DoubleBind

by Sindra vin Yssel

  She shook her head.

  “A service top is someone who tops but gives their sub whatever the sub wants. If their sub wants a flogging, they get a flogging. If they want to be tied up, they get tied up. I have nothing against service tops. They are often highly skilled and give their bottoms a great deal of pleasure. But I am not a service top, although I think your friend Jannah might be under that impression. Did she tell you I was safer for you than Karl?”

  “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

  He grinned. If she thought Karl’s grin was wicked, Garrett’s might have been worse. “I’m not even remotely safer. I’ll keep you from physical harm and emotional harm if I can. I’ll honor a safe word. But this is what I have to offer. We will always be doing something pleasing to me. You never have to wonder if you’re satisfying me sufficiently because I’m in charge and I’ll make sure you satisfy me. Knowing you’re naked under your skirt getting wet is enough for now. Maybe I’ll fuck you later and this is foreplay. Maybe I won’t and I will enjoy your frustration. But regardless, it will please me.”

  “That seems rather selfish, Sir.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? But there are women who service tops can’t satisfy, because they need something more. I think you need more, Meg.”

  Frederick brought the food, steaming hot and arranged on beautiful black oval plates. The aroma made her mouth water. She picked up her knife and fork, not sure how to respond. Karl had taught her pain could be better than pleasure. Garrett was claiming she might want what she didn’t want. Or not want what she did. It all seemed so contradictory and yet he was right about one thing. She was getting wet and it wasn’t only because she wasn’t wearing panties.

  The shrimp scampi was delicious. They ate in silence for a few minutes, focusing on the wonderful food. He cut off a small portion off his salmon and put it on the edge of her plate. She tried it.

  “Next time I may have some of that,” she said. It was yummy.

  “You might.” His eyes twinkled. “It all depends on what I order for you. Unless you come here with someone else.”

  “As a work lunch, perhaps.” If I came here with Blake, I wonder what Belinda would report back. But it would be entirely innocent.

  “Give me your jacket.”

  “Excuse me, Sir?” She hoped she hadn’t heard him correctly. The chemise covered her decently, sure. But it wasn’t designed to be worn without something on top of it and the straps of her bra would show. She supposed there were worse things.

  “You heard me.”

  She made a face but shrugged it off and handed it across the table. It didn’t quite feel like she was sitting in her underwear, but close. Somehow not having the jacket on made her extra aware of the smoothness of the silk against her skin. “What’s that about, Sir?”

  He put the coat on top of his. “Well, partly it’s because I like seeing your body and the suit jacket hid your curves. But mostly, we agreed not to talk about work and I thought getting you out of your work clothes might help. If you perceive it as punishment, that works too.”

  “And if I do it again, Sir?” She wished she hadn’t asked. There wasn’t anything else she could take off, so if losing her clothing was the precedent, she was in trouble. And yet he’d implied he had a special relationship with the staff and the table was secluded. There was no telling what he might do. Thinking about it made her pussy even wetter and she had to shift position.

  Garrett put his hand on hers. “Then you’ll get a spanking and I promise you it can be done in a way you won’t enjoy, no matter how strong your newfound love for pain.”

  “Here?” She didn’t mind the thought of him spanking her. Not in private and not at a place like Iron Butterfly where people wouldn’t bat an eye. But not in front of the waiter.

  “No. Frederick didn’t consent to see that and it would be hard to keep a lookout for him. But trust me, I can find a place nearby to do it.” He let go of her hand and raised his fork. “Bon appétit?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She went back to eating her shrimp with relish, still mulling over what he’d said. The more she thought about what he’d threatened, the wetter she was getting and it was definitely better than thinking about work. She had trouble letting go of it. Maybe if she disobeyed, she’d get the spanking. It was tempting. She wanted a reaction from him, but maybe there was another way to go about it.

  Besides, she’d eaten all the shrimp.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Meg?”

  “Did you like it when I showed you that I wasn’t wearing panties because you liked me following directions, or because you liked seeing?”

  “Both, of course. Why?”

  She stood partway up and glanced behind her to make sure no one was coming. Then she lifted her skirt. “Because I like the idea of pleasing.” She glanced behind her again. Satisfied it would take several seconds for anyone to appear, she sat down quickly and lifted her chemise to show him her translucent cream-colored bra, with lovely pastel blue flowers and incidentally, her breasts, in case he liked those more than lingerie.

  “Honey, that’s cruel. You’re making me want to fuck you on the table and that wouldn’t be appropriate here.”

  “Oh it wouldn’t, would it? Aww.” Emboldened, she lowered her hand below the level of the table. “But I can touch myself.” Not that she was.

  He grinned. “Yes, you can. And I’ll be your lookout. But I expect to be able to lick the juices off your finger when I tell you you’re done.”

  Uh-oh. It figured he had a way to tell if she was following through. Remembering what he’d said about being observant, she wondered if he could tell she’d been faking. She lifted her skirt and dipped two fingers into her pussy. There wasn’t going to be any problem tasting her. She was sopping. She started rubbing her clit gently. It felt good, but she didn’t want to come. She wasn’t sure she could do it quietly enough, for one thing.

  He calmly ate the rest of his salmon and watched.

  “You’re delightful,” he told her. “Harder.”

  “But if I do…”

  “No buts.”

  She pushed herself forward in her seat, so the table would conceal her even better and obeyed, trusting him to tell her when. She saw his eyes flick to the side and was tempted to stop. Someone might be approaching. She could hear footsteps. But he hadn’t told her to stop. She bit her lip. She was close to coming, too. If she had an orgasm in front of the waiter, she would kill him. After.

  “Stop,” he said.

  Damn. She stopped, reluctantly.

  Frederick showed up to gather the plates. “Would you and the lady like any dessert today, sir?” he asked.

  She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t rather Garrett had let her climax, embarrassment and all, even though she’d never have trusted him again. It almost would have been worth it.

  “No, I think we’ve had enough, thank you. The check, please,” Garrett said with a completely straight face.

  Easy for him to be calm.

  “Very good, sir,” said Frederick, turning away.

  Garrett grinned at her. “I didn’t want to tell him my dessert is already here. Push your fingers in deep, Meg.”

  She sighed and followed directions. She could make herself come that way, too, if she worked at it, especially as close as she already was. She knew the right spot. She rubbed there, trying to push herself over the edge.

  “Stay still,” Garrett ordered. “Freeze.”

  She stopped, frustratingly close again. He hadn’t asked her to take her fingers out, so she left them there. Without any motion, no one could tell. She could maybe even wiggle them. Frederick returned with the check and went away hardly glancing at her. Is he avoiding eye contact on purpose? Now I’m being paranoid.

  “Now it’s time for my taste. I’ll have the ladyfingers, please.”

  “I don’t think I’m being a lady,” said Meg. She pulled her fingers out and gave her clit one last stroke on the way. It wasn’t quite enough. “Do you have a
ny idea how incredibly turned on I am right now?”

  “Yes. Yes I do. The color in your cheeks. Your breathing. Your scent.” He pulled her hand to his lips and licked her fingers slowly. “And now, your taste. Exquisite.”

  “You could have let me come,” she complained, feeling slightly hypocritical. She noticed he hadn’t taken a step toward paying the bill yet, either. To keep Frederick away, perhaps? The gold embossed black check holder sat at the edge of the table, far more visible than either of them.

  “I could have. But you were noisy in the club. I couldn’t be sure you’d be able to keep it down.” He grinned. “Maybe I should have you show me how quietly you can come later, hmm? So we know for next time?”

  Next time. The words stirred her emotions. She wanted it. But what about Karl? How long could she keep this up? The two were friends and obviously knew about each other being with her, but still she felt guilty. Watching him lick the last trace of arousal from her fingers, however, she wasn’t about to give him up.

  If I let them make the decision for me, I might lose them both. But I’m not making decisions while I’m this horny.

  He let her hand go and took out his wallet. He counted bills and tucked them into the check holder before looking back to her. “Meg, do you trust me enough to come to my home with me? It’s not far. I live over my pub.” He picked up her jacket and handed it back to her.

  She’d searched and found the place on the internet, partly to make sure the place existed. Men told stories, sometimes. It was six blocks away, in the opposite direction from her place. “Did you walk or drive?” She put on the jacket.

  “I walked. We could take a taxi if you wish. It’s an easy walk, but I’m not wearing heels.”

  Meg shook her head. “I almost live in these things. We can walk.”

  He took her hand and led her out the restaurant. Belinda raised an eyebrow as they passed but said nothing. They walked hand-in-hand for the entire six blocks. He matched his pace to hers perfectly, despite his longer stride and her heels.

  There was an alley near the pub, with a walk that was kept nice and clean and it led to a back entrance. “We can go through the front if you like, but there’s a chance I’ll get flagged by someone.”

  “What if they need your help?” She didn’t know why she asked because she wanted to get inside.

  “If I’m there, they will. If I’m not, they’ll do a fine job of figuring it out on their own.” He opened the door for her. The small entryway had narrow stairs and a door with a window, through which she could see a hallway that appeared to lead to the kitchen and bathrooms of the pub. After she was inside, he passed her, leading her up the stairs, which were too narrow to allow holding hands. He opened the door at the top and gestured her inside.

  His place was small, no bigger than her apartment, but it had a completely different feel. Where her place was had functional black and steel, which she brightened with flowers, his home was full of natural wood, polished to a shine. It’s from another century. The nineteenth perhaps. But there was a television in the living room amidst the period furniture. It was all very neatly kept.

  “It’s lovely, Sir.”

  “Glad you approve. I like it. It’s home. Let me take your jacket.”

  As he slipped it off her and hung it up in the foyer closet she wondered how many women he’d led up the steps. Best not to think about it, especially when she had no right to complain. He hung up his coat next to hers.

  She took a step forward.

  “Meg, we need to have some rules here.”

  “Rules?” She turned to face him.

  “Give me your chemise.”

  “Is that a rule?”

  “Yes, it is. I don’t want you wearing clothes in my house.”

  Presumably her skirt would go, too. “It’s hardly clothing, Sir. Almost underwear.”

  “You wear it to be seen in it, it’s clothing.”

  She nodded and pulled it off. She wanted to see him looking, anyway, as she had in the seafood restaurant. “You know, the way I’m feeling, you may wish you had oysters, Sir.”

  Garrett laughed. “If you end up having any complaints, I’ll consider it.” He clearly didn’t think that was going to happen. He took her chemise and hung it up next to the coat.

  “Bra next. It’s a very pretty bra, but bra with no panties isn’t a look I want to encourage.”

  She bumped into him, deliberately, chest to chest. “I see, Sir. And is this no clothes rule something you enforce with every girl you have up here?”

  “It depends on the circumstances,” he replied.

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Yes would have been acceptable. Never would have been even better, although she didn’t know she’d have believed it. With her hands on the fastening in the back of her bra, she hesitated.

  “Would you want someone with no experience, Meg? We can find you a newbie Dom if you want. They come to the clubs all the time, although not so much to Iron Butterfly.”

  He looked completely serious. She remembered his comment about not being jealous and realized he probably meant it. He’d let her go be with someone else without hesitation. And yet, he’d said “next time.” Unless he was leading her on and so far he seemed to answer everything truthfully instead of telling her what he wanted her to hear, he meant it. And Jannah trusted him. I should enjoy the ride. And make sure there’s a next time.

  She undid the bra, held it against herself coyly for a moment and then handed it to him. “No, Sir. I want someone experienced. Specifically you.” She hesitated, wondering if she was about to lay it on too thick. But she was sincere. “I want guidance. Guide me, Sir.”

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close and kissed her. Her nipples hardened against his shirt. The imbalance of him being completely clothed was arousing. Wanting to please, she unzipped the hidden zipper on the side of her skirt and pushed her skirt over her hips until it fell to the floor.

  “Good girl,” Garrett whispered. “Good, naked girl.” He slid his hand down her belly. She spread her legs. He cupped her pussy. “Now let’s see how quiet you can be.”

  She moaned as his fingers entered her. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what?”

  “Come standing up. That’s what you meant by quiet, wasn’t it?” She sometimes started in the shower, when she pleasured herself, but she always ended up finishing lying on the bed, preferably with her vibrator buzzing.

  “That’s what I meant by quiet.” He rubbed her clit with his thumb, applying the right pressure. Her knees bent seemingly of their own accord. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support. “I’m so hard I’m ready to burst, myself.” His other hand cupped her ass, helping take pressure off her knees by holding her up.

  She took a sharp intake of breath. Having that effect on him was empowering. And he was having a powerful effect on her as well. It only took a few moments for her to be on the edge again, as she had been in the booth earlier. She shook her head. So frustrating and he clearly intended to keep her there, standing, unable to release. I can’t.

  And then she did. Moaning, she leaned up against him so hard she was glad she didn’t push him over and shuddered. Waves of pleasure surged through her pussy. Somehow standing up it all seemed more centered, as if the entire power of her orgasm were in that one place, rather than radiating outward. Her pussy clenched his fingers again and again.

  When the last wave subsided, she felt like she was ready to melt into a puddle on the floor if he hadn’t been holding her. He lifted her and carried her to the brown leather couch. There was a big square pillow at one end and in the middle it had a throw rug on it that would stop her from sticking or making a mess. He set her on it carefully.

  “How did I do on the noise, Sir?” she asked. She didn’t think she had made too much, but she had been too busy feeling to listen.

  He smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got enough control for public spaces yet. But I’m willing
to keep working at it.”

  Not a lot of incentive for me to succeed. She grinned at him and then decided to try to keep a straight face. He could probably figure it out.

  “How are your knees, Meg? Any trouble I should know about?”

  “They’re in good shape.”

  He took the cushion from the couch and set it in front of a mahogany-armed chair that matched the couch and then sat down in the chair.

  “Rule number two, Meg. When I put down the cushion, you are to kneel on it, facing me.” He spread his legs slightly. She could see the outline of his cock against the seam of his pants. She knelt on the cushion, between his legs.

  She reached out and hesitated. “May I, Sir?”

  “You may.”

  She unzipped him and pulled out his cock. He was long, erect. Then, taking advantage of the position kneeling placed her in, she slipped her tongue over the purple head. She leaned forward to take as much of him in as she could, until he tickled the back of her throat. The rest of the shaft she worked with her hand, pumping. It was definitely his turn.

  He gripped her hair and pulled her off.

  “Sir?”

  “I don’t want to come quite yet.”

  When did a man ever not want to come? She looked at him oddly. “Sir?”

  He bent down to kiss her and for a moment their tongues swirled together. There was something about kneeling there while he kissed her that melted her heart. He was in control. She could let go.

  “You will taste me another time. But I had a plan, which I was in danger of letting you redirect. I promised not to let you be in charge.” He cupped her breasts. She leaned back to let him. He massaged the peaks to hardness. “Tell me, Meg. You’ve been vanilla until this last week, haven’t you?”

  Jannah had told her vanilla meant not kinky. Kind of like being a muggle. “Yes.”

  “But you’re not vanilla anymore, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir, I don’t think I am.” She couldn’t imagine going back to plain, ordinary men and sex without either power or pain.

  “And you want to experience new things.”