Private Secretary

by Sindra van Yssel

  “Yes, Sir.” She thought for a moment. “If I tell you, I’ll need you not to just walk away after.”

  “I won’t.”

  She hesitated. “I have to trust you, don’t I?”

  He nodded. “You do.”

  “Will you whip me, after? Or flog, or spank, or cane?”

  “Is that what you need?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then if I agree, I will.”

  “If you agree.” She sighed. “That is the way it works, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever truly submitted before. I’ve let men take charge, let them beat me and fuck me and all those things. I’ve followed orders. But it was always contained, and always within limits. Always behind the mask.”

  He nodded. She was delaying, but he was patient. He wasn’t going to add more words to enable it.

  She took a deep breath. “I was driving along I-95 late at night, coming back from a party. I had one drink, but not enough to make me drunk. It had been a couple of hours anyway. I was well below the legal limit. Even the police said that.”

  He nodded.

  “I had my daughter April in the shotgun seat. Maybe she should have been in the back, but she liked being up front and I liked talking to her, and at ten I thought she was old enough. And she helped keep me awake.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” he said, as she paused.

  “A drunk cut across three lines of traffic, and I slammed on the brakes. The driver behind me didn’t react in time and plowed into me. I lost control of the car, and it went spinning. Another car hit the passenger side. When it was all done, there were four cars piled up. And April,” she stopped, tears running down her face. “April. April.”

  He got up and moved around to her side of the booth, pulling her tightly against him.

  “There wasn’t anything I could do. I was pinned by the airbag. I watched the light fade from her eyes and knew there was nothing I could ever do.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  She looked at him. “You called me honey.”

  “I did.”

  “Thank you. The―my husband said it was all my fault. I let him cheat on me for a while, because I understood why he didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Eventually he wanted a divorce, and I gave it to him. I think, though, that he was cheating on me even before the accident.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just held her. He was used to having the answers.

  “After that, I ran into a man who wanted to flog me. I thought―I actually thought he was insane. But I let him, anyway, because I think I was kind of hoping he’d―do something crazy. But instead, I found that I could focus, because of the intensity of it all. It helped push all the memories and self-doubt away. I became invincible. I wanted to do it again. He didn’t want to, but he told me about the scene. The rest, you know, more or less. I sought the pain to block out what happened. Or to atone for it.”

  “But do you like it?”

  She blinked for a moment. Like. Pain. Those two words didn’t go together. But they were right. She nodded. “Or because I liked it. Or for all three reasons. But never have I told anyone what I just told you. And now I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of?”

  “Well, that you will think I’m too damaged to play with, for one thing.”

  He shook his head. “However it started, you said the key words. You do it because you like it. I can’t give you atonement. You have to forgive yourself. And you did nothing wrong. Sometimes we do things right and they still don’t turn out well. And sometimes we royally fuck up and yet it turns out okay. The world is not always a fair place.”

  She nodded. “It sure isn’t. I guess, too, I’m afraid that now that you know, and I know you know, it just won’t be the same escape for me.”

  “I suggest we find out.”

  “Lemonade for the lady,” said the waiter, who appeared suddenly. His gaze lingered on Carrie’s cleavage. No, definitely not as discreet as a professional.

  “Thanks,” said Blake.

  “Sure thing, boss. Anything else? Want some dessert?”

  Blake shook his head.

  The waiter slapped the check down at the table. “They’ll take it at the register when you’re ready.”

  Yeah, I’m definitely taking her to a nicer place next time. But for now, it was convenient that they wouldn’t have to wait to leave.

  “You’re coming home with me,” he told her. “And I’m going to mark you.”

  “Oh,” she said. “May I, um, freshen up? I’m a mess.”

  “Sure. Meet me outside.” He reached over and buttoned a couple of buttons on her blouse. “We’ll keep these hidden until you reach my car. After that, they are entirely mine.”

  She smiled. “That sounds good. And Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “It did throw me off when you made me do that. Made me feel, well, more submissive. You really do know what you’re doing.”

  He grinned and stood. “Thank you, girl.”

  “You’re welcome. Boss.” She winked and headed off to the ladies’ room, and he went to pay the check.

  Well, that went…well? Carrie wasn’t sure as she looked into the mirror and touched up her mascara. He hadn’t pushed her away. He hadn’t told her she needed to get her issues resolved before she should play, which she had half expected. Everyone had issues, and she thought hers were relatively under control. In seeking redemption and moments to forget, she’d found something she liked. It wasn’t at all the boring and faithful housewife she’d been for Clive, but she enjoyed trying new things and being a full-blooded sexual woman. I like sex with a little pain. She’d never admitted it to herself quite so boldly. At what point had the accident and Clive’s desertion stopped being the reason for seeking out kink and started being merely an excuse?

  In any case, that time had come. And Blake had listened to her and forced the admission out of her that she liked it. She was looking forward to him marking her. She hoped he’d use her, as well. And beyond that, she hoped he’d give her a little pleasure, or at least let her give herself pleasure. I want it all.

  She walked out of the room and out of the restaurant feeling like a different, more powerful woman. Which is funny, because I’m perfectly happy being submissive and giving the power over to him.

  Blake smiled when he saw her and when she arrived next to him he said, “You look quite a bit brighter.”

  “Maybe things are straighter in my mind.”

  He put his arm around her as they walked back to his car, and then he drove her to his house. It was late enough that traffic leaving downtown wasn’t too bad, and the trip took them less than fifteen minutes. From time to time he would stroke her thigh. At red lights he stroked the back of her neck. But he was strangely silent until he opened the door to his house and gestured her in.

  He closed the door behind him. “Take off all your clothes, Carrie.” He walked past her and went farther into the house and out of view.

  She couldn’t read his tone. Possibly that was intentional. But his words were clear enough. She took off all of her clothes, and he still hadn’t returned. She busied herself by folding them neatly, and when he still hadn’t returned, she moved into the living room and placed them on a small table at the end of the couch.

  He re-emerged from the hallway. His suit jacket was off, and he’d shed his tie as well. He looked her over from head to toe and smiled. “Do you need anything to drink, Carrie?”

  She was tempted to ask for some Scotch to calm her nerves. But she shook her head, deciding she didn’t need it, or even need her nerves to be calm. She wasn’t going to back out.

  “Then come with me to the bedroom. I have things set up there.”

  His bedroom. He hadn’t taken C there. Was it a privilege reserved for a few? Or had a dozen women been there and she, just the latest conquest? She reminded herself that she was different, and that whatever he did, he
’d have to face her at work on Monday. She followed him back.

  His room was simple, containing a wooden dresser and a king-size bed with blue linens. But on the bed, laid out in a line, were a flogger, a crop and a cane. Next to them were four soft cuffs, each with a clip. And in the corner was a St. Andrew’s cross just like the ones found at clubs or at Iron Butterfly, with rings that the clips on the cuff could be attached to.

  I will mark you, he said. Clearly, he was earnest about that.

  “You look startled.”

  “I didn’t expect you to have a cross in your bedroom.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, what if…what if someone walked in?”

  He laughed. “No one just walks into my bedroom. But in any case, it folds up and stows away underneath the bed. Which has been a silly place for it, in many respects, since you’re the first kinky woman who has ever made it back here.”

  “There have been vanilla women.” She didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation but it did.

  He tilted his head. “I have a history. As do you. But right now, it’s just you and me.”

  She looked at the implements on the bed. “And you are going to mark me. I know―I can’t ask for commitment. This has all happened so quickly, even though in a way it’s taken forever to happen.”

  He nodded. “But you do want to ask for something, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir. I want to ask for you to stay faithful to me at least as long as the bruises last.”

  He smiled. “I will do at least that.” He chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I may have to renew my vows on a regular basis,” he said. “Hands, please.”

  She offered him her hands. He wrapped a cuff around each wrist and then crouched down to do the same to her ankles.

  He smiled at her when he straightened. “Go and face the cross. You won’t need to be secured yet.”

  Yet. That seemed ominous. But she leaned up against the cross, wrapped her arms around it and closed her eyes. She trusted him.

  He picked up the flogger and started on her back, the leather tails caressing her softly.

  “I have a question,” he said, slowing down.

  She opened her eyes, even though she could see only the corner of the room the way she was facing. “Yes, Sir?”

  “Why didn’t you want to go out with me the first time I asked? Was it because you thought I was vanilla?” The flogger went thwack across her back, as if to emphasize that he was anything but.

  “No. Um.” She remembered him saying he’d left a message on her answering machine when she was being C. It took her a moment to realize that she didn’t have to keep what C knew separate anymore.

  “After I left Quinn Cosmetics I left a message on your answering machine. I told you, when you were being masked and mysterious.”

  “Right. It’s a really old machine, and I really should have switched to voice mail, or gotten rid of my landline altogether. Clive used to leave hateful messages on it, and so when it broke I didn’t repair it. No one else would call and I wanted to focus on the parts of my life that were okay. Work and kink, I guess. Anyway, I’m afraid I never did get your message.”

  “I see. Possibly I should have tried some other way of contacting you. I didn’t want to seem desperate.”

  Blake, desperate? The idea that he wanted her that much, even then, was heady stuff. She wanted to deflect. “I thought it was me who was supposed to be the desperate one.”

  “I like that idea,” he said. “Spread your legs while I flog you. In fact, just spread your legs whenever I’m playing with you, just in case I want to touch your pussy.” He built up a rhythm again. “I want you to be thinking about how available you are. That I could touch you anywhere at any moment.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She closed her eyes again and focused on exactly that. He warmed her back and then switched to her ass. Not just his hands, but also the tips of the flogger could touch her anywhere he chose, but he had remarkable control. He flogged her swiftly and hard, but at no point did a tail flick between her thighs.

  “Time to move on,” he said.

  She heard the flogger drop heavily onto the bed. Everything else on the bed was going to hurt. But then, everything else on the bed could leave a mark, too. No pain, no gain.

  He flicked the crop against her ass so that just the tip of it struck, a single point of intense stinging. She yelped. He did it again. His control was perfect, allowing him to strike just with the flapper on the end every time. Each stroke was like fire, with a burn that lingered afterward.

  He switched from her ass to her back. She’d never had anyone use a crop there before, but then most people used the shaft as well as the tip. She started to relax into the sensation as endorphins flooded her body. She sank into the lovely haze they brought, knowing he’d move on to the cane and the whip and she’d soak it all in.

  “Turn around.” His voice sounded distant, even though she could feel the breath on her ear.

  “Sir?” she asked, surfacing from her trance.

  “You heard me.”

  She twisted her body, and shifted her feet, conscious of her nakedness and the vulnerability of her body before the man with the crop. Her back stung as it pressed back against the cross, but that didn’t really bother her.

  “Stay perfectly still,” he warned. “Hands out of the way.

  She stretched her hands against the upper arms of the cross. There was a slight lean, and that made it easier for her to relax against it. She thought she was comfortable enough that she could carry out her order.

  He flicked the crop against a nipple. The sudden burning sting made her cry out, and it was everything she could do not to move. Then again, on the other side.

  “That,” he said, “was to make you know that every stroke lands exactly where I want it to.”

  “I’m convinced.”

  “Good.” He reached forward and clipped the cuffs to the top of the frame.

  Uh oh.

  He stepped to one side, and the crop went swish. This time, the tip struck just to the side of her nipple. He walked to the other side and did the same. Methodically, he moved around, finding different angles, each stroke landing on a different part of her breasts. Bound as she was, she couldn’t pull away from him. Her nipples tightened in response, but their dull ache barely registered as he rained fire on her.

  He’s marking me. She glanced down and could see some of the pink, almost red marks where the crop had struck. He was being careful, she noticed, to put them where a bra would cover, or a swimsuit. No one but he and she would know.

  Then, suddenly, he was up against her. His chest pressed against her bruised breasts, spreading the stings to make them feel more like an intense ache. His hard cock pressed against her belly. This is turning him on.

  He reached down and thrust his fingers inside her pussy. “You’re wet. Very wet.”

  She hadn’t realized how aroused she was becoming. All her attention had been focused on her breasts and what he was doing to him. “I’m not the only one who this is getting aroused, Sir,” she said.

  “No, you’re not.” He pulled his fingers out of her as suddenly as he’d put them in.

  Damn.

  He put his wet, glistening fingers into his mouth and closed his lips tightly around them, sucking hard enough that they made a pop when he pulled them back out. “Yummy,” he said, with a grin.

  She hadn’t remembered anyone ever telling her that before. Doms generally weren’t very interested in tasting her, for that matter, and it had never been one of Clive’s favorite things either.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he reached up suddenly and unclipped her from the frame. He had a fierce look in his eyes. She didn’t know what he was going to do next, but her heart raced. He twirled her easily and forced her hands back into position, fixing her to the frame again. The feeling of being overpowered made her breath quicken. His strength was such that he could move her
casually and do as he wished.

  She didn’t know if she was going to like what he wished, but she wanted him in control anyway.

  He attached her ankles to the cross as well before she fully registered the fact that he crouched down to do so. Now she couldn’t even twist her body. She looked over her shoulder to see him pick up the cane, a thin smooth whippy piece of wood with one end dipped in latex to create a better grip.

  He caught her gaze. She looked away, not sure she wanted him to know how curious she was. She wanted to be putty in his hands, happy to take whatever he wanted without knowing what to expect, but she was only human.

  “I will put stripes on your ass,” he said. “Do you go swimming often?”

  “No, Sir. I usually walk for my exercise.”

  “Then I will put them on your thighs as well.”

  For a moment she wished she’d taken up swimming. But then she smiled. “Yes, Sir.” She was happy to provide him more of a canvas to work on.

  “How many stripes do you want, Carrie?”

  “As many as you wish, Sir,” she replied automatically.

  “What I wish is for you to give me a number. Trust me, after that, you’ll have little say.”

  “Six, then.” She wasn’t sure why she chose the number, then remembered it was traditional in English schools. Did they still do that? It didn’t matter. Blake most definitely would.

  He moved forward as if stalking prey, his weapon in hand. But his prey was helpless and willing. She turned away and closed her eyes again.

  What she felt next was not the cane, but his hand. He caressed her ass, then gave it a few sharp slaps. “You’ve cooled down a bit after I warmed you with the flogger,” he said. “I need to freshen you up.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She’d always liked barehanded spanking. It created a connection between her and her Top, and she’d never wanted a connection as much as with Blake. He leaned in close, his silk shirt brushing against her exposed skin.

  “The marks you take are more than you being brave enough to take them. They are more than me being perverted enough to enjoy giving them to you. They are evidence that you are mine. At work, or at home. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyplace. You broke down the barrier between work and my personal life and we can’t put it back.”