by M. A. Ellis
She relied on the mirror once again and watched the man soundly thump Chris on the back before leaning in and whispering something that got him a two-handed push to the chest and a loud “fuck you, Larry”. But she could see Chris smile as he opened the door, let the man pass and then locked it behind him. He turned and their gazes locked for a second before he dropped the blind that covered the door then walked to each of the big front windows and repeated the action so no one could see in.
What the hell are you going to do, woman? Isabel masked her indecision and tried to step down.
“I doubt you’re going to be able to reach the floor.”
She ignored him, pleased when first one toe and then the other hit the tile, but she regretted her decision a moment later when her calf muscles were pushed to the limit as she strained to force the heels of her boots onto the floor.
“You don’t have to stay like that. You have my permission to get back up.”
His words stunned her.
“Your permission?” she finally asked. “Who do you— Let me loose right now, Chris. I’ll admit I’m a little off-kilter with this and I’m sure it’s amused you. Feel free to share with Sammy and Stan and have a laugh riot at my expense.” She waited for him to tell her he was part of the plan, certain at some point, after the man she had arranged to meet made his grand entrance, that she’d calm down and thank him for his help.
“The last thing I plan to do is share, Isabel. That’s not at all what I’m into. And it’s not what you’re into either.”
His husky tone washed over her but the presumptuousness was really the final straw and she tugged her wrists with enough force that the bindings dug into her skin. In two steps his large, warm body molded to her back as he grabbed her forearms and forced her to remain still.
Their gazes locked in the mirror, above the row of neatly aligned liquor bottles, hers furious, his silently warning her not to move.
“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she said loudly.
“I know more than you think,” he said, shifting his weight to one side. His breath teased her ear and she tried to ignore the way the hair on her arms rose to attention. “I know that you’re inquisitive. Curious, some might say. To a fault.”
Her heartbeat sounded in her ears as clarity enveloped her.
Curious. To a fault.
“Oh my god,” she said, her mouth dropping open.
“Mmmm. Now that’s a helluva look, Isabel.” He let go of one arm and hooked a finger under her chin before brushing her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
She didn’t even try to stop him as he gently forced her head in his direction until their green gazes met. It was all quite clear and she tried to move her head but he tightened his grip. “You’re part of the blog, aren’t you?”
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, lowering his mouth. “I am the blog.”
Chapter Four
Chris hadn’t meant to kiss her. His kisses were saved as rewards for orders obeyed or tasks carried out to their fullest. But her lush lips, parted in surprise, had him breaking his personal rule and plundering her mouth like a man in search of the sweetest treasure.
She tasted like heaven and he knew he should stop. He could feel her hesitancy and knew thoughts had to be flying through her mind at an exorbitant speed. She’d have questions, no doubt. His initial intent was to establish exactly what she wanted from a submissive point of view before he actually touched her but with her lips softening under his and her hips thrusting backward, he had to draw deeply on his inner control to refocus and reclaim the upper hand.
He eased one leg between her thighs and pulled his head back.
“Put your feet where they belong before you hurt yourself.”
She blinked and he could feel the tension that permeated her body. She was waging an inner battle, he was sure, most likely trying not to spread her legs wider to feel the hard muscle of his upper thigh against her core. He raised his knee and her toes left the floor. She clamped her lips together but he felt the infinitesimal shift of her body as she tilted her hips downward before doing as he suggested.
He held back from offering her praise. That would come later. Once she’d forgiven him for the subterfuge. And she would. Not wanting her forgiveness intertwined with lust that was obviously building, he made sure she was once again steady and stepped away. He pulled up a barstool and took a seat.
The “permission” comment had set her off. That was good to know. He’d found that most initial reactions were quite telling.
“Let me go.” She closed her legs and moved closer to the tap. It was a halfhearted request, but he silently gave her props for trying to be assertive.
“If you want to give the orders, then we need to switch places.”
“Would you do that?” she asked with more than a hint of disbelief.
“No fucking way.” He chuckled, brushing an errant strand dark hair off her forehead before tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not a bottom. I have been, don’t get me wrong. That’s the best way to learn. But I’m a Dom in every sense of the word. And by your own email admissions, that’s what you’re looking for.”
She remained quiet and Chris patiently waited her out. It’s what he did. It was second nature. Whether in the persona of bartender, friend, or Dominant, he didn’t feel compelled to interject until the appropriate time.
“I can’t figure out how all this happened. There are chunks that seem to be missing. There’s no way you knew I was trying to come to terms with that past experience before the blog. No one knew about that. But you’re the one who gave me the card. It’s not coincidental, I know that. Nothing ever is.”
“Really? It’s not coincidental that you harbor a little kink and you come into my bar at least once a week, three times if it’s during hockey and football seasons? Or that I’m the guy who knows enough about all things BDSM that I feel comfortable sharing my expertise online. Thanks to the wide, wide world of technology, both our hidden traits can be admitted, explored and used for the betterment of mankind.”
“But this isn’t what I expected. You’re not what I expected.” She met his gaze and Chris shook his head.
“It sort of hurts that you’d have preferred a complete stranger. Someone you think you can trust enough, from a dozen or so loop entries and emails, to tie you up and do devious things to your body? Someone who could be the next star of Serial Killers Gone Wild.”
He saw a glimmer of fear cross her face but just as quickly it was gone. Another positive reaction.
“You could be that man, for all I know,” she accused.
“You’re right. I could. Your method and criteria for meeting me totally sucked, Isabel. You have no idea of the number of sadistic men and women who are out there just waiting to get their hands on a newbie. If you truly want to partake in some playtime, I’m the man to chart those new waters with you. The fact that you haven’t screamed your head off for help is a testament to that. You know that as well as I do. If it’ll help soothe your concerns, I can give references.”
“I’m sure you can,” she said hotly, a blush creeping up her neck. A part of him hoped it was because she realized he already knew her a little better than she knew herself. That was the beauty of finding the right sub. And with each little heave of her breasts, each flare of emotion in her eyes, Chris knew she was meant to be his.
“First rule. Don’t think about anyone who came before you. I may have initiated one girl or one thousand girls, but it doesn’t matter. It’s you I want now.”
She studied him longer than he would have imagined. “Why?”
The question surprised him. Most prospective subs took that statement as a sign of devotion and readily accepted the meaning that went with it. They wanted to feel special and for a brief period of time, they were.
“Is it because I’m all but virginal when it comes to the freaky stuff? That you see me as a prize? Or maybe a challenge?”
“First of all, it’s not f
reaky. I thought we established that. Not to me. Not to us. If it’s an interest and it’s healthy in and of itself, and no one gets hurt, then what’s the problem? We’re kindred spirits, Isabel. Plain and simple.” He tugged at a section of her hair and wrapped it around his fingers then gave it a gentle yank. He watched her nostrils flare but she remained silent. “Of course you’re a challenge. That’s part of the attraction.”
“What’s the other part?” She fired the question at him, obviously not ready to relinquish the upper hand in the conversation.
“You’ve got a tight little ass that I can’t wait to redden.” He smiled at her shocked gasp and continued. “In addition, I’m someone you can trust. I’d never hurt anyone, especially someone I consider a friend. And I do consider you my friend.”
“And how does that work, Chris? You see me naked, push me to my limits, bring me release and then serve me up a draft like usual the next time I walk through the door?”
“If that’s how you want it to work, that’s exactly how it works. Anonymity and covertness. Secretive interaction, if you want to call it that. I’ve served tons of people I’ve run into at one dungeon or another. I nod, say hello, give them their order and that’s it.”
“There are dungeons around here?” she asked incredulously.
“You never once seemed interested in that sort of thing during our conversations, but yes. They’re here in the tristate area and they’re busy. Trust me.”
He accentuated the phrase because, in the end, that’s exactly what it would come down to. Her placing her trust in him. And him alone.
He watched her give his words a great deal of thought before sighing heavily. “I thought we were going to discuss scenarios and what I had in mind. It sure as hell wasn’t being tied to the Kegerator until my hamstrings rip in two.”
“We will, but I didn’t have time to finesse you. It was the only thing I could think of to keep you from thinking your fetish date stood you up. I didn’t want you storming out the door. It was necessary. And rule number two is ‘no swearing’ unless you’re in the throes of denied, impending or actual orgasm. I’m not down with the potty mouth.”
“You have got to be shitting me.”
He held her gaze and landed a hard, resounding, open-handed slap on her right ass cheek. He immediately grabbed the back of her skirt to keep her from stumbling off the foot rail before taking advantage of her wide-eyed shock to elaborate.
“The time for jokes is over, Isabel. Eventually, we’ll talk about your predetermined ideas of what you may actually need. Eventually, I’ll cut your bonds and we’ll go back to your place. Eventually, after you’re so sated you can’t move, I’ll put you to bed then see how easy it might be to incorporate some playthings into your present décor. But before all that, we need to see just how amenable you are to taking direction, because if you’re going to get your nose out of joint over something as small as my demanding you don’t talk like a trucker, then I know for a fact I’m not the man for you.”
Her ass still stinging and her wrists beginning to ache, Isabel let his words sink in. Now would be the time to backpedal, or throw up the white flag. A part of her was scared at what he’d do but another part, the same one that apparently connected her pussy to the soft underside of her derrière, urged her to simply say “yes Sir”. But could she do it? It seemed less intimidating when she could use James as the scapegoat for whatever obsessions she might be harboring.
It was James’ idea. James wanted it so badly, I hated to deny him.
Never once did she tell her girlfriends how hot she had found the experience. How she’d come ten times stronger at the end of that riding crop than she ever had with a man…or on her own.
The fact that she innately trusted Chris was more baffling than anything else and she wasn’t sure she was one-hundred-percent comfortable with the idea. Maybe it was the fact she actually knew him. How could she ever sit across the bar from him again if she let him do the things she dreamed of having done to her? The other time, it was James who had known the Dom. She had no interaction with the man, other than lying there and allowing him to do what he knew James enjoyed watching. The fact that she actually enjoyed it as well had been a bonus.
But this would be different. It would have nothing to do with James. It was for her and her alone and the thought of baring herself, both physically and emotionally, to someone she didn’t completely trust would be the pinnacle of stupidity. She wasn’t stupid.
“Do you trust me, Isabel?”
She really didn’t like him sounding so formal. It was so much better when he used her nickname. “What happened to Izzi?”
“This isn’t a game. If you think it is, I’ll set you free and you can go home. Right now.”
“I know it’s not,” she replied quickly. Chris releasing her was the last thing she wanted. Realizing that fact told her all she needed to know. “I’m nervous, okay? And while you’ve made perfect sense that I should be more comfortable since I know you, it’s still weird.”
His hand brushed her hair to one side and she shuddered as his thumb grazed the back of her neck.
“I’m nervous too,” he admitted, his breath warm, as his fingers trailed down the back of her shirt with a featherlight slowness that had her insides tightening.
“Don’t tell me that,” she said in a worried tone, holding her breath in anticipation of his hand retracing its path.
“Breathe. Your spine’s a major trigger. I’ll undoubtedly spend a lot of time there so get used to my touch. Focus on inhaling and exhaling. As for being nervous, it would be pretty strange if I wasn’t.”
“But still—”
“I like the skirt.” His hands snaked around the front of her body, resting just below her bellybutton and, without thinking, she moved her hips backward until she was touching his body.
“Thank y—”
“Are you that much of a horny little slut?”
Isabel gasped, more from his words than the fact he’d grabbed her hips and thrust her lower body away. “What?”
“Did you somehow forget I asked you to wear all black? Black dress, no panties.” Grabbing handfuls of her skirt, he inched the material up her legs until the hem slid over her ass, baring her cheeks to him. “And you wore a thong. When I specifically said no panties. You know what that means?”
“My underwear matches,” she replied tersely. She didn’t appreciate his tone, swore she could hear the smile in his words. She wasn’t there for his amusement. It hadn’t been this way before. He hadn’t acted like a dick during their chats. If a stereotypical byplay was happening, it was lost on her.
“I wore this because it looks less funeralesque.” She tilted her chin upward, causing her hair to cover the upper portion of her back. She waited for him to meet her gaze in the mirror but he continued to stare at her ass and her temper rose. “I don’t want to look as if I am in mourning, I want to look sexy. And I want to feel sexy, despite the fact I am a nervous wreck. And tiny scraps of silky underwear happen to help me with that. So do little knit skirts and shirts that—”
“Cling to every curve and scream that you’re in a ‘fuck me’ state of mind?”
“Sexy isn’t the same as ‘fuck me’,” she said hotly.
“Who did you want to look sexy for?” he demanded in a low voice, moving one hand to the small of her back. He pulled the fabric of her skirt upward until it was tight against her belly while he ran the fingers of his other hand under the upper edge of her thong.
“Wh-what?” Her breath hitched as his knuckles followed the thin strip of black satin downward until their path was blocked by the full spheres of her ass. She tried to concentrate on what he had just asked.
“Did you want to look like sex-on-a-stick for me? Or for yourself?”
He pressed a little harder and she stopped shifting her weight as she considered his words, not sure of the correct answer. But did it really matter?
“Me,” she finally admitted.
> “Wrong answer, Isabel.”
She clenched her glutes, certain that part of her body would be the obvious recipient for her mistake.
“Not for a woman who says she wants to let all her responsibilities, all the things she has to be in control of, fall by the wayside. Just for a while. I was under the impression you wanted a full experience, but one without intercourse. You opting for easy-access dressing and cock-hardening lingerie convey a different message, and for now, I can work with that. But we’re going to talk. In depth. Very soon.”
He pushed her skirt until it was bunched around her waist. He looked up then and met her gaze in the mirror. She’d fucked up. That much was clear.
“Open,” he ordered softly, tapping the inside of her right thigh. Seconds ticked by until she slid her boot along the rail, trying to ignore the unexpected rush of dampness that tickled her folds.
“That’s far enough,” he said, placing a hand on her hip to stop her. His palm was warm and smooth and she closed her eyes as he massaged her flesh.
“Everything we talked about online, you were completely honest, right?”
She thought back. They’d covered so many things. But she hadn’t lied. She hadn’t been devious in any way.
“Yes. Completely.”
He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “You said you liked the crop, but not the whip.”
“Correct.” Her heart missed a beat just thinking about the two implements and her reaction to each.
“And the last time, the Dom toyed with you and teased you but he didn’t fuck you?”
“No,” she whispered, forcing her gaze to remain stationary.
“But he watched you and your husband. And you had no issue with that?”
“I didn’t…at that point…I-I just didn’t care.” She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling every bit the slut he had accused her of being.
“You had already climaxed?”
His hands cradled the outside of her upper legs and his thumbs caressed the soft underside of her ass cheeks. He moved his palms in tiny increments so each sweep brought his digits closer and closer to her anus.