by Cynthia Dane
“How does anyone meet Ms. Graham in this world?” Monica didn’t like the undertone to Henry’s voice. It was similar to the way he spoke to her in the bedroom, but tinged in anger. Was this the Henry who did business? “We met at her Château, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Of course.”
Tension covered the table. Monica glanced at Gwen, who averted her eyes and pretended to be enthralled with the show wrapping up on stage. What do these two know? Something that Monica didn’t know? It made sense, when she considered the fact that she had only met Henry a few times. A few times, and yet it feels like we’ve been together an eternity already. There was something dangerous about that thought.
Things didn’t change until another couple arrived. Then another. Men and women from the business world coming together on a Tuesday night, of all nights, simply to enjoy drinks and watch people be tied up and talked down to on a stage. Not that many people were watching the shows once they connected with others and made bawdy jokes over drinks. Eventually Monica had to get up from the table and join the new party at a bigger table in another corner. She recognized some of them from work and from her old life with Jackson. None of them were interested in her.
Because she knew their sexual secrets.
Because she knew who owed who money.
Because she heard them make judgments while at her place of business. Or through her girls who would feed her information so Monica could use it to her own advantage. “Oh, Mr. So-And-So, you should really speak to Mr. What’s-His-Name. I think you two would get along really well.” It was in Monica’s best interest to have only good words leave her Château. If other rich denizens heard that good deals – and good times – were made in her home, then more of them would show up.
If they heard that someone was drunk enough to make a bad decision… somehow that would give her a bad reflection in the mirror.
Monica was content to sit next to Henry, his arm around her and nobody asking why. They pity him. None of the people at the large table would say so, but they probably thought Henry was being taken in by Jackson Lyle’s leftovers. They certainly spent a good amount of time glimpsing at them and then pretending to brush something off their shoulders or be taken in by their empty glasses. Unfortunately for them, I can look right through that.
Part of it bothered Monica simply because she didn’t need reminders that she was a pariah around these parts. No, people didn’t hate her. They probably felt sorry for her, maybe even admired her for her business, but they all feared and pitied her because of her relation to Jackson. Lots of these people had to deal with him in their everyday dealings. If he heard on the “grapevine”… Monica didn’t want to think about it. By now he knew that she was seeing Henry Warren. What he thought of that? A part of her didn’t care, but another was afraid.
Afraid of what? She had no idea.
“Excuse me, Masters and Mistresses.” A woman dressed in a black skintight suit stepped to the end of the table, where she distributed a couple of fliers advertising an upcoming event. “I would like to remind everyone that our annual auction is coming up in a few weeks. Thank you.” She bowed and stepped back before turning to head to the next table.
James picked up the nearest flier and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think, my dear?” he asked Gwen, handing her the flier. “Should I auction you off to the highest bidder? Maybe I’ll win and a woman will buy you for a night.”
Gwen took the flier and folded it in half, lips pursed. “I’m not for sale, my dear. But we should come that night to watch.”
The rest of the table laughed, including Henry, who glanced at another flier before sliding it to someone else to look at. Monica caught sight of it. “Annual Submissive Auction.” She had heard of this. Every year The Dark Hour put on an event like this, in which a sub auctioned him or herself to the audience. The happier the audience was, the more money they gave the sub and their Dom. It was always one of the biggest nights of the year. Unless I have a lot of appointments, we might as well close the Château that night and come ourselves. Hm, maybe Monica should try to convince one of her girls to auction herself and then split the profits…
Another drink was placed before her, and that was the end of those thoughts.
If Monica thought that she was going to get to spend an intimate date with Henry, then she was sorely wrong. Most of the evening was spent entertaining these other people she barely knew and only had a passing interest in. Sometimes she gazed at the stage, hoping for something exciting to happen, but Tuesday nights were slow in that aspect, even when a million people showed up for fun.
Some people talked to her. Mostly those asking about her business out of politeness. A few asked about her relation to Henry. What do I say? Monica was practical and not about to say that he was her new Dom. Yet calling him her “boyfriend” felt juvenile, especially in their type of relationship. “We’re dating,” was all she said. Two people left it at that, while another glanced between her and Henry before looking away with a snort.
People could be so rude.
As the evening wound down, Monica imbibed more alcohol. She wasn’t kidding when she said liquor made her giddy. While there wasn’t much for her to talk about with these people, she wouldn’t say she was bored. Especially when she lost most of her inhibitions and draped herself across Henry’s shoulders, reveling in the way people looked at them – like they had room to talk. Most of them had men and women hanging all over them as well.
“You should wrap things up so we can get out of here,” she said into his ear, her hand snaking around his thigh. “I wanna make out in the back of your car.”
They had taken a Town Car there, driven by one of Henry’s chauffeurs. Monica wasn’t above rolling up the partition and giving her Dom whatever he wanted in the backseat. Making out, nipple play, a hand or blowjob… there were some crazy times bending over the seat while the driver turned up the music to save his own sanity.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you got giddy.” Henry rubbed his hand on top of her knee. “Give it another twenty minutes. We’ll wrap things up here and do whatever you want in the car.”
Twenty minutes was too long. The tingles of arousal were filling her with impatience. I’ll show him to make me wait again. First drawing out her pleasure that morning, and now this? Forget that! Monica was full of booze and ready to party.
While Henry resumed his conversation with another man across the table, Monica used the cover of darkness to slip her hand between his legs and brush against his crotch.
Henry froze up, but did not interrupt his conversation. Monica smiled into the back of her other hand. Too easy.
His zipper came down with little resistance. Monica rubbed her fingers against the silk of his boxers and bit her bottom lip at the scandal of what she was doing.
Only while intoxicated would she think taking her Dom’s cock into her hand beneath a table felt indecent. Like she was a teenager. A freshman in college getting freaky with her frat boyfriend at a social meant for the brainy elite. Maybe that really happened. Whether it did or not, it wasn’t as good as now when she wrapped her hand around Henry’s cock and drew it out of his pants.
It was as if she did nothing, if one went by the expression on his face. He was still laughing at one of James’s jokes and reassuring Gwen that she was a beautiful woman who could model for any designer in the world, if that was her pursuit. The other people were either wrapped up in their own conversations or too far away to ever notice what went on beneath the table. Always good to have a nice, public thrill. Alcohol made that more fun for Monica.
She worked her hand up and down his shaft, her fingers rounding his head until he stiffened in her touch. The man had driven himself into her over and over only a few hours ago, and now he was getting hard again from this? Monica had to contain a grin of self-indulgence. Henry was thick in her grip, and the thought of him taking her like he did that morning
made those tingles in her body flow like a strong river, the only dam in its way the public around them. Nevertheless, Monica wasted no time tightening her grip and moving her hand as quickly as she dared without calling attention to her actions.
Her hand was wet. When she glanced down she saw the gleam of precum on the tip of Henry’s cock. And yet he sat there so coolly, talking about dividends and how they related to a tasteless joke about strippers. The only time he showed any emotion was when James made yet another quip and incited his tablemate to laugh.
Oh, he was good. If Monica was the queen of poker faces, then Henry Warren was the god. Perhaps there were other things he could teach her outside of the bedroom.
Not today, however.
Monica rubbed her palm against the head of his cock. Let’s take this as far as I can. She would do it. She would make Henry come right there in front of everyone. What was going through his head right now? The sheer amount of power he held in front of these people? Who else could possibly have this kind of service from their sub? All the other subs at the table had both hands above the surface, holding drinks, stroking shoulders, and twiddling thumbs as they waited for something to happen. Something’s happening beneath this table. If Monica were feeling really frisky she would lean in and blow into Henry’s ear. That would make him come.
To her disappointment, Henry put his hand around her wrist and yanked her hand away as his cock stiffened to its hardest point yet. Darn. Monica retracted while Henry covertly buttoned up. She still had her wet hand, and she rubbed it against her bare thigh.
In the middle of a conversation, Henry cleared his throat and sat up straight in his seat. “Excuse me.” He buttoned up his jacket, probably in order to cover up his erection when he went to stand. “Waitress seems to have forgotten our next round of drinks. Monica?” He looked at her.
She waited a few seconds before standing as well, her arm going around his as he escorted her away from the table – and nowhere near the main bar.
Henry knocked on a VIP room door, and when there was no response, he opened it and pulled Monica in after him.
“Cute,” he said, pushing her against the nearest wall and barricading her with both arms. Monica shrank in front of him, keeping a grin to herself. “And what do you think you were doing back there, hm?”
His breath was delightfully hot against her cheek, and he was so close, so intruding that Monica felt herself become weak between the legs. “Call it a mild attempt at reading your mind. Are you telling me that you didn’t want that… sir?”
“In front of all those people?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Warren, we’re in a sex club.”
“And I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
She gripped his jacket, attempting to pull him down to her level for a kiss. Instead, Henry grabbed both of her arms and held them above her head, pinning her wrists to the wall as his breath increased in intensity against her skin. “I should punish you for being so out of line.”
Yes, you should. Monica pushed against the wall, her breasts straining against her dress again. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
Monica ran her tongue against both lips. “Punish me, sir.”
“I should make you get down on your knees and suck my cock. Finish the job you started out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, don’t call me sir.” Henry’s fingers tightened around her wrists. “Call me Master.”
“Yes, Master.”
Such a satisfying word to say. Monica hadn’t called a man her Master with such conviction since… Now Henry glared at her, his eyes hungry with desire. Desire to punish her, and desire to have her. Now this was the kind of thing Monica was hoping to have tonight.
“Let me suck your cock, Master.”
“As charming as it is to hear you say that, I don’t think so.”
Monica bowed her head. What had she done to displease him? If she had learned anything from her years as a sub, it was that being denied things like that meant her Dom was angry with her. Did I really go out of line when I did that to him? Wouldn’t he have brushed her off if he didn’t want it? He knew the safe word. How hard was it to work the word blossom into conversation? She even wore a flower-patterned dress. I’m so stupid.
Henry must have caught the disappointed look on her face, for he said, “I want to hear you beg for it. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you right here.”
Relief swept through Monica, and finally she felt that dam let up in her body, releasing a new wave of arousal. Now that she could fully express it, she did so, rotating her hips in his direction and lifting her chin toward his face. His eyes went straight to her chest.
“Fuck me, please.”
“Do better.”
Monica sucked in her breath. “Fuck me, Master.”
“And why should I do that? What have you done to deserve that sort of reward?”
What haven’t I done? “Everything you’ve wanted.”
Henry kissed her, quickly, as if the man couldn’t control himself. Go ahead. Lose control. What Monica would give to feel Henry completely go alpha on her! “You haven’t given me everything I want yet, Monica.”
“What do you want, Master? I’ll give it to you right now.” She tried to free her hands, but Henry was too strong. Boo hoo.
“I want you,” he began, staring deep into her eyes, “to beg for whatever I give you.”
She could do that.
“Yes, yes, take me right here!” Monica felt like a loose woman on the verge of losing the last of her morals. Henry was on her, kissing whatever he came into contact with, his arms falling to touch her breasts and to lift her hips around his waist. Monica slid down the wall but kept her balance by wrapping her arms completely around him. When he discovered that she wore no underwear that night, she could only smile and say, “My Master didn’t tell me to put all my clothes back on earlier.”
“You sly vixen.” Henry held her up with one hand and undid his zipper with the other. “Look at what you do to me. I’m supposed to be a collected man.”
It didn’t take long for his cock to pierce her where it mattered most. By then he had given in to his base desires, growling into Monica’s ear and squeezing her flesh as he drove himself right into her. She cried out, nails digging into his suit. Sure, she had been aroused for a good twenty or so minutes, but her body hadn’t been prepared for this kind of quick and rough sex. Pain seared through her as Henry forced himself deeper, his teeth in her shoulder and his determination winning out over how dry she still was. Not for long. The sheer rawness of his actions sent Monica to a different plane of existence in that dark abode.
This man wanted her so badly that he pulled her into this room to fuck her. Didn’t matter if she was ready. When Monica threw down her gauntlet back at the table, she had signed herself up for whatever punishment he felt like dishing out.
Taking her with a side of pain felt pretty appropriate.
“Henry!” Monica clung to him, her head bumping against the wall as he thrust up into her. “Yes! Fuck me! Please!”
It hurt, but not for long. Given the intensity of the situation she quickly acclimated, her arousal flushing her skin in time to Henry’s thrusts. The next time he completely pulled out and slammed into her again, he met almost no resistance.
Monica never forgot what he asked of her.
“Punish me, please!” Somewhere in the frenzy Henry found the ability to smack the side of her ass as he took her against the wall. Monica’s legs dangled around his waist, one shoe falling off and clattering to the floor. The front of her dress was pulled apart, her breasts hanging out for Henry to indulge in whenever it pleased him – which was every single second he wasn’t kissing her lips or leaving a bruise on her throat. This primal showcase of his affections had Monica riveted to the point she squeezed his torso and sang her pleasure into his ear.
/> “Shit!” Henry pinned her to the wall again, his cock buried deep within her and his cologne overpowering the last of her senses. This was it. This was what it felt like to be caught by the man who pursued her.
And claimed by him, which happened a mere moment after Monica began to climax, her voice echoing in the VIP room.
His grunts of release were better than any music playing in the main room of The Dark Hour. Monica squeezed her eyes shut so she could concentrate on the warmth filling her, connecting her to the man so enthralled with her that he couldn’t wait until they got home.
“Thank hell,” he muttered, staying still within her and catching his breath. Monica opened her eyes, leaning against him, kissing the underside of his chin as he tipped his head back. “You’re something else.”
Henry released her, and the first thing Monica noticed was that she missed the way he had held her against the wall. Now, watching him zip up and straighten out his clothes, Monica was acutely aware of his seed spilling from her for the second time that day.