by Tara Sue Me
“No,” he said. “There’s no excuse for the way I acted.”
“But I’ll be good now, Mr. West.” I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. Slipped the straps from my shoulders. Dropped the flimsy garment to the floor. “Let me show you how good I can be.”
He adjusted his pants.
Yes.
“I just spanked you for that sort of behavior,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m not flirting. I’m showing you what a good girl I am.” I hopped on his desk, biting the inside of my cheek at the slight tinge of discomfort. I scooted forward and brought my feet up to rest on the desk, bending and spreading my knees, making sure he saw exactly what he wanted. “Please, Mr. West.”
He moved closer, looking for all the world like a cat stalking its prey. “How good can you be?”
“Come find out. I’ll make it worth your while.”
He unbuttoned his pants as he walked. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Oh, Mr. West,” I said, eyeing his cock. “You’re so much bigger than my boyfriend.”
A smile played on his lips. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I said. “But perhaps a wee bit smaller than my master.” I looked up and met his eyes. “He’s huge.”
He laughed softly and stepped out of his pants. With two short steps, he was before me, standing between my legs.
“Let’s get you out of this shirt, shall we?” I asked, my hands making quick work of the first two buttons. I grew impatient at the third, grabbed the material and jerked. “Oops,” I said as his buttons bounced off the desk and floor.
“You ripped my shirt, Ms. King,” he said. “I’ll have to spank you again.”
“I look forward to it, Mr. West.” I slipped the torn shirt from his shoulders, running my hands across his chest.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “You certainly look delicious.”
I leaned back, offering my breasts to him. “Why don’t you have a taste?”
He answered with action, dropping his head to my neck and running his tongue along the hollow there. His teeth nibbled their way down to one nipple and then the other. He suckled me gently, almost reverently, before trailing kisses back up and whispering in my ear. “Just as I thought. You’re delectable.”
I captured his head with my hands and did my own whispering, surprised at how easily the words came out. “You should taste my pussy.”
He bit my earlobe. “I’m shocked, Ms. King.” But he slid a finger between my open legs, dipping momentarily into me, and brought it back out. He licked it with the tip of his tongue. “Though, how very true.”
I pulled him to me, drawing pleasure from the feel of his chest against mine, his warmth surrounding me. I ran my nails lightly down his back. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Mr. West.”
He pulled my legs around his waist. “Then far be it for me to make you wait any longer.”
With one forceful thrust, he entered me, filling me completely. “Fuck, Ms. King.”
We didn’t talk anymore, focusing our attention on the movement of our bodies. Enjoying the way they pulled and pushed against the other. He growled low in my ear, and I responded with my own guttural moans.
Each thrust forced my hips to move along the hard wooden desk, and the feel of it, combined with the lingering ache of his spanking, drove me to work faster to my orgasm. He thrust even quicker, even harder, sending currents of pleasure swirling through my body.
“Mr. West,” I gasped, tightening my legs around him.
“You were right, Ms. King,” he said with a powerful thrust, hitting a spot deep within me. “You are good.”
My need to release grew stronger, and I struggled to hold back until he gave permission.
“Can I?” I begged. “I’m going.”
He thrust again. “Yes.”
His head dropped to my shoulder, and I trembled as his teeth grazed my skin.
“Fuck,” I said. “Harder.”
His only response was a sharp nip to my shoulder, but that’s all it took. My climax shot through me, and I came hard. He continued his rhythm, his pace unrelenting as he drove himself to his own climax. The muscles of his back tightened under my hands, and I felt him release inside me.
With a soft sigh, he relaxed. “You have a job here for as long as you want, Ms. King.”
Chapter Twenty-two
—ABBY—
He left for China two weeks later on a Friday night. I drove with him to the airport, wanting to be with him as long as possible. He held my hand the entire way, and the long week apart stretched endlessly before us.
“It’ll be the longest we’ve been apart since March,” he said, staring at the road as we approached the airport.
It’s only a week. It’s only a week.
I wanted to cry just thinking about it.
“I wish I could go with you,” I whispered.
He lifted my hand to his lips, brushing my skin softly. “You’re doing what’s best for you and your career. I have the utmost respect for that.”
I blinked back a tear. “I love you.”
He kissed my hand again and his lips lingered as he inhaled the smell of me. “Abby,” he whispered, his breath as gentle as a caress. “I love you.”
The night before, we’d stayed up making love into the early hours of the morning. He had been slow and reverent in his affection, taking his time and memorizing every detail of me. Even when he finally entered me, he moved unhurriedly, as if we had all the time in the world.
As the sun rose and we woke in each other’s arms, we came together again, but with a fierceness and urgency born of the knowledge we’d soon be separated for more than a week. Our hands and voices were hurried, and we pulled and pushed until at last we collapsed together, where we rested before finally forcing ourselves to leave the bed.
At the airport, I stayed with him until his pilot discreetly coughed and nodded toward his watch. Even then I stayed on airport property until the jet disappeared into the sky. Only then did I head to his car for the long, lonely ride back.
Once there, I stepped into the foyer and threw his keys on the table. I’d never stayed at Nathaniel’s house—my house, I corrected myself—alone before. I walked through rooms, checking the alarms, even though Nathaniel had done so before he left.
When I was satisfied I was safe, I made my way upstairs to our bedroom. It wasn’t until I passed the playroom that I remembered Nathaniel’s words from earlier that day.
I won’t be able to collar you this weekend, he had said at lunch. But I do have certain tasks for you.
He said he’d have envelopes waiting in the submissive bedroom. Although I want you to sleep in our bedroom, if you wish.
Yes, I knew, I did wish to sleep in our bedroom. Even though he wouldn’t be in our bed, I could sleep with his pillow, and perhaps the sheets still carried his smell.
I stopped briefly in the small bedroom. A stack of envelopes waited for me. On top was a package wrapped in brown paper and labeled with his neat script.
Friday night.
I took a peek at the envelope underneath.
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
Since the package didn’t have a time on it, I carried it to our bedroom and placed it on the bed. I returned to it once I’d taken a long, hot shower. I’d decided to sleep in one of Nathaniel’s dress shirts, so I clambered up on the bed and tucked my legs under its hem, and then I slowly unwrapped the package.
It was a leather-bound journal.
I turned it to the first page, and my heart leapt when I found his inscription.
I know you often have difficulties expressing your feelings with spoken words. I thought, perhaps, you might feel more at ease writing them down.
I want you to use this journal as a place to write your fears, your doubts, and your heartaches, as well as your joys, your hopes, and your dreams. I’d like to see you use it as a place primarily to detail your submissive journey, though I understand there will be some
crossover from our daily lives as well.
To start you off, I will give you several assignments. My only request is that you be completely honest with your writings. Nothing you put in this book will ever be held against you.
You’ve given me so much. I know you will give me this as well.
I ran a finger over the ink, somehow feeling closer to him with that simple act. I flipped through the empty pages. Christine told me she kept a journal, but I’d never gotten around to picking one up for myself.
Leave it to Nathaniel . . .
I reached for the envelope that had fallen out of the journal and lifted the flap. A single sheet of paper was inside.
We discussed earlier this week that once I returned from China, we would attend a play party together. Write down a list of your fears, and for each one suggest a way to counteract it. On another page, make a list of benefits you hope to obtain by attending.
We’ll discuss upon my return.
Was he serious? It was like an assignment a teacher would give me.
Would he grade it?
If he felt I failed, would he punish me?
I giggled at the thought, but then remembered how scared I’d been the first time he suggested the party and decided writing my fears down might be a good idea. I reached across the bed to my nightstand and dug through the drawer before finally finding a pen trapped underneath a bag of toys.
It was surprising how freely the words came once I started writing. I felt unrestrained and uninhibited. I wrote without stopping, just putting down what came to mind and filling page after page with both my fears and what I hoped to accomplish.
When finished, I looked at the clock, surprised at how quickly time had passed. The flight to Hong Kong took sixteen hours, so I didn’t expect to hear from Nathaniel anytime soon.
Yawning, I turned off the light and slipped under the covers. Apollo jumped up to rest beside me. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep the night before, but I drifted off within minutes.
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
I turned the envelope around in my hand, anxious to see what it held. Would it be another writing assignment? I slipped my finger under the flap and opened it.
It’s 8:30 on Saturday morning and I’m still in flight. I hope you had a restful night’s sleep and that Apollo kept you company. I gave him a stern talking-to before I left.
I smiled at his words. He’d made a lot of progress in the last few months, and I loved seeing the funny, playful side of him.
I rubbed Apollo’s head and continued reading.
We’ve been in the playroom countless times in the last few months, but we haven’t come close to exploring all the different ways we can play. This morning, I want you to go into the playroom and look around. Find a toy, item, or piece of equipment we haven’t used but that you would like to experiment with next time we play. Write it down in your journal so we can discuss later.
I might decide to use it.
P.S. You have only an hour. Felicia will be by at nine thirty to take you shopping and out to lunch.
I took a quick glance at the next envelope.
Saturday, 3:30 p.m.
Plenty of time to enjoy a few hours with Felicia.
I read the eight thirty letter again. I’d never spent much time exploring the playroom by myself. Nathaniel and I had gone through it together before he’d collared me, months ago, and cleanup was now my responsibility, but I still felt it was his domain.
Since I’d already showered and had breakfast, I went upstairs into the playroom. Once inside, I skipped over the whipping bench, padded table, and cross, making my way to the far wall. Handmade cabinets held a multitude of floggers. A few he had used—the rabbit fur and suede. He had others, of course, leather and some braided leather ones; they looked heavier and I wondered how they would feel.
Mmm. Maybe.
The cabinets stood above a large table, made of the same rich wood and filled with multiple drawers. I opened one and saw his collection of plugs and vibrators. Fun toys, but I didn’t see anything that stood out in particular.
Attached to one wall was his collection of canes, and I ran a finger across one. I’d talked to Christine about them a few times since our visit, but I still wasn’t ready to try them.
I tried to imagine Nathaniel’s expression if I told him I wanted him to use a cane on me.
Would he be shocked? Would he agree?
But again, I didn’t feel ready yet, so I kept walking.
I rifled through a collection of masks and gags. We’d never played with any of them. I still wondered what it would be like to be gagged.
I picked up a ball gag and tried to imagine him using it combined with a new flogger. That could be fun. His note, though, said to pick one. One. How was that even possible?
Taking my journal and pen, I sat in the middle of the playroom and thought. I ran through different scenarios in my head using several of the items I found in drawers and cabinets. They all seemed fun, but I couldn’t decide on one thing.
I tapped my pen against the spine of the journal and glanced down at my watch. Nine thirteen.
I gazed around the room one last time, smiled, and bent my head to write. I wrote about the toy I picked and, just for fun, added a few details about the scene.
Felicia and I were almost to our first stop, a lingerie store, when my phone rang.
Nathaniel!
“Hello,” I said.
His voice sounded tired. “Abby.”
My heart warmed just hearing his voice. “How was the flight?”
“Long,” he said. “We just landed.”
My mind tried to calculate the time difference. “What time is it?”
“A little after eleven at night,” he said. “It’s like I skipped an entire day.”
“That’s okay,” I teased. I imagined him running his fingers through his hair the way he did when he was tired or frustrated. “Saturday’s a drag. You didn’t miss much.”
“I take issue with that,” Felicia said from the driver’s seat. “You’re shopping with me, and our first stop is a lingerie store. Saturday is not a drag.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I’ll be talking with you in a few hours. I just wanted to hear your voice and let you know I’d landed safely.”
“What are you going to do now?” I asked, not ready to hang up.
“Check into the hotel and get a few hours’ sleep before I start working again.”
“On Sunday?”
“I don’t have anything else to do,” he said in a teasing tone. “Someone refused to come with me.”
“You know why,” I said softly.
“I know and I understand.”
“You should go out and explore,” I said. “It’s not like you’re in China every day.”
“Thank goodness. I’ll explore some. Though I doubt the Great Wall has changed much since the last time I saw it.”
“You’re going to see the Great Wall?”
“No,” he said. “It’s too far away. Next time I’m here, maybe you’ll be able to come and we can go together.”
“I miss you already.”
“I miss you, too.”
“We’re here,” Felicia said.
I’d been so engaged in talking with Nathaniel I hadn’t even noticed Felicia parking the car.
“I’ll let you go,” he said. “You two have fun. Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Mmm,” I teased. “Trouble sounds good.”
“Later,” he said with a hint of smile in his voice, but then he grew quieter. “I love you.”
“Love you.”
I returned home hours later with bags of new clothes and lingerie, several different garters, and a light heart after having plenty of girl talk with my best friend. Married life agreed with Felicia, and I’d never seen her more content and happy.
I hummed as I put away my purchases. Maybe later in the week I’d put on some new lingerie and take a picture to send to Nathaniel.
At three thirty, I opened the next envelope.
I hope you enjoyed your time with Felicia. You and my new cousin-in-law are so very different, and yet I know your friendship means a lot to you both. I never want you to feel as though you have given anything up by your choice to wear my collar.
Having said that, I know we’ve discussed before how being a submissive does not make you weak, naive, or gullible. In fact, quite the opposite is true.
For your next assignment, I want you to write a thousand words on the following topic:
My Submission: What It Means to Me
When you have finished, take a walk, eat some dinner, and then write a thousand words on your next topic:
My Submission: What It Means to My Master
I look forward to discussing both assignments with you and giving you my thoughts on each.
Whew.
He wasn’t lying when he told me he would have me use the journal. The night before had been eye-opening, though, in terms of what I discovered as I wrote. While I’d been apprehensive about a party when he first brought it up, I was now looking forward to it more. Especially since he’d forced me to think about and write a way to overcome my fear.
I couldn’t wait to discover what the new writing assignment taught me.
Saturday, 10:30 p.m.
Tonight you will discover how it’s possible to serve me long-distance. You have fifteen minutes to undress and get your cell phone.
You will call me from our bed at 10:45 p.m.
My heart pounded as I read his short letter.
Serve him long-distance?
I couldn’t wait to find out what he meant by that. Even more exciting was simply the opportunity to hear his voice. I mentally calculated the time difference. It would be morning in Hong Kong.
An early lunch break for him, perhaps?
Fifteen minutes later I waited on the bed. At 10:45 exactly, I hit the send button to call him.
The phone clicked as he picked up.
“Abigail,” he said, and I was no longer talking to the weary, worn traveler I’d spoken with hours earlier. The low, commanding voice sending shivers up my spine belonged to only one person.