Michelle: The Ties That Bind (Auction Night Book 3)

by Ellie Masters

  He's been pushing me to fully embrace my submission. I want to. It's not like he's forcing me. Tank is the most patient man on the planet. I'm the one stuck in my head. If I could only get out of my way, I might find something wonderful.

  "I should paddle your ass, but I think time is what you need. Why don't you write an essay about how being open, honest, and truthful to your Dom is important?"

  He says it like it's a suggestion, but we both know it's a command.

  "Tank…please." I don't want to spend time writing out what I already know. I need to be open and honest with him. If I'm not, it inhibits his ability to lead.

  I'm whining and I hate it, but this is who we are. It's part of the power I give him and I should be thankful it's a simple essay instead of a spanking that will leave my ass bruised for days.

  "Three pages, and you'll read it to me at lunch. As for tonight, what happens will happen. It's not permanent. And you'll always have your safeword. All I ask is that you believe in us and what we can become."

  He's right about that. One night. One week. One month. Or a year. Whatever happens tonight is bounded by time. It's not permanent. There's an expiration date. I have control.

  I have control.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Good girl." He slips his hands out from under mine, cups my face, and plants a sultry kiss on my lips.

  I'm hot, panting, and wet by the time he's done. He's long, hard, and ready for round three.

  "Fuuuuck," he says with a groan. "I'm most definitely going to be late now." He rips the towel off, revealing his glorious cock, and takes a step back. Placing a hand on the shaft, he glances down at me with hunger in his eyes.

  I lick my lips because we're going for round three.

  He doesn't need to ask. I scoot off the couch and go to my knees.

  Staring up at him, I gently lean forward to lick the drop of precum off the tip. His eyes close and his hand tightens around the base of his cock.

  I take him in and swallow him whole. My fingers cup his balls, stroking and kneading. With my tongue and hands, I bring him to the brink of orgasm. That's when he pulls his dick out of my mouth, spins me around, and fingers me until I come.

  With my orgasm ripping through me, he slams his cock home, stretching the walls of my pussy. I brace against the pinch of pain, then hold on as he takes us over the edge.

  Sex with Tank is rough, hard, fast, and exquisitely brutal. He's a man who takes and claims with sex. He's not a gentle lover, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

  With us both panting and blissfully satisfied, he pulls out, slaps my ass, then heads back to the bedroom to get dressed.

  His towel lies forgotten on the floor.

  I pick it up and join him, eager to watch him dress.

  While he puts on his suit, he gives me instructions for the day. There's a list of things I need to get ready for Katy, and he wants to make sure I have everything I need.

  "I want you at the office no later than eleven. We'll meet with the investors, have lunch, and then I want you to read me your essay."

  "I won't have time to write it with everything else I need to do."

  He turns and gives me a stern look which takes my breath away. "Not my problem. Next time, don't lie to me. You'll do the essay, or we'll settle another way. Unless you want your ass burning tonight, I suggest you find a way to fit it in." He turns to the mirror and adjusts his tie. "How do I look?"

  I go to him. Despite his admonishment, I can't help but love this man. My arms wrap around him and I bury my face in his chest. Tank is a big man, well over six feet, and I'm tiny. The top of my head doesn't even reach his shoulders.

  "I'll get the essay done, Sir." Falling into our roles is as natural as breathing. My promise is an affirmation of the power I yield to him.

  He knows this, respects it, and he wraps his arm around me. Leaning down, he kisses the crown of my head. These are the connections which bind us together.

  "You've got the driver to yourself today. I called a car. Please don't be late."

  "Yes, Sir."

  I'm never late for lunch.

  Tank gathers his keys, wallet, and briefcase. He's gone with another kiss, leaving me alone to get ready for the day. It's going to be busy and now I have an essay to write. How the hell am I going to fit that in?

  My life is pretty damn perfect. As I get ready, I reflect on all my blessings.

  There's Tank. He's always at the forefront of my mind. A man built to protect others, he served six years in the Marines while getting his degree in finance. You'd think he would have come out of the Marines to pursue a more sedate career, but he spent four years as a prize fighter.

  With those winnings, he took on his first client in private fund investing: himself. Over the next few years, his client list grew. Now he manages billions. Most of his clients are other men from the club, like Master Andy, world renowned heart surgeon, Master Daniel, country music singer, Master Thomas, criminal law attorney, Master Eric, and of course, Master Edge who took his inheritance and turned millions into billions.

  The Ties that Bind is quite an exclusive club. It's where I met Tank for the first time. I entered on the arm of a wannabe Dom, was rescued from the overbearing asshole, and found myself captivated by the man who would later steal my heart.

  Graced with classic beauty—I've been compared to Marilyn Monroe—I've been bringing home pageant crowns since I was three and walking runways since I was sixteen. My body, and my looks, graced me with more money than someone my age deserves.

  Tank manages my finances as well.

  I am incredibly blessed.

  And that's the root of my issues. I don't feel like I deserve any of it. It's not like I worked hard for any of it. I was born beautiful. That beauty filled my bank accounts. And I can have any man I want with a snap of my fingers. They all come running to be with a woman like me.

  My life is a fairytale.

  Except, I don't want that. I want to be loved for my flaws, not my beauty.

  And Tank?

  He's seen a little of the ugly below the surface, but I keep it locked down tight. If he saw my flaws, the man would run—or worse.

  He could stay because of my beauty and ignore my flaws.

  I'm one fucked-up bitch. Never happy. Never satisfied.

  I'll make the world's worst slave, and I don't want to be that. Not for Tank.

  He deserves the best.

  Chapter 3

  My phone rings and I smile when I see it's Katy.

  "Hey, Katy. You excited about tonight?"

  "I wish I could be." She sounds nervous. "Are you coming? Tank said you would."

  A quick glance at my watch shows me I still have half an hour before I'm supposed to meet her. We're going over the catering menu and last minute preparations.

  "I'll be there." I place the call on speaker and finish wrapping my hair up and off my face. It's long, wavy, and easy to tie up. "I want you to do something for me."

  "Michelle…" Her frustration practically rolls out of the phone.

  "It won't take but a minute."

  "I just don't have time…"

  I can feel her spinning out of control. With Master Andy no longer around to calm her, she needs a little help.

  "Hey!" I shout to get her attention. "I want you to breathe. Just breathe." I lower my voice, making it calm and soothing. "I want you to breathe with me for one damn minute. You need to slow the fuck down."

  "Does Tank know you curse like a sailor?"

  "He does." And he generally doesn't approve. "Don't you dare tell him."

  I'm not forbidden from cursing. Hell, I'd never get through any of our scenes without a Fuck you, Mother-fucking-bastard, or What the fuck spilling from my mouth.

  Tank is an uncompromising, demanding, and mean son-of-a-bitch. Those are qualities I love in a Dom and my colorful verbal expression is a part of the release I need from those emotionally powerful and sexually charged scenes.

  But
cursing during everyday conversation?

  Yeah, he hates that.

  Katy knows this and she will throw me under the bus.

  "Well, I just wanted to know if you were coming. I've got a ton of stuff to do, and…"

  "Shut up for one damn moment and breathe. You've got this, girl. We're all here for you."

  "I know. It's just…"

  "One minute isn't going to kill you."

  "Michelle…"

  "Breathe in. Two. Three."

  I'm not letting this go. Not when my friend needs me. Katy needs a calming influence, someone who can take her in hand, ground her, and provide the guidance she needs.

  "Hold. Two. Three." I keep up the count.

  From the huffing on the other end of the line she's not doing it, but that's okay. I can be a persistent bitch when I want.

  "Breathe out. Two. Three." This is a battle of wills I will win.

  "Michelle—"

  "In. Two. Three. Hold. Two. Three."

  There's a huff of frustration.

  "One. Two. Three. In. Two. Three.."

  I keep at her. It takes longer than the minute I promised, but I finally get her onboard with a little meditative breath work. While I count, I bustle about and finish getting ready.

  "How do you feel?" I glide a little lip balm over my lips and press them together. I used to love bright red lipstick, but Tank doesn't like it when I turn his dick bright cherry red, or when I leave lipstick stains on his briefs. I told him to switch to dark colors, problem solved, but he loves his Tighty-whities.

  I think someone noticed one time too many in the men's locker room.

  No more bright lipstick for me.

  "I feel better," Katy says. "Thanks. Andy used to know exactly what I needed when I got stressed. I miss him."

  "I know you do. We all do." But she feels it deeper than any of us. "He's going to be so proud when you pull off tonight's event. I'm sure he's looking down on you. It's going to be spectacular."

  "It will be, but there's so much to do."

  "And you have an amazing assistant to help you with all those pesky final details." She can't see me smile, but I'm really happy for my friend. "I'm headed out and I'll be there before you can blink."

  I'm going to be ten minutes early, which is good. There's an essay I need to write and I bring along my notepad and pen.

  Twenty minutes later, the driver pulls up outside the catering office. Katy is already inside. Dressed all in black, except for a white scarf, she's still in mourning. But my friend is a force of nature. She's vibrant and dead set on making tonight brilliant.

  "Thanks, James." I say goodbye to the driver and tell him I'll let him know when I need a pick-up. It's only a little after eight in the morning. I have a couple hours with Katy before I need to meet Tank.

  I clasp my notebook under my arm and head inside.

  "Hey, girl." I hold my arms out and collect Katy in a big hug.

  She squeals a little. "I'm so glad you're here." She turns to the table. "We're going over the final menu. Do you have the RSVPs?"

  The Gala is an annual charity auction at The Ties that Bind and is generally well attended by our membership.

  It's a great event to reconnect with everyone and with all the proceeds going to charity, just wonderful overall. We donate the proceeds of three separate auctions to our designated women's shelter.

  It's more than a simple shelter though, providing financial assistance, job training, temporary living accommodations, childcare, and basically anything a woman escaping an abusive situation needs to get back on her feet.

  We generate millions over the span of this one evening.

  And that third auction?

  Yeah, that's the one that has me worried.

  I pull out my phone from my bag. "Hang on. Let me check."

  We use an electronic RSVP program. Katy has access to it and can pull up the numbers herself. That she doesn't tells me exactly how scatterbrained she is today.

  A woman comes out from the back of the store. "Hello, you must be Michelle. Katy was telling me all about you. My name is Linda."

  "It's nice to meet you." I shake the woman's hand. "I have the final numbers."

  "Oh, that's great." She looks at me expectantly.

  "We have one thousand and eight confirmed attendees." I glance at my screen. "There are ninety maybes. Only four declinations."

  "Wow." Linda's eyebrows practically climb up her face.

  It's an impressive count with a one-hundred percent response rate. That's unheard of for any organization, but the rules of our club are strict for a reason.

  In a club where dominance and submission is a part of our culture, we demand obedience from all our members. Part of that is to RSVP to club events when general calls go out. Failure to do so is grounds for probation. A second instance results in dismissal from the club.

  Our membership is motivated to not only respond, but to actually make an effort to show up. There are always reasons people can't make an event. Ty and Beverly are dealing with a hospitalization and potential hospice arrangements for Ty's father. Candice and Randall are attending their son's wedding in Peru. Those are our only declinations.

  Linda gives a nod. "Perfect. We were expecting about that number." She turns her attention to Katy. "We built the menu to serve eleven-hundred. We'll tweak that up just a bit. I try to plan for a ten percent overage for last minute arrivals."

  "Sounds great." Katy grabs my hand and pulls it into her lap.

  I think I'm her anchor for today.

  "I prepared samples if you want to taste those?" Linda's attention shifts to Katy. "I'll get the samples and then you girls can taste. Just give me a second. I'll be right back."

  Katy and I look at each other. I didn't eat breakfast precisely because we would be tasting all the yummy treats. Our event is heavy hors d’oeuvres and sweet treats.

  Katy glances over at my stuff. "What's that for?"

  With my phone, pretty much everything I do is electronic. It's unusual to have pen and paper. I pull the tablet over and give a huff.

  "I have to write an essay."

  "An essay? On what?"

  "Why I shouldn't lie."

  Katy giggles. "You lied to Tank?"

  "I didn't mean to."

  "I'm surprised he gave you an essay to write." Her brows pinch together. "I didn't think you two did that kind of thing?"

  She's referring to our dynamic and I sense her confusion.

  "We've kind of been moving things out of the bedroom." I give a little shrug. "I don't know. I guess he's kind of been introducing little things into everyday life."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yeah."

  "And?" Her brow wings up with interest.

  I know what she's asking. There are many flavors of this thing we do. We call normal, regular people vanilla because they like their sex one way. There's no extra spice involved. Nothing kinky and nothing which explores the depths of dominance and submission, or the more extreme Master and slave dynamics.

  We're like hundreds of different flavors, picking and choosing those which resonate within us.

  For me, it's kinky sex. I love bondage and impact play. When I met Tank, that's all I really liked. I'm what's called a sensationist.

  Not a sensationalist.

  That's someone who likes to make a big deal out of the smallest thing.

  I'm someone who enjoys sensation play. It can be light as a feather or as hard as a belt across my ass, or the sting of hot wax hitting my skin. I soak it all in.

  Tank slowly introduced me to the power which sizzles between a Dominant and his submissive and I have to say…it resonates within me.

  I like that shifting of power.

  "I never really thought of myself as a submissive, you know." It's an admission which is hard to make.

  "I know." Katy was there the night Tank rescued me from an abusive wannabe Dom. That guy was banned from the club that night. And she's been with me as I've
gone deeper into the lifestyle with Tank.

  "It didn't take long though, did it?" Katy glances at the traffic outside and her brows pinch together.

  She's right about that. Within a month, I found myself on my knees, slipping the word Sir out when I spoke to Tank at the club. It simply felt right.

  He never asked it of me at home.

  We moved in together six months after we met. The sex was the same as what we did in the club, but I didn't kneel before him—except to give him blowjobs—and I never called him Sir.

  At some point, that gradually changed. I changed it. I'm the one who called him Sir at home, and boy did things shift.

  We flip between being boyfriend/girlfriend and Dom/sub within the space of a sentence. Like this morning.

  It takes one word and everything shifts between us.

  I think about what Katy says. She's right. It didn't take long for me to embrace my submission. I've always been a bottom during sex. Topping isn't my thing. But this submission thing is new to me, and it's complicated.

  "No, it didn't take long, but that doesn't mean I want to be his slave."

  "Why not?" She asks the question like it's not a minefield of all kinds of things. Things I'm not ready to face.

  I don't let her see me shudder. "Why don't I want to be his slave?"

  "Right. What is keeping you from taking this step with him. Let's face it, the auction is besides the point. It's more a reason to do it than not. But why? What's keeping you from making the leap?"

  Chapter 4

  Honestly, there's a very fine line separating a Dom/sub relationship from a Master/slave dynamic. Some people might argue it's nothing more than an academic discussion. But there is a major difference to me.

  I just don't know why I can't verbalize it. You know, put my thoughts into words that actually make sense.

  It's hard talking to Katy about this.

  She's been a slave for decades. It's as natural as breathing to her and as essential. I'm not the only one concerned about her ability to manage her life in the absence of a Master. She can't imagine a life where she's not fully committed and owned by a man.