by Lexie Syrah
I smiled back and said, “That was wonderful, Mr. Sheffield.”
“You deserved a reward, and I thought that was a fitting one,” he replied.
“Thank you so much.” I reached up to his stubble covered cheeks and held his face in my hands. He moved towards me, and I craned my neck up to kiss him softly. It was an emotional kiss, but there was no passion or lust in it.
“Mr. Sheffield, I don’t know how I feel. I have a lot of emotions swimming inside of me and I don’t know how to explain them to you or even myself.” He smiled softly at me.
“Maggie, don’t try to understand them. You’ll realize what they are when you’re ready to. Just relax and enjoy what we have. There’s no reason to worry about anything else.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, and I was reminded of how fierce a wolf could be against a foe but how gentle they could be with their pups.
“I hate to say it, but you should probably get ready for bed. You’ll want to be as rested as possible for tomorrow.” He rolled over onto his back, and I inhaled deeply as I tried to convince myself to get up in my post-orgasmic state. With a quick twist, I kicked my feet to the edge of the bed and stood up. I turned to look at Mr. Sheffield’s naked body lying on his side. He was so handsome, and I was determined to make sure that he would always have something to reward me for. Especially if the rewards were this amazing.
I walked to the door and turned around once more, my pussy remind me with every step how well he’d used my body. I almost said those three magic words that would either destroy our relationship or turn it into something else. My mouth opened, but the words just wouldn’t leave me. I turned and left, slightly embarrassed of myself. Today had been a whirlwind of work and excitement, and I was exhausted. It didn’t take very long before I fell asleep with visions of Mr. Sheffield in my head.
Part 2: Loss
Chapter 7
The weeks continued to be filled with cooking and cleaning with punishments and rewards at the end of the day. I became very efficient at my chores, and after only a couple of weeks, I found that I had spare time during the day. I filled those hours reading book after book. Mr. Sheffield was more than happy to provide a steady stream of erotic romance novels and how-to books to fill my time and imagination during the week while he was at work.
In the last week or two, he’d begun giving me romance novels that delved into the Master-slave relationship, and I’d asked him all sorts of questions as more things resonated with my natural desires. His previous relationship was nothing like what I wanted, but the core relationship was very similar to the one that we already had. The thought was always on my mind. Did I want our relationship to evolve into something else?
On the weekends, he took me all over the city to see the sights that I’d always wanted to visit. Museums, plays, and movie dates became a regular occurrence on Friday and Saturday night. He bought clothes that flattered my body and fit the occasions. They were beautiful and expensive with designer names attached to them, but that short ruby-red day dress that his ex-wife had left was still my favorite. It reminded me just how much Mr. Sheffield had changed my life. The bows were becoming shabbier and more and more of the sequins fell off as I washed it over and over again, but I would have worn it even if it had been covered with holes and stains.
Mr. Sheffield and I spent hours talking about all of the thoughts and ideas that we had on the world. He was an incredible man who had traveled the world in his late twenties, and when he’d come back from a two-year backpacking trip, he’d started a marketing company. It had revolutionized the way that advertisements were done, and his techniques were taught in colleges now. Then he’d married his ex-wife, Charlene, and had spent the last 13 years building his company and exploring his sexuality alongside Charlene. His wealth had grown, and he now was part-owner in countless small businesses, but he still focused on the advertising firm that he’d started.
Even with all of his experiences, he still enjoyed hearing my views on things and enjoyed bantering back and forth with me, his experience versus my youthful and logical theories. Our conversations ranged from politics, which was very new to me, to the morality of scientific pursuits that I had read about.
The sex was still just as mind-blowing as it had been the first night. He had shown me many of the tools that he used for punishments as well as the ones used as rewards. I’d learned many things about myself in the process, most importantly, my love of pain in a sexual environment. Mr. Sheffield had said that the correct term was masochist, but that many people like myself referred to themselves as painsluts.
My most memorable experience with pain was the first time that Mr. Sheffield had used his flogger on my pussy. He’d tied me to the bed spread eagle, as he so often did, and had warmed me up by leaving my breasts, stomach, and thighs covered in crimson with the flogger. When he’d finally moved to my pussy, it was as though time stood still. I can still hear the unmistakable sound of the leather strips singing through the air. Then there was the loud pop that meant that the leather had found its mark on my flesh, and finally, there was the excruciating pain that flowed from my pussy all the way up my spine.
As soon as the scream flew from my lips, I’d felt my pussy contract as an orgasm exploded through my body, washing away all of the pain and leaving the bed covered in my juices as I gushed everywhere. He’d immediately dropped the flogger and proceeded to fuck me. I came so many times that it almost felt like they began to connect and become just a single continuous orgasm. I passed out numerous times while he used my body, and I’d wake up to pain and pleasure swirling together as yet another orgasm overwhelmed my body.
He’d guided me through as many types of sexual experiences as someone could experience in only a few weeks. Anal, deep throating, and bondage were only a small section of the experiences that I’d had. It didn’t matter to me what we were doing as long as he was enjoying it. That was what got me off. That was what made me beg for more. I wanted to feel his pleasure and his passion. Otherwise, he would have been just another man from my past.
That was the life that I now lived. No more digging in trashcans. No more begging for loose change. Instead, I went to plays in designer evening gowns, drank $100 bottles of wine, and got fucked into oblivion almost every night. I still cooked and cleaned, but Mr. Sheffield and my relationship had become so much more than that.
Today was different, though. It was my 21st birthday. I thought back to what I’d be doing if I was still in college while I waited for the mushroom and mozzarella stuffed pork loin to bake. I’d be going out to bars, trying to get as close to alcohol poisoning as possible without actually having my stomach pumped. I’d have ended up naked in some frat boy’s bedroom with his cum on or in me. Then I’d have slept for two days straight trying to let my body heal from the night of debauchery that I’d never remember. At least that’s what I’d heard people talk about.
Instead, I’d spent today cleaning and cooking just like every Friday. I didn’t know what Mr. Sheffield had planned, but I was sure that it wouldn’t involve anything that a typical college girl would do on her 21st birthday.
The nostalgia and sadness were strange emotions. I knew that I should be happy to be where I was. It was so much better than the streets. It was even better than college had been. I woke up excited nearly every day, and I was thoroughly happy with my life. I was 21, but that stupid college girl who would have spent the night as the life of the party was nothing like the woman I was now. Yet, I was still sad today because I didn’t get to experience the typical 21 year old birthday. I felt like that college girl that I’d left behind was finally dead to me, and tonight was her wake.
When Mr. Sheffield walked in the door, he immediately saw my expression. “What’s wrong, Maggie?” He dropped his briefcase on the couch and came to my side.
His arms wrapped around me protectively, and I looked up at him. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking… I turned 21 today. If I were still in college, I’d be going out dr
inking and taking as many shots as possible while all of my friends pushed me to drink more. It’s silly. You don’t have to worry about it, Mr. Sheffield.”
He didn’t miss a beat and said, “I know it’s your 21st birthday, and I got tickets for a play to celebrate!” When he saw the disappointment on my face, he improvised and said, “But if you’d rather, I know a club that you might like. We could party like you did in college.”
My eyes instantly lit up at the thought. I’d never heard Mr. Sheffield talk about going to bars or clubs. He didn’t even seem to have any friends.
“Yes! I’d love to go to a club with you!” I began to bounce just a little bit. I was so excited that I couldn’t keep still. I was going to get to party with Mr. Sheffield. The thought was more than a little amusing.
“Okay, little one, we’ll go to the club. It’s a different kind of club than you’re used to, though.”
“What kind of club is it?” My curiosity won out over my excitement, and I settled down as he began to explain.
“It’s a members-only sex club. There will be dancing and drinking just like any other club, but at Elysium, clothing is optional and people have sex with each other inside the club.”
I thought about it for a second and realized that if I’d been in college, I would have jumped at the chance to go to a club like that for my 21st birthday. No one else would have been able to top that kind of story. Everyone else just talked about how big of an idiot they’d been.
“Are you serious!” I wasn’t sure if I was more excited or nervous at the thought. “Are we going to have sex there? While other people watch us?” The thought was more than a little arousing, and now that I was so much more open to different kinds of sexuality, I wasn’t afraid to try something new as long as Mr. Sheffield was there with me.
“I would love to have sex with you at the club.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, “There is something else that you should know. I’ve been part owner of the club for a long time. I went all the time with Charlene and know most of the members. I haven’t gone since I met you, but many of the women there have had sex with me before.”
That was a startling thought. I’d have to meet people that Mr. Sheffield had fucked? Would they try to fuck him there? Would they want to fuck me, too? I tried to calm down and thought rationally about it. I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to. Mr. Sheffield was going to be there with me the entire time, so it would be okay. And he hadn’t gone there since he met me, so that must mean that he didn’t want someone else more than me.
The logical part of my mind was satisfied, but the emotional part of me wasn’t so sure about it. For just a second, the fear of losing Mr. Sheffield crept into my mind, but I pushed it away. He was taking me because I’d said I wanted to party not because he wanted someone else.
“That’s okay, Mr. Sheffield. As long as I don’t have to have sex with anyone, I’d love to go. It’ll be exciting. I’ve never been anywhere that people had sex in public like that, and the thought of watching other people and getting watched makes me really horny.”
He had seen my hesitation and the thoughts that had run through my mind. I knew that he watched me like a hawk anytime there was any hesitancy, and he’d known that I wasn’t keen to meet other women that he’d fucked.
He didn’t hesitate, though. In fact, I thought that I detected a little bit of excitement in his eyes. “Then let me pick out a good outfit for you, and we’ll go.”
He took my hand and led me to my closet. It had been filled to the brim since I’d moved in. Some days I felt like he was trying to buy my affections with pretty things even though I had expressed that he didn’t need to buy me anything. Maybe it was some remnant from his previous relationships.
“How much attention do you want, Maggie?” Normally I enjoyed a lot of attention, but in a place where people were having sex, being too noticeable seemed like an invitation for unwanted trouble, and that small part of me that still remembered being homeless and scared spoke up.
“I think I’d like to be a little less revealing than typical, Mr. Sheffield. I’m worried I might be a little uncomfortable.”
He flipped through the rhinestone-embedded dresses and gowns, and hovered over the cocktail dresses. He pulled a beautiful little black dress out that was low-cut and accentuated my breasts while still being classy. He held it out to me and shook his head. “Not enough skin,” I heard him mumble. He put that one back and pulled out another.
This one was a much louder. The backless silver cocktail dress was nearly skin-tight and was as close to being nude as any dress could be. It barely covered my ass and a thin slit ran up the side, all the way to my ribs, giving a flash of skin every time I moved. I couldn’t wear a bra or panties with it either because of how skin-tight it was. This was not a dress that I would consider “less revealing”.
“Mr. Sheffield, that’s the most revealing dress I have. I thought I said that I wanted to be more conservative tonight.” He grinned at my comment before saying, “You will be. Most of the women will be naked.”
I was shocked at his reply. A club full of naked women? So now I was going to have to talk to naked women that he’d fucked? Somehow, I couldn’t imagine this night being as amazing as I’d originally thought. Frustration and fears began to take root in me, and even though I tried to push them away, they didn’t want to budge.
“Okay Mr. Sheffield, I’ll wear the dress. There aren’t any more surprises, are there?”
“No, that was the last one. I promise.” I had begun to doubt that this trip to the club was actually for me. It almost felt like he was laying a trap for me, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to bring me to this sex club. I killed that thought as soon as it sprung up, though. Mr. Sheffield had been nothing but thoughtful and kind. There was no way that he was trying to manipulate me. But that seed of distrust lingered, just outside of my vision, waiting for something to give it life.
Mr. Sheffield hurried to his room and put on his nicest suit while I waited on the couch. My thoughts were full of fears, confusion, and worst of all, doubt in Mr. Sheffield’s intentions. I’d never doubted him before, but tonight was supposed to be my night. Instead of being excited to bring me to the club for my enjoyment, I felt like he was getting excited just because we were going. I tried to shake the feelings, but they just wouldn’t go away.
Mr. Sheffield walked out of his room, and I looked at the man that I’d begun to fall in love with. He was stunning in that suit. He may have been more than twice my age, but I wouldn’t have traded a night with him for anyone. I could feel my body reacting to my attraction, and I wished that I had been able to wear panties under the dress. At least this club wouldn’t have a problem with me leaving a puddle on a barstool.
He walked up to me and helped me to my feet. I put my hands to his cheeks and pulled him down to me for a kiss. His hands held my waist lightly, and his lips were filled with electricity as always, but he seemed impatient. He wanted to leave, and it further pushed doubt into my mind. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t just push those instinctive emotions away. They’d kept me safe on the streets, and I trusted them even more than I trusted Mr. Sheffield. He was a man after all, and men had a tendency to enjoy watching and touching nubile women, and Mr. Sheffield was no different. He’d already admitted to having a sex slave even while his wife slept in his bed.
When I broke the kiss, he smiled at me and said, “Let’s go, Maggie. Our adventure awaits!” His excited words made me feel better. Maybe everything would be fine, and I was just being paranoid and scared of losing the rock that I’d built my new life upon. He took my hand and pulled me to the door.
Chapter 8
I got into the silver BMW that he used for impromptu drives, and I tried to calm down as I put the seat belt on. Mr. Sheffield drove with no regard for the speed limit which was normal. It’s not like a $200 speeding ticket would deter him from enjoying his drives, and he had a top of the line
radar detector that he trusted completely.
When we pulled up to the gymnasium-sized nondescript building, I was surprised at the lack of a sign or any kind of way to tell what the gray brick building was for. The lack of windows was the only thing that kept it from looking like office space, and as I walked up to the heavy wooden door, I couldn’t even hear music. If I had been with anyone other than Mr. Sheffield, I’d have sworn that they were lying to me.
When Mr. Sheffield opened the door for me, we walked into what looked like a run-down foyer. There was a giant of a man in an exquisite suit standing before the next set of doors. His hair was perfectly parted and groomed, and there was not a thread out of place. He would have looked exactly like a young butler in a million dollar mansion except for his size.
He must have been 6 and a half feet tall and weighed close to 300 pounds of pure muscle. I could see the muscles that threatened to bust even the well-tailored suit that he wore. He would have been terrifying if he didn’t wear an ear to ear smile when he saw Mr. Sheffield.