Chapter 1: Tossed
The fucking sand as fingers glide and dance around the glistening golden warmth on her skin.
Her hands clasp the back of her head and her breasts present themselves to him.
The Dom inside me.
The beast I can barely contain. It must be fed.
I suck on my fingers, and the taste is spreading like fire down my shaft.
And I deny her.
"Whose are you, pet?"
"Yours, Sir, only yours," she says, voice hoarse and more glistening with sex than her dripping cunt.
"Whose cock do you beg for?" I ask, smacking her thigh with my cock.
"Yours, Sir. Always yours."
"Good. That's very good," I lean over and whisper in her ear.
Shoulders meet, her skin sighs along with her breath.
Fuck. The sun beats into my eyes, and I squint.
Water rushes and as it removes the sand around her knees, I glance down.
What the hell?
Her feet are gone.
I reach down, as fingertips glaze over her calves those disappear, too.
In a flash, my hands disintegrate, and I'm left a trapped man, eyes larger than the sun, heart gone out to sea and the rest of me crumbles when I realize she's gone. No more.
I groan as I ignore my straining cock and eat my breakfast. My cuffs rest on the table next to me.
Fucking stupid nightmare.
It's the same one I've had ever since I split with my previous sub.
I pull out the paper and peruse the sections I always read.
All the same.
The world spins on, toils and pisses on everyone's leg.
I rub my shoulder. Slept on it funny.
My eyes shift over to the training cuffs.
I pick them up, toss them into my open, waiting bag, beckoning like a lover's legs splayed open for me.
"Stop torturing yourself. Find a new sub—move on," I tell myself.
A low hum envelops my chest.
There's something missing. What the fuck is it?
I roll my neck and do a few stretches.
I'm hungry, but not for food.
I shove my now empty oatmeal bowl aside.
This black shiny table mocks me. There should be a pussy dripping on it, and I should feed the way I want to.
Fuck. So hard.
I stare at the possibilities before me. My hands ache to grip flesh that's not my own, ripe, willing and owned by me.
I grip the back of my neck instead and stand motionless, mute.
Another day of questions unanswered.
The dull ache in my cock rivals that in my chest.
"Hhhuhhhhh," I exhale in a sweeping rush, grab my own dress shirt cuffs, set them in place, straighten my tie and clean out my breakfast bowl then grab my remaining items I need for today's job.
I return to my bedroom, slip on my vest, secure it in place, grab my pocket watch and set that in place as well. My fingers whisper over the cool metal; the watch reminds me each day's a gift. I can celebrate that if I choose.
I smile and pull my suit coat on.
Clllllaaack, clllaaaack, clllaaaack . . .
My feet click down the hallway, and I leave before I look at my bag with longing one more time.
There's a job to be done, and then I can return and view the abyss spanned out before me. A canvas I must paint, and that I have the skills for, but am missing my muse.
Where is the she?
Bzzzzz . . . Bzzzzz . . . . Bzzzz . . .
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. A yawn drifts out of me.
Why did I ever start following that damn website?
I don't need it. It's nothing but a fucking joke.
And how many more interruptions is it going to create throughout my day?
I yank open the door, lock my place up and head out to my car. I'll erase myself from that website when I get home. They'll never even know I was lurking—like an inexperienced Dom.
My fingers flex. I just needed to feel connected somehow. To know there's someone out there looking for me too.
Zzzzhhhhuuuuurrrrrr . . .
The garage door gapes open, and I get in my car, driving off to my new destination.
The twists and turns of the freeway fly around me. It's dark, the world resting while I stir and grab the wheel with a force that's unnecessary.
My jaw is loose, my back straight but relaxed, yet my mind races.
Soft curves . . . Lush lips . . . Hair in my grasp.
Hard muscle driving into slick, welcoming woman, deriving nothing but intense, searing pleasure.
My eyes sharpen and my sat nav tells me where to go.
I barely pay attention—I know downtown well. I'm always here, even if I'd rather avoid this place.
The dirt and grime's barely hidden by a thin veneer of paint, glass and shiny steel.
I pull into the parking garage, find the spot I've been told is mine, and casually stroll to the elevator.
I'll be the first one in management here, and the last one to leave.
I straighten my suit coat as the car lifts, and I breathe easy, knowing this day will be no different than any other.
I'll take control, move things along in a stagnant place, and leave it better than I found it.
Isn't that what a Dom does?
My erection fades as I travel the twenty floors to my destination.
No more thoughts of satin skin, mewls of pleasure, and wetness on my tongue that is honey and sapphires and all I want.
I exhale, step onto the floor and am immediately greeted by my secretary for the day.
"You must be Sarah Miller," I greet her with a smile.
"Yes, so glad you're here," she says, her shoulders sliding down as she releases a gust of air.
Already I've got her number.
Too energetic for this job; too flighty and entirely too young and fragile to be near me.
Though she eyes me with interest, my eyes stay level and my impenetrable gaze settles her.
"No need to get up," I tell her. "I can find my way. I'm sure it's not difficult to figure out where my office is. Jerry gave me well detailed instructions." I gesture with my hand for her to stay.
I fight the urge to call her a good girl and give her instructions on how else she might please me.
My chest tightens and my pace increases as I leave her behind.
Reminds me of a previous sub, Janice. All tightly wound, bouncing around and barely able to contain a thought until I restrained her.
The offices are most likely empty, the chairs cold and vacant. Most employees don't want to be at work this early. I walk with ease toward the spot I'll call my own for the week.
Chhhuukah, chhhuukah, chhhukah . . .
A copy machine whirs, and I glance inside the room it resides in.
My body seizes up, and my heart stops.
Fucking hell . . .
Standing in front of the copier is a curvy, tight little girl, standing in textbook submissive resting pose.
She looks completely at peace as the copier runs off sheets of paper for her.
Her feet are shoulder width apart, arms behind her back, hands clasped at the wrist, head down, and she's silent.
All I hear besides the machine buzzing, is my quick, labored breathing.
I watch with great interest as she remains so still; a less observant man might not even realize she's here.
The machine finishes spitting out her work, and as she snaps back to attention and goes about her work, I step into the room and clear my throat.
It's an erotic torture, observing the way she moves with a fluid grace and elegance.
A wicked grin spreads throughout my entire body, and I smirk.
Oh, yes, little subbie . . . Keep that head down, that gaze on the floor . . .
"Excuse me . . . Can you show where my office is?" I extend my hand out to her, my body turned to the side a little. "I'm Edward Masen; here to fill in for Jerry Baker."
She shifts toward me, her steps small and filled with such a feminine, demure response, I can't help but lean toward her, too.
"Yes, Sir. I'd be happy to."
I stare at her, and her eyes quickly shift down as soon as she makes eye contact.
"Gather your copies, and then if you'd please . . ." I swallow and wait.
She takes her papers, and is all politeness and "Sir," and making me hard as fuck while she shows me around the office.
I stop at one point as she's walking, and peer into her eyes.
Look down, sweetheart. Show me what you're made of . . .
Predictably, she darts her gaze to the floor and smiles.
God, that's good.
"Hoooooffff," I exhale slow and steady, my fingers tightening on my briefcase to keep from touching her.
Her soft brown hair falls around her face as she keeps her head tucked down.
Each step she takes, hips rounded and so succulent, I swallow back another wave of wanting to pursue and prod into who she is. And what she might let me do to her, if the opportunity presented itself.
"This is Jerry's office. He has a lovely view. I hope you enjoy your stay while you're here, Sir," she says, voice a soft caress and a slip of hint to who and what she really is.
"Thank you . . . Miss . . . ?" I wait for a name.
"Bella Swan," she says, a gentle smile twisting her lips.
Twisting my breath out of my constricting chest as well.
"Thank you, Ms. Swan." I nod. She didn't say Miss. Shit. "You're dismissed."
I pause. Wait for the mortified expression from her, the shocked tongue click, or tightening of arm muscles before she storms off over this man that just had the audacity to treat her like that.
Her eyes soften, her lips part and her little dusky tongue pokes at the edge of her lower lip. She shuffles her left foot and lingers near me. "Thank you, Sir. Enjoy your day."
She leaves, head down, and I'm smirking, caught in the doorway, unable to look away from that lithe little fucking frame of hers.
Where were the dirty looks? Where was the casual disrespect so many women in an office display?
She turns to me for a second, her body like a magnet, pulling into me, but she keeps her head down and ducks into her office.
I find my seat.
And I smile.
This day's different.
I couldn't be fucking happier about it.
For a dear friend on a special day. Hope you like this story made in honor of you, and nothing but you and the fabulous, sweet spirit you are. Wishing you mountains of joy and much peace on this next chapter you're starting out.
Good news… This story's completed, and I'll be posting it daily until it runs out. Love ya, hon! You know you're like a sister to me.
Your friend who is honored to know you,