Hired! ~6~

Staring around her bedroom, she could hardly believe that a cyclone hadn’t blown through it. She ran a hand through her already tangled hair.

“I won’t,” she said staring at one outfit on the bed.

“No. Just. No.” Her gaze had fallen on the curtain hook where yet another outfit hung dejected…and rejected.

“I will not dress ‘sexy’for him,” she snarled out loud, using her hands to describe the :sexy: in air quotes. She stalked around her bed, stepping over piles of bra’s and panties, cami’s and one very sexy corset.

“No, no, NO!”

Pausing, chest heaving, she slid to the floor.

“What the fuckity fuck have I gotten myself into?” She moaned, her back to the destruction of what had been a tidy and organized closet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He made the arrangements himself, since he didn’t have an assistant today. He’d correct that shortly, but he could make do for one day.  He glanced over at the tie he’d draped over the back of the chair from yesterday’s…discussion. It was as good a word as any, he reasoned.  He doubted he’d smiled so much in such a short time since he was a kid and got a bike for Christmas. Every time he looked at that tie, he felt ebullient. Christ, he might just have it framed.

Tearing his eyes from the pizza-soiled strip of silk, he turned back to the pile of papers on his desk, resisting the urge to glance at his wristwatch again. Had a Friday ever lasted so long?  He opened his drawer, and withdrew a pen. Then opened the drawer again to marvel at its contents, all so neatly organized. It made him think of her. Not just the amazing ways she made his days easier, though she had. But the look of her, her curvy figure and sweet face. And the sound of her voice, from that slightly snippy tone she took when she was annoyed with him, to the sweet sound of her giggles when he managed to amuse her. The way she poked and prodded him to do things she felt he needed to do. She was funny, too. She made great coffee, and she put people at ease, even if she was not going to let them see him.  She was strict, and demanding in her own right, but when he used his Boss Voice, she was also sweetly subservient. Such a dichotomy of a woman. By damn he wanted  her back in his office.

And by damn he wanted her in his bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know,”  she moaned into the phone.

“Kat.” There was the no-nonsense voice she needed. “You just need to choose an outfit. One. Fucking. Outfit. Why are you making such a thing out of this?”

“It’s a revenge date! Not a date-date. It’s a “you fucked up my tie and now I’m going to mess with your head” date. For gosh sake, Savannah, he TOLD me to dress sexy for him. Why on Earth would I obey?”

“Uh, gee, I dunno,” her friend replied in her best brain-dead voice. “Maybe because you’re a submissive? Maybe because you like to dress sexy?”

“Well, yeah I get that, but I don’t want him to know that!”

“No, you don’t want him to win!  her friend retorted quickly.

“Fuck you!” Kat growled into the phone.

“You wish,” Savannah giggled.

The two erupted in laughter.

“Wear the sexah dress,” Savannah intoned in her funeral parlor mortician voice.

“I DOAN WANNA…” Kat moaned. “Doan waaaaannnnnnaaaa….”, though she walked over and picked up the sexy thing.

“Put that on right now and take a picture to prove to me that you did.” Her friend switched to Domme voice.

“Not. Fair.”

“I’m always fair. Just sometimes unkind. Do it.”

Her friend knew how to make Katherine respond, and just  now she needed a push.

“I’ve got my black boots, on,” Savannah said firmly. Her friend moaned.

“Damn you. Fine. Just…you’re not the boss of me.”

“No, I’m not the boss of you. But I am a boss. Be ready…soon. It’s nearly 8 where you are, you know.”

There was a sound of rustling fabric.

“Okay, I’ll send the fucking picture to you soon. Like 5 minutes.” She clicked off, and all but leapt into the dress. It looked like bandages wrapped around her, silky black fabric covering the important bits, with sheer black lace inserted in interesting places. A hint of side boob, a flash of hip, the curve of her bottom. Oh, it hid everything it needed to, but it alluded to so much more.

This might just kill him, she mused to herself, posing in the mirror. Quickly she snapped the pic, and sent it to her BFF. The reply text came back just as the doorbell chimed. She looked at it quickly, then gave a quick cheep of alarm.

I sure hope he takes you someplace to fuck you, because he might faint from the shock of  seeing how you keep your bedroom…!

Looking again at the pic she’d sent, she realized just what she’d captured in the background. Turning, hands on hips, she looked around at the disaster she dubbed “First Date Dressing Syndrome”. Surely there was a chapter or two allotted to this problem in the Psychological Journal, right?  Because this whole first date thing was definitely fucking with her psyche. Shaking her head, she heard the chime again. It sounded impatient, just like him.

“Keep yer pants on” she yelled at the door, certain he couldn’t hear her.

She opened the door, to find him leaning negligently against the jamb, fingers busy at his belt.

“Oh, hi Katherine, I was getting impatient about you not answering your door so I thought I’d take my pants off and try again.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful.” She shook her head, gestured him inside her apartment, praying that she’d remembered to shut her bedroom door.

He took her arm, swinging her around as she closed the apartment door.

“Oh!” she said, before his mouth came down on hers, kissing her firmly. His mouth was not gentle, but exploring. Lips pressing hers, then moving to the corner of her mouth, the top lip, the bottom lip, before parting hers. His tongue slipped between them, and when she would have pulled away, his hand came up and cupped her head, holding her steady as he plundered her mouth.

When he broke from her, she was panting, head swimming, lips trembling.

“I wanted to get that out of the way so you wouldn’t be worrying about it all night. Now you only need to wonder if it’s going to happen again.”

He leaned towards her, then whispered in her ear.

“It will.”

 

 

Hired! ~5~

Friday featured yet another sparring match with her boss. Sometimes he was so exasperating! He nit-picked over the stupidest shit, and she suspected  he did it to on purpose to annoy her. Her temper was fierce.  It had taken her years to  learn to keep it under strict control, and now she was so close to exploding that she made the unprecedented decision to leave at lunch time, rather than eating at her desk.

Thankfully, the atrium was deserted. All his other pawns must still be grinding through another pissy Friday noon thanks to the boss, she mused. Soothed by simply removing herself from the cause of her stress – one Mr. Lance Jackson- she felt herself almost melting into the stone she sat upon. The splash of the fountain behind her, the sun on her upturned face really was helping her mood.  A shadow fell across her face and she frowned.

“This is a lovely place for lunch. I’m glad I thought to have it built.”

The voice came from directly in front of her. And of course it belonged to the one person she was most trying to avoid.

“Of course, it doesn’t appear that you’re actually eating, so here.”

There was a sound of rustling paper, and the sharply tangy scent of fresh pizza. Opening her eyes, she found a fat slice almost up her nose.

“Really?” she said, the exasperation clear. “Even out here? Really?”

He looked at her, head cocked to the side, a slight puzzled smile on his face. Because surely it wasn’t a smirk. Because surely if it was, she was about to wipe it off of his smirkity smirky face…with that slice of pizza.

“Eat,” he said in that voice, and her hand lifted to take the pizza before she could stop herself.

“Stop it. Just…stop.”  But she spoiled the rebuke by taking a large bite of the pizza.

“I get grumpy when I’m hungry too. Eat,” he said again, though not in the Dom-voice. She jumped to her feet, waving the pizza about wildly. Chewing the over-large glob of pizza, she thought about spitting it into his pristine fountain. She took a look at his face. He was amused. It was that…that tolerantly amused expression that did her in. With a hard swallow, she advanced upon him.

“Grumpy?”

“GRUMPY?”

Shouting now, the pizza near to becoming a projectile, she glared at him. All the temper that she’d held in check since leaving Wichita boiled up and spewed forth.

“You BET I’m grumpy, you jerk! Boss me around, poke at me for everything I have no control over because you forget to remind people of who the fuck I AM SO I’M FUCKING IMPOTENT IN MAKING DECISIONS TO HELP YOU…”

She turned and walked in a tight little circle, savagely biting the pizza before once more waving it in the air in an accusing fashion. Warily he watched a gobbet of cheese begin to slide around the crust as she all but shook it in his face.

“Help you? Like I can help you by just buzzing people in or out, putting out fires that you leave in your wake like a frigging forest fire run amok. You have no CONCEPTION of the idea of how to get things done in a timely and orderly fashion, BUT I DO! And yet you continually handcuff me in my efforts to GET SOME ACTUAL WORK DONE!”

“What an interesting idea,” he murmured.

“WHAT? What?” She was in full rage now, her face red, her blue eyes flashing like the sharp edge of a blade. He thought he’d never seen a more beautiful creature than this woman in full-on temper!

“Handcuffing you. It’s something you like after all,right?”

“You BASTARD! So, you and he DID have a conversation about our being…”

She paused, not thinking of a suitable word for fuck buddies. Because they hadn’t really ever been in it for the booty call, she and Alex. No, her former boss had been her Dom, her sexual partner, her top, her tormentor- so much more than mere ‘fuck buddies’.

“I know about you and your former boss, remember? It came up after our first interview when I thought you were Naomi, remember? Take a breath, now, Katherine. You’re overwrought with temper.” He held her shoulders, looked deeply into her eyes as her breath came in short, rough gulps.

Incoherence was the final stage of her rage, and it burst through her with white-hot fury.  She smashed the pizza against his shirt, then turned and fled the atrium when he reached up to peel it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, that was your shortest job on record,”  Savannah, ever pragmatic spoke softly in Kat’s ear. She knew all too well about her best friend’s terrible temper, and how she worked to keep her cool.

“Yeah, well, whatever. I think I should…” There was a pause before Katherine could continue  “…move home. I’ve really fucked …” there was a short breath hitch, and Savannah bit her lip, wishing she could be there because what would come next was a crying jag every bit as fierce as the anger had been.

“Honey, don’t be blaming yourself. You have, you know, ever since Alex..”

“Alex was a misogynistic shithead,” Kat said, her voice quivering. Oh crap,  thought Savannah.  In the background was a chiming sound.

“Kitty, are you cooking something? I think your timer just went off and the last thing you need today is a kitchen fire!”

A weak chuckle came through the phone, and Savannah hoped it would break the cycle. If she could jag Kitty out of the rut, especially by laughing, it might be okay.

“It’s my doorbell, brb,” she said, dropping the phone on the table.

The voice was tinny, but Savannah could hear it nonetheless.

“Oh fuck,  it’s you.”

There was a long pause, the slam of a door, then the rustle as the phone was picked up.

“Kitty, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Mr. Jerkface is here- probably to tell me how much of my last check he’s going to usurp to pay for his spiffy tie that I pizza’d.”

The phone clicked off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Jerkface?”

His voice was a sputter of sound.

“Yeah. Jerkface Jackson.”

He surprised her by laughing explosively. He held onto the wall and laughed so hard she began to think about braining him with a skillet.

“Are you quite done?” she said scathingly. “I mean, really, I’ve never seen anyone so amused at being called names.”

“Sticks ‘n stones, m’dear,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Got a tissue?”

She pointed to the bookcase where a box of them sat, but made no move to help him.

“So. How much do I owe you for the tie?”

“A date.”

“I no longer date my boss.”

“I’m not your boss. You quit today, remember?”

“I didn’t quit.”

“Sure you did.”

“No, I…”

“Yes, you…”

She glared at him, knowing he was almost as stubborn as she was. Fine, two could play at that game. She shifted topics.

“How much was that tie?”

“One hundred and fifty dollars.” He paused while she took that in, watched her try to not gulp in shock. “A date will cost you far less.”

“So you think.”

There was a pause when neither of them spoke. He waited her out, knowing that she’d break first, even without him ordering her. He didn’t want to have to order her; he wanted her to come of her own free will. He didn’t want her to throw that in his face at any point  throughout the evening he’d begun to plan once the shock of her abrupt departure this afternoon had abated.

The eyeroll was the first benchmark that she was folding. Her hip cocked, her shoulders fell from her ears, her mouth softened from snarl to pout.

“Fine. When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“But–I have plans…” she thought of MammaLa, and the club.

“Indeed you did…and still do. With me. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

He ran a finger down her nose, and smirked, damn him, before he turned and strode out the door. Before it shut all the way, he leaned back in.

“Dress sexy for me.”

The door closed with a quiet snick. He laughed when he heard the thunk of the tissue box hitting it, then turned and headed down to his car. He didn’t stop smiling all the way home.

 

 

 

 

Hired! ~4~

Nursing her rum and cola, she scanned the crowd. There were the usual suspects, she concluded. A D/s club in the middle states was largely the same, excepting that there were more masked guests back home. It wouldn’t do for Mr. Jones at the bank to be outed as a sub-puppy, after all. But here in the city where it felt like everyone was anonymous? No one wore a mask. There were leather clad folks, some very obvious Dom-types, subs in various forms of undress and bondage gear, and a few nondescript men and women. She called this latter group the “lookers”, and recognized ruefully that she was part of that group. No Dom to follow, no subsister to hang with, she was as adrift as the woman currently kneeling hopefully at the feet of a bare-chested man, who didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

She hated that.

Hated the posturing, the group of Tops who made subs feel abjectly worthless. It was one thing to be in a scene and being called a fuck hole, but to be ignored so blatantly just bugged the shit out of her, despite her personal motto of “fuck your own fuck”. Not to be all judgy about it, but it was definitely not her thing. At least now she knew which group of Doms to ignore.

“Refill, missy?” The buxom woman with a head full of amazing fine braids that fell to her waist leaned on the counter. “Or just some heads-up chat?”

“I’ll take the chat, please,” she replied with a smile.

MammaLa laid her hand over Kats, patting it gently.

“Newbie?” she asked.

“No, just new to the area. Finding my way, I guess. You think you can ignore the need, right?”

“But cha can’t, can you?” The woman shook her head slowly, back then forth. The waterfall of black, shiny braids danced with her every movement. “It’s like a hunger in the blood, girl-child. Oh, sure, you can push it down. Pretend it’s not there. But someday, when you will be most inconvenienced with it, you’ll suddenly see or hear or feel something and the horny need will rise up!”

“Yesss!”  Katherine all but moaned. She had tried to tamp it down. She’d given up her job, her apartment, her friends, her home, and run all this way to start over. To start over as a “normal” woman. Even though, deep in her core, she believed having these wanton needs was normal,  her normal,  but by societal standards? She was fucked up. And here she was, sitting in a D/s club. It appeared that denying “her normal” and trying to live by those rigid standards of propriety wasn’t going to work for her here, or anywhere. And it was most definitely inconvenient that the “do it” voice of her boss was the switch that had turned her back on.

“I’m glad you came in tonight, girl. I always love to chat with the new folks. Of course you said you weren’t new-new, but you know how I mean it.”

“I do. I just…well, truthfully, I just came out of a bad relationship. He wasn’t a good Dom, at least not to me. And I thought he was perfect…for a while. I just am afraid that once I get a taste of the pain, I’ll lose my head, you know?”

“So, you’re afraid of the fall…and afraid of what you find when you land, right? Tell me what you see here?” MammaLa gestured around the room. Her long, thick fingers were beautiful in motion, and for a passing moment Kat wished she was at least bi-sexual, just to feel those amazing digits on her body. She cleared her mind of that, then looked around the room again.

“I see all of them. Posers, and players, and wanters. I don’t see anyone I’d trust enough to touch me, at least not tonight.”

“You have a good eye on you, girl-child. Upstairs is where the serious folks are most nights. These folks are all looking for something that they haven’t found yet. Lucky for you, they haven’t looked over here to see you as fresh meat. If you come back on a weekend? Whole big group of folks. Harder to keep track of everyone, and the play-party is open to all. You might consider coming back then. But smart, girly, very smart to suss out the scene on a quieter night. You come back and see me on Saturday and we’ll see if we can hook you up for some play time, kay?”

With a last pat on her hand, MammaLa worked her way back to the far end of the bar. Kat wasn’t sure, but it felt like she’d been summarily dismissed. With a quick grin, she laid a bill on the counter under her glass, and slid off the stool. She had a lot to think about, for sure. She slipped quietly from the room, and headed out to her car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He drove down the street to the club. It was time to put “Mr. Jackson” to bed for the night and let Master Dirk out for some much needed play time.  Stretching his back as he maneuvered his truck down the back streets, he thought back to these last two weeks and the reason why he was so taut.  A certain redhead, with big tits and a curvy bottom and the most prickly attitude had been intruding into his thoughts far too frequently.  He needed a bit of release, a bit of whip work perhaps. He’d see who was up and out tonight. Melinda was often available for single play.

A small car headed his way. He hoped it wasn’t Mel, as she was the best recipient for the whip. But the car that drew abreast of him as they passed one another in the night was not Melinda’s. He turned into the parking lot, grinning. For just a moment, the flashing neon light had illuminated her face, though he doubt she’d noticed him, looking straight ahead as she was. His ever so efficient secretary, Katherine. He’d missed her by minutes. But now he knew.

“Hot damn!” he laughed to himself, before sliding out of his car and heading into the club.

 

He Returns with a Vengence

After many months of vanilla with M and I…

which isn’t to say that we’ve not talked and texted…but no D/s…

suddenly out of the blue, He’s back.

He sent me a text last night that I need to wear my nipple clamps for 22 minutes a day. At work. (Except for tonight, since it’s a Holiday. Which kind of makes me giggle but then again, I am a sick fuck. 😀 So instead I am wearing them while I write to you all about these epic changes! )

And it’s fine,  because I mostly work alone. But still. Then I’m supposed to wear a butt plug on Friday…but I can’t find them! I think I remember him taking them after our last playtime. I just know they aren’t here.  So…I can’t do that Friday task. Still waiting to see his solution for that.

My gods. My nipples hurt! I’m pegged now, and I’ve forgotten how much “virginal nipples” ache when clamped. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but man oh man !! OUCH!

Then I find my phone and I have yet another text from the Dom.

“BTW, nilla,  no playing with yourself until I get some satisfaction from your torture.”

Waaaait.

Whaaaa?

I’m staring at my phone in shock, horror, and okay, total awe at the awesomeness that is my Master.

Holy hell, I’m hot. I’m bothered. I’m turned on and alive and …where the fuck did this come from? Waaaay outta left field, pervie peeps. I mean, we’ve been in vanilla mode for a looooooong time.

And okay, perhaps, maybe, possibly I’ve stalled a bit on setting up a playtime. I can own up to that. I’m busy and I didn’t really think I was a priority for him. I know he loves to beat me, but he’s busy too, so I figured business dealings took my place. Work fills my needs…and I guessed that his did the same. Maybe even moreso.

So, yeah, go ahead. Sue me for being all “whatever”  about playtime.

And hell, the weather up here in the frozen north has NOT been conducive to meet-ups, and the 36 hours we were above freezing were spent working at a fever pitch to get outside things attended to before the temps came crashing down. I don’t think my blow-up Santa Claus will ever be quite the same…he was hard-frozen by the ice storm, then pelted into the ground with 15 inches of snow! I’ve had clients out the ass (see what I did there?!) and more work that I can handle, and and and…

Well he’s changed things up, because…suddenly, planning for a playtime with my Tormentor is becoming a necessity.

Did I mention how absolutely horny I am now?

He has gone from zero to 85 in a heartbeat. I’m not sure *my* heart can keep up. I’m all fuddled and ‘whoa’ and…and did I mention that as I write this,  my nipples hurt? Well, they do! And my pussy aches. And I want.

No.

I. WANT.

Suddenly I’m starving for something I haven’t had in so long, almost like wanting fresh-from-the-tree cherries… in January. Like those cherries, I’ve been out of season. I’ve been frozen just like my blow up Santa Claus.

But magically, there’s been a thaw -a Master Thaw – and that’s cracked my ice, cleaved it neatly in two, and the boiling needs have thrust their way up and out. I may never get them put back.

Oh gods, the slut is out. The slut is loose. She …me…I…crave Him. Crave His pain. Crave His sadism, His lust, His desires. I’ll be the recipient of His slapping hands, His biting teeth, His pinching and clamping and smacking. I need it more than mere words can express.

I can’t believe I forgot how much I need this side of Him.

So for now, I’ll be clamped…and horny…and wanton…and looking desperately  for time to be with Master, and get the full-on beating I’ve been promised.

I’ve missed my Dom. I’m glad He’s back, glad he’s still that mean, tormenting Bastard that I adore.

20180115_221406.jpg

PS I forgot how much these fuckers hurt when you take them off….*moans*…

Hired! ~3~

Sitting beside him, as he had patted the chair right next to his, she could admit to herself that he made her nervous, despite these last two weeks of getting to know him. Yet he kept the conversation light and work related.

Somehow she felt like he was probing.

It wasn’t anything he said, at least not overtly. He was walking around something delicately, and her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

“I feel, Sir, if you don’t mind me saying, like you’re trying to ask me something without coming out and saying whatever it is.”

“I don’t mind frank talk, Kat.”

He’d taken to using the nickname despite her frown the first few times. It suited her.

“And you’re correct. I finally got around to looking at your application. I saw you were previously working in the mid-west, and wondered why you’d crossed half a continent to be here? That’s just mild curiosity however. I understand the attraction of the East Coast. The city is pretty exciting, and it’s hard to beat the ocean and mountains for relaxing.”

She nodded as he ticked off key points in her decision to move, but her heart did trip up a beat or two, because she knew he was going to bring up Alex.

“It seems that your former boss was less that thrilled with you. He said you were difficult to work with, that you didn’t take direction well, and that you were generally slutty in your behaviors at work.”

Her mouth had fallen open. It took all in his power to not laugh at her shock, and then the rising of rage in her deep blue eyes.

“Why…he…I…” she sputtered, obviously unable to speak clearly.

“Clearly, he was wrong on all accounts. I have first-hand experience in these past two weeks that you are organized, clear headed, able to work independently as well as follow directions, and frankly, though I’m disappointed to say so, not a single slutty behavior.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times, and he swore he could see steam coming from her ears.

“Basically, I think the guy is an asshat who is pissed as hell that you left. He asked me several times who I was, and where my company is located.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

He cocked his head at her.

“Are you afraid, Katherine?” he asked gently.

“Sure I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll kick his ass into next week if he so much as looks at the front door.” She popped up from the chair and paced around the room, muttering imprecations under her breath.

“Kat?”

“What?!” He almost jumped at the surly tone. “Go to work and shake it off. I have no intention of taking the word of such a jackass. You’ve proven your worth here. Though some slutty behavior…”

“Forget it.”

Whirling on her heel, she stormed to the door.

“KIDDING!” he yelled to her back as she sailed through. He had to give her props for not slamming the door behind her. He did hear her heels tapping a pissy note down the hallway. He smiled. She did have spirit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“…and then he said I could show some slutty behaviors, like it was some fucking joke. That fucking Alex. I can’t believe he said those things about me.”

Her friend Savannah sighed on the other end of the phone.

“Well, sweetie, you know Alex is an a-hole. A misogynist of the highest order. Women are meant to be used, and abused, and their only worth is their holes.”

“Fuck that! Already Mr. Jackson has shown that he values me.”

“How could he not? You’re awesome at what you do. You sound happy about your new life, Kitty, and I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah, but what else did Alex tell him? Would he say I’d been his submissive, that we had sex and shit at work? Would he out me that way because he’s pissed that I left? I told him I was unhappy, and I told him that he’d crossed a line. I am as submissive as the next gal, but I’m NOT going to put up with being put down. I don’t think he ever cared for me, about me, yanno?”

“He cared about your tits. And fucking you over his desk. He was power tripping all the time. I can’t imagine one businessman would go into those sorts of details to another. Maybe if they were friends, or hanging out someplace together. But no, I can’t see him saying any of that to your new boss.” At least she hoped not. Alex was a dickhead, a sexual deviant with little regard for women. She decided to get Kat’s mind off of that jerk.

“So, did you say that you think your Mr. Jackson is a Dom?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine puffed out an exasperated breath. “It sure seems like it. He’ll put on this face, this voice, give me an order, and I slip right into sub-mode. It makes me crazy.”

“Yeah,” Savannah chuckled. “I’ll bet it makes you hot and wet, too.”

“Screw you!” Kat laughed, blushing. Her friend knew her so well. This was the only downside to moving, leaving her dearest heart-sister behind.

“hahahahahaha,” Savannah laughed, her husky voice bursting with humor.

“I so miss you. You should come out here. We could hit up the clubs, tear out a few hearts.”

“I miss you too, honey. And you should go out. Shake off the last of your pissy mood and see what the city has to offer a sweet mid-western submissive.”

And so it was that she was here, driving in the dark to directions only her phone understood. The rain was melting the snow, tendrils of fog oozing across the road. Her wipers made a half-hearted swipe across the glass, the blurred glare of neon lights nearly illegible.

“Destination is on the right,” came the supercilious voice of her phone guide.

She muttered, easing her car down the narrow road. An arrowed sign  pointed to the entrance of a parking lot for Grapes of Wrath. She had to laugh at a D/s club named for a Steinbeck novel. Maybe it would be a cure for her personal depression. Finding an open slot, she parked. A quick slip of her lipstick across her mouth, and a check of her minuscule handbag, and then out of the car and dodging raindrops to the covered side entrance.

She paid her cover fee, ignoring the gentle leer of the door guy, and entered a din. Noise from people, the tv over the bar was almost overwhelming. A juke box ,of all strange things, blared in the corner. It took her a moment to realize that the woman next to her was asking her a question.

Pointing to her ear, she shouted “I can’t hear you!”

“Table or bar?” The woman leaned closer. Kat wasn’t sure if she was being hostessed, or propositioned. Divining the dilemma, she leaned close again. “Just seating you honey, you’re not my type! I prefer cock over tits, anyday.” And then she laughed, a loud, lusty sound. Kat smiled, unable to not respond to that infectious guffaw.

“Bar,” she said after a moment, deciding that she wanted to sit.

“Just wanna get your bearings, eh? Don’t you worry, Chica, MammaLa will take good care of you.”

And just like that, she was in.

Hired! ~2~

He strode into his office and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared around the space that had, up until this morning, been as familiar as his own loft. His desk was moved. His tables and chairs were moved, his every-fucking-thing, moved.  Very little surprised or shocked him these days, but this new girl of his was continually upping the ante on that.  And hell, he could admit that he loved opening his drawers and finding what he needed, whether it was a pen that worked, or his phone charger. He loved knowing that if he gave her a to-do list, it would be done to a T. In less than two weeks, she’d already organized the fuck out of his office, including the offices of two under-secretaries. Hell, if he turned her lose, she’d probably reorganize the entire structure of his offices.

But this. This was a step over the lines. This was his space. His sanctum. He looked around the space again. The chairs had been moved to what was obviously a less imposing conversation area.

But dammit! He liked being imposing.

Still, it did open up the space, and took advantage of the incredible view of the city-scape.

“I figured that since you paid a lot of money for that view, you’d like to actually enjoy seeing it more than twice a day.”

Her voice came from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, a frown still furrowing his brows. He noted that she wore red today, a color not many redheads even attempted.

“You’re not supposed to wear red,” he said.

“Is that a company policy? Because it’s stupid.”

My how her tongue had loosened in the last 13 days.  Drawing a deep breath for patience, he turned fully to her.

“It’s a fashion rule. Redheads don’t wear red.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” she said, swooping her arm from tits to hip.

He could barely look anywhere else but those amazing tits. No cleavage, not for his little prude. But the dress hid no curves.

“Not many would be so bold to wear red, no matter the hair color.”

“Why, because I’m a bit chubby?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Why are we having this conversation? No. Not because you’re soft and stacked. Because red is a bold color. But now that I’m hearing your sassy mouth, I can see that perhaps it’s a color well suited to you.”

“I don’t know why~ you brought it up in the first place. And besides, you haven’t said anything about your office.”  She ignored his “soft and stacked” as if he’d never said it, unwilling to go down that road with him.

“Perhaps because I was struck mute. By your audacity…”

He paused, watching her nostrils flare. Her temper had yet to be fully prodded, though it was tempting. And her chest heaved as she drew a deep breath herself.  Holy hell, he thought, those tits…

Just as she was opening her mouth to speak, he interrupted her.

“…and your vision.”

She drew herself up, fully prepared to defend herself. Yet his words punctured any argument that she was preparing.

“So,” she said, her tone somewhat bemused by the quick change of mood. “You do like it?”

“I do. I see the advantage of the desk being backed up to the bookcases. I can look out the window when I’m on the phone, yet still see who’s at the doorway.”

“Well, you’d know that anyway, since I’d not let anyone through without informing you.”

That too was true. He’d had no interrupted meetings solving temper tantrums and various crises. He nodded absently, walking around the room. He opened the drawer that faced his chair in the round-table form of the conversation area. Inside where pens had previously wrangled for space with elastics, sticky notes, and half-full packets of gum, now there was an organizer inside. Pens which he was certain had all  been tested by her, rested in several compartments. Sticks of gum had been removed from their box but  lay, still wrapped, in a long bowl which may have had prior use as a corn-on-the-cob dish. Paper clips were in a magnetic holder, and sticky notes were likewise in an appropriate bin. It took just a moment for him to look at an organized, efficient system that might have taken her hours to fix for him.

“You really have wrought wonders in here,” he said quietly.

“Thank you Sir,” she said.

Oh, he really liked it when she addressed him as Sir. If only he could lay her across his lap and have her say it when he was spanking that lusciously padded bottom.

“Come, sit a moment,” he said, gesturing to the chair nearest to his.

“I need to get back out there and prepare your agenda for the day.”

“Sit,” he ordered, in his quietly firm Dom voice. He watched her carefully, reading her body as intently he would the latest financial reports.  He’d tried this on her several times, each with the same result. He was sure she was a submissive. Her breath had a little catch to it, he noted, as she complied immediately. He wondered if her pussy got wet when he spoke to her that way. An interesting thing to ponder. He moved to sit beside her, watching the way she watched him, a hint of nerves and perhaps a bit of anticipation.

Interesting indeed, he mused.

Hired! ~1~

She looked up as the door opened and a youngish, goth-ish woman all but flew out from the portal. Her thick mascara was smeared down her cheeks, tears dripped from her chin.

oh my,  she thought, that’s one hell of an interview.

She swallowed hard, then rose as a hand peremptorily gestured her inside.

here goes nothin’, she though, squaring her shoulders. She would not leave here all snot-faced and mewling, to be sure. She needed this job, and she’d worked for dickhead bosses before. Still, her heart hammered hard in her chest as she crossed the vast office space to where he sat. He, most likely, would be her new boss, and she took note of all she could before she sat.

He stared at her, fingers steepled. His chair moved left, right, left, right as he stared at her. She returned his look with one she hoped looked calm, cool, and not as desperate at she felt.

“Fine,” he said at long last.

“Can you type?”

“Of course.”

“Can you keep track of things?”

“Things? Could you be more specific?” she asked. She’d learned long ago to not blindly say ‘yes’ in an interview, and her job coach had echoed that this very morning before sending her running uptown for this interview.

“Notes, to do lists, stuff.”

“You mean, your calendar? Your appointments and deadlines? Yes, of course.”

“Hmm, ” he mused, his fingers still steepled.

“Stand up.”

A quick frown crossed her face, but she rose.

“Here.” He pointed at a spot on his side of the desk. She walked over.

“Well, you at least look the part. Turn around.”

She turned around, the looked over her shoulder.

“Look? The part? I’m a trained professional.”

His eyebrows raised fractionally, and he straightened in his chair.

“I had no idea they covered that in business school,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Covered…? I think we’re talking at cross purposes. I know how to dress to represent the company. I know how to file and how to type and how to manage a professional calendar, as well as send your suits out to be cleaned, have a car pick you up, arrange for haircuts, send flowers to clients-all the things a businessman needs but doesn’t have time to do when he’s running a Fortune-500 business.”

She was proud of the little speech. It was firm, delivered crisply, as she walked back to her seat.

“How about a blowjob?”

Half-way to sitting, she all but bounced to her feet.

“I beg your pardon? In this day and age, you’d ask me for … for…” she sputtered to a stop.

“The word is blowjob. Or BJ for short. It’s okay, I’ll teach you. You did say you were a trained professional, and your resume does say that you have extensive sexual experience at your last employment.”

She leaned forward, fire slashing from her eyes.

“It. Does. NOT. Say. That.”

He held up an application.

“Naomi, I have no idea what you’re getting pissy about..”

She cut him off abruptly.

“I’m Katherine,” she replied scathingly. “It’s more than apparent that you need someone to take care of your office. Taking care of your sexual needs is your problem, buddy. NOT mine. If you want a secretary who can efficiently manage your day, then hire me. But I will NOT fuck you, suck you, or anything, except whack you in the head with my stapler if you try to force me. You pervert.”

His phone rang. She turned to move to the door. His voice took on a note of command, losing the humor.

“Sit.”

Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, her ass was back in the chair at his no-nonsense order. She clutched her small purse, thinking fuming thoughts about disorganized assholes, before coming to the conclusion that he really did need her skills as much as she needed the job. She didn’t mean to listen to his side of the conversation, but it became apparent that he was late getting some document off to someone who was NOT happy about having to call, again, for it. He hung up the phone and glared over her head for a moment.

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a laptop and thrust it across the desk to her.  Rising, he came around to her side of the desk, and pushed a hidden button under the front overhang. A small shelf slid from under the desk.

neat, she thought, as she put the laptop on it.

“Type,” he commanded. “Wait. What IS  your name?”

“Katherine,” she replied, her nose in the air. “And you’re going to need to make me an offer before I hit one key.”

“Better to hit the key than me. I apologize for the confusion. I guess Naomi had second thoughts about showing up.”

“Smart girl,” she said.

“I like wiseass. To a point.”

Walking back to his chair, he pulled a note pad from the far drawer. Scrabbling around he finally found a pen that worked, and an elastic band.

fuck my life,  she heard him mutter under his breath, as the pen stopped writing. His next choice finally delivered ink to the page. She couldn’t stop herself, she laughed.

“With you…not at you. Uhm. Exactly. You’re very bossy–and I get that. But if we’re going to work together…and that will depend on what you’re writing there, you’re really going to need me to help manage you.”

Remembering her quick sit when he’d actually used his Dom Voice on her, he smiled. He thought that was a novel idea, a submissive managing him. Nudging the paper towards her, he watched the smile bloom across her face.

This was going to be more fun than he’d imagined.

Need

I need Him.

I like to pretend that I don’t, you know. That I’m a normal, vanilla woman. That I’m busy in my life, my career, my family. That when I go to bed tired at night, I’ll just sleep.

But.

I don’t sleep. I look at Tumblr, at all the nasty little blogs that I follow. I get wet when there’s forced blow jobs, when there’s rape scenes, when there’s double or triple penetration pictures.

I throb, thinking of them.

And then I think of Him. Of the dildo in my ass when he fucks me. Of the feeling on my ass when he bites me after spanking me ruddy red. I remember the shocking pain of his pinching my tits, my belly, and the intense pull of his mouth on my nipple when he sucks my tit into his mouth…and bites.

That’s when I pull out my toys and it doesn’t take but a moment to cum.

I’ve been walking around in a half-aroused state for days now. Despite some really shitty stuff going on in my vanilla life, I’ve been able to shake that off. But not this…need. Not the desire to be slapped around, fucked into oblivion, beaten, and bitten. He’s one of those Doms who likes to make me cum. And cum. And cum. And when I think there’s nothing left after hours of this?

He makes me (yes, makes me)  cum again. And again.

Until I can barely think, barely walk, barely move. I’m a puddle of slut, in every sense of the word!

I miss that. I miss Him.

I hunger.

Almost Missed the HNT!

EVERYONE has been shut down today, the north east has been Bombogenisisisised. We’ve had a shit-ton of snow, winds to rival the wolf of 3-little pigs fame, and now the thermometer has begun to fall again. Oh, the warm up to 28 was SO nice. Finally to be able to shed some layers.

But then it got cold again. And my nips …well you all know what nips do when it’s cold.20180104_223341

Happy New Year!

Yeah, yeah it’s late blah blah.

I know.

But frankly? Relating back to my prior post, it’s been fucking cold up here. So cold, in fact, that I could NOT sit in my room and type because my fingers were hiding. And shaking. Or bundled up in mittens. In the house, peeps. And I know we are not alone in the c-c-cold…it’s been cold in a lot of places, I know it. Friends with frozen pipes in the mid-west. Friends  in the south dealing with snow and ice and freezing (for them) temps. And I have a beloved friend in Vermont who told me it had been double-digits below zero last weekend.

Think about that for a moment.

Double. Digits. Below. Zero.

That was the actual fucking AIR temperature.

I’m never moving to Vermont. Ever. I’m handling this cold–barely. But that is pure torture of a kind that would have me throwing out my safeword like the President throws out the opening pitch of the World Series. And then today came. It’s amazing! It’s WONDERFUL!  It’s 22* blissful degrees. Now, a few weeks ago, 22* would have evoked a shiver. Perhaps a delicate shudder. “Oh dear, it’s 22*, peeps…”

What a difference a week makes. After never even popping up close to 20 for a full seven days (we tied a record set one hundred years ago), today, many of us are in tee shirts. The woodstoves are quiet, the house heaters are actually able to go off for periods of time, and everyone is smiling.

Because it’s warm, doncha know?!

And you know what it means when it warms up after a cold spell in New England, right? It means snow is coming. Yup. It always, always works that way.  Freeze your asses off, and BOOM a snowstorm gets us back on track as far as temperature goes. (Mom Nature: “okay, I’ll warm you up…but it comes with a price…” )

So it’s not just a bit of snow. Not a “regular” storm. Nope.

It’s a nor’easter! (Bonus points if you read that in voice of the Wizard of Oz, “it’s a twistah!”). Make no mistake, though. We LOVE our nor’easters up here. Oh , we shudder and plan, and check for salt and the shovels. We grumble and gripe and “frigging snow..” and make sure all and sundry have been told

“didja hear it’s gonna snow??!”

and gear up the cars and all that..but deep in our Yankee hearts, we LOVE a big old snowstorm.

I’m no exception to that.

A day at home will mean time to write. Time to nap. Time to chill.

Ah. Yeah, that. “Chill”…

for after the storm? It’s going to get wicked cold. No, really.

WICKED. COLD.

Yeah, yeah, I know this is a sex blog. But it’s really hard to get all excited about sexy stuff when you have to wear three layers in your house because it is so damn cold. And tomorrow is HNT day…which means cold nips. Frozen nips. Tits with big ole goose bumps on ’em.  Hmmm…kinda makes me think of a story…and …okay, I can see there’s still some sexy stuff hidden in the deep, warm corners of my dirty little mind.

So now you have something to look forward to…a sexy little tale on the coldest day of the new year (maybe the coldest day all year with none to break it? One can only hope.)

Polish those shovels, pervie peeps, and I’ll be back. I have a sudden urge to write. And then…”nap”…hehehe.