by Sara Fawkes
“So what am I, a project?”
A tip of his head sideways confirmed my suspicions. “You were ambitious, clever as a college student, used to a certain kind of existence. Life dealt you a hard hand, brought you lower than you thought possible.” He saluted me with the glass before taking a sip. “You would never have turned down a chance to get back on your feet, no matter what the cost.”
“So give me a job,” I said, the sarcasm dripping off my tongue. “You didn’t need to strip me of my dignity, make me... The elevator, the garage--”
The thump of the glass on the serving tray shocked me out of my anger. “You rode that elevator every morning,” Jeremiah said in a low voice, staring at the crystal carafe, “giving me those little glances, getting close but not too close.” His eyes met mine, and I sucked in a breath at the fire I saw there. “I knew your scent, knew when that need rolled across you. Those secret little smiles, not knowing what was going through your head...”
My breath caught as he trailed off, the fingers clenching the top of the glass white with strain. I don’t believe you. “I’m nobody,” I said, my own words driving daggers through my heart.
His free hand clenched into a fist against a hard thigh as his jaw tightened, then his body relaxed. He strode up to me and I fell back a step, trying in vain to hold the last of my anger as a shield. Being so close to him was intimidating; my heart thudded in my chest as I looked to the side, unable to be strong any longer.
A finger came under my chin and lifted my head until I was staring up at him. His face was as implacable as ever but his voice was mild as he repeated his earlier request. Demand. “Take off your robe.”
The words reverberated through my body, his proximity doing strange things to my mind, and I found my hands untying the belt to my robe. The soft material slid back off my arms and onto the floor, pooling at my heels. Fully exposed to him for the first time ever, I closed my eyes against his perusal, a tear squeezing out between my eyelashes.
When he put his arms around me I stiffened, but his hands stayed on my shoulders as he turned me around. “Look at something,” he said, and when I didn’t immediately open my eyes he repeated, “Look.”
A large oval mirror stood in front of me, and I cringed at my reflection. “What do you see?” he prompted.
Flabby tummy and thighs, big hips, boobs that need a bra to look good. “Me.” I’d always been my own worst critic.
I saw his frown in the mirror, then he tilted his head to study my reflection. “I see a beautiful face,” he started, running a finger down my cheek and along the side of my neck. “Soft skin, the right curves.” He leaned in close to the side of my head and breathed deep. “You smell good enough to eat,” he added, his words almost a growl.
My breath caught, his words making my belly tighten. One large hand covered my breast, fingers tweaking one nipple, and this time I gasped aloud. His grip on my shoulder tightened as the hand circling my breast dipped lower, skimming across my belly and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and my head fell back onto his shoulder as the hand splayed over my hip, fingers digging deep into my skin. I watched him in the mirror, my heartbeat loud in my ears, as that hand smoothed over my mound, not sliding lower but feeling its shape.
Abruptly he stepped away and let me go, leaving me confused and off balance. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice a whip, and I froze. My instinctive obedience disturbed me but I stayed standing as Jeremiah picked up the box I'd seen him carrying in the lobby and handed it to me. “I was going to save this for later but now is a better time.”
Suspicious, took the package and opened it, pulling back the tissue paper. My eyes widened as I ran a finger along a pair of nylon leggings and under the satin straps of a sheer white bustier. Speechless, I looked up at my boss then back down to the contents of the box, not sure how to respond.
Jeremiah took the box out of my hands gently when I didn’t do anything for several seconds. “Turn around.”
As I did what he said, he pulled out the skimpy articles then, to my further surprise, began dressing me. First the white bustier which he laced up behind me; it covered my breasts and belly, with straps that hung down to my thighs. I stepped into the tiny panties then the thigh-high stockings to which he connected the straps from the bustier. There was something incredibly sensual about the whole affair despite how professional he went about it. I’d never in my life worn lingerie like this, certainly not for a man, and it was an interesting experience. I’m too fair to wear white, a cynical part of me thought but I kept that observation to myself.
When he was finished he took me by the shoulders and turned me around so I was facing the mirror again. “Now what do you see?” he asked, leaning close to my ear.
I blinked. Wow, so this is what you get with high dollar lingerie. The white fabric managed to hide what I’d always hated and accentuate what I never realized I had. My hands ran down my waist, modestly cinched by the strings along my spine, and over my hips to finger the satin straps running down my legs to the stockings. The whole ensemble wasn’t overly restrictive but tight enough to pull parts in and push certain things up – namely my chest, which I’d never considered particularly impressive. Looking good now, I thought, gliding my fingers across the firm tops of each breast.
Suddenly remembering he’d asked a question, I cleared my throat to answer but didn’t know what to say. I locked eyes with him in the mirror and he nodded, obviously seeing my answer there. “Glad we see eye to eye,” he murmured, running his hands up my arms and across my shoulders. “Now that we have that squared away...”
A hand twisted in my hair and my head was wrenched back. I gave a small cry, my hand covering his in surprise, as I looked back at him. His face had grown cold as granite, green eyes intense, but his voice was smooth as silk. “I don’t like being contradicted. When I tell you to do something, I expect it done immediately or there will be consequences.” The hand in my hair tightened. “On your knees.”
4
I knelt quickly to the ground, the added pressure of the hand on my head forcing me to my knees. The garter straps against my back thighs and butt pulled tight, an interesting feeling but still eclipsed by the discomfort of the hand twisted in my hair. My head was tilted back and I watched as Jeremiah examined me from high above. “You enjoy this, don't you?” he murmured.
God yes! That traitorous part of my soul was on fire again, reveling in the forced submission even as I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. His hand left my hair and travelled down my cheek. “So beautiful, on your knees before me. You must see why I'm hard thinking of your mouth around my cock.”
I shivered at the crude word, watching as his fingers skimmed over the bulge in his pants only inches from my face. Rolling my head sideways, I looked at our reflection in the large oval mirror. We weren't even doing anything - yet - but the way he stood over me, chin high and body straight as I knelt at his feet... My insides were melting, pooling between my legs to make me ready to take him. I craved his touch and pushed against his hand like a cat, and was rewarded by his thumb stroking my forehead.
“I dreamed of you on your knees, that gorgeous mouth sucking me off.” A finger ran across my forehead again, smoothing back the damp hair. “Would you like to help me come, little cat?”
“Yes,” I breathed, then grunted in shock as he grabbed my hair again.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes...” I wracked my brain for an appropriate response. “Sir?”
He made an approving noise then his hands left me, moving to unfasten his pants and pull himself free. “I won’t promise to be gentle,” he grit out, his voice harsh with need, “as I’ve been thinking too much about this, but I do promise to finish whatever I start.”
I wrapped my fingers around his hard length, sliding my hand down to the base then back up experimentally. His hips jerked so I did it again before leaning forward and flicking my tongue over the head. I traced the
ridge where it met the shaft before sucking him into my mouth, rolling the head with my tongue. I slid my fist down to the base, flicking the bulbous tip with my tongue and sucking at the soft knob, then removed my top hand and pulled him deeper.
He laid his hands on my head, not forcing me into anything but as a reminder of his presence. I bobbed my head over him, my hand stroking his shaft as I drew him deeper and deeper. The sounds coming from above me, low grunts and truncated breaths, were gratifying to hear. I can make him lose control, I thought, the idea giving me motivation to double my efforts. When I thought I had a handle on my movements I released the base of his shaft and pulled him in as far as he could go.
A choked cry came from above, fingers digging into my skull. The thick head tickled the back of my throat, forcing me to withdraw or risk gagging. Wrapping my hand around the base, I began my efforts again but the hands on either side of my head pulled at me, his hips thrusting into my hot mouth.
“Hands behind your back.” The words were a rough order. I paused only a moment before complying, twisting my arms behind me and locking my wrists. I prayed he would be gentle with me.
I should have known better.
His first thrust hit the back of my throat and my eyes watered immediately. "Hands behind your back," he barked again when I instinctively reached back around, "or I'll give you no choice and tie them."
It took every ounce of willpower I possessed but I forced my hands back into position, interlocking my fingers and hanging on for dear life. He repeated his thrust, this time not as deep, allowing me room to breathe. He continued like this, pushing himself in and out of my mouth, and I slowly began to get used to the movement. Indeed, pretty soon I was able to improvise, growing used to the tempo enough to use my tongue. I pressed against the base as they passed over; his plunging grew shallow, allowing me more space to maneuver and play. The small sounds coming from above, bitten off groans and sharp intakes of breath, were sexy as hell and a good indicator that I was doing something right. When I flicked his tip with my tongue, forming a tight seal and sucking him deep, the gasp I heard above me made the corners of my mouth turn up.
His fingers dug into my skull, directing my head as his hips thrust him deep in my mouth. Any time I felt like gagging or had difficulty breathing he slowed down the pace, and I thanked him as best I could. My eyes flicked sideways to watch us in the mirror and the raw need I saw on his face - I’m doing that - was a powerful aphrodisiac. The throbbing between my legs increased, my tiny panties no match for the slickness running down my inner thighs. I need him inside me soon or this is going to be too much.
Apparently he thought the same because he pulled out and stepped back. My saliva glistened on the taut skin in front of my face. "Stand up."
Not sure whether he meant I could move my hands, I maneuvered myself upright until I was standing, arms still locked behind my back. There may have been approval on his face but he grabbed the back of my neck, his grip firm but not tight, and marched me to a round marble table with a thick wood base. "Lay across and grab on to the sides until I say you can let go."
I eyed the large table dubiously. It looked solid enough but the stone had to be cold and I wasn't wearing much. From somewhere deep inside my soul a small voice cried out, You can still say no, it’s not too late. Body suffused with raw desire, I made my choice however and leaned down, grabbing the far edges firmly, and was relieved when it didn't move an inch. Jeremiah's hand left my neck, trailing down my back and across my bottom, giving one cheek a firm squeeze. "Spread your legs."
I did as he said and his hand trailed lower, following the line of the thong between my buttocks. I shivered as his fingers caressed the thin panties and me beneath them, and tilted up my hips for more contact.
"Are you on birth control?"
The unexpected question pulled me out of the haze of lust for a moment and I nodded. Irregular periods more than any kind of sex life were why I still got the shots; I'd never really needed them for any other reason.
In reward for my answer his fingers slid beneath the band of the small panties, pressing against my damp skin, and I moaned. He circled my entrance with deft fingers then up toward the hard bud that throbbed with every beat of my heart. My breaths came in pants but he didn’t go further, his hand merely exploring. "Would you like me to make you come, little cat?"
I nodded vigorously, his fingers making my breath catch. A chuckle came from behind me and lips pressed against the small of my back, just below the bustier. "You'll have to work for it, are you willing to do that?"
Before I could make any response, his thumb slid back through my folds and pressed firmly against my rear opening. I surged forward in shock but the table prevented any escape from the foreign invasion. I trembled as his hand caressed both my entrances, the alien sensation a puzzle my body couldn't quite figure out.
"Many women enjoy backdoor play," Jeremiah murmured behind me, his fingers continuing their surface explorations. "Some actually prefer it as the forbidden gets them off." He leaned in close, his body molding to mine. "Some men also prefer this entrance, the tight fit and taboo as much of a turn on as the sex itself." His lips were behind my ear as he added, "Guess which kind of man I am?"
I moaned helplessly, trapped between the cold marble table and his hot body. His fingers kept working on the hard nub between my folds, causing my hips to jerk and breathy pants to escape my lips. The two sensations at once made it difficult to differentiate which was the turn on; his thumb would rub over both and I’d crave more. Confusion was difficult to sustain as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me. So when Jeremiah’s thumb pushed inside, stretching the tight muscles in a way I never would have remotely considered sexy, I moaned and tilted my hips back against his hand.
His laugh was deep and sexy, washing over me and making my skin tingle. Those fingers redoubled their pace, finding places inside myself that left me shaking and bucking against him, my moans loud and unabashed. “You are so fucking hot,” he whispered in my ear, rolling his hips against my backside. Still naked from the waist down, he slid his hard member between my thighs alongside his hand before repeating the motion. The inside of my legs were moist with my own juices and the roll of his hips against my backside was sexy as hell; my grip on the edge of the table tightened until my knuckles were white. My cries were long wails, the sensations and growing urgency making my body tense in anticipation.
“You’ll come when I say, only when I say.”
I whined, this time in protest, and his hand fell away. The sudden absence was like a cold bucket of water - an unwelcomed interruption no doubt punishment for my complaint. To my delight however the space was quickly filled by another sway of his hips as he slid his hard shaft slid between my thighs and a hand came up to clamp behind my neck. He didn’t push inside, merely sliding along the wet folds. “Please,” I moaned, lifting my hips to grant him better access.
“Please, what?”
His voice held amusement although I couldn’t see his face, but this time I was sure I knew the answer. “Please, sir.”
“What would you like, little cat? Do you want me inside you, that gorgeous ass of yours spread to take me deep? Should I ride you hard, force you to come with my cock pounding deep?”
That deep voice, gravelly and rich and right next to my ear, could melt stone. He slid across the hard bud between my legs and everything rushed back; I was so close, it wouldn’t take much...
I felt his bulbous tip nudge at my aching entrance at the same time hands spread my butt cheeks, fingers running along the puckered skin. He pushed inside both openings at once and I almost sobbed, the pressure and stretching a welcome relief. He wasted little time, his hips picking up a steady tempo even as his fingers worked my back hole. Within a minute I was moaning with each thrust, my cries echoing off the marble table and ornate mirrors in the room.
As his thrusts grew more forceful, banging the tops of my thighs repeatedly against the edge of the marble sl
ab, I looked up into the large wall mirror above the mahogany dresser in front of me. It gave a clear view of the man behind me, and although I heard very little from him I saw the raw need on his face. His mouth opened in muted gasps, the long arms reaching to my neck straining against the white shirt material. The corset back of the bustier with its strings and white lace was hot; it was impossible to believe it was my body reflected in the mirror.
Very quickly, however, it became all about the various sensations, the build of an explosion I’d been desperately seeking and prayed would come soon. He was pounding into me now, each thrust slamming me into the table which, for all the abuse, remained steady. I wailed, my orgasm rushing to meet me. “Please, I can’t stop. Sir, please!”
The hand between our bodies disappeared and Jeremiah increased his strokes, jerking hard inside me. Fingers on the back of my neck squeezed, throaty cries and guttural groans coming from close behind my head as fingers slid around front of me, gliding over the beating core between my legs. “Come then, I want to feel your body’s reaction around me.”
There was no way I could have stopped myself. My orgasm flooded over me like a wave of light; I cried out, my hands gripping the table like a vise, body shaking. Jeremiah’s thrusts hit places inside me that had the waves roll on and on, but then I heard a guttural, hoarse cry from above and he jerked over me with only a couple last erratic thrusts. I laid there for a moment, panting and thankful for the cool surface of the marble beneath my too-hot body. Jeremiah laid his forehead against my shoulder blades and we stayed that way for a moment, struggling to catch our collective breaths.
Finally he pushed himself off me and pulled out, running a hand along my spine as he stepped back. “You can let go of the table now.”
Easier said than done. My hands were stiff and difficult to free and as I tilted upright I flexed them to return feeling. Leaning against the table for support, I gave myself time to catch my breath as Jeremiah rearranged his clothing then walked over to a nearby seat. He picked up a small paper bag with some big swirly name I didn’t recognize and brought it over, setting it gently on the table beside me. Leaning in close, he placed a surprisingly soft kiss to my forehead then nudged me gently toward the bathroom. “Go, clean up and put these on. Keep the lingerie on underneath, I want to know it’s there beneath the clothing.”