When she was in place, she felt a huge sense of accomplishment, as if she’d managed to climb the highest mountain in the world without benefit of oxygen. Interestingly enough, it felt oddly liberating to be in this position. She’d thought it would bring extreme anger, but instead it brought a sense of satisfaction that she’d managed to follow his instructions.
“Give me a gold star,” she said, almost falling backward when he said, “Silver. You have to work your way up to gold, but I’m very impressed that you did as I asked.”
I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off. “Thank you, Mr. Oliver.”
“You’re welcome. Where are your words?”
“On the table.” She heard his boots click on the wooden floor as he walked, but she didn’t turn around to watch.
“Let’s see, humiliating, anger, fascination.” There was a pause before he said, “Interesting choices. Explain the meaning, please.”
Find a dictionary, asshat…I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off. I won’t smart off. “I was humiliated at the thought of kneeling in a corner, angered with myself for getting into the situation, and then sort of fascinated by this room, and the items inside it.”
“Not fascinated with how they might make you feel?”
That too, but I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you. “Not really.”
“Liar. You’re like an open book to me, missy, and I’m going to read you from end to end. Turn around and come to me, on your knees.”
Francesca fought back the urge to say, “You trying doing that with no hands.” Then she remembered her pledge to herself. She backed away from the corner, then turned and looked for him. He’s sat down in what she’d thought of earlier as a throne. It had a high back and thick, wooden arms. The seat, she’d noticed, was adorned with a velvet cushion. She watched as he threw one leg over an arm, and undid his pants, taking out his very hard cock.
“Hungry?”
Damn straight she was. It had been years since she’d sucked a dick. Even the lovers she’d had since becoming a Domme had not had the pleasure of her mouth. She moved across the floor in record time, lowering her head to his lap as she arrived. When he grasped her hair and kept her from taking him in her mouth, she growled in frustration.
“Ask nicely.”
“What?” She tried to get away from his grasp, but he held her close. “You asked if I was hungry.”
“But I didn’t give you permission to eat. Ask. Nicely.”
No, no, no! She swallowed hard. “Please, Mr. Oliver, may I suck your prick?”
“No.” She stiffened at his response. “But you may lick it.”
“So you’re going to tease me, is that it?”
Anger clouded his features, and Francesca knew she’d screwed up—again. She would have whipped a sub’s ass for that remark.
“You may lick, or you may go back to your corner. It’s your choice.”
Francesca battled with herself once again before she said, “I will lick, Mr. Oliver. For—forg—forgive my impudence.”
“Forgiven, now put your tongue to good use.” He had his hand on the base, as if he were offering her a piece of candy, and that’s exactly as she treated it. Her tongue moved up and down the length of him, and when a drop of moisture appeared at his opening she took it greedily, the salty maleness of him making her want even more. She wanted to suck, to take him as deeply as possible, to have him give her that sweet offering at the end.
Her pussy throbbed as she worked, and there was a part of her that thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t let her suck him. Instead he might fuck her, as he had the first night they’d met, driving her insane with lust and letting her come, something she needed very desperately.
“Enough.” His rough command drew her to a halt. Her chest heaved as she placed her head on his thigh.
“Please, Sir, may I suck.”
“I said no. Don’t ask again. There is a place in the center of the floor with a body outline. Did you see it?”
Oh yes, she’d seen it. It had made her think of someone outlining a dead body at a crime scene. She told him as much, trying to keep her words from sounding harsh.
“Go and lay down there.”
Crap, she’d noticed the O-rings around the outline, and it meant only one thing. He was going to bind her. Of course, it could mean he was going to fuck her while she was in that position. That would be good. There were lots of rings in different positions, which meant he could tie her so that her legs were close together, or wide apart.
Francesca was thrilled when he ordered her to spread her legs. She lifted her head enough to watch him wrap rope around the boots and secure her ankles to the rings. Next, he undid her hands before he locked the cuffs together. He secured her hands above her head, leaving her wide open for his use.
Vulnerability swept through her, but it wasn’t overwhelming; mixed with the excitement she felt, it made her feel something she couldn’t put a name on. She just knew that if he touched her clit right now, she would probably shoot off to the moon. She would be the first female to set foot on the lunar surface, and she’d do it with a huge smile on her face.
She watched as he walked to a cabinet against the wall, near the table. She knew there were clamps and whips inside there. Was he going to use a whip on her? If so, why hadn’t he tied her face down? Uncertainty rushed through her, and she fought to keep it under control.
Breathe, she repeated to herself. It’s going to be fine, just breathe. She may have only known him a few days, but he was well known in the Seattle BDSM community. Plus, they’d signed an agreement earlier. He was a man of his word, or he wouldn’t have the standing that he had.
There had to be trust, or else none of this would work. He was back now, kneeling over her, his thighs pressing against her side. In his hands were nipple clamps. Francesca almost sighed in relief; something as easy as nipple clamps shouldn’t have thrown her into such a tizzy. Of course, she didn’t know what he was doing.
A sharp sting shot through her as he attached the clamps to each nipple. He adjusted them until she gave a soft cry of agony, then he pulled the chain that held them together. Francesca groaned as a spurt of pain shot straight to her clit, making her cry out.
“Feels good, even if you won’t admit it,” he said as he tugged them again. She shook her head, even as she agreed with him inwardly. “We’re going to have to work on your skills at lying. I know you like this.” He released the chain suddenly and her breasts fell to either side of her body, the chain tight between her nipples.
He stood and went back to the cabinet. Her nipples throbbed as she watched him. What the hell was he doing now?
He took off his pants, which made her want to cry out in delight. He was going to fuck her. Good. Maybe the thrust would give her an orgasm and he wouldn’t notice. She could keep quiet about it, she was sure.
But when he came back he got into the same position, and she noticed there wasn’t a condom on his cock. She was about to say that when he flipped the top on a bottle of oil he had in his hand. He turned it upside down and let it dribble over her breasts. After she was well coated, he set it aside and massaged her breasts.
Her nipples were throbbing under the tight clamps, and she closed her eyes in relief when he loosened them just a little. She’d just adjusted to the change when he tightened them back up, pushed her breasts together and began to titty-fuck her.
Her pussy ached for attention as he thrust his cock in and out of the cavern he’d created by pressing her breasts together. Every few moments he’d let go of her breasts, and they would fall to the side, the chain snapping to attention between them, taut and pulling on the clamps attached to her nipples. The pressure was exquisite, and she hated to admit that it sent her soaring toward the place she’d been their second time together. The only thing that would make it better would be if there were a third person, someone playing with her pussy, or at least a vibrator inside her that he could control by remote
.
She needed her clit pinched; instead, he continued to fuck her breasts, tormenting her nipples exquisitely, making her want to cry out for him to “fucking forget her tits and put his dick in her cunt.”
Francesca wiggled under his weight as he tightened and released the clamps, fucked her tits and repeated the process all over again.
“Please, Sir Oliver,” she finally called out, her need making her feel as if she might burst into flames. “Play with my pussy, I’m begging you. It’s been three days and—”
“Whose fault is that?” His voice was husky. “I warned you, didn’t I? You’ve misbehaved. Perhaps after dinner I’ll fuck you. But we’ll have to wait and see.”
He started thrusting again, and just when she’d thought he’d slow down and torture her nipples more, he cried out. Hot liquid spread across her breasts and neck as he rode her. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her jealousy to herself. If she wasn’t careful, she might scream that it wasn’t fair that he could come and she couldn’t.
When he’d stopped moving, she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, a smile on his face. And then he pulled the clamps from her aching nipples and she groaned loudly.
“Please?” She gave him what she hoped was a very pleasing look.
“After dinner,” he replied, “maybe.”
He leaned close to her. “I hope you remember this feeling of desire the next time you disobey me.”
Her Dominant half screamed at her to tell him to fuck off, but the more submissive side won out. Even though she hadn’t come, she still tingled with need, with sensations that made her want to fly around the room and laugh. “I will, Sir.”
“Good. I want you to lie here and think about it, and then I’ll let you loose so you can bathe. It will be silent contemplation.”
Oliver moved away from her after stroking his fingers down her cheeks. When he returned, he wiped oil from her and rubbed lotion into her aching nipples. It felt good to have him care for her this way. She didn’t like not being in control, but she’d found the pain from the nipple clamps surprisingly exhilarating. It made her wonder exactly what the rest of the weekend held for her to discover.
* * * *
Oliver listened to the sound of the shower running as he worked the pizza dough in his hands. The apartment was small, but it had never really mattered, since it had just been him living here. But, by this time next year, he planned on Francesca living here full-time. She would have some concerns, but they would work through them. The first step to that was this weekend.
Her submission this afternoon had been beautiful. Once she’d given herself over, she’d obeyed without a second thought, and that proved to him that she had another side that needed tending. She was a fine Domme, he knew, but she would be a great sub for him. She would have to wrap her mind around the fact that she could do both.
That was going to be the tricky part.
“I’m naked, as ordered.” He looked up to see her standing in the doorway, her hair wrapped in a towel, her body still damp.
“Beautifully so,” he said, pointing to a stool he’d placed near the table. “That is for you; sit with your legs on the floor, spread wide apart so I can see your pussy.”
“Yes, Mr. Oliver.” When she was in place, she looked so glorious he wanted to forget about food, to just whip her, fuck her, and then fuck her again. He’d take her pussy the first time, her ass the second.
“What led you to becoming a Domme?” he asked, in an effort to take his mind off his growing cock.
“My brother and I own Fingertip Fantasies, as you know. I didn’t know about that part of Steele Publications until after I’d joined the firm. I knew my brother was a Dom, but I had no idea he and his friend Straith had set up this business. Anyway, when I found out about it, I wanted to travel and see it. So I did. One night I watched a Domme and her sub. It turned me on, and I sat and talked with her afterward.”
Her voice was light with amusement, and he rather enjoyed the easygoing part of her. “She was using him as a footstool while we talked, her feet resting on his back. She told me the most important part of a Dom/sub relationship was trust, and that the feelings, both physical and mental, could be much more intense than a vanilla relationship. She let me try my hand at topping her sub, all the while giving me instructions, telling me how to do things, how to find out what buttons to push on a sub, how to read their reactions.”
“Sounds like an interesting woman.” Oliver began to stretch the dough on a pizza sheet. “Are you still in touch with her?”
“Yes, I am. She lives in Atlanta. The three of us spent the entire week together that time. She taught me everything I know about topping. You could say she made me the Domme I am today.”
Oliver moved on to sauce and cheese. Before Francesca had gone to the shower, they’d discussed the pizza, and had both decided it was a “works” kind of night. He had pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms and various other veggies to put on the pie.
“But you’ve never found a sub of your own. Why is that?”
She shrugged in response. “I’m only in my thirties. It’s not as if I’m ‘on the shelf,’ as they would say in olden days. I might find someone who I could see spending the rest of my life with. He’d have to be the right sub, though.”
“Or Dom,” Oliver said as he sprinkled more cheese on the other toppings. He hoped he hadn’t overdone it. This pizza would require a knife and fork instead of fingers.
“You keep thinking I’m a sub, just because of this weekend. This is a one-time thing, Mr. Oliver.”
He slid the pizza into the oven. “You know what I think?”
“Tell me.”
He looked over to where she sat, so wonderfully naked, her face open and expressive.
“I think the teacher Domme taught you to read subs, but she didn’t really teach you how to read yourself. I think you see it as black and white. You’re either a Domme, or a sub. Why can’t you be both? Why can’t you be a Domme with some people, and a sub with others?”
She laughed. “They just can’t. I’ve never believed in switches.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t make a cat a dog,” she said with force. “It’s either one thing, or another, but it’s not both.”
Oliver set the timer, then leaned his elbows on the counter. “I’m not talking about animals, I’m talking about people. There are some people who have more than one talent, and there are subs who can be Doms, and vice-versa.”
She made a buzzing noise as on a game show when someone guesses wrong. “They’re lying to themselves. Have you ever allowed someone to top you?”
“Yes.” His answer shocked her, and that made him smile. “One time I allowed a beautiful Dominatrix in London to take me over her knee. She gave me a good walloping. But it didn’t quite take me into subspace, that place I’ve heard so many subs talk about. So we tried it one more time. I really wanted to know what it felt like, I was curious. So we tried some cock and ball torture. Not for me. No sub space. Not even close.”
He wiped the counter with a rag, and then looked at her when she didn’t respond. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief, as if he’d just looked directly into her soul. “You’ve been there, with me, today.”
“No, not tod…no.”
He studied her intently. She wasn’t lying, it hadn’t been today, or the first night, he was sure, since that had been just fucking. “That night in your office, you were in sub space, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“We’re going to have to break you of your habit of lying.” He advanced toward her, happy to see she didn’t try to get off her perch. She stayed right where she was supposed to be. “Tell me.”
Oliver could see she was trying to decide whether or not to tell him the truth. Finally, she sighed. “I might have been there, that night in my office. And today, I felt like…I was frustrated today, because I haven’t had an orgasm in so long, but…I liked it. A lot. Too much.”
“No, I don’t. I have one favorite flavor of ice cream, chocolate, and just because I enjoy a bowl of vanilla every once in a while it doesn’t mean that’s my favorite. It’s the same way here. I didn’t think I would enjoy submitting to you, but I do. But it’s just this one time. You need to remember that. The contract was for this weekend only. On Monday, I go back to being Mistress C.”
“When I was a wee lad, my mum told me that lying to yourself is worse than lying to others. Think about that, while you try to deny what you’re feeling.”
“Quit trying to change me,” she said. She was angry, he could tell, but not enough to lash out. Not yet, anyway.
“I’m not trying to change you. I’d love to watch Mistress C in action. It would be enjoyable. But there’s no reason why Mistress C can’t morph into missy when she’s here in the apartment. I’m not thinking split personality, I’m thinking two halves make a whole. Tell me, Francesca, why haven’t you found a partner, male or female, to spend your life with?”
“Why haven’t you?” She glared at him.
“I have,” he replied. “She’s sitting right in front of me, denying part of herself. When she discovers her true self, she’ll see that she and I belong together. It’s not often a sub goes into sub-space on their second outing with their Dom.”
This time she pushed off her stool, sending it clattering to the floor. “You’re not my Dom, and I’m not your sub. This is a fun weekend only. If you continue in this course, I’ll tear up the contract and go home. Understood?”
The anger came off her in waves, and he knew he couldn’t let it stand. She was trying to top him.
“Upstairs, now. In the corner.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to say no. Instead, she wheeled around and fairly ran from the room. Her reaction told him he needed to change his plans for the weekend; good thing he was a flexible person. The first thing he needed to do was call downstairs and reserve one of the rooms for tomorrow evening.
My Kingdom for a Corner Page 5