Kink

by Nikki Sex

  “Okay,” he agrees.

  “We’re going to take this one step at a time. I suspect you’re bright. I certainly hope that’s the case. After a few days of you seeing what goes on here, you and I can have a chat. When we do, I want you to tell me what you think you can do for me then. Got it?”

  “Okay,” he repeats.

  I tilt my head and give him a wry smile. Let’s see. That makes three ‘okays’ in a row. Alrighty then. We’re good to go. I stand up and he does, too. “Come and see me at the end of your day. Any questions?”

  He shakes his head, ‘no.’

  “Good.”

  We both stand. I open the office door and we walk into the hallway. Just outside is our security guard, Joseph Ferreira. Reggie startles and almost falls over when he comes to such a complete stop. I resist the overwhelming desire to burst out laughing.

  Joseph thinks I’m nuts. I had a long talk to him earlier in the day, about what I wanted done with yesterday’s petty thief. I told him to consider this as something along the nature of humoring the impulse of a madman. I just want to give the kid a chance. Who knows? He could be useful.

  I introduce them. “Reggie, I believe you know our security guard, Mr. Ferreira. Mr. Ferreira, this young man’s name is Reggie.”

  They both nod at each other somewhat warily.

  Joseph is a good guy, with a sense of humor. “Come on, kid,” he says, making a ‘this way’ motion with his arm. “I’ll show you around and tell you what my job is. You might have some ideas on how I can improve some of the stuff that I do. Or maybe you can teach me some tricks on spotting shoplifters.”

  This little dig is apparently not missed by Reggie.

  It’s just as I thought, the kid is smart.

  I smile as they leave. Emily comes up the stairs, walking toward me, passing Joseph and Reggie. She’s been busy on the supermarket floor, for some reason or another.

  Em looks like a company executive in that sensible skirt and those low heels. The woman’s a walking wet dream, even in those conservative clothes. Fuck, I miss her. I’ve hardly seen her all day.

  We grin like idiots at each other.

  My stomach and heart do that flutter thing. I immediately think of sex. A heated need to exert my dominance over her fills me. Loving her and mastering her, seem like the exact same thing to me right now.

  I drag her inside my office, shut the door and push her up against it – trapping her against it with my bigger body.

  “Jesus, Paul. What are you doing?”

  This is a good question. I didn’t plan this impulsive little scene, it just comes to me. I grab her wrists and hold them over her head with one hand. My other hand pulls up her skirt, slides over her stomach, under the waist band of her panties and in between her legs. It’s amazing how perfectly my palm fits over her silky smooth mound, while my fingers reach into her greedy entrance.

  “What does it look like?” I growl.

  When my eyes meet hers, she flushes and looks down. This surprises me. Do I look that formidable? Or is she embarrassed?

  When she doesn’t say anything, I add quietly, “I’m going to do whatever I want. You’re mine.” There’s a no nonsense tone to my voice. I have no intention of being denied.

  “We can’t have sex in your dad’s office,” she whispers urgently.

  I disregard this objection. “You’re very wet,” I say, stroking my fingers through her slit. I’m training her to be willing, wet and ready, just from my proximity. So far, it’s working really well. My sweet, responsive little sub learns quickly. Of course, she’s training me, too. I only have to think of her and I instantly become hard as a rock.

  “Paul,” she hisses under her breath.

  “Relax,” I say. “We’re not going to have sex. I’m just going to make you come.”

  I stifle Emily’s indignant reply, capturing her protest with a passionate kiss. Her slim frame wriggles against me, as she instinctively bucks and tries to free her wrists from my grip.

  She rubs against my cock during this sexy tussle. I didn’t expect this much resistance, but hot damn. I fucking love it.

  I laugh with surprise and pleasure. I’m bigger, she’s smaller. The woman hasn’t got a chance. Her light, feminine form can’t compete with my hard, male strength. Does this futile struggle of hers turn her on?

  It’s certainly doing it for me.

  “I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart,” I mummer as she continues to fight me. “No one will know.”

  The Dom in me takes over. It’s easy to overpower her and subdue her resistance. I exert my authority. I ignore anything but my own intentions. I’ve staked my claim. Emily belongs to me. I own her.

  My body is hard against her. So is my painfully stiff hard-on.

  I make a mental note to play out an abduction / rape scenario with her sometime, if she’s up for it. A scene like that needs serious negotiation beforehand. I can’t see it in our immediate future, but we have a lifetime together to play.

  Emily gives up her pointless attempt to escape, but her body remains rigid, her attitude nervous. It doesn’t matter. I’ll seduce her into consent. My kiss combines with a gentle caress of her sex. This eases her tension.

  I know the moment she surrenders, when she becomes pliant in my arms.

  “Spread your legs,” I command firmly. With a soft moan she quickly complies. I get an instant adrenaline rush from her submission. Christ on a crutch, she’s so damn sexy.

  I have full access now and immediately begin to use it, stroking, circling and making her swollen clit wet from her juices. “That’s it, rabbit. Who do you belong to?”

  “You, Paul,” she whimpers as sensation absorbs her. “I belong to you.” Her eyes cloud, becoming dreamy. Her pupils darken.

  “Damn right, you do. And what can I do with you?”

  A flash of mischief crosses her face, for a moment taking her out of her sensual daze. She laughs. “Whatever you want.”

  I chuckle. “Good girl.” I grip her mound, pushing two fingers deep into her sex. “Who owns this gorgeous cunt?”

  “You do.”

  “That’s right. And I want to feel this beautiful cunt of mine squeeze me as you come.”

  “Yes, Paul.” Her voice is a low, respectful whimper. I like the sound of that.

  I am the Master of her body. I’ll make her climax in five minutes or less. How do I know this? Logically, I’m aware that forcefully restraining her turns her on. The sound of my Dom voice giving her orders, taking her over and doing as I like with her, works too.

  But honestly, I think that this ability to tune into each other as well as we do comes from instinct, or some sort of natural chemistry. We just click. And it’s only going to get better the more time we spend together.

  I stroke her in the same manner as I did before she exploded last night, but I also take notice. I watch and listen for any change in her body or breathing.

  Instinctively, I catalogue her response to each touch: the area, the amount of pressure and the tempo of my stroke. With careful diligence, I repeat anything that creates a reaction, quickly spiking her arousal.

  Women can be such a mystery. Whatever worked sexually once, may be slightly different the next time. It’s up to the man to pay attention.

  Emily’s absorbed by what I’m doing. I sense and feel her body coil with tension as she nears her peak. All the signs are there. Her pulse pounds and her face flushes. Hips arching into me, her cunt tightens on my fingers. Her breathing changes – fuck, I love that sound.

  “Come for me, sweetheart,” I order her. “Come for your Master.”

  Emily makes noise, loud and getting louder. I put my lips over hers, kissing her to muffle the sound. I only pull back to give another command.

  “Look at me and keep those eyes open. Come for me. Right now. I want to watch you come.” My tone is harsh with lust.

  One last flick of her clit does it.

  “Ah, ah, ah, ah!”

  Her eyes
remain upon mine, holding on to my gaze like a lifeline. They widen, darken and flash with bliss. I feel her flood my hand with her release. Before she gets any louder, I cover her mouth with my own.

  Shit. How smoking hot is she? I could watch Emily climax all day long. For a moment I wonder what else I have to do today. Do we have time?

  If we do, I want to see her come again.

  Chapter 30.

  “Why not go out on a limb? That's where the fruit is.”

  – Will Rogers

  ~~~

  Two months later.

  It was the billboard that did it.

  I tried all of the normal things: fancy restaurants, getting down on my knees. Long walks by the lake, moonlit nights and an expensive, yet tasteful engagement ring. Honestly, I researched ideas and tips using Google on, “how to propose,” and, “romantic activities for lovers.”

  I tried humor. I wrote funny poems and made her laugh. I argued, cajoled and even begged. Nothing worked. The answer was always ‘no.’ When I pressed her, Emily told me of her fears.

  In her heart of hearts, she can’t trust me to be faithful over time. She’s terrified of infidelity. More than terrified. It’s as though, at any minute, she expects it. She’s convinced that our relationship is on borrowed time.

  It’s difficult to put her fears to rest, especially when women keep throwing themselves at me in front of her.

  By nature, I’m not a talker. Long bouts of pointless discussions that don’t resolve anything, are just not for me. Talking about ‘feelings’ is at the top of my list of things I really hate, right after having my teeth drilled without anesthetic, or a hockey puck slammed into my unprotected nuts.

  But because I love Emily to distraction, I’ve talked to her and talked to her. I’ve also listened to her.

  A lot.

  Em opened up and discussed her last three years. Her mother, Carolyn, became so depressed when her husband left her, for her best friend, that she had a breakdown. Her mom became depressed, withdrawn and suicidal.

  My poor little rabbit had to drop out of college, returning home to look after her mom, a needy woman who’d become a shadow of her former self. How can Emily imagine herself turning out like her mother? But that’s one of Emily’s greatest fears.

  Emily has so many objections. She envisions that after five or ten years of marriage, I’ll be unable to resist a younger, prettier woman. How do I argue against that?

  Her fear of infidelity is an insult to me, but I have to own it. I don’t have a history of commitment or consistency, but seriously, why would I? I’ve never been in love until I fell in love with Emily. And now I’m a goner. I’m crazy in love with her.

  She’s warned me that if she ever caught me cheating, it would be over between us. But why would I want anyone else?

  It reminds me of the Elvis Presley song, ‘Suspicious Minds.’ It’s a poignant and haunting melody, with lyrics about mistrust, jealousy, and insecurity. The woman trusts me completely in the bedroom. Why can’t she trust me outside of it?

  Another issue I dragged out of her, is the fact that she sees herself as plain and not very attractive. This doesn’t really surprise me. I think many women have this crazy idea.

  Emily worries that my head will be turned by a beautiful face, or a more gorgeous figure and then I’ll cheat. But I don’t only love her for her face or figure – I love the whole unique package: her kindness and her responsiveness. Her courage, her intelligence and her humor. And then there’s that primal urge that she has to please me.

  Just like I long to please her.

  The woman is in a league of her own. Emily ‘gets’ me. We get each other. How many people, married or not, can say that?

  On top of all that, there’s the force ten magnitude, off the Richter Scale earthquake-like orgasms we both have when we’re together.

  I can honestly say that in my entire life, I have never, ever, had better sex than when I’ve been with Emily. I don’t have to climax to slip into and stay in, the most powerful Dom-space I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  It’s such a rush.

  My little rabbit is blind to her own appeal. The only thing that I can think of to do in this regard, is to constantly remind her of how gorgeous, sexy and perfect I find her. I’ve had tons of casual sex and quite frankly, I’m over it. Why would I risk what we have for a meaningless, momentary thrill?

  But this is the real kicker and I suspect, the actual reason that she won’t marry me: Emily is afraid. She has way too much to lose.

  She says that she’s been in love with me all of her life. That’s a good thing, right? To me it is, anyway. Logically, that would seem to work in my favor. But, I’m not so sure that I see it that way anymore. She’s twenty-three years old, three years younger than I am. But she’s spent all of her life, so far, obsessively in love with me, the man that she couldn’t have.

  And what does she do now that she can have me? She doesn’t want me! Well, not enough to commit to me. What’s that about?

  I’m pretty sure that her obsession with me, her older brother’s best friend, is an excuse. I think that Emily, like me, has trust issues.

  Do you know what’s good about being in love with someone you can’t have? Your fantasy lover is perfect. You never argue with him, he doesn’t leave his dirty socks around the house, watch TV shows you hate, or embarrass you in front of your friends. You don’t need anyone else, because in your fantasies, the object of your obsession fulfills your every need.

  Emily’s affectionate, caring and loving with many people, but at no time in her life, has she become truly intimate with a man, or invested herself in a relationship. I’m her first. Well, she’s my first, too. I’ve never been as close to anyone as I am to her.

  They say that it takes one to know one. So. Hmm. It seems that we’re more alike than I once thought.

  If Emily ever fully committed to me and it all goes to shit, then she’ll have nothing. She won’t even have her fantasy lover, her life-long obsession to keep her company any more. Marrying me would really be sticking her neck out. Emily would rather be safe and guard her heart. She’s terrified that she’s going to get hurt beyond repair.

  Now, there’s a weird conundrum for you. Emily doesn’t want to marry me, because she’s afraid that I’ll cheat on her and she’ll lose me. That’ll break her heart. Hell, the thought of becoming just like her mother is probably her worst nightmare.

  But, if Emily doesn’t marry me, she’s not committed. Without commitment in the long term, something will go wrong. In her fear of risk and pain, she’s hurting herself. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Talk about a lose-lose situation.

  Anyway. I, Paul Jarman, the man who would prefer not engage in long arguments, speeches, or chats, talked to Emily. We discussed everything.

  I argued that logically, we’re together now. She’s risking the chance of getting hurt already, so she might as well marry me. What the hell. Go all the way. Why not take a slightly bigger risk?

  But my little rabbit was still not convinced.

  Luckily, the billboard did the trick.

  The billboard is set at the entrance to Lincoln City. I got a good deal with the signage contractors who do the signs for ‘Jarman’s Food Mart.’ All in all, the price of the billboard came to just over a thousand dollars.

  It was worth every penny.

  What did the billboard say, you may ask? It said: “I’m down on my knees, I’m begging you please, Emily, will you marry me?”

  I’m afraid that my fiancée only agreed to marry me from sheer embarrassment.

  Chapter 31.

  “It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.”

  – Patrick Rothfuss

  The local newspapers did some poking around and soon found out who ‘Emily’ was. Our story even made the nightly news. My poor rabbit was put on the s
pot. Everyone wanted to know her answer. Would Emily Malone jilt her boyfriend so publicly? What was her reply?

  As it turns out, she said ‘yes.’

  I never anticipated what would happen as a result of my billboard proposal. I just wish the ads for our store generated such astonishing attention. This public invasion of Emily’s privacy didn’t bode well for my relationship with Emily. In fact, it made her furious. She felt violated by the public scrutiny and blamed it all on me.

  It was all my fault.

  And here I genuinely thought that it was quite a romantic idea.

  However, as angry as Emily became, I can’t lie. I did a mental touchdown dance and patted myself on the back when my mission was finely accomplished and we became engaged.

  Boy, did we have some arguments. More like fireworks really and not just a few of them. We wound up having a two hour, ‘New Year’s Eve,’ knock-down, drag-out furious display.

  No, the billboard didn’t go over well with Emily.

  At all.

  In fact, it went over just like a pregnant pole vaulter.

  I admit, the billboard was a manipulative and rotten thing for me to do, but as they say, all’s fair in love and war. I wouldn’t take it back even if I could. When I confessed this to Emily, I also told her that I hadn’t planned to create this kind of trouble. My public proposal was supposed to be romantic.

  Although I hadn’t expected the media response, it didn’t bother me. Personally, I don’t care about many people, and I certainly don’t care what anyone thinks of me. While I was sorry to embarrass her, I’m glad it turned out this way.

  Bottom line: I wanted Emily to agree to marry me, in whatever way I could. I need her. I’ll make sure that she doesn’t regret it.

  I chat with Emily’s older brother, Reese, as often as I can get him on the phone. He’s enjoying University life too much to be bothered with me. Reese is a lot like his father, happy-go-lucky and irresponsible.

  When his dad left and his mom got sick, Reece simply shut his eyes and let Emily deal with the fallout. Don’t get me wrong, I still love the guy. He knew Emily would come to the rescue. She’s always done that. I wonder if she wasn’t around, would he have risen to the challenge?