bosendorfer Imperial waited for me. My fingers couldn’t have Lydia’s sub, so they craved the next best thing: making music on a beautiful instrument.

  I was thankful there were few people in the lounge. The Bosendorfer called for Sinatra, as it so often did. My fingers ran across the keys and then I moved the seat to a more comfortable position. The music took over and my voice crooned the classic song using my voice to its best advantage. I lived for music. My personal ensemble consisted of the greatest sounds from every decade; from classical to rap, my gift was memorizing every chord and each word. I went from the baby Abigail induced “Ain’t She Sweet” to “Everybody Loves Somebody.” The faint applause at the end surprised me. I’d lost myself in the music again and my lips quirked. A waiter stood to the side and I looked at him inquisitively.

  “Sir, there’s a lady in the corner and I think you made her cry.”

  Well damn. My eyes went to the corner but I couldn’t see anyone.

  “She’s in the last booth and I thought maybe you would be willing to play something a little more upbeat.”

  “I’m sure I can manage that. I’ll ask the lady what she wants to hear.”

  The waiter gave me a look of relief. Men just weren’t good with women’s tears, it didn’t matter our age.

  I stood up from the piano and walked over to the corner.

  Dreams really do come true.

  Her food — or what might pass for food — had been pushed aside and her head rested on her arms. I wasn’t sure she was crying but I reached down and placed my hand on her hair. It was as soft as I fantasized. Her head came up and water-filled eyes looked into mine.

  She made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan and put her head back on her arms.

  I sat down and nudged her over with my hip. She scooted sideways and made room for me without looking up. I twisted my body in her direction and leaned over. I needed to smell the hair I’d just touched.

  A soft muffled laugh came from her arms. “Did you just sniff me?”

  “Guilty.”

  “Why?” she asked without lifting her head.

  “Because I had to.”

  That got her attention and she sat up. The perfumed smell of her hair wafted past my nostrils stronger than when I leaned over. I inhaled.

  Her lips tipped up on the sides. “You did it again.”

  I reached for the napkin lying by her plate and handed it to her. If I’d expected a delicate lady-like wiping of her nose, I was disappointed
, because she blew her nose with a hearty snort.

  Yet even such indelicate behavior didn’t detract from her beauty one little bit. I was helpless to stop myself from staring.

  Her body stiffened and she turned away. The back of the booth was obviously more appealing than looking at me.

  “You have a way of making a man feel uncomfortable.” I sighed.

  She turned to look at me. Those cool emerald eyes snapped with a hint of anger.

  “And you think I’m comfortable when you stare at me?”

  “You’re beautiful. It’s impossible not to stare.”

  It was easy to read the disgust on her face. “You see the outside.”

  “I have trouble believing your beauty is only skin deep.”

  “But you’ll never know.” The sadness in those words overwhelmed me.

  “Why not?”

  She hesitated and I didn’t think she would answer. “Bad boys are bad for me. I don’t handle them well and they hurt me.”

  I couldn’t lie. I was a bad boy. From drugs to orgies, I personified ‘bad boy.’ But, there was something in her that made me want to be good; as clean and pure as sunlight.

  I was crazy. I had to be, or I wouldn’t have let the next words come out of my mouth.

  “Would you be interested in a date?”

  “A date?”

  “Yes, you know, when two people go out and get to know each other? Explore their likes and dislikes? Learn what makes the other tick? A date.”

  “Mistress Lydia will not allow me to date you.”

  My eyes traveled to her neck. “You’re not wearing your collar now, we’re not in the club, and I’m asking you, not Angela the sub, for a date.”

  “But I am Mistress Lydia’s sub.”

  “I’m well aware of that but for one night, could you be my date?” My eyes traveled from the speeding pulse at her neck to her liquid green eyes. I could have drowned in their ocean; I was writing a really corny love song in my head.

  “No, I’m sorry, but my mistress will not allow it.”