Looking back now, this command should have bothered me. Shouldn’t it have? Being ordered to my knees to serve him? But it didn’t. In fact, it was enticing. It made me feel in control. I’d take his pleasure. I’d own him while he was trying to own me.
I stroked the thick ridge of his erection, and tugged down his zipper before finding his hard, hot flesh with my palm and freeing his cock. I stroked him slowly and liquid formed on the tip of his erection.
“Lick it off,” he ordered.
I looked up at him, watching him as my tongue snaked out and lapped at the pre-cum, shocked when he’d showed no reaction at all, since I’d been determined to get one. I wrapped my hand around the width of him and began to lick and suck. I expected his hand to go to my head, but it didn’t. This drove me nuts.
“Harder,” he ordered. “Faster.”
I complied, more determined than ever to get the reaction from him I wanted. And finally his hand was in my hair, his hips pumping against me, his cock sliding up and down my throat.
But I had been the one out of control, not him. I had nearly orgasmed from doing that to him; I’d been so damn aroused by the idea of making him release. And when he finally did, oh, man, he growled in this gravelly sexy way, deep in his throat, and I don’t know how I didn’t come as well.
The next thing I knew, he pulled me to my feet and pushed me against the door, facing it, so my hands were on the hard surface. Then he yanked my dress over my head, exposing me to his view, his touch. I stood there in my high heels and nothing else, and he leaned into me, touching me from calf to back, and it was a blessed relief to feel him close. His hands were all over me, stroking my breasts, pinching my nipples, roaming over my backside. His fingers pressed into the swollen wetness between my thighs and that was all it took. I orgasmed.
He turned me to face him again. “Follow me,” he ordered. He turned and started walking. I followed him like his slave, and I know that is what he intended. Master. Slave. He owned me then, but would he in the future?
We ended up in a large bedroom with a massive bed in the center and cabinets on the walls that I guessed held erotic toys that would terrify and thrill me. I was right. He ordered me to stand by the bed, and then opened a drawer and pulled out some sort of band with two arm cuffs on either end.
Adrenaline poured through me at the idea of being tied up, but I didn’t feel scared. I felt like I was on fire, burning alive with the need to have this man inside me. When he ordered me to raise my hands I did. Before I knew it, I was in the center of the bed, my hands attached to the headboard above me, and he was naked and straddling me with some sort of crop in his hand. A momentary fear overcame me until he promised me he was only going to let me get a feel for what the leather felt like this time. No pain. Only pleasure.
And it was pleasure. The snap and pressure against my nipples, my clit, even my legs and arms, was shockingly exquisite. The things he did to me . . . I can’t even write some of them down. I was bothered, though, by how he hadn’t kissed me, uncertain what that meant. What this relationship really was. How it seemed to demand so much in some ways and offer so little in others.
But it’s the things that happened this morning that affected me more than last night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just remember the nightmare and waking up. I’d been back on the trolley, the air a cold arctic blast around me. So very cold that my lips were purple and my teeth chattered. My mother wasn’t there. No one was there.