by Blake, Laila
One of his hands went to the wall behind me to steady himself, and I watched him lean over, catch his breath. It was only then that I noticed our surroundings. I could no longer see the river, it was darker here, in a corner under a bridge and the heavy concrete wall Paul was leaning against stood between us and the flow of brackish water.
I felt the stone under my knees again, the air burning in my lungs as I panted for oxygen. His cock was still out, softened in the cool air and when he reached for it, I touched his wrist.
"May I?"
He nodded, took his hand away and watched me. There was a new glimmer of interest in his tired eyes and I smirked, trying to curb my panting breath as I touched the soft skin. It was beautiful, and seized with a sudden impulse, I leaned in, pressed his cock against my cheek, my lips. There was still a bit of come on its head, and gently, I licked him clean. He felt so different now, softer, sweeter. I clung to the moment, before I put it back into his briefs and closed his zip.
"Thank you, baby girl," he whispered, fingers curling in my hair. "Can you get up by yourself?"
I nodded, but when I swayed a little, he hefted me up under my shoulders and lifted me to my feet. I leaned against him, because he let me; I breathed him in.
I could still taste him in the back of my throat, under my tongue. It was sticky and bitter, not a pleasant taste altogether, but that didn't matter. He was in my mouth, literally, and after over a month of longing, of aching for him, I wanted every part. I wanted to keep tasting, feeling, seeing, hearing him for as long and as intensely as I could.
"Are you okay?" he asked, nose rubbing against my ear.
I managed a nod, then slowly whispered "Yes, Sir," against his neck while he threaded his fingers through my hair. I wanted to purr and curl up on his lap for the next few hours.
My body felt gelatinous and soft already, knees weak as I leaned against him for support, for warmth. It felt good, the kind of feeling you can never recreate on the phone or with your hands alone, and he had hardly even touched me yet.
When he pushed me a few inches away to look at me, a smile crossed his features. He reached for my handbag again and I didn't question it when he pilfered through it. There wasn't much in there, my wallet, keys, a cotton bag for the groceries I was planning on buying after work. But he unearthed an old pack of handkerchiefs from some side pocket and held it up, smiling. I raked my fingers through my hair—all in knots and disarray, and he wet one of the handkerchiefs on his tongue. Cradling my head, he started to run the soft paper along my cheek and under my eyes. It came back with black and beige smudges; I bit my lip in embarrassment.
"You made me messy..." I whispered, grinning.
He didn't answer, just clicked his tongue and smirked with something like pride, while he tried his best on the other side of my face as well. I could watch him, that focused, caring expression on his face, the way the light caught in his eyes. They were like the sea, calm and soft, or rough and stormy, depending on the climate. He licked his lip in concentration and finally pulled back, apparently content with his achievement.
"We'll have to slip you into the bathroom one more time before you head back to work," he chuckled, then took my hand and squeezed it. "It's a pity. You look so nice and fucked now."
I shivered, and leaned against his side as we started to go back, out from under the bridge and back into the cold and cloudy afternoon.
***
I squeezed his hand and he looked over at me, raising his brows.
"I could take the afternoon off. I mean..." I licked my lips and inadvertently, my eyes fell on the leather strap that stuck out of his pocket now. The sight of the leather still made me tremble, and it got worse while I waited for him to help me out, to fill the blank. All he did was smile though, that sweet, dangerous smile. He, too, looked down at himself, as though it was only my glance that drew his attention to an almost forgotten implement.
"That's my girl," he whispered against the wind, then plucked the strap from his pocket. He curled his fingers around the handle slowly, suggestively, until something deep inside me contracted and ached. He smiled; he knew.
"Eager. I like you eager."
Gently, he brought the leather to my face again, ran it down my cheek. The skin spanned there, dry after the tears that had leaked into the blindfold, after his scrubbing. I shivered.
"Were you hoping I'd use this on you?"
My mouth opened; I stared for a long second, then I looked down and nodded. "Yes, Sir."
More firmly this time, he placed the strap under my chin and directed my gaze back up to his face. My clit tingled distractingly.
"Out here?"
I looked around as though to consider his question, then jumped when a slap came down on my cheek with a crack, and he directed my gaze back to his face once more. I swallowed, resisted the desire to reach up to my cheek and run my fingers over the aching patch of skin. I wanted him so much in that moment, my knees wavered, even my mouth watered, as though there just wasn't any way to direct more liquid between my legs and it had to go somewhere.
"I..." Licking my lips again, I played for time, for some kind of answer that would make sense. Of course I had been horrified at the idea of doing anything out here, where anyone might have seen, but now that concern had squeezed itself somewhere into the back of my mind, pushed away by the mountainous force of desire.
"I... I don't know, Sir." It wasn't enough, and I tried again. "I trust you."
I was sure, for a few heartbeats, that I had failed somehow, that it had been a cowardly answer, but then a smile rose on his features and he patted my cheek gently. The leather made hardly a sound as it connected with my skin this time, and I didn't feel any need to look around, to make sure we were still alone.
"I told you I'd come here to fix you, baby girl. I'm not done fixing you, not even close." I wanted to sink into his arms, legs weak with relief and need. But he held me steady by the shoulder, ran the leather over my lips. "This was just lunch. Special delivery."
I giggled at the expression on his face, the sharp taste of his come that still coated the back of my throat.
"Now my sweet, ambitious, intelligent girl has to go back to work, and I'll wait until you're done."
My mouth opened again; I hesitated.
"But that's still a couple of hours, I... are you sure?" I thought of my team assembling in the conference room, waiting for me while I blew them off, and I squirmed guiltily at how much I wanted to do just that. But Paul shook his head. His smile, his eyes were back to looking gentle and calm, and the strap vanished in his pocket so that he could take my hand, and start walking again. The metal jangled between us.
"I was gonna head over to Westminster and take a look at the Ben Franklin House for a script I'm developing, anyway. I also brought a book. You don't worry about a thing."
I pouted and he laughed.
"Besides, I like the idea of my pet squirming in her seat, aching for me all afternoon."
I smiled, too far lost in his eyes and his voice to grumble. I loved the sound of the chain that still hung between us, loved the ease with which we fell in step, the warmth of his hand around mine. I don't remember us talking a lot; the air between us was tense and full of static longing for each other, for the promises he'd hinted at. The walk back seemed shorter, too; we could walk with faster, more confident steps and it was just a few minutes until I saw the familiar storefront of the Gate to India looming into view. It reminded me that I was still hungry, that my lunch had consisted of nothing but a spoonful of protein. The thought made me grin. I'd get something from the vending machine. It wouldn't be the first time.
There was a small parking lot, nestled next to the restaurant. His car stood there, all familiar and too big for the city. I smiled, stroked its flank as we passed it.
"You came," I said again; he squeezed my hand and my heart leapt, then powered along a little faster.
He had parked almost precariously close to the wall and we ha
d to walk around the car before he could open the passenger door for me. Once open, it created a barrier between us and the busy street and then I knew, even before I turned to see the glint in his eyes, that he had planned this.
"Put your hands on the passenger's seat, baby girl. I'm not so cruel as to leave you with nothing to remind you of me all afternoon."
Immediately, my breath grew more shallow, but I obeyed. I closed my eyes as I braced my fingers against the sheep skin he'd fixed to the seat, fluffy and soft, and I dug around until I found a good grip. I wasn't really bent over, his pick-up truck seats were located rather higher than in a normal city car, but I still felt as though my rear was sticking out at him dangerously.
I gasped when he reached around, popped open the button of my trousers again like he had in the bathroom of the restaurant, and then gently lowered them to my knees. He pushed my legs apart as far as they would go. I shivered at the cold wind around my thighs and bit my lip when he dragged my panties to the side. I heard him sigh, and then his fingers were inside me, hard and fast and I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name.
"There she is. Always wet for me. So much wetter than half an hour ago," he whispered. His nose brushed over the shell of my ear and his breath stirred the peach fluff inside. I trembled and closed my eyes.
"Yes, Sir."
"I can't wait to fuck again." He was smirking, I could tell, teasing, raising the anticipation even higher as he pumped his fingers in and out of me, rubbing against my g-spot with each turn. I let my head hang, gasped and whimpered and pressed my eyes closed as though nobody could possibly see me if I couldn't see them.
"For now, though..." his hand left my hip, the other my cunt and then I felt him pry my ass cheeks apart so that he could drag my juices all over my crack. I held my breath. "For now, I want to test how well you followed orders."
The tip of his finger started to press against the tight ring of muscles. I knew what to do now, knew how to relax but that wasn't easy, standing in public, out in the cold, fingers balled to fists in the sheep skin on his passenger's seat. He rubbed, pressed again and then it gave, just like that. It was nothing like my finger. How I could ever have convinced myself that it was even comparable, was beyond me now. With his inside me, I felt helpless and small, I felt owned and perfect, and the calloused, lined texture rubbed against the sensitive nerve endings in its own special way that my fingers couldn't hope to imitate.
"There you go. There's a good girl. Here, this will make it easier for you later..." I heard the chain clink, something rustle in his pocket and a second later he pressed something else against my sphincter. This time, it was smooth and soft and it slid inside easily at first. Then it grew bigger, stretched me more and more. I grunted when it passed its biggest point and the flanged bottom came to rest against my ass. I felt full, marked, his.
"It's only a small one." He patted my ass, and then pulled my trousers back up. I managed not to protest, but it was a close thing. My clit felt on fire, my heart was racing.
"You can sit down now, baby girl."
"Yes, Sir."
He offered me his hand and I took it as I climbed into his truck. I'm not sure my jelly legs would have made it on their own, and he stood there, watching me until I gingerly lowered my bottom onto the seat. Even with the soft pelt, it pushed the plug further inside and I groaned again, just as our eyes met.
"Your ass is mine, this time," he said, spreading his fingers over my thigh. "I'll fuck it before the night is through."
VIII
I exhaled a shaky sigh and clawed my fingers into the edge of the table. I couldn't even recall who was talking or what question had been posed. The twisted, dark ache in my ass came and went in waves, and it left me sweaty and needy every time. I hated the conference room then, hated its white, undecorated walls, hated the window front that showed nothing but other ugly office buildings in the grey winter light. It had started to rain again, a soft spray that could just as well have been snow.
I'd been sitting with my team for about two hours and dusk was beginning to settle already—not too visibly, but the light grew dimmer all the time. I thought about getting up to switch on the overhead lighting, but decided not to, afraid I might moan or walk funny. Rubbing my face, I stared at the flip chart we'd set up. I put the intern in charge of standing there to write things down. He, too, looked bored. I didn't blame him.
"Are you okay, Iris?" Dan asked looking at me rubbing my face, and I looked up.
"You're really pale," someone else put in.
They made it too easy, that's what I would tell myself later. Maybe, they were hoping for an early start to their evening as well. I touched my stomach and shrugged.
"I don't know, I think I may have had something dodgy for lunch." I shook my head, made myself look a little weaker than I felt. "What do you say, we just wrap it up for today? I think we'd all benefit from some time to let all these ideas percolate in our heads and then we can come back fresh?"
Everybody nodded—a little too vigorously, maybe, but then who was I to complain.
"How about we meet again tomorrow afternoon, and by then I want one good idea from each of you, something you care about in a web portal and how to make it our own, okay?"
This time the nods were smaller, accompanied by little murmurs as the chairs were pushed back. I sighed, almost dizzy with relief. I could leave, go home—now. Just blow off the rest of the day and see Paul. Almost immediately the plug stopped hurting, felt good again, good and wrong and dirty. I waited until they were all out the door before I pushed myself to my feet with a little groan.
"Do you need a ride? I could take you home?" I turned to see Dan again, standing in the doorframe. He swept his gaze along my neck and down to my ass. I swallowed hard, blushed and stood up straight.
There was a part of me, maybe a cruel part, that wanted to throw the sympathy flirting back in his sweet, handsome face—tell him that my Master had shoved a plug up my ass to remind me of him, that I just wanted to go home to get spanked sore and fucked into the ground.
I took a deep breath and smiled instead.
"Oh, it's fine. I just need to get to bed, I'll be good. I'll get my boyfriend to come get me. Thank you, though." I did blush a little—at the lie more than anything. I didn't care about lying to Dan, but it made me stop and frown anyway. Paul wasn't my boyfriend. Nothing about that word felt appropriate, and that both hurt and excited me even more. I was so preoccupied with this, I hardly noticed Dan's expression. He apologized for no reason and then walked back to his desk, while I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Paul.
Iris: Can get out of here early. Are you still busy at the museum?
He answered when I was back at my desk, cleaning up for the day.
Paul: Just got out a few minutes ago. Tiny place. Can be there in 15 minutes or so.
Paul: Wait outside.
I couldn't help the broad smile that slid over my face. I hid it though, ducking deep over my keyboard, until I could keep a straight face. Then I walked into Lyle's office and explained I'd head out early.
I'd always been a good girl, not someone to blow off work or invent excuses, and I was a little shocked at how easy it was. He smiled, wished me a speedy recovery and then practically ushered me out of the office. The subterfuge alone sent excitement coursing through my body when I left the building like a naughty girl, skipping the last few classes to go smoke with her friends. Or in my case, to get fucked by her Master.
I stayed at the nearby bus station for its roof and protection against the wind, stepping from one foot to the other while the plug seemed to drag heavier against the tight ring of muscles with every minute I stood. I bit on the back of my hand, stifled a groan, then pushed my head against the glass wall of the small station, waiting, waiting.
When his truck rolled to a stop in front of me, I almost collapsed against the opening door. He lifted a plastic bag off the passenger's seat and then pulled me inside, smiling at the look
on my face.
"Naughty girl," he chastised and I slammed the door shut. He did look far too delighted for it to take effect of course, and I wriggled my ass against the sheep's skin to find relief against the sudden rush of desire.
"I got us some real dinner, can't have you passing out can we?" Nodding to the bag now sitting on the dashboard, he shifted the gear stick and craned his neck back to check the road behind him. I directed him to the fastest route back to my place. It was still afternoon, just before rush hour and despite the weather, we got through traffic easily as he drove us out into the Croydon outskirts.
It didn't occur to me to feel embarrassed by this, but when we came upon the ill-kept apartment building I called home, I felt uncomfortable. I remembered the first time I saw his seaside cottage—I'd thought it small, but sweet, cared for and lived-in. This place had a different kind of vibe, but he didn't remark on it as I led him past the rows of mailboxes to the elevator.
"I'm not sure I cleaned..." I started when the door shut, trapping us in the enclosed little box, the mirror almost completely obscured by tags and graffiti. He looked at me and I didn't finish the sentence. It didn't matter, none of it mattered.
"What did you tell them at work?"
Biting my lip, I looked at the glowing floor numbers as we tuckered along.
"That I was feeling poorly?"
"Hmm. Are you?"
"Uh..." My fingers formed little fists and I took a deep breath. The tone of his voice indicated that he was after more than just small talk, that I was walking on dangerous ground, but I didn't know why or what he wanted to hear. "The plug has been hurting, just a little, Sir."
He chuckled and his hand cupped my ass just as the elevator dinged and opened up onto the 4th floor. The keys jangled in my hand, it shook while I searched for the right one. He moved behind me, the plastic bag with our food rustling like leaves.