Restraint

by Alyssa Clark

  I answered on the third ring, “Hello.” The greeting sounded a little more sensual than I was going for, but it wasn't the tone that I usually took up when speaking with my clients.

  “Hello,” a male voice echoed, pausing to clear his throat as he seemed to take the time to decide what to say. “I was referred to you by a coworker, but he didn't really elaborate what you did. He suggested that you aided in stress relief?”

  “I'm not at liberty speak about the services that I offer to my different clients. However, if you are interested in making arrangements or an appointment I would be happy to meet you at my office,” I offered lightly as I continued to paint my toenails.

  “How soon would I be able to meet with you?”

  I paused and tried to keep from sighing, I had hoped to take the day off. But, when you worked for yourself it's never a good idea to brush off a potential new client. Days off meant no money was coming in. I glanced at the clock and tried to guess how long it would take me to put my face on, “I could be available in an hour. If that's what you mean?”

  A rumble of noise came over the phone, and I could hear him go through things that I could only assume were on a desk. “I can do that, where is your office located at?”

  “I’ll text the address to you,” I offered, “I’ll see you in an hour.” With that, I hung up the phone and took the time to blow on my freshly painted toenails. I guess I wouldn’t be able to wear my new peep-toe pumps like I wanted.

  I took my time getting ready because there’s never a good reason to rush for a man. Or that’s how I felt about it, anyway. I curled my brown hair so it fell in delicate waves around my shoulders, I put on enough makeup to cover any imperfections I saw and to make my blue eyes pop. I changed into a black pencil line skirt, something that hugged my hips but wasn’t so tight that I couldn’t move or bend down. And decided to go with a darker gray camisole and then I tied it together with a sapphire blue blouse. I gave myself one last appraising look before I walked out the door of my apartment.

  I arrived at my office after a short cab ride. Usually, I opted for the bus, but the area that I had my office in wasn’t entirely on the up and up. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe, it was just that the businesses in the area had a high chance of being broken into. I learned when I first rented the place to not keep anything expensive in the front part of the building and bolt down or lock up anything expensive in the back of the building.

  My office also offered a place of … play for my clients. Part of the reasoning for its location was for things to remain discreet. Sometimes they opted for a hotel at their own expense, but I preferred my office; even if it was in a bad part of town. It held all my bigger toys that weren’t practical to tow from hotel to hotel.

  I approached the door, giving a cautious look over my shoulder. The street looked clear, save for a dark blue sedan parked further down. I waited a moment before turning to unlock the door. I dawdled about the door, sure that the person that requested this meeting was hiding in the vehicle. Because, of course. If men are anything, they’re predictable. When I cast a glance over at the car again, I saw a man stepping out of it.

  Ah, how it feels to be right. I went ahead and stepped in, flicking on the lights and preparing myself for when he decided to join me.

  Given my choice in professions, you would think I had a better grasp of people. With observation, they’re not hard to read. But there was still something about meeting a stranger that would set me on edge. Men were predictable to a degree, but there was always that one little lamb that would stray from the flock.

  I sat my bag on the built-in desk that hid a filing cabinet. A bad part of town gave reason to decorate the front part of my office sparingly. I hadn’t been broken into, yet, but I made the effort to appear like there was nothing worth stealing. The front part had two waiting room style couches and the built-in desk. There was a pretty painting of water lilies on the wall, but that was it. The door to the back was heavy and had not one, but two deadbolts on it. Paranoid, maybe, but I had quite a bit of money invested in the equipment behind the door.

  I waited patiently behind the desk, feeling awkwardly like a receptionist. It wasn’t long before I saw a man approaching the outside of the building. He eyed me with obvious curiosity through the glass. I tried to maintain a confident appearance, but I was kind of struck by what I saw. He was younger. When Mr. Franklin advised that he had passed my card to a colleague I assumed it would be to someone that was a similar age to him. The man standing outside my office couldn’t be that much older than me. He was in his early thirties at the most. He had short cropped sandy colored hair and a bit of the same colored fuzz on his face. He seemed to have an average height and build to him, had a few inches on me even in my heels. It was a little hard to gauge his physique in his suit and tie, but he didn’t have any apparent pudge to him.

  I offered a smile and nodded towards the door, there was something to not opening the door for him and making him accept the decision to enter. While what I did was sexual, there was also something psychological about it. If he knew what I did and wanted it, we would make an agreement and arrangement for him to submit to me.

  He opened the door, the glass was bare of any sort of calling or business name. As far as any passerby may see this was just a nameless waiting room. “Angela Winters?” he asked curiously, the voice was familiar. This was the man that had called me.

  I made my smile brighten and placed both my hands on the desktop, I would make him come to me. “That’s me,” I assured him. “Unfortunately, you didn’t clarify who you were.”

  He approached the desk with an air of confidence that bordered cockiness. A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he eyed me, I could see the appreciation on his face, but I chose to ignore it. I made an effort to make myself look beautiful, but it wasn’t for the sake of picking up a guy. “Matthew Clarke,” he offered me a hand that I accepted out of politeness, giving his firm grip a squeeze as he raised a brow at me. “Allen Franklin suggested that I call you and, well, meet with you for stress relief. As I said before, he didn’t say what it was that you did. I assumed you were a masseuse, was I wrong?”

  Something in me twitched, and I tried not to be insulted. He was asking if I was a prostitute without actually saying it. I smiled icily at him now, he didn't know better. “Yes, as I said to you on the phone, Mr. Clarke, what I do for Mr. Franklin is confidential. I’m not at liberty to speak on the details.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed with a smile, though there was something to the way he looked at me. Maybe he hoped I was a prostitute. I tried to keep from sneering in disgust. “If you’re not a masseuse, what is it that you do? How do you exactly help with stress?”

  More suggestive jabs. My smile tightened, and I stepped back briefly to fetch a contract from the filing cabinet. I set it on the desktop between us and pulled out a pen. “The services I provide are confidential, as I said. If you would like to inquire about their details, I would be happy to supply them to you, even provide you a demonstration. Of course, after you sign an agreement that would detail what happens here is not discussed with anyone else.”

  “So,” he picked up the contract and seemed to scan in curiously. It was a standard nondisclosure agreement. “Franklin comes to you for sex then?”

  There was something about his tone that made me want to slap the smirk off his face. “No, Mr. Clarke,” I tried not to growl at this bastard. I decided to try a different tactic because he hadn’t signed the contract just yet, and while I was ready to beat his ass until it glowed red, I wasn’t ready to tell him just what I would do to him unless he asked for a demonstration of what I did. “I am not a prostitute,” I adopted the tone of voice that seemed to drive Mr. Franklin during our sessions. “You will find that if you make the insinuation, again, that I will not be so polite in brushing off the insult. As I said before if you want an understanding of what I do you will have to take the time to sign this agreement.”

&
nbsp; He seemed to recognize the tone of voice I was using, on some level, and his brows drew up. He didn’t offer any sort of apology, and I found myself realizing the reason why he seemed to be responding to me in the fashion that he was. I was dealing with a man that considered himself an alpha. Ugh. Why would Franklin give my card to him? I watched as he picked up the pen and messily scribbled a signature after placing the paper on the desk. Curiosity got the better of him.

  Once he finished, I turned the paper around and plucked the pen from his grasp. I neatly put my signature on the appropriate line and dated it. That done, I decided to make him wait now, pulling my business phone from my purse and taking a photocopy of the document. That done I offered him the hard copy of the contract, “For your records.” He looked confused but took the contract and folded it, before sticking it into the front pocket of his jacket. “What I do for Mr. Franklin is not sex, Mr. Clarke. And, should you decide to hire me for my services, you will find it in your best interest to not suggest that I am a prostitute again.”

  “Oh?” he looked intrigued.

  I couldn’t help but smile, there was temptation here. I could see myself stringing him up and having all sorts of debauched fun at his expense. “Yes,” I replaced my phone and retrieved my office keys from their pocket. “Mr. Franklin sees me for a certain type of stress relief. I am a Domme,” I said evenly as I placed my keys on the desktop.

  Confusion crossed his features, and I could see he wasn’t aware what I was talking about. “A domme?” he had his phone out of his pocket, and it looked like he was going to do a quick search. I fought not to roll my eyes.

  “A domme,” I supplied for him. “Is a dominate. As in a person that dominates a submissive in a private and sometimes sexual means.”

  “But you just said you didn’t have sex with him,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t,” there was a temptation to bare my teeth at him. He was trying me. “Mr. Franklin acts as a submissive for me. For some people, submitting to another person in different ways can be considered a form of stress relief.”

  “Does his wife know he sees you?”

  “That is for him and her to know, not you,” I said sternly. “And you will not inform her, or else you will be breaching the contract you just signed.”

  A hand drifted up to cut through his hair as he eyed me. He was curious, but there was something he was unsure about. “I don’t know what the domme or submissive thing means,” he admitted as he tried to sneakily put his phone away, though it was placed in a pocket closer to his hand than he had gotten it from. I’m guessing so it would be readily available to look up anything else I may mention that he was unfamiliar with. “You offered a demonstration?”

  “Normally, a visit into my backroom would require paying a fee. However, this time I’m willing to overlook it,” because bending him over was something I wanted to do. “Are you sure you want to find out just what I do?”

  His brows drew together, and he stepped closer, eyeing me in a way that I could practically feel them combing over me. “I want to know,” he said, and with the tone of his voice, I could tell easily that he desired me. Flattering, but I wasn’t going to allow it to affect me. Not after his insinuations.

  I relaxed forward onto the desk, and I saw his eyes go down, taking in my cleavage greedily. “I will need a word,” I purred. Now I could play a seductress.

  “A word?”

  “A safe word is what we call it,” I educated. “When things become too much, or you’re not enjoying them, you say this word, and I stop.”

  His eyes immediately went to my face, and that confusion was there again, “What? And stop wouldn’t be adequate enough?” His tone sounded like the idea was ridiculous. How little he knew.

  “Think of it like this,” I lowered my voice in a manner that I thought would sound beckoning. “When you are with a lover and the sex is so good that you feel it everywhere, do you not hear her beg you not to stop?” I took a breathy tone, seeing that I had his full undivided attention, “Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.” I noticed him swallow and nod, just slightly. I straightened his eyes came back to my face and his attention rapt. “It's a similar thing. When things feel so good, even if they’re in a different manner, words tend to blend together. Saying, ‘Don’t stop’ quickly enough can sound unfortunately similar to stop. As a way to lean away from disappointment, we pick a safe word that means stop, so there’s no confusion. Do you understand?”

  He cleared his throat, “I do.” He looked embarrassed and took another swipe of his hand through his hair, he tried to appear cool and unaffected. But, his arousal was easy to spot. That was the reason I worked so hard to appear attractive. Who didn’t want a beautiful woman spanking them? “I… I don’t really know where to start with a safe word.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Clarke,” I reached forward to adjust the lapels of his jacket. “What is it that you do?”

  “Matt,” he corrected, eyeing me uneasily now. “I’m a lawyer.”

  Hm, a lawyer? I guess I pegged Mr. Franklin wrong. “Pick a random law term for me,” I beckoned as I went on to straighten his tie.

  “Acquittal?” he offered.

  “Perfect, that will be your safe word,” I released him and plucked my keys up. I went to the door to the backroom and began to unlock it, aware that he followed me closely. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but he wanted me enough to follow through with it. How silly. I opened the door and peered at him over a shoulder, “Welcome into my parlor, little fly.” I stepped in and turned up the lights just slightly.

  I liked to keep it dark back here, it added to the atmosphere. You could see just enough to walk in and not knock into things, but it was still dark enough to not truly discern what you were looking at. He followed me at a length now, looking about my playroom curiously. I had an unfinished table that offered a great variety of ways to strap people to it. There was also a padded post that was optimal for whipping people. There was also a block that I felt I didn’t get to use often enough, I decided that’s where I would break in Mr. Clarke’s ass.

  I went to a closet that I kept off to the side, for client’s clothing. “Undress,” I used the tone that brokered no argument. I gave him a look, just to be sure he followed direction. He had already pulled off the jacket and loosened his tie, but he was busy eyeing the equipment I had back here. I pulled a hanger from the closet and tried my best to remain patient, I walked slowly back to him to take each article of clothing that he shed. Something about being close to him had him moving slightly faster. He wasn’t sure what I had in store for him, but desire was something that had him thinking that it would be safe to relent to my request.

  Then, reason had him pausing at his belt buckle. He had already shed his crisp linen shirt, undershirt, tie and coat. Something about taking off his pants gave him pause. I took the time to admire his exposed body. He wasn’t rippling with muscles, but he had a nice build to him. His pectorals were defined, and there was a line down to his belly button that I could imagine myself tracing with my tongue. That gave me pause. I tried not to grimace, it’d been awhile since I had actual sex. I shouldn’t be drooling over the first attractive man I came across.

  I leveled him a look, raising an eyebrow, “If you are afraid… you can keep them on.”

  He cleared his throat again, maybe a tick to cover his discomfort, slowly undoing his belt. “Does this lead to me fucking you at some point?”

  Either he was into casual sex, or he had noticed the way I looked at him without his shirt on. He was in my den though, I wouldn’t take any more of his insinuations. I slapped him, solidly. It was hard enough to force his gaze away from mine, but not so hard that I left a mark. “No,” I growled at him, keeping my voice low. “How many times do I need to tell you, Mr. Clarke? Maybe there’s something I can do to make a lasting effect on your memory?” With my free hand, the other holding the hanger that had his clothing on it, I grasped the front of his slacks, and I jerk
ed him forward. “Do you need to be punished for your inability to be a gentleman when you are faced with a lady?”

  He looked taken back that I had struck him and my sudden forwardness, but I didn’t give him the chance to protest. With a firm grasp on the front of his slacks, I tugged him to the block I intended to cuff him to. “Do you want to keep these on?”

  “I’ll take them off,” he said uneasily now. I let his slacks go so he could remove them, he unbuttoned them and pushed them off his hips. He stepped out of his shoes then the pile of clothing at his ankles, remaining in an unappealing pair of grey boxer briefs.

  “Leave those on,” I suggested as I bent down to fetch his slacks. I slipped them on the hanger then bent down again to fetch his shoes, simple unimpressive things. “Stay here,” I said sternly as I went to place his belongings in the closet.

  I turned to look at him, seeing that he had in fact listened. He stood fidgeting next to the block, one hand striving to cover his apparent erection as the other rubbed the back of his neck. I paused before turning to him, pulling my favorite riding crop from a cabinet. Once I had that implement, I felt like I was truly in my element. I stalked back to him, using every ounce of femininity to pour through me and draw his eye.