Sir remains quiet for an extended time. It feels like forever but he finally speaks and I startle. “You and I have more in common than you know.”
“Incorrect,” I say sternly, and he laughs.
“Alright, Jess.” Sir gets quiet again and I imagine this guy is trying to come up with something personal. “When I was a boy, I was raped by a family member.”
What? How horrible. All air leaves me and I sag a bit.
“Is that personal enough for you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Sir asks. “My history has nothing to do with you.”
“But it’s led you here,” I point out. “In this room, wanting to dominate another person.”
Sir doesn’t say anything and I worry I’ve just crossed some line.
“You are very perceptive, Jess.” Sir steps closer, I can almost feel him, the air around him charged and drawing me in.
“Alright,” I whisper. “Two days.”
He takes a breath and I think he’s relieved he won that round. “I’m going to touch you.”
The blood in my veins freeze. “Where?” I whisper. He’s just talked about giving me an orgasm and now he says—doesn’t ask but says, he’s going to touch me.
“I’d like to touch you between your legs,” Sir says, and his voice has changed. It’s deeper, breathy. “But, for now, may I kiss you?”
I realize I’m panting, even though all we are doing is talking quietly. The thought of a man I can’t see, touching me is oddly thrilling. Do I want him to? Yes, very much.
I nod.
“Incorrect.” His harsh tone makes me jump and his hand lands on my waist like he’s reassuring me, but this time he doesn’t remove it like he did earlier. “Say, yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe.
“Even though you haven’t seen my face?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”
Why? Because this is insanely hot, and that’s what I’m here for. Maybe if I can get him to like me, I can stick with the same man. “I like your voice.”
I hear him make a sound, like a groan, but it’s more carnal.
“I could be a real jerk,” he points out.
“Yeah, but you asked.”
“What do you mean?” He still hasn’t removed his hand from my waist and I’m acutely aware of how close he is.
“When I was in that twisted little showcase—”
“It’s a show, Jess,” Sir says. “Madam puts on shows. People like spectacles.”
“Yeah, and dolls.” I roll my eyes.
“You were saying?”
I fidget, my toes squirming. “You asked me to take the mask off,” I say. “And you didn’t ask me to lift my clothing to see me. You treated me like a person.”
“Jess, you are a person,” Sir says. “With needs and wants, fears and desires. I’m here because I want to help you explore these and help you un-pry the lock you have over yourself, unlock you sexually. That is why we both are here, correct?”
I release a huff of air. “Yes.”
“Good,” Sir says. “Now, for starters I think I should kiss you.”
“Starters?”
“Do you not like kissing?”
“I do.” Now I can’t help but wonder what his lips are like. Will they be soft? Does he have facial hair?
“Then what's the problem?”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“Jess, you are very attractive and you have an incredible mouth. Full lips, soft and sensual, highly kissable.”
My hands tingle and I unravel my fingers enough to grip the nightie.
“I’d very much like to kiss you. You seem like a nice person, friendly enough that you may let me, even though you don’t know me.”
“I am a nice person.” The air in the rooms almost pops with static, becoming charged with my electric nerves.
“Good, because you seem like a person I’d really enjoy kissing. Actually, I think I need to, almost badly as I need air.”
Jesus.
“I guess we have to start somewhere,” I say. “Since we’ll be—you know.”
“What?” he asks. “What do you think we will be doing?”
“I have no idea,” I shrug. “That’s why I’m standing here.”
“Tilt your head back.”
My heart stammers and I do.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” Sirs hand on my waist tightens and the other lands gingerly on my right side. His hands run up until it touches the inside of my arm, then they both slide over my shoulders and up the sides of my neck. It feels possessive, yet soothing. Goose bumps raise over my scalp and my nipples tighten. Sir moves close, still cupping my neck. It’s an erotic sensation, having this man hold me so tenderly after just confessing he wants to kiss me—needs to kiss me. His dick straining against his pants, rubbing into my skin through the material.
His lips barely touch mine and every muscle in me goes slack. Light scruff scrapes my cheeks. I unwind my fingers and grip his forearms to stay on my feet. He deepens the kiss, and I part my lips, enough to allow him in. That warm suede scent fills me. His tongue moves inside my mouth, moving slowly, carefully, like this isn’t the first time we’ve done this. Like he knows me and wants me. Needs me. All of me. Every single messed up part.
Dizzily, I wrap my arms around his neck and Sir moves his hands to grab my ass, lifting me up. My legs slide up and move around his hips, grinding into him. He trails kisses over my jaw and down to my neck. I throw my head back, giving him access.
I land on something hard and cold, the platform in the room. One of his hands lowers, slowly following the contour of my hip and moving down my thigh. Sir pauses, like he’s waiting for me to protest, or maybe he’s thinking he shouldn’t. Then his hand slides up under the hem of the nightie. His thumb runs over the crease of my thigh and I grip his shoulders
“Who has touched you here?” He trails his thumb over the hairs between my legs and I gasp, digging my fingers into his shirt. “Answer.”
“Me.”
“You’ve touched yourself?”
I nod, and he lets my incorrect response slide, still skimming his thumb over the hairs. It tickles, it's thrilling, I want him to press harder and move lower. I tilt my hips suddenly blind with want, needing him to touch me.
“Who else?”
I shake my head. Don’t ask. Just touch me. Sir lets that slide too and his thumb glides lower. His breaths fall over my face and I’m faintly aware I’ve leaned closer, my fingers woven into the fabric over his shoulders. He is tall, and well built, and warm. He smells like leather and something else. Something I can’t quite—
“Ah!” I gasp as his finger skims over my clit. He parts the folds at my center and I clench my teeth.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You are so wet.”
My head falls to his chest and his arm wraps around my shoulders, bringing me close. He starts to move his finger slowly, harder, sliding it over me and skimming my opening, then back over my nub. He speeds up but just barely, and I’m making small feminine sounds, my mouth open panting into his chest. I grip his shoulders tightly, my knees tighten on his legs and I press against him, breathing in his musky scent. His dick twitch under his jeans.
“Do you like that?’ he asks, his warm breath in my ear.
I nod.
“Incorrect.” But he says it with a slow rasp.
“Yes, sir,” I breathe. “God, yes, Sir.”
He presses harder, rubbing a bit faster until I groan. This feels so intimate, this man holding me tightly to his chest, breathing in my ear, touching me, his own excitement apparent as he gives me pleasure. I press my belly against the bulge and he exhales, a light hiss into my ear and the world shatters, blinding me. I come so fast and so hard, I melt, and he grips me tighter to hold me up. I rest my forehead against his chest as I come back down, still holding his shoulders. Sir’s hand slides around to cup my ass.
“Fuck,�
� I breathe. He’s still hard and my cheeks burn. I can’t believe I just let him do that. “That was a hell of an icebreaker.”
His entire body stiffens and he lets me go. “You did splendid, Jess.” His warmth leaves as he backs away and I feel suddenly empty. He remains quiet and I worry I did something wrong. I hear him make a sound in his throat and he curses to himself under his breath.
“Tomorrow, we will get your assigned room,” Sir says and his cold tone makes me shrink back. “I will meet you there at one o’clock. Don’t be late.”
The door opens and closes loudly and I’m left alone.
Tears sting. I’m not going to cry. This is not some deep emotional, soul-connecting relationship. This guy’s paying the club for the benefit of teaching me how to be a submissive. All so I can be auctioned off to some random guy who wants to have sex with me and give me a bunch of money.
What was I thinking?
I want to live, that is what I was thinking.
The Redhead from earlier comes to get me and hands over my clothes, a credit card and I’m told to meet her at a clothing store I’ve never heard of downtown tomorrow morning. Then we’ll start my makeover. These instructions remind me the woman from earlier threatened I’ll be getting waxed and I cringe.
Fifty thousand minus thirty percent. That’s what the bid will start at.
Chapter 7
Five days remaining...
“Only trim the ends,” I tell the woman in the mirror behind me. She holds my hair up, inspecting it and glances at Redhead, who said her name is Tiffany.
“Honey,” the hairdresser drawls out, “You’re gonna need a lot more than the ends trimmed to fix this mess.”
I scowl at her in the mirror and remind myself Sir is paying for me to look the part of—whatever a submissive looks like. A meek woman I guess. “Fine,” I say. “Style it however you want, just make sure I can pull it in a pony-tail.”
“No dyes,” Tiffany tells her. “She’s being trained by one of the Four.”
Hairdresser’s eyes get wide and she nods. The Four, I’m guessing are these VIP members who sponsor Madam’s new ladies. I’m beginning to imagine from the way the two women next to me are talking, this salon is where Madam sends all her dollhouse girls. I’m also finding, after a few hours of shopping with Tiffany helping me pick out white lingerie, new clothes—she says my Special Dom wants me in new clothes—that I don’t mind this treatment. Even after I was forced to do a physical, give blood, have someone check my health and do a vaginal exam. Oh and let's not forget the damn birth control shot, which I was told takes like five days, thank God.
I’ve never had anyone pamper me, buy me clothes, want me in nice things, make sure I’m healthy. It’s a nice feeling, even if it’s pretend and he’s not the one here seeing to it.
“How do you like him?” Tiffany asks with a smirk. “He’s pretty hot, huh?”
“Who?”
“Your one of The Four,” Tiffany says. I’ve noticed since we’ve been outside the club, she doesn’t refer to them as Dom’s, but as The Four, like they are some holier than thou group of men. And, considering they pay bucket loads to go to Madam’s, I’m going to guess they are. I have no idea what the spending limit is on my little credit card, and I’m scared to ask after seeing the bill for my clothes and new white silk panties.
“I haven’t seen him,” I tell her.
“What?” Both women pause and stare at me.
“Is that weird?”
“Well, whatever he’s into is what you’re supposed to do,” Tiffany says. Hairdresser goes back to snipping chunks of my hair off.
“You think he’s good-looking?” I ask Tiffany. Thank God. At least I know my guy isn’t hiding some strange birthmark or something.
“He’s more than hot,” Tiffany says. “He’s fucking insane gorgeous.”
Instead of soothing me further, my cheeks start to heat. Why would some handsome guy pay for me? I’m no ugly duckling, but I’m not exactly supermodel material. I’m average. My height and weight—okay, a little extra weight—average build, tiny A-cup boobs. Maybe Sir likes the insecure ones like it makes us more open to being dominated. Yeah, I bet that is what it is.
“There,” Hairdresser says and pulls the black drape from around my neck. “Since I can’t color it, you’re stuck with that dull blonde, but the style brings out your cheekbones.”
I glance up and see she’s layered it some so my hair contours my face and she’s right, my cheekbones do look higher.
“Hop up, time for the fun part,” Tiffany says.
Oh no. Fun part, as in ripping the hair from between my ass cheeks, part. I grimace and follow Tiffany into the back room.
Fifty thousand, minus thirty percent has become my new mantra.
***
After much arguing, a few tears—my tears, because that hurt like hell—and me yelling that I’m not going completely hairless, I now have a nice little patch over my blazing hot, hurts to wear pants, lady parts. Now I know why pants are optional around the club.
We reach the club after we stop to have an early lunch, and I have an hour before Sir is scheduled to arrive. Tiffany leads me to the end of the hallway lined with the sex chambers, but we go past it to the last door which opens into a stairwell. On the second floor of the club, there is another line of doors and the hallway is wider and much more posh, reminding me of a fancy hotel.
“This is your training room.” Tiffany opens one of the doors. “Top Dom’s use this area for intensive training, and it keeps the rooms below open.”
The room isn’t so much a room as it is like a little studio apartment, again all in black and reds, decorated like the main club area. There is the central feature—a huge four-poster bed, a table with chairs and in the back a small kitchen space. There is a door which leads into a modern bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and I immediately wonder if Sir will bring me in here and—
It’s happening. I’m already turning into a sex crazed beast. One orgasm from the man and it’s all I can think of. It was bad enough trying to sleep last night after what I let him do. Then face my boss this morning when I told her I wouldn’t be coming in the next few days, guiltily thinking of how it was because I was going to be here.
“Sit in a warm bath.” Tiffany points between my legs. “It helps, but not too long, and make sure you tell your Dom it stings and stings badly.”
“Why?”
“Trust me sugar.” Tiffany smiles and wiggles her eyebrows. “He’ll want to make it feel better.”
With that, she leaves. I glance at my phone—I’m down to forty-five minutes. I run to the bathroom and start filling the tub, looking at labels of the shampoo bottles. Half the stuff I’ve never heard of and I know for a fact costs more than an entire double shift at the diner.
I’m not sure if my alarm bracelet is waterproof, so I take it off and set it on the counter. I bathe in the lavender soaps, wash my newly cut hair with the expensive shampoos and discover I’m having way too much fun. Really, this isn’t so bad. So far, I’ve been treated like I’m something special, granted it’s my money making womanhood, but whatever.
I dry my hair with the blow dryer I find under the sink and go to the main area to take a pair of my new underwear out. He didn’t specify, so I got a variety, including a few bras to match in case I can’t do the whole half nude part. I decide on lace boy shorts.
I pull out my new mask, it’s more secure and ties behind my head with a white ribbon. My heart starts to beat heavily when I check my phone—ten minutes before he arrives. Last night, my flimsy teddy provided a false sense of modesty. Wearing nothing but the lace panties is something that is going to be hard to get over.
I try to muster up every ounce of courage, walk to the center of the room, and tie the mask over my eyes. No bra. I can take orders. They are just boobs. I smooth down my hair, hoping I look decent and clean and pretty enough for this supposed hot guy. It would be nice if he’d let me see him, but then, if I t
hought he was really good-looking, it’d probably make it worse. Maybe wearing the mask is a good idea. I can’t see him, it creates an almost surreal effect to the entire situation. Like since I can’t see what’s happening, it’s more of a fantasy than a reality.
The door opens and I’m jolted from my thoughts and back to the room. Instinctively, I cover my breasts but remember he told me to hold my hands behind my back. I suck in a breath. There is no way I can do this—be almost naked in front of him.
I hear Sir’s shoe’s scrape over the wood floor and stop near me. My skin prickles, hairs standing on end like he’s drawing me to him. The mask is tighter, and it forces my eyes closed, so I can’t see even a slit of light down my nose.
“Incorrect.”
I laugh, and edgy sound rushing from me and relax. His tone is soft, not mean, not disappointed, just stern.
“I’ve not been naked like this before,” I tell him.
“Incorrect.”
“I can’t even remember the last time anyone saw my breasts,” I say. “Actually, I don’t think anyone besides a doctor has.”
“Incorrect.”
I slouch. Now his tone is changing, but I’m not sure which part of my behavior he’s trying to correct. Probably all of it. Still, I can’t seem to move my arms down.
I hear him take a deep breath. “Five days.”
Damn it. I nod but still don’t move.
“Incorrect.”
Crap.
“If you don’t do as asked, I will be forced to discipline,” Sir says. “Since we have a short amount of time, you don’t have the luxury of trying my patience.”
“What kind of discipline?”
Instead of saying ‘incorrect’ again, he laughs, which surprises me. It's deep and throaty, very sexy and it makes my insides warm. I like his laugh.
“I’ve been thinking about you today,” Sir says. “I thought of you all night. Did you think of me?”
I’m not nodding, I’m panting. “Yes.”
He remains silent.
“Sir.”
“Very good,” Sir whispers. He moves closer and warmth radiates away from him, caressing my skin. “Let me see you.”
Seven Days - The Beginning (Jess & Liam's Story, #1) Page 6