BDSM Mega Boxed Set
Page 59
“Yes, Madame.” He grit his teeth and focused on staving off orgasm as I fucked him frantically.
The tingling in my g-spot burst and showered my cunt walls with ecstasy. I dug my nails in deeper, and he clutched my ass with his fingers until I was pressed tight against his groin.
“You can cum now,” I managed, grinding into him frantically. Then I screamed out my second orgasm.
He responded by pumping up into me once, twice, and giving a shrill cry as he came.
We lay there after, and I pulled him close and kissed his forehead. “I’m glad to be your first.”
“I’m glad you were, too.” He shyly glanced up at me, then nuzzled into the side of my neck.
***
“Call him,” Dmitri said, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he frowned.
“Call who?” I feigned ignorance as I pushed my reading glasses up my nose.
He shook his head. “You know who. Millie, you’ve been the happiest I’ve seen you in ages. I knew a visit to Sanctuary was what you needed. And judging by the perma-grin you’ve been wearing this morning, your submissive was a perfect match.” He held out my cell phone.
“I can’t call him. I don’t know his phone number.”
“Call Sanctuary. They’ll have it.”
“All right.” I sighed, and Dmitri gave me the number for employee records. But the person I spoke to revealed they had no Ryan Farley on record.
“Oh,” I said. The revelation momentarily shocked the words out of me “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing, Ms. Monroe. I’m sorry.”
I ended the conversation, and no sooner put my cell down then Dmitri spoke. “What’s wrong, Millie?”
I blinked slowly when I looked at him. “No Ryan Farley works for Sanctuary.”
***
Dmitri placed a few more calls to have the young man tracked down. If there was a breach in Sanctuary security, we needed to know. How did my fox faced lover get in? And was Ryan Farley even his real name?
“I found him.” Dmitri came in, slapped some papers down on my desk, and startled me from my thoughts.
“Where?” I stood and snatched up the documents. “Who is he?”
“His name is Ryan Farley,” Dmitri said as I scanned the papers that confirmed this information. “Our boy was careless there and didn’t use an alias.”
I couldn’t find data on how he got in, but I noted his father was briefly a member of an expensive Surrender resort, before he canceled his membership and became a hermit in the woods.
“So he got in through his father,” I said, tapping my fingernails against the desk.
“That’s what I think, but the damn thing is there’s no paper trail. We will have to up security.”
I rifled through the papers until I found a picture of Ryan and an address. “He works at a balloon sealant factory?”
Dmitri nodded. “Apparently his father invented a special compound that makes balloons more durable. He’s patented it and made a fortune. Owns factories throughout the country.”
I mused on the odd nature of his wealth, and my fox faced boy became a more intriguing puzzle. “Leave this to me, okay? Don’t go after the guy.”
Dmitri smiled and arched an eyebrow. “I knew it. You, Millie, are smitten.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Who says smitten these days?”
***
Further digging revealed Ryan worked at the balloon sealant factory close to his father’s acreage. The guy had money, and didn’t need to work at all really. But there he was, propped up against a stucco wall in worn jeans and a frayed t-shirt, working the night shift, when I pulled up in my Lexus.
He’d been reading a book under a security light, but looked up when my vehicle approached. He squinted at the car, and when I stopped and opened the door, I saw him mouth “Oh shit” before he shut the book. Ryan headed toward the back entrance of the factory.
“Hold on,” I called out. “I’m not here to eat you alive. I just want to talk.”
He shuffled over, head down. As he drew nearer, he murmured, “Guess you know then?”
“Yes.” I braced my shoulders on the car and crossed my arms over my breasts. “I do.”
Finally he met my eyes. Those pale brown irises shimmered with worry. “Are you going to turn me in?”
“Nope.” I smiled at his look of surprise. “I just want to know why, and how, you did it.”
He smiled back. “I got time to talk.”
I motioned to the Lexus. “Want to talk in the car?”
“Sure.”
He climbed in the passenger side and I got back behind the wheel.
“So how’d you find me?” He cast furtive glances at my face, as if he was still afraid the cops waited somewhere to ambush him.
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one’s waiting to take you away in handcuffs.”
“You don’t have any in there?” He grinned, pointing to the glove compartment.
“Maybe. The night is still young,” I quipped. “As to how I found you, a friend tracked you down. We found out your dad was once a member of Surrender Inc.’s clientele. Using your real name wasn’t the best cover.”
He looked at me then, and I saw that touch of sadness in his gaze again. “I didn’t think anyone would ever search for me.”
“Why’d you do it?”
He shrugged, looked away, blushed. “Dad told me about Surrender and I was curious. That and…guess I just wanted to get rid of my naivety.”
A knot of anxiety formed in my throat. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” He cringed. “How sad is that?”
I arched an eyebrow and studied his face. “You don’t look twenty-five. And there’s nothing sad about it.”
He gave me a surprised glance, then pulled out an string of ID cards to prove his age.
Silence hovered a moment after, then I spoke. “ You have one of the board members in a panic over security now. And you knew the whole layout of the place, all the rooms. I’ll give you credit. You had me convinced. How’d you get all that information? Especially on Sanctuary.”
His fox face curled in a self satisfied smile. “Dad and I know some of the best hackers on the planet. Let’s leave it at that.”
We talked for a bit. He told me a bit about his father when I asked. The man was an eccentric inventor into conspiracy theories. His mom was a hippie who could successfully home remedy just about anything. He loved them both, very much, but grew up somewhat isolated on his parents’ acreage. Always felt awkward in social situations, and was an only child, like me. Said Dad used to talk to his friends about reptilians ruling the world.
“It kinda made birthday parties a bit weird,” he told me, crinkling his face in embarrassment at the memory. “One time he told this little girl that reptilian overlords waited in the sewer grates to snatch up little kids. She ran home screaming, and her mother came and cussed mine out. Dad caught shit from Mom for that one.”
We shared a chuckle at that. There we were—two folks who never felt like we quite fit into the world. I didn’t have the heart to really be mad at the guy. His fear of rejection, particularly from women, reminded me too much of my dear pal Dmitri. But I did decide to use the situation to my advantage.
“Ryan.” I turned to him. “While I am letting you off the hook, I do think you need some more discipline.”
He blushed again, ran a hand through his mop of auburn curls, then whispered, “Yes, Madame, I think I do. Would you like to give it to me?”
I gave him a toothy grin. “Yes, I think I’m going to spank you.” Pressing a button on the steering wheel, I slid the front seat further back. “Right here. Right now. Take your pants off and give me that ass.”
His firm, white ass was bare in seconds. Two egg shaped cheeks jiggled as he placed himself across my lap. The muscles in his back shivered with anticipation.
I skimmed my nails over the top of his buttocks and he trembled. “You’ve been a very naught
y boy, Ryan. Are you ready to be punished?”
“Yes, Madame, please.”
My fingers slithered in between his ass cheeks, tickling his crack, then moving farther to tease his perineum. I scraped the tips over his soft sac and he tensed in my lap. Air hissed out between his teeth.
I drew my hand up his back, felt the knobs of his spine, traced the contours of his smooth skin. Then I pulled my palm away and positioned it above his ass. He sucked in a breath and held it, and I brought my hand down hard. The sharp crack and sting made him jump and squeal. His cock, now pressed against my skirt, twitched and grew harder.
“Ohhh, Madame,” he moaned, and I gave him another sharp rap that made him squeak.
“Tsk tsk. No talking until I say you can. Spread your legs wider.”
He did as I requested and I reached between them to fondle his fuzzy sac, to stroke the underside of his stiffening cock. He squirmed and wriggled atop me, and my pussy was now wet and throbbing from watching his display.
“Would you like to cum, Ryan?”
He writhed. “Oh, yes, please…Madame.”
“Not yet.” I scraped my nails up and down his balls until he clenched his teeth to stave off a moan. “Maybe later, if you’re a good boy. But I’m not done spanking you yet.”
I drew back and brought my hand down harder still. He jerked in my lap and his back arched with the sharpness of the blow. Then I swirled circles over each rosy red cheek with the tips of my nails. His breath came out in short pants. He gyrating in my lap, rubbing his penis against the fabric of my skirt.
I dug my fingernails into his ass and commanded, “Stay still, Submissive.”
But he was worked up, willful, and didn’t listen. I touched his sac again, but this time I dug my nails in just enough to let him know I meant business. He stilled, and I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock. Then I began to stroke him.
“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, and I squeezed his cock so hard he cried out in pleasure / pain.
“You’re determined to be naughty tonight, aren’t you?” I squeezed harder still.
He dry humped my hand and lap once more. “Yes, Madame. I can’t … help myself.”
Moments later, a warm wetness spilled over my skirt and seeped through the fabric. Great, I thought, I’ll never get that out.
“You’re not supposed to cum until I tell you to,” I snarled, but I wasn’t really as angry as I sounded. I just wanted to make him jump a little.
“I know.” He gave a sheepish smile as he rolled over in my lap, displaying his flaccid, sticky cock. “I’m sorry, Madame. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
I arched an eyebrow, smiled, and ran a finger up and down his slippery shaft. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”
He looked up at me through those golden red eyelashes, bit his bottom lip. “Well, I was hoping.”
I tapped his chin. Then I grabbed my purse from the floor, fished out a business card, and handed it to him. “We’ll see what can be arranged.”
***
Surrender Ever After
Surrender Series Vol. 2
By Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer
BDSM romance with a British dom and a burly carpenter.
Includes:
Surrender To His Proposal
Surrender To His Wants
Surrender To His Lust
Surrender To His Love
Bonus Story: Surrender Ever After
***
Surrender To His Proposal
The roof is beyond leaking. If I don’t get someone in soon, the entire attic might become a swimming pool.
“I can fix it for you,” Jake says, and he notices my discomfort at his words, because he quickly adds, “Or I know someone who can do it cheap.”
Pride. I shake my head at myself, knowing pride is going to kill me one day. And a woman can’t be full of pride when she has two boys to raise and bills she can’t pay piling up.
“Carrie.” Jake leans across the arborite table I picked up at a flea market and squeezes my hand. “Let me help you.”
I smile at his boyish face, those cute dimples in his cheeks. “You’ve already helped me by renting part of this place, and doing the fixing up you’ve already done.”
Jake Black rents the apartment above the garage attached to my old two story Cape Cod home. I inherited the place from my mom when she passed on, and it was a lifesaver, since my husband of fifteen years picked that time—right after my mother’s funeral—to leave me with two boys to raise. Preston and Michael are eight and twelve.
Jake is undeniably handsome. He’s got a mix of boyish good looks and rugged male, with his bright green eyes and rounded face, work roughened hands from days spent as a carpenter, and a five o’ clock shadow that’s just as red as the hair on his head. But we aren’t together. I’m just not ready for that yet. It’s only been six months since I lost mom and went through the divorce.
That being said, there have been hot kisses and much more, but we haven’t had sex yet. I don’t want to lead Jake on, or confuse my own currently messed up head and heart. Still, when he moved in here to help me and the kids out, it was a blessing I was entirely grateful for.
“There’s a lot more I could do for you,” he says, standing to walk behind my chair and feather a few kisses up my neck.
I try to make a quip about this. “Two redheads shouldn’t sleep together. The results could be catastrophic.” His tiny kisses make me shiver.
Just at that moment, my boys decide to run into the kitchen. Preston, my youngest, holds a paper in his hand and his eyes are wide. “Mom, can I please sign up for hockey this year?”
I don’t know what to say to that sweet, freckled face. His brown, puppy-like eyes beseech, but we simply can’t afford it. Not ready to break his heart, I say, “We’ll see, hon.”
He prunes his face and makes a minor protest, but Jake distracts them both with the proposition of some two on one road hockey, out in the dirt alley that runs between our place and Mrs. Granger’s. I’m thankful for the time this gives me to think.
And that’s when I see it. An ad in the employment opportunities section catches my attention. I already work on an assembly line building slot machines for a living, but that wage barely covers the bills. It sure won’t fix the roof and the other repairs this old home needs, and it won’t cover hockey fees for Preston either.
But the job notice I stare at, the amount indicated, certainly would. So long as the hours don’t conflict with my other work, I could take this, should I get it, and finally get this house spruced up, give my kids some money for recreational activities that they’ve been dying to join.
The notice says: Woman between 20 - 35 needed to test innovative new designer products. Must have an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. Apply in person with resume at Suite 001-353 Bloominfield Blvd.
And the monthly income it cites makes my eyes widen. I can do this, I think. I’ve got an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. For the income offered, I’ll dance naked on tabletops at this point.
But when I show the ad to Jake after I join him and the boys outside, he gently takes my arm, gives me a concerned expression, and ushers me to the side of the house.
“Are you crazy, Carrie?” He looks angry as well as concerned. “This could be a setup. You could get raped or killed.”
I shake my head at his protest, cross my arms over the front of my spring cardigan. “I’ll be fine.” When he frowns deeper, I put an arm around his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze. Close to his ear, I whisper, “I’ll take protection with me, and I’ll text you as soon as I get to the place and once I meet the interviewer to let you know I’m safe. How’s that?” I’m registered to carry a handgun, and I’m a very good shot, too. Years of target practice with my dad, now also passed on, gave me an eagle eye and aim.
“You should let me come with you,” Jake says, still wearing that deep frown that barely crinkles his smooth, pale face.
He shakes his head at me, then a smile spreads, bringing out his adorable dimples. “You don’t have to pay me for watching the kids. Don’t even think about it.” Then he wraps his arm tighter around my shoulder, swipes a quick kiss over my lips before saying, “Please be careful.”
I swat at him playfully. “Don’t mother me, for cripes sake. I’ll be fine.” Then I quickly give him another kiss before adding, “Thanks for watching the kids again.”
***
A few days later, I’m up way before the kids and Jake, showered, and dressed before they even stomp down the stairs for breakfast. Jake protests, saying I should’ve let him help me with the bacon and eggs. I wave him off to ask if I look presentable for my upcoming interview.
His green eyes shine. “You look beautiful.”
The kids make silly noises at this, and Michael asks when me and Jake are getting married, with a cheeky grin spread across his face. I tell him to eat his bacon and mind his business. He just laughs. He gets his precocious streak from me, I admit. His brother just grins a lopsided grin and chows down on his eggs.
Now sitting in my beat up old Pontiac Sunfire, I take a last minute to inspect myself before I drive off. I’m wearing my best dress—one of my only dresses, now I’m on a tight budget. A spring knee-length number in pink with tiny white polka dots spotting the thin material. I’ve put on my Aunt Peg’s pearls for good luck and pinned up my fiery red hair in a neat, simple chignon. Applied a bit of makeup to my cheeks, a wisp of shadow to enhance my blue eyes, and a tint of pink lip gloss to my lips. I frown at my reflection, worried that I look more like June Cleaver than someone with an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex.
“Oh well.” I tell my worrisome self. “It’ll have to do.”
***
The building at 353 Bloominfield Blvd used to be an old brownstone, but it’s been recently converted into office space. I approach a man with a pleasant smile and a bulldog face to ask him where exactly Suite 001 is. But first I send Jake a text to let him know all looks good so far.