Resist (Songs of Submission #6)

by Reiss, CD

  “Such as?” He drew a nail over my nipple, the fabric like Teflon, letting it slide across. My lips parted.

  “I don’t believe Kevin got picked up just because,” I said.

  He pinched my nipple hard, giving a little twist. My back arched.

  “Who cares?” he whispered.

  “I do. About the truth.”

  He put his hand under my skirt. I was a little sore from the hate fuck in his living room, but my wet lips fluttered under his touch.

  “Open your legs.”

  I did, and he hitched up my dress until it gathered just under my breasts. He placed my heels on the seat until my underwear was the only thing between me and his eyes.

  “The truth, Monica,” he said, putting his thumb lightly on my clit, using my juices to slide over the skin. “The truth is that I love you. The rest is unnecessary complication.”

  “I disagree.” But I was lost. It didn’t matter if I agreed or not. I wanted some part of his body to rub against me. He flicked my engorged clit, and my breath hitched with the pain and pleasure.

  “You won’t.” He took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and plucked my diamond navel bar from its velvet bed. He kissed between my legs, over my underwear, breathing on my clit to make it warm and receptive. His lips traveled to my naked navel, which he kissed gently. “You belong to me. That means I take care of you. Your body and your heart.” He slid the navel bar through the piercing. “That means I’m committed to your happiness. And it means there is no other woman.” He slid the smaller diamond cap on top, sealing the gem to me. “I don’t share. And you don’t have to either. You have to trust me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s a choice. Make it.” He slid to his knees before me and slipped his fingers under my panties. I lifted my butt, and he pulled them off. His tongue ran from my knee to my thigh. When his tongue found my folds, I thought I’d burst.

  “Oh...” I put my fingers in his hair.

  He looked up and said, “Hands under your ass.”

  I sat on them.

  “Keep these legs open.”

  The commands turned me on, sending another wave of pleasure through me. By the time his tongue found my clit, I was non-verbal. He licked so gently, flicking it, then circling my hole, making sure every inch of me was on high alert. A little suck, a flick with his fingers. Sweet, exquisite torture. He slid those flicking fingers in me, then sucked my clit again.

  “May I come, sir?” I asked in a breath.

  “Maybe,” he whispered. “Keep these legs spread for me.” He ran his tongue over my clit again.

  “Oh, God.”

  He slid his thumb in my cunt, and when he drew it out, he traced the line up and down me. Another flick made me bite back a scream.

  “Let me come, sir.”

  “Say please.”

  “Please, I’m begging. Please.”

  “Are you mine?” he asked.

  “I’m yours. You own me. My cunt is yours. Please let me come.”

  “Am I yours?”

  “I own your sorry ass and everything it’s attached to, please. Please.”

  He licked my clit again, sucked it through his teeth, and made my ass lift off the seat. He got three fingers in my cunt and hooked them, pushing into the rough spot inside me. His name left my lips over and over, and I tried to keep my legs open when they just wanted to clench around him. His tongue and teeth worked me until a tidal wave of pleasure broke through, sending shocks of fire through me. His fingers inside me did something else, blinding me with a different note, a severe release that felt sharp as a razor, strong as a sledgehammer.

  I pushed into him, holding myself up on the hands he’d commanded under my ass. I hissed his name through my teeth so Lil wouldn’t hear through the glass. My orgasm abated, fading like the end of a song. His tongue’s ministrations slowed. My hips twitched around him.

  I ran my fingers through his hair as he kissed the inside of my thighs. “Jonathan?”

  “Monica.”

  “One day this will stop working.”

  “But not today.”

  Chapter 4.

  We went into the elevator with a man in a grey suit, putting our backs to the wall and watching the floors light up above us. Jonathan’s hand hooked mine and clutched it.

  He was holding my hand in an elevator. Like a normal person. I looked at him, and he turned to me.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Grey Suit got out, and the doors slid shut.

  “Margie litigated my divorce,” Jonathan said, still facing the doors.

  “Okay?”

  “We had a lot of talk about irreconcilable differences over sex. How it was had, et cetera. There were gag orders that were broken. No pun intended.”

  “Okay.”

  “My sister may look at you in that way you were afraid of. She’s still curious about the whole thing.”

  “That’s awkward.”

  “You have no idea.”

  My face hurt from holding back a nervous smile. “If she’s curious, you should send Debbie at her with a riding crop.”

  He glanced at me, and I knew he was trying to hold back nervous laughter as much as I was. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. “Madame Silk would have her crawling on the floor in a second.”

  “I knew it!” I exclaimed.

  He put his arm around me, and we walked into the hall. He opened glass doors for me. Two receptionists sat behind a stark white counter topped with red blooms. The older seemed to know him and picked up the phone when she saw him. He still had his arm around me.

  “Did Madame Silk ever get her crop on you?” I whispered.

  “We discussed it and decided against.”

  “How thoughtful and sensible of you.”

  He pulled me to him. “It was much, much more complex than that.”

  “Mister Drazen?” the receptionist called. “Come this way.” We followed her past the desk and into the belly of the office. He held my hand the whole way.

  Margie was almost as tall as I was, and she shook my hand like a man. She did not size me up, nor did she give me the impression she had an ounce of curiosity about what I did in bed with her brother. Either Jonathan was wrong and she didn’t give a shit, or she was as in control as he was. Her sage pencil skirt and tapered jacket were tailored to exist without being noticed as anything but part of a God-created whole. I knew her age, and she wore it well. She had the alertness of a child, yet her comportment was so graceful and self-aware, she was more adult than I thought I’d ever feel.

  We sat across from her desk like recalcitrant schoolchildren, facing huge windows that looked over the city. We shared small talk, a few lines about their family I didn’t understand, a word or two about traffic on the 405, and a couple of innocent questions about waitressing and music.

  Then Margaret Drazen put her elbows on the desk and indicated her brother while speaking to me. “So what did this one tell you?”

  “He lied. As usual.” I glanced at Jonathan. He leaned into the arm of his chair and rubbed his upper lip as if he was trying to hide his mouth. I knew he was biting back a smile.

  “Which lie was it this time?” Margie asked me.

  “The one where they both had their clothes on and there was no touching.”

  “This the same scene where he hit his ex-wife with a belt?”

  “That one.”

  Margie leaned back. She looked as if she was going to fall out the window and get poured over Los Angeles. “This is so fucking fascinating. See, he tells me this story, and I’m thinking assault and battery. You hear the exact same story and think infidelity.”

  Jonathan broke in. “You’re going off the rails, Margie.”

  “But, Jonny…”

  “We talked about this,” he said, his posture still relaxed.

  “It’s very simple,” I said, my voice clipped and brusque. “His belt is for holding up his pants, bi
nding me, and hurting me. His body, any part of it, is to give me pleasure and pain. If he gives any other woman either of those things with his body or any clothing accessory, it’s cheating.” I turned to him. “The fact that we were officially broken up notwithstanding.”

  “You said she wouldn’t want to talk about it,” Margie said to Jonathan.

  “Apparently I was misinformed.”

  “You two need to talk more.”

  “Sorry if you’re an hour behind the curve.”

  Margie put up her hand. “Okay, that was fun, let’s move on.” She turned back to me. “First. Let me tell you about the great state of California. We’re a preferred arrest state. Any domestic violence accusation with some merit warrants an arrest.”

  “Define merit,” I said.

  “You’re sharp. Merit means she had a recording of the incident on her phone and pictures of a reddened ass consistent with getting hit hard with a belt. Since she provided all of this to the police, the prosecutor decides how to proceed. But with the multimedia presentation available to him and the years of rumors, if he didn’t arrest Jonathan for felony battery, he’d lose his job. Even if she drops the charges or recants, the prosecution still has to continue.”

  “Felony battery?” I said softly.

  “They’re required to arrest as a felony,” Margie said. “The DA can bump it down to misdemeanor, but if the Ice Queen remains trenchant, a reduction’s unlikely.”

  I couldn’t look at Jonathan. It sounded so dire, and yet, what he’d done to her wasn’t a fraction of what he’d done with me. “I don’t understand how this will lead to getting her husband back.”

  “Ex-husband,” Jonathan grumbled.

  “Agreed,” Margie said, “especially not with the mandatory order of protection.”

  “This is very simple.” Jonathan twisted his whole body to face me. “My ex-wife doesn’t want me back. At the time, I didn’t know what she wanted, and I was trying to get it out of her. You don’t have to like the way I did it, and if you want me to apologize again, I will.”

  “You can stick your apology.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. You and I were broken up, but I knew you were coming back.” His face flashed with that cocky confidence then changed to something more sincere. “But what I wanted to tell you was that at the time, I didn’t know what she wanted. Margie and I figured it out last night.”

  “She wants you, Jonathan,” I said.

  “No. She wants money. She’s had trouble maintaining her lifestyle and her art at the same time. I set up a trust for her to pull from whenever she wants. It’s a few million a year and I don’t notice it, but that’s what she uses to finance her work. We were set to renew the terms after ten years, and I cut her off.”

  Margie broke in. “It’s a revocable trust. He can do what he wants unless he’s declared incompetent. Then it automatically flips to an irrevocable trust. The terms will be reinstated. It’s a stopgap against hospitalizations, drug addictions, that sort of thing.”

  Jonathan broke in. “She’s using my kink to call my sanity into question. She pushed me into spanking her and tape recorded it to show how out of control I am.”

  They paused their tag-team routine, and I glanced from one to the other. Margie leaned forward with her elbows on the desk; Jonathan with his ankle crossed over his knee, leaning over the arm of the chair toward me.

  “The cameras?” I said. “She was trying to get something to show you were crazy? How would it be admissible?”

  “It’s all back room deals,” Margie said. “We think she might have counted on a little shame from you to corroborate, as well as my brother’s desire to protect you. Kinky shit on tape could have served a hundred purposes.”

  “Fuck her.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  He took my hand. “She came to me only because the cameras were a bust.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’ve met her. I’ll tell you one thing. She’d drop everything to have you back.”

  “I’m spoken for.”

  “Regardless. She always manages to get you to do things, doesn’t she?”

  Silence built between us as we held hands and searched each other’s faces. I examined his for understanding that what he did was wrong, and I think he searched mine for forgiveness.

  Margie cleared her throat.

  He and I didn’t move.

  “Monica,” she said. “I want to tell you why you’re here.”

  “To verify that he’s telling the truth?” I said without moving my eyes from him.

  “No. I need to tell you what to expect.”

  I moved my gaze from him to Margie and leaned back in my chair. He didn’t let my hand go. She took that as her cue to continue.

  “She’s probably going to contact you and ask you to verify that he hits you. Just know anything you say will be twisted. She has to prove that what he’s doing is impairing his ability to function. Barring that, since she’s after his money, she’ll threaten to go public and blackmail him.”

  Jonathan squeezed my hand, and I turned to him. “If I spend even thirty days in jail, we go back to the old terms of the trust and she can drain it.”

  “Arraignment’s next week,” Margie said.

  I felt as if I was being played, as if those two had worked out a routine and delivered it. I couldn’t tell if I was being lied to or just manipulated, but I didn’t believe Jonathan gave a rat’s ass about a few million a year. Something else was at stake that they weren’t talking about, and I needed to shake things up.

  “I think I should go see her,” I said.

  The air went out of the room.

  “No,” Jonathan said.

  “I’m sorry?” Margie seemed keen for an explanation.

  “Absolutely not.” Jonathan’s tone was definite and dominant.

  “I wasn’t asking permission,” I replied without my submissive voice.

  “Let’s hear it,” Margie said. “She might have something.”

  “The only way you’re going to get an angle on what she intends is if I see her. If she makes an offer, I can take her up on it and go see her to get dirt on you. I’ll tell her I’m pissed at you because you spanked her. We’ll have tea and talk about what an asshole you are. I come back here and report everything.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to the Collector’s Board thing?” Margie asked Jonathan before turning to me. “She’ll be there. It can be a casual conversation.”

  Jonathan’s tone was clipped, as if he didn’t even want to talk about it. “It’s all Jessica’s people, and they’re going to be snickering about this arrest. I won’t subject Monica to them, and I’m not going without her. So. Done.”

  “What is it?” I asked Margie. “It sounds like a great idea.”

  “Fifty of the city’s biggest art collectors drinking and spending money,” Margie said. “I went with him last year. It was like high school without the acne.”

  “And Jessica will be there?” I asked.

  “Four artists for every collector.” Margie smirked. “You never met a bigger bunch of whores in your life.”

  Jonathan was right, I did like her. “I want to go.”

  Jonathan stood up. “Margie, as usual, a fucking pleasure.” He looked at me and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Margie pushed her chair back and stood. We were done. I got up without taking his hand.

  Chapter 5.

  MONICA

  I didn’t speak until the elevator doors closed. “You know I’m right.”

  He was on me in a second, his tongue prying my mouth open, his hands on my face, his hard cock against my hip. I had much to say, but none of it seemed important. I was helpless. A ring of fire built between my legs at his touch, portents of pleasure pushing me forward. He hitched my leg up and did a slow grind against me.

  “Jonathan. I should do it. I mean it.” My words came in gasps.

  “No.”

  “I can h
elp you.”

  He smacked the red button on the control panel, and the elevator came to a halt. A bell rang in a constant clatter, but he didn’t pull away. He pulled my skirt up and hooked his finger in the crotch of my panties, sliding his finger along my wet folds.

  A voice came over the intercom. “What’s your emergency?” It sounded automated, as if there really wasn’t someone on the other end.

  He turned to the panel and said something in a language I didn’t understand, then put his lips on mine as if it was our last kiss.

  “Can you repeat that?” asked the voice robotically.

  He repeated it and undid his pants, pulling out his gorgeous cock.

  “I’ll have someone there in ten minutes.”

  “Cameras.”

  “It’s Saturday. No one’s at the desk. Whole system’s probably shut down.”

  He fell into me, pushing me into the wall, a hand pulling the crotch of my panties away as the fingertips dug into my ass. I hitched my leg on his hips. He guided himself into me and thrust hard, shocking the breath right out of me. Bringing my other leg around him, he thrust again. And again.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said.

  “Fuck is right.” He twisted my nipple through my shirt. The exquisite pain was a direct line between my legs, making me spread them wider. He buried his face in my neck. “You are not to see her, goddess.”

  “Jesus. I can’t think.”

  “Don’t think.” He pushed his belly on my clit, and a thousand fireworks went off between my thighs. “Just do what I ask.” He rotated his hips, rubbing me sideways, then forward. He looked me in the eye, and let his hand creep up my face. He slipped a finger in my mouth. I tried to suck on it, but I couldn’t keep my lips closed; I was gasping so hard. He pulled it out, dragging saliva across my cheek.

  “I’m coming,” I said.

  “You’re coming, what?”

  “Sir.”

  He didn’t withhold. He pummeled me, driving forward until I cried out through clenched teeth, pressing my legs around him, praying to a God I didn’t even believe in. Jonathan’s prayer was right behind mine, and he grunted it into the spot where my ear met my neck. His purposeful thrusts slowed into jerks, leaving nothing but hot breath on me. Our chests rose and fell in time, and our mouths found each other in a gentle, satisfied kiss.