“You have a wrong a number,” she replied abruptly, interrupting him mid-sentence, and his phone went dead.
What the hell?
The chill returned, hitting him hard, and he shuddered.
Something’s wrong. Something is horribly wrong.
Frustrated, he rose from behind his desk and began pacing. He was a logical man, a linear thinker, and he applied practical thinking to almost all he did, but it simply made no sense.
I’m going to track her down. I have to. I’ll have no peace until I do. I’m sure she’s in trouble, I can feel it.
CHAPTER THREE
His shower doubled as a steam room, and after closing his eyes and allowing the wet heat to wash over him he lathered his body with almond soap, allowing a waterfall of tepid water to wash it away. By the time he toweled off and donned his robe he felt calmer, and determined to follow his heart.
Not the least bit tired he was contemplating driving back to the club when his phone rang. His immediate thought, his wish, his hope, was that Gabriela was returning his call, but when he picked up the phone the screen told him otherwise. It was Catherine, a sub he had been seeing on a semi-regular basis.
“Hey, Zander,” her voice purred.
“Are you in town?” he asked.
“I am, sweet man.”
“And what can I do for you?” he inquired, grateful for the diversion.
“Mmmm, I need your paddle, and your teasing, and your lovely cock.”
Though his member stirred happily, it was a bittersweet smile that crossed his lips and he momentarily considered rejecting her request.
“Zander? Are you there? Did I catch you at a bad time?”
A bad time? I don’t know if it’s a bad time. Would seeing you would take my mind off things, or make me miss her even more?
“It’s not a bad time exactly, I’m not sure if I’m in the right frame of mind,” he answered honestly.
“Maybe we can help each other,” she purred. “I really need you, and it sounds as if you could use some company.”
“You could be right. Be here in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m on my way.”
He had met her at the club a few months before, and they had developed an easy, no strings relationship. He kept her bad habits in check, and she soothed his Dominant soul, and though they had become great friends they had realized early on they weren’t compatible as a couple.
Catherine was extremely high-strung, traveled a great deal, and was a driven ambitious woman. When she was at his mercy she gratefully released control, relishing her surrender, but outside the bedroom she was a wired and stressed corporate executive and there was no stopping her.
Standing up and stretching, he strolled into his playroom and adjusted the custom bondage chair to its triangular configuration. She would be made to kneel on the bench and bend over the raised center, her hands would grasp the bars extending from underneath, and a strap would wrap around the back of her legs leaving her bottom perfectly positioned for whatever he chose to do.
Moving into the living room he picked up his half-finished glass of wine, focusing on the woman about to walk through his door, and by the time the doorman called to announce Catherine’s arrival, he was looking forward to their time together.
He enjoyed making her check in at the desk then giving permission for her to ride the elevator up to his floor; it was all part of the ritual, exerting his control from the moment she set foot in the building. A few minutes later she knocked softly, and placing his empty glass on the kitchen counter he padded across the expansive living area and opened the door.
“Hello, Catherine. How have you been?” he asked, ushering her in. “I haven’t heard from you in, what, seven, eight weeks?”
“Yes, Sir, my apologies. I should have called,” she murmured.
“I think I’ll have to punish you for that, and for whatever other misdeeds you have to confess,” he stated firmly, taking her coat and hanging it in the closet.
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, the wet warmth stirring between her legs. “I should have made a point to stay in touch.”
Without responding he turned away and began walking down the wide hallway. Dutifully she fell in step behind him, and when he led her into the playroom she caught her breath. The triangle. Never did she feel as vulnerable as when she was bent over the triangle.
“Worried?” he asked, picking up the blindfold he’d left on the top of the dresser.
“A little,” she admitted.
“I’m going to undress you,” he announced, as he placed it across her eyes and secured it behind her head, “and while I’m peeling this lovely silk dress off your body you can confess your sins.”
Catherine’s pulse was firing, her temples were throbbing, and she was already melting. Just the sound of his voice, deep, confident, and calm, would send her butterflies into a hectic dance. Zander was always tender, always loving, always kind, but always very decisive and strict, and she loved every, single, solitary second of the time she spent with him.
Gently he moved the hair off her neck, traveling his mouth across her skin, lightly kissing, then sucking, as his fingers found the top of the zipper and slowly slid it down.
“I’m waiting,” he reminded her, his breath in her ear.
“I, uh, haven’t been going to the gym,” she whispered.
“Not at all?” he pressed.
“No, Sir, I don’t feel motivated,” she mumbled, the touch of his mouth against her neck shooting shivers down her spine.
“Do you want to feel motivated?”
“Yes, please, Sir.”
“What else?” he asked, sliding the dress down her body, allowing it to puddle at her feet.
“I’ve been having too much coffee, getting rattled, not sleeping,” she stammered.
“I thought we agreed no more than two cups a day,” he scolded.
“Um, yes, Sir. I’ve been having at least three, sometimes as many as five.”
“This is not good, Catherine,” he remarked, stepping away to drink in the sight of her.
She had chosen one of his favorite corsets. Made from red satin, underwires proudly held her naked breasts aloft, and black ribbon crisscrossed down the back, giving the illusion the garment had been tightly laced. Long black garters held black fishnet stockings, not his first choice, but they did add a touch of hedonism, and with a shimmering red thong to finish the picture she was a salacious sight.
“You look appropriately punishable,” he declared.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Her voice was quivering, and smatterings of goosebumps told him she was deliciously apprehensive. He circled her, his fingers feathering her arm, the tip of his tongue teasing a breast, the chenille of his robe brushing against the outside of her thigh, all designed to tease and tantalize.
“Sir?” she moaned.
“Yes, Catherine?” he inquired softly, leaning his head down to gently suckle a nipple.
“I’m feeling very weak.”
“Are you? Miss five cups of coffee, Miss busy executive with no time to call, is feeling weak?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “Very.”
“Hmm, well then, I’d best put you on the chair.”
Her heart began to thump as he led her forward and helped her into position.
“You know how to do this, kneel then lean over,” he dictated firmly.
As her body titled forward he guided her hands to the poles, then wrapped the shackles around her wrists and the wide leather band snugly across the back of her thighs.
The top of the triangle upon which her pelvis rested was padded with memory foam covered with a plush, microfiber fabric, and while it was comfortable, she could feel the lewd elevation of her backside. The intense vulnerability the position created caused her to whimper softly, but moments later the joy of helplessness caressed her soul, transforming her whimpers into a deep, satisfied sigh.
“Now then,
” he said kindly, running the palm of his hand over her bottom, “I think you are just about ready.”
“Just about?” she squeaked, wondering what might be coming next.
“This thong is an interesting choice of undergarment. What made you choose it?”
“I, uh, just thought you might like it,” she mumbled.
“It’s stretched very provocatively across your crack. It has inspired me to…” he remarked, allowing his voice to trail off.
“To do, uh, wh-what?”
Ignoring her trembling inquiry he walked to the chest of drawers, withdrawing a narrow dildo and a small container of lube.
“It seems to me,” he began, placing a large dollop of gel on the top of the rubber intruder, “that you could use a dose of humiliation. Not staying in touch with me, not going to the gym, breaking our agreement about the coffee, such sins tell me you need to be put in your place, and I suspect there’s more you’ve not shared with me. Would I be correct in that assumption? Is there more?”
“Yes, Sir,” she stammered.
“As I thought. I believe this might help you behave during our long absences,” he announced, and pulling aside her thong, he pressed the lewd visitor against her back door.
“Oooh, Sir,” she groaned.
“Accept it, Catherine,” he said firmly, gently but insistently pushing it forward. “Relax and submit.”
“Oooh, yes, Sir,” she whimpered, relinquishing herself to the depraved device.
“That’s better, good girl,” he murmured, and snaking it deeper, continued until just the flange was visible, then nestled the thong back in place.
“How do you feel?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she mumbled.
“Next time you decide to skip the gym or drink that extra cup of coffee, I suggest you remember this moment. If you don’t exert some self-control you can expect more of the same, but a larger and more aggressive episode. Are we clear?”
“Definitely,” she stammered, her face burning.
“Good. You’ll remain quite and reflective for a full ten minutes and consider what I’ve just told you.”
“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.”
A kitchen timer sat nearby and he turned the knob, smiling as the ticking sound echoed through the silent room. He’d discovered that time-outs were remarkably effective with Catherine, and had concluded it was because she had very little down time in her fast-paced, hectic life. Time-outs not only calmed her frazzled soul, but allowed her precious minutes to truly ponder her crimes, and not just the ones she’d chosen to confess.
Settling into the comfortable love seat by the window he watched her carefully, alert to any signs of discomfort. Her fingers were releasing their death grip on the poles, and he could almost see the stress evaporate from her body, leaving her tranquil and at peace.
Opening his robe he gently massaged his stiffening member. There was nothing quite as wondrous as the sight of a woman bound and helpless, ready and willing to accept whatever he had to offer, and he longed for the woman with whom he could share his decadent desires with an abiding intimacy and love.
The timer sounded, startling them both. He had slipped into his own surrender, mesmerized by the tick, tick, tick, losing himself in the sensuous view before him. Standing up he let the robe slip from his shoulders, and moving to her side, gently stroked her back above the top of her corset.
“Are you ready to continue?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to remove your little friend now, and then your gorgeous ass is going to be well and truly spanked.”
“Oh, thank you, Sir,” she groaned, the butterflies fluttering their wings.
Moving aside the thong, he took hold of the flange and slowly withdrew the dildo, listening to her tiny gasping sounds of what, he wasn’t sure. Pleasure? Displeasure? Excitement? Humiliation?
Placing it on some tissues on top of the dresser, he turned and ran his hands over her upturned posterior, rubbing and squeezing.
“Now that you are sufficiently put in your place, I believe it’s time to pay for your sins.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry I didn’t follow the rules,” she whimpered.
He began slapping her soundly, covering the entire breadth of her backside, and as her skin turned pink he increased the pace until she was vowing loudly that she would keep her promises and never disobey him again.
“I believe you,” he finally said, his hot hand rubbing her crimson cheeks. “If you find yourself falling off the wagon you’re to call me.”
“Thank you,” she panted. “I do need the support. It’s just hard sometimes.”
“You know you can reach out, that’s no excuse,” he remarked, adding a few additional smacks to underscore his point.
“Yes, Sir. I know. I will, I’ll call you next time, honestly.”
“It’s entirely up to you. If you don’t you’ll just end up back where you are now, but I might be tempted to use a hard paddle instead of my hand.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be spanked for pleasure when you see me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then behave yourself.”
“I will,” she moaned.
“How badly do you want me?” he asked, slithering his finger inside her thong, exploring her soaked grotto.
“Zander, please, so much, so very much,” she whimpered.
He dallied a while, stroking, tickling her clit, cupping her pussy and gently milking her need.
“I’m begging you, please take me, please.”
The man I look for doesn’t beg a woman, not for anything. It is the woman who begs him.
Gabriela’s imponderable eyes flashed through his head. Shaking himself he moved to the front of the chair and unshackled Catherine’s wrists, then slowly brought her upright, massaging her shoulders and back as he did, admiring her breasts standing high and proud, held up by the underwires of the corset. His fingers reached across to each, sharply pinching the full, puckered nipples, then reaching down he unbuckled the wide strap that had secured her legs.
“Stay still,” he said sternly.
Moving to the mahogany chest he opened the top drawer, retrieved a condom, then stepping back to her side he helped her off the chair. Firmly placing an arm around her waist he guided her forward, her blindfold putting her completely at his mercy.
“I’m really stinging,” she moaned.
Moving her through the doorway into the hallway, he shuffled her towards his bedroom.
“Are you complaining?”
“No,” she whimpered.
“Thank you for sharing,” he smiled, stopping their progress to kiss her on the neck. “If you keep talking I can certainly add even more zing,” he warned, traveling his hand to caress her hot, crimson cheeks.
She bit her lip. She had been told before, and not just by Zander, that she talked too much.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Lifting her up he carried her the remaining distance to his bed, laying her on her stomach.
“Elbows and knees,” he directed, and turning to his nightstand he touched the screen of his tablet, sending the fireplace to life. The flames filled the room with a soft, amber glow, and turning back to her he found her waiting for him exactly as he’d instructed, her bottom high in the air.
“You look delicious,” he murmured, climbing on to the bed behind her.
“Please, just fuck me,” she groaned.
Grasping the thong, he skimmed it down her legs and threw it aside, then smacked her quickly, her pink glowing moons impossible to resist. To his delight she squealed and squirmed, and as he watched her salacious gyrations he slid the condom over his engorged, pulsing penis. His thumbs touched her lips, slowly pulling apart her puffy folds, and he stared at the impatient, wet cavern.
“What was it you wanted?” he teased.
“For you to fuck me,” she begged.
“Be careful
what you wish for,” he declared, and clutching her hips, he plunged forward.
Throwing back her head, thrilled at the intense intrusion, she wailed loudly, and Zander, fueled by her cry, pumped vigorously, fucking her with abandon, her continuing howls of passion urging him on. It was his habit to change tempo, to tease and tempt, to add color and texture, but this night his turbo chargers had switched on, and all he wanted was to fuck her as hard and as fast as he was able.
“My God, Zander,” she howled.
“Do you want me to stop,” he panted.
“No, no, no,” she hollered.
“Then don’t speak again,” he said sternly, spanking her with gusto.
She squealed at the hot slaps, but as much as they stung they served to inflame her heat and her pending release, and his cock answered by swelling in its raincoat.
“You’ve got thirty-seconds,” he growled.
Throwing an arm under her body she circled her clit, vigorously rubbing, bringing herself to the brink, and as her moment gushed forth, the explosion impossible to resist or prevent, she squirmed against him, lost in the wash of the startling orgasm.
Overcome by the power and alacrity of the sex, Zander pounded furiously, his hot cream an explosive torrent, and he grit his teeth as he ground against her, his heart pumping furiously, fueling his fervor.
The spasms were violent but dissipated quickly, and as his flaccid member slipped away he collapsed beside her, trying to catch his breath. She flattened out, rolling on to her back, panting and moaning.
“Zander, what the hell?” she gasped, pulling off the blindfold.
Ignoring her question he reached across to the tissues on his nightstand, and wrapping the condom in the white, flimsy paper he laid it next to the tissue box. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, willing his heart to slow and his breathing to return to normal.
Rolling on her side, Catherine flopped an arm over his stomach, surrendering to the post-orgasmic haze. Warm silence filled the room, and when finally he stirred, he reached across and switched on the bedside lamp.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” she breathed, blinking her eyes open. “Don’t get me wrong, it was unreal, I’m just wondering-”
“It was the corset,” he replied, cutting her off.
The Romantic Dominant Page 3