by Sykes, Julia
He stared down at her for a moment, clearly perplexed. Was that hurt in the depths of his eyes? Surely not. Then his expression cleared, the downturned corners of his mouth curling upward in an easy smile. “Okay,” he agreed. “No kissing.”
Ella nodded, letting him know that their break was over.
This time when he bent down, it was to brush his lips against her neck, just below her ear. His tongue traced down the length of her throat, making her shudder as pleasure spread from her neck to her sex, awakening her clit once again. Her passion suddenly aroused, she instinctively wrapped her arms around him, raking her nails down his back as she would normally do.
Brandon hissed in a breath and pulled away from her, his expression reproving. He grabbed her arms and pinned them over her head, gripping them hard. He jerked her left arm so that it was extended diagonally outward from her body. There was a clicking sound, and something cold encircled her wrist. She craned her head back to see that he had bound her with a metal cuff that was attached to the bedpost by a short chain. Before she could react, he did the same to her other arm, until she was spread for him. With her legs trapped beneath him, she was utterly vulnerable. She jerked at the restraints, but she let out a small whine of frustration as the unyielding metal pulled painfully at her wrists.
Brandon grinned down at her evilly. “I wouldn’t struggle if I were you,” he warned. “You’ll only hurt yourself. And we wouldn’t want that, would we? I’m the one who’s supposed to hurt you.” He paused, cocking his head at her. “And now I believe I owe you a punishment or three.”
Ella swallowed hard at his words and stilled, speared in place by his intense, possessive gaze. After a moment, he slid down her body, pausing when his face reached her sex. She couldn’t help arching up into him, silently begging him to kiss her there. But he just laughed and sat up, drawing away from her aching clit.
Gripping her thighs, Brandon harshly forced her legs apart, and, just as he had done with her arms, he fastened metal cuffs around her ankles. She gingerly tugged against her bonds, testing them, but there was no give. She was spread for him, her body his to use as he saw fit. And the idea turned her on immensely.
Then he rolled off of her. She hadn’t realized how much she relished his warm touch on her skin until it was denied her.
He rummaged in a drawer for a moment, his back to her. When he turned, he was holding something small and black. Ella knew what it was instantly - she had used them often enough herself: a blindfold. But no one had ever used one on her before. What would it be like to be deprived of her sight?
She didn’t have long to wonder, because he secured the elasticated cloth over her eyes within seconds. Then she heard him walk away, his footsteps retreating. She tugged at her restraints again, suddenly frightened. Surely he wouldn’t leave her like this, leave her alone.
“Brandon?” She called his name, her voice shaky. There was no reply. As she lay there, blinded, she found that all of her other senses were heightening, becoming more acute than ever before. Her skin felt so alive as the air rippled over her. Goosebumps pebbled all over her as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. And she found that the tension of being made to wait, of being frightened at her predicament, was making her grow wet.
Then, with her now-keen hearing, she could hear him softly padding back into the room, his footsteps soft on the carpet, barely discernible.
Suddenly, there was something cold and smooth touching the underside of her breast, circling around it. She cried out in shock at the abrupt sensation. Whatever it was was turned on its end as he ran it up along her arm, the tip of it lightly scraping against her skin. The feeling was delicious, the sensation magnified by the fact that she was shrouded in darkness.
The device left her, and she was bereft of touch for a few moments. Then there was an odd pressure on the nail of her index finger, followed immediately by a clipping sound.
“What are you doing?” She asked, puzzled and more than a little scared.
“Clipping your claws, kitten. You won’t be scratching me again now, will you?”
She now realized what the metal device had been: nail clippers. Ella made an indignant sound. “You can’t!” She exclaimed, trying to jerk her hand away. But it was futile; she was held too tightly by the cuffs.
“It seems I can,” he said, amusement clear in his voice. “Now I recommend you stop talking, or your punishment will only go on longer.”
Ella huffed angrily, mortified at what he was doing. But her pussy swelled, betraying her.
He took his time, each snick of the clippers only making Ella blush deeper, only making her core pulse more painfully as she became more intensely aroused. When he had finally finished, he let her lie there in silence for long moments, leaving her wanting, wondering. Then his fingers suddenly brushed at her inner thighs, swirling in the wetness there. He groaned in masculine satisfaction.
“It seems my little kitten likes being humiliated.”
She whined, both at the words and at her intense need for his fingers to trace higher, to touch her where she desired it most…
His fingers were gone, and she was again left without any contact. Then she sucked in a breath as she felt him roughly shove her bra up over her breasts, baring them to him. There was a feather-light touch, spiraling slowly inward towards her nipples, teasing around them. Her hard peaks stood at attention, throbbing, begging to be touched. She didn’t care if he pinched, bit, tortured them; she just needed some sort of contact. She writhed, trying desperately to rub herself against him. But as soon as she did, he drew away from her again, chuckling softly.
Two fingers suddenly thrust into her, sliding through her slick folds. She nearly came just at that one touch. But then he drew out of her immediately. Ella whimpered as he denied her release.
That was when she realized, when she knew: this was her punishment. Not pain, but relentless teasing, taking her to the edge and then denying her. And the sensations were made all the more visceral by her blindness. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I need to come,” she admitted shakily.
Brandon tutted at her. “Is that any way to ask me for what you want?” He said condescendingly.
Ella bit her lip for a moment, torn between pride and burning need. As she hesitated, Brandon gently touched the hollow of her throat before his hand closed around her delicate neck. He didn’t apply pressure, but the message was clear: he could do anything he wanted to her. Her body belonged to him. It brought out a primal reaction in her, and she shuddered as the submissive that had been buried deep within her came fully to the fore.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, may I come?”
“Ask again,” he ordered, his tone low and rough. “And address me as ‘Sir.’” His grip on her neck tightened ever so slightly, reinforcing his utter dominance of her body and mind.
“Please, may I come, Sir?” It came out as a whisper, but there was no hesitation.
“Come for me,” he commanded, thrusting two fingers inside her. He curled them forward, stroking her g-spot. At the same time, he pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing in a circular motion.
Ella screamed as she came, her inner muscles pulsing around his fingers, heightening the sensations. Everything was darkness, and all that existed was his touch, the ecstasy that he was wringing from her. But even when she came down, the last few shocks dissipating, he didn’t stop. She was becoming too sensitive; his once bliss-inducing touch now elicited pain.
“Please,” she gasped out, trying to shift her hips away from him. “I can’t take any more.”
“You can,” he growled. “You will.”
She moaned at the eroticism of his words, at his commanding tone. She was helpless to resist him, and that knowledge caused her sex to come to life, pleasure blossoming in her once more. Her second orgasm shuddered through her, just as powerful as the first. She jerked in her bonds, uncaring that the metal was biting into her skin with bruising force.
<
br /> Before she could even come down off her high, she felt Brandon’s weight shift above her just before he entered her. She could feel that he was big, and she moaned as his impressive length slid into her. He began to pump in and out of her, his pace relentless and unmerciful.
“You’re mine, kitten,” he ground out. “Do you understand? You belong to me.”
Ella shivered beneath him at the words, feeling that her soul was utterly laid bare for him. “Yes,” she groaned, acknowledging his ownership as he claimed her body.
At her capitulation, he couldn’t seem to hold back any longer. He let out a moan even as a strangled cry escaped Ella. They came together, both of them pushed over the edge by his possessive declaration.
As his hot seed spilled into her, Brandon collapsed atop her, breathing hard. Ella reveled in the feeling of his masculine weight pressing her into the mattress. Utterly sated and satisfied, she fell into a deep sleep, Brandon still inside of her.
The next morning, Brandon found himself smiling down at the beautiful submissive as she slept peacefully beside him.
Submissive.
How Ella had changed in the space of one night. Warm satisfaction filled his chest as he realized that he had finally conquered her, had dominated the infamous Domme of Dark Grove Plantation. But he wanted more. One night with her wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure if he could ever get enough of her. He gently lifted a lock of her hair and breathed in her delicate scent: lilacs and cotton. His cock began to stiffen at the smell of it, the smell of Ella.
The feeling of his growing hardness against her thigh must have roused her, because her eyes fluttered open and she blinked up at him sleepily, a small smile on her face. God, she was cute.
“Good morning, kitten.” He returned her smile easily.
She froze under him, her expression suddenly shocked. She looked down at her naked body and hugged her arms tightly to her, covering herself. Brandon frowned and grabbed her wrist, trying to pry her arms away from her.
“Don’t hide your body from me,” he ordered.
Her eyes widened, and then her expression turned angry. She wrenched her hand out of his. “Don’t you dare order me around!” She snapped. “It’s morning, and our arrangement is over. You got what you wanted.” She stood abruptly, as though desperate to put space between them. “Where are my clothes?” She demanded.
Brandon sat up, reaching out for her. “Ella…” He began.
She recoiled from him. “Where are they?” She hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
He let his hand drop. “I left your bag on the chair there,” he gestured with a nod of his head. “Your outfit from last night is in there as well as your change of clothes.”
She turned from him, rummaging through the bag and dressing quickly, concealing her body from his gaze. He felt a pang at the loss. What was wrong? Why was she mad at him now, after they had shared such a beautiful experience last night?
She rounded on him. “Take me home,” she demanded. “I have a lot of work to do today.”
His brow furrowed. “On a Saturday?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “It’s not like I exactly get days off with my job.” Was that… resentment in her tone?
He stood, walking towards her. “Listen, Ella-”
“Stay away from me!” She said, her voice high and shrill.
He stopped dead in his tracks, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Shit, Ella. I’m sorry…” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for, and his words didn’t seem to mollify her one iota.
“Just take me home,” she demanded, her voice tight.
She didn’t speak to him for the whole twenty minutes it took to reach her house. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that her eyes were over-bright, glistening with unshed tears. He had made her cry? Damn it, he had fucked this up so badly. But what had he done wrong? They both had enjoyed last night. He knew that she had enjoyed it; her four orgasms told him that much.
He thought of the way that she had begged him, had called him “Sir,” and he began to stiffen in his pants all over again.
When he finally pulled up to her house, she got out of the car and slammed the door without so much as a “goodbye.”
He watched her walk into the house, made sure that her door closed behind her.
“Fuck!” He yelled, bringing his fist down hard on the dashboard. He had never desired anyone so fiercely, had never had such an intense sexual experience with anyone, and now she didn’t want him? He had to make this right, had to win her back.
He was determined to do so.
All week, Ella was haunted by memories of her night with Brandon. Her perfect, passionate night. She had never experienced such sensual delights, had never achieved the peace that she had felt as she submitted to him completely.
“You’re mine, kitten,” he had said. “You belong to me.”
In that moment, she had belonged to him. Completely.
And she hated herself for it. She hated him for it, for making her question everything she knew about herself. This wasn’t who she was. She was the Domme of Dark Grove, for god’s sake. She loved dominating men, needed it in order to feel like an equal with the men she sparred with in the courtroom. Any more interactions with Brandon would destroy her skill at what she did, would dismantle her whole self-identity. She knew they would. And she couldn’t bear the thought of it.
But he had brought her nothing but pleasure, pleasure that - if she was completely honest with herself - surpassed that which she felt when dominating men. The way he had pushed her boundaries, shattered her barriers, allowed her to have a more meaningful experience with him than she had ever had with anyone. And she couldn’t deny that she had loved everything he had done to her, had loved being forced. She had even been turned on by being humiliated, something that she would have never dreamed she would enjoy in a million years. But it was as though the very weapons that she used against others were exactly what she needed. And Brandon was the only man who had ever been brave enough to force her to see that.
And she had to admit, if she had been underperforming at work this week, it was only because she was distracted by her tangled thoughts and self-deprecation; it had nothing to do with the fact that she had allowed a man to dominate her. In fact, the only times that she found any pleasure to break up her misery was when she thought of their night together. But then she would hate herself for that fact, and the cycle would start all over again.
God, how had Brandon affected her so deeply in such a short time? She knew that he had been moving in on her for months, putting little cracks in her strong façade, but everything had changed now that he had utterly broken her to his will. If she wasn’t Ella the Domme, then she didn’t know who she was anymore. And that scared her.
When she arrived home after work on Friday, she played the messages for the umpteen-millionth time. She told herself that it wasn’t because she wanted desperately to hear his voice. It wasn’t. She just needed to analyze why she was compelled to listen to them over and over again. If she could figure out the source of the problem, then she could tear it out by the roots.
“Ella, it’s Brandon. Look, I’m really sorry for last night… I don’t know what… Anyway, call me back.”
“Ella, what happened yesterday morning? Are you alright? I really want to speak with you. Call me.”
“Ella, it’s been three days. This is unacceptable behavior. If you don’t call me back, I’ll… Just call me.”
“Ella. Answer your damn phone.”
The last one was just a soft curse as he disconnected, giving up.
Ella sighed, feeling like shit. Nope, she still didn’t get it. Maybe she should listen to the messages again…?
No. Stop it. She knew what she needed to do, and it wasn’t to obsess over Brandon. She was going to go to Dark Grove tonight to find a submissive; she was going to prove to herself that she was a true Domme. And if Brandon was there, then a
ll the better. He would see what she really was and back the fuck off. Maybe then she could get her head screwed on straight.
Ella looked down at her short nails and frowned. Well, it seemed she wouldn’t be able to use one of her signature moves on a sub for at least a few weeks until they grew back.
“I’m clipping your claws, kitten. You won’t be scratching me again now, will you?” Something stirred in her belly as she remembered his words, how he had physically and mentally robbed her of her defenses…
She rolled her eyes at herself.
“I don’t permit people to roll their eyes at me.”
God, the man just wouldn’t get out of her head. She needed to remove him, to purge him. She scanned the bar, sipping her rum and coke, giving off her imperious air that so many people found intimidating.
There. Charlie was across the room. He was one of her favorite toys. She could…
No, she couldn’t. He had told her just last week that he loved her. It didn’t matter how bad of a funk she was in; she couldn’t justify hurting him.
Holly was here tonight. She wasn’t a man, wasn’t the kind of sub Ella truly craved to dominate, but she did submit so sweetly. And Ella always got that delicious, heady rush when she bent her to her will.
She sauntered over to the couch where Holden held Holly tightly in his lap, pinching and pulling at her nipples. Holly wore nothing but a skimpy skirt and an underbust corset, so her generous breasts were out for everyone to admire. And Ella did admire them, appreciated the weight of them in her hand, the way that Holly squealed in pained delight as she tortured them.
“Hi,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “How would you feel about playing tonight?” She addressed Holden, knowing that he was the one who would make the decision, unless Holly protested. But Ella knew that she wouldn’t, could tell by the way her eyes lit up as she shot Holden a pleading look. He smiled down at her, grinning.
“Well, since it seems my sub is so eager, I don’t feel that it would be fair to say ‘no.’ Besides,” he said, stroking her hair, “she has been very good lately, so I think she deserves to get what she wants.”