by Sophie Haas
Every jerk of Anya’s hips made my stomach hurt, every undulating roll of her body made me nauseous. When it was over, she sank into him and he caressed her back, murmuring in her ear. No doubt telling her she was a good girl. They sat like that, a solid unit. When she nodded, I imagined him asking her if she wanted to go into his bedroom.
He lifted her up then set her back down, leaving the living room. She curled into his warm spot like a contented kitten and again I told myself to leave. Wells returned with a black bag that he sat by the chair. He scooped up the satisfied sub then settled her back on his knees.
Envy curled within me because I knew I didn’t look like that after being topped. Leaning against the wall, I wondered what it would be like to trust him that completely. They were strangers hours ago and yet they now had a connection. He drew her tank up and she promptly clamped her hands over her bra. Not hesitating, he took her hands and set them on his knees with a severe: “don’t move.” A shiver moved down her back and against the pretty lace of her bra, her nipples swelled while her mouth parted. My own body reacted to the stern look on his face much like hers had. Next Wells removed her bra but she was deep in the command and made no attempt to cover up. When he lowered his head and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, my own tightened as if feeling the warm pull. A low moan came from her, her head falling back as she sank into the sensation of his mouth on her breast, her hips beginning to roll once more.
My breasts felt heavy. I watched him clamp his teeth and pull his head back, stretching the tip before licking and sucking it. My thighs tightened and I sucked in my breath when his hand slid down the gap of her jeans above her butt. Her body bucked and jerked, her eyes snapping open. He worked his finger into her ass while the other slid a clamp over her nipple.
I watched them, warmth slipping from me to my jeans. That could be me. He returned to sucking and teasing her nipple, complete with the clamp while his finger moved beneath her jeans. That could be me rocking into the thrust while I offered him my breast. That could be me crying out as he sought a second nipple to adorn it prettily.
That could be me making those needy sounds while I rocked over his hard cock, begging for it, him, everything. That could be me denied the orgasm as he eased her to her knees between his legs. That could be me, but it wasn’t.
He pulled a pack of wet wipes from his bag, wiped his finger then reached down again. When the coil of rope came out, I couldn’t watch anymore. Grabbing his suit jacket from where he had casually tossed it when we first arrived, I stepped out onto the balcony.
Gripping the railing, I looked down. Out here there was no depravity. Out here it was just me and a bundle of regret. Worried paranoia about who four was wasn’t half the amount of torture of what was happening to someone else. “Go home,” I whispered. “Just go home.”
Instead I turned to watch. The ache within almost bent me over. I watched him slowly and methodically lay the dark rope over her pale forearms, binding them together in a sensual arm band. That could be me under his rope. When he was almost to her elbows he tied off the gauntlet then gazed at the submissive before him.
His hands went to his belt and this time I turned away, not willing to watch her suck him off.
I didn’t turn back.
Folding my arms over my breasts that ached to feel his touch, I sat down on one of the patio chairs, wishing I had gone home.
Stupid. This was stupid. I was stupid.
“Idiot,” I whispered, bracing my elbows on my knees and dropping my head into my hands. I probably shouldn’t have grabbed his jacket because his cologne clung to the dark grey wool. Wells was the only person I know who wore a suit to a night club. Except for his swim trunks, I never saw him wear anything else. I had clearly had way too much to drink because nobody should smell this good.
I was a god damn mess.
Sniffing his clothing and lamenting about shit I needed to stop thinking about.
Like his hand in my pants, his finger in my pussy, and wanting to be the one on my knees with his dick in my mouth.
I should’ve gone home because nothing I could’ve conjured would’ve been like watching him top Anya.
If I didn’t have to pass him getting head, I’d go home. I listened to the buzz in my head as I sat on Wells’s balcony. There had been way too much alcohol. Way too much. More than normal. I could feel every vodka sip swirling in my stomach. Shit, I hoped I didn’t puke over the edge of his balcony.
Because that wasn’t pathetic at all.
A dull thwack followed by a sharp cry had my head lifting. Leaning to the side, I saw the light on in the room behind me, because fuck this was my life. Anya was bent over the foot of Wells’s bed her bound arms holding her up as he stood beside her, holding a heavy leather strap. His free hand slid over her denim clad ass and through the open sliding door I heard him ask if she was good.
A gasp and a nod was followed by another slap on her ass. Her body swayed, her decorated breasts swung prettily as another shocked cry escaped. Her hands fisted on the bedding and she nodded.
He reached around her, opened her jeans then peeled them down along with her panties. Wells shifted her so her knees were on the bed, adjusted her to his liking, gave her ass another gentle stroke then he picked up the strap.
The thuddy sound the leather made against her bare flesh made me squeeze my thighs. My breath caught and my ass tingled as her body rocked forward with a short, sharp needy sound escaping her. He found a rhythm, working the strap down her thighs, over her ass, even on the small of her back.
The concentration on his face was erotic as he watched Anya, registering every cry she made. He hit a spot that had the girl’s back bowing until her swollen nipples brushed the bedding and an abrupt scream came from her. His lips curled in a cruel, pleased smile and he hit that spot in a way that made my pussy clench, soaking my jeans. Her cries were reaching orgasmic intensity when he changed it to gentle thuds on her ass and thighs.
My fingers fisted over the sleeve cuff, my breaths heavy. He returned to that sweet spot that made my entire body tighten with need. He made her come with the next wave of strokes that caught her swollen pussy lips and the edge of her thighs. The strap was laid on her back as Anya gasped and shuddered from her orgasm. I watched him open his slacks, roll a condom on then push his way into that tender, swollen pussy.
I gasped in time with her, my own cunt spasming when she arched, a soundless cry coming from her as he fucked her. God, the intensity on his face had me pressing my hand between my thighs. This was a man who liked to fuck and did it like he did everything: with all the power of his Big Dog nickname. His clothed body was more sensual in that nothing but his cock sliding in and out of Anya was revealed as she rocked into him.
He spoke, sliding free of her, dragging a cry of denial from Anya. He picked up the strap and returned to beating her pretty ass, her cries much louder than when he had been fucking her.
Her bottom turned red before he lowered the strap and pushed his cock into her again. He caressed her ass as she moved into him, her entire body engaged in this moment of her Dom taking her. I wanted to hate her. Okay, I did as I watched them.
Again he slid free and picked up the leather flogger and resumed the hard, heavy thuds. She was beautiful: lost in the pain and rhythm while Wells hit her sweet spot twice, sending her shuddering and crying into orgasm. My own pussy pulsed hotly. He reached for lube, dribbled it over her raised ass then slowly pushed his cock in.
Anya cried out, her back bowing, her head snapping up as he worked his way in. My eyes fluttered and I gasped, my ass squeezing in response.
They were beautiful. Erotic. United. A Dom and his sub. A sub and her Dom as he fucked her. I hated her in that moment. I hated him. I hated me.
I heard everything, felt everything as they fucked, both lost to all but each other. A couple of flicks on her clit and she came on a soundless cry.
I watched him. Only him as he pumped into her, seeking his own org
asm. Beautiful, hated man. His head fell back and his eyes closed. He finally came with a hard shudder. He stayed within her for a few minutes then slid free, stripping off the rubber. Rolling Anya onto her back, he removed one clamp then caught her nipple then freed the other. He reached into his pockets and removed a pair of safety sheers.
Her arms were released and he picked her limp body up then walked into the bathroom, turning on the light. I turned back around in the chair, my voyeuristic moment over.
I couldn’t stop the tears. I hated that they were falling. I hated what was churning inside me: an ugly combination of hate, envy, jealousy and lust.
I wanted to be her so bad. Bracing my elbows on my bent legs, I covered my head, draping myself in a Wellsley cocoon.
I had invaded their moment for the selfish reason I wished it had been me. Fucking Wellsley “Big Dog” Darling. I fucking hated him.
I hated me.
Opening my eyes, I tried to figure out where I was. After a few confused minutes, I realized I was still on Wells’s balcony, wearing his suit jacket. And I was fucking freezing.
The world wobbled a little when I stood up. Damn lemon drops. I went to slide the door open and it didn’t budge. “Fuck,” I whispered, cupping my hands to the glass and looking inside. Everything was dark and still.
Pulling out my phone from my back pocket I sent a text to Wells, which would’ve worked if a loud chirp didn’t come from his suit pocket. Exhaling, I walked over to the second sliding door, rested my head on the glass and began to tap, using his phone. With my own, I sent him message after message that pretty much said, “Fuck you Wellsley Darling.”
Who locked the sliding doors on the top floor anyway? An asshole. That’s who.
I told his phone that too.
Multiple messages of telling him I hated him and constant tapping finally had the desired effect. The light snapped on beside his bed and a scowling Wells looked at me.
“Hey asshole, where’s your phone? It’s here.” I smacked it against the glass and glared at him. I was cold, the vodka was contemplating coming back up and I really had to pee.
At least he was alone. I don’t think I could’ve handled seeing Anya in his bed when I was feeling this vulnerable. He flipped the sheets aside and a very naked Wells walked towards me. Jesus God.
My heartbeat stuttered. I took in every beautiful naked inch of him. He hid a lot in his power suits. He ducked and read the message on the phone I held.
“Ask me nicely,” he said loudly through the glass.
Easing back, I typed: I’m going to pee on your balcony and throw your phone and jacket over the edge. So fuck you please.
“Nicer.”
“I hate you,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder I rapped his phone against the glass.
He braced his arm on the door, flaunting every damn sexy inch of him and tapped where the glow of his phone was. “You’re a mess, baby,” he said.
I wanted to argue with him but who was locked on his balcony at almost five in the morning with two phones? This girl.
“Wellsley.”
He slid the door open, grabbed my wrist and drew me inside. Without pausing, I released his phone and went straight to the bathroom.
My phone pinged a message back: Own your shit, little girl. Hot chocolate is ready.
He was right and he made me hot chocolate. Hugging his jacket close, I stepped into his bedroom and stared at the bed. The image of him and Anya returned and a combination of envy and jealousy churned in my belly.
Fiddling with the lapel of his jacket, I stared at the spot where Wells had owned her ass so beautifully while memories of the club swirled through my head: his hand in my pants, him controlling everything, his control over me, his control over Anya. Sexy, so very sexy.
“You’re thinking deep thoughts, baby.” The warmth of his body settled against my back and he reached around for my fiddling hand then set the mug in it. “Drink.”
I took a sip, very much aware of Wells behind me. His fingers wrapped around my left wrist and he lowered my arm before easing his jacket down. When I was freed, he took the warm mug and put it in my left hand then stripped the jacket off me. Sipping, I enjoyed the rich chocolate while appreciating the view of him walking to the closet to hang up his jacket.
A naked Wells was a beautiful thing. Six feet of lean, powerful muscles. His ass was utterly biteable and I wanted to worship the muscles on his back. When he turned, I shifted my gaze away and took a sip. I didn’t want to watch him walk towards me, all that skin was too much to take.
When he stopped behind me I fought the urge to shiver. I lost the battle when a finger hooked around some hair and he eased it behind my shoulder. “Tell me, little girl,” he murmured, his voice warm and rich like the chocolate in my mug, “did you watch?”
The silence felt charged. I stared down into the cup where ripples spread to the edges because my hand began to shake. I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell the truth. Maybe if I stayed quiet I’d save myself. Maybe if – his hands sliding along my waist derailed my brain.
“Did you watch each strike to her beautiful ass? Did you watch her sensual slide into subspace?” I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His fingers popped open the button of my jeans while he spoke against my ear. “Did you watch when she came, her cries echoing every time I cracked that leather against her soft, willing skin?”
Wells drew the zipper down and I squeezed my legs together in response.
“Did you watch me fuck her, little girl? Did you watch my cock easily slide through her cunt so soft and wet from submission? Did you watch me hold her orgasm under my control, as she begged for my cum?”
His hand slid into my jeans, over skin slick from his words, and I gasped in response. “Did you watch us fuck, my cock in her ass when I let her come? Did you watch, Amy? Answer me.”
“Yes,” I whispered and then cried out when he pushed two fingers into me.
“And did you ache to be her? Ache to be under my strap, your cunt wet from every strike on your sweet ass? Did you watch knowing if you weren’t so afraid of submission that it would be you I’d have fucked? It could’ve been your ass I took, your body submitting to me. Did you watch knowing that?”
“Yes.”
“Always so wet for me, aren’t you? This cunt so ready to be filled and claimed, so needing what I can give you. Don’t spill the chocolate on my bed.”
“No,” I gasped and tightened my grip on the mug, my body leaning into his as he pumped his fingers within me.
“And don’t you come. It could’ve been you, little girl. Finish your hot chocolate then I’ll take you home.”
A whimper of denial escaping, he withdrew his fingers then closed my jeans.
He moved suddenly. His hand snagged my hair, pushing his damp fingers into my mouth when I cried out. I tasted the musky creaminess of my arousal and there was a tightening in my womb.
My tongue licked while I sucked him clean.
“What you’re tasting? That’s your submission, little girl. And it’s fucking delicious.” His fingers slid from my mouth. Wells landed a hard smack on my ass that I felt through the jeans and sent my body into a battle to come even as I felt the quiet curling around me.
“Drink, Amy.”
My hands shook as I lifted the mug, watching Wells step into the large closet and dress. When I finished the hot chocolate, I hugged the mug to my chest. He buttoned up his shirt, while walking towards me.
When he stood before me, I felt vulnerable.
“You need eyes that don’t give you away so much. You’re so scared every time you give into me,” he murmured, caressing his thumb under my eye. “Let’s get you home, baby.”
Chapter 6
“I’m not, y’know,” I said, Wells turning his car into my neighbourhood. Where I lived was few tax brackets away from his penthouse. I had carefully picked my house going for an older middle class neighbourhood instead of the massively rich one I had spent a few years in
. My dream home was a bungalow with a large backyard. My dad had a simple two storey a few blocks away. Neither of us had ever been comfortable in the mansion, especially after Jack and his mother’s deaths.
Wells glanced at me, driving through the mostly empty streets. Some crazy person was jogging and another was walking their dog. He didn’t ask what I was talking about. “Afraid of submission,” I added.
A dark gold eyebrow arched as he turned right. “Baby, you’re terrified of it.”
Glaring at him, I folded my arms over my chest before I turned my attention out the window. “I’m not.”
He slowed to a stop in front of my cute little house and put the car into park. “Put your hands on the dash.”
“What?” Blinking, I looked at him. He had that look in his eyes that made my stomach quiver and the quiet stir awake. Licking my lips, I obeyed, the seatbelt trying to pull me back. When I went to release the catch, he swatted my hand hard enough to sting.
“That’s not what I said.”
Oh Jesus. The tips of my fingers reached the panel, the black belt pulling taut over me.
“Close your eyes.”
“I have neighbours, Wells.”
“Close your fucking eyes. The more you complain, the more you prove my point.”
“I’m not–” With a sigh, I closed my eyes. Silence stretched between us, the nylon pressing into my shoulder and digging into my breasts and stomach. Nerves fluttered at his lack of further direction. I felt stupid and uncomfortable.
I listened to my breathing, each sharp inhale and shaky exhale. I strained to hear Wells but he made no noise at all. I flexed my fingers out then made them relax as I fought the urge to fidget. After a heavy sigh, I tried to loosen up but it was surprisingly hard with him in the car. He was so close and so overwhelming.