Subspace

by Sierra Cartwright

  Her squeaks of pleasure must have let Drew know how close she was to coming.

  “Oh, I wish I could be there to watch you,” he said. “And I will be, soon. After I check out of here, I’ve got a few days before I have to go back to LA for a casting. I’ll come visit you, teach you more about submission and see if I can take you into subspace again. Maybe we can even work out some way of being together after that. How does that sound?”

  It sounded perfect. More than that, it would make leaving her letter of resignation on her boss’ desk all the sweeter. Breathless, seeing the possibility of a fulfilling future with Drew unfolding before her, Alyssa murmured, “You know, I’ve always wanted to visit LA. This sounds like the perfect opportunity. Maybe I could even meet that white-haired mother of yours.”

  “That could be arranged. Like I said, she’d love you, sweetheart. Though not as much as I love you.”

  The words she’d been longing to hear. “And I love you, too, Drew. Now, please, may I have my orgasm?”

  “Of course.”

  Unaware of the builder whose position on the scaffolding gave him a perfect view in through her living room window, and too turned on to stop even if she’d known he was there, Alyssa put the tip of the vibrator to her clit and came.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into the phone, almost too sleepy to move from the couch.

  Leaving Drew at the Hall hadn’t been the end of their relationship, she realised, simply a new beginning. Her wonderful Master could dominate her whenever and however he wished, her body and soul his for as long as he wanted them. From now on, the only rules she’d be playing by were Drew’s, and she couldn’t wait for the next time he would choose to take her away from it all.

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Coldwell is the author of numerous short stories and two full-length novels, ‘Calendar Girl’ and ‘Playing The Field’. Her stories have appeared in the best-selling ‘Best Women’s Erotica’ series and Black Lace’s popular ‘Wicked Words’ collections. Formerly the editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine, she also contributed a spicy monthly column, ‘The Cougar Chronicles’, to its pages. When she is not busy writing, she is an avid supporter of Rotherham United Football Club and can be regularly found on the terraces at weekends, cheering her boys to victory (hopefully!).

  Email: elizabeth_coldwell@yahoo.co.uk

  Elizabeth loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

  Also by Elizabeth Coldwell

  Her Dream Lovers

  Mi Amore: Missing in Milan

  Master Me: Neil and Obey

  Feral: Abyssinian Heat

  Cougars and Cubs: Something Within Him

  Christmas Crackers: The Christmas Box

  Treble: Three Part Harmony

  THE ACCIDENTAL SUB

  Mina Dorian

  Dedication

  For Valentín and the girls, who told me to write. I appreciate your support, guys!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Saab: Saab Automobile

  BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Ray Bans: Bausch & Lomb

  Chapter One

  The ringing of the phone disrupted Jonathan Udrow’s concentration. He frowned then glanced over at the sideboard, cursing his choice of a retro ring tone for the shiny new cordless device. Of course, when he really got into a scene and his partner was moaning with intense pleasure-pain, most other sounds were usually drowned out by the noise.

  The phone gave another shrill ring, and the slender brunette squirmed in her ties. She stood spreadeagled with a metal bar between her ankles and her arms raised above her head, her wrists fastened to the elaborate suspension apparatus on the high ceiling of Jon’s bedroom. The room was large and sparsely furnished, its whitewashed walls still reminiscent of the warehouse attic it had been converted from. Only the bed and the big, old-fashioned bathtub in the corner of the room were proof of its current use. Jon had bought the warehouse in London’s East End earlier in the year after selling his small but successful software company to a competitor. He was in the process of converting the other floors into individual flats and offices but other than having a small bathroom and a kitchen put in behind a dividing wall, he hadn’t got around to buying much furniture for himself yet.

  The room was almost dark except for a few strategically placed candles and some Christmas lights in the corner behind the bathtub, now blatantly out of season in April. The floor-length windows behind the woman’s naked body permitted a great view of the river as the lights from the buildings on the opposite bank were reflected on the black water. Of course, she hadn’t come here to admire the view. Jon had picked her up earlier this evening at an S&M club and taken her home to play out of sheer boredom. Lately, it seemed, he had begun to lose interest in dominating strangers and this one wasn’t really his type anyway. She was much too skinny, although he liked her perky tits, especially with the heavy nipple chain he had put on them. Jon grinned to himself wryly.

  The brunette was blindfolded with a wide strip of shiny black latex. Her mouth formed a perfect O around the small rubber ball between her lips. He never as rule ball-gagged strangers when playing with them for the first time for security reasons, but the woman had begged him to fill her mouth and he had decided to grant her this small privilege.

  The phone rang again and the brunette writhed in her ties, but she didn’t drop the ball. Her breasts jiggled, the nipple chain clinking. She had been squirming before, of course, while Jon had worked a thick, heavily veined rubber dildo into her tight arsehole, inch by inch. But this was different. Now she was clearly wriggling with unease rather than the heady combination of pleasure-pain and arousal that had been almost palpable in the air a moment ago.

  Jon drew the dildo out and dropped it on the wooden floor, huffing with irritation. Whoever was on the phone really had it coming to them—it was after one in the morning on a Thursday night, for fuck’s sake! He picked up the receiver and barked, “Yes!”

  The male voice on the other end was apologetic, but Jon could also hear fear and confusion. As an experienced dominant he had become an excellent judge of human emotions and, as far as he could tell, Greg was panicking.

  “Jon!” the younger man started, without a formal greeting. “I need your help. There’s a woman here, and I think I’ve made her my submissive and now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Calm down. I thought you wanted to make Tiffany your sub. What went wrong?”

  “It’s not Tiffany!” Greg’s voice was high-pitched with alarm. “It’s my new boss! I accidentally made her submit to me, and now I don’t know what to do!”

  Jon stared at the phone in amazement. Accidentally made his boss submit to him? What the hell was Greg talking about?

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “You know I wasn’t sure I could get the voice right to control Tiffany. So I’ve been practicing my dominant voice, just like you told me to. Tonight I was working late and was alone in the office—at least I was pretty sure I was—and I thought of Tiffany and how I would make her submit to me and started to practice the words. But apparently I wasn’t alone, because when I stepped out into the corridor to…erm…go to the bathroom, I saw my new boss kneeling in her office next door, naked and with her head bowed, and now I don’t know what to do!”

  This came out as one long garbled sentence with an anxious intake of breath at the end, and Jon still couldn’t make all that much sense of it.

  “Repeat to me exactly what you said,” he ordered, and Greg obeyed, a little more hesitant now. “Well, as you know, I had difficulties addressing Tiffany as ‘sub’ so I was practising that. I said, ‘‘Sub, hear your Master’s orders. You are going to submit to me now. I want you to strip naked and kneel on the floor with
your hands behind your back and your head bowed to await my commands.”

  “Shit,” Jon said. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, briefly taking the phone from his ear. He released the brunette’s ties with one smooth movement. “Get dressed and go home,” he told her unceremoniously, already dismissing the woman from his mind as he turned away from her and spoke into the phone again. “Give me the address of your office. I’m coming over.”

  With a sigh of relief, Greg did as he was told, then added, “I think you might like her. As far as I can tell, she is exactly your type.”

  Jon, who was almost at the door of his flat, came to a sudden halt, wondering. He would see about that. He glanced over his shoulder at the slender brunette who had removed her blindfold and the rubber ball and was now unsnapping the fastenings of the spreader bar.

  “Hmm,” he said, then ended the call and dropped the cordless phone on the hall table before leaving the flat.

  * * * *

  Greg worked for an international NGO that, to Jon’s knowledge, had something to do with social and environmental research in various third-world countries. Their offices were on the fourth floor of a rather shabby building near King’s Cross St Pancras. However, traffic was light at this hour, and it didn’t take Jon long to reach the address Greg had given him. As he parked his Saab convertible illegally on the pavement in front of the building, he called Greg’s number from his mobile so the younger man could buzz him in. Greg opened the door to the office suite as Jon reached the landing and Jon could see relief on his face.

  “Thank you,” Greg mouthed, obviously afraid his boss might hear him.

  Jon nodded, then stepped around Greg and walked down the hall. The first two doors were closed. The next one he passed was open and obviously led to Greg’s workspace. The room was small and sparsely furnished but crowded with what looked like dozens of cardboard boxes, some of them open at the top to show that they contained files. Jon walked on after only a brief glance. He read the name on the open door of the next office. Catherine Heinz, it said. Jon stood in the doorway and looked at the naked woman in the centre of the large, well-lit room.

  Catherine Heinz had long, straight, copper-coloured hair that fell almost to her waist and an ample body with wide, womanly hips and large round breasts. Her skin was white, seeming almost translucent in the harsh light of the office, except for a splattering of freckles on her face and across her collarbone. She knelt in a perfectly submissive position, with her thighs spread lightly and her buttocks resting on her crossed ankles. Her hands were clasped behind her back, drawing her shoulders apart so that her breasts were thrust forward. She must be dying with curiosity by now, but she still bowed her head demurely, her gaze fixed on the floor directly in front of her. Jon enjoyed the view immensely. His hardening cock pressed painfully against the zipper of his black jeans.

  As he turned his head, he realised Greg was still behind him. Jon waved him towards the exit with an impatient gesture. Greg looked hesitant for a moment, before he nodded and quietly moved away. When Jon heard the soft click of a door, he took a step towards the woman.

  “Catherine,” he said in a quiet, confident voice, so as not to startle her. “I would like you to listen very carefully and do exactly as I say. I realise you don’t know me, but you are obviously well trained as a submissive and I can assure you that I’m equally experienced as a Dom. I hope you will agree to submit to me, at least for a scene. However, all in due course. First, I need you to look at me.”

  Catherine hesitated for the briefest moment. Then she lifted her head to look at him with a pair of large bottle-green eyes. Damn, she was good. There wasn’t the tiniest hint of insecurity or defiance in her neutral expression. Jon’s pulse quickened. He simply had to have her. He couldn’t even remember the last time a naked woman’s body had made him this hard. He drew a deep breath to calm his voice before speaking again.

  “Good. Now, present yourself for inspection.”

  He knew he expected a lot from her. She would, of course, know the position, but she might not be comfortable with displaying her most intimate parts to a perfect stranger. Again she surprised him. After only the briefest hesitation, she knelt forward, head to the floor, hands resting in front, arse in the air. She opened her thighs as wide as they would go, so he could see and touch every part of her sex.

  Admiring her graceful movements, Jon stepped forward and ran a tentative finger through her folds. She wasn’t shaved like most of the women at the clubs, but her pubic hair was trimmed short. Jon found he actually liked that personal touch. Her lower lips were flushed pink with arousal. He dipped a finger into her warm, wet hole and spread the moisture down to her clit. Catherine moaned softly and pressed herself ever so slightly back against his hand. This breach of protocol earned her a sharp slap on her left arse cheek.

  “I don’t remember giving you permission to move.” Damn, he wanted to spank that lovely arse of hers. Careful, he told himself. Don’t rush it.

  A tiny shudder ran through Catherine’s body before she got control of herself. She really was well trained. With regret, Jon took his finger out of her dripping cunt.

  “Kneel up,” he commanded.

  She didn’t make the mistake of looking at him, but resumed her earlier posture. Her hands came to rest behind her slightly bowed head.

  “Good,” Jon said again. “I will pick you up tomorrow evening at eight o’clock sharp in front of this building. You will receive detailed instructions about what to wear by email tomorrow morning. I’m going to leave now. I want you to stay here and wait for ten minutes in this exact position before you get up, dress and go home. I don’t want you to touch yourself or bring yourself to orgasm before I pick you up tomorrow night. Nod once if you understand these instructions and accept them.”

  Catherine gave a tiny nod.

  “Good,” he said, then turned and walked towards the door without glancing back.

  He was sure she would do exactly as he’d said. Someone had obviously put a lot of work into training her as a sub. He was very much looking forward to exploring how far her control would hold. Jon smiled to himself as he pulled the door shut. She looked like she would be a lot of fun to play with. His cock was rock hard, and he had to adjust himself through his jeans. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow evening.

  Greg was waiting for him in front of the building, still looking nervous. He was in his mid-twenties, almost fifteen years younger than Jon, with curly blond hair and the lanky charm of a teenager. He had sought Jon’s help because he’d had trouble in his relationship with the stunning Tiffany. The woman was an experienced dominatrix—that was her job—but she was also a switch and Greg had trouble fulfilling Tiffany’s more extravagant submissive desires without being controlled from the bottom. Although sexually dominant, Greg lacked the authority to take complete control when it came to Tiffany. Small wonder, Jon thought. He had played with Tiffany before and she enjoyed a very stern hand. Jon was, nevertheless, impressed that Greg had obviously had no trouble controlling his boss, although he hadn’t even been in the same room as her. The vocal exercises he had assigned the younger man must have worked wonders.

  Greg thanked Jon profusely as they walked towards Jon’s car, but Jon waved his thanks away with an impatient gesture.

  “Don’t worry about it. You did me a favour by introducing me to your boss. I must say I’m intrigued. You won’t mind if I play with her?”

  “No, not at all. I thought you might like her. Just don’t mess with her mind, will you? I still need to work with the woman.”

  Greg grinned and Jon grinned back. They both knew Jon could probably make her forget all about work once he had her tied up.

  “Tell me more about her.” It was a request not a question, but Greg’s answer was still hesitant. “I don’t really know that much about her,” he began. “She’s in her mid-thirties and she’s been with the organisation for almost two years. Her last post was in New York but she’s originally from G
ermany. At least that’s where her surname comes from, although she doesn’t have an accent. Rumour has it she’s married to a German but she doesn’t seem to be living with her husband. No one knows why. She has only been here for a few weeks and hasn’t found a flat yet. I think she’s getting a bit desperate because at the moment she’s living in campus accommodations at St Mary’s and summer term starts in three weeks, so she’ll have to leave there soon. She seems to be living largely on Italian-style latte and fresh orange juice but sometimes has Chinese noodles or a salad in her office for lunch. Marcia from bookkeeping says she’s a vegetarian. She keeps to herself, usually works through her lunch break and often stays late too, although not as late as tonight.” Greg grinned wryly. “Sorry, that’s all I know.”

  Jon nodded. “Thanks.” He unlocked his car and got into the driver’s seat. The top was open and he paused briefly before starting the engine. “You’d better keep your voice soft around her for a while. I don’t think she knows it was you, but all the same… Oh, and send me her email address when you get home, will you?” He drove off without waiting for Greg to reply.

  Birds were already stirring in the park when Jon steered his convertible through the nearly deserted streets towards the river. He manoeuvred the car into its allotted spot in the underground parking garage, then walked the short distance from the shiny, new apartment buildings to the old warehouse he lived in. He took the service lift to the sixth floor and walked up the last set of stairs to his flat. The brunette had left him a note with her phone number in huge red letters on his notice board in the hallway. He didn’t think he would bother to call her.