Wild Submission

by Roxy Sloane

  “What do you think?”

  Isabelle pushes back against my hand. “That feels good,” she whispers.

  “That’s because your body is in a heightened state of awareness,” I explain to her, stroking and smoothing, delving back to that wet pool of tension. “The pain shocks your nerve system wide awake, and makes every pleasurable touch feel that much sweeter.”

  I nudge the silk aside, and skim my fingertip into her slick heat.

  Fuck, she’s so wet.

  Isabelle lets out a moan. “Please,” she gasps, clenching around my finger.

  “Please what?” I ask, pulling back. I lift my finger to my lips and slowly lick it clean.

  My cock swells, achingly hard. God, this is so much better than I imagined. Hearing her beg for me. Seeing the marks of victory branded on her flesh. Tasting her sweetness.

  “More.” She wriggles her ass back, wanting me to touch her again.

  “More pleasure, or more pain?” I counter. “You can’t have one without the other.”

  There’s silence. I can feel the indecision in her body, the tension as she weighs my offer.

  “More.” She says it again, and this time, there’s a note of raw need in her voice. “Please, Master. Whatever you want.”

  She’s learning so fast.

  I lean closer and murmur in her ear. “Let go, my sweet. I want to hear you scream for me. I want to hear you beg.”

  I unleash another set of blows on that tender ass, and this time, I make them count. Sharp, hard, fast. Isabelle cries out with every slap, but I can hear her voice thicken with desire, until she’s gasping, lost in the frenzy of sensation.

  “Cam!” she cries, gripping the bench tightly. “Oh God, please! Please!”

  Her body jolts with impact, her flesh trembling. With no warning, I suddenly exchange hard for soft, brutal for sensuous: smoothing over the reddened skin and down between her thighs to stroke her swollen clit.

  Her yelps turn to moans. She thrusts back, eager against my hand.

  “There,” Isabelle gasps, as I circle the tender nub. “Oh god!”

  I feel her body clench with pleasure. She spreads her thighs further apart, offering me more of her luscious cunt, grinding on my hand.

  Fuck, it’s hot. Every one of her whimpers fuelling my fire. It’s powerful.

  I yank her head back and spank her again, hard. The moans don’t stop, she’s still hurtling to the edge.

  “Say my name,” I growl.

  “Cam!” she cries.

  “Wrong.” I spank her again and she shrieks at the impact. “Again!”

  “Master!” she screams instead.

  “Yes. Louder.”

  “Master!” Isabelle cries, coming undone under my expert hands. The stubborn, headstrong woman is nowhere to be seen. This girl beneath me is pure need and gasping desire. She whimpers at my touch, bucking eagerly, taking every blow with new excitement. “Oh please, yes, yes! I’m close!”

  My head is spinning, my cock so hard I can barely think straight. Fuck, she’s magnificent, begging for more. I can see the slick wetness of her arousal, feel how close her body is to the edge. I could shove those thighs apart and slam inside her with a single stroke, feel her convulse around my cock as I blow my load into that damp relentless heat.

  I could lose control, and love every second of it.

  “No.”

  I snatch away from her, leaving her gasping for breath. I circle to the head of the bench, and place thumb and forefinger under her chin, forcing her to lift her head. Her eyes are wild, her body shaking.

  “This is your punishment,” I tell her grimly. “You don’t get to come until I say so. Until you’ve earned it with your submission, and learned that I’m the one calling the shots.”

  Isabelle gapes at me. “Please, Cam—”

  “Pull up your panties,” I order her. “Clean yourself up. And don’t even think about touching yourself,” I add sternly. “Your release is mine, and mine alone. Do you understand?”

  She gulps, but nods. There, that’s an improvement.

  “See you at dinner,” I smirk, and walk out of the room—before she can realize just how far she pushed me, how close I came to losing control.

  She’s not the only one who needs a lesson. I need to get it together if I have any hope of making this work.

  NINE: ISABELLE

  What the hell just happened?

  My head spins as I slowly sit up and tug my slip down. My body feels like a live wire of sensations: the sharp sting on my ass, and the hot desire burning between my thighs.

  What did he do to me?

  I take a shaking breath, trying to pull myself together. I’ve never been so aware of my body—or so desperate for release. I feel exposed, left alone in this playroom while Cam goes and does who knows what.

  I slowly get up, my legs weak, and head downstairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and collapsing down on the soft king bed.

  God, that was incredible.

  I can’t believe Cam bent me over and spanked me like an errant child. And I can’t believe how much I liked it. My body feels hyper-aroused, and I stretch out on the bed to cool down.

  My clit throbs, needing Cam’s touch. His fingers, his tongue. I’m still so close…

  My hands slide lower, remembering the shock of impact as he spanked me—and how the discomfort quickly melted into something more. A heady mix of pleasure and pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  Once my initial shock faded, I was surprised to find just how sensual the whole thing was. Cam is clearly an expert, and although the spanking hurt like hell in the moment, the pain quickly faded under his masterful hands.

  I stroke over my belly and down between my thighs. I know he told me not to touch myself, but he wouldn’t ever know.

  Right?

  Still, something makes me stop. I want to obey him. I want to please him. I want to trust that he knows what he’s doing with me.

  I roll over and groan into the pillows. I’m still frustrated as hell, so I go jump in the shower and let the cold water soothe my throbbing body.

  It was tough up there for me. He ordered me to let go and trust him, but that isn’t easy for me. I’ve spent my life trying to keep control—and one amazing evening bent over a bench won’t change that.

  However much I want it to.

  I quickly dry off, thoughts whirling in my mind. I’d never admit it to anyone, but already there’s something in me that’s eager for Cam’s approval. I don’t know what that makes me, but I want to please him. To hear him murmur, “Good girl,” and reward me for my obedience. I don’t understand it, but it’s what I want.

  If this is his game, it’s working.

  * * *

  I dress in some jeans and a silk T-shirt, and head downstairs. My stomach is already growling, and I can smell the tempting scent of garlic and orange sauce wafting from the kitchen.

  Cam is unpacking takeout boxes on the table. “Have you been to the Imperial Garden over on 74th?” he asks casually. “The shrimp dumplings are killer.” He opens another box like nothing’s happened. “Grab a plate and help yourself. There’s plenty.”

  I pause. I already broke my diet with that cupcake at Olivia’s, and the rich sauce on the noodles must have about a million calories.

  “Is there any salad?” I ask, peeking in the containers in search of something that won’t take three hours on the treadmill to work off. I come up empty. “It’s OK, Chinese food isn’t really my thing,” I lie.

  Cam gives me a sharp look. “All you do is eat salad and push food around your plate. Eat a proper dinner for once. You’ll need the energy,” he adds with a grin.

  I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, you are,” Cam insists. He fills a plate with noodles, dumplings, and garlic chicken, then points to a chair at the table. “Sit. Eat.”

  “Is that an order?” I shoot back, my temper flaring.

  “Yes.”

/>   I gape. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Are you questioning me?” Cam’s gaze turns steely.

  Suddenly, I feel exhausted. Too tired to go six rounds over a plate of takeout. “Just give me a break, OK? Not everything has to be a fight.”

  “I’m not doing this to pick a fight.” Cam’s tone softens. “It’s my job to take care of you—even when you don’t want to take care of yourself.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. Is he for real?

  “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing with my life?” I demand, my voice rising angrily. “Hours at the gym every day, counting every last calorie. Blowouts every week, highlights every month. I do nothing but take care of this body, and make sure it’s perfect every single second of every fucking day!”

  Cam blinks, speechless for a moment.

  I sink down into a chair. “I take care of myself,” I repeat grimly.

  “No, you don’t.” Cam finally speaks. He gives me a sympathetic look. “You take care of what other people want from you. Maybe you don’t need to work so hard,” he adds. “You’d probably be a lot happier if you gave it all up.”

  “Wow,” I roll my eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you? You wouldn’t think I was still so sexy if I started porking out on Chinese food all the time and totally let myself go.”

  “Believe me, I would.” Cam gives me a wolfish look. “Now, my order still stands. You have my permission to let yourself go.”

  I look at the food regretfully. “Great, the one night I get a pass, and you order Chinese.”

  He frowns. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s not my favorite,” I shrug.

  “So what would you eat, if you could have anything in the world?”

  I pause. “I’d get a thick, juicy cheeseburger and fries. The works. With an icy cold beer to wash it all down.”

  Cam looks surprised. “I would have figured you for more a caviar kind of girl.”

  I snort. “That fancy stuff isn’t really my style. It’s easy to keep to a diet when you’re only served haute cuisine.” It took a couple of years after joining the Ashcrofts for my tastes to improve, to learn the difference between Velveeta and gruyere. The first time they served me a salad made by their personal chef, I didn’t recognize anything but the lettuce.

  My stomach rumbles so loudly that Cam notices. He laughs. “Grab your coat. I know just the place to satisfy that craving of yours.”

  I glance down at my jeans. “I should change first.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cam grins. “None of your girlfriends is ever going to see you where we’re going.”

  TEN: CAM

  I’m breaking my number one rule here—and I don’t care. I never go out in public with my subs: our relationship is always hidden, contained in the safety of The Underground club or my apartment. But here I am, strolling down the street with Isabelle for anyone to see.

  “Should we grab a taxi?” Isabelle looks around.

  “No,” I tell her. “It’s just down the block.”

  As we walk along the sidewalk, I can see her glance over at me, nervous. “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

  “This is our first time out together since…you know. The contract,” she whispers. “How is this supposed to go? Do I have to do whatever you tell me, even if people are watching?”

  “Relax,” I reassure her. “I’m not going to order you around tonight, but in general, the same rules still apply. You should still obey me, we’ll just be discreet.” I take her hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take care of everything. You relax.”

  Isabelle exhales, relaxing. “OK, I can try.”

  It’s cold out, but the streets are busy in my fashionable neighborhood: full of couples out for dinner, and people heading home after work.

  None of them would ever guess the real relationship between Isabelle and me. To them, dominance and submission are the things of kinky sex clubs, whips and chains. They could never guess that I can show as much power walking down the street; that my dominance of Isabelle continues in every look, every touch, every word.

  “Here we are.” I nod to the bar at the end of the block. It’s a little hole in the wall place, dim and grungy, but I know they serve the best burgers in the city. Isabelle wrinkles her nose, but she follows me down the steps and inside.

  She looks around. “Why is everyone looking at us?” she whispers, drawing closer to me.

  I smile. “They’re looking at you.” Even in jeans, she’s still the most beautiful girl in any room.

  Isabelle flushes, looking embarrassed, so I lead her to a table in a dark corner. “Two pints please, Greg,” I call over to the burly British bartender. “And a couple of burgers, fries, the works.”

  “Alright, boss.”

  Isabelle looks interested. “This is your usual hangout? You could scrape the grease off the ceiling with a knife.”

  I laugh. “Don’t let Greg hear you say that. He takes pride in his grease.”

  She smiles and takes off her coat. “It’s strange to see you here,” she remarks. “I was beginning to think you lived at the office, or home. Or the club.” She blushes.

  “I guess I deserve that,” I nod. “There hasn’t been much time in my life for anything but work.”

  If you want to make it in the corporate world without a fancy Harvard MBA or Daddy on the board, you have to work harder than anyone. And me, a kid from the Scottish Highlands, I was determined to work harder than everyone.

  Greg brings over our beers and food. Isabelle gapes at the spread: huge double decker slabs of ground sirloin with bacon, onions and cheddar, and a basket of crispy, thick fries.

  “There’s enough here to feed an army! I can get through maybe half of that.”

  “I’ll allow it,” I say, with a smile to let her know I’m joking. “But I bet you’ll finish the lot.”

  We start eating, and soon she relaxes. “Oh my God,” she murmurs, taking a bite. “This is worth the hours on the treadmill I’m going to need tomorrow.”

  My breath sticks. Fuck, she’s sexy, savoring every bite. Away from her snooty socialite crowd, she’s relaxed and carefree, gulping beer and wiping the foam from her lip with the back of her sleeve.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” Isabelle asks hesitantly. “I hardly know much at all.”

  I pause. “Like what?” I ask, dunking a fry in ketchup. Although, to me, they’ll always be chips.

  “Well, the whole club thing.” Isabelle glances around, but we’re secluded in the corner here, with nobody to hear. “Have you always been into it? What happened to make you, you know…?”

  “A Dom?” I finish. “Nothing happened. I’m not one of those guys working through some troubled past,” I add. “I just discovered that this was my particular preference, that’s all.”

  Isabelle looks disappointed with my answer, so I expand. “Several years ago, I dated a woman who told me about working as a Dominatrix. She told me how she felt when she had a whip in her hand. Powerful. In charge. Something about it fascinated me, so I researched it more. I discovered pretty quickly that I had no interest in being dominated myself,” I add, “but it was the other side that drew me in. The balance of power, the psychological side of sex. It turned me on in a way I’d never felt before.”

  Isabelle watches me, and bites her lip. “Why do you think you like so much? I mean, it’s pretty weird, isn’t it?” She flushes, and I can tell she’s trying to wrap her head around not just my tastes, but her own reaction earlier tonight.

  “It’s not weird at all,” I say calmly. “Sex is about trust, intimacy. And giving up power to someone—or taking control of that power—is a natural extension of that trust. Our sexuality is more interesting and complex than we often give it credit for,” I add. “Why settle for something boring and rote, when you can discover who you really are?”

  She toys with her beer for a second, thinking hard.

  “It surprised me,” she admits. “Feeling th
e way I do. Not just tonight, but when Brent took me to the club. I was curious, I felt excited. At least, before…” she stops, then shakes her head, as if shaking the memory away. “I never expected to feel this way. Sex was never…” she stops again.

  “Never what you needed,” I finish for her.

  She nods, looking embarrassed.

  “There’s no need to be ashamed,” I reassure her. “We’re all wired differently. Some people can spend their whole lives and be perfectly fulfilled by vanilla missionary every night. And others...we require something more particular to satisfy our needs.”

  She takes a gulp of beer, looking away, then changes the subject. “What about my father?”

  “I don’t think he shared my tastes,” I joke.

  She laughs, breaking the tension. “Eww, no! I just meant, how did you guys get along? From the way you’ve talked about him, it seems like you were pretty close.”

  I nod, smiling at the memory of my mentor. “He was a good man. Everyone respected him. He really made a point of showing people that he was listening, that he heard them. He gave you his full attention when you were with him, and that’s a rare quality.”

  Isabelle gives a small smile. “I remember. Not that I got to see it very much,” she adds, sounding wistful. “You probably spent more time with him than I ever did.”

  She’s joking but there’s an edge of sorrow behind her remark.

  “You were family,” I reassure her. “He may have worked hard, but you were always his number one priority.”

  She shakes her head. “It didn’t feel that way. After our mom died, he just buried himself in work. I guess it was his way of coping with the pain of losing her. But I was pretty much on my own again after that.” She pauses, years of sadness behind her eyes. “Except for Brent. He was all I had in the world. That’s why…” She looks away. “That’s why I let him treat me like this. I didn’t want to lose him too.”

  I take her hand, full of compassion for her. Just when she thought she’d found a family, she lost it. No wonder she always acts so icy and self-sufficient. It’s the only way she can cope with her life.