by Andra Lake
“I love this,” he said, looking at the remote appreciatively. Then his eyes hardened. “Bend over the bar stool.”
I obeyed immediately, hoping that pleasing him would help my case. As much as I struggled against it, the feeling inside me was growing, fueled by the knowledge that I had no control over my own body.
Dallon pulled my skirt over my waist. “I’m going to spank you until you come.”
Shit. Hearing his words, my insides clenched around the vibrating object, sending delicious waves of pleasure through me. As the first slap came, my body jerked forward on the stool, rubbing my swollen pubic mound against its surface.
“Please,” I whispered, no longer sure if I was begging him to stop or to help me find release.
“You like this, don’t you?” he chuckled. “You always try to resist, but you feel the best when you give yourself to me. My greatest joy will be the day you admit it.”
The second slap came and I was mumbling almost incoherently, agreeing with him, saying whatever he wanted in order to make the feeling continue.
His hand stilled. “Ask me to spank you.”
My cheeks heated at the idea. I grasped the second bar stool for support, my legs shaking violently beneath me.
“Beg me,” he said in a low voice.
Oh, the humiliation. The burning between my legs only increased. “Please, sir,” I heard myself saying. “Please spank me.”
Dallon sighed almost reverently. “Oh, Amy.”
And then the third slap came, and I unraveled, clutching the stool tightly as the orgasm ripped through me. I was panting, still grasping the stool, when Dallon gently scooped me up and into his arms, carried me into his bedroom. There, he laid me on the bed, my legs still weak and tingling. As he looked down at my exhausted body, his gaze softened.
“I’m not going to fuck you because we have a long day tomorrow,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I responded sarcastically.
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I checked my tone.
“Thank you, Sir.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Good girl. I’ll work on the dishes while you rest for a bit. Then we’ll get ready for bed.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The next morning, I awoke in a haze, stretched my arm out to find Dallon’s side of the bed empty. Groaning with disappointment, I was about to go looking for him when my iPhone beeped. I rolled over and read the text message from Jackson.
How’s life with your sugar daddy?
I rolled my eyes and texted back.
Are you trying to bug me or looking to be titillated?
He responded “both”, and I laughed before sending another message.
Still getting used to it. This place is amazing… Come over sometime and see for yourself.
I found Dallon on his phone in the study. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, red tie and red pocket square—a combination that somehow made him look dangerous—sitting in his leather chair and rotating it slowly from side to side. When he saw me, he stopped, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” I told him, turning to leave.
He put up a hand to stop me but didn’t say anything, obviously still listening to his call. I halted and he smirked, pointed at the ground in front of him.
My mouth dropped open. He couldn’t be serious. He wanted me to do that now? While he was on a conference call?
As I continued to stand there, nervously fingering the strings of my sleeping shorts, his eyes narrowed, his expression turning from mischievous to angry. He raised an eyebrow, as if daring me to question his meaning.
I’d accepted his challenge. I couldn’t let him win.
I swallowed and took a step into the room, reassured by his resulting grin. As I neared him, he opened his legs so I could step between them. I put my hands on his legs as I sank to my knees, trying not to look as nervous as I’d felt. This was only my second time and I had no idea what I was doing.
Dallon unzipped his fly and pulled himself out, running his hand up and down as he looked back into my eyes. I could hear someone talking on the line and prayed that he had his phone on mute. I was too afraid to ask.
Grasping his thighs, I pulled him to me, the chair rolling forward. Then I took him in one hand and licked his length slowly, base to tip, my eyes on his the entire time. I watched as his expression darkened and he inhaled through his teeth. The conversation continued and Dallon’s mouth quirked up.
My smile mimicked his, and just before I took him in my mouth, he gently took my hand from his thigh and wrapped it around the base of his shaft, indicating that I should use it as well. I did as he instructed, pumping up and down hard, wrapping my lips around him tightly. His hand moved to my hair, grasping tightly, and I wondered if he was trying to hold back, to prevent himself from uttering something he shouldn’t. He tilted his head back and at the same time, pushed his chair forward so that I was forced to retreat under his desk.
In that moment, I wanted a victory over Dallon King.
I sat back, looking up at him coyly and licking his length slowly, playing with him like I might a Popsicle. His eyes hardened as he watched, his knuckles white around his phone. And then I knew for certain his phone wasn’t on mute.
We were playing a very dangerous game.
I stood, still smiling, and pulled down my shorts. His eyes widened. Before he could move, I was on his lap, one hand on his shoulder and the other trying to guide him inside of me. His other hand shot out, grasped my hip and squeezed. I inhaled hard. His teeth were clenched, that muscle in his cheek twitching.
We were frozen eye to eye, gazes fierce, as someone rambled on about mining with a tin voice. Then Dallon hit end on his phone, dropped it over his shoulder.
“Fuck it.”
He stood and I slid off him, stepping back when I realized his expression was angry.
“You tried to take control,” he said in a low voice.
I bit my lip, unable to deny it. Instead, I tried to distract him. “Why are you wearing a suit on a Saturday morning?”
His expression remained the same. “I had an early morning conference call. I was on camera.”
The color drained out of my face. “Not the one you were just on?”
Now he smiled. “No, Amy, that was my second call of the morning.”
I sighed visibly, feeling silly for thinking so, and peeked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Face my desk.”
I turned around slowly, holding my breath.
“Pull down your shorts and bend over, placing your forearms on its surface.”
I did as he asked, memories of the first night we met resurfacing. I’d been nervous because I didn’t know what to expect and wanted to please him. Now I still found myself wanting to please him, but for a completely different reason.
“I’m going to punish you,” he began and involuntarily, a throb began between my legs. “You agreed to relinquish control to me for one entire day, yet you failed with your first test of the morning.”
I wanted to argue and remind him how well I’d done the night before, but I didn’t dare. There was nothing to gain from angering him further.
“I’m going to spank you, but it’s for punishment, so it will be a lot harder than I’ve spanked you in the past.” He waited a moment before he continued, his hands gently caressing my butt cheeks, warming them. “I’m going to spank you ten times, and I want you to count.”
The first slap caught me by surprise and I cried out, immediately moving out of position.
Dallon sighed. “Now I’m afraid we will have to start over. Get back into position and don’t forget to count.”
I clenched my jaw and prepared myself this time, and when his hand slapped my other cheek, I didn’t hesitate. “One.”
He smacked his hand across both cheeks. “And don’t forget to call me “Sir”. We’ll start again.”
His hand came down, and I cried out
, “One, Sir!”
He continued that way, alternating slaps between cheeks and not pausing to caress me like he had before. By the tenth slap, I hated him. Tears blurred my eyes and I could barely count the final spank. My throat was swollen from trying to hold back.
“Very good.” Dallon’s hands massaged my sore flesh. Grasping my waist, he helped me to stand again, pulling up my shorts carefully as if suddenly worried about hurting me.
I didn’t look him in the eye. I was enraged, wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. My hands balled into fists at my sides as angry tears fell onto my cheeks.
“Look at me,” Dallon said, his voice soft.
I looked up, shooting him a nasty look.
“Careful,” he warned.
I sniffed but wiped the look off my face.
“Do you know why I did that?”
“Because I took control.”
“Yes. I warned you the other night that there would be a punishment, did I not?”
I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand, nodding almost imperceptibly.
“If you were anyone else, I would have chosen a higher number, but I know how hard it is for you to give me control. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
This surprised me. “I’m afraid I made a mistake, agreeing to this. I have a feeling that I’m going to get hurt a lot.”
“There are other ways to punish you besides pain, don’t worry about that.” He moved to stand in front of the full length mirror on the wall beside his desk, motioned me over. He began to undress me slowly, his voice gentle.
“You on your knees under my desk turned me on more than you know,” he said, cupping my cheek with his hand, “and what happened just now only added to it. I suspect it did for you too.”
I bit my lip and looked down, and he chuckled softly.
“The only difference is, I can make you do something about it.”
My head shot up. “What do you mean?”
He tossed my bed clothes into a pile on his chair. “I mean that not only did you take control back there, but you tried to gain pleasure for yourself. The lesson wasn’t about that, Amy. It was about learning to give pleasure without receiving pleasure in return.”
My cheeks heated. “You wouldn’t make me do that after… after what just happened.”
“Of course I would. What’s more, I’m going to. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”
As he unzipped himself, I stood shaking in front of him, not out of fear but rage. His raised an eyebrow at me expectantly, and I knew I was on a precipice: I could either play his game, or I could walk away. I didn’t know what Dallon suspected I would do, but I knew what he wanted me to do. I could see it in his eyes—it wasn’t just something he wanted, it was something he needed.
So I kneeled in front of him and heard his answering sigh as I took him in my mouth again. I ran my tongue up the shaft and into the slit at the top, then sucked gently at its tip.
“Good girl.” Dallon’s voice was deep, both hands moving into my hair.
Spurred on, I moved faster.
“You look unbelievable sexy right now,” he said with a groan, and I remembered that we were in front of the mirror. What an image we must have made: him in a suit and me naked in front of him, sucking him off. To my embarrassment, the throb between my legs grew stronger, hotter. What had Dallon done to me?
He climaxed and I swallowed quickly, the stories Sam had told me about the taste proving to be true. Still, as I stood on shaky legs, there was no denying that it hadn’t affected me; I could feel the wetness between my legs.
Dallon tided himself and then passed me my clothes, his demeanor almost business-like. “Have a warm shower but don’t touch yourself. I’m going to make us breakfast.”
With that, he strolled out of the room.
***
I’d only touched myself a few times before, a long, long time ago. Now I desperately wanted to but it wasn’t allowed.
In the shower, I washed between my legs gently, careful not to stimulate myself too much. Even the water trickling down my body or hitting me in certain spots put me in danger of unraveling.
He wanted me needy, and that’s what I was.
My mind traveled to how I’d felt in his study, the way letting him use me had made me feel. How could it be? From the very beginning, Dallon had been able to sense in me something that I hadn’t recognized in myself, or else something that I couldn’t face. The reason I was still here, that I had agreed to try for one day, was because I knew what Dallon could give me. He wasn’t forcing me to be submissive; in the end, I had all the power because I could simply say no. I had obeyed him in there because nothing had made me feel as aroused or strong as subjugating myself to Dallon King.
And when I submitted to him, he fell apart.
I toweled dry and pulled on my robe to enter the kitchen. Dallon was just finishing frying up bacon and on the counter were two plates with eggs and fruit.
“Go rest in the dining room,” he told me, not glancing up.
The table was already set. When I sat down, I winced—I hadn’t realized how sore I was. I fiddled with my fork until Dallon arrived and placed a plate in front of me.
“I wanted to make you breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
I forked a blackberry and put it in my mouth. Dallon was watching me intently.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” I hesitated. “No… Sir.”
The right side of his mouth turned up slightly. He still hadn’t touched his meal. “How do you feel?”
“Sore.”
“Good. That was the point. The discomfort will remind you not to pull something like that again the future.” He lifted his fork and tapped it against his bottom lip, studying me thoughtfully. “How else do you feel?”
I squirmed a little. “Frustrated.”
He chuckled. “That wasn’t my intention at first, but a happy consequence nevertheless.”
“Hmph.” I stabbed another blackberry.
“If you want to know, I think you did very well.”
I froze before scooping my eggs, looked up at him through my lashes. “You do?”
“Yes. You took your punishment in stride and you were very… attentive.” He smirked, one side of his mouth turning up.
“Thank you. Sir.”
He chuckled again. “No need to call me that now, though it makes me hard every time you do. Eat up.”
Finally, he began work on his own plate. He was still wearing his suit and still looked strong, dangerous and powerful. Dark and Dangerous.
“So why did you have two calls this morning?”
“Oh, just some deals we’re working on.”
“Why the video call?”
“I find I’m more persuasive in person,” he winked.
I put down my fork. “You didn’t just say that.”
He shrugged and turned to his food again. “When you find something that works, use it.”
“So you admit that part of your success comes from people not being able to say no to you?”
“Thank God for women in the workplace,” he grinned.
“Ugh!” I shook my head in disgust, but I was smiling too.
“I have something for you,” he said, his expression serious. From his inside jacket pocket, he produced a small blue box with a white bow, pushed it across the table toward me.
My heart pounded in my chest. It was a Tiffany box. I looked up at him, and I must have looked panicked, because he smirked.
“Open it.”
With shaky hands, I untied the white ribbon, placed it on the table. Holding my breath, I opened the box. Inside was a small blue pouch, not the velvet ring box I’d been expecting, and I exhaled in a rush, feeling silly for making assumptions. Turning the pouch over, I emptied its contents into my hand: a silver heart-shaped lock on a chain.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Dallon. It’s very pretty.”
He w
as still studying me with that serious expression. “It’s symbolic.”
“You have the key to my heart?”
“Something like that.” He stood up and moved behind me to put it around my neck. “It’s a collar.”
I frowned. A collar? Maybe he’d meant choker, but it was too long to be considered that.
He returned to his seat, steepled his fingers on the surface of the table. “For a moment there, you wondered if it was a ring.”
I reddened and looked down. “Not actually.”
“It’s okay. It was a natural reaction.” He continued carefully, his eyes never leaving me. “This isn’t a ring, but it has a similar symbolic meaning. There was once a tradition that wearing a collar with an open padlock indicated that one was seeking a Dominant partner, and wearing a collar with a closed padlock indicated one was taken.”
Understanding settled in. This was his new age version of a collar.
“This is just for us. I want you to know you are mine.”
“I thought you dislike labels.”
“I like this one very much.”
My cheeks heated again, and I squirmed in my feet at the intensity in his gaze. The lock pendant suddenly felt hot against my skin. A symbol that I belonged to him.
“What about you?” I whispered. “What will you wear?”
His lips quirked up at the side, but his eyes weren’t smiling, and he didn’t respond. Apparently the tradition was only for the submissive to wear something. The collar. My throat suddenly felt dry and I took a sip of my water, wondering how I would have felt about wearing the necklace if he’d told me what it symbolized first.
As if sensing my thoughts, he said, “It means a lot for a Dominant to give a collar. It’s a symbol of protection, respect, and…” He took a deep breath. “Love.”
My head snapped up. Love.
He closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I know it’s soon, Amy, and perhaps I can’t know the meaning of the word, being who I am. But this is the strongest I’ve ever felt for anybody, and I want to make that official, in my own way. I want this with you.” When he opened his eyes again, I could see his vulnerability and need. It was in the slight shine of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. He wasn’t breathing.