The bright red lips parted, showing perfectly-even teeth, a show of a childhood and adolescence that involved some fairly expensive orthodontics. Her teeth were gleaming white, so perfect that not even cosmetic dentistry could buy this kind of improvement. Miss Sally's nose was symmetrically planted on her face; a less severe haircut and she would look like a supermodel.
She stood, then straightened her slim skirt, seemingly irritated by the few, light wrinkles caused by their sitting. “I'm not privy to say, Jennifer, but let's just leave it at this: I help very, very flawed people to get what they really want. And need. And people will pay more than you ever imagined to get what they really need.”
Jennifer snorted. She couldn't help herself. “Yeah, right. People pay you to have sex with them.”
The speed with which Miss Sally closed the gap between them was breathtaking; her face was inches from Jennifer's, suddenly, her arms by her side. “I have one rule, Ms. MacIntire.” The change in address terrified Jennifer suddenly. “I never, ever touch my clients. And they never, ever touch me.”
Miss Sally stepped back, eyes dark and cold. “Whatever you think I do with my clients, think again. Your ideas are so off base that you can't even imagine the world I create for them. Frankly, you won't let yourself.”
Creating worlds of what? Jennifer wondered, back to being intimidated by the dominatrix. Miss Sally stood, backbone ramrod-straight, and stared at Jennifer with an intensity that was so erotic she wanted to reach out and kiss her. Or slap her.
She wasn't sure which.
“I won't let myself imagine what?”
“The freedom that people struggle to find.”
Jennifer shook her head, a few strands of newly-reddish highlighted hair getting caught in her eyelashes. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Let me get this straight. You have people like him,” she pointed upstairs towards where Declan was showering, “come into your club and offer to pay $400 an hour for you not to touch them, and not to let them touch you?”
“Yes.”
“And you do this full time?”
“I have a three-year waiting list, so there is no shortage of clients.” That's not what I asked, thought Jennifer, but she let it slide. A rush of admiration, startlingly physical, hit her. How in the hell did someone do that? Convince extremely powerful, well-off men to pay so much money to be controlled by...her voice?
Jennifer chuckled. “Forgive me, Miss Sally, but I am trying very hard to comprehend this. It's a bit out of the mainstream.” The dominatrix tilted her head slightly to the left, the only sign of acknowledgment. God, how did she make her skin so creamy? Jennifer wondered. And eyes that were so...ethereal. Yet hard, like she had been though a hundred lifetimes. A little black eyeliner on the top lids made them stand out. She glanced at Miss Sally's chest and noticed a nub poking through the fine cloth. Two nubs. Too distinct to be nipples.
Nipple rings. Ah, God, a clit ring, plus this?
What else did she poke holes in? Jennifer wanted to go grab the big dildo she had made Declan use yesterday and fuck it right here, right now, staring into those eyes, wanting only to please this woman.
“How do you do that? Why do people come to you for these services? What makes a person seek out being so submissive? Because Declan is anything but a sub in real life. He wants to be in charge. All.the.time. It's a huge problem.”
Nodding, Miss Sally maintained eye contact. “And that is their problem.” She didn't elaborate. Jennifer felt her confusion grow.
“So you only talk to them? Never touch them?”
“I didn't say I only talk.” Miss Sally looked at her watch. “Where is Declan?”
Jennifer had nearly forgotten him. She waved a hand vaguely towards the stairs. “He always takes long showers.”
“No. You are in control. He takes as long a shower as you want him to.”
Hot damn! Miss Sally was right. Jennifer hesitated. “Uh, I'll get to him in a minute. But back to what you do. So you won't talk to me about Declan. But you did tell me you never touch your clients. He wasn't allowed to touch you. All these years he's been seeing you weekly. What in the hell have you been doing?”
For once, Miss Sally showed some real emotion, aside from the cold, dark look she'd given Jennifer moments before. This time, the woman seemed to blossom a bit, opening up, her smile radiating pleasure that Jennifer hoped was contagious.
“That is what I am about to do, my dear. Teach you exactly what Declan has been coming to me for all these years. Stop talking and start doing.” She pointed to the family room. Jennifer walked to the door, opened it, and what she saw made her nearly scream.
Miss Sally's hot breath tickled her ear as the dominatrix had crept behind her. “This is what Declan wants. And this is what you are going to give him. But only on your terms.” Jennifer's clit swelled with the screams she held back, her body tensing as she told herself not to turn around.
Clients couldn't touch Miss Sally. Jennifer gawked at the room, then spun around and stared into Miss Sally's eyes, her own lust reflected back at her in those black, dilated orbs.
Two could play at this game. Declan turned on the shower to buy some time, then found Jennifer's email on her computer. None of this made any sense. Why would she jump him like that yesterday, so out of character, and make her his bitch? They'd been on shaky ground for a long time, and he'd been fine with just barely tolerating each other. That seemed so unbelievable to him now; what they had found in these few encounters renewed his love and commitment. Yet Miss Sally was downstairs plotting some sort of punishment for him. The thought of that made him hard again, but something else nagged at him.
Jennifer had pulled away, too. This hadn't been a one-way street. A couple of years ago she'd cooled off, willing to have a romp in bed here and there, but never enough. It had started shortly after he began going to Miss Sally's club, and at first he'd feared she had learned his secret. Over time, though, Jennifer had never said a word. She just started redecorating the house, getting more of those mani-pedis, and gaining a little weight.
The thought had passed through his mind more than once that maybe she, too, had a secret. But until now he hadn't really cared enough to dig deeper. Turnabout was fair play, though. A few clicks and he found himself in her hard drive.
It didn't take long to find her secret files; a folder named “Recipes” was it.
She never cooked.
What he found was so disappointing and so horrifying that he couldn't believe it. Email after email from some sex chatting site. Not instant messages, but a series of emails dating back months! First of all, who the fuck sends emails anymore?
Second, who was this guy sharing detailed sex fantasies with his wife?
The first email:
Dear Jennifer,
I'm flattered that you found my profile interesting. I know that by most people's standards I am a bit kinky. I believe in exploring all sexual interests or fantasies – no rules, limits or taboos. I am single but would someday like a partner to share my life. I haven't found the right person yet. If you want a serious relationship and you're interested, great! If you would rather have a casual relationship, that's fine. If you want nothing more than an occasional evening of sexual abandon, no problem – that's fine, too.
Basically, the ball is in your court. What would you like to have happen now that you've made the first step? What would make you the happiest?
Yours,
John
“Found my profile interesting”? What the fuck? That meant Jennifer was the one who initiated this!
He read the next email:
Wow! You responded fast! I'm interested in exploring the bounds of online sex. No promises of more, but if everything goes well, I might consider meeting you and acting out some of the incredible things we'll be writing in the future. I'm exploring the sensual side of me, trying to become less inhibited, interested in learning more about frustration and pleasure, limits and breaking them. I just finis
hed a bubble bath and I dreamed of you as I stroked myself to orgasm. Tell me more, more, more! Direct me through a fantasy that will make me explode.
Waiting and panting,
Jennifer
Back up the truck. What was this? So he'd been spending how many years trying to meet his sexual needs with Miss Sally, and meanwhile his own wife was out trawling the Internet for a sex buddy? He checked the date on the email: eighteen months ago.
Holy shit.
More:
Dear Jennifer,
Great to hear from you! One thing I forgot to mention – you're a 44DDD? Wow! Now that's a handful! Sounds interesting. I've never been with a woman with a chest that large. Brings all sorts of erotic images to mind. So that you know, I love all things oral. I consider my oral abilities to be far above average. I love to eat pussy (pardon the directness) and am content to do so for hours. Usually, though, women can't take it for more than fifteen minutes. After that, she usually asks me to stop so she can feel me inside her. No problem there! I've even had a few women pass out on me – that is wild! Passing out from too many orgasms – I love that.
My dear, after reading your letter a couple of times, I have become really horny. I LOVE to masturbate. I know that I am not alone in this – just about everyone does – but not many people are comfortable enough with their sexuality to admit it. I'd love to tell you ALL about it if you're interested. Just telling you about all the details would turn me on to no end. You too, I hope!
Well, dear, I wasn't kidding when I told you that you have gotten me horny. I hope you're proud of yourself. You words, and my telling you what they have done to me, are making me harder and harder. I just can't sit at this computer any more. Time to play! I hope that you'll think about me – and what I will soon be doing – as soon as I send this letter to you. I hope that it excites you enough to want to touch yourself, too.
Love,
John
His heart sank. Oral sex? She was out looking for a guy with a great tongue? What about his tongue? She always said that he was such a master with it. But here she was looking for someone else. Declan had strayed because he wasn't going to find a Dom at home. Well, at least, he had never dreamed Jennifer would be a Dom at all, much less a great one.
Yet she had a GREAT tongue at home. Why would she go looking for more?
He read the next email through a haze of red fury:
Dear John,
Think about my creamy breasts overflowing from a black teddy, my legs wrapped in silk, black stockings clinging to my thighs by garter straps made of leather. On my feet – open-toed velvet heels, my red toenails playing against the silk. I slip my foot out of the slipper and my foot caresses your bulging crotch. You run your hands over my smooth calves, reaching for the heat between my legs. I stretch my body, leaning toward you, and you bury your face between my breasts, tongue stroking the curves, reaching through the lace to my erect, flushed nipples.
I slide my body down yours, and soon I'm on my knees before you, hands eagerly reaching for your blood-engorged vessel. You groan as I free you, enclosing your nine-inch member in the valley of my bosom, lubricating the journey with the glistening drops from the tip. Your hips rock gently, and you mesh your hands within my auburn curls, urging me to use my mouth as I have just used my breasts. I fulfill your wish and soon you are trapped within my mouth and your hips thrust harder.
My tongue traces the mushroom and I alternate between teasing your tip and slowly sucking your shaft. The pace increases and soon you're moaning and bucking, out of control, as I lap your juices, filling myself with your seed...
I've got to go fulfill myself right now – I'm ready to cream myself! Maybe someday we can talk on the phone – the idea of phone sex makes me horny as hell!
Love and oral kisses,
Jennifer
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to run down the stairs and confront her. Teddy? What lingerie? He hadn't seen her wear anything sexier than yoga pants in two or three years. Leather garters? She didn't own leather garters! She was totally lying, both to this fuckhead online and to her own husband. What a cheating bitch. Leading this guy on via email and simultaneously going to pot at home, making him go out and find some other way to meet his real sexual needs. His breathing became labored from the shock of it, and the damn dog collar started to pinch.
The shower continued its beat of water; he needed to hurry. So he read more...
Read the rest at The Unexpected Dom #2: Dominating the CEO.
Pegging the Boss – A Sample
Traffic was a bitch on I-95, and I knew I'd be late. Some dark-haired asshole who looked like an FBI-type in a Beemer and Oakley mirror sunglasses tried to cut me off when I was three cars away from the tollbooth as I eased off the turnpike onto the interstate. Came within an inch of my bumper. White hot rage shot through me, along with a flushed, hyper-alert sense. No way. I sat in this fucking line for 20 minutes and now Mr. Entitlement USA thinks he can cut me off?
He waved and shrugged, like he was oh-so-innocently asking for a small favor. I shook my head slowly, glad I was wearing sunglasses, too, because the red-hot death ray would have shot out my eyes and burned him to a gristled little crisp.
He smirked and shot forward, tapping my bumper. Fuck you, buddy. My car is crappier than yours and I am insured. You hit me, you're slumming.
I eased up and turned the wheel slightly to the left. No way I was hitting him. Ever vigilant, I made it so that in this game of chicken, I would win. Move an inch, take an inch. Like sex, I was doing to get what I wanted.
Right now.
He backed off and I moved forward, victorious. BAM! Take that. Someone with less determination than me right behind me let him in. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized he was flipping me off.
So I shot him the bird back. Fuuuuuuuuck you, dude.
And then he proceeded to follow me. Fine. Whatever. We were trapped in gridlock for the cloverleaf onto I-95, so I pulled out my makeup case. I always ran out the door a few minutes late, so I'd learned to prioritize. Powder, blush, mascara, lipstick. Done. I'm sure in a few years I'll need a hell of a lot more makeup, but at 21 the worst I need is a little undereye concealer if I party all night and come into work a little hung over.
Not true today, though. I got what I needed last night. My boyfriend, Darren, finally put out. That man has a tongue that could lick the moon if he really tried. Damn. Too bad he has to drink a six pack before he's willing to go down. My clit appreciated the effort, and it was a nice change from our boring, vanilla sex. I mean, missionary position is nice once in a while – what woman doesn't like to have a broad man's back to grab onto and scratch when she's screaming and coming like a freight train with a full load – but every single time?
If I climbed on top of him and rode his pole he practically yawned. Getting that tongue to flick my pussy took a ton of alcohol. And when I suggested using a strap-on last night, that had, apparently, been the last straw for poor old Darren. His baby blue eyes had bugged out of his head.
“Lindsay, you're nuts!” I'd never seen a person actually spring out of bed, but Darren managed it, naked and loopy from the beer. We hadn't even had intercourse yet; he'd finally gone down on me and I'd been moaning with pleasure just a few seconds ago.
“No – it's just a thought. I figured we could be adventurous.”
“By shoving a plastic dick up my ass?” Now he was scrambling into his jeans. He yelped – catching some pubes in his zipper as he rushed. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Ah, damn, I wasn't going to get his cock in me now, was I? “Well,” I crooned, climbing across the bed on all fours, letting my breasts dangle and rub against the sheets, sending tendrils of lust down to my increasingly-wet pussy, “everyone has fantasies, you know? I just thought I'd – ”
“No fucking way, Lindsay. I'm done. It's bad enough you want me to – ” he waved vaguely at my crotch – “put my mouth on, on that. But now you want to be
the man and fuck me with a dildo you wear around your waist? You need to see a shrink.”
Now I was pissed. “If anyone needs a shrink, Darren, it's you. If you have to liquor up in order to, well, lick her up, then you might be gay. Go find a nice bar with men and explore a little. Have a nice life.” I'd been screaming the words as he walked down my apartment hallway and slammed the door just as I said the word “life.”
And that had been my night. The end of a weird 6 weeks with Darren.
So no undereye concealer today. I'd gotten off and ended a relationship. Today was about being reborn, cleansing myself, and just breathing. It was Friday and I had decided at the last minute, before running out the door, that I would go on a little trip, alone, to my parent's cabin in Vermont. Packed up some good erotic romance novels, my sex toy collection, and some Junior Mints, all neatly crammed into my laptop bag. Sitting in a cabin, watching porn and reading some good, raunchy shape-shifter crap was my idea of a cleanse.
This asshole in the Beemer kept following me as I pulled off the interstate and went down the back roads to the office.
And then pulled into my parking lot at work.
He parked in a spot right by the main door. The spot that said “Reserved for the Vice President of Marketing.”
I was the new marketing assistant.
Oh, shit.
The asshole in the Beemer was my boss. Mark.
The Unexpected Dom #1: Jennifer's Revenge (BBW BDSM Male Submission) Page 4