© Mari Freeman

This short story was previously published in Coming Together: With Pride. If you like this story, all proceeds from the Coming Together books are donated to charity. Read some sexy-do some good. Check it out and read a little more.

 

EXCERPT INTENDED FOR THOSE OVER 18!

Inappropriate for younger audiences.

 

He sat at the far end of the bar, his attention on the heavy crystal glass in his thick fingers. A brush of gray at his temples set off his haunting, silver-blue eyes. A slight twitch to tense muscle flexed his jaw. His tongue reached out and captured a drop of amber liquid left on his lower lip from his last sip. Cynthia shivered and watched as he gently shook the empty tumbler and set it on the polished mahogany, pushing it toward the bar keep.

This one was no uptight accountant, no ladder climbing cube dweller. He wore a tailored jacket over a fine turtleneck sweater that looked luxuriously soft. Her fingers vibrated with the want to touch it, to explore the man underneath. Dark jeans hung low on his hips instead of the slacks that should have accompanied the jacket. Too much disguised masculinity hid under those clothes. Veiled passion danced in his eyes. No, this one worked for no one. He called his own shots; a predator with charged charisma apparent in every movement.

He took a deep breath that made him appear impatient. Was he waiting for someone? She shifted in her seat, re-crossed her legs to ease the ache of her growing arousal, the movement unintentionally getting his attention. He looked in her direction, his gaze drifting lazily up her body, ending on her face, steel blue eyes locking directly with her moss green ones. She held her breath, clenched her thighs.

The noises of the bar drifted around them. The bartender slid a refreshed drink to the stranger, but his gaze remained locked on her. She was sure he hadn’t blinked. His blatant masculinity was as arousing as his dominance was overwhelming. Appraising, then approving expressions moved over his face. No question. His intention was absolutely clear without uttering a single word. She could see his finger tap twice on the bar: I will own you.

At the realization, gooseflesh traveled down her spine, adding another sensation to the sea of responses her body was having to his gaze. If she broke eye contact, looked down, submitted in any way, she would answer the question in those silver eyes. He was counting off. Four taps, five… did she have until ten to make up her mind? Didn’t know, wasn’t sure she was ready for this. Six, seven… His lip twitched into the barest hint of a knowing smile. Eight, nine…

She looked down into her glass. An answer.

A deep steadying breath did nothing to calm her racing heart. Taking the stem of the wine glass between shaking fingers, she tried to count to ten to calm herself, but only managed to remind herself of the thumping of his finger. A test. She hoped she passed.

Closing her eyes, not lifting her head, she took a timid sip of the wine, hoping the tartness of the alcohol would ease the shaking at her ankles that threatened to run up her body as easily as his gaze had done. No such luck. She slipped one hand down to grip the edge of the bar. Her nails dug into the highly varnished wood to prevent herself from fleeing toward her room.

So many nights, alone, thinking of a nameless, faceless him, dreaming of it. Hoping to find the one who could push her past her need to control and teach her to release, teach her liberation from accountability, freedom from liability. Was this the man to possess her, to push her past the fear? She’d put herself out on the limb. Now she had to be strong enough to hold on.

She waited. Eyes closed or cast to the mahogany bar. This was why she’d come to this hotel this weekend. There were hundreds of people who lived and played in “the lifestyle” here. All sorts of toys and demonstrations filled the convention’s rooms. People in fetish gear walked the halls, unafraid and unashamed. She’d heard the rules of engagement for this and most other Lifestyle events. Safe, sane, and consensual was the mantra, but Cynthia also understood everyone’s limits were different. His kink could be far too extreme for her virgin submissive status. She was out of her mind for jumping into BDSM with this stranger. But she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to. He was gorgeous and mysterious and wore his dominance like a fine fitted coat. She wanted him, wanted to submit to him.

Moments passed, maybe hours. She didn’t know, didn’t care. The muscles in her thighs trembled, her fingers shook and still nothing. She wiggled a little as the worn leather of the stool gripped her sweat-moistened skin, tugging at the tender skin of her thigh just above her stocking. Her gaze flitted to the back of the deep wooden surface, to the open area where the bartender moved back and forth, making his living, and then back to her glass.

She wanted to look, to see his face, to reassure herself she’d correctly interpreted his signals. What if she hadn’t? Was she sitting alone at a bar, staring blankly down at nothing for no real reason? She debated. She doubted. She ached.

Uncertainty clawed at her nerves. She looked at the back of the bar again, a gentle lift of the eyes, not looking up, not looking in his direction. A drop of sweat rolled down her back, stopped by the top of her garter belt. The coolness of the wet fabric contrasted with the heat of her skin. She shivered, unable to resist any longer.

She let her gaze lift to the stranger and those silver-blue eyes.

He was gone. The barstool sat empty.

Disappointment wrapped itself around her heart. She wasn’t sure if she could go and seek another. This man had fit her fantasy in so many ways. Her body physically reacted to the loss of his presence and knowledge that tonight she would not have the experience she had waited months for. This hotel was the meeting place of one of the nation’s larger BDSM groups, and it was a good bet that one could find a willing Dom here if one went looking.

Cynthia looked back to her wine glass, felt the need between her legs. Hell, she felt it all over. Her skin crawled with the need to be touched, her heart beat with the need to be taken, and it was all wrapped up and entwined with a deeper craving. One that was much harder to name or slake.

The last year had been hell and was spent drowning in responsibilities, stress and pain. Oh, she needed far more than just sex. She needed to stop being the caretaker, the responsible party, the one that everyone else turned to for support and reassurance. She needed to give herself over to that sadly still faceless one that would resolve all that for her. Make all the decisions for her. He would take her, use her, body and soul, and decide. Decide everything. When she would come, if she would come, would all be his prerogative, at his desire. She wanted to absolve herself and only be accountable for feeling and reacting. No decisions, no accountability for action—to be only the effect, not the cause.

She looked back to the empty stool where the man with the gorgeous steel blue eyes had sat. But that was not meant to be this night, either. She had wasted the trip.

A strong hand clenched her hip, digging into skin and gripping bone, and a rush of adrenaline tore through her heart and body, leaving her flushed.

“You looked up.” His voice was thick, with deep rumbling tones, and his words a statement, not a question. He leaned in, the heat of his body teasing her back through her silk shirt. When he spoke, his face was so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, smell the expensive whiskey.

She couldn’t speak. Her throat was tight, dry. She shook her head slightly; knowing he could feel her body tremble under his hand.

“Room 217. We’ll discuss your needs. But, Red…” He pulled away, releasing her hip. “Be very certain.” The absence of the heat of his hand was the only clue he had left, or had been there at all. His departure was as quiet as his approach. She could see his back moving away in the mirror across the bar. If it wasn’t for his reflection, she might believe the encounter to be just another fantasy her mind had conjured.

She reached with shaky fingers for her wine. The last of the dark liquid was not enough to calm her fluttering heart. She drank it anyway, letting it slide over her lips and tongue. Trying to appreciate the flavor, to slow down her thoughts, to savor the entire experience, and steel herself for the promise of his warning. She pushed away from the mahogany bar, straightened her spine and her short skirt, and then turned to follow. The evidence of her certainty was slick between her legs, her own rich fragrance threatening to overwhelm her expensive perfume.

 

****

 

The door was ajar when she reached the room. She pushed it open a little more, convincing herself she wasn’t crazy for going to a strange man’s room at a hotel out of town, where no one knew where she was. But it was crazy. The door creaked as it opened. Her nervous legs wouldn’t move forward. Instead, she stepped back, and fidgeted with her skirt.

“Come in, Red.” Demanding, not inviting. She shivered and stepped forward, compelled to comply. The suite was nicer than her smaller room. The door opened to a sitting area with a couch, a high-backed chair, and a desk, all in muted earthy colors. Closed double doors presumably led to the bedroom. She swallowed her nerves. “All the way in, Sweet.” His tone was lighter, holding a lilt of laughter. “I won’t hurt you any more than you desire.”

She looked into those blue eyes. “I don’t know…” His head tilted to the left, the light from the table lamp accentuating the hint of grey in his hair. His gazed drifted over her, a slow journey from her black heels to her deep auburn hair. A slight smile curled on his lips.

“Then we’ll find out.” Lazily, he stood and moved to close the door behind her. “On your knees, Red, and we’ll see.”

He walked away again. This time through the double doors that led to the bedroom area. He left them cracked open enough that she could hear him shuffling around, a zipper either unzipped or closed. It was louder and longer than a pants zipper. His suitcase, maybe.

She kept her head down and her hands clasped behind her back, even as her thoughts were spinning out of control. Fear was taking over the excitement. Her knees began to feel the bite of the carpet. Her breathing grew faster and her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

This was it, the fight or flight instinct. Her body wanted to run from the fear, her brain was reveling in it. She wanted to taste it, to put it away in a memory she would cherish for years to come.

Every part of her wanted to get up and run. Every part, that is, but her brain. It was her brain that made her look up. Her brain that could see him slip out of his expensive slacks. It was her brain that could watch his impressive back muscles move as he slid into some lounge pants. Her brain could override that instinct, but it was a battle.

As if he could feel her muscles tensing to get up and go, he spoke to her from the other room. “Tell me, Red. What is it you want from this adventure? What do you need from me?” His voice was smooth, calm as he turned to meet her stare. “What is it that drew you to this hotel this weekend, little one?”

Cynthia locked onto his face. Showing up was one thing, letting herself be dominated was another, but his question was harder than the both of those physical actions. She licked her lips, hoping the moisture would help the words form. Nothing.

Those silver eyes never left hers as he moved into the room with her. His presence was larger than life as she knelt on the floor. He stopped just in front of her, still holding her gaze. “Let’s try something a little easier.” He knelt and brushed her newly moistened bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me what turns you on when you think of being dominated. Do you want me to spank you, Red? Tie you up? Maybe take my belt to your backside? Do you like the pain? I assume that’s what the lady requires.”

He tilted her head slightly to the side and his lips turned up to a slight smile. “You know honesty is important between us. If you don’t tell me what you need, what you want, I can’t help you.” He released her chin and the smile broadened a little more. “I assure you, I will tell you exactly what it is that makes me hot. I will tell you exactly what to do to please me.” He stood and turned toward the bar, giving her a moment to gather her wits. “Now, tell me, Red.”

That one was not a question. It was a command. He’d asked for specific information. Shifting her weight to relieve the gathering pressure on her knees gave her no relief. She swallowed. He was right, and she knew if she found the right man this question would come, and she knew the answer was important.

She took a deep cleansing breath and looked back to the carpet. “It’s not being hit that is so appealing.” He words were not as sure as she would have liked, but it was coming out. “Not for me. For me, it’s the act of being spanked or whipped. The pain, in and of itself, is not the actual turn-on.” She knew the pain, delivered by an expert touch with the right intensity, a caress at the right moment, became an enhancement to pleasure. If he were really good, the two merged, and the pain would become the pleasure. That was what she hoped for from the man slowly swirling a glass of whiskey as she spoke.

“I crave being under the power of another.” In her fantasies, that was her kink. The more she felt she would be doing something wrong, being naughty, being the bad girl, the hotter the fantasies made her. After all, who lets someone do that kind of thing to them? A bad girl, that’s who. That was the woman that she could never be in real life. That was the woman she was there trying to find.

She took a deep breath, lowered her gaze and repeated that thought to the man with the steel blue eyes who had now turned to face her. She didn’t look up when she finished. Instead, she looked at his bare feet, nervous, waiting for a response to her revealing honesty.

“Good girl,” he said, and walked around behind her. Cynthia held her breath as he bent down. Her skin tingled when he ran his hand up her spine, letting his fingers split to grasp her hair.

“From this moment on you are to follow my instructions, little one. If I don’t tell you, you don’t do it. ‘No’ is not a word with meaning here. Saying ‘stop’ will get you nowhere. When I ask if you are enjoying yourself, if the moment is good to you, say ‘green’. If things get too intense, you will say ‘yellow’. You utter the word ‘red’ and everything stops. We get cleaned up, and you head on your way. You’ll get no arguments, no attempts to convince you to change your mind.”

He tightened his grip on her hair, pulled her head back. The slight pain from the action, a small telltale sign of things to come, sent vibrations straight to her clit and convinced her she was ready to play. And this was just the man she’d been holding out to play with.

Cynthia nodded her head as his fingers tightened, not wanting to break the spell he was spinning around her with his words. She felt the need to control everything in her life slipping away as he gripped her hair.

He leaned in and kissed her. Hard. His tongue not only probing but also telling her he was going to be demanding. She could only yield to it, let her body fall against his as he pulled her to his chest.

Yield.

That was good a good word for it, for how she felt. This was not a full surrender, for she had her safe word, but she was succumbing to his will. She was willingly giving herself over to his pleasure for the pleasure of being his possession, if only for a short time. It felt magnificent, freeing, and as his kiss deepened even farther, she felt herself tremble in anticipation of the unknown.

She felt liberation. His free hand moved up her thigh. The touch was harsh. His strong fingers pressed into the flesh of thigh. Not so hard to bruise, but hard enough that the brutal touch was not like anything she ever felt and better than she ever imagined. It felt good. Oh, so good. Her body gave way again and pressed further into his. His grip loosened on her hair, and he pulled away from the kiss. “Good girl.” His words came out low; were followed by a slight brush of his lips.

He steadied her weight back on her knees and stood. “Hold out your hands.” He stepped away again, leaving her to experience the sensation of being on her knees, waiting—just as she had waited for him in the bar. Things would now move at his pace, for his pleasure, and she had no responsibility for that or even her own enjoyment. If she had a good experience, it was his doing. She trembled.

When he reappeared, she was still on her knees with her wrists held before her, waiting, following instructions. A good, bad girl.

He knelt before her again. Cynthia ventured a look into those eyes. He slightly smiled. “You can look at me right now. At some point, I will instruct you to keep you eyes down or closed.” He unbuttoned the white blouse and traced his fingers along the lines of her lacy bra. He was being deliberately gentle but then changed his tactics and cupped her breasts firmly to give them a hard squeeze.

He kept talking, keeping her attention on him, not what he was doing. “You may call me ‘Sir.’ Ask questions at any time. Other than that, I would prefer that you speak only when I ask you to respond.” Once her shirt was off, he wound a thick, black rope around her thin wrists. His gaze was dancing back and forth between his work, her breasts, and her face. “And then, I want to answer me in clear explicit terms. Do you understand these instructions, Red?”

His voice was stern, but there was a sparkle of delight in those blue eyes. It told her very clearly he was more than pleased to have her there. The realization that he would allow her to see that look in his eyes as they played made her shiver again.

This was it. The moment of no return. Yes, she had her safe word, but the experience was now real and not a fantasy. She had allowed him to bind her hands and remove her shirt. She was exposed and vulnerable and completely at his command, and her pussy was soaking wet in complete contrast to her bone-dry throat. She had to swallow more than once to get enough moisture there to speak. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her again, on the forehead. “Come with me.” He helped her stand, and paused before moving to give her knees a chance to gain purchase after they’d been bent and holding her weight for so long. Then he turned and guided her to the bedroom.

As she followed, she realized they were bypassing the bed, and then they passed the armoire that held the TV and the dresser, and he nodded for her to enter the bathroom. The marble tile was gleaming white, with dark streaks of grey that brought a very masculine look to the room. The shower was huge and could easily accommodate three or four. One wall was a complete mirror; the other hid the john.

Her legs were unsteady again when he stopped her, but not from kneeling. On the wall, next to the shower was a hook, hung a foot above her eye level. Perfect for your robe—or your bound submissive.

He turned her to face the marble wall, across the room from the mirrored sink area. Either direction she looked, they were both reflected back. He lifted her hands and slowly wound the remaining length of rope to secure it to the hook. The action lifted her arms above her head but didn’t stretch them uncomfortably.

Without speaking, he ran his hands down along the length of her arms, making her close her eyes to enjoy the sensation of his gentle touch on either side of her body. Those fingers trailed along her sides and wrapped around her waist to meet over her navel. His chest came up and pressed against hers, his feet between her high heels.

Cynthia opened her eyes as he leaned away from her body and began to unzip her skirt. It fell to the floor, and he tapped the inside of her thigh to indicate her to lift that leg, then the other. He removed the skirt, taking the time to pick it up and fold it before laying it the counter. His every move was meticulous, thought out; no unnecessary energy was used. She leaned into the wall, bracing for what would come next, holding her breath.

He turned to face her. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”

She glanced up and back to his feet as she felt the blush rising in her skin.

He moved closer and tilted her head. “Look at how beautiful you are right this minute.”

Cynthia looked at herself in the mirror as he ran his hand down her fully arched back. Her breasts were pushed forward by the position. Her stomach looked slimmer than usual from her arms being held above her head. The slightly spread position of her legs and garter belt showed off the curve of her hip and the fullness of her ass. She had to admit she looked pretty good.

His hand lifted off her ass, where it had settled while she was admiring herself, and landed with a sting. The shock rocked her forward into the wall. Before she could regain her composure and settle from the initial shock of the first spank she had ever received, he brought his palm down on her other cheek with even greater force. It stung, it was embarrassing, and it sent waves of sensation over every inch of skin.

Four, maybe five more times he repeated the stinging spanking. Cynthia rocked onto her toes to try to absorb the blows. Her body was overwhelmed with sensation before he stopped. And when he stopped, he rubbed her tender flesh and kissed her shoulder. “Close your eyes now, Kitten. Keep them closed until I tell you differently. Do you understand?”

She nodded in response. He slapped her ass again with a sharp crisp uplift to the movement, bringing off her toes. “When I ask you a question you need to give me a verbal answer. I need to know what you feel. Nodding and moaning are not acceptable replies. Now, do you understand?”

His voice was firm, deep and rumbled through her just as the spanking had. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

She gasped as his hand slid between her burning cheeks, and his knowing fingers probed her pussy for the first time. He spread her lips and pushed a thick finger into her, fucking her gently. “Good girl,” he murmured as he pulled his finger out and stepped away, leaving her warm flesh to feel the coolness of the room around her.

In his absence, her senses searched to replace the riot of input that was now missing. She heard the slight echo of traffic outside the hotel. One of her stockings was a bit twisted and the slight tug on the garter belt felt like a lover’s stoke. Her senses were singing and her body was on fire. She needed to come so badly—and he’d left her to think about it all. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, swaying her ass at the empty room in invitation.

The realization made her smile at herself. From behind her closed eyes, she was envisioning him watching her, enjoying her need. She pressed her breasts against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. She adjusted her hands to be able to hold her bindings and keep the pressure off her wrists. All the while, she was swaying her hips to an inner music she felt more than heard. Desire and need were swelling as she imagined his hungry eyes dancing over her naked body. She felt bad. Really bad. Naughty. It was so very good. The moisture between her legs told her the decision to be here was the right one.

His voice startled her out of her moment of self-revelation. “You are not to come without permission. Do you understand?”

Her heart pounded. The blood rushed to her clit in anticipation of his next move. “Yes, Sir.” She could hear the giddiness in her own voice.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Red.” The snap of leather echoed through the small marble bathroom. Cynthia’s heart jumped and her adrenaline started to pump, but her body ceased all movement. What was the toy? A flogger? A crop? Maybe it was his belt. She licked her lips and braced her self, locking her knees and leaning closer to the wall. Every second she waited, she felt her arousal level climbing.

Cynthia jumped when his fingers closed over her nipples in a tight pinch. She’d expected the strap and the surprise sent the awareness of his touch surging through her body. She was so close to coming she was afraid she would without enough warning to ask permission. She heard herself whining as he continued to twist and tug at her nipples. Her swaying had turned to wiggling as he pinched.

The cold of the metal did not come as a surprise, but the clamps were much tighter than she would have imagined. She whimpered as he attached the first one. “Talk to me, Red,” he whispered into her ear. “Green? Yellow?” He pressed against her back as if to let her know he was right with her, supporting her, his fingers trailing over her aching breast. The juxtaposition of the tender and the brutal sent fireworks through Cynthia.

“Green.” It was more of a squeak than a word, but he understood.

His breath teased the sensitive end of her straining nipple, and he kissed it, running his tongue over her breast. Her body was working overtime to reconcile the pleasure with the pain. One sensation was adding to the other. The mental aspect of the binding added even more to the erotic mixture. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to beg for orgasm or wait and see what this man had in mind next. That strap had to be close.

“I think she likes the nipple clamps,” he murmured as he rubbed his body against hers, and for the first time Cynthia realized he was now naked. She wondered why he’d not pressed his cock against her. His skin was hot and the roughness of it made her tremble. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.” She knew she sounded desperate. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to come.

His lips were against her ear again when he spoke. “Good girl.” He bit her earlobe, sending another tiny wave through her. “You can ask. You don’t have to wait for me to ask you.”

He moved behind her. Finally, his cock slid between her legs, not entering her, but stroking her thighs. Cynthia was about to cry out for relief, her nipples quivering, clit throbbing as his hands roamed her body. She couldn’t have stood still if her life depended on it.

Her high heels clicked on the marble floor as she pranced and wiggled, trying desperately to get him to touch her, to fuck her, to let her come.

“Tell me, Red. Tell me exactly what it is you want.”

“I want to come, Sir.”

“No. What is it you want me to do? Tell me what it is you want me to do to make you come. Do you want me to touch your clit, Red?”

“Oh…yes. Please, Sir.”

He pressed his body against hers. His hands gripped her hips. Cynthia bit her lip he growled into her ear. “Say it then, Red. Say it in the dirtiest most depraved way you can. Tell your Sir what you want.”

Cynthia felt her knees weaken, and he held her still. “Make me come, Sir. Rub my clit. Fuck me. I don’t care. Just, please. I need to come.”

Two fingers were immediately rubbing her clit, and Cynthia’s knees gave way as she felt her orgasm coming. “Please…I…need.”

“Come, Red.”

It was as if his words, his permission was the most delicate yet intense stroke her clit had ever felt. Her orgasm swept her like none other. It was okay to be a slut, and it was okay to come, okay to be a woman with needs, and okay to be the object of his gratification.

He lifted her hips as soon as her orgasm started to fade. “Hold your weight.”

Cynthia struggled to get her balance and acclimate to the loss of his body heat again when he pulled away. She wasn’t all the way balanced when the belt stung across her upper thigh and wrapped between her legs, the end just barely striking her still throbbing pussy lips. She gasped, struggled to gain purchase and brace for the next blow. The sting quickly turned to a lick of pleasure and sent additional mixed signals to her brain. Her dripping pussy wanted more.

The next two came fast and landed higher on her ass. She spread her legs and lifted her ass in invitation. She wanted more sensation on her pussy. Two more strikes to her ass and she was ready to beg again. “Please.” She knew she was about to cry for it.

“So soon, Red? What do you need, beautiful?” The kind tone was in contradiction to the harsh touch of a bare-handed spank.

“Please, Sir.”

“What do you want? Use the correct language and address me properly if you want anything at all.” Several sharp spanks landed directly on her swollen pussy.

Cynthia knew what she needed. Knew what she wanted, but didn’t know that she would ask for it. Never had she asked for sex in her life. But she was in such need she would grovel if that was what it took. “Please, Sir. Fuck me.” She felt the tears of embarrassment start behind her closed eyes. “Please.”

He eased behind her. “What a good girl.” His hands were caressing her face, and his hips pressing into her ass. As she spoke, he wrapped the belt around her throat. “I’m not going to choke you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” She was pressing back against him. His cock was hard against ass cheeks. She wanted it inside her so bad. “Please, Sir.”

“I’ll be right there, baby.” He pulled away, and Cynthia heard the wrapper on a condom tear and was eternally grateful he was thinking when she had not been able to put two words together. He returned before she had a second thought about that and tugged her back with the makeshift collar. He was right. It didn’t choke, but gave him control of her posture.

He arched her back and kicked the inside of one of her feet. “Spread ‘em.” His voice had deepened. She followed his instructions. “Open those eyes. Look in the mirror.”

She hesitated. Was she ready for what she was about to see?

“Open them.”

Slowly she peeked out from under her lashes and into the mirror. Afraid she’d be shocked by her appearance, she focused on his body pressed against hers. He jerked on the collar. She made eye contact with him. Those steel-blue eyes seemed to glow with passion.

“Don’t look at me, Red. Look at the beauty that you make all tied up and ready to be fucked. Look at what a fabulous slut you are.”

Cynthia looked. He was right. In her lust-filled state, with her back arched, her legs spread and this gorgeous man pressed against her ass, she looked fabulous. She felt fabulous, and she wanted him inside her instead of against her.

“Please, Sir,” she pleaded, this time her eyes locked with his in the mirror.

He leaned back just a bit and slid his cock into her wet, waiting pussy. She screamed in pleasure for the first time ever as his thick cock entered her and then stopped.

He kept eye contact as he pulled back slowly, gripping her hips with his strong fingers as he did. His face was tight with his own pleasure. “Oh yeah, you are so hot. Feel so good.” He plunged in again, lifting Cynthia off her toes and pressing her breasts into the wall.

She said something in response that she didn’t even understand. His self-affirming chuckle was the only warning she got before he started to thrust hard and fast. He held her hip with one hand and kept her movements controlled with other hand tight on his belt around her neck as he fucked her, watching her in the mirror.

His attention shifted to her ass as he lifted one hand and traced the angry red marks from his spanking as he stroked. Cynthia felt another orgasm coming fast. The satisfaction on his face was more than she could take.

“Again, Sir?” was all she could manage to say.

His eyes snapped from her backside to her reflection in the mirror. “Already?”

She was embarrassed, but orgasmic. “Yes, Sir.”

Re-doubling his efforts, he nodded, “Yes, baby, come for me.” He watched her face, and as she came, he stopped, letting her muscles grip him and stroke his cock. “You are so hot. Your face is so expressive when you come.”

Cynthia blushed, but didn’t have long to be shy. His face turned stern again and lifted her tied hands off the hook, spun her around and bent her over the sparking white marble of the bathroom counter. “Brace yourself against the mirror.”

She did. Her face was a foot from the mirror. She could see her makeup was smudged from her eyes tearing, her neck adorned with this belt, her garter belt twisted and one stocking loose and hanging around her knee. Seeing herself this way was the sexiest thing she had ever experienced.

She was his slut—and it was so freeing.

He’d not broken contact as they repositioned, and he quickly gained stride again. He watched her in the mirror as they fucked. She wondered what he was thinking. He looked very serious, very sexy. She lost concentration on his thoughts as he tugged the collar.

“Your job is to feel, Red. That’s it. The rest is my responsibility. Quit analyzing and feel me.” He pulled her head up with the leash and used his other hand to push her lower back to the counter. The action arched her further, lifted her ass higher, opening her up to his strokes. He groaned as he pushed deeper. She had to press harder against the mirror to steady herself and she closed her eyes.

“That’s it. Just experience it.”

And she did. And it was so good. Her legs no longer quivered from being bent over, and her back didn’t care that it was arched. The counter felt good, the hair on his legs felt good as it brushed the inside of her thighs, the tug on the collar felt good as he thrust, and the press of his cock inside her felt like paradise. She was going to come again.

“Sir?”

“Not yet.” It was a strained response. Cynthia looked up in the mirror. He was getting close. His face was tight, his eyes almost closed.

She strained, trying not come before him. He slowed his strokes, and she felt him swelling insider. “Sir?” she was so close and not sure she could hold it.

“No!”

She whined and watched his eyes close and felt his swell. He was coming and not letting her come with him. She felt his throbbing as his orgasm washed over him. He gripped her harder and grunted his pleasure.  Her muscles strained as she fought not to come. She was gritting her teeth. “Sir?” It was close to a scream.

He opened his eyes. The blue was even more brilliant in the bright counter lighting and his post-release state. He reached around and pinched her clit, pushing himself as far in as his softening cock would go. “Now, baby. Come now, so I can feel those muscles.”

She rocked back and let the sensation roll over her. She watched his face as she came. His pleasure that she had held it until given permission showed in his eyes. The excitement of feeling her pussy contract around his ultra-sensitive cock showed in the grimace on his lips.

His expressions and his pleasure with her added to the intensity of her release. Her entire body shook, and she gripped the glass of the mirror to try to steady herself unsuccessfully. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed onto the counter.

He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her gently on her side. He pulled the comforter over her and returned to the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a warm wet cloth and a glass of water.

Cynthia started to thank him but he kissed her like a lover before she could speak. His lips gently brushing hers. She closed her eyes as his tongue searched her lips, then entered and explored her mouth while his hands held her head.

He pulled away and gave her a drink, then toweled her silently with the damp cloth. His eyes sparkled as he concentrated on his actions. He looked as if he was cleaning up his favorite toy. Cynthia could only watch and feel the softness of the towel. There were no words to describe, no way to express her thanks to his man for showing her how wonderful submission could be.

He put the cloth on the nightstand and snuggled up behind her. Her hands were still tied, but she felt no urge to have them free. He held her for a while without words, but just as soon as she thought he was asleep, he spoke.

“Where you from, Red?” His voice sounded lulled and content.

“Charlotte.” She felt him stiffen at her answer.

“What’s wrong?”

He chuckled softly. “Nothing’s wrong. I live in Raleigh.”

It was her turn to stiffen. “That’s only a three hour drive.”

He kissed her neck and rolled her onto her stomach, his big body wrapped completely around hers. His weight felt wonderful, and she trembled. “Yes, it is.” He gripped her hair, pulled her lips to his, and kissed her soundly.

Thick fingers found their way back to her still throbbing pussy and stroked her. Cynthia felt his cock stirring back to life against her hip.

“You ready to get started now, Red?”