Glass Houses

by Helena Maeve

  “It’s hot,” I agreed, “but it’s been a while since I’ve been with a girl.” Not for lack of interest. I had played with women before—usually when their boyfriends or husbands were somehow also involved—but every time I went out hunting for a good lay, I found myself considering only male partners.

  Elliot chuckled, his voice just a little bit choked. “Lucky me.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking as I took the Martini out of his hands and set it down on a side table, between a leather crop and a pair of nipple clamps tied together with a silver chain. Either someone had finished early or Cat Oh Nine was putting more money into its setup than I remembered.

  “You seem nervous,” I pointed out. That didn’t bother me in principle, but medicating nerves with liquor did more harm than good in the long run. I wanted Elliot to think back on tonight without regret.

  He had the grace to nod. “I am. Not my usual scene.”

  “You picked the place…” We could go somewhere else if he was uncomfortable. Sparking cattle prods and high-pitched wails weren’t for everyone.

  “I know. I wanted to show you off.”

  My blood ran cold. “Excuse me?” All sorts of scenarios came to mind, from the least flattering you must be mistaking me for your property to think that’s something you get to share with the class, lover-boy? But none of them passed my pinched lips.

  “The last time I was here, I came by myself and left within fifteen minutes,” Elliot said, the words a rush of breath and jumbled meaning. He shrugged. “Does that lose me cool points?”

  Not nearly enough to matter. “So what is this,” I asked, “your triumphant return? Because I hate to break it to you, but no one in here cares if you’re with me. I don’t have a reputation as the world’s awesomest dominatrix, much as I’d like to claim otherwise.”

  He cracked a smile at my abysmal attempt at levity and leaned back against the wall behind him. “No, it’s more a matter of me proving to myself that I’m not afraid of venturing into dark corners.”

  “Oh, come off it. You’re just smug that you’ve got a hot girl who wants nothing more than to have her way with you.”

  “I am?” His grin only faded as our lips met.

  I pressed my body against Elliot’s until we were touching from knee to chest and I could taste the vodka on his tongue. I didn’t kiss to bruise his lips, but I did want him to stop over-thinking this. We were together, in a place where no one cared to glance at us twice. And if he was feeling self-conscious, we could always go back to the hotel, have our fun there.

  It took a while, but eventually Elliot circled my waist with his broad hands and I let myself relax into the warm curve of his upper thighs, my right leg trapped between his. He gasped against my lips when I ground against his cock and a flood of selfish delight coursed through me. I did that. Me. I made him sound like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “Pity you have to ride your bike home,” I mused, “or I’d spank you right now. Showing me off like I’m a prize horse… What do you think? That I’m yours to do with as you please?”

  Elliot’s eyes were dark and hooded when I pulled away. He was watching me intently.

  “Well? Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?”

  I didn’t expect Elliot to nudge me away with a decisive little push. My first thought was that I’d done something wrong. Maybe I should have let him lead, like we’d started. It wasn’t as though I minded him showing me off once I understood what it was all about. I even felt slightly flattered that being with me was a source of pride for someone. I told myself it was only flattery and nothing more. I couldn’t afford petty sentiments getting in the way.

  Elliot turned around and bent slightly at the waist, bracing himself against the wall as if he was about to be frisked. I became aware of his hand moving between his legs and, a moment later, his pants slid down his hips, leaving him in his briefs. A rosy blush crested on his cheeks. “I’m sorry… Ma’am.”

  Oh fuck. I curled my toes in my new black boots to keep from quivering all over. Heat surged in my veins like molten lead. Elliot wasn’t running away from me. He was offering to let me have my way if I wanted to. And how could I deny it? He looked so debauched, so anxious for my first swat that I thought nothing of reaching for the paddle and raising it high into the air.

  It had always been something of a fantasy of mine to be called Ma’am in bed, but I never asked my partners for it once they knew what I did for a living. I didn’t want the next step to be schoolboy fantasies and putting my lovers to bed like I tucked in the Hamilton children. My job and my sex life were two different things. There was nothing sexy in mixing the two.

  Elliot cried out with the first slap of the paddle. Clearly it hurt a lot more than my bare hand. Had I been any less aroused, I would’ve considered stopping here and letting Elliot off the hook easy. I didn’t need to lay into him as hard as I did, but how could I help it? Every time I struck him, he scrambled to find purchase on the wall, his back arching as he hissed and swore and begged.

  He begged me to hit him again whenever I lingered too long in wait. I didn’t want him anticipating, so I tried to layer the strokes, to caress his cheeks in between sharp blows, but it was no use. He was waiting for me every time the paddle descended.

  “One more,” I said, when I thought he’d had enough.

  “No,” he breathed. “Please.”

  “Elliot—”

  “I can take a couple.” He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyes red with unshed tears. I’d known he was sexually submissive for two years, but I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t also a masochist. Under that thin veneer of cocky charm was a man unlike any I’d met before. He hadn’t asked me for anything I couldn’t deliver. Two swats against his blood-warm ass were easily delivered in breathless succession. Elliot opened his mouth to shriek, but no noise came out. He was shaking, brow pressed against the wall and his thighs trembling as I drew up his pants and fastened the zipper.

  It wasn’t until my fingers brushed his member that I realized he was hard.

  “You don’t have to,” he started.

  “Are you telling me what to do again?”

  He shook his head quickly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “N-no, Ma’am.” There was that honorific again. The sound of it went straight to my cunt. I felt my inner muscles clench in echo.

  “I could tie you up right here and flog you until you behave.” I wouldn’t. I wanted to take him to highs he hadn’t visited before, but I wanted to do it someplace where it was just the two of us.

  Thankfully, Elliot had the same idea. “I’ve bought…things. They’re at the hotel.” He met my gaze searchingly. “If you want…”

  “Can you drive?”

  Elliot nodded.

  * * * *

  On the back of Elliot’s bike, we almost broke the speed limit as we made our way to the hotel. We barely stopped to acknowledge the staff who greeted us. I was sure I’d feel bad about it when I left and they all gave me the stink eye, but in the moment I was too eager to get Elliot upstairs and out of his clothes to care.

  We crashed into the door before it had closed properly behind us, our hands scrabbling madly at the lock. Elliot kissed me then, in a way that had little enough to do with submission, and I let him because it felt so good to be wanted. I didn’t mind that we were drifting in and out of character or that my jacket landed on the couch and my boots were lost to the coffee table. By the time we reached the bed, I was down to panties and corset and Elliot had lost his shirt. He made to follow me down to the mattress and I had a good mind to let him, when the thought came to me that he’d had designs for tonight.

  A man didn’t go out to buy sex toys in a strange new town because he was indifferent about their use.

  I stopped him with my stocking-clad toes against his chest. “You have something to show me.” I panted. “Don’t you?”

  Elliot was half out of his mind with want, but he paused, breaths knifing in an
d out, and nodded. I fought the urge to touch myself as he made a beeline for the dresser. I didn’t know that people actually used all the drawers made available in hotel rooms—perhaps they only did it when they had something they really didn’t want the housekeeping staff to find, like an unmarked black bag sealed with red tape. It seemed fairly ominous, but my attention was stolen by the sight of Elliot’s taut biceps as he ripped it open.

  “Come here,” I said, beckoning with a crooked finger. I motioned for him to kneel at my feet. Elliot went without protest or hesitation.

  He reached into the bag and produced a small sampling of toys similar to the ones I occasionally looked at online. I counted two pairs of leather cuffs with straps and hooks meant to secure each to the feet of the bed, a purple flogger with a stiff, braided grip, and a burnished steel cock cage with room for a lock. All good quality. I could only imagine the price tag.

  Considering I’d barely had enough cash to buy a laptop, splurging on my non-existent sex life was out of the question. I pushed envy out of my thoughts and picked up the cock cage. “There’s a piece missing.”

  Elliot pulled the lock from the bottom of the plastic bag. It came with a small silver key on a very discreet silver chain. I felt my breath catch with all the possibilities that came to mind.

  “You’ve been a busy boy,” I noted airily, forcing myself not to show too much interest. I wanted him to work to please me—that was part and parcel of the games we played.

  I wished he’d taken me along for the shopping spree. But it wasn’t my place to ask for that any more than it was his place to tear my clothes off and fuck me into the mattress. It bothered me to think I would’ve let him if he asked. Our roles were set for a reason.

  “Do you like them, Ma’am?”

  Very, very much. “They’ll do.” I stroked my hand through Elliot’s hair in counterpoint to my studied indifference. “Show me what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours and I’ll think about using them.” I had to decide which one. The restraints were appealing enough, but I’d heard Elliot cry out for more at the club and I couldn’t get enough of his husky, harried breaths when I spanked him. I knew I could give him a good flogging. I wasn’t so out of practice that I’d smack him in the kidneys.

  My thoughts skidded to a sharp stop as I felt Elliot nose his way along my inner thighs, pressing his lips into the smooth satin of my stockings with soft, warm exhales.

  “Get on with it,” I gritted out, flexing my fingers in his hair as my cunt spasmed with need. I’d never been good about denying myself the things I wanted.

  Elliot didn’t waste time complying with that unsubtle request. He kissed me through the panties and the crotch of the stockings, both sodden and slick. I could’ve told him to take them off me and put his mouth to my bare pussy—I’d fantasized about it often enough—but I didn’t want to waste time. I shifted my hand to the back of his neck and ground down on the sharp point of his tongue until I got him where I needed him most. Elliot found purchase on my knees with his splayed hands, if only for a second. He removed them so fast that I couldn’t even reprimand him. I sent a mental note of thanks to whoever had taught him bedroom etiquette and focused shamelessly on my own pleasure.

  It didn’t take long. Elliot kept his eyes on me and his lips latched mercilessly onto my clit. Later, I thought, I was going to have him finger me until I was satisfied that he deserved an orgasm of his own.

  I imagined him begging for mercy, even as he got me off again and again, as I spiraled into a breathless, thunderous climax, my body jackknifing off the bed—and before I knew it, there was nothing aspirational about that. My body arched violently against the mattress and I smothered a shout. Every part of my body seemed aflame, every nerve sparking with electric, overwhelming need.

  Elliot only ceased his efforts when I pushed him away, oversensitive from his ministrations. I’d never seen him so flushed. His mouth looked bruised. I was still shaking as I righted myself and bent to taste myself on his lips.

  “Good boy,” I panted. “You’re such a good boy for me…” I felt sluggish, exhausted, but I wasn’t finished with him. I kissed him again, gentling us both through the excitement of the moment. I needed to get myself together.

  Adrenaline slowly resolved itself into something approaching clarity of mind, until I could pull Elliot onto the bed beside me and help him out of his pants with mostly steady hands. He cooperated eagerly enough and turned to his belly for me at the slightest nudge. I ran a hand over the newly bared skin, over his red-flushed cheeks. There were welts, but the abuse showed.

  “Did it hurt very much?” I hadn’t gone easy on him, but then he hadn’t asked me to, either.

  Elliot nodded.

  “Did you like it?” That was the second, equally relevant point to be made.

  He nodded again, hissing sharply as I ran my fingers over the reddened flesh. The worst of the burn would fade by morning. That was one advantage of paddles over whips. The flogger might be too much so soon after a paddling, though, and I didn’t want to compromise our next rendezvous.

  “Roll over for me,” I suggested. I could read the confusion in Elliot’s gaze. He was mere seconds away from telling me he could take more—which might have been true, but we didn’t have enough time together to push our play to the far end of what he could handle—so I anticipated him. “I think you’ve earned yourself a reward. Hands above your head.”

  I never got tired of his willingness to obey my orders without questioning why or trying to argue his way into harsher treatment. It was my choice to punish him, just as it was my choice to reward him when I decided he deserved it. And the rest of the time I was going to pretend I did what I did because it pleased me to have someone semi-steady to fuck. I couldn’t afford to grow any more attached than that, least of all to a man who was leaving town at the end of the week.

  The leather cuffs locked snugly around his wrists. I hooked one to the other and both of them to the foot of the bed. It took a little shuffling to get Elliot comfortable so his arms weren’t stretched too far. I didn’t want his shoulders sore unless he wanted to be sore. Struggling was going to be his call, not mine.

  “I’m going to leave your ankles free,” I told Elliot, “but if you kick me, it’s game over, understand?”

  He nodded hastily. “Yes.” His cock was stiff against his belly and I could tell it was becoming a trial to resist begging for satisfaction. I was glad that he was trying. It showed me that he was still with me, still present enough that he could remember how he was supposed to behave with his dominant.

  I slowly dragged my hands along his upper arms and down to clasp his fingers in mine. He had such lovely hands. I wanted to suck his fingers into my mouth and lick his palms, but I resisted. He was on edge enough as it was. I needed to pull him back, to make it possible for him to last longer than a handful of minutes. I settled over his hips with a devilish grin playing across my lips.

  Elliot’s breaths hitched audibly in his throat. He strained against me, desperate for a flicker of friction, anything to take the edge off. He wasn’t going to get it so easily. I stroked the outside of his elbows, where the wrinkled skin was so very delicate and the nerves so tender, and felt him jolt again, huffing out a laugh. “Oh, you’re ticklish, are you?”

  “Sometimes.” He flushed, licking his lips as I perched over him. He glanced at my corset, the wheels in his head turning and turning. I kept hoping he’d ask me to take it off, but, stubbornly, he didn’t.

  By the time I walked my fingertips across his collarbones to the hardened peaks of his nipples, Elliot wasn’t the only one breathing hard. The corset didn’t help in that regard. I gave up my teasing with a scratch of nails and held Elliot’s gaze as I unclasped the multitude of hooks that held the bustier together in the front. I could breathe again, which was great, but I also realized that the poor fit of the upper hem had left me with a not so attractive ruddy stripe running all the way across from flank to flank.

&n
bsp; “You’re so sexy,” Elliot groaned, as if reading my mind, and I could tell from the breathless tenor of his voice that it wasn’t a ploy to force my hand. He was staring at my breasts and my belly and face, gaze as restless as a hummingbird. Arousal, I told myself, has made men do crazier things. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes?” It was my turn to be caught staring.

  “Would you fuck me?”

  Four words and a burst of want sparked in my belly. I wanted to say yes, to grab the strap-on and go to town like I had the last time we’d been together, but Elliot wouldn’t make it past the first brush of my fingers against his prostate. He had been so good for me so far that I wanted to give him something special.

  “No,” I said, and dismounted.

  The noise he made was so distraught, so pained that I nearly changed my mind. “Please—please, Ma’am, I need it. I need you. Please—” He stopped when he heard me open my handbag. Anxiety morphed to confusion until at last he figured it out. “Oh. You want… That’s good, too. I mean. Sure. Sure thing—”

  I sucked in my cheeks in an effort to conceal a smile. “We need to work on our trust, don’t you think?” As if asking me to fuck him with a dildo didn’t involve plenty of it. I pushed the thought aside as I ripped open the wrapper and slid the condom down his stiff length. He was already slick with pre-cum. A few hard strokes and I could probably have him coming in my hand if I wanted—I didn’t.

  I felt sexy undressing while Elliot watched. He had seen me naked before, but there was something about peeling off the last remaining layers that made me feel like I was doing something daring, letting him catch a glimpse of me at my most vulnerable.

  Except that he was the one tied to the bed, squirming as I settled astride his hips and took him in hand.