The red light changed to green, and I crossed Central Park West, and went up a block to get past the low red stone wall that only permitted access at certain points, decided long ago. Just like life, I thought. Access all areas. The secret gig. Was he going to think I’d planned it all, some career progression? Or would he see all these events as what they were, a group of happy accidents? Well, happy for me. Discreet. We were supposed to be discreet. If no one knew for certain, didn’t that count? But there was Alice. And the boyfriend, Sean. And the manager. And the limo driver. What was amazing to think about were all the people who were witnesses to any liaison. Oh god, what a headline. “Fetish nights whip up good reviews.” Any publicity, right? But we were going to have to be careful. Especially over there, land of odd libel laws. Any rumor could snowball. And no one could be trusted. Look what happened to Kate Moss, photographed in a studio, doing coke, by a “friend.”
I walked by the bridle path that circled the reservoir, strolled past the sweaty, driven joggers, the older couples and what seemed like an endless supply of strollers and anxious looking mothers, some accompanied by their nanny, in case it got all too much. It’s good to have back up, I thought. And then I remembered I hadn’t seen Alice. She had been there for me, a million times. I felt a bit guilty, and pulled out my phone.
And there was the flashing light. Fuck. I’d had my headphones plugged in; I hadn’t heard anything over the traffic. My heart was beating wildly and my fingertips felt numb. Shit. I sank down on an empty bench, and closed my eyes. “It’s all ok,” I said out loud. No, not now. Not yet. Ignorance, bliss. I postponed finding out whether it was good or bad news by sending a text to Alice.
Hope yr feeling better. Lets talk.
It wasn’t much, but it was a little flag of truce. She’d bounce back, she always did. I wondered idly who the next Sean would be, or if she’d go back to him. He was connected, and she had a heightened sense of self-preservation.
Now. My stomach was churning, the coffee burning through me now. Voice mail first. Yoga. Fuck, it was like AA for yoga. Constant reminders and check-ins. Well, that’s what I had wanted. Before. Delete. Next message. Dave.
“Lil. Ok. Yes. All go. Of course he liked it. Why wouldn’t he be happy to have you come over? Said you were very professional. Apologized for the outburst before. Come by the office later in the week to pick up itinerary, chat with the Guardian newspaper and NME lined up, and brief interview with some new band from Australia that are supposed to be hot, who are playing next Friday. Ciao.”
Well. It didn’t look like I’d have a lot of time for fun and games or reminiscing. Maybe that was best. Interesting the damage control Mr. Control had done. Very nice. A chess player, thinking several moves ahead. But that was the story for them. What about how he felt about us? Was the relationship going to be professional or personal, one or the other? The idea of having to choose at some point between them…which would it be? If you had to choose. Call yourself an independent woman. Shit. There was my answer. Maybe.
And all this while, I knew that I had a text. At least one. But it could just be Alice. It could be anyone else I knew. I wiped my hands on my jeans, and unzipped my jacket. I was heating up. I slid the little track ball over to the symbol. It took forever to get there, and I pressed down. Yes there was a message from Alice. And from him. Was it a request…for…company? Or a rating on the article, and the new need to keep it strictly professional? I pressed the link for Alice’s message first.
Soz doll, that wz bad. All fixed, out 2nite, tlk laterz.
Oh, so Alice was all better. Great. As I knew she would be.
Now the serious stuff. I’d kept him as “unreal.” I thought there was no point in leaving a crumb trail directly to his name. And “Master” seemed a bit much. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t have me call him that if it came to it, it seemed a bit tacky. Yeah, like you’d complain, I thought. He’s probably about to tell you the game’s over, anyway. With a sense of fatalism, I pressed the button.
Like the article. You write very well, but you knew that. Hero? Look up to me tonight. BTW, discreet London plans for you. My apartment 7.
The wave of heat that rushed over me as the image he had planted in my mind of standing over me with a whip came to me. My legs were shaking. The phone vibrated in my hand and I nearly dropped it, I was so on edge. It was him again.
Text me yes. Now.
I had a purpose. It was so much easier like this. I jumped to obey.
Yes.
An answer came back almost immediately.
My fingers, in you. Now. Are they wet?
Whoa. Ok. What to answer? The truth, that’s right, sticking to the truth these days.
Now they are.
Again, the answer back in a flash. Was it experience, or eagerness?
Not like they will be.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Holy fucking hell. My body was vibrating with want, like a pulse going through me. My phone went off again.
Hard…thinking about it.
The image of him, silken and ready, jumped into my mind. I needed to let him know. Everything.
Hard to obey when you tease me like that.
Another lightning reply.
Those who break rules get punished. Understand me?
Oh. Fuck. It was going to happen then. I closed my eyes for a moment, overcome, heart racing.
I do now.
And in a flash, he wrote his answer.
Steep learning curve. Tonight.
I put the phone away and got up and began walking. Anything to move this huge rush of energy around. Six hours, and he’d teach me something I said I wanted to learn.
His beautiful hands on me, again. And he’d make me understand.
Oh yeah.
Chapter 17
I checked my phone again. 6:50pm. The hour was finally here, and I was standing outside his building, looking up, trying not to look too conspicuous. I walked up the block again, and back, not wanting to be too early, nervous as hell. Too scared to admit I wanted it, badly. I just felt numb with anticipation. It had been the longest afternoon ever.
I finished my latest march up and down the block, and checked the time on my phone again. 6:55pm. I couldn’t wait any longer. I went in; the handyman who was loitering this time wasn’t the same person who was there the morning I left. I couldn’t really remember who was there the first time I came in, though. I walked up to the small buzzer panel. I thought maybe the heels and short leather skirt might give it away, that I wasn’t there for a chat, but his face was impassive as I walked past him and through the door which now opened. “The elevator’s straight ahead,” he said. I thanked him, while wondering if all the rumors were true about the frequency with which Tristan changed bed partners, wouldn’t somebody like him know it all? Somebody ought to ask them, I thought. Except I didn’t really want to find out.
I stood in the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. I wasn’t scared like I had been the first time, but I was still on edge. What would he make me do? What if I didn’t like it, and it was too much?
What if I liked it too much?
The little lights showed 5, then 5 and 6, then 6, then 7. The elevator slowed down, and came to an old fashioned stop, jerky and slow. The door seemed to creak open slowly. I resisted the urge to kick it. The door was closed, and I rang the bell, holding the elevator door open with my hand, rubber and metal against my fingers.
Then the door opened, and there he was. Dark circles under his eyes, regarding me with a steady stare. A brief smile played on his full lips, and I looked away, suddenly embarrassed at everything it implied.
“Come in.” His voice was brisk. He turned suddenly, and I followed him in. He shut the door, and flipped two of the locks, loudly. The metallic clang echoed in the room. My escape route had been blocked.
He walked to the middle of the living room and gestured to me to follow him.
“Let me take your jacket.” He was suddenly
polite, old fashioned. But his manner was still cold and distant. He expertly helped me remove my leather jacket, and he hung it up in the closet, neatly. He turned back and looked me up and down, taking in the soft white t-shirt, slightly see through, revealing a cream balconnet bra underneath. The short black leather skirt. Stockings. High heels. I figured rock and roll with a French edge was what you wore to these sorts of things. Judging by the look on his face, I’d done all right. I ventured a little smile.
“You like?”
“Very nice. You look good in leather.”
He was wearing a pair of ripped jeans, faded, torn across the knees and where his leg met his hips. The gap drew your eyes in, made you try to see what was hidden underneath, a mere tantalizing shadow away. His long torso was covered in a vintage Hawaiian print shirt, unbuttoned halfway, showing an expanse of smooth chest. A white belt. He looked the picture of dissolute fashion, put together, but looking effortless. Sexy, yet edgy.
“I like the shirt.” The next part came out in a whisper, I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. “And the rips.”
He laughed. And just kept staring at me. He reached me in one long motion and ran his hand down my back, and lower, down my legs, slowly. I closed my eyes.
“Nice.”
Suddenly his hand dipped below my skirt, and reached in between my legs, brushing the skin at the top of my stockings. I could feel top of his wrist brush against my panties, already wet, then move away. I flushed and looked up at him, his face right above me, controlling. He smiled, like he had discovered a secret, then spun me around so I was pressed up against him from behind. He was already getting hard; I could feel him as he pulled me tight into his hips.
His deep voice murmured in my ear. “When you’re here, like this, you’re mine to play with. Do you understand? Just nod, don’t speak.”
I moved my head against him. I could feel his hair against my cheek, the smell of him so close to me. I leaned my head back on his shoulder and he licked the side of my mouth, wetly, and pulled away again. I let out a soft moan, wanting more.
His lips moved around my ear, his tongue darting in and out. “Shh, don’t talk.” His mouth moved down my neck, and suddenly his hands were covering my breasts, pinching my nipples, hard. I couldn’t help the gasp that came out.
“Quiet.” His voice was a low command.
I nodded. He pushed me away from him, and the cool air hit my back, which had been so warm pressed against him just seconds before. The contrast was painful. Was he angry?
Then his arms were around me again and his hands ran down my stomach, and made slow, steady circles there. He grabbed my hips and swayed with me, in a slow dance, a delicious friction between his erection and my backside, so close. He moved me against him, and I let myself go with his rhythm. The heat was pooling in my belly. The ache that had been slowly building was now a painful kind of contraction, as though all my muscles were at breaking point. He slowed down and ran his hands up my body, peeling off my t-shirt over my head. He threw it somewhere, and glided his hands down my back, tracing my spine downwards. The sensation was nearly ticklish, I had goosebumps all over my body. I wanted his hands everywhere. As if he’d read my mind, he placed his palms over my breasts.
“I like this.” His fingers ran along the top of the lace, with an unbelievable delicacy, gently pressing against the flesh bursting out over the top, avoiding my nipples, which were painfully hard. His hand brushed against one, almost by accident, then twice, then dipped below the fabric and flicked it with one neat fingernail, sending a wave of heat down my body. I bit my tongue, but a groan came out.
“You’re shy about speaking out, so you’re going to be quiet until I tell you that you can speak. Or make any noises. At all.” He turned me around again, and sank down, taking a nipple into his mouth, licking at me through the fabric. I clenched my fists and dug my nails into the skin with the effort it was taking not to moan. I shut my eyes, tight. Then his teeth were tugging at me, pulling, running over the other nipple, biting at the soft underside. I was dizzy from the mix of sensation, his commands, his body so close to mine. Knowing that he was hard. Not knowing what he was going to do.
He straightened up and stood there for a moment, thoughtful. Then his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down.
“I think you need to be on your knees, little girl.” His voice a dark threat.
I sank down to my knees, my leather skirt riding up, showing plainly the tops of my stockings. I was trembling. I looked up.
His eyes looked nearly black, and his smile seemed more ominous now. I was losing it.
“Oh, you look good like that. Look straight ahead. That’s right, look at my body. What you want. What you’re here for.”
I was nearly eye level with his crotch and the long rip in the denim. I could see clearly the dark blue boxer briefs peeking through the hole, his thigh, covered in a fine pattern of hair, the bulge that was his erection.
He unbuckled his belt, slowly. Then his long fingers looped around the buckle and freed the whole length of it out of the jeans, in one fluid gesture. The belt made a slapping noise as it whipped through the fabric. The movement was arrested in mid-air, then he snapped the belt back down against his leg at speed, the sound loud and echoing in the silence. His eyes shut for a moment and he gripped the leather in his hand, but did nothing else.
“Unbutton my jeans.” His voice was a dark cipher now. A tone I’d never heard.
My hands moved to touch him, and I stroked the silken, burning hot skin, before I reached the buttons. I couldn’t help it. He slapped my hand, which made me hit his cock. Hard. He hissed.
“No little girl. Do as you’re told.”
I moved up to the first button, then the second and third and fourth. His jeans were now hanging open.
“Pull them down.”
I held on to the belt loops, careful not to touch him. His soft jeans slid down over his hips, down his legs and fell to the floor. His thighs were strong as he kicked them off and away. He looked enormous in front of me. Tall. Commanding. I watched, fascinated, as he shoved his hand down his briefs and straightened himself out.
“I don’t think I’ll let you touch me now. In fact, I think you can just watch. Put your arms behind you. Don’t move otherwise.”
He walked behind me and pushed me forward, my ass up in the air. I heard the swish of the belt through the air before the stinging pain of the leather against the tops of my thighs cut through my thoughts. A cry escaped me, and brought me another hard blow, followed by three more, exactly placed. I waited for the next, but instead Tristan stood behind me, his long leg thrust between mine, pushing against my sex, and swiftly wrapped the belt around my wrists several times, tight. It was warm from his hand. He latched the buckle and pulled it tighter, the leather digging into my skin. My heart was racing. Then he moved away, and pushed me back until I was sitting on my heels.
Standing directly in front of me again, he smiled, that enigmatic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which were darker than before. Then he walked away. His thighs flexed with each step, his firm ass demanding to be touched, moving under the fine fabric of the briefs. As I watched him, he lowered his shirt over his broad shoulders, revealing the pale, creamy skin of his back, smooth and full. He then dropped his shirt on the floor, all without turning around. He knew he had my full attention, and his little striptease, his super consciousness of his body and the power it contained was making me impossibly wet. He was taunting me with his sexuality. I wanted to move, uncramp my legs, ease the burning, but I didn’t dare. I felt like he’d memorized my position.
He turned and walked back towards me. “Like what you see? See if you like this.” And he came up to my face, and dipped one of his large hands inside his briefs, squeezing his balls, the shape of his knuckles and his cock pushing through the thin fabric. I looked up to his face. He was staring at me. “Don’t look away now. I want you to watch me. I know you like it.”
And h
e slowly dragged his hand up his length, then his hands were visible again, He hooked his thumbs around the elastic top of his briefs and began pulling them down, slowly. Finally, his cock sprung free, huge, hard, glistening at the top. He continued pulling them down his long, finely muscled legs, and nimbly stepped out of them, tossing them across the room. And he stood in front of me, his thighs strong, solid, his knees sculptured like his calves, elegant yet insistently male. Then he began stroking himself, slowly, repeating the motion over and over, an arm’s length away from me. I wriggled. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to touch him so badly, I could taste it. I needed pressure between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together. My foot twisted, and one of my shoes fell off. He noticed, and he glared at me. And I sat there, chastened.
He stopped and walked behind me, and removed the other shoe from my foot. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he had walked away. “That’s why I needed to restrain you. You have no control.” I hung my head, and stared at my thighs. Was this it? I heard his footsteps approaching over the heartbeat in my ears. There he was, in front of me again. He tapped me under the chin, and raised my face to look at him. His eyes were searching.
After a long moment, he shook his head, as though he had decided on something.
“You’re doing very well though. Considering. Maybe I’ll give you a treat.” He resumed touching himself, his cock, still full, seemed to swell more under his touch. I watched as his fingers circled his thick erection and pulled. I looked up at his face, and he gestured with a look that I should keep my eyes on what he was doing. His other hand gripped his balls then traced a pattern around his hipbone. I was mesmerized. Just watching him lose control was going to be more than enough to push me over the edge.
Access All Areas Page 15