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by CELENE CAREY

  “No, I’m not wearing contacts, and no, I won’t give you my number,” she had said when I approached her, before I could even open my mouth and ask her what it was she was reading. Bitchy, I thought to myself with an inward grin. I always loved those women the most, because I knew somewhere under that entire facade was the type I needed.

  Veronica had been sitting behind a high, island-type counter, facing the back of the café with the glass window display behind her exhibiting the busy afternoon traffic, and the large sign reading “Raymar’s Café” in blocked red and blue Algerian letters above her head; she was in her own world. I watched her, her hair flowing over her shoulders; she had good hair and it swayed, ending in sharp strands above her nipples. I could see them straining against the feather-like fabric of her black cashmere V-neck sweater. She looked like a poem waiting to be written. I’d noticed everything I could about her top half, everything. She had slender hands and long fingers, with a navy-blue polish on short natural nails. I never understood women and polishing their nails, it seemed pointless to me really. I even noticed the dimple nested in her left cheek; I hadn’t found that type of facial feature attractive before, but on her it made her face softer but striking. I watched her with such fascination, her beautiful eyes peering down into her novel over a petite nose, a wide smile with full, shapely, delicious-looking lips. I wondered if her pussy lips were as plump and tasty-looking. Pull your fucking self together Bill, I thought to myself, cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and relaxed my dick so I could approach her. I was not going to only imagine those pussy lips, they were going to be mine, period.

  “I’m going to turn around and when I turn back around your response will be a more pleasant one,” I had replied

  She had laughed, laughed wholeheartedly from the pit of her stomach. I stood there, allowed her to fuck up and waited, stared rather I glared, not in anger but in sheer amusement. She was going to regret that and learn never to do it. When she had realized I was neither embarrassed nor laughing with her, she had taken the time to notice the intensity and severity in my eyes. She’d coughed quietly and calmed down, as if embarrassed at a poor joke she’d told, afraid even. I smiled then, if she was afraid she made no attempt to notify the people around us, a stupid but smart choice. I then casually ran my fingers through her hair, on this stool she was almost my height of 6’4. I ran both hands through her hair now; she didn’t stop me. I brushed all the hair from her face, tucking the strands behind her ears. She was trembling, not a lot, but I could tell by the way her fingers gripped her book in her lap firmly that she was afraid. Digging my fingers into her roots, I yanked her head back so her chin perched upwards discreetly. A stranger looking on would have probably thought I was her lover about to kiss her, unaware of the headache she would have by now. I watched her pupils dilate, Yes, I had her.

  I had been right about her from then; she didn’t know it yet but she was going to be mine, entirely.

  I had let go and simply grinned, took her pen up and her book from her hand, and wrote my number on the overleaf of the last sheet in the bottom left-hand corner. “Mr. Hilton” I had signed it. She would have to earn a first name by acknowledging we would be involved on more than a friendly-pleasantries basis. I didn’t ask for hers, just gave her mine. Then I turned around and left. I knew she would be calling, not soon, but calling all the same. I gave her something to think about, something I knew she wanted. After all, I saw it in her eyes.

  The last thing I noticed was her book- Poetry.

  ***

  I had heard people say that artists are always beautifully insane, and the most tattered and torn hearts created the best holistic works of art. That included writers. I wondered if Veronica was a writer and what could she have possibly gone through to be tattered and torn. I wanted to know what inspired her, what she loved, what ignited her passion. Since meeting her I could not stop thinking about her. Images of her tied to my four-poster bed invaded my mind on my way home. I thought of her full lips wrapped around a ball gag and her beautiful eyes looking up at me, dilated and desperate. I would make her beg for me in the beginning, beg to be taken and owned; I was going to make her into the perfect submissive. I would own her. In going closer to her, I had gotten to see a little more of her. Her legs were endlessly crossed and tucked beneath the counter; I could appraise the silk that was her skin and its amber tone. Her plaid skirt was short enough to expose her mid-thigh, thighs I imagined being between. I thought about the knobs of her nipples and wondered how dark her areoles would be. I thought about how her lips would taste. I thought about how long she could hold her breath if I should force my dick down her throat.

  I was definitely calling Claire tonight.

  Claire was my on-and-off sub, alternating between two different lives. I was fine with that. I had not wanted a full-time sub; I loved sex, but my job had hindered most of it and the experiences that came with relationships. Our arrangement worked just perfectly for me. She understood the nature of my job and its demand of my time; after all, she was my secretary before the CEO promoted her to Assistant Human Resources Manager. I had not been involved with her until after her promotion. I was a strict dominant, on my subs and also on myself. To never mix business with pleasure was one of my self-governing rules.

  She had been too peculiar for me to be attracted to her then, and her obvious attraction to me had been sad, border-lining pathetic. I liked women submissive, not desperate. It was not a situation where she was unattractive, God knew she was. She was petite and I was into taller women, but she had insist that 5’4” was enough of a woman for me. I had hoped she understood she would have to make up for her height with something other than a loud mouth.

  She had withdrawn after an incident that exposed her to my lifestyle by mistake. I was out of town, and she had not accompanied me on my trip as per usual. I had needed information from a disc at home and needed her to get it for me. She had been to my house before, but never long enough to snoop or pry and always on a professional level. I trusted that she would have gotten what she needed and left. I gave her instructions and told her where in my desk to find my spare key. Three hours after my instructions she called me in an odd tone but, given that she was always strange, I had not noticed. After I returned, her advances had stopped; I noticed that. She began to wear looser-fitting clothes and less make up, obviously not wanting my attention anymore.

  I called her into my office one day and told her to see me before she took her usual twelve o’ clock lunch break. At 12:07 Claire came into my office looking almost terrified, then I knew. The way she looked at me had aroused a part of me, the sadistic part, although I was not entirely a sadist- it simply got my cock hard.

  “Why were you in my bondage room, Claire?” was all I asked, with a face that had never been denied the truth from women. She had caved after two minutes of forever-silence. Almost on the brink of tears, she explained she had to rush to get me the information I needed on time and had not gotten to use the restroom. She had only been searching for a bathroom when she opened the door to my life. I had to explain to her the intricacies of most of the restraints as some of them could be passed off as torture equipment. And who would want to know their boss was a psychopath who probably killed people in his own home? At first she did not believe me, it was obvious, but curiosity I think got the best of her and she went and did her homework. The following day, she’d been back to her usual figure-hugging clothes, obviously somewhat comfortable. She had asked me to have lunch with her; I agreed but told her I was having lunch in my office. Lunch wasn’t breaking the rules. Over lunch, she casually asked her questions, confident that I wasn’t ashamed of my fetish, just a private man. At first, I had denied her an explanation into what pleasure I got from it, what pleasure my subs got from it, and how exactly some things were possible, but ultimately, I decided to show her… and not let her in too far, she was my secretary and that meant business. I stood, placing my take-out on the desk and asked her to
do the same.

  “Okay, do you trust me?” I asked genuinely; it was protocol for me to know I wasn’t forcing her or making her uncomfortable.

  “Yes, Mr. Hilton, of course I do.”

  I grinned, she was giddy.

  “This will never happen again, do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “I do not mix my business life with my personal life; if you do not remain professional, I will have to fire you, understood?”

  Another nod.

  Taking a deep breath, praying I didn’t regret what I was about to do, I crossed the distance between us and stood so close to her that I could see the top of her pretty little head. She tried to look up at me, but I quickly yanked her ponytail with one hand and covered her eyes with the other.

  “Don’t you dare fucking look at me again,” I hissed into her ear. I removed my hand. With my lips so close to hers, I explained slowly.

  “I am a dom, Ms. Bell. I go by many names: top, dominator, master, when mixing d/s- that is domination and submission. With master/slave relations I prefer to be called ‘Sir’ by my subs. My job as a dom is to ensure my sub is pleased… at my leisure and preference, of course. I use my little room, the room you invaded, to my advantage. It comes equipped with toys of all sorts that I like to play with. My sub, a willing woman, is the best toy of all inside those walls.”

  By now my fingertip was playing with the zipper on her grey, seamed, polyester pants. I undid the button and proceeded to rub her pussy through her sheer panties. Impressive. I like a woman who knows how to wrap it up and present it. She was already drenched through the thin material. Rubbing her clit with my index finger, I continued slowly.

  “I know just how to please, tease, punish, and discipline. Why does it have to be so technical and strict you ask?” She didn’t ask aloud, I doubt she was even really listening- hearing but not listening, by the look on her face. “How would it be fun if I made all the rules? My life is simple actually. I get what I want, when I want it and you get what you want, when I say so. Why would any woman want that, you ask? I would have to show you, Claire.”

  By now I was rubbing her clit much faster and harder with four fingers and she was grinding against my palm. A soft moan escaped her and I was tempted to gag her, taking my handkerchief from my pocket, I ordered her, “Open.”

  I stuffed it into her mouth and held her closely by the neck, increasing my pace. When her eyes shot open on the edge of an orgasm, I stopped abruptly. I removed the handkerchief and took my moistened finger and pushed it into her mouth. She sucked at it. At first I saw confusion, then anger, then understanding. She now understood what it was like for the women I took.

  “Wow,” she had said in a low voice, the lowest I’ve ever heard her, “Just... Wow.”

  “Of course that is not all there is to it; there’s much more, but I’m sure you’ve read that and know what it includes. I am in control always. I’m good at what I do and I enjoy it very much. You okay?”

  “I’m just great, Sir,” she blushed at the word “Sir,” both of us knowing I appreciated the word in a way more than she meant. Putting herself together and wiping the tiny beads of sweat that had began to shape on her upper lip, she packed up her lunch and left with a shy smile. I had relaxed and went back to work. I wasn’t as aroused as I could have been; had I been, I would’ve been much crueller than to simply leave her wanting more. She had asked to leave work an hour early that day. I had more than understood and let her off two hours early.

  Claire had called Adam, her best friend for seven years and boyfriend for one, and told him she needed his help at home immediately as she wasn’t feeling well. He had gotten home to a naked and horny Claire in bed under the covers pretending to be ill. They had made love for three hours and she had her first orgasm from penetration thinking about me.

  Our agreement allowed her to have her vanilla husband and her family, while I could have my silence and all the sex I wanted without having to answer to her. She was a sub in every sense of the word “substitute,” but she was not a sub in the sense of the word “submissive.” She had been eager in the beginning, when her curiosity had gotten the better of her, but I was tired of training a new submissive. I did not have the patience it took. I had to put up with her running whenever she was not restrained. She always had to be firmly restrained to avoid the excessive gyrating as well. But by now she was easily able to turn her submission on at my beck and call.

  It had been a while since we spoke; she had just lost the baby fat. At twenty-nine, pushing thirty, she looked great. Marriage had done her well, especially after knowing her husband for ten years. But he just couldn’t get her off like I could. She had told me about her attempt to introduce Adam to her secret lifestyle; he had turned the other cheek as if she had disrespected him. He shunned the idea in disgust and she knew then that she would need me for as long as she could have me.

  I called her.

  “Claire,” is all I said and the faint “hello” I had gotten initially transformed, as if she were in front of my very eyes; I could hear her smiling.

  Clearing her throat she replied, “Yes Sir? I am alone,” in the most passive tone humanly possible.

  “Be here by six o’ clock.” I hung up.

  By 5:55 Claire was at my door knocking. She knew I did not tolerate tardiness, personally or business-wise. I let her in and she kissed me passionately. She definitely looked great. She wore an army-green trench coat and her hair high on her head in a bun. She was a little darker than most girls I got involved with, a caramel colour that didn’t bruise as easily as I would like it to. She had a harder time adjusting to my slaps; she got much harder slaps. The black and white gym bag over her shoulder informed me she was naked beneath her coat. Already I was feeling an erection. She had hurried passed into my play room. I took my time before going in, in my socks and underpants only. I did not feel like having her strip me herself tonight. I needed to be buried deep inside her soon; Veronica’s legs were dancing for me now.

  I shut the door behind me and her relaxed form went rigid. She had been waiting in the corner furthest from the bed and closest to the door to the extended bathroom. I knew she liked it best. I had had to drill lower eyeholes for bolts for her; like I said, I preferred taller women, and they usually wore heels. Claire was normally barefooted. She was now as well, only wearing a black lace thong that lacked fabric in the crotch area and her collar. Her hair was now in a ponytail. She looked so small in my big room. There were no windows; I had redecorated my loft to suit my needs as soon as I bought it. I had installed padding and much heavier wood. This room was soundproof, it suited Claire’s type fine; she was a screamer. This room was the largest of the three. It was the “master bedroom.” That always made me chuckle, it was way too coincidental. It was painted in a navy-blue that was so dark in poor lighting it could easily be mistaken for black. But this room had impeccable lighting; bulbs were installed into sockets in the high roof, they lined and illuminated along all four walls and eight made a square in the centre of the room. I had not wanted to have a strictly bondage bed, so I had altered my bed myself, installing a railing above that went all the way around four ceremoniously carved posts. A mirror was affixed above the bed, perfect vision. With royal-blue satin sheets it almost looked like a regal lovers' room. I also had a small chest of drawers, a padded bench, and a comfortable chair in the room, but the metal full-body bondage harness stood out the most.

  Walking over to her, I grabbed her by the ponytail, “Let’s go, slut.”

  On her hands and knees she crawled to the side of the bed. She had her head down, resting on her heels when I stopped her. I had already laid out my chosen equipment for tonight: my paddle, some rope, and a thick bar of wood to help restrain her arms. I picked up the rope and the bar, “Up!”

  She stood up.

  “On the bed and on your belly.”

  She did as she was instructed, laying face down in the centre of the massive bed. I
took hold of both her ankles and dragged her until her legs were touching the floor and half of her body was on the bed. Her plump ass looked ready for a spanking. I rested the rope and bar on the bench and picked up my black leather-wrapped paddle instead.

  “I hope you’ve missed me. I know this is what your slutty ass deserves for cheating on Adam.”

  With that, I initiate the first blow to her ass. It released a familiar smacking sound that was lost in the midst of her yelp. She was too loud for my liking.

  “Shut up and stick your tongue out! Hold it with one hand and bring the other around your back!”

  She did as she was told and I took her hand into my free hand. Another smack, then another, by now she was digging her nails into my wrist. She knew I liked that. I put the paddle down and dragged her to the ground by her hair. Her eyes were shut tight and I could see the streaks of tears on her cheek. That made me want her. She had not caved; she had taken my paddling much better this time. She wanted to be fucked.

  “Look at me!” I commanded through gritted teeth, grabbing her cheeks with my right hand firmly until I could feel her teeth through her skin. She did and the tears subsided.

  “Good girl.”

  I bit her bottom lip in reward. I let her go and she relaxed on her heels. Picking up the bar and rope, I turned around.

  “Why the fuck are you so comfortable? Do you think you’re at a fucking day spa?”

  I advanced to her, bar and rope in hand. A part of me wondered if she thought I would hit her with it. I’d never; as harsh as I am with Claire, I’d never be that cruel. I slap her right cheek and then her left. She shook her head vigorously.

  “Answer me you tramp!”