The sultry jazz caressed my bare skin, tempting me to abandon my barstool in favor of the crowded dance floor. Wear nothing besides the contents of this box. Wait for me at the Cellar. Be at the bar at 9 pm. Though tempted to remain in my safe missionary-style-only world of sex, I could not defy the mandate. The dark world of submission into which I was slowly being led was too alluring and mysterious for me to ignore.
Weary from work and eager for the weekend, the pristine Neiman Marcus box I found on my doorstep that afternoon had started a staccato rhythm in my chest that had not ebbed since. The attached note was in meticulous script, a sophistication only matched by the enclosed outfit. Never in my years had I worn something as decadent as the champagne-colored shantung silk cocktail dress wrapped in layers of delicate tissue paper. The small bronze clutch and matching strappy stilettos only added to its allure.
That was my only excuse—I was tempted by the decadence, a modern-day Eve eager to know what I would learn from that forbidden bite. Without that, I never would have considered giving up the control for which he was asking.
Thus I found myself checking the clock over the bar every minute, sipping a dirty martini and trying not to pull on the fine-chained choker that had been nestled at the bottom of the box. The gold strands tightened across my throat with every sip I took, a constant reminder of why I was at The Cellar in the first place. I had been looking for something edgy, something to fill that purposeless void inside. Work was not the answer; I had the overtime pay to prove it. Sex was unfulfilling; good, but still not touching that cold, tense part of me I was desperate to unleash. Though I was scared to walk this new sexual path, the adrenaline pumping through my veins from the golden weight around my throat told me not to fear.
I glanced up at the clock—9:01—and through the mirror hanging over the bar I spied a man just stepping into the bar. With a quick twirl on the barstool I spun to face him. I knew him the second we locked eyes. His intense blue gaze touched something nascent inside me. This is it, whispered my frantic heart.
He walked up behind me and my eyes tracked his every movement. His suit showcased his strong, lean body, one that I instinctively knew would be laced with muscles. The man stopped in front of my barstool, and with one elegant hand, reached around my back to give a slight tug on the trailing end of the choker. Gold dug into the delicate skin of my throat, sharpening my senses. I could feel my pulse pounding against the necklace, raging to break free. That desire was echoed by the pulse deep in my womb, a plea for sexual release. It was the most arousing sensation, the calloused pads of his fingers scraping across the back of my neck, the fingers drawing on the choker as it drew on my arousal.
Words fluttered across my ear, a low rumble accented by the jazz singer’s sensual croon. “Clarissa, you look lovely.” One hand settled on my waist, squeezing enough to remind me why I was there. If I’d thought the choker was a brand on my soul, it was nothing to the possessive warmth radiating from his palm. The other hand trailed from the back of my neck, across my shoulder, and down my arm to bracelet my wrist, sensitizing every pore he touched until the musical vibrations from the standing bass alone pulled goose bumps from my skin.
He nipped my earlobe in a move that dampened my barely-there thong. I felt every thread of his suit jacket abrading the bared skin of my back as he ground his erection against the cleft of my ass. Dizzy with longing, teased beyond all propriety by the thick, hot length pressing into me, I panted, “Sir, please, I need…” My voice halted at the tightening of his grip. I knew better than to beg.
It was at this point I always faltered. To give up complete control, to abandon my sexual comfort zone, was my challenge. Intellectually I knew he would not push me too far, but I feared it just the same. I feared losing myself in the submission.
“Clarissa, you chose to wear this necklace, knowing its implications. This will be your only reminder tonight.”
I nodded, the gold burning my throat. Whether it was in shame or desire, I could not tell. “I understand, Sir.”
“Good girl.” The words, as always, sparked a throbbing in my clit. As engorged with blood and arousal as it was, the slight chafing against my lace panties almost made me come. “Let’s go.”
After throwing a twenty down on the bar, he guided me through the swaying crowd with his body, the fingers around my wrist a constant reminder of his power, my submission.
The door clicked shut behind us, the cool night air replacing the warm buzz of jazz-infused humanity. My breath stuttered at the contrast, the chill pricking my nerve endings to new life. Where arousal had blurred the edges of my surroundings inside the bar, now it sharpened everything to a vivid surrealism.
We stopped in front of the sleek black limousine idling a half-block from The Cellar. It was just as unexpected, as indulgent, as the clothes he had bestowed upon me. His hand lifted from my waist to open the door, the other steadying me as I climbed inside. Soft lights twinkled on the car’s ceiling, echoing the stars that would have been visible save for the city’s nighttime brilliance.
He followed, sitting on the buttery leather bench across from me. “Spread your legs.”
Even if I had wanted to disobey, his tone brooked no argument. My knees fell open, leaving me vulnerable and exposed and turned on beyond reason.
Where I had expected the blue chips of his eyes to warm over, they grew flinty and sharp. “What are you wearing beneath that dress?” The words lashed me and my heart sank in dread.
“A…a thong. I didn’t want the dress to—”
“That thong was not in the box.”
“But—”
“My instructions were explicit.” One hand reached out to lock around my wrist in an indomitable grip. Even knowing I couldn’t escape, I tugged anyway. The smile that broke across his face, if one could even call it a smile, promised delicious retribution for my careless disregard.
A tug from him, a yelp from me, and I was splayed across his hard-muscled thighs. One arm barred across my back, and its weight was a caution not to squirm.
His hand snaked up the back of my dress, bunching the silk around my waist as his fingers dragged up my leg. Their calloused tips danced across the crease where ass melded into thigh before he ran his forefinger between my cheeks, awakening long-forgotten nerve endings. I shivered in anticipation, my apprehension melting beneath the desire.
I looked up and into the reflective partition. Its mirror-shine finish displayed my wanton abandon, which only aroused me further. My eyes tracked his hand as it lifted from my ass, only to smack against my sensitized skin. I moaned, the ripples of pleasure-pain diffusing through my body, settling into my nipples and clitoris. They tightened, each nerve ending screaming for attention and orgasm.
Two fingers hooked under the waist of my thong and yanked, ripping the thin strap. The other side followed suit and he threw the scrap of fabric on the seat next to my head.
“Don’t moan again. If you get too loud, that will become your new gag.” I bit my lip, his threat almost enough to make me defy his command.
Smack after smack landed on my ass, warming the skin and making me hotter. It was divine, sharp, stingy, and warm. The slight air currents in the car fluttered across my inner thighs, chilling the wetness his punishment evoked. The heat of my ass, the coolness of my thighs, was too much to take. I sobbed in frustration—I was on the edge of orgasm, and one touch would thrust me over that edge. But I knew better. Coming without permission would be punished with something far more serious than an erotic spanking.
“I warned you, Clarissa.” He filled my mouth with the broken thong, its musky dampness overwhelming my senses. I turned my head to glimpse his face, and it was etched in desire. I’d seen that look from him before—it meant tonight would be filled with pleasure. He inhaled deeply and said, “God, I can smell your pussy from here. Are you wet for me? Hmm?”
I nodded but didn’t speak. He’d requested my silence, and I could do no less than obey.
“Ah, good girl.” His praise warmed by already overheated body, landing firmly in my chest and radiating outward. This was missing, lacking, before. My desire to please him superseded my own sexual needs and wants. The hand that had slapped my skin now caressed it with a love I could practically feel through his fingertips. How could I have doubted him, doubted this path down which he had tempted me? Doubted he knew me as no other ever had or would?
The swirling fingers burned trails of concentric circles onto my flesh, always nearing the needy center of my body weeping for attention, dying to please him—Sir. His hand crept into the vee of my thighs, into what I knew would be a moist, humid welcoming. “Oh, my dear, you are soaking. Did you like the gift I left you this afternoon?”
Another nod from me.
“I assumed as much. But you did not obey my instructions, Clarissa, by wearing that thong. You’ve had your punishment—which I see you’ve thoroughly enjoyed. Will you disobey my instructions again?”
I wanted to tell him how much I desired to please, to obey. But I settled for a simple shake of my head.
“Good girl. I think you deserve a reward for taking your punishment so well. Sit up, my dear, and straddle my thighs.”
I scrambled to obey, eager not only for my own imminent release but to see the look of approval and love in his eyes.
“Would you like to come?” The planes of his face looked to be carved of granite. This restraint was costing him. As much as I loved his domination of me, I knew it did not come easily. He was not the only one who needed to be rewarded.
I nodded again.
“Excellent. I will lift the ban on speaking because you know I love nothing more than the sound of your pleasure—except maybe the taste of it. But I will get plenty of that later, after we get home. Unzip my pants and pull out my cock.”
I barely managed to accomplish the awkward maneuver, lifting myself up on my knees and fumbling to unbutton and unzip his pants before struggling to free the erection that had only grown harder since it was pressed against me in The Cellar. It was beautiful, as always, hard and glistening with precome I knew tasted like sin.
I stared and my mouth watered, wanting nothing more at that moment then to wrap my lips around him; but that could come later, him sprawled across our bed as he loved to when being blown. His deft hands lowered the straps of my dress, tucking the bodice under my breasts to lift them up like an offering. Warm, wet heat covered one aching nipple while the other was plumped and plucked by his finger. I moaned, finally free to do so.
“Take me, Clarissa, fuck me with that sweet pussy of yours.” His hands tightened around my hips, keeping my dress bunched around my waist. I lowered until the tip of his cock kissed my wet entrance, reveling in the sigh that managed to escape his iron control.
“Do it now, baby. Don’t tease a desperate man.” His breath was ragged, as if he’d run a marathon. It was a sure sign his control was flagging. And as much as I’d enjoy teasing him on a later occasion, right now I wanted to fuck just as badly as he.
The eager depths of my pussy sucked him in as I sank down onto the waiting column of flesh. Snug, full; he fit me perfectly. He always had. I undulated on his lap, knowing exactly how to best bring him pleasure. By the glassy look in his eyes, I was successful.
As much as I enjoyed ceding control on occasion, there was nothing more satisfying than being able to make him shatter in orgasm. I could feel his nails leaving pink crescent brands on my hips just before he sank his teeth into my right breast. He knew I couldn’t resist the sharp sting of his bite or the lasting mark he always left. I changed my rhythm, grinding on his cock so my thrusting wouldn’t dislodge his teeth. The tip of him grazed my g-spot on every pass and I struggled to stave off orgasm, wanting him to come with me.
With one hand I reached behind me to fondle his testicles, knowing the added sensation would drive him wild. His teeth dug further into the meaty flesh of my breast, and I knew he was close. Thank god, because the pleasure-pain of his bite was making me lose all control.
One finger crept behind his balls to trace the sensitive ridge of his perineum. He tore his mouth from my breast and cried out as his the nails of one hand pricked the skin on my hip. With his other hand, he tugged the trailing end of my choker once again. The tightness around my neck was enough to throw me to the edge of orgasm.
“Mine! You are mine, do you understand?” His feral growl shattered me.
“Yes, god yes, all yours!” My admission opened the floodgates and release rushed over me. I cried out and he thrust his hips once, twice into my spasming pussy before I felt him come inside me.
We sat, spent and sweat-slicked, foreheads pressed together.
“That,” I panted, “was unprecedented. Incredible. Spectacular.”
“I know, my love. You needed to lose control, and I’m glad you trusted me enough to explore your submission with me.” He pressed his lips to mine in the gentlest of kisses.
“I love you, Mr. Clark.”
“Good, because I love you too, Mrs. Clark. Let’s go home.”
