The Virgin - Book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy (Erotic BDSM)

by Dae, Harlem

  The crowd were enraptured, many close to the glass, watching the final throes of the passion I’d allowed to build to volcanic levels, erupt from them. They were almost all masturbating, getting ready to spill their spunk in synchrony with the stars of the show.

  But where the hell was Victor? I’d told him specifically to be here, eight p.m. with that damn butt plug up his arse. He should be in room four, slack-mouthed, horny, penetrated on my instruction.

  How dare he disobey me, especially when I’d done everything he’d wanted last night!

  I thrashed Carlos’ buttocks. He screamed, increasing the fervour with which he was humping Fifi. I knew that would finish him off; a few extra licks of pain and he’d be gone. Fifi had come twice already, I’d seen to that, so if she missed out now, as Carlos came ahead of time, she couldn’t exactly grumble. Getting paid to orgasm was a treat in itself. To be paid for multiples, well, that was just gluttony.

  I raised my arm, struck Carlos, the sight of another streak of red over his taut buttocks not cooling my irritation the way it normally would.

  “Come now,” I demanded, whipping him again, then again and again, flying my arm over and over, the long leather rope an extension of me. “Come now, slave!”

  He flung back his head and roared. The deep animalistic bellow of release thundered through the room. It vibrated through me, settling in my soul. Anger, release, desire and pleasure were a heady soup of emotions that swirled in my stomach.

  I dropped my arm to my side, let the whip rest on the floor like a coiled snake, and stared at room four. Still empty.

  Carlos and Fifi panted out their climaxes, the scent of their sweat and arousal heavy in the air.

  Normally, I too would be aroused. Sometimes I thought I could come just from ordering them to, from teasing and torturing them into their state of acute lust and then letting it burst out. This act was one of my favourites to perform.

  Which was why I had so wanted Victor to see it. To understand about fucking and not making love. Carlos and Fifi had fucked. Sure, they were friends, may even have been sex buddies a year or so ago. But what I’d just done was turn on two people so much, they didn’t care who they found release with. They just wanted cock or pussy. A way to find relief from the gnawing need and the desperate desire inside them. I’d made them crazed with want, and nothing could bring them down from their highs but a fuck—a really good, hard fuck.

  Making love just wouldn’t cut it.

  Victor needed to see that, to understand that satisfaction could be found with anyone or anything. A fancy meal and a stunning view wasn’t necessary to feel sated and replete. A Domme with a whip and his willingness to submit could be just as rewarding.

  I didn’t linger after my show. Fifi asked if I wanted to head into town for a trawl of the bars. I declined, daring her with my eyes to bring up the subject of Victor again.

  She didn’t, so I pleaded a headache then slipped out the back towards my car, faux fur coat wrapped tightly against the wind chill, shoes crunching on frost already layering the ground.

  “Zara. Wait.”

  I turned at the sound of Carlos’ voice.

  “Hey,” I said, slightly irritated. I had somewhere to be. “What’s up?”

  He strode towards me, his big bulk looming through the darkness, and, as usual wearing nothing but low-slung, faded jeans despite the cold. “I was going to ask you the same thing, honey. Everything okay?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

  He shrugged. “You just were really…hot tonight.”

  “Good, that’s what the customers pay for.” I tipped my head, sensing something had been unsaid. “Is heat a problem?”

  “No problem.” He ran his hand over his buttocks and winced. “I like pain, thrive on it, especially when it’s delivered so expertly and at just the right moment.”

  “Good.” I pressed my keyfob. My car beeped and flashed, the second of orange light brightening Carlos’ face. “I aim to please.”

  “And you most certainly did.” He opened my car door for me.

  I slipped in and went to shut it, but he kept it held ajar.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Home. I have a headache.” I scowled and tugged the door. It didn’t budge.

  “You’re going to see him, aren’t you?”

  “Him?” I figured playing dumb was the best tactic. Try and harness some of the bloody gossip that was raging around the club.

  “Your virgin, what’s his name, Vince?”

  “Victor, and he’s not mine, and no, I’m not going to see him. I told you, I’m going home.”

  Carlos pressed his lips together, nodded and studied me through the shadows. “Go easy on him, he’s not one of us.”

  “I know he isn’t, but what difference does it make, you saying that, when I’m going home?”

  “I’m just making the point. If you catch a good ‘un, don’t scare him the fuck away.”

  “He isn’t a good ‘un, he’s a…prissy prick, and I don’t care how much I scare him. We’ve got a deal and he’s just broken it. He needs to learn a lesson.”

  “So you are going to him?” He gave a satisfied twist of his mouth.

  “What the bloody hell has it got to do with you?”

  I tugged the door again. This time Carlos let it go and it slammed, hard.

  He crossed his arms and gave me a stern look as I revved the engine and pulled out of the small car park.

  Who the hell did Carlos think he was? I was his Domme, just like I was Victor’s, and I demanded, insisted upon absolute subservience and co-operation at all times. And if I wasn’t going to get it, I would just have to punish those who thought they could misbehave.

  The journey into the heart of the city didn’t take long. There was no work traffic around, just late-night shoppers and taxis carrying people out for nice candlelit meals and romantic theatre trips.

  I strode into the lobby of Victor’s building, spotted the doorman, Reginald, and sent a dazzling smile his way.

  “Good evening, Miss,” he said, touching his peaked navy hat. “How are you?”

  “I’m great, thanks. You had a nice day?”

  “All the better to for seeing you.” He gave me a wink and I treated him to an extra sway of hip rolling as I walked to the elevator, making my arse swish just a little bit more than was appropriate in front of a man nearly sixty years my senior. I hoped it didn’t send his heart skipping.

  I couldn’t help tapping my foot on the floor of the lift as it whizzed up to the penthouse level. Anger flooded my veins, indignation at being stood up, ignored.

  Disobeyed.

  One thing was certain, it would never happen again. Victor would now have to see exactly who he was dealing with. And if he didn’t have that damn butt plug in his arse when I got there, Heaven help him.

  I knocked on his door, bypassing the bell and preferring to rap my knuckles on wood in an impatient, irritated way. He’d know it was me, just from that sharp sound, I was sure.

  I had to bang twice before I heard the slide of a chain and the click of the Yale. My jaw was so tight I feared for my teeth.

  And then I saw his face. He looked tired. He had rings beneath his eyes, his stubble was thick, and his hair, though shorter than when we’d first met, was sticking up and damp.

  “It’s you,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chest.

  My gaze was drawn to his naked torso and the scribble of dark hair at the centre of his sternum. He wore a pair of grey sweats which sat low on his hips and did nothing to disguise his package. His feet and chest were bare, and the scent of a woodsy shower gel filtered towards me.

  “Yes,” I said, pushing past him and walking into his apartment. I kicked off my shoes. “Who the hell else would it be?”

  He shut the door. “Um, no one. Visitors this late aren’t the norm in my world.”

  “Victor, for God’s sake.” I hung up my coat then turned to him, hands on hips.
“It’s just gone ten, hardly late.”

  “I’ve done a fourteen-hour day. I’m bloody shattered. For me it’s late.”

  He wandered past me, offering none of the niceties of yesterday: Do come in. I hope you’re hungry. Red or white?

  “You shouldn’t work so hard.” I followed him with a feeling of concern. Watched him settle his long frame on the L-shaped sofa, in the corner so that he could sit with his legs up.

  The TV was on, BBC news. The fire churned out a cheek-warming heat, and the lights of London twinkled through the big windows at the far end of the enormous room.

  “There’s wine in the fridge,” he said, taking a sip from a bottle of beer and staring at the TV.

  “I’m driving.” I set my handbag on a tall thin table that was pressed up against the wall. Over it hung a mirror. I glanced at my reflection and then spotted the package I’d sent on a straight-backed chair, courier delivery, to his office earlier. It looked suspiciously full.

  The damn butt plug was still in the envelope.

  I picked it up. The bloody nerve of him. Not only had he been a no-show, he also hadn’t followed my instructions about the plug.

  “Why is this still in here?” I held the package aloft, shook it accusingly.

  “Jesus, Zara,” he said, heavy-lidded gaze turning my way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing sending sex toys to my work? Anyone could have opened it.”

  “I’ll send sex toys to your bloody parents’ house if I want to. And it was addressed to you, so who the hell else would open it?”

  “I have a secretary, remember.”

  “Ah, yes, the miserable old witch.” Oh, if she had opened it, I’d have paid good money to see the look on her face.

  He said nothing, just shoved his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. He looked adorable all tired, freshly showered and almost naked. He really had no idea how gorgeous he was or that he had a body most blokes would have to spend hours in the gym to achieve. But I wasn’t about to point that fact out. Didn’t want him getting too confident—or worse, cocky.

  “Victor, I really don’t think you’re taking our arrangement seriously.”

  He tipped his head, studied me. Said nothing.

  “This.” I tugged out the plug. “Should be up your damn arse, and you should have been at my show tonight. They were your orders.”

  “Orders?”

  “Yes, bloody orders, from me, your Mistress.” I walked around the sofa, past his feet and sat next to him with a bump. Dropped the plug on my lap.

  “Zara, while this is all very interesting, our little rendezvous, I really can’t let it interfere with my work. It’s too important.”

  “How could this little thing interfere with your work?” I pointed at the plug.

  He huffed. “A, its not little, and B, do you have any idea what I do for a living?”

  “Of course, you design buildings.” Did he think I was stupid or something?

  “Yes, I’m also under consult for a new chemotherapy unit being built at The Marsden, giving advice on one of London’s most ancient chapels that is under threat of collapse and juggling over two dozen high-specification new homes. I have a team of eighteen people working for me, not including two partners and eleven administrative and financial staff. You really think I have time to go into my bathroom during the day and shove a damn plug up my arse?” He paused and shook his head, confusion washing over his features. “You really think I’d want to?”

  I placed the plug on the table, took his beer from his hand and stood it alongside. “So that means you have, what, thirty-one personnel in your office, yes?”

  “Yes.” He folded his arms, his biceps bulging outwards at the press of his knuckles.

  “Well, I bet you,” I leant forward, allowed a smirk to dance on my lips, “that at any given time at least one, perhaps two of your staff are working with a plugged arse.”

  He huffed out a breath; beer and a hint of mint. “I don’t think so.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Which shows how little you know.” I couldn’t resist any longer. I reached out and flattened that rogue lock of hair that was stretching from his crown for the ceiling. I stroked and petted it down with gentle caresses. “Why do you think they sell these things?” I asked softly.

  “I dunno, for sex shows.” He shrugged but didn’t move away from me, despite the note of irritation in his voice.

  “And tell me, Victor, tell me the truth about something.” We were so close, our lips almost touching. Heat from his chest radiated onto mine, seeping through my thin white sweater onto my tits.

  “What?” His voice was quieter, as though he was calming, his mood switching from tired irritation to something much more familiar to me—sexual interest. His gaze was locked on mine, blue eyes that seemed to see more of me each time I let him look this close.

  “You did go into the bathroom and have a little play with your new plug, didn’t you?”

  He tightened his lips.

  I went on. “When the package arrived you opened it, not Mary, and curiosity gripped you, instantly. No doubt you had a quick look online, to see exactly what I’d sent you, what to do with it. Saw some pretty ripe images, I’m sure.” I stroked the back of my index finger down his cheek, felt and heard the rasp of stubble. “You pictured Carlos, with that big dildo up his arse and remembered wondering what it must have felt like.” I feathered my touch over his chin, up the other cheek and down again. Gentle, adoring movements. “You thought of me and my instructions and your dick got hard with you just picturing…” I paused and slipped my finger between his lips, just a little, not past his teeth.

  He blinked slowly, parted his mouth, inviting my entry.

  “You pictured me pushing it in to you, slowly, gently, stretching your tight virgin arse and making it at home inside your body.” As I spoke I breached his damp lips with two fingers, settling the tips on the wet softness of his tongue. “Because I would be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you in a bad way, Victor. This is all about pleasure. Giving yourself over to me, trusting me to take you to a place where only ecstasy exists and you have no worries, no responsibilities other than doing as I ask of you.”

  I pulled my fingers almost out of his mouth then slid them back in, probing deeper into the dark heat, getting him used to having me inside him. “Would you like that? I think you would. All day you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Making decisions, striking deals. Why not let me be the one making the decisions for you in the evening? I’ll look after your needs—I know what you want more than you do.” I removed my fingers, trailed a wet line down his throat, sternum and to his right nipple. “Victor,” I whispered. “You’re doing so well, learning, experimenting, don’t stop now. Not when we can do this here, tonight.”

  He stiffened slightly as I leant down and took his nipple into my mouth, compressed it and at the same time cupped his cock through his sweats. He was hard, as I’d known he would be. One thing about Victor, he never had a problem getting it up. A quality I always admired in a man.

  I raised my head again, licked my lips and then kissed him. A hot, deep, profound kiss that made me feel all warm and tingly. He was a great kisser—even when he was letting me take control, he still managed to give as good as I gave.

  Rubbing my palm over his erection, I broke the kiss. “Do you trust me?”

  He swallowed. Swiped his tongue over his damp lips.

  “You have to trust me,” I said, keeping the worry from my voice. If he didn’t trust me this would never work. “I’ve done this before, with great success. No complaints ever, just requests for more.” I touched my lips to the tip of his nose. “Please, Victor, say you trust me and let me do this. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  He cleared his throat. “And you’ll stop if I ask you to?”

  I noticed a flush of red on his cheeks.

  “Of course, just call me by my middle name, Amanda, and I’ll stop.”

  “Aman
da.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear then caught in a breath and widened his eyes when I gripped his erection and massaged. “Okay, but…”

  A swell of triumph crested through me. “But?”

  He swallowed again. “Be gentle.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Oh, God, Zara had her mouth wrapped round my cock again. I could get pretty bloody used to her doing that. She was an expert, and it was the perfect antidote to a hassle-heavy day at the office. Damn shame she was insisting on shoving that plug up my arse in a minute. It might take away the relaxing quality of the moment.

  But the plug was still on the table next to my beer, so I rested back on the sofa, shut my eyes and let the stroke of her tongue and the moist heat of her mouth take me to a special place.

  I’d planned just a shower, beer and bed tonight, choosing to forgo Zara’s show and cope with her wrath tomorrow. I hadn’t counted on her showing up at my door, but I was glad that she had, now that I was naked and getting sucked off.

  My heart was tripping, but I’d taken my pill so that should soon steady the wonky bugger. Perhaps a nice, languid blowjob would actually calm me down. Zara certainly seemed in no hurry—she was worshipping every tiny section of my dick, exploring my balls, my cockhead, and flicking her tongue into every crease.

  “Wider,” she murmured, pressing my inner thighs.

  I parted my legs for her to settle between them. Opened my eyes and watched her sink her mouth onto my dick. She was fully dressed, her hair a striking coal-black against her soft snow-white jumper as it slid over her shoulders and onto my legs, hips and belly. She had her arse in the air. Encased in tight red jeans, it looked good enough to eat.

  “Mmm,” I said, “you do that so well, Zara.”

  She raised her head, caught my cock in her hand. “Mistress. You have to call me Mistress.”

  I noticed a flash of determination in her eyes. She wouldn’t back down on this one, and all I wanted was for her to go back down. “Mistress,” I said, slipping my hand over her hair. “Mistress, you are so fucking good at giving head.”