“Take off your clothes,” he told me immediately, his voice crisp. I was all-aflutter.
I looked around at the storeroom, which was filled, warehouse style, with shipping crates and clothes racks. There were several doors, which I imagined opened into the store itself, but they all were closed. We were alone. I quickly figured that this was a far less risky venture than the ones Preston had previously required of me. Following orders with no hesitation this time, I undid a few buttons and shrugged out of my blouse. My body warmed immediately with arousal as the air hit my skin. This thrill in me was something I’d never quite felt before—not quite the same as in my apartment, the 5th Floor Conference Room, or the downstairs basement of Morrow’s Seafood Grill. Only after my skirt was at my feet did I realize that Preston’s impassive but unremitting stare was making me flush with embarrassment, while my sexual desire climbed with unremitting zeal. The feeling was as good as it was frightening. Though it was an easy nakedness compared with my past experiences, I was soon sweating, my tummy all in a bind. Any second I expected that the evidence of my sexual arousal would be seeping from my pussy. If only he’d say something, I thought to myself, but he remained aloof and kept his intentions to himself.
A minute later, one of the far doors opened, and a pleasant looking woman appeared.
“Earlier than I expected you,” she nodded at Preston. She proceeded to review my body with a critical eye, as if I were an assignment, not a person. Being inspected by two pairs of eyes was almost too much for me to take. My legs turned to jelly while my excited crotch throbbed with desire.
“You have something appropriate ready?” Preston interrupted her task.
“Oh, my yes, Preston. You’ll love this.” Her eyes twinkled like those of a merry elf. Humm, I could have dived right inside her lovely aura—not to mention her gently curvaceous body. I supposed that she was about my age, and though she was impeccably dressed, not unlike Cassandra, there was a warmth to her personality that Cassy never had, nor most women like her would never display so effortlessly. For five minutes, her hands worked their magic with me, as she dressed me in the clothes that Preston ordered. Initially, I was a little surprised by the choice, but only for a few moments. When she was finished, she marched me to a mirror on the far side of the storeroom. One look and I realized the subtlety and the sexiness of my new attire.
A soft, brown sleeveless turtleneck sweater covered my torso from my neck to my waist. The style would have been reasonably modest, except that the knitted fabric was see-through under the right circumstances and lighting. My breasts stood out like two round globes, a pair of nipples interrupting the smooth look, jutting from—and sometimes through—the surface like bullets. The fact that I was braless was easily visible. The skirt was brown suede, hugging my hips firmly, while a dangerously deep slit parted the back nearly crotch high. I wouldn’t be able to bend over without showing my pussy.
“The heels?” the woman jumped in asking Preston.
“You have some that match?” he asked.
She smiled, and pulled a pair of dark brown suede pumps from a shoebox, stooping to put them on my feet. They were the perfect fit.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, while my master and the unnamed woman inspected me again. The entire outfit was accentuated by my pale brown skin, with the effect of making me look a bit like a sensuous brown cat. The way these clothes hugged my rounded curves, my body seemed to climb from them. The blatantly sexual image pleased me, although I was nervous about the obvious exposure of my breasts.
But, it was not my job to worry about being scandalous, immodest or cheap. If the outfit demeaned me in the eyes of the beholder, then it was for me to bear the barbs with grace. I was my master’s slut. That in itself was a freeing thought! Enjoying the power, the freedom to be the woman I wanted to be within this prison of rules and orders, my eyes gleamed back at me filled with the raw hunger of animal lust. Though I’d never looked this way before, I loved the woman I’d become.
After a few moments of careful consideration, Preston finally approved of my attire. “It will work for what I have planned.” And just that fast, he was ready to leave. His mind made up, he leaned toward the woman and kissed her lightly on the cheek—a perfunctory kiss, not an intimate one, but something they might have done for years. It seemed sisterly.
My discarded clothes ended up in a shopping bag, which I carried from the shop. Though we exited from the same door we entered, and moved directly toward the street, I was hardly protected from the eyes of those who passed us as we headed for the car. Most of the people were too busy with themselves to notice me, but one woman in particular and two men couldn’t help but gaze in wonder at my chest, tits bobbing in plain sight, covered by just the sheer brown fabric. In the sunlight, the lurid effect was even more noticeable. My hunger for this new sexual power grew.
Getting gracefully into the sports car proved as difficult as I imagined it would be. There was no way to do so without bending over and exposing my naked ass. But giving me no room to hesitate, Preston determinedly pushed me over as I stooped to crawl in the car headfirst. My only hope was that he was behind me, blocking the unconcealed view of my rear cleft. Either that or I was flashing the world.
I turned back to see where Preston was. He must have seen the flicker of fear in my eyes.
“You’re doing fine, Skye,” he leaned in and whispered in my ear, as several people glanced our way. As I bent over, Preston laid his hand on my ass. “You’re lying if you tell me you’re modest,” he said, giving my ass a squeeze and shoving me into the car.
Of course, he was right.
By that time, my body was so stimulated that I was afraid I would explode. But safely in the car, I had a few minutes to settle again.
“Bound women learn not to flinch at their orders,” he reminded me.
“And I’m a ‘bound woman’?” I asked.
“I would think your agreement with me would make that obvious to you.”
“I suppose it does. I just never thought of it that way.”
“Then, it wouldn’t hurt to start. I consider you owned property. Mine to use, to share and exhibit. If that doesn’t work for you, tell me now.”
Every day, every email, every time he spoke to me, I moved a little deeper into the unknown realm of this man’s quirky fantasies. But now, the transformation was happening at light speed, faster than my ability to keep up.
My bones and blood quaked in recognition of what I heard. The words were powerful—owned, property, use, share, exhibit—echoing torrid accounts on those steamy websites, not to mention my own thoughts, which had wooed me toward this surrender with such undeniable force. I was losing all sense of time and place, the date, the season, and anything that would link me to reality. As I vacated one world, time shifted into some remote place where I was for those hours living a separate life, unsure when and if I would return to my real one. I became another person, different from the woman I knew well. This woman surfacing was now more real to me than the one I’d been for thirty-two years, but like a distant relative, I saw only rarely. She had no morals, no sense of propriety. Before the night was out, I’d see just how little she cared about proper behavior. I loved her—and as importantly, needed her—to get through what Preston planned for me.
It intrigued me that Preston, this man who barely knew me, could recognize the truth inside me. I wanted to question him, understand what he saw that other men did not. But it wasn’t the time. I was notably timid in his presence, cowed by his control over me, which to my perception, seemed to be complete. My mind might have been filled with a thousand competing questions, but my heart and body threw them off, remaining mesmerized, fixated and powerless to do anything but obey him. Force me to obey? I’m not sure he used much force at all… I was a willing collaborator in the game.
From the shop, Preston drove onto the highway, moving directly into the fast lane, pulling along side a diesel trucker on our right hand side.
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“Play with yourself,” he ordered.
I hesitated just a second, while staring up at the truck cab, wondering if the driver would look down and see me.
“What? You changing your mind?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t look up, just play.” Preston wasn’t happy.
I took his comment as a rebuke, and sliding a little deeper into thoughtless obedience, I did as I was told. Spreading my legs the way I’d done on the way to the dress shop, my skirt rode up nearly to my waist, leaving my pussy exposed to the eyes of anyone who might look down from above. I couldn’t tell whether the trucker beside me was looking or not, but I imagined that he was. The possibility was enough to give me goosebumps, enough to set my crotch on fire. Flicking my fingers against my clit, it took just seconds to bring the wild arousal to a razor-sharp edge. I wanted to come then. Forget the fingers, forget subtlety, both hands flew to my snatch, groping and mauling, pinching, squeezing and rubbing against my clit. My head flew back against the headrest as I moaned for real—this wasn’t fiction, this was real, gut-wrenching, primeval, uncontrollable sensation. While my hips churned, pumping against my hands, my head and chest tossed back and forth. My breasts tore against the generous armholes of the see-through sweater, with my tawny flesh stretching the material. Any second, my whole tit, nipple and all, might break through.
“Gawd, you’ve got to let me come!” I shouted to the man beside me.
“I don’t have to let you do anything!” he growled ominously at me.
My sex juice poured out on my hands as I quickly moved dangerously close to the point where I couldn’t have stopped my orgasm merely through sheer will power. I tried again, “Oh, please!”
“When I say so, Skye,” he held the climax off with his intimidating voice.
I realized then that we were exiting the freeway to a rest stop, with the Audi coming to a stop at the far end of the trucker area. The momentary pause concerned me, but not enough to stop the climax from urgently demanding its expression. Pulling into the parking lot beside us was the trucker, who had apparently seen the whole show. He was given an even better view of the finish, when after jumping from his cab to the asphalt, he opened the car door. He was an old guy—probably fifty, with a wiry, gritty body and a craggy timeworn face. In reality, it was a handsome face, beautiful for the clear blue eyes, if nothing else. Though he didn’t lay a finger on me, it was those eyes—the sex sparked eyes of a twenty-year-old—that made my body lurch forward and a huge, grinding spasm suddenly shake me end to end.
I’m not sure how much noise I made, but I know I wasn’t holding much in. I must have writhed against the car seat for nearly five minutes, going from one sexual peak to the next as the spasms skyrocketed through me. I’d think it was over, and my fingers would make me jolt again, then squeezing or pulling or rubbing myself to another climax. As the feelings lessened, I returned to the land of the living, panting heavily but feeling more alive than I had in some time. Both of my breasts were bare by the time my ass finally rested on the seat, having worked through the armholes of the sweater, nipples erect like tiny volcanoes. I opened my eyes and gazed quickly at the trucker, who stood next to the car, grinning at me in a most lurid way.
“She for hire?” he asked Preston.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I thank you for taking the time to watch. You don’t know how important that is for her.”
“My pleasure,” the man answered. He closed the door, since it was obvious that a good peepshow was all he would get. Preston gunned the car and we sped off. I like to think the trucker returned to his cab and jacked-off thinking me. Maybe he’s still jacking off with the image of me in mind.
“Not for hire, not yet?” I just couldn’t let this one go.
“So, what’s your question?” Preston asked, as if he had no clue what I was asking.
“Are you turning me into a whore?”
“Would that bother you?”
“Yes, I think it would.”
“But you’ll do as you’re told.” Another reminder.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I do have limits.”
“And so do I. Perhaps you need to trust that I know what yours are.”
I liked the way he said that. Although he really didn’t answer my question at all, I could live with the answer. Besides, my complicity in this sexy scheme was still my choice. I could back out anytime. He kept telling me that if I didn’t want what he expected of me, the game was over.
So, he had his game plan, and I had mine. I’d entertain myself—and what great entertainment it was—until he stepped over the line. My logic was sound. I was sure of my safety. This seemed as responsible to me as any old-fashioned courtship and a heck of a lot more fun.
Unfortunately, my careful reasoning was based on assumptions that I was unaware of and a future I could not predict. I’d find soon that my ‘logical’ assessment of Preston Lockhart and his game turned out to be dangerously flawed. I’m not sure that I could have done enough research to predict that.
Sometimes now, I suspect that my easy acquiescence had nothing to do with being ‘reasonable’ at all. The thrill of those days didn’t end with the amazing things Preston had me do—which were enough inspiration by themselves to keep my sex life happy for years. These early days I spent under Preston’s rule were accompanied by a growing infatuation with the man, and my eagerness to please was fired by the hopes that secretly burned in my heart. It was as simple as a schoolgirl crush to start. My hormones flying, my dreams of handsome suitors fulfilled—the reality was so rich, something so unlikely for a girl like me that I needed to keep it going. I couldn’t let him go, nor that bigger fantasy of romance, which danced and teased me from afar, taunting me through my surrender.
Preston drove me home after our escapade on the freeway. I honestly expected something more, sure that trucker was simply there as an appetizer for a bigger meal. Fact was, I’d had enough after my grandiose show of sexual climax. That night I rested in my own bed, dreaming, masturbating three more times … Yes! I know it was against the rules, but I had to, as the look on the trucker’s face mutated each time into the face of Preston Lockhart. He had me hooked.
Chapter Six
In the weeks following my encounter with the trucker, I thought I’d lost Preston Lockhart. I had nothing to substantiate my suspicions, except that he ignored me completely. I’m ‘on call’, I reminded myself a hundred times, there to please Preston, not myself. That sounded like a good line—straight off the internet sites where groveling slaves served their masters, suffering in silence, if necessary, allowing the eroticism of denial and rejection to keep the fire between their thighs burning hot. Those websites were my comfort, my hope, my assurance that Preston was simply exercising his rights as my master. That consolation worked its charm for several days while I waited for more email instructions, for the Audi to pull up beside me on the street, or for another meeting in Preston’s office where he’d thrust me into an erotic space riddled with titillation, fear and longing.
Though my fear grew enormously, my heart seemed linked to the man by heavy chains. Every time he moved, I’d feel the tug.
Regardless of my best efforts to be sane and rational, regardless of every effort to toss aside my worries and remember my place, I didn’t enjoy what was happening those tedious days of waiting. I hated being ignored, and that hate brewed in me like poison. After a week with no new assignments, it seemed to me that a new game had begun—let’s keep Skye Sinclair from barging into her master’s office uninvited and reaping disastrous results.
Every day I tiptoed into the main office, looking for Preston to be there. Sometimes he was; more often he was out. Occasionally, I’d even see him. Unfortunately, Preston’s strictly enforced decorum prevented either of us from acknowledging our relationship when other people were around. I’d gaze at his hands, his body, his face, in secret, just stealing glances really, so no one would notice. I’d let his aura r
ush my body, then I’d dwell on him and my silly fantasies for hours, until I went home to masturbate—whether he allowed it or not—picturing myself with him, intimately.
Another seven days obsessed with his disregard, it became a passionate struggle to keep from storming his office. That private space, the closed door, the name plate, the corridor leading to him taunted me, luring me with sexual promises, tempting me with every breath I drew to knock down the barrier between us. I wanted his attention. And if not that, I wanted to know if it was time to give up the game—or if there was still a game at all.
Two weeks and a day after the standoff began, I gave in—not because my will had weakened, which it certainly had. It was much simpler, much more basic, female instinct taking charge. Another woman.
She appeared one day, at first just a new face in the office I’d never seen before. I assumed at the start that she was an ad agent from another office. But seeing her with Preston, I knew instantly that theirs was more than a business relationship: the way she held his hand, stroked his hair with her fingers, smiled at his dry wit. His eyes mutated quickly from cold to something more human when he was with her. He spoke to her in the hushed sort of way a husband would speak to his wife in a room full of people who have no business listening to their conversation. They were discreet, but a connection between them was evident. No one else seemed to care but me. Everyone else treated her as if they’d known her for years.
I couldn’t wait for explanations, I wanted to know! My mind madly created stories to explain her relationship with Preston, yet in the end I could only conclude that they’d been lovers—perhaps married, perhaps not—but certainly, they were lovers.
I finally got primal—and the strain of waiting made me completely stupid. I can’t exactly explain it. I don’t even remember the quick decisions or swift moves that landed me in Preston’s office. I just recall that I was suddenly there, two weeks and a day after our last real contact, and just two days after Susan wormed her way into my territory, taking over the man I’d considered mine.
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