Adrianna's Undies

by Lacey Alexander

  But he truly didn’t see that. She could tell.

  And that aroused her too, damn it. He saw her tits, her enhanced curves, her smooth cunt, and he wanted her. She pleased him.

  She’d never been into pleasing men—she was usually much more concerned with making sure they pleased her, but she found herself unduly flattered, glad, deep down inside, that he still found her body attractive all these years later, even if it had changed and matured.

  It surprised her when he turned and walked away to a chest of drawers across the room.

  But having his eyes off her, even just briefly, gave her a chance to think, to feel…normal again. Normal for her. All of her adult life, and certainly in matters of sex, she’d always felt in control. Even on the few occasions when she’d willingly given up control, it had been her decision, which meant that, deep down, the control had remained.

  But this already felt different, so odd—it made her feel like someone else, like someone she didn’t know, some younger, more malleable woman. Her heart beat with anxiety over what the night would hold; her mind raced and her skin rippled with that damn unbidden lust he’d brought out in her so quickly. Who was this woman? Not Adrianna Kline, corporate mogul and sexually dominant female, that was for sure. And in spite of herself, her pussy wept as she waited to see what Tristan was going to do to her.

  He returned, lowering to the nearby bed a hot pink shopping bag bearing the Adrianna, Inc. logo.

  She held in her gasp but couldn’t help being shocked. I’ll be damned. He’s going to torture me with my very own creations.

  “Sit down,” he told her.

  She took a few steps to a nearby chair, unable not to notice how the plush fabric caressed her bare ass as she lowered herself into it.

  Then she watched as Tristan knelt before her—a switch in position, at least mentally, which she liked.

  But as he lifted one of her feet in his hand, she realized he’d only stooped down to remove her shoes. And—damn it to hell—even that, his slight touch on the back of her ankle as he took off one pump, made her pussy ache with desire. She kept her mouth shut, her lips pursed, trying not to feel, and certainly trying not to let him see any response from her. Even if all she could think about was her body, bared for him, her subordinate position here, which she began to feel more and more, even if he was kneeling before her.

  After removing both shoes, Tristan reached for the bag and pulled out a pair of—oh God, no! The black leather underwear was from her Sinsuous Leather line and called the Ultimate Pleasure Panties. In addition to being utterly crotchless, they possessed small rubber knobs cleverly sewn in between a layer of leather and silk at both the front and back at the spots just before the fabric split to leave the cunt on display. The knobs were designed to stimulate the clit and anus with every move a woman made, and, Adrianna knew from experience, served their purpose quite well even when she wasn’t moving at all.

  Again, Adrianna did her best not to react.

  Tristan said nothing, but only held the titillating undies open before her, indicating that she should slip her feet into the appropriate leg openings.

  She did so, expecting that she would take over then, pulling the most physically arousing piece of lingerie she’d ever designed up into place around her hips. However, to her surprise, Tristan didn’t let go. He began to pull them up. Over her smooth calves and above her knees. “Stand up,” he said.

  Adrianna stood, watching as her old lover drew the sin-inspiring panties up into place. The sewn-in rubber nubs pressed directly to her already-swollen clit and asshole, and it was all she could do not to suck in her breath at the vivid sensations.

  The move had also brought her face-to-face with Tristan, who’d risen to his feet at the same time she did—although he towered over her now that she’d lost her heels. “Ultimate Pleasure Panties,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “I know,” she said, hoping for the sake of Adrianna, Inc. that she’d kept the curtness from her voice. “I designed them.”

  “You’re a naughty girl, Adrianna.”

  “Always have been, Tristan, or did you forget?”

  He smiled slightly. “Not possible. But I suspect you’re even naughtier now than you were then.”

  “Then you suspect correctly. I told you as much the other day.”

  “Do the panties feel good?”

  She let out a breath of dismay and hoped he didn’t notice. Then she withdrew her eyes from his, letting them settle on his dark tie. “They’re doing what they’re supposed to, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. And it makes me fucking hard. Here, feel,” he said, then promptly took her hand and pressed it to the front of his pants.

  Oh God. So big. It was like a granite column behind his zipper. And it made her remember. All nine beautiful steel inches of him. It had been difficult at first, to lose her virginity to that—but she’d quickly learned to love it and, though she tried to be reasonable and understand that not every man could be that big, she’d craved big cocks ever since.

  Despite her efforts, she knew her response shone on her face. And Christ, her pussy throbbed like wild now. She wanted him. She wanted to rip his pants apart with her bare hands, shove him to the floor and impale herself on him. She hated that she wanted him, but with a hard cock against her hand and still more hardness against her clit and ass, how could she not long to fuck?

  When he moved away from her without warning, it was both a blessing and a torture. He returned to the bag on the bed and she stood there taking deep breaths, commanding herself, Don’t feel anything, don’t feel anything. Be strong, be the rock you’ve always been. Don’t feel pleasure. Don’t feel pain. Don’t feel anything at all.

  She wasn’t surprised when the next garment he pulled from the shopping bag was—also from the Sinsuous Leather collection—a black leather corset that hooked in the front and laced in the back. She supposed he’d seen the catalog and knew it was designed to push the breasts upward even while leaving them exposed.

  “Turn around,” he instructed, and after she complied, he situated the corset around her torso and pulled it tight in back, working at the laces.

  Adrianna stood quietly, her arousal unduly heightened as he pulled the corset tighter, and then even a bit more, to make her feel bound snugly inside it. Like the panties, she knew with every move she would feel how very firmly wrapped she was within the garment and how high it pushed her already pert breasts. Curving over the bottom half of them, the corset shoved the two mounds prominently upward, nearly to her throat. Her nipples beaded into even harder, bullet-like points from the stimulation.

  “Let me see you,” he said when he was done, so she turned back around.

  The muscles in his face went slack as his eyes gleamed glassy with lust.

  Neither of them said a word, but her entire body pulsed with need now. Need she had to push down. If she didn’t, she would fuck up—she would follow her urges and grab him, rub against him, or she would demand that he touch her, kiss her, sink that big, hot cock inside her. And then she would lose. The game. And Adrianna, Inc.

  A moment later, Tristan returned to the bag, this time drawing out a leather choker sprinkled with small black, sparkling rivets—one more item from the Sinsuous line. When he tied it around her neck, just a bit too pleasurably tight, the tips of the rivets lightly abraded her neck, creating still more sensation, just as she’d designed the piece to do.

  Next, her “master” produced a pair of thigh-high black leather boots with pointy toes and stiletto heels. Again, designed by her. Straight from her catalog and available from the largest Adrianna, Inc. boutique in the country, right here in Vegas where, clearly, Tristan had gone shopping.

  “Sit,” he said, and as with everything else she wore, he put the first boot on her, pulling it up, up, onto the sensitive flesh of her thigh, where it stopped halfway between her knee and cunt. He followed suit with the other to leave her feeling like
the perfectly attired BDSM queen—only on the wrong side of the whip this time around.

  This was exactly how Adrianna loved to dress for a man she wanted to fuck, or a woman. She loved the sensation of being lightly bound yet still free to do what she wanted, to take control, and she loved having so much of her body covered while leaving the key parts exposed. Only—she didn’t love being dressed this way for Tristan, now. Despite telling herself not to feel anything, she was beginning to feel exactly as he intended—like his slave.

  What would come next? Would he indeed produce some sort of whip or flogger? She loved such toys, loved using them and sometimes enjoyed asking to have them used on her—but the idea of Tristan whipping her against her will made her stomach churn.

  Or maybe he would just tie her up. That would be even worse.

  And if he blindfolded her—well, maybe that would actually be okay. Maybe it would help her block it all out, quit feeling the strange sense of pleasure combined with that awful feeling of helplessness that she despised. She tried to sit very still and not feel how provocatively dressed she was, and tried even harder not to feel the stimulators at her pussy and ass.

  What now? Let’s get this over with.

  She was dying to say that, but stopped herself. A submissive couldn’t make demands. Especially when her company was on the line.

  After Tristan studied her a bit more—but she didn’t look at his eyes, didn’t let herself see the lust there because it would keep arousing her too much—he walked to a closet and withdrew a hanger on which hung a short black dress.

  So he was dressing her completely? Covering up all her Sinsuous leather? Just to fuck her?

  Oh hell, what did she care? Maybe it was a fantasy, a fetish of some kind—what difference did it make if it just moved the night along?

  Tristan pulled the fitted dress on over her head, tugging it carefully into place. The hem stopped a few inches beneath her crotch and just above her boots. The frock possessed long sleeves but was off-the-shoulder, and Tristan adjusted the neckline, without touching her aching breasts, so that the full top ridges were on grand display. A glance down revealed her nipples poking prominently through the fabric as well.

  Damn it, now she knew what difference the dress made. Somehow, knowing what she had on under it, and seeing how unbelievably hot it made her look, made her pussy even wetter.

  As a last touch, Tristan presented a pair of large silver hoop earrings, pressing them into her hand. “Put these on,” he said, making her thankful he at least wasn’t going to attempt that.

  Finally, Tristan stood back and studied her from head to toe, like an artist admiring his own creation. “Do you have any idea how perfectly fuckable you look right now?” he asked.

  She didn’t lie. “Yes.” But her voice came out too soft, raspy—damn it.

  “It’s all I can do not to take my cock out and nail you to the wall.”

  Go ahead. Another thought toward getting this over with. Yet even that could be seen as less-than-submissive. So she simply waited.

  “But I have a big evening planned for us before that happens,” he added.

  She felt her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

  “Dinner, remember? And a few surprises too. I have a limo waiting downstairs.”

  Christ, was he serious? She blinked her confusion. “We’re going out? Now?”

  “Of course.” But his evil smile said he knew he’d caught her off guard and enjoyed it. He surely knew exactly what she was thinking. I have to walk around like this? Bound in leather from neck to toe? With those “pleasure panties” rubbing against me with every fucking step I take?

  She took a deep breath then chose her words carefully and tried very hard not to sound as if she were protesting. “Has it occurred to you that…it’ll look like you’re with a hooker?”

  He grinned wide. “Who cares? No matter what anyone thinks you do for a living, it’ll be clear that I’m a man of discriminating taste.”

  She didn’t grin, but tried to look pleasant. “It’ll be clear that you’re a man of kinky taste.”

  “It’ll mostly be clear that I’m a man who’s going to fuck your brains out later, exactly the way I want, whether you like it or not. Now come on, baby. It’s time to go.”

  Chapter Three

  As they walked down the hall toward the elevator, Adrianna’s clit and ass swelling more with every step she took, she glanced up at her escort. “I’m not…complaining, Tristan, but can I just point something out?”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re both…fairly powerful people. With professional reputations to protect.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never worn a little leather out on the town, Adrianna, because I won’t believe you.”

  True, sexually, Adrianna had not been overly discreet—but she’d also never paraded up the Las Vegas Strip looking like a full-blown BDSM call girl. She at least kept her kinkiness contained to private residences, hotel rooms, sometimes her office and also the occasional small, out-of-the-way club.

  “And besides,” he said, “if anyone thinks they recognize either of us, they’ll decide they’re wrong. Since they’ll know we’d be too smart to behave that recklessly.” He concluded with a wink and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  When they stepped onto the elevator, two younger guys in their twenties were already on board—looking dressed for a night on the Strip. She felt their eyes before the doors even slid shut, their gazes traveling across her partially exposed breasts and downward, as tangible as a touch. She felt their lust seeping out into the air, along with Tristan’s masculine pride. And once more, she felt like his plaything, his toy, his slave.

  Walking through the casino and toward the front doors provided the same torture as walking up the hall—her nether regions burned with aching, desperate need from the specially built panties. Only this time it was different—because more people watched her. Men, women. Some with desire and admiration, some with shock, a few with scorn. They focused on her jutting nipples, on the slice of thigh visible above her boots, and she wondered if they could see on her face that her pussy was throbbing, that she was being pummeled with pleasure from both sides by two little rubber knobs.

  She’d been looked at like this before, during brief moments of indiscretion—walking from her car into a building when dressed for sex or, like now, through a hotel lobby. But this felt unusual, unique. Arousing in a darker way. Because it wasn’t her choice. Because she didn’t want to be aroused. And yet the tumult of sensations settled in her breasts and cunt, making them heavy, needy, making her feel obscenely desirable in a way she never had before.

  Which was saying a lot. In the time since she’d last seen Tristan, she’d known more kinds of sensuality and more ways of being desired than she could have conceived even existed back then. But this, undeniably, was something new. Being with a man who had literally dressed her up and taken her out to make her feel…whatever he chose for her to feel. It was new to have no influence over her own physical reactions and emotions.

  But you do have influence over yourself. You have to remember that. He might not think so, but if you can control nothing else tonight, at least control how you feel inside.

  Stepping out onto the curb brought a whole fresh barrage of stares—and sensations. Porters eyed her with lust, male tourists looked at her as if this were the reason they’d come to Vegas. A breeze blew across her bare cunt, making her inner thighs flare with increased arousal. Dusk had turned to night since she’d arrived and now the glare of a million lights illuminated her predicament.

  Placing a hand at the small of her back, Tristan ushered her to a black stretch limousine mingling with all the taxis and other cars beneath the expansive front awning. A driver waited patiently next to the car’s door—beneath his black hat he was cute, thirtyish and blond, sporting a slightly darker shadow beard.

  Was he truly hot—or was it just the way he looked at her, clearly sizing her up sexually as s
he and Tristan approached? Or was it the whole scene, all of it—plus the damn rubbing of her panties—that turned her on anew when her eyes briefly met his?

  Damn it, stop it! Stop letting all of this get to you, get you so hot!

  Yet as she stepped inside the car, the blond driver holding the door, she wondered if her skirt had risen high enough for him to see what her crotchless panties revealed underneath. And did he know, could he tell somehow, that she was under Tristan’s control tonight? And did that get him off the same way it clearly did Tristan?

  All things considered, Adrianna felt much more in control of the situation once the limo door shut behind them. At least she was alone with Tristan again. Well, mostly—the little window between them and the driver remained open, but at least she wasn’t on display for all of Las Vegas to scrutinize. They sat at perpendicular angles to one another, she on the seat that lined the back of the car, he in the lengthier one stretching along the side.

  Inside, soft music played as Tristan reached for a bottle of chilled champagne, smoothly pouring it into two fluted glasses as the limo glided past the Bellagio’s famous dancing fountains, the glow of their lights barely visible through the tinted windows. He passed one glass to her just as they turned out onto the Strip. “To a memorable evening,” he said, toasting.

  Adrianna didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to do the obligatory glass click.

  But she knew a submissive girl would. And what small misstep might cause Tristan to decide she wasn’t being submissive enough? So despite that it almost pained her to do so, she clinked glasses with him and took a sip, not surprised to find the champagne was top of the line. Like her, Tristan had become rich.

  “You like?” he asked.

  It felt like a loaded question. “The champagne is good,” she replied.

  He grinned, clearly understanding her precise answer. The champagne is good, but I won’t pretend to like anything else here.

  “Is your pussy wet right now, Adrianna?”

  The question came out of the blue, and her first thought was—could the driver hear? Music played, and Tristan spoke in a normal tone of voice, but the deep timbre of it tended to carry.