"Mmm . . ." Bella snuggled into Edward's side.
He pulled her into his chest, and she ran her hand down it.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked.
"Sir . . . I want to, but I . . ." she trailed off.
"When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it completely and truthfully. Let's try this again—why aren't you sleeping? Are you scared because of what happened with Tim at the club?"
"Sir," he reminded her.
"Can I ask you something before I call you Sir?" she asked.
"You may." He lightly dropped his chin onto her head and ran circles on her back with his fingers.
She inhaled and exhaled so forcefully, the bed moved a little. "I have a problem, and I don't think you're gonna like it. So, I have to ask, when I'm this tired, but also worked up, is it okay if when I'm in my own goddamn bed, I don't call you Sir?" She sniffed.
He sat her up, turned on the little side table lamp. "What's going on?" He eyed her.
"Nothing. I just . . . I don't want to play these games with you right now," she said, and her eyes shifted to the wall.
"I'm not playing games—never have. And if you think for a second I'm going to allow you put that mask back on that's so thick and scarred, then you don't know me at all." He went onto his knees, and settled his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me."
"This feels like a game." She refused to cast her glance his way.
"Bella . . . I swear to God, I'm not toying with your emotions. What have I done to warrant this reaction? You asked me to get rid of my sub, Melissa, and I did that. You needed to be kept safe tonight, and I've done that."
"She . . . I didn't like seeing her . . .Sir," she tacked on at the end, and said it like it was a bullet to his gut.
"Well, I had no control over that, did I? Because one little brunette forgot to let her Dom know she was going to show up after adamantly stating many times she'd rather have a thong shoved completely up her crack and disappear for a week before stepping foot in that place." He shifted forward, tipped her head up to see if she'd look at him.
Her neck flushed.
"Tell me this . . . When you've felt afraid in the past, how did you react? Did you hide under the covers?" he asked, scrutinizing her face for a reaction.
"No. Not exactly. I . . . Well, I masturbated. A lot."
"Because you were turned on from the rush of adrenaline?"
She made a face of distaste and then cut him a look of disapproval. "I don't think so."
"Then what? Share with me, and I'll share something with you," he offered.
"Yes, I most assuredly will."
She blinked and picked at her shirt. "Well, it's the only way I can get my mind to relax, and it's the only distraction that works for me. So, I got myself off a bunch."
He fought off a grin. She really was insightful when she stopped fighting herself and him. "Well, that stops now. You're no longer allowed to masturbate without my permission. All of your orgasms belong to me. They're mine."
Her eyes went wide and her breath came out in a slow hissing sound. "You can't do that, Sir."
"I can, and I have. If you need help with this tonight—you need one to relax—then I'll oblige."
"I wasn't asking you for help. I was kind of thinking maybe I needed a few minutes of privacy so I could take care of myself," she mumbled, ducking her head down. "I didn't realize I was supposed to ask you to touch myself, so I was trying to figure out how to get you to leave the room."
He sighed heavy and low. "So, instead of saying, 'Sir, I don't want you to go home, but is there any way you could go sleep out on the couch,' you decided to pick a fight and try to piss me off? This was your strategy?" His voice was stern, but steady.
"Well, no, I . . ."
"Bella, that's not gonna get you fucked. I know enough about you by now to see when you're being manipulative." She opened her mouth to protest, but he settled his index finger over her lips. "Not on purpose. I'm not saying you even realized you were doing it. But I also know that look you get when you're trying to get a man's attention. You exaggerate your breathing so your breasts stick out; you tip your head down so you look like you're not trying to get their attention. Even though we're already here in your bed, and you were lying down next to me, you still did all those things. Then add in you stroking my chest—yeah, you were trying to push buttons to get me to fuck you. Sorry, I don't operate that way."
She pushed his hand off.
"Thanks, Freud, but that was not what I was trying to do at all." She pulled at her shirt to lengthen it.
"Another distraction?" He tipped her head back up again. "Bella. Lie down."
"I'm not tired anymore, Sir."
"This isn't about sleep."
Her brow creased, and concern filled her eyes. "This isn't punishment either, since we haven't set clear boundaries yet."
"Because you're not my Dom," she repeated.
"I sure as hell am. You agreed to needing my help, and if a title bothers you, then we'll need to figure out how to work around that, but for all the arguing you're doing, and all the resistance, you know deep down inside you're my submissive. We'll work on your acceptance as we go, but for tonight, I'm gonna give you what you need, but not in the way you think you need it," he said.
Her cheeks lifted as her eyes narrowed at the corners. "This makes no sense at all."
He reached out and stroked her cheek. "Let's start with this. You may not want me to say I'm your Dom, or you're my submissive, but you will at least show respect. I want you to say Sir each and every time you address me. Even at work when I call you." He nodded at her.
"Why? How is this helpful?" She frowned.
He growled low in his chest. "If you were a teacher in a classroom and you had a student address you, what would you prefer? Would you want them to call you by your nickname of Bella, or Ms. Swan?"
"Bella," she said too quickly. Her eyes shifted away again.
"Liar. Rule number one, and the most crucial one—you never lie to me. Never. If you do, I'll be forced to punish, and I don't wanna do that to you. I want to show you who you are, and help you." He ran his thumb across the bottom of her chin to get her eyes on his hand. Her gaze predictably followed. "Good girl."
"I'm a woman," she whispered. Her eyes went heavy as his thumb moved up to her lips.
"Not anymore you're not, because you're mine. And in this instant, you feel small—you're hiding. I'm coaxing that little girl out of the covers, and I'm gonna show her the mirror so she can see who she is. For now, I am Sir, and you are my little girl."
"I hate these games," she said. She grabbed his wrist, but she cupped her hand there, supporting his arm, rather than trying to force him to move it. She was obviously very conflicted.
"What kind of games do you like, then?"
"I don't know, but you don't even . . ."
"What is this Dom not providing for you?" he asked, his voice low.
She looked unsettled and shifted a bit. "You don't even kiss me. I need that. I need a man to at least want to do that, otherwise I can't be intimate and share a damn thing with him." Her fingers dug into his wrist. "I need . . ."
"You want to hear me say I love you, and I want you, and to kiss you until you're dizzy?"
She nodded and tears flooded her eyes.
"And you think I should give those away freely without any regard to what I need or want?" he asked.
She blinked hard and slow, those fat tears spilling down her cheeks, almost gutting him. "Do you know how many times a man, any man, has ever told me he loves me? Or that he's proud of me? Or that I do anything right at all?" her voice broke and shook him to the core.
"Tell me." Two simple words that she would obey, or this conversation was going to take a drastic turn.
"I can't. Because there's nothing to tell, Sir. I don't like being bossed around." Her hand went lax and fell off his wrist, her shoulders slumped forward and she wore a glassy-eyed look. She barely breathed.
He laid her down on her back, turned the lamp off on the side table. "I hope to eventually tell you all those words, but when I do, it'll because they're true, my little one, not because you want a fantasy." He stroked his hand down her cheek. "I do want you to know though, that I care about you very much, and think about your welfare every moment of the day. That will never stop."
He could hear the muffled sound of her cries.
"I can't do this with you. I can't reach for something I'll never have. It'll break me," she whimpered. Her center caved in on her, and she turned over onto her stomach and crushed her face into her pillow.
"Find out what it means to love yourself first. You can't love someone else or let them love you, if your heart's so closed off." He dragged his hand down her back then pushed it between her and the mattress.
"What're you . . . ?" Her head popped up.
He kissed her temple. "Shhh . . . Sir's gonna show you something. No games. Just opening a door you're too nervous to touch," he said.
His fingers slipped past her shirt and he circled her navel with his fingertips. He went onto his side, his body lengthened out next to hers. His other hand settled heavy on her lower back, steadying her.
She blinked and stared at him with a blank expression. "I can't," she whispered, her mouth a few inches from his.
He leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, then when she moaned, he let it gradually build.
When he broke away, she leaned toward him, her eyes heavy and marred with the weight of her world, attempting to bury her once more.
"Again," she whimpered.
"Sir," she said, her eyes softening, and her voice hitching.
"Oh, that's a really good little girl. I'm going to touch you now the way you need." He slipped his fingers passed her loose shorts and into her panties.
She gasped a little, and her chest rounded away from the mattress.
"I want you to imagine Sir holding you, taking care of you, making you happier than you've ever been," he whispered in her ear.
He slid on top of her, his chest hugging her shoulder blades, and his stomach pressed into her lower back. "This is all you do—right now, you think of what Sir does to take care of you." He pulled up for a second and removed her pajama shorts and panties in one long dragging motion.
He waited to see if she'd protest, but she lay still, her eyes closed with her face relaxed.
His fingers smoothed over her wonderfully rounded cheeks and then he slid them down the backs of her thighs. "Who're you thinking of, little one?"
"And how does it feel? What color are we?"
"Okay." His jaw tensed. She took a breath and corrected herself, "I mean, it feels nice, and green, Sir. We're green . . ."
"Good. Sir likes to hear that. Good girl." He paused and cleared his head for a second, with an exhale. "Right now, in this moment, you will think of me molding you, making you into what you want to be. Not what you think you should be." He stroked her inner thighs, explored her outer lips, plumping them and making her hips lift.
"Sssssfffffaahhh," she sucked in a quick breath when his fingers edged at the slit.
"You told me your fingers weren't able to get you off without a lot of effort. That had to be really frustrating for my little one. Perhaps she thinks she's dirty, but she's really too innocent. Does Sir need to teach her how to be his good little slut?"
"Mmmmyyyyaagawwwd," she groaned.
"What did you say? Is that who you need right now? Is that who's touching and giving this to you?" He rimmed the opening so slowly, she almost started shaking with need. "Who's giving you what you need? Hmm?"
"You are, Sir."
"Who's orgasm is this?"
"No one else's," he said, his voice smooth and yet sharp enough to cut glass.
He spread her legs with his, pushed his left hand down onto her left shoulder blade, trapping her in place.
Her arms suddenly flew out.
"Put those hands down, now. You grip behind your head or hang onto your pillow, but if you touch me . . ." He stopped mid-sentence.
"Yes, Sir," she mewled.
Her fingers interlaced behind her head.
Fuck. His mouth watered and he twitched. "That's beautiful. Perfect and so right."
"It's not," she said, shaking her head a little, and her voice sounded a little too heartbreaking.
He swatted her ass as a warning. She blinked, but nothing more.
"If you need to safeword, you do it, but don't you contradict me. You can't see what I see." He leaned over her; pressed a large amount of his weight into her back. Right as he angled his body to the side and found his way to her mouth, he slipped his tongue inside and simultaneously pressed two fingers inside her lush, wet pussy. Oh, God that was good. "Whose sub are you?"
"Yours, Sir," she said, a whimper trapped in her throat.
"That's right. Such a beautiful thing when you let go—a good girl like you knows to trust her Dom. She knows he'll keep her safe and protected." His tongue darted out and moistened his bottom lip.
She had let go of the back of her head and fisted the bottom of her pillow the moment his mouth approached hers.
He stroked her insides, licked her lips and then pulsed his tongue across the roof of her mouth.
She tried to release her hands from the pillow and turn over, but he had her firmly locked down in place with his bodyweight. He pressed her down harder, and when he did, her jaw relaxed, allowing his tongue deeper inside.
She moaned, and he let go of the kiss.
Her back arched, her mouth searching for his, and it made her ass curve deep, allowing his fingers to plunge and curl; move in a way he knew she'd be unable to resist.
Her pussy greedily sucked his fingers in and drenched them. Right as a high pitched whine peeled out of her throat, he stopped his hand. "Say, 'Sir, I'm your submissive, and I'm ready to open up to you. No more hiding, and I give you my trust.'"
"Shit," she ground out.
His fingers moved once more, but this time he prodded that G spot, circling it relentlessly. "You wanna learn about punishments right now? I'm up for that lesson," he whispered into her mouth.
Her lips remained parted, searching him out. "No, Sir."
"Then you say it. It's in your heart; it's in your blood—stop killing yourself over this. You're beautiful. You want me to be proud of you? Then show me who you are—you're my slut. You're a loving, sweet, intelligent submissive, and it's a wonderful thing." Her G spot was tender and juicy, milking a little, making the sexiest sounds imaginable as he kneaded it.
"Sir, I forgot what to say," she said, straining her neck back.
He moved his free hand to cup the front of her throat and drummed his fingers along the column of her neck. It made her tip her head back in a more exaggerated way.
"Say whatever you have inside your heart. Tell me what kind of a sub you are. Tell me what a slut you are for this Dom," he said. The two fingers inside her traced around the edges of her G spot.
"Ahhhhh-ah . . . Oh, fuck!" she cried out.
"My slut likes it when I do this. And I love to hear her make that sound, so I'm gonna do it again. Over and over, and eventually she'll tell me who she is," he said, his teeth grazing along the back of her shoulder as he went.
Once more—fingers splayed inside her a little, rounding that spot. He pressed his fingers together then parted them; back and forth in a scissoring motion. "My little slutty girl gets really wet when I do this, and even if she thinks she's bad and doesn't deserve it, she knows she wants it. Doesn't she?"
She nodded, closed her eyes, licked her lips then sucked them in. A look of agony crossed her face and her brow tightened.
"Thank fuck, my naughty little one knows how to please her Dom, because he's really hard for her. She makes him feel so good when she shares things with him. When she tells him about her day; what she likes, what she doesn't. And when she says he makes her feel safe, his heart gets bigger, because there's nothing better than hearing that."
She gasped when he pressed a little into that G spot. God, she was squirting now. He loved that, and his whole chest flamed as he imagined having his tongue there to slurp it up.
"What do you think happens though when his gorgeous slut chooses to shut him out, and refuses to share when she's afraid? How can he help her?" He pulled his fingers out, painted her lips with her pussy juices and sat up.
He released his hold on her.
A ragged yelp flew out of her the second the pressure was gone.
"Isabella, you think this is a game? I think it's your lifeline, and I don't fuck around with a sub's life. If you're gonna do this—you commit to me. You be my sub, and you own it. If you don't want this, then you tell me now to my face. No more hiding. You trust me, or you don't."
She turned onto her side, curled into a ball and stared at him with her massive, dark bedroom eyes, almost swallowing up her face. "Stay," she said.
"I will choose if I stay or go. You say right now who you are and what you want. If you tell me to go rather than tell me what I've asked, then that's it. You won't see me again unless you choose to show up at the club with your friends, but I'll stay out of your way," he said.
Her legs clamped together tightly.
"Say it," he said. "You have the power. Say what you want. Choose your path," he said, standing up.
"This submissive is sorry she displeased Sir," she said, her hands tucked up under her chin, and suddenly, she burst into tears. "I'm sorry . . . So sorry, Sir. I don't know . . . I want to, but I'm really fucking scared. Tonight . . . That could've been me instead of Alice. And you left me with some other Dom I didn't know . . ."
He crashed onto the bed, had her tucked up in his body immediately.
"I would never leave you in harm's way. There's no way I'd ever do that. I know that Dom well, and I trust him implicitly. You could've always used your safeword as well. I'll always listen if you use it, and fix whatever's wrong."
"Okay, sir." She shifted a little, and her face was now serene and her eyes much calmer.
His eyes roamed over her. She really was beautiful and so sweet when she allowed herself to be vulnerable. "You've made me so proud tonight," he cooed, petting down her hair.
"Do you promise, Sir? You'll save me?"
"Every damn time," he answered.
"Sir, if I let you down again . . ."
"You won't. Impossible. You took the leap, and I've caught you."
She exhaled and her whole body softened.
That's when he knew—this was gonna be the best thing he ever did.
Bella looked at her phone. Edward was calling. Her insides lit up and bounced a little even though they barely parted a few hours ago. He'd set out clothes and shoes for her to wear to work and then went home.
"Yes, Sir, I'm here for you," she answered.
"Oh, there's my little girl's voice—smooth as silk, and I'm hard already." She sucked in her gasp, held it tight in her tummy. He continued, "My sub didn't know she did that to her Dom, did she?"
"No, Sir," she said.
"I'm coming to see you. You will stand either in front of your desk, waiting with your hands clasped behind your back or you will sit on your desk with your hands gripping the edge of the desk. You are not to touch me when I approach you. Is that clear, little one?"
"Sir, may I speak freely?"
"You may, and thank you for being respectful and using the proper tone and title," he answered.
"When you call me little girl . . . Well, I . . . I get awfully close to yellow." She bit her lip, closed her eyes and tipped her head back. This was going to piss him off for sure.
"A hair's breadth away," she said, breathily. "It reminds me of what my dad used to call me, Sir."
"Thank you for sharing that, but next time, you tell me these things upfront. Don't let me keep doing something that hurts you or gets in the way of your progress. And I don't want to have to keep fishing for more information." He paused and exhaled. "Okay, you're not my little girl anymore. You're my little one, instead."
"Thank you, Sir." She dropped her head and stared at her feet. Shit. He was coming here? This morning she chose to ignore his choice of clothing and shoes for her, wearing something else much tighter and more revealing. What would he do to her for this infraction?
Her belly tightened at the thought of a number of things he might do.
"Sir, I have to tell you something else," she said, hesitant, her voice soft and breaking.
"If it's that you—"
"Please, don't be upset, but I wore something else to work, other than what you chose for me. I couldn't do it, Sir. I know you'll be upset with me now, and maybe punish me, but I can't take it when you tell me how to dress," she blurted, then covered her hand with her mouth.
He chuckled. "Does this have to do with your father as well?"
She nodded. "It does, Sir. He used to boss me around and tell me certain outfits made me look fat, or like a boy, or even a . . ." she leaned forward and whispered ". . . slut."
He growled. "You are not a slut—you are my slut. And I love thatabout you. It makes me very proud of my sub. You will always be my slut. And you are no longer my little girl. You're now my secretary. No one else's. Your only boss is me. I'll set up a portion of your closet for your work approved clothes. You may pick each morning from that selection which outfits you will wear, and I'll be buying you new clothes for this very purpose. That way I control what you wear, but you get to pick it out so you have some sense of independence."
She huffed and gripped the back of her neck, her feet shuffling. Her nauseousness over this was unsettling.
"You will wear those clothes even after work until I come and see you. Only then will I say if you can change. Every day, you are to wear your hair down. Never up. Once you get home, you may put it in a ponytail, braid or pin it up how you like. I insist you do this, Isabella. I want it out of my way, so when I want to bite that sinful neck, there's nothing in my way," he said.
"I have a gift for you. I'm leaving now. Get in the spot I told you, and assume one of the positions I explained. Wait for me. If somebody stops by at your office, you tell them you're on a break and will get to whatever they need in a half hour." His low, guttural speech was setting her on fire. She was so wet, it was unreal, and God, after the way he was fingering her last night, and never let her come . . .
Her legs slid together and she clenched her jaw closed.
"You will also find a place in your office where we'll have some privacy, and I can do with you what I please," he said, and then took a deep breath. "See you in a few, my sexy secretary. I have great expectations for you."
"I'll try my best to please you, Sir," she said.
"You don't have to try—because you'll do it and succeed. I know you can make me proud just like you did last night. Be there in a bit." He ended the call.
Her eyes combed the room and she gaped. A place in here he could do whatever he wanted to her?
What the hell was he thinking? He knew her office had glass windows by the door. Her eyes shifted about like a cat chasing a mouse—all jerky and spastic.
Bella slipped off her heels, moved a coat rack that had been in a corner to now sit in front of one of the windows. Better, but it wouldn't really deter somebody from getting a glimpse if they really wanted to see what was going on.
Next, she found a plant by the front window, overlooking the city. Shit. That thing was heavy.
She gripped her fingers around the edge of the planter, heaved and grunted as sweat collected at the back of her neck.
"Oh, God!" she groaned. Her hair was up.
After she found the plant a new spot by the door, where it covered most of the other window, and made her entire room look off-kilter, she ripped the pins out of her hair, kicked her shoes under her desk and sat on the edge with her hands in her lap.
Her legs swung back and forth like a child, but inside she was thinking thoughts that were less than innocent.
What would he do to her? Would he fuck her in here? Oh Christ, please don't let their first time be at work. So unromantic.
Maybe he'd finger her again, and this time let her come?
Her chest heated and she was so warm, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her tight blouse. This was okay, right? He called her his slut.
A wave of goose bumps traveled up her inner thighs, like a solid invitation, beckoning him inside.
After fretting over what he might possibly do and say to her, and about ready to throw herself out the door and run away, her door opened.
"Well, I'm already proud." The door clicked closed. "And hard as fuck," Edward rasped.
She started to look over her shoulder then thought better of it.
"Hands behind your back. Grip your elbows instead of the desk," he said.
Claaap, claaap, claaap.
His heavy footsteps on the carpeting were doing things to her as her arms went behind her back and she did as she was told.
"Don't touch. Be a good little secretary," he purred. He set something down on the desk next to her. It was gift wrapped and looked like it might be a book. When she leaned to get closer to it, he blew across her cheek. Then, suddenly, her hair was pushed away from her right ear and a lick ran up the lobe.
"You may speak, but you will call me Sir or boss. Nothing else." He played with her hair for a moment and then settled himself between her legs. "You look beautiful, but you're right—I don't approve of this outfit. These are mine to look at and hold. What do you think the dicks around here are thinking of my secretary when they see her wearing this? Hmm?"
His hands drifted from her hair, down her shoulders and landed on her breasts. Her chest heated. His thumbs swiped her nipples, making her breath trap in her throat and her chest cave in.
"You wanna know what I brought you?"
"Yes, Sir." She swallowed, and a wave of heat passed from her throat and settled low in her belly.
"It's for you—my naughty secretary—to keep notes. Any time I call you or talk to you, you are to write down what I say."
Her eyes shifted up to his face, then deflected when she saw his smirk. "All of it, Sir?"
"Yes, all of it. And as soon as you're alone and I'm done with my slut, you're going to write down how you feel. For five minutes, you journal, and I may choose to read it later." He handed her the gift. "Open it."
Her hands trembled as she slowly tore away the wrapping. It was a simple black leather bound notebook. She had no idea what to say.
"What if I don't know what to write, Sir?"
"You have feelings. Put them on paper. It can be about how you feel about me, how you feel about being a sub—things you're unsure of. And if you want to make sure I read something, dog-ear the page. If you think you'd rather I didn't read something, put a star up in the top corner. I may choose to read it anyway, but then I know your preference." He cupped her neck. "Now, give me those gorgeous big eyes. You're my secretary now. Set the book aside, arms behind your back, and you stay still while I do this."
Her eyes flashed wide and her clit throbbed instantly.
"Do what, Sir?" Her voice rose in pitch.
"Do whatever the fuck I desire to my secretary, because I have dirty fantasies about her all the time."
She stood up. "You do?"
He swatted her ass for being disrespectful and not using his title. "Sir," he growled.
"Sorry, Sir. Can I make it up to you somehow?" She was mentally rolling her eyes at herself. Most of the time she felt like an idiot, and now she sounded like one, trying to pretend she could role play with him as his naughty, fantasy secretary.
"Yes, you can. You're gonna relieve my thick hard cock, since you made it this way. And when you're done, you're going to take a note of what I want you to do tonight when you wait for me at your home," he said.
His fly slowly inched its way down each agonizing tooth, and she suddenly squeaked, "But, Sir, you didn't ask me where the place was I found for us to do this," she blurted.
Her arms unlatched from each other and she squeezed her hands on her thighs.
"I can see restraints are a must for this secretary. I'm glad I came prepared." He chuckled in delight.
Her eyes squeezed shut, real tight and she mouthed, "Shiiiit!" through an exhale. "Sir, I'm at work."
"So you keep saying," he replied. "I took care of it. We won't be interrupted. Now . . ." He cupped her jaw. "Kneel, my secretary. You don't think about anything other than doing what I tell you. I'll stand in front of you, and you'll take a spot where the desk will hide most of what you're doing."
"Most?" Her throat went absolutely dryer than it ever had before. She swallowed what felt like a bowling ball.
"Kneel and say 'Sir' while you're doing it, or I might move you right in front of the windows for this," he said.
Her tongue clicked, and she squeaked, "Yes, Sir." She slid off the edge of the desk, kicked her shoes out of the way and knelt in front of him. Her whole back hunched over and her shoulders rolled forward as she gazed up at him. It was uncomfortable, and she felt like an imbecile down here. Why couldn't she get it together and play the part of slutty secretary? Then this would be over quicker.
Why couldn't she let go? How many times had she fantasized about going down on a man here in this very spot, and now she was facing it and her feet were numb, her heart was a fist , lifting and constricting her throat, and her tongue felt like it was a dead weight in her mouth.
"That's a good secretary." He stared down at her, looming tall and larger than life. Masculinity seeped out of him with every breath. "Your assignments today—you journal after I leave, and you're going to be home by five, letting me in the door five minutes later. I'll have something ready for you, and if you're late, you'll get the first taste of punishment."
She swallowed and barely nodded.
"I don't know, Sir. Ready for what?"
"To pleasure me," he said, dipping down, cupping her chin and holding it there with one hand as his other disappeared inside his fly.
Her knees automatically crawled, inching her closer to him, and a rush swept through her, deepening her breathing. She gripped her thighs and curled her tongue back for a moment.
She could do this. She was good at giving head. Really good at it. She loved it in fact, and never turned it down when a guy wanted it from her, unless of course he was repellent.
"Open, my slut. And take me all the way in right away," he lilted.
His hips jutted forward. He released himself from his pants and stroked the tip with slow, fluid motions of his fist.
She tried to blink, but she couldn't.
"Ever had an uncut dick in your mouth?" he asked, smirking.
She shook her head. This was going to be interesting. What was she supposed to do now? She was already overwhelmed looking at it, but not because she didn't want to taste him. It was because she had no idea what to do with a foreskin. What if she hurt him accidentally by sucking too hard? And it looked really thick—the entire head.
She rested back on her feet. "Sir, I want to but I . . ."
"And you will," he said, taking her by the jaw and leading her to him. "Open wide and tip your head back. I'll guide it in for you."
Every cell in her body screamed at her to glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody was outside her office now, watching them, but she knew he'd be really displeased if she did that.
So she smoothed her expression, relaxed her jaw and waited for him to take absolute control of her mouth.
The buttery smooth feel of warm skin pressing and sliding in over her tongue, made her eyes glaze over. God, he was so hot, and this was sweet torture, taking care of him right now—letting primal needs take over.
He pushed all the way to the back of her mouth, and rested there for a moment. She almost gagged when he hit the roof of it, but then he laced his fingers behind her head, threaded them through her hair and angled her head back even further.
She knew what he was doing—trying to get her to deep throat him. That's why he was holding the tip there, deep in the back. She focused on the salty tang, the pressure, and her body responded, her mouth watering and automatically lubricating her mouth so it would slip easier. She sucked deeper with his encouragement then held it there again while flattening her tongue. He arched his lower back and began thrusting so slowly, so controlled, she thought she was going to come from watching him. The precise tiny flexing movements of his hips, his thighs and abs—Jesus, it was amazing to witness even when she was only seeing glimpses since he was still wearing pants, along with the rest of his clothes. His deep, guttural groan told her she was doing it right.
Her heart raced, and her palms sweat. She breathed hard and loud.
He stared at her face, his eyes burning into her, telling her it was a delicious torture to him too.
His hands gripped harder in her hair, and he tipped her head up even more. He drove his cock even deeper, opening her throat further. She swallowed, and his cock twitched then held steady.
A puff of breath exited her nostrils.
"Fuck, you take it deep. My cock can't get any deeper than that, can it? Or is my slut ready for me to fuck her face really hard—so hard she can't think about the man standing outside right now, watching me pump myself into her soft, sexy mouth."
She whimpered and closed her eyes.
"Watch me, Isabella." He fisted her hair. "He can't see you. He has no idea who's down on the ground, pleasuring me."
Her eyes opened, and she reached out to grip his thighs, but he used his left knee to nudge her hands out of the way.
"I didn't restrain you like I said I would, but I will. Don't touch me with anything but your mouth. If you understand, blink once. If the answer's no, blink twice."
He pushed his cock inside a little further.
She blinked once and her eyes misted a little.
"Does this hurt? The same way to answer—blink once if it does."
She blinked twice, signaling she was green, okay to continue.
"Good. That's very good. And now I'm gonna fuck your mouth the way I please, and you'll swallow my come, because you told me once before, you like to take it down."
She didn't remember ever confiding that in him. Her eyes narrowed. How did he know this about her?
Stupid, Bella. The paperwork . . .
The papers she had to fill out at the club last night gave him this information. Had to be how he knew. Damn her. She'd rushed through it and didn't take it seriously because she was only there to observe, not play. She'd noted the things she was comfortable doing, including swallowing a man's come, along with the things she'd never do. It was a basic, nothing type of form she barely blinked at.
Well, he'd obviously gotten ahold of it and read it at some point.
"You like it rough? If you decide it's too much, blink twice, and I'll stop."
He pulled handfuls of her hair; it made her eyes slide back in her head and moan. And when his legs pistoned and that cock was ramming into her mouth hard, she couldn't help but make an even louder, guttural noise.
"Oh, such a naughty whore, my secretary is—making all those sounds so everybody knows you love taking my head down your throat. What kind of sounds are you gonna make when I'm in your tight little cunt? Will you squirt all over your desk? If you do, I'll make you lick it up later," he said, his voice low and husky.
She straightened her spine, and her eyes followed his right hand the moment he released it from the back of her head.
He pulled out of her mouth, stroked his shaft with a roughness she found so sexy, she couldn't look away. She was mesmerized at the way the skin moved like silk over the meatus and the tip disappeared then returned, looking almost a royal purple color at the tip. "Yeah, you want it back in your mouth, don't you, my dirty whore? You can't stand I'm touching it and not letting you have another taste. Tell me you want it, and maybe I'll give it back to you."
She almost jumped to attention. "I want it, Sir, so much. Please, let me suck you off the rest of the way."
"And do you care how many people are watching this?"
"N-no, Sir. I only want you to let me please you," she said.
"And you will." He leaned over, and placed it back in her mouth, then pressed both index fingers to two spots on the sides of her throat, high up on her neck. "Unlock it here, my good little slut, and it'll be easier for you, because I'm gonna go harder, deeper, and faster."
She swallowed, leaned forward and once her head was tipped back as far as it could go, he started thrusting with abandon. A second later, he suddenly bent his knees and wrapped those strong fingers from his right hand around her throat.
Chills followed by electric sparks, flooded down her center and made everything ache and weep inside her. Her pussy throbbed violently.
"Mmhhummhmm," she whimpered and suddenly flung her arms behind her, clasping her hands. She wanted him so bad, she knew she'd grab him if she didn't somehow restrain herself.
"Oh, fuck! Yeah, that's it . . . That's what I want from you," he said, releasing his grip on her throat. His head tilted back and long, hot spurts coated the back of her throat and slipped down her passageway with ease.
She stayed motionless, only swallowing, resisting the urge to see if there really was anybody watching them from the window.
When he stopped rolling his hips, he took a deep breath. His head floated back down, and he looked at her with so much adoration, her eyes filled with tears and her heart swelled so large, her chest ached. "Fuck, if your angel's lips and mouth weren't created precisely for me. That was perfect. I loved it, and I'm proud of you. Proud you overcame yourself. You are my sub. Mine." He exhaled. "Who do you belong to?" He pulled his dick out of her drenched mouth.
She swallowed. "You, Sir. Only you, and I'm glad." She sighed and her eyes misted then closed. Her chest was warm, her shoulders relaxed and she breathed so easy, she felt almost lightheaded. When she opened her eyes and saw him beaming at her, her mind contained only one thought—
My Master . . .
Wanted to take a moment to explain what BDSM stands for. Bondage Domination Submission Masochism. Most people think the S is for Sadism. I know I used to think that. It can mean sadism, but many people in the lifestyle that are mainstream, don't use it that way. The S usually stands for Submission. Hope that helps.