The Unexpected Dom 2

by Meghan Boehners

  The Unexpected Dom #2: Dominating the CEO

  by Meghan Boehners

  Copyright © 2012 by Meghan Boehners

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  The Unexpected Dom #2: Dominating the CEO

  “So, Jennifer, let me pull out the contracts and explain.” With a precision that made engineers seem like Grateful Dead stoners, the dominatrix slid perfect manilla envelopes from her black leather brief bag. It was as if she were conducting a legal transaction.

  Which, in a way, she was.

  Miss Sally was as intimidating in real life as she had sounded on the Internet. After discovering Declan's emails, Jennifer had skipped over to the browser on Declan's phone, quickly finding an autofill for the address to her club. For some reason, that autofill feature – knowing that her husband visited the website often enough to have Google remember it – filled her with more disappointment, rage, and anxiety than the past day's events had. It made everything so real in a way that even making Declan fuck an arm-sized dildo hadn't.

  When she'd seen the price tag for Miss Sally's services, she'd done a double take.

  $400 an hour. Whoa.

  And here she stood before Jennifer, the clock ticking away, Declan's business credit card being charged for the four hours she'd contracted by phone.

  Oh, shit, Jennifer thought. She really had done all this. In less than twenty-four hours she had changed her hair, gotten a makeover, bought and worn a Dom outfit, handcuffed her husband, turned him into her sex slave, learned he had a kink for it, and hired a dominatrix to come to her house and...

  And what?

  Miss Sally cleared her throat. The look on her face made it plain and clear that she was not accustomed to being ignored. “Jennifer? Let's sit over here.” Miss Sally moved with the fluid grace of a black cat over to a small table with chairs that were nestled in a tiny solarium off the living room. Jennifer adored the room, a small hothouse where she had tried – and failed – to grow orchids over the years.

  “Now, I don't have a standard contract for the services you have purchased.” A sly grin spread across Miss Sally's face, the look quite startling, stripping ten years off her face and making her seem like a fresh-faced teenager with a very deviant secret. “Your request is quite...unique. And I do not use that word lightly.”

  Jennifer tensed. “Is this OK?”

  “Of course! You're the boss, after all. Or, rather,” Miss Sally added, “I am the boss, and I will teach you how to be the boss of Declan.” Her long, elegant fingers spread papers before Jennifer, all legalese she never understood. “I have to thank you, in fact.”

  “Me?” Jennifer squeaked.

  “Yes. This could prove to be the beginning of a new niche in my business. Giving Dom lessons. It never occurred to me, frankly.” She arched her eyebrows, going from virginal teen to prim schoolteacher in a fraction of a second.

  “Really?” Jennifer's eyes pored over the words on the papers, but her mind couldn't decipher it. She trusted Miss Sally. Whatever the documents said was fine. Hastily scribbling her signature, she noted the credit card statement printed from a computer somewhere. $1,600. Declan's company could deal with that.

  “Ahem.” Both women looked up, surprised by the sound. There stood naked, filthy Declan, shoulders hunched over. They had forgotten about him.

  Miss Sally looked him up and down, shaking her head slightly. “What a great mess you are, Declan.” Her words carried a tone of disapproval.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “You need a shower.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” He stood in place. Jennifer expected him to leave.

  Miss Sally looked pointedly at Jennifer. “He will only act when given express permission to do so.” She nodded toward Declan's crotch, which looked like his penis had attempted to eat a vanilla soft-serve cone. Jennifer's face pinkened.

  “Declan, for God's sake, go take a shower,” she ordered him.

  His face brightened. “Yes, Mistress!” He scampered upstairs, his naked ass rippling with muscles as he disappeared around the landing. The dog collar was still around his neck and Jennifer giggled at the sight of it.

  Still shaking her head, Miss Sally simply said, “That man.”

  Now Jennifer could really get down to business. She had a million questions to ask the dominatrix, even at $400 an hour. She could take the first half hour to satisfy her curiosity, and the other three and a half hours to satisfy...something else.

  Miss Sally looked at her smartphone and typed out a quick text. Within ten seconds, Jennifer heard footsteps outside her front door, and then two burly movers walked in, carrying a large wooden box.

  “Where does this go, Mistress?” one guy the size of Lou Ferrigno asked.

  Miss Sally turned to Jennifer. “Where shall we set up?”

  “Set up?”

  “For lessons. I have props.” She said the word “props” as if it were completely normal, like asking where to put a bag of chips one brings to a bar-be-que.

  “Uh, I guess in the family room. Over there.” Jennifer pointed to a large sliding door on the other side of the foyer. The movers turned that way and over the course of the next ten minutes deposited four similar boxes. Miss Sally made another text, and then Jennifer heard the sound of wood splintering. What the hell were they doing in there?

  And what kind of props would they need? A bag of sex toys was one thing, but this...?

  The sound of a shower filled in a background noise from above; Declan must finally be washing himself off. Good. She liked musk, but not that much musk. And the next few hours would be filled with raunchy sex. She, too, needed a quick shower. Hmmm....maybe she should go upstairs with –

  “Jennifer?” Miss Sally spoke as if she had been trying to get her attention for some time.

  “Oh, sorry. Yes?”

  “First of all, stop then. Don't apologize for inconsequential matters. It makes you seem weak.”

  “Oh – sorry!” Miss Sally's brow furrowed and Jennifer clapped a hand over her own mouth to stop herself from apologizing again.

  “So many women seem to apologize for their own existence. How often does Declan apologize for mistakes?” The dominatrix crossed her legs, giving Jennifer a glimpse of a well-manicured, nude crotch. The landing strip glinted; clit ring? Jennifer felt herself flush. Did Declan like it? How often had he gone down on Miss Sally with that magic tongue, slid between her well-groomed pussy lips, stroked her – She shook her own head to clear the thought. Time was a' wasting.

  “He doesn't. Ever.”

  “Right. So you need to stop.” Miss Sally's words were finely clipped; was that a faint British accent? Spanish? She couldn't tell.

  “So how long has Declan been visiting you?” Jennifer asked, ready to hear it all.

  Miss Sally pulled her head back slowly, as if Jennifer had just asked her what color her morning shit had been. “Jennifer, I do not talk about my clients. I have a strict confidentiality clause.” She tapped the contracts Jennifer had just signed. “That is true for you as well – as my client, everything we say and do here today during our contracted hours is completely safe. And completely locked away in my memory, but never told by my lips.”

  A plume of shame rolled through her, making Jennifer embarrassed and angry at once. All this money, all this effort, all this time and all she would get out of this
day was the knowledge that her husband had been fucking this woman for years and now she, Jennifer, was paying this woman even more money to teach her how to meet her own husband's needs?

  Bullshit. “Bullshit,” she spat, the word hanging in the room. The same anger that had driven Jennifer to yesterday's antics with Declan rose within, making her hate the very woman she'd just hired.

  The dominatrix's left corner of her mouth twitched. Jennifer wasn't cowed anymore. Hell, she was actually the boss, right? The paying client? She could understand why Declan was so enamored with Miss Sally; the woman oozed sensuality and control. Right now, though, Jennifer was a ball of anger, hurt, frustration and pain, and Miss Sally was going to help undo some of that.

  Whether she liked it – or not.

  Silence. Jennifer continued. “I got desperate yesterday and did something that I never, ever, in a million years thought would work. My goal was revenge. Or just getting Declan to stay in one place long enough to listen to me, for fuck's sake. Do you have any idea how hard that is? To get your husband to listen to you when he decides not to?”

  Miss Sally watched Jennifer with rapt attention, her face neutral as a stone wall. It unnerved Jennifer a bit, and then a flash of sef-consciousness hit her as she realized she, like Declan, was wearing the residue of their lovemaking.

  As well as a Dom outfit. Or, at least, her idea of a Dom outfit. The fishnet stocking had torn at her right big toe and the leather was creeping up her ass cleft. Willing the sensations and the embarrassment aside, she continued.

  “Of course you don't. You have people paying you $400 an hour for your attention. Four hundred dollars! You must be rolling in it.”

  For the first time since Jennifer began her little tirade, Miss Sally spoke. “Actually, $400 is pretty low. It's not how I make most of my income.”

  Seriously? The woman finally opens her mouth and this is what she's willing to share? Jennifer gaped like a fish out of water, but she took what she could get.

  “So you earn more than that? Doing what?”

  The bright red lips parted, showing perfectly-even teeth, a show of a childhood and adolescence that involved some fairly expensive orthodontics. Her teeth were gleaming white, so perfect that not even cosmetic dentistry could buy this kind of improvement. Miss Sally's nose was symmetrically planted on her face; a less severe haircut and she would look like a supermodel.

  She stood, then straightened her slim skirt, seemingly irritated by the few, light wrinkles caused by their sitting. “I'm not privy to say, Jennifer, but let's just leave it at this: I help very, very flawed people to get what they really want. And need. And people will pay more than you ever imagined to get what they really need.”

  Jennifer snorted. She couldn't help herself. “Yeah, right. People pay you to have sex with them.”

  The speed with which Miss Sally closed the gap between them was breathtaking; her face was inches from Jennifer's, suddenly, her arms by her side. “I have one rule, Ms. MacIntire.” The change in address terrified Jennifer suddenly. “I never, ever touch my clients. And they never, ever touch me.”

  Miss Sally stepped back, eyes dark and cold. “Whatever you think I do with my clients, think again. Your ideas are so off base that you can't even imagine the world I create for them. Frankly, you won't let yourself.”

  Creating worlds of what? Jennifer wondered, back to being intimidated by the dominatrix. Miss Sally stood, backbone ramrod-straight, and stared at Jennifer with an intensity that was so erotic she wanted to reach out and kiss her. Or slap her.

  She wasn't sure which.

  “I won't let myself imagine what?”

  “The freedom that people struggle to find.”

  Jennifer shook her head, a few strands of newly-reddish highlighted hair getting caught in her eyelashes. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Let me get this straight. You have people like him,” she pointed upstairs towards where Declan was showering, “come into your club and offer to pay $400 an hour for you not to touch them, and not to let them touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do this full time?”

  “I have a three-year waiting list, so there is no shortage of clients.” That's not what I asked, thought Jennifer, but she let it slide. A rush of admiration, startlingly physical, hit her. How in the hell did someone do that? Convince extremely powerful, well-off men to pay so much money to be controlled by...her voice?

  Jennifer chuckled. “Forgive me, Miss Sally, but I am trying very hard to comprehend this. It's a bit out of the mainstream.” The dominatrix tilted her head slightly to the left, the only sign of acknowledgment. God, how did she make her skin so creamy? Jennifer wondered. And eyes that were so...ethereal. Yet hard, like she had been though a hundred lifetimes. A little black eyeliner on the top lids made them stand out. She glanced at Miss Sally's chest and noticed a nub poking through the fine cloth. Two nubs. Too distinct to be nipples.

  Nipple rings. Ah, God, a clit ring, plus this?

  What else did she poke holes in? Jennifer wanted to go grab the big dildo she had made Declan use yesterday and fuck it right here, right now, staring into those eyes, wanting only to please this woman.

  “How do you do that? Why do people come to you for these services? What makes a person seek out being so submissive? Because Declan is anything but a sub in real life. He wants to be in charge. All.the.time. It's a huge problem.”

  Nodding, Miss Sally maintained eye contact. “And that is their problem.” She didn't elaborate. Jennifer felt her confusion grow.

  “So you only talk to them? Never touch them?”

  “I didn't say I only talk.” Miss Sally looked at her watch. “Where is Declan?”

  Jennifer had nearly forgotten him. She waved a hand vaguely towards the stairs. “He always takes long showers.”

  “No. You are in control. He takes as long a shower as you want him to.”

  Hot damn! Miss Sally was right. Jennifer hesitated. “Uh, I'll get to him in a minute. But back to what you do. So you won't talk to me about Declan. But you did tell me you never touch your clients. He wasn't allowed to touch you. All these years he's been seeing you weekly. What in the hell have you been doing?”

  For once, Miss Sally showed some real emotion, aside from the cold, dark look she'd given Jennifer moments before. This time, the woman seemed to blossom a bit, opening up, her smile radiating pleasure that Jennifer hoped was contagious.

  “That is what I am about to do, my dear. Teach you exactly what Declan has been coming to me for all these years. Stop talking and start doing.” She pointed to the family room. Jennifer walked to the door, opened it, and what she saw made her nearly scream.

  Miss Sally's hot breath tickled her ear as the dominatrix had crept behind her. “This is what Declan wants. And this is what you are going to give him. But only on your terms.” Jennifer's clit swelled with the screams she held back, her body tensing as she told herself not to turn around.

  Clients couldn't touch Miss Sally. Jennifer gawked at the room, then spun around and stared into Miss Sally's eyes, her own lust reflected back at her in those black, dilated orbs.

  Two could play at this game. Declan turned on the shower to buy some time, then found Jennifer's email on her computer. None of this made any sense. Why would she jump him like that yesterday, so out of character, and make her his bitch? They'd been on shaky ground for a long time, and he'd been fine with just barely tolerating each other. That seemed so unbelievable to him now; what they had found in these few encounters renewed his love and commitment. Yet Miss Sally was downstairs plotting some sort of punishment for him. The thought of that made him hard again, but something else nagged at him.

  Jennifer had pulled away, too. This hadn't been a one-way street. A couple of years ago she'd cooled off, willing to have a romp in bed here and there, but never enough. It had started shortly after he began going to Miss Sally's club, and at first he'd feared she had learned his secret. Over time, though, Jenn
ifer had never said a word. She just started redecorating the house, getting more of those mani-pedis, and gaining a little weight.

  The thought had passed through his mind more than once that maybe she, too, had a secret. But until now he hadn't really cared enough to dig deeper. Turnabout was fair play, though. A few clicks and he found himself in her hard drive.

  It didn't take long to find her secret files; a folder named “Recipes” was it.

  She never cooked.

  What he found was so disappointing and so horrifying that he couldn't believe it. Email after email from some sex chatting site. Not instant messages, but a series of emails dating back months! First of all, who the fuck sends emails anymore?

  Second, who was this guy sharing detailed sex fantasies with his wife?

  The first email:

  Dear Jennifer,

  I'm flattered that you found my profile interesting. I know that by most people's standards I am a bit kinky. I believe in exploring all sexual interests or fantasies – no rules, limits or taboos. I am single but would someday like a partner to share my life. I haven't found the right person yet. If you want a serious relationship and you're interested, great! If you would rather have a casual relationship, that's fine. If you want nothing more than an occasional evening of sexual abandon, no problem – that's fine, too.

  Basically, the ball is in your court. What would you like to have happen now that you've made the first step? What would make you the happiest?

  Yours,

  John

  “Found my profile interesting”? What the fuck? That meant Jennifer was the one who initiated this!

  He read the next email:

  Wow! You responded fast! I'm interested in exploring the bounds of online sex. No promises of more, but if everything goes well, I might consider meeting you and acting out some of the incredible things we'll be writing in the future. I'm exploring the sensual side of me, trying to become less inhibited, interested in learning more about frustration and pleasure, limits and breaking them. I just finished a bubble bath and I dreamed of you as I stroked myself to orgasm. Tell me more, more, more! Direct me through a fantasy that will make me explode.