Mr. A, a Kink, Inc. Story

by June Chaplin

  Mr. A

  Copyright 2013 Juliet Chastain

  Published by Juliet Chastain at Smashwords

  This is the first installment of Kink, Inc. Follow Miss V's naughty adventures as she jet-sets around the world discovering which kinks will light her fire as she fulfills the deepest desires of men who crave something…different.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction intended for adults age 18 and over. Minors should stop here and close the book

  All events and characters are fictional. Any resemblance to places and persons, living or dead, is an unintentional coincidence. All sex depicted is consensual and all characters are consenting adults.

  Every effort has been made to provide a quality reading experience, but editors and technology are fallible. Kindly report typos or formatting issues toJuliet@julietchastain.com.

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  Mr. A

  I get off the plane and go down the ramp. There he is, waiting for me. A tall man wearing sunglasses and holding a sign that simply says "V." I take in the broad shoulders, the impeccable suit, the severely slicked back dark hair. For an instant I wonder what happens to that hair when he is in bed with a lover. My fingers twitch. I'd like to run my fingers through it, tousle it. But will he allow it? Will he drop the stern expression when he has me where he wants me, the way he wants me?

  I walk quickly up to him.

  "Mr. A?" I inquire.

  "Miss V?"

  I nod. He doesn't smile, so I cut off my own automatic pleased-to-meet-you grin. I am a little confused. He's the man I have just flown a thousand miles to please for a few hours, and he's not happy to see me? Go figure.

  "Follow," he commands and turns on his heel. As he does so, he puts on a cap.

  I realize he's not Mr. A after all, but the chauffeur. I follow him out of the airport. Sure enough, a black limousine stands by the curb right next to the 'no stopping' sign. He opens the door and turns to me and indicates that I should enter. I notice that a smile seems to be tugging at the corners of his sensuously curved lips. What's that about? He takes my elbow and helps me into the back seat.

  There is a man sitting there in the shadow. I can't really see his face.

  "Well, there you are," he says, his voice is deep, resonant.

  "Yes, sir, here I am"

  "This is your first assignment with Mrs. Carr?"

  "Yes, it is my first."

  "You brought the results of your testing?"

  Testing? Oh, he must mean the tests for transmittable diseases. Of course I have no disease. My ex had been my only for much too long, and we'd been exclusive. Mr. Straight-and-narrow is what he'd been. Especially narrow. Narrow opinions, narrow ideas. Narrow cock too, if you really want to know. What would he say if he saw me now about to do god knows what with a man whose name I don't know?

  I hand Mr. A the papers. He glances at them. I feel the car pull away from the curb.

  "I have been assured," he says, in his beautiful voice, "that you have not exchanged bodily fluids with anyone since these were done."

  Exchanged bodily fluids? I think. Well, that’s one way of putting it.

  I nod and say, "I have been with no one since then."

  The driver glances into the rear view mirror. For an instant he meets my eye, then looks away.

  The car pulls into traffic, and I tug the two halves of the seat belt into my lap.

  Mr. A turns toward me. I pause and look up at him.

  "Never mind the seat belt," he says. "We only have three hours until you must to be back in the airport, and I plan to take full advantage of every minute."

  I let go of the belt. I have no idea of exactly how he plans to take advantage. I know only that ordinary, vanilla sex is not his thing, and that is why I am here—to fulfill his desires however off-beat they may be.

  Mrs. Carr has assured me that he will leave no lasting mark on my body; that he will not seriously injure me in any way; that I can tell him, at any time, that he must stop, and he will. Of course, if I call it quits I will never work for her again. Or get paid.

  I'd signed on with her agency for two reasons. The first one was curiosity. After Mr. Straight–and-narrow, I was ready for something really different. I wanted to try some of the things I'd read about. Like being dominated. Like being spanked. Like sex with two guys. Like I don't even know what—but I wanted to try it.

  The other reason was more practical. Good jobs are scarce. Bad jobs too. I am in debt up to my eyeballs. Mrs. Carr's agency pays amazingly well. Short working hours and lots of travel. What's not to like? I hoped I wasn't about to find out.

  "Look at me," he commands, so I do. I have already observed that he is tall and wearing an impeccable white shirt that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. His tie is various shades of gray. His slacks are dark gray, almost black.

  He leans a little toward me, and I see that his eyes, which are studying me intently, are pale, while his hair is blond. His lips are pursed.

  He stares at me for a while quite unnerving me. Rather than meet those icy eyes, I look at his mouth. It softens a little. I hope that is a good sign.

  Finally, he speaks again. "Miss V, remove whatever you are wearing under your skirt."

  I am surprised. Aren't we going to go somewhere private? I glance at the driver who returns my gaze for a couple of seconds before returning it to the road. I look back at Mr. A, who frowns.

  "Miss V, I do believe the arrangement is that you will do exactly as you are told. To balk at this simple request... ."

  "I'm sorry," I say, "I just...never mind of course." And I slip off the fancy black lace panties I'd imagined would be suitable, keeping my skirt down as best I can.

  "You will not wear those while you are with me. I will have access to your cunt whenever I wish. Is that understood?"

  Cunt? Someone actually uses that word to a woman? "Yes, I understand." I hope the driver can't hear us.

  "And now I wish to see it. Turn to me, put your feet on the seat. Lean back, spread your legs.

  What! I manage to only think it, not say it out loud.

  "Miss V, I said I wanted to see your cunt, did I not?"

  I spread my legs. Good lord, what next? Is his thing playing gynecologist? Oh ick, I hope not. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  "Very pretty. Now wider. Yes. Very nice." He runs his fingers up my thigh. My eyes fly open. I struggle to stay still, suspecting that he would be annoyed if I pulled away. Now he is dragging his fingers softly across my mound. Then he outlines the entrance to my pussy.

  No, it's not like the gyno at all. It's even more nerve-wracking, but it's arousing at the same time. He flicks his nail against my clit, and I recoil from the sting.

  "You don't care for that?" He does it again. I manage to not pull away, but I can't suppress a gasp. The edges of his lips twitch as though he might break into a smile, but he does not.

  "Now show me how you masturbate."

  What? Oh my god this is too strange! And surely the driver can see…I look up and see him glance up at the mirror for a few seconds. He can see what I am doing albeit from the side. Perversely, I find the fact that he can watch me while I am doing something so intimate arousing. But the fact Mr. A can see a full frontal....

  No, that's too much. I won't think about it.

  I rub my finger across my clit, a bit clumsy in my self-consciousness.

  "Yes, keep going," Mr. A says softly. I take a quick peek at him. He is watching my hand.

  As I circle the little nub I hear myself breathing a little roughly. Uncomfortable with the way Mr.
A is looking at me, with that almost-smile on his lips, I glance to the side. I am surprised to see a mirror there, in the corner, where the seat meets the backrest. In it I see the chauffeur. He is alternately looking at the road and at me. To avoid his eyes, I glance up. There is a mirror at an angle on the ceiling. I see him looking at me in there too. I realize the chauffeur can see what I am doing—exactly what I am doing.

  Two men are observing me and neither is missing a thing. Two men I have never met before, two total strangers are watching me as I play with my clit, which is plumping up happily under my touch. My self-consciousness is colliding with the shock of erotic excitement.

  I look at the rear view mirror. The chauffeur's eyes are on the road. I am surprised by a little stab of disappointment. I turn to Mr. A He raises his eyes and meets mine for a heartbeat and then looks back at what I am doing to myself. Wantonly, my clit seems to blossom and harden as I feel a thrill run through me.

  I am vaguely aware that the limo is slowing and finally coming to a halt. I can hear traffic passing on one side; on the other, I can see people walking by. We're parked on the side of a busy street, while I'm….

  "Go on," he says. "No one can see through the windows."

  Suddenly, fiercely, I want to taste those hard, straight lips of his. Fiery desire roars to life starting in my clit, spreading out and up, filling my pelvis, my belly. I want him to touch me, to kiss me.

  He leans toward me, and I half expect a gentle caress. Instead, he slips his finger past mine and into my pussy.

  For a moment, shocked, I begin to object, to pull away. But I do not. I remember that I must oblige him; I know I am only here to please him. Whatever he wishes to do to me, I must acquiesce. And crazily that knowledge makes me hotter, makes me passionately want him to continue.

  His finger rubbing and stroking a sensitive spot inside me, while I do my clit, is giving me the most exquisite sensations. He is studying what he—we—are doing, looking up at my face now and then as though checking my reactions.

  I see the chauffeur in the mirror; his dark eyes riveted on me while the beginnings of a smile play around his lips. I hear myself sighing voluptuously with the pleasure of it all.

  Reveling in the two pairs of eyes on me, luxuriating in the intensely sweet, almost overpowering sensations I am experiencing, I groan as I teeter on the edge of orgasm. I squeeze my eyes shut; every fiber in my body begins to tense in readiness.

  Enough!" Mr. A exclaims. He withdraws his finger and slaps my hand aside. I am surprised, horribly disappointed and angry. I manage to hold my tongue.

  "These are the rules, Miss V., and I expect you to follow them religiously while you are with me." He takes firm hold of my chin and brings his face close to mine. His eyes, I see now, are a washed out sky blue. His straight-lipped, wide mouth enticing. I still want him to kiss me, but I am beginning to suspect that kissing may not be on the program today.

  He goes on. "The rules are simple enough." His heady, spicy scent mixes with the aroma of my own arousal. I force myself to ignore both my disappointment and my desire for more of what we were doing and listen to him.

  "You will do exactly as you are told. And nothing else. You will never come to orgasm without permission.

  "To paraphrase the contract with Mrs. Carr, 'Miss V's body will be available to Mr. A and to whomever he delegates. It will be available in its entirety to do with as he chooses, for whatever he might wish to do at any moment from the time he picks Miss V up at the airport until she is deposited at the airport exactly one and one half hours before her return flight. No lasting bodily harm will be done to Miss V' etc., etc. Do you understand?"

  "I understand." I say meekly, surprised that even this is arousing. Also scary. It is more arousing and scary than I has expected when Mrs. Carr gave me this assignment.

  "He's into some off-beat kink," she'd said, "not regimented like some of them. He wanted someone new. You just do exactly what he says. He will pay very, very well if he enjoys the encounter. You will pick up the plane reservation and instructions here in my office tomorrow. You will stay for three hours. Wear conservative clothing, at least what shows."

  I sit there in the back of the limo, legs apart, frustrated as hell, my conservative black wool skirt pulled up around my waist, my most private parts exposed to two men, wondering what will happen next.

  Mr. A says, "You may return your feet to the floor." I do, and demurely pull my skirt down. But truth is, I am hungry for more play.

  "Now show me your breasts." Beginning at the top. I start to slowly unbutton the cream-colored silk blouse wondering if this should be slow, like an enticing strip tease.

  "I'm not a college boy excited by a tease. Don't waste my time."

  So much for that. I quickly pull off the blouse; take off the low cut black lace bra and turn to face him.

  "Very nice," he says. "Now let me see you play with them."

  I run my hands slowly around my breasts, aware that not only is he is watching intently, but the chauffer's dark eyes, are reflected in the mirrors as he studies me too.

  "Yes," Mr. A says, as though he read my mind. "The chauffeur will watch you too. His mirrors are arranged so he can see everything we do should he care to do so. Isn't that right Tom?"

  The chauffeur unsmiling nods. "And he can hear every sound you make. Perhaps, before our time is up, you will want him to play with your lush body, perhaps you will want him to fuck you. And perhaps I will allow it."

  I find the idea exciting. I glance at the rear view mirror. Yes, he is watching, his eyes hot and dark beneath the cap. His lips are pressed together as though he were thinking about what Mr. A had said, as though he was aroused at the idea of fucking me.

  I slide my palms across my erect nipples. I circle my aureole with my fingers, and then the nipple. I am performing for both men. I pinch the nipple gently. I can't help groaning. I am more aroused by the situation than I am by the feel of my own hands on myself. I want those men—one of them to….

  Mr. A takes cruel hold of my breasts. I drop my hands in surprise. He squeezes so hard I can hardly refrain from pulling away. Then he takes my nipples and twists them.

  "Don't move," he snaps. I feel tears come to my eyes as he alternately pulls and rolls my nipples roughly between his fingers.

  "Pain," he says softly in his beautiful voice, "can easily turn to pleasure in the right circumstances."

  He leans toward me and licks the tears from my face while he squeezes my poor nipples. I begin to cry out in protest, but before I can make a sound, his lips are on mine, and his tongue is filling my mouth. He puts one arm around me and pulls me close to him as he continues to torment one breast.

  His mouth, his tongue are warm and slick. I like the way they feel.

  When he pulls back slightly, he never lets go the pressure on my poor nipple. He nips at my lips and then bites my neck. Hard. The shocking pain makes me gasp. It also makes me wild with desire for him.

  "You want me don't you?" His breath is hot on my face. He plunges his tongue into me again as he tilts my head back by pulling my hair. I can't speak, but yes, yes I want him inside of me. And I want it right now.

  The sensations of my scalp, my breast, his tongue deep inside my mouth—he must fuck me now, he must.

  I cry out in surprise when he roughly shoves me away from him.

  "Quiet!" He snaps. "Do you want me to gag you?"

  I shake my head and resolve to be quiet no matter what.

  "On the floor," he orders." On your hands and knees." I do as he says and he drags me roughly toward himself, so my bottom is between his knees. He's still seated. I suspect I am not going to be fucked just yet. Maybe never, and I want it so badly I could scream. He is squeezing my butt cheeks mercilessly. And again, insanely, the pain increases my desire. He leans over me and rubs my clit and then flicks his nail against it. This is not as painful or unpleasant as it was when he did it before.

  "Like it better this time?" His breath is w
arm against my ear.

  I don't really like it, yet, it is making me hot. I'm not quite sure what to say.

  "I think you do," he says. He does it again, not quite as hard. And then, again and again. I feel a most confusing mix of responses. I want to beg him to stop, but at the same time, I am almost unbearably overwhelmed with the desire for more.

  He slides out of his seat to kneel behind me.

  I hear the zipper of his fly being opened. I groan. At last. But he leans over me again; I feel his breath against my ear. "Remember, Miss V, you may not come until I give you permission."

  He holds onto my hips, and I feel him slipping slowly into me, filling me deliciously. I almost come right then but manage to refrain.

  He takes hold of my hair, pulling my head back hard. He jerks his hips back and then rams his cock into me. He does this over and over, impaling me, stretching me. I hear myself groaning with the pleasure and pain of it all.

  "I do not give you permission," he snarls. "And be silent!"

  "Yes," I manage. My voice sounds strangled to myself.

  "If you cannot control yourself, I will have to punish you."

  He pushes my upper body down until my chest is almost on the floor while my butt is still in the air.

  "Yes, that's how I want you." He thrusts deep into me and pauses.

  "Remember my instructions, Miss V"

  He moves slowly back and forth while he runs his warm hands up and down my back. He reaches around and rubs my clit just the way I like it. Perhaps because of its mistreatment a minute ago it feels especially good. No matter how desperately I try to avoid feeling anything, I can't help it. Everything he is doing feels amazingly, blazingly sweet. I try as hard as I can to not think about it, to not feel it, to not come.

  I hear Mr. A's breath, sounding as rough and ragged as my own. Just as I think I have control of myself, he begins to flick his nail against my clit. This time it feels insanely good. I lose it. Huge waves of pleasure roll through me, engulf me, drown me. Against my will, I've come.