“On my desk,” I say, kicking my feet free of my shoes, pants, and briefs. “Lean back on your elbows, and spread your legs for me.”
Her compliance is instantaneous and so fucking hot. She’s on my desk with her ass right at the edge and her knees spread wide. Quickly unbuttoning and discarding my shirt, I move to stand between her legs, where I have a perfect view of her pink, plump pussy. I waste no time diving in with my tongue.
I suppose people would consider it conceited, but in college I was known by half the sorority houses for my ability to produce orgasms with my tongue. Maybe to some guys, eating a chick out is a favor only done begrudgingly, but I have always loved the taste of pussy, so I made sure I got plenty of practice. No doubt about it—Valerie Woods’ pussy was mighty fucking sweet. I may be paying her for this, but I also know exactly what I’m doing, and I am going to make her come. Hard.
I use the tip of my tongue to run along the edge of her labia, up one side and down the other. The end of my nose slowly circles her clit, and I exhale over her moist folds, feeling her shiver a bit. My tongue makes a lazy sojourn from the top of her glorious, bare pussy to the bottom and back to her clit, flicking quickly over the little nub. I hum against her skin, and her thighs clench beside me. I smile slightly. For a moment, I consider that she might be faking it, but I immediately dismiss the notion.
I roll my tongue around her clit again before dropping lower and circling her opening. Fucking sweet nectar enters my mouth, teasing my taste buds, and I know there are just some things you can’t fake during sex. I dip my tongue inside her, stroking upward and around while I hum against her pussy.
She groans as she arches her back, pushing her hips up into my face. I wrap my arms underneath her ass and hold her closer, my tongue working quickly inside of her while I nuzzle her clit with the tip of my nose again. Her vaginal walls tighten, and she shifts again, her hips starting to buck a little. I hold her in place as she cries out, and I taste her all over my tongue. It’s the best fucking meal I’ve had in ages—and I immediately wish there was another course.
Feeling her shudder and moan around my tongue has made me seriously fucking hard again, and I can no longer hold back. I need to get my cock inside her. I release her legs, which drop back to the desk, and move over her. Her eyes narrow slightly until she sees me reach into the drawer near her hip and pull out a condom. I hold it up for her to see and then rip it open.
“Watch,” I tell her, and I stroke myself once before rolling the condom down my length. Her eyes focus on my cock, and her teeth bite into her lower lip. I can see how much heavier she’s breathing, and I don’t think she could be faking whatever it is she is feeling. If she is—she’s damn good. I position myself between her legs and ease forward.
She’s dripping wet, and I know it isn’t just from my tongue. Still, I push into her slowly, enjoying the feeling of her flesh wrapping slowly over my dick. Her mouth felt fucking incredible, but this—her warm, sensual flesh—is completely without description. It’s not like I have forgotten what it feels like to be with a real, honest-to-God partner—I haven’t. Maybe it is just better than I expected, if I had any actual expectations. She’s warm, slick, tight…and I realize that’s probably what surprises me…how tight she is. I would have thought…well…I would have thought she wouldn’t be so tight.
And as I think this, she contracts the muscles inside of her, gripping me tightly as I enter her completely, my balls resting nicely against her ass as I bury myself in her. I feel her hands on my shoulders as her arms wrap around me. I consider holding them over her head, but I like the feeling of her palms on my back. I close my eyes and pause—just for a moment. I pause and just feel her around me, forcing my mouth closed so I don’t actually scream out her name. I gather my wits about me and pull back, nearly all the way out, and then slide slowly back inside. Bliss. Fucking carnal fucking bliss. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes to find her looking at me, her mouth turned up in a slight, nearly cocky smile. I pause again and raise my eyebrows a little.
“You ready to be fucked, Ms. Woods?”
She immediately goes all doe-eyed on me, and her face displays a perfectly contrite expression as her teeth sink slowly into her bottom lip again.
“Please, Mr. Reddick…please…I need you.” She moans, closes her eyes, and cranes her neck backwards as I pull out and swiftly embed myself in her flesh again. I withdraw, almost all the way out, and slam back home. I use one hand to brace myself on the desktop, my palm planted flat against the side of her head. I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth, licking and teasing it for a moment before biting the tip. I don’t do it hard—I don’t want to really hurt her. Just enough to add to the stimulation. Her clenching and moaning indicate her appreciation of the act.
“Oh please…Mr. Reddick…please…I need more…please.”
As her hands drop to my backside and her fingers dig in, I give her more, and I give it to her faster. I move to her other breast, licking and teasing it with my tongue. I hold myself deep inside of her, rotate my hips to rub my pubic bone against her clit, and then slide back out. I do it again and again. I don’t suppose I have truly forgotten what fucking a woman is like, but I sure don’t remember it feeling this fantastic. I guess all this time I believed my hand to be adequate.
I was completely fucking wrong.
“You feel so good,” I moan, cringing when I realize I said it out loud. Immediately after, I decide I don’t give a shit anymore, wrap my fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, and cover her mouth with mine.
Her mouth tastes fucking divine. I don’t know why I haven’t kissed her before now. Maybe it just seems too intimate, as if having my cock in her isn’t. She tastes like me as well, and it makes me feel like I own her. I do own her, if only for now. I run my tongue along hers, touching her and tasting her until I have to come up for a breath. When I do, I look down into her eyes, watching them darken and flicker and close slightly as I continue to pound into her. I kiss her again, flicking my tongue over her lips and then across her chin and up the line of her jaw. I find her ear and suck gently on the lobe.
“Fucking incredible,” I mumble into her ear, no longer caring what I say. I can feel the pressure building in my stomach as it presses against hers. The muscles in my legs contract as my thighs slam repeatedly into the edge of the desk. The pressure continues down my cock as it’s gripped and squeezed and fucking caressed by her pussy. I want to scream, but I know I can’t be too loud. Soundproof office or not—someone might hear me.
But she feels…so…fucking…good…
I can’t hold on any longer, but at least I manage to keep my sounds to muffled grunting into the soft, warm skin of her neck. Her hands are still gripping me tightly, holding me up against herself and possibly leaving some pretty serious scratch marks on my ass. It feels fantastic—both her nails and the feeling of actually coming inside a woman and not just making a mess on my Egyptian linen sheets.
My forehead drops down on her shoulder, and my arms are about to give out, but I manage to hold my position, poised above her. I want to collapse on her. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her against my chest, kissing her softly and maybe offering to get her a drink so she can relax and be ready for round three. But I can’t do that because she’s a whore, and I have a board meeting in a half hour.
I push back with my hands and don’t meet her eyes as I slowly pull out of her, remove the condom, and toss it in the wastebasket under my desk. I will have to make sure to get rid of it before I leave tonight. I don’t need the cleaning crew finding that shit.
She doesn’t speak as she pulls her skirt off the floor and buttons up her blouse. I don’t look at her, but I can tell what she’s doing just from the sounds her rustling clothing makes. I feel incredibly awkward when I come to the conclusion that I don’t know what I should say to her now. Was there an expected protocol? Thanks? Was it good for you? See you next time?
Next time…
“Are you available at noon tomorrow, Ms. Woods?”
“I think I have an appointment already, Mr. Reddick,” she responds. The submissiveness is gone, replaced by sassy, sexy self-assuredness that is nearly as big a turn on. I would be hard again, except the thought of her having another “appointment” is somewhat disturbing to me. Actually, it really, really pisses me off, but I can’t show her that.
“Cancel it. I’ll double your fee.”
I finally meet her eyes. She’s bent over, pulling the second fuck-hot boot over her beautiful calf, and she’s staring back at me with those big, luscious brown irises. She seems to consider a moment and then nods slightly.
“I think I may be able to arrange that.”
“I think you should,” I say. None of my nervousness regarding this transaction shows in my voice. At least, I hope it doesn’t.
“I’ll make it happen, Mr. Reddick.”
“Wear those boots.” Next time, I’m going to want them over my shoulders.
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“Same time tomorrow, Mr. Reddick?”
“Same time tomorrow, Ms. Woods.”
She picks up her purse and tosses the strap casually over her arm before walking out the door. She doesn’t give me a second glance, and I don’t care. She’ll be back here tomorrow, and I’m already thinking about fucking her on the coffee table from behind.
I don’t know if this is the sort of thing my mother would consider a relationship or not, but for the first time in a long time, I feel relaxed and at ease. I sit down on my oversized, high-backed, leather chair and unlock my laptop. As I lean back and watch various emails and alerts fly past the screen, my eyes glance down to the trashcan underneath the desk and the discarded, used condom inside of it. I feel a slow smile creep across my face as I pull up the PowerPoint presentation I have to give in a half hour. Whatever anxiety I felt regarding the board meeting prior to my lunch hour has now completely dissipated.
I activate my calendar for tomorrow and quickly mark my time as unavailable from noon to one o’clock. Snickering a little to myself, I go ahead and block off all my lunch hours for the following two weeks as well.
“Same time tomorrow indeed, Ms. Woods,” I whisper to myself.
~The End~
Cleansing Bonds: Chapter 1
“I think she’s just what you are looking for, Paul.”
I take a slow, cleansing breath. My eyes wander to the window and I stare out at the Manhattan skyline. The sun is beginning to set over the buildings, and they sparkle with magnificent red and gold light.
Even in a city this size, I’m not sure what I’m looking for is out there.
I sigh into the phone. I’ve heard this before, and I understand what she is saying, but Holly always thinks she has the best thing for me, and it hasn’t worked out yet. Granted, the relationships ended better than they had with…with her, but they all still ended for the same reason. They left because I couldn’t fulfill certain needs.
How’s that for ironic? A Dom who can’t fulfill the basic needs of the average submissive.
“You said that about Melissa,” I remind her. I drum my fingers on the top of my desk. “She didn’t even last the weekend.”
“Yes, I realize that,” Holly says as she huffs into the phone, “but you either have to give it a try or give up the scene entirely. Your choice, but you can hardly let one bad relationship-”
“One bad relationship?” I ask with a snort. “That’s what you want to call that? Seriously? I have no idea which one of us was left with the deeper scars.”
“Sorry,” she says, and I know she means it. “I’m not trying to upset you, Paul. I just want you to give this one a shot. You could be perfect for each other.”
I take a deep breath and decide I might as well give it one more chance.
“When can I meet her?”
“In your office or in public somewhere?”
“My office,” I say. First meetings are always best in an environment suited to me. My apartment is out of the question, but here in my top-floor office where I have the utmost control over everything works perfectly. Here I can manage life, business, money, and people.
“I can bring her by early Thursday afternoon.”
“Afternoon is no good, unless it’s late afternoon. Four thirty?”
“Let me check.” I listen to the sounds of long fingernails against a keyboard. “I can make it at four thirty, but I can’t stay past five. Obviously, I need to confirm with her if she is also free then.”
“See if she can make it,” I say. “Also see if she minds being left here without you because I will undoubtedly need more than thirty minutes to talk to her. I can either call her a cab or give her a lift myself.”
“I’ll check it out.”
“Thanks, Holly.”
I hang up and look at the clock as if it would make Thursday come any sooner. The idea of trying out another sub fills me with both hope and dread. The past three had been utter failures, and the idea of failing again is terrifying.
I need some focus.
I check my calendar to verify I don’t have any more meetings today and quickly change into some workout attire before heading to the company gym. An hour sweating with heavy weights and nothing but how to count by forty-fives on my mind is a blessing. By the time I’m done, I feel sore but invigorated as well.
I consider the cleansing routine my trainer has me go through twice a year to rid my body of toxin buildup. Two weeks of strict diet, exercise, and a concoction of supplements to clean out my system. It’s a pain in the ass, but I always end up feeling great afterward. I wonder if there’s a similar method for renewing one’s mind.
Back to the office. Paperwork and returning emails until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer. Down to the lobby. Hail a cab. Lean my head back as the driver babbles about traffic and terrorists.
My mind keeps wandering back to where it all went wrong.
Home isn’t far, and soon I’m heading up the elevator to the top of yet another high-rise. My apartment is large by New York City standards and decorated straight out of a designer magazine. I have no flair for such things and don’t really care as long as it’s all clean, straight lines, and earth tones.
I pull out a stack of delivery menus from a basket on the breakfast island, but nothing appeals to me. Instead, I find and toss into the oven one of the frozen casseroles my mother made and left for me during her last visit.
Like the delivered food options, nothing on the television captures my attention. I glance through the music at my disposal but can’t find anything I want to hear. I find myself glancing at the clock on the oven every couple of minutes as time crawls by.
A highly successful businessman like myself really ought to be better at finding distractions and delving into various hobbies, but I’m not. I only golf because it is good for business, go to see Broadway shows because it’s the place to be seen, and sit in the box seats at Yankees games because they’re heated, and it’s a good place to talk about capital ventures.
I’ve only ever had one pastime I truly enjoy—tying women up, whipping their asses, and fucking them senseless. When that backfired on me, I was left with nothing. I lean against the breakfast bar and press my first knuckle against my lips as my thoughts wander inward.
“How many times have you been warned?”
Crack!
“I’m sorry, Master! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak!”
Crack!
“One simple thing for you to learn, and you screw it up every time!”
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
“Please, Master!”
“Silence!”
Crack!
“You will take your punishment like you take my cock.”
Crack!
I squeeze my eyes shut as my skin chills. I grip the edge of the breakfast bar with
one hand until my knuckles turn white.
“Jesus, Lily! Why didn’t you safe-word?”
“I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t think…”
“Holy shit, baby. God, I’m sorry! I didn’t know! Lily, babe, I gotta get you to the ER.”
I shake my head, but the images don’t fade until the timer on the oven goes off, breaking through my memories. I swallow, release the edge of the bar, and pull dinner from the oven, burning my hand as I do so.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself as I hold my hand under cold water from the faucet.
It has been three years since that night I took Lily to the hospital. Three years since we parted ways. Since then, I haven’t been able to bring myself to punish a submissive. I want the submission. I want the control. I want to test their limits, but I can’t enforce my will the way they need me to. Not anymore.
I pick at my food, ultimately tossing half of it into a Tupperware container and placing it in the refrigerator. It’s late, and though my body is exhausted, I know my mind won’t be able to rest. I pop a couple of Temazepam and drop into bed with my clothes still on.
Sleep still doesn’t come quickly or easily.
*****
Thursday comes, and I’m a mess. I end up yelling at some intern in front of his entire team about his botched-up numbers. My secretary and the guy who brings my lunch get similar treatment. Eventually, I lock myself in my office and cancel my meetings for the rest of the day.
All but one.
As four thirty approaches, my stomach is in knots. I can’t stop the feeling of hopelessness, and I start to wonder if I need to be treated for depression. This has been going on for so long, but how do you explain to a doctor that your problem is that you can’t hit your sub?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
Rubbing my fingers into my eyes, I consider calling Holly and telling her to forget it, but it’s already too late. They should be on their way here. I haven’t even seen this sub’s file yet. Holly was supposed to have sent it, but she had been having computer problems.