by Chloe Cox
Sheikh Bashir wondered if Stella had ever been to the Volare Black Brunch before in the course of her duties as a hostess. He doubted it. He’d never seen her there, and even employees who were not into the lifestyle were not welcome at such events. He smiled to think of her reaction. The idea of a BDSM brunch event had always struck Sheikh Bashir as the exact combination of ridiculous and sublime that Roman and Lola managed so well as Master and Mistress of Volare New York. Of course they would take a New York tradition like Sunday brunch and make it their own.
They arrived at the ornate black doors for the second time in three days, and Sheikh Bashir held up his hand, bringing Stella up short.
“Have you ever been to the Black Brunch, Stella?”
“No, Sheikh.”
“But you know what it is.” She blushed again. He loved that. He’d see her grow redder than that before he was through.
“Yes, Sheikh.”
He laughed. She was being very, very obedient this morning. “One more thing before we go inside, Stella. Put up your hair,” he said, and retrieved a thin leash from his suit pocket.
Bashir watched Stella’s reaction very closely. She stared at the leash at first, as though trying to confirm, repeatedly, what she truly saw, and what it meant. And then the blush slowly returned, starting at the top of her breasts, visible in the low-cut, flimsy dress, and rising inexorably to her lovely cheeks. Yes, she understood. And yes, she found it both arousing and humiliating.
Which was exactly the point.
“Stella,” he warned, and she gathered her loose hair in her hands and lifted it off her neck. Bashir attached the thin collar, and it was done. He would be watching her, more closely than she could ever guess, to make sure this went exactly as planned.
“I should not have to remind you, Stella, but proper etiquette is required here. You do not speak unless I permit it, or to use your safeword.”
“Yes, Sheikh.” Her voice was soft. Already her mind was preparing for subspace. Not for the first time, Bashir reflected on how amazing she was.
Then he reflected on what sort of expression she might make when she realized how many people she knew were about to see her like this. He smiled.
“Let’s go, Stella.”
CHAPTER 14
Stella’s mind lurched about from one extreme to the other, never settling on any one feeling: hot, cold, humiliated. Hot. Horny. God, what was happening to her?
Sheikh Bashir opened the door, and Stella suddenly realized: she would know people in there. They would see her.
The thought sent her hurtling into an entirely new space, one in which all her concerns briefly fell away because they simply could not hold on, there was not room for them next to the screaming siren call that was her intense arousal and anxiety at the thought of being seen, like this, by people she knew.
She did not have time to reflect on any of this. Sheikh Bashir led her forward.
Why does this give me such a rush? she thought. Stella never expected that she might feel this way; she’d always had a million intellectual objections to this kind of thing, but she’d never bothered to try to understand how it might feel. And still, she didn’t quite understand it, even as Sheikh Bashir was leading her on the end of a leash through the shallow twists and turns of the Black Room entryway. She didn’t understand it; she just felt it. There was something about giving up such control, such sovereignty over herself and her body, that felt safe with him. More than safe. Thrilling.
They were almost through. Almost to the main room. Stella could here the clatter of cutlery, the clink of glasses, the laughter of people enjoying themselves at a lazy brunch.
The thought that they would all see her like this, that they would all know how much she wanted Sheikh Bashir, how much she craved his body and his approval, that it was enough to put a leash around her neck, enough to let him do anything he wanted to her…
Wet warmth pooled between her legs.
But it was terrifying, too. Humiliating. It was somehow final to admit these things publicly. Stella had never been at ease revealing her private thoughts; she’d always been terrible at hiding her emotions, and her one consolation had always been that she could at least keep her thoughts about those feelings to herself. But this would be like showing something very private to everyone who cared to look.
But Sheikh Bashir demanded it. It was like she had to reciprocate; she’d pierced the walls he’d built around himself the night before, and now hers had to come tumbling down too.
Sheikh Bashir paused just before the final turn, and looked her up and down. As though he were checking in, evaluating her state of mind. It reminded Stella of how safe she felt with him, no matter if it made sense. It gave a new flavor to the emotion coursing through her, taking the sharp edge off the fear and anxiety. Now she was only highly and tightly strung, a string stretched out almost to the breaking point, and vibrating only in anticipation of being plucked.
He smiled, and stepped out beyond the final partition, taking Stella with him.
“The Black Brunch,” he said, and paused—whether so Stella could get a look at the room, or the room could get a look at her, she’d never know.
She’d never actually seen it before. The entire room had been transformed into an elegant dining room, with fine tablecloths and formal place settings, and servers clad in scraps of black leather bearing trays of bellinis and mimosas with quiet grace. There were a few scenes taking place, set apart from the main dining, almost as a kinky backdrop.
Stella was almost lost in the strangeness of it when she saw the first person she recognized: Catie. At the bar, flirting with yet another employee that she knew oh so well—Jake, a Dom who normally worked security for the club. He looked to be filling in behind the bar. Both of them knew her, both of them were colleagues. And now both of them would witness whatever was about to happen.
My punishment. Oh God.
Somehow it had slipped Stella’s mind, in the midst of all the new sensations she’d experienced in the last few minutes. But that was why they were here. Her punishment.
What is he going to do to me?
The thought echoed mercilessly in her mind as Sheikh Bashir led her into the dining area. Stella tried to ignore the eyes upon her, but it was impossible: she knew more than just her colleagues. These were the members of Volare New York, who she’d seen every day in her capacity as club hostess. She quickly realized she’d recognize every single face if she took the time to look.
Instead, she stared straight ahead, her eyes glassy and refusing to focus on anything but Sheikh Bashir.
The Sheikh led her to an unoccupied table for two, and, without thinking, Stella began to move around to the other available chair.
“No, pet.” The Sheikh frowned, and pulled one of the heavy chairs back from the table. “You will sit on my lap. I want access to your breasts.”
Stella swallowed. Ok. She could handle this. She could more than handle this; she remembered how much she’d liked being fondled in front of Creighton.
Smiling, she sat on the Sheikh’s lap. She giggled a little when he bounced her on his leg, shifting her weight.
The Sheikh reached up to grab one breast, and leaned his head into hers. “You did not think that this was it, did you, Stella?”
Stella shivered, even as her nipples puckered into hard little points, and her pussy grew heated. What’s next?
“Hello, Bashir. A new plaything, I see?”
Oh, holy crap. Crap, crap, crap. That voice was unmistakable. Roman Casta. Master of Volare New York, and Stella’s boss. Stella’s hot boss. Roman had always been a little bit of a distraction, with this aquiline features and lean, hard body wrapped in a dark olive complexion. He’d never been on Stella’s radar, really, but there was no denying that he was one gorgeous man.
One gorgeous man who was her employer, and who was watching her get fondled on the lap of a Sheikh.
“Stella, behave yourself,” the Sheikh said. Stella realiz
ed she’d been hiding her face in Sheikh Bashir’s chest. It was awkward, and somehow even less dignified. Bravely, she sat up, and faced Roman.
Roman, who was smiling.
“I have to admit, I didn’t believe Lola when she told me,” Roman said, grinning. “But it’s about time.”
“It was difficult to believe she’d never had a taste of the lifestyle, working here,” the Sheikh said. “Particularly when she’s so suited to it.”
“Perhaps she just needed the right Dom, at the right time.”
Stella’s mind whirled into action. Roman knew more about her life than an employer strictly had a right to; she knew Lola had explained about the divorce as a condition of taking her on. Roman had agreed out of…pity? Empathy? Understanding? Stella still didn’t know, but she knew that he’d been a perfect gentleman, never once asking uncomfortable questions, yet quietly observing her for signs of stress or unhappiness. He’d always respected her privacy and boundaries.
Until now.
Sheikh Bashir narrowed his eyes. It seemed to bother him that Roman was so familiar with her. With a start, Stella realized that Roman did, in fact, know more about her life than the Sheikh.
“What makes this the right time?” the Sheikh asked.
Roman shrugged, clearly not willing to go into detail. He said, “All things need to ripen in their own time.”
The Sheikh nodded, even though Stella sensed he was not quite satisfied. Roman’s familiarity had somehow come between them, and challenged Sheikh Bashir’s primacy as her…what? Her Dom? Her owner? As though reading her mind, the Sheikh reached inside her dress and pulled her naked breast out, reminding her that she was his. Stella gasped, and felt the familiar flush return as Sheikh Bashir rubbed his thumb over her aching nipple.
“And can she come right here? In public?” Roman asked, leaning back comfortably, as though getting ready to watch a show.
Oh God, please no. Stella was horrified. She insisted she was horrified; ignoring the rapid, wild pulse that pounded in her clit at the very thought. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t. Furtively she looked around the room: Catie and Jake were still chatting at the bar, and Lola was working at the back, and there was Roman, watching her with that lazy, lupine smile, so obviously amused.
Sheikh Bashir’s hand left her breast, leaving it exposed, and gently turned her face to his.
“She will, one day,” he said seriously, and Stella’s limbs suddenly felt like jelly. “She is not allowed to unless I command it.”
His dark eyes searched hers, and once again Stella had the overwhelming sensation of being studied, of being read, like an open book. Like everything she felt was put on display, even more than usual, and there was no point in trying to hide. The inevitability of it was somehow relaxing. After all, why put all that effort into concealment if Sheikh Bashir would see through it anyway?
It was freeing.
Slowly Sheikh Bashir moved his hand across her cheek, and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. On a stray impulse, Stella took it in her mouth. She wanted him, now more than ever.
He shook his head. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of it, pet.”
Stella’s belly coiled with tension. Sheikh Bashir looked back at Roman, smiling as though talking about a deceptive child.
“She’s due a punishment, Roman. That’s why we’re here.”
“Oh?”
Oh no, she thought. It’s coming. What would he do? How could this get any more embarrassing?
“Stella, stand up,” the Sheikh said.
Legs shaking, and not willing to look at Roman’s laughing face, she did.
The Sheikh waved his hand. “Strip.”
Stella breathed deeply. She should have known this was coming. What had seemed unthinkable only a few days earlier—the exact command she had refused the last time they were in this room—now seemed, incredibly, like something she could handle. Maybe. What was different now? But she knew what it was: it was the Sheikh. She wanted to please him, and knowing that it was what he desired erected some sort of barrier between them and the rest of the world, as though there were a glossy layer of protection allowing her to enjoy the humiliation, the vulnerability, the thrill, knowing it was all for him.
She shivered out of her slip dress, letting it fall to the floor.
Stella grabbed hold of that idea of a barrier and held tight; it was more difficult than she thought, standing there, stark naked, in front of Roman. In front of everyone. She felt hundreds of eyes on her, looking her up and down, appraising her, comparing her to other girls, matching the sight of her naked body up with their previous vision of a well-dressed, polite hostess.
Roman said, “Very nice.”
The Sheikh laughed. “Oh, she’s not done yet.”
Icy little fingers danced up Stella’s spine. The Sheikh pushed his chair out from the table, drawing the attention of the rest of the room. He gestured at his expansive, well-muscled lap.
“Over my knee, Stella.”
Stella froze. She should have known this was coming, too. Of course it was. How could it be anything else? She couldn’t say no, she couldn’t safeword out—the idea of disappointing him, after everything they’d been through in such a short time, was unbearable. Worse, she didn’t want to disappoint him. And there was the slight trouble of the butterflies in her stomach, and the heat in her core, and the certainty that she could feel her actual pulse all over her body…
She was turned on.
The idea of being bent over the Sheikh’s knee, of the view she would present to all her colleagues and clients, of all those eyes upon her…
The Sheikh grabbed her wrist, yanking her out of her reverie, and pulled her forward sharply. “If I have to pull you down myself, Stella, I’ll let Roman have a turn, too.”
Stella was not ready for that, even if the thought made her even wetter. Roman’s eyes twinkled, and Stella quickly leaned forward, attempting to lower herself with some sense of dignity. The Sheikh wasn’t having that at all. Chuckling, he pulled her down so swiftly that she lost her balance. He caught her, manipulating her body with ease, his rough hands positioning and balancing her until it became clear that she would have no control over her body at all. Her legs kicked out behind her and her arms tried to find purchase on the ground until he laid an arm across her back and a hand on her backside, steadying her. Reminding her of just who was in charge. Her breasts hung over the side of his leg, pushed up on her chest, and her ass was in the air. She was entirely exposed.
There was scattered laughter, some clapping. It was impossible not to think about who had such a perfect view of her exposed pussy. Jake, at the bar. Certainly Roman. All of those members, all of her clients, all of the men that she’d have to see again and again when she hosted for the club.
It was beyond humiliating. Stella’s mind wound around each and every one of those possibilities, those eventual further humiliations, building up both her anxiety and arousal in twin spirals, the blood rushing to her face and pussy, her pulse pounding in, her body crying out for release, and then, suddenly: he spanked her.
Sheikh Bashir spanked her again and again, each blow jolting her forward, setting her breasts swinging, every movement emphasizing how little control she had over her own body while splayed helplessly in his lap. She couldn’t get away if she wanted to.
Only part of her wanted to.
He hit her again, harder, and she whimpered. She heard Roman laughing, imagined how cherry red her ass must already be. She did want to flee, to escape, to run and hide from this, but she was held fast. And she’d also never wanted the Sheikh more. She felt herself arch up to him, involuntarily, and her humiliation doubled.
Roman said dryly, “I’m not sure it’s a punishment if she enjoys it.”
Stella wanted to die. She’d at last had some comfort from the fact that maybe, just maybe, her pleasure itself was private. But they all must be able to see how wet she was. She could feel her juices spilling from her pussy,
could tell her whole body was probably flushed and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She put her head down and closed her eyes, wanting to hide for the rest of her spanking.
The Sheikh was having none of it. He spanked her again, even harder, and then grabbed hold of her pussy with a rough hand. Stella’s eyes flew open in alarm, and with his free hand he grabbed her by the chin, and turned her face partially towards Roman.
“Explain to Master Roman what you did wrong, Stella.”
She tried to turn her head away, but the Sheikh had a firm hand. Suddenly he squeezed her pussy, and then spanked it. Stella heard herself squeal.
“Master Roman, I—I disobeyed an order,” she said. She was nearly breathless.
“And?”
Sheikh Bashir spanked her again. Stella felt her whole body clench with the impact. Was it possible to come from something like this? She wouldn’t have thought…
Oh please, I’m not allowed to come, don’t let me come…
“And I violated the Sheikh’s privacy,” she panted.
He spanked her again, and this time the sound of flesh smacking against flesh filled the whole room. All other sounds had ceased. Everyone must be watching. The pressure in Stella’s core grew just a little bit more.
“And will you do it again?”
“No!” She was so turned on, so close to the brink, she just wanted it to end. What if she came, in front of all of these people, without permission? What would he do to her? What kind of failure would that be?
“Why should I believe you, Stella?” He spanked her again, and then slid a finger inside her. “Faithfulness is important.”
“I swear!” Stella shouted. She felt almost delirious with the effort of keeping her orgasm at bay as his finger moved inside of her. As everyone watched. “Please, I promise. Please, Sheikh, I’m so close, I don’t want to disobey…”
At the last possible moment, he withdrew his finger, wiping it on her buttock. Stella whimpered slightly as he rubbed her back, easing her back down. But even as her looming orgasm faded, Stella’s mind began to drain away, leaving her with just a sense of peace. As though all of her anxieties, all of her suffering, had melted in the heat of what had just happened, and now they were all just slipping slowly away, leaving nothing but the happy, blissful kernel of her being.