Hired! ~19~

AT LAST! This has been in the works for a while…but you know how things go sometimes!  Between life stuff and playtime with M, this sat dormant for the better part of a week.  My thanks for being patient peeps. Here’s the link to the prior chapter in case you need a quick review: HERE ~n~ 

His connector flight to NYC was delayed twice. Though he smiled at the simpering fool who explained that they could not take off during thunderstorms, her smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes. He was glad that she could see the anger crawling up his spine like an animal ready to spring forth and steal her life. Just another thing his stupid cunt would have to atone for once he finally tracked her down. He shoved the anger deeper, and took the shuttle to the hotel where the fucking airlines were putting people up tonight.

Another night away wouldn’t matter much. At least, until he made her pay for it with her skin.

*******************************************************

“Good girl,” he crooned, holding her head against his chest. Inhaling deeply against the pain in her still-throbbing nipples, she smelled the various scents of him. Peppermint from the gum he favored, the last spicy hints of his deodorant, and that musky scent that is peculiar to the male body. He tantalized her. Even now she could feel her arousal in the throbbing of her clit, and the slick dew that spilled from the belt pulled tightly  between her thighs.

He pushed her away, and pointed to the mattress. At some point he’d taken a sheet down from the shelf and tossed it there.

“Spread that out on the mattress,” he said, nodding towards the folded sheet.

“Uh, my hands are behind my back and tied, remember?”

He smirked.

“You’re doing the smirk-face thing again. That’s not very dommy.”

“Doms are allowed to smirk, and as a matter of fact, we do it quite a lot.”

“Well, I don’t understan….wait. You expect me to spread that without my hands? How the fuck…”

“You have a perfectly good mouth. I see it moving allll the time. I suggest you put it to use. Other than sucking my cock…for now.” He grinned at her face, sitting there open-mouthed.

He constantly surprised her. That something so mundane would be offered…and yet he knew it would embarrass her to be crawling around almost naked, since her bra was not even under her tits anymore. They’d be flopping around, her ass would be wagging around…the jerkness. 

“That’s…”

“Humbling? Awww, too bad. Get going slut.”

“Is this a task? Is it helping me earn the key?”

“Well, not doing it isn’t going to get us to the next point now, is it?”

His look was implacable. HE wasn’t going to budge. With a frown, she flounced over the the mattress, and spent considerable minutes trying to pick up, and then open, the folded sheet. Her bum was wagging around and she could feel him watching her, but she steadfastly refused to look at him. Finally, after an agony of minutes spent squirming and writhing across the mattress, she groaned. She wanted to give up, but damn him! She absolutely would not. Casting a quick glance his way, she saw him looking intently at her, making her flush with embarrassment. Picking up the sheet quickly she pulled it up to the top corner of the mattress.

“Even your ass is blushing. But your asshole is winking at me through that little hole in the belt.”

Growling around the sheet in her mouth, she continued to shake her head and spread the stupid sheet as he leered at her. She was going to ignore him,  yet she couldn’t not respond.

“You can’t see my asshole because of this frigging belt!”

“Well, not perfectly, but trust me, it is there winking at me. Lonely, I guess.”

She shot a death-ray glare at him, then turned back to finishing the task he’d set her. He laughed. After considerable time and effort, she was done.  Sitting back on her haunches, she looked at the sheet. While it wasn’t perfect, she felt she’d done a passable job. A poke in her ass made her turn and look at him.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Not bad, slut.”

“No, I meant hey, you just kicked me in the butt.”

“Slut butts were made to be kicked by Dom shoes.”

“That’s so not true.”

“It’s true in my story of what’s happening here…wait…was that an …eyeroll? At your Dom?”

Uncertain if he was serious or poking fun at her, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Hold that…right there…”

Advancing on her, she noted the clamp in his hand at the last second and slipped her tongue back in her mouth while shaking her head ‘no’ frantically.

“I wuth koking” she said, tongue locked behind her teeth.

“I wasn’t. Tongue out.”

“Iths gunna hut.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He dangled the key in front of her, and reluctantly she stuck out her tongue. Rather than attaching the clamp to it, he finger flicked it. It still stung but she knew a warning when she saw one.

“Sorry. Sir.”

“Better.”

He paused, looking intently at her.

“Well, slut, are you ready for your second task to free your dripping pussy?”

“How do you know it’s dripping? Huh? It could be all dried up and withered away inside this stupid thing.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah. Right.”

Wisely, she kept her tongue from poking out at him, admittedly at the last possible moment.

“Okay,” she said, heaving out a sigh. “I’m ready.”

She huffed out another breath.

“Bored already? My, I’ll have to take steps to correct that.”

Stepping over to the shelves, she watched him pick up a short, thick, silver rod.

“Open your mouth.”

She obediently opened.

“You’ll want this nice and wet. It’s going in your ass. No, don’t try to talk. It’s part of the belt, slut. And in a matter of minutes, it’ll be a part of your asshole! Won’t that be fun?”

It was rhetorical, she knew, but she still shook her head ‘no’, even as she gathered up what spit she could. This thing was fatter than it looked, and she was nervous about it going up her ass.

He pulled it out of her mouth, pushed her head to the floor without preamble, then began pushing it through the round hole at the backside of the belt. She felt the press of the cool metal against her ass and whined a little.

“Shaddup, slut.”

He pushed it until the flange at the base of the probe clicked into the base around the hole. He pulled her back up to her knees by her hair. Her eyes watered, as did her traitorous pussy.

“Magnets keep it in place, slut. Isn’t that cool?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut as her anus quivered around the thing wedging it apart.

“so…”

“…cool,” she said haltingly.

His palm slapped at one meaty buttock. She jolted, and, unable to stop herself with her hands secured behind her, she fell forward once again onto her face.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed.

“Bastard…” she muttered clearly, before mumbling something else into the mattress.

“Now, see? We’re having all kinds of fun now, aren’t we? I’m not sure exactly what you just said slut, but it tipped the tally upwards. I thought 20 slaps with the pancake turner would be sufficient, but I see I need to take some corrective measures. Your mouth gets you in so much trouble, doesn’t it? Why, I heard it even got you fired!”

“Wzntfird.Quitthebastard.” Her muffled reply made him grin at her back.

“Well, that’s not how I heard it,” he replied, knowing he was egging her on. It was so much fun riling her up.

“So,” he said, “let’s let your mouth do some yelling instead. Oh, and counting. I don’t care about saying thank-you, because that’s silly. Why would you thank me for that? I’m going to make your ass burn, little girl. Are we ready for some fun?”

He wasn’t sure what she replied. Her first yelp, followed by a groaned “one” was really all he needed to hear.

 

We Have a Plan!

Sometimes I lose faith in what we…or maybe that should say W/we, are. I’ve been pretty good about not being whiney but yanno…it’s been 8 months since I’ve seen my Master.

Yes.

EIGHT. FUCKING. MONTHS.

Sure we text a few times a day (like, good morning, good night, and some days a flurry of notes back and forth)…and I try to be respectful of his time, but sometimes it feels like I’m driving the relationship thing forward (or off a cliff?) all by myself. If I didn’t text him for a day, he wouldn’t write. Then,  I get all pissed and mad and think to myself,

well fine. (no, that should be in caps in full snarky mental voice) F I N E. He doesn’t want to reach out to -me-, and I have to instigate ALL communication, so fuck him. 

I do that. Yes, sad but true, nilla is not a perfect little princess of a slut.

Now, bear in mind that all this is all happening between my own ears, and actually reflects nothing in our relationship in the real world.  In the past I would act on impulse and snarkfest him with a shit-ton of texts saying things like:

okay you don’t like me anymore okayfine

sure sure don’t reply, i don’t matter

whatever. i’m sure you’ve got more important things going on than replying/showing you care/calling the slut who’s been yours for YEARS

And on it would go. Then he wouldn’t reply to any of that, and eventually we’d talk, and he’d say

“nilla, what has changed? Hasn’t this been the way of us all this time? Sometimes I’m busy, and can’t reply. But nothing has changed. I’m still your M. You’re still my slut. All is well.”

So now I just repeat that in my head when the nerves fester up and explode…’he hasn’t called or texted and he mustn’t need me anymore’…is covered over by

‘nilla, nothing has changed…’

and it helps. Because I hear his voice saying it, and it stops the freefall.

But because I was feeling…lost? I dunno. Adrift. There, that’s a better word…I did send him a text mid-week:

‘are we still even a thing anymore? all we seem to say is good morning and good night…sigh

And he replied right away to that.

yeah it’s a problem – we are both pulled in many directions – we’ll work it out.

and I had to add my two cents

I hope so. We are pulled apart by life and I get that. I just miss you.

note the forlorn, sad voice there. Then M, being the M he is, and who knows exactly how to snap me out of my funk says

Keep that thought when I’m beating you.

And with that, the sun comes back out, I smile, and I know that everything will be okay again–eventually. And with that in mind, I shoot him a text a day or so ago and tell him I’m feeling desperately needy (do all you Domly types love to hear that?!), and he pulls a date out of the air and damn if it isn’t an open day on MY calendar too! So, peeps, we have a playdate in 2 weeks.

TWO WEEKS!

Of course, now I’m feeling old (sorry Jz) and fat (sorry Olivia) and gross. Me, who is usually totally not worried about this shit in normal life. So what, I shrug, I’m round. So what, I say with a smile, I’m short. So what, I’m coming to a fucking HUGE birthday in a matter of months and the wrinkles are popping. (that one still kinda makes my knees shake a bit…still growing older certainly beats the Big Dirt Nap!)

I have to *consciously* remind myself that he doesn’t care about that shit. I’m sure he’d be thrilled with a slender(er) submissive who was 30 years younger …hell, I wouldn’t say no if a genii appeared and offered that, but you know what? I love and adore him, but… he’s got his own wrinkles, his own messy hair, his own tummy.  Neither of us are winning beauty contests here. We’re not in this for the (what I call) “glam-porn” where every tit is perky and bouncy, and every torn blouse is arty and sexy. Nope, just two old farts who will have the *best* time banging on one another (and banging one another!)…until I’m begging him to stop making me cum…and he’s refusing to stop.

Ah. See? You’ve all let me vent and now I’m not feeling so terribly gross after all. It’s not about the looks…it’s about the actions, the way we make one another feel, and being together. It may be an odd way to show love for one another, but really, when all is said and done, I’m okay with that!

 

A Question for Question Month!

Jz writes:

They’ve given you a trophy:
“World’s Best __________”
What is written in the blank?

Thanks for a really challenging question, Jz!! I’ve been thinking about this question a lot. She wrote this days ago and still I ponder. What am I really good at? Well, a cop out answer is “being me”…but I doubt that they give anyone a trophy for that.

And then I think “Liar”…because this whole life on the other side of the slash is a complete lie to the vanilla side of my life. With the exception of two friends who share my proclivities, and my M, no one in my vanilla life even has an inkling of who I am on the inside. It’s been 10 years since my “awakening”, an event that was triggered by one of the darkest periods in my marriage. Ten years — a DECADE — since I discovered that there was a name for these longings, for the dirty nasty things I like, that turn me on, that make me wet, that make me cum. Ten years since I discovered my inner slut.

And then I wonder if “Worlds Best Liar” fits, you know? “Worlds Best” is pretty big league- I’m thinking Bernie Madoff kind of big. Of course, he wasn’t the best liar, because he did get caught…

And liar has such a negative connotation. There’s guilt involved. The guilt of deception, because I’m one way in my day to day, and another way in my head. In here. Where I can write out my fantasies, and share them with other like-minded peeps. Like you.

And then I think…well, I’ll bet YOU don’t walk around wearing a vest with all your D/s badges on them, right? You don’t have an “I’M A FUCKING ASSHOLE DOM” button that you wear to the grocery store, right? Nor a “I’M A CUNT” or “I’LL FUCK YOU” or “USE MY HOLES” when you’re going to the mall, right?

Not in real life.

This … thing… we do, who we are when we do it…it’s real. It’s real to us, and our partner(s). It’s real in the moment, in our domination and our submission. That’s not a lie.

We have, each in our own way, learned to balance the dark with the vanilla, our needs versus our daily life, knowing that it’s really pretty much impossible to be out living openly as a Dom, or as a submissive and still be in the world, adulting. It’s not just about the sex…it’s about the core of who we are. Many submissives are strong and, if not exactly dominant in their daily lives, are at least in strong leadership roles. And I’m sure there are dominants out there who are not the boss at their jobs, who have to follow directions from someone above them.

We have to get along in our world, after all.

What we bring to our relationships is that other. The part of us that is tamped down during the many hours, days, weeks that our vanilla lives demand from us. Having time to do, to be, who we really are with our Dom or our sub? That’s freedom from the reality of life. After all, would I really want my entire life to be stuck in some Dom’s cellar, used only for the holes i have?

Oh hell no.  But it’s a fantasy that never fails to make me have the most intense orgasm!

And now, I’ve strayed a bit from that trophy title haven’t I? But I needed to sort through all the thoughts that have been rolling around in my noggin since I read it. I’m not the worlds best writer because I don’t follow all the rules for writing perfection, and my style isn’t for everyone (then again, neither is Tolstoy, and War and Peace is a classic…).  I’m thinking of all the things I’m not…ruling out my award. Maybe it’s time I think about what I am…a good friend, a good mom, a good pet mom, a good gardener, and a decent cook. I’m great at swearing, working hard, not giving up, and being creative. But what would you give me an award for?

Oh. Oh I know. I know what I’m really, really REALLY good at.

trophy
Worlds Best HUGGER

Hired! ~14~

His hand, still fisted within her hair, held her. Gods, she thought somewhere in the sane place in her mind,  he kissed the horny up so many notches. In the clash of lips and tongues, his had done battle and conquered hers. He nipped -delightfully – up her chin to her ear. That dangerous tongue of his swirled along her outer shell, sometimes the faintest flutter of a touch, sometimes a full-on lick, before sucking and biting on her lobe. She shivered, moaning, as he whispered dirty things in her ear; how it would feel when his tongue slid over her clit, how it would feel when his fingers explored her asshole. When she was a quaking, shivering mess of unbelievable need, he stopped.

“Good slut,” he said absently, patting her head, and releasing her. Sitting slumped between his legs, she barely noticed him rising and stepping over her. The kitchen light flashed on; she heard the sound of him rummaging in her fridge.

The red-hot haze of lust began to fade, and she shivered. Cold now, she wondered what the hell he was doing. Hearing the snick of drawers opening and closing she frowned. He was going through her drawers. And not the panty kind, either.  Just about to call out to him, she was forestalled by his grinning reappearance.

“You have a treasure trove in your whatzinit drawer!” His expression was boyishly gleeful.

“My what?”

“What-zin-it,” he enunciated. “You don’t always know ‘what is in it”…but it’s usually something you’ll need at some point.”

“Normal people call that a junk drawer.”

“Yeah? That’s just weird. WE always called it a whatzinit drawer at our house. It’s not junk, Kat. It’s useful and helpful things. Take these for instance.”

He held out his hand, holding two chip clips out for her to see.

“You’re excited about…chip…clips.”

“I’m excited because of all the fun I’m going to have with them.”

“They have almost no spring. They are not…for gawds sake…nipple clamps. I bet I’ll barely even feel a pinch.”

“I know,” he said, his tone filled with humor. “Which is why it was great to find these!”

In his palm lay two thick elastic bands, the kind that holds thick vegetable stalks together at the grocery store.

“So what I do it, I put on a clamp and…well, you know, I think it would be better to show you.”

He knelt down, and lifted her left breast. A quick pinch made her nipple rise, and he quickly fastened on the chip clip. The slightly pointed tip grabbed up her nipple, and left her with a mild sensation.

“Mhmm, see, just a little nip for your nip. Nothing much at all. But now we add this guy.”

First he removed the clip. He folded the elastic twice, then slid it over the front of the clip. Her eyes widened.

“See? We’ve just tightened the clamping ability by about 100%.”

He squeezed the open end of the clip hard, making the tip open, then guided it to her nipple. This time when he released the tabs, she squealed loudly. He smiled, flicking the pinchy device.

“Now,” he continued, “we mustn’t let your other nipple feel neglected.” With a grin he prepared the second clip and fastened that onto her. Her eyes closed as she whimpered again.

“Hurts, yes?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Then yelped as his hand grabbed her hair, and began lifting her.

“Up, slut,” he urged, as if the hand tugging tendrils from her scalp wasn’t enough to make her move.

“Ow ouuuw…” she muttered. She stood, swaying just a bit. The clips wiggled and wobbled but did not fall off, despite her ungraceful rise to standing. Already she was feeling that burn that she craved.

“Open,” he said, smacking her leg. Obediently she opened her legs, standing in front of him, her tits jiggling, her pussy shiny with the silver chastity belt.

“Be right back,” he said, before heading back to the kitchen. A silver spatula appeared in the doorway. “Do you know how much this thing hurts?” he called out, waving it in the air.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Okay, good,” he said. More drawers opened, closed. She could feel the need building, burning.  “Are you going to take this thing off of me soon?”

“Soon…ish,” came his muffled voice.

“Soonish?” she muttered. “What does that mean, soonish?” Realizing that she wasn’t being very submissive, and definitely not feeling so, she wanted to yell right back at him. But maybe that wasn’t the best of plans, she decided, as she heard a triumphant “yes!” from the the other room. It only took a moment for him to appear, with whatever he’d found, securely wrapped in a towel.

“Don’t you have a toybag?”

“Of course,” he replied, taking her by the arm and leading her forward. “Perfect. Stop.” Once more he tapped at her thighs, before walking behind her. “You have a lovely ass, slut,” he said, but she couldn’t reply as he’d also struck the back of her left thigh with the spatula. The sound it made was a dull *ting*, but she couldn’t speak, could only draw in the breath, her toes curling in the rug. When she came down, she let out a long hissed breath and a muttered ‘fuuuuck’ .

“I love the curve of it,”

*smack*  on the other thigh

“and the bounciness of your skin,”

*smack* on the first thigh, 

“and the blushy color from my spanking,”

*smack*

*smack*

*smack*

“and I’m sure going to love the adorable bruises from this pancake turner thingy.”

*smack**smack**smack*

“it’s…aaaaaah! FUCKFUCKFUCK…a spatula, you know?”

*smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack**smack*

“Did you say something slut? No?”

*smack**smack*

“Can’t speak? I love those sexy whimpers and gasps,”

*smack**smack**smack*

“it really gets me hard, you know.”

*smack**smack**smack*

The tremors came, making it hard to stand. There were tears, and panting breath.  Her thighs throbbed, her ass where he’d worked his way up and over all the curvy bits. He tugged her head back by her hair, again, and looked at her face.

“aww, poor little slut. Hurts, hmm?”

“yesss,” she whispered.

“I found a lovely wooden spoon. One of the heavy, thick kind. Wanna see?”

“No. I know which one you …”

*smack* between her thighs, hitting metal and skin. She jolted, the shockwaves of the blow awakening her clit, making her even more aroused.

*smack**smack*

“I smell you.”

His fingers felt all along her, the inner thighs, and the edges of her pussy.

“Pretty hot and moist down here, little girl.”*smack*

She moaned. *smack*

“Who woulda thunk you’d get that turned on by my hitting your metal casing? Hmmm?”

**smack*

She jumped as he struck her already tender bum.

“One would think that hurt you?” *smack**smack*

“YesssSSSS”

“Ooohhhh”

*smack**smack**smack*

“Ppplease take this off and fuck me, Sir, please.”

*smack*

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean *smack* OWWWW!”

“What do I mean oww? That means we’re both enjoying this, my dear.”

He spun her around, making her dizzy, and slapped both tits quickly. He hit flesh and the clamps, making her eyes widen as she rose to tiptoes, yelping.

“Your eyes are pleading…are you asking for more?” He slapped again, each tit receiving several fast blows. Her head fell back, her eyes closed as she moaned deep in her throat. His hand grabbed her throat, feeling the vibrations of her pain, then tightened. Striking her again, he drew the pain sounds through his skin, relishing them, feeling his cock stiffen.

He pushed her to her knees then, and unzipped his jeans.

“Good girls get a reward,” he said, as he press her face to where his cock strained for freedom. He grunted as the heat of her mouth closed around him, and slowly pressed himself across her velvet tongue.

 

 

 

Hired! ~12~

“Where r u?”

“Really. Where r u?”

“I’m getting pissed here. It’s almost 10!! I have to pee so bad!”

“I haven’t had my coffee yet, it’s barely 10 and it’s Saturday. Sleep. zzzz”

“BTW…it’s “badly”

“You said….wait…wtf? badly?? what the hell? are you talking about?”

“You said quote: I need to pee so bad.”

“So?”

“It’s bad English. It should be badly. It’s an adverb.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m not correting grmmr orspelling on saturday, specilly with textingwhen I gots to peeeeee…”

“There’s never a bad time for good grammar.”

“OMFG are you even kidding me now? NOW??”

“You said you’d be over early. Yes you did. Where the FUCK are you?”

“It isn’t on my calendar. Oh, wait, I don’t have a life manager anymore. Sorry.”

“R U even kidding? I NEED TO PEE!!”

“You said that already. Better grammar the first time, though.”

“aaaAAARRGGHHH!”

“MY EYEBALLS R TURNING YELLOW I NEED TO PEE SO BAD–LY”

“Asshole”

“The belt has holes in it. Go pee.”

“Eeeeewwww…That’s so gross. It’s going to be all against me and…and…brb…”

“zzzzzzzzz”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“You did NOT just fall back to sleep. I was barely gone 10 minutes. I figured it out.”

“Huzzah.”

“zzzzzzz was too sleeping”

“?”

“figured what out?”

“Kat.”

“KAT”

“wut?”

“WTF?”

“WTF….? wut?”

“what is WUT?”

“*eyeroll*”

“WUT means eyeroll? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Say it out loud.”

“It.”

“Still means nothing.”

“*EYEROLL*”

“Wut?”

“Jerkface.”

“I can hear you giggling.”

“Real doms don’t giggle.”

“Real doms don’t let their subs suffer needing to…oh. Wait.”

“Wut?”

“funny. not funny.”

“I dunno K, it seems rather hilarious to me.”

“Was your bladder throbbing?”

“Duh. YES!”

“I DID need to pee desperately.”

“I like that word. Desperately.”

“Are you really still in bed? Aren’t you lonely?”

“Nah. I have the phone with you texting me like every 12 seconds.”

“No time to be lonely.”

“Or sleep”

“I’m still horny.”

“Oh, I should hope so. Just stay in bed and imagine all the wicked things I plan to do with you. Or maybe not.”

“Wait…maybe…not? WTF?”

“Well, I was thinking on the drive home last night.”

“Oh, is *that* why I heard fire trucks? Set your hair on fire thinking, did you?”

“cute. Remember I have weapons of ass destruction and know how to use them, little girl.”

“smug smile…promises promises”

“Right, well, that was my point. I need a manager in my office…and you’re the best I’ve had in a long time.”

“I want to rehire you. Pizza tie notwithstanding, you’re damn good”

“at your job. When you can control your temper.”

” **!**”

“What was that?”

“My middle finger.”

“charming.”

“So, as I said, I want you back. But there’s a significant issue.”

“I went on the date with you. The tie is paid off.”

“oh, not the tie.”

“geeze. WHAT? I can’t even…”

“You said no sex with your boss. I’d be your boss.”

“I did say that. I say many things.”

“Right, and it would be terribly cruel of me to put that kind of pressure on you.”

“You’re a sadist. You said so.”

“You thrive on cruel, remember?”

“True, very much so. But to make you so uncomfortable…it seems unkind, even for me.”

“So…if I take the job offer, you’re not coming over to…”

“to…what?”

“To finshis what yuo srtated.”

“Are you agitated, little girl? I see your spelling is an issue when you are..”

“Agitated? I’M PISSED! And horny!”

“Well, that’s why the belt is so good…you can keep wearing it and I can..”

“?”

“?”

“can what?”

“where are you now? geeze I hate when you just bloop off…”

“I’m going to lay here and make up dirty songs with you in them. And make fun of you.”

“JERKFACE JACKSON WHERE ARE YOU?”

“sing that to the ‘scooby doo’ themesong…”

“Hey…don’t bust scooby do… what’s the matter?”

“when you go it’s cutsomary to say brb or something.”

“oh. I don’t text often. My fingers are tired.”

“poor baby. NOT! Geeze, so go on…”

“I had to pee. Go on with what?”

“our conversation? scroll back to remind yourself. The belt?”

“which one..I have several..”

“MY BELT. the one you stuck on me!”

“oh, that belt. Right. Well, if you keep wearing it, I can give the key”

“to someone else. ask them to hold it. Maybe even my safe deposit box.”

“in Baltimore.”

“Wait just aminte. youwanna lock me up and put the fucking key in BALTIMORE???WTF??”

“Well, it was a suggestion. I could leave it with the valet.”

“And tell him what? ‘here’s my key for my sluts cunt?”

“Oh, I like that. He would, too, I suspect.”

“BTW, your spelling is terrible!”

“No. No no noononononon.”

“Just no.”

“Well, okay. It was a suggestion. We can keep it here at my place.”

“NO TO THE FUCKING BELT.”

“I rescind my words that I won’t ever fuck my boss again. I take it back.”

“DO-OVER!!”

“ally-ally-in-come-free”

“I didn’t get that last one.”

“jeezuz furking crisco”

“My eyes are fucking rolling in my  head and r gona pop OUT”

“Dint you ever play hide n seek as a kid? Were you ever a kid?”

“SMH”

“LOL”

“So…let me clarify.”

“You don’t care if I’m your boss.”

“Because you’ll fuck me anyway.”

“Good so far?”

“Y E S”

“And we’ll be play.partners and I can torture you.”

” Y E S”

“And that will kind of make you my “sexretary”…?”

“NFW”

“?”

“No. Fucking. Way”

“Right.”

“Frist, not a secretary. Manager. second. It’s sounds so totally STUPID.”

“so? I like the sound of it. It trips off my tongue.”

“Grumble. Stupid. Grumple. I’ll trip your tongue.”

“Is that the business manager talking? Not my submissive, surely?”

“My name’s Kat. Don’t call me Shirley.”

“That joke is older than dirt.”

“still funny tho”

“ha.  ha.  no.”

“giggling”

“eyeroll”

“are you coming over?”

“I’m standing outside your door. Let me in, Kat.”

 

 

 

 

 

Perverted Pleasures (6)

You never know what you’re gonna find when you go trolling through your “Drafts” folder…I found this gem, from 2 years ago. It’s not finished … yet. But I was in the mood for a hot fucking story…and maybe you are, too? ~nilla~

 

(This never gets old… ~n~)

She splashed through ankle deep water for three steps before it fully registered that she was splashing through water.

In her kitchen.

In the dark pre-dawn hours, she struggled to bring her mind around to what the fuck was going on. No coffee. No light. No dry floor. Backtracking, she stepped once. Twice. Shivered hard, then stepped onto the living room carpet. Sodden carpet. Turning, she stepped forward until she found dryness underfoot. Snapping on the lamp next to the couch she winced, slapping her hands over her burning eyes.

“Goddam!” she yelped. “I’ve fucking blinded myself. Finally brave enough to peer through slatted fingers, she could clearly see a current in the kitchen. The sound of hissing came from the corner of the counter where the dishwasher lived. Cautiously she moved back into the splash zone.

“Oh fuck. Goddam it to fucking hell and fucking back!”

Blue tiles floated or lay skewed on the bottom of the pond that had been her kitchen floor when she’d gone to bed last night. Now it resembled Lake Holyfuck. Stupefied, she stared at the mess. How the hell did one even begin to cope with this? she wondered. She wished she was not alone having to deal with this. That she’d married and had three kids and a dog and maybe a hamster. Then she could share the load of shock and awe and horror with someone. But no, this was all hers.

She made her way to the cellar door, but couldn’t open it. Too much water against it or maybe too swollen from it. Who knew. It was time to call for help.

A quick trolling of the online yellow pages located three plumbers in her area–she called them all. Leaving urgent pleas for help on each machine didn’t resolve this current issue.

“Looks like we’re not going to work today, boys and girls,” she muttered. Splashing into the thick of things she took a pan from the wall and started bailing. Ten minutes into frantic scooping and her phone startled her with the crescendo from the 1812 Overature. Grabbing it up, she very nearly dropped it, but caught it in slippery hands.

“You’ve got a problem, sounds pretty epic.”

“You have no idea,” she said, hating the edgy panic in her tone.

He asked for her address, and promised he’d be there in 20 minutes. Skeptically, she hung up the phone and started bailing again. Sure he’d be here in twenty minutes. No one ever came when they said they would. She was twelve minutes into bailing when she heard the unmistakable sound of a truck in her driveway. Knocking came seconds later at her front door. Good thing, too. If he’d come to the back door he might have been swept away from the current of water that would race out, like in some cartoon she’d seen once.

“Hi. I’m Kevin.”

“No. No, you’re an angel from god. My savior. My hero.”

He bent to lift a battered red box, a motherfucking huge box from the porch floor, then followed her inside.

“Well, whoa. You certainly have a problem.”

“Well there’s an understatement,” she said dryly. “Sorry. I haven’t had my coffee even.”

“Best to not use any electric in here for now. We have no idea what got wet…this is a lot of water. Be right back.”

Sooner than she would have thought possible, the water level began to lower. He’d set up a pump thingy, then showed her how to vacuum up the puddles. Once the floor was clearer, he disappeared under the sink. She had a really great view of his ass, just a hint of crack, as he worked under there. There was a soft curse, then a louder ‘motherfucker!’  and then, silence.

The hissing had stopped.

He eased out from under the sink.

“Got that little bugger.”

“I thought you called it a mother fucker.”

He smiled. With his whole face, he smiled, but his eyes just mesmerized. She didn’t want to stare, but damn she was staring. She looked away, looked down, feeling the heat of a blush rising. Dang it! He was really fucking se…wait…what?

With a blink she stared into the toolbox. There was no mistaking the bright red ballgag in one of the compartments, nor the black eye mask. She cleared her throat.

“So…uhm…that thingy watchadoo…you turned it off. Can you fix it?”

“Nope. Your dishwasher basically crapped out.”

She looked at him, and knew, she just knew that he had seen her looking at the sex toys. The look he gave her was challenging.

“So…you don’t fix dishwashers.”

“Nope. Just the plumbing. And other things. Naughty little girls.”

His hand was in her hair, tugging her head back. She yelped, then gasped as his big hand circled her throat. He looked down at her, his eyes boring into hers. Somewhere she’d lost the power of speech, of fight. Maybe it was his fingers woven through her long, bed-tangled locks, or maybe it was fear, or maybe it was something else. Something dark, with a longing that tore at her civilized manners, a beast seeking freedom.

“Wh..”

“Hush. You’re really in no position to ask anything now.”

He bent quickly, scooping up the ball gag. His tersely spoken ‘open’ was quickly obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. It said ‘danger’…and something else she wasn’t certain of yet.

The blindfold slid over her eyes moments after he’d fastened the gag tightly. A push between her shoulder blades made her stumble forward. Another push, another stumble. Disoriented, she had absolutely no idea which direction she was headed, until her knees hit the bed and she fell forward.

“Don’t fucking move.” 

There were sounds behind her. Drawers opened, then closed. He was searching for something. Then quiet until his hand slapped at her ass.

“Up, on your back.”

She didn’t move, feeling defiant. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the sharp slap of what was unmistakably a belt upon her bottom made her yelp. She would have moved then, would have leapt upon the bed, but his hand clamped hard on the back of her neck, holding her down as he other hand slapped her ass, her thighs. The light cotton of her pajama bottoms did nothing to alleviate the burning sting. Her ass was hot, her mouth squealing around the gag with every blow. She didn’t want to cry, but couldn’t stop; the pain was too much, too hard to bear.

“The next time I tell you to move, you move.”

She nodded fiercely, yes, even though his fingernail scraped the back of her neck with each jerky nod. He all but tossed her up on the bed then, flipping her roughly onto her back. Her ass screamed at the movement. She felt fingers on her skin, the brush of air on her thighs as he removed her bottoms. There was a moment when she thought one more time of trying to flee, but the fear of what would happen when he caught her–and she had no doubt that he would catch her–was greater than her confidence that she could escape.  Her camisole was ripped in half. It was both thrilling and terrifying.  Hands clamped on her tits, squeezing hard, pinching her nipples, then slapping them.

A quick whoosh of sound, of air, and the sharp stinging slap as he used the belt on her left tit drew another muffled scream from behind the gag. She tried to clamp her legs together but his fingers pressed against her slit.

“You’re a fucking noisy thing. Not that I mind. I like the sounds…sexy, hot, makes me want to hurt you more. And your cunt is wet. Your mouth may be protesting, but your pussy is slick and begging for attention.”

Shaking her head no did no good. His fingers twisted and twined their way inside her, violated the empty space, filling her.

“You are fucking sopping wet–as wet as your kitchen floor. Whore. Dirty little whore, needs a good reaming by her plumber. Lucky for you I brought a big plunger with me.”

He moved away, but his hands were quick and firm, lifting her leg, grabbing her wrist, tying her with…her own fucking pantyhose. The way she must look, wrists tied to knees, knees held apart somehow, leaving her deepest secret places exposed and open for him. She should be fucking terrified. She was terrified. But neither could she deny that there was an element of dark turn-on here, too.

 

 

Hired! ~8~

If she thought that he was going to haul her up off of the floor and onto the bed, she was delusional, he thought, straightening his tie in her bedroom mirror. She’d slipped into the bathroom to ‘freshen up’, girlspeak for pissing, he guessed.

Looking around at the explosion of clothing in her room, he eyeballed the bed. OH, yeah, he definitely thought about fucking her brains out, but in this room? Though he was not a neat freak, he was afraid someone would quite possibly put an eye out on some of the garments strewn about. He gave her points for her bed being made.

His eyes narrowed. Her bed was made. The only clothing thrown higgley piggly about the room was sexy clothing. A wide smile broke like dawn across his face. Sexy clothing. Everywhere. She wasn’t just nervous about dating her boss, she wanted to look sexy for him.

As he’d jokingly ordered her.

Well now, wasn’t that a kick in the arse? The smile slid away as he heard the toilet flush. There was no point in rubbing it in her face. Yet. All things in good time, as was said. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he moved to the living room to wait for her.

“I suppose your reservations are ruined. Sorry.”

yeah right, sorry not sorry,  she thought as she stepped into view.

“No indeed. I called ahead to bump up our time. We’re good.”

“Oh, great,” she said with patently false enthusiasm.

“Let’s go then, shall we?”

“shall we” she muttered under her breath, but of course he was all eagle-eared and heard it.

“Tsk tsk. Mocking your boyfriend isn’t nice.”

“You are NOT my boyfriend. This is a debt to be paid.”

“Ah, So…you won’t get any enjoyment out of the evening then. Shall I take you to a burger joint and get you fries and a shake instead of steak and caviar?”

“I don’t like caviar. Too salty.” In truth, she’d never had any.

“Uh huh,” he replied, taking her arm. “Let’s go, Kat, and stop stalling.”

As if to emphasize the point, his stomach rumbled and she laughed. “Even your stomach has to add its two cents?” she laughed, poking his belly with her elbow as she slipped into her shoes.

“Hmm,” was his only reply as he watched her body move in interesting ways under the dress. “Nice shoes.”

“Hmm,” she mocked him.

“This could be a long evening.”

“Or a short one,” she retorted. “You could get sick of me and take me home early.”

He just smiled that smirky-face smile and held the door for her.

***********************************************

The restaurant was quiet and elegant. Subtle wait staff, fine wine, snowy linens. There was some soft music playing at the edges of her hearing, but she was drawn again and again to his face. He laughed. He teased. He gestured with his silverware. He stole her food, and plopped some of his on her plate, then laughed when her eyes rolled at him.

The waiter removed their dishes, and he ordered ice cream for dessert.

“What, no chocolate cake?”

“Don’t want you weighed down with all that in your belly when we go dancing.”

“Dancing?!” Her voice squeaked. “You never said a thing about that?”

“How neglectful of me.”

In truth, he didn’t look apologetic at all. Then again, it wasn’t really an apology. Her brows furrowed as she stared at him. He looked back at her, eyes dancing, chin resting in his palm. Daring her. He was silently needling her and she was not going to fall for it. Letting her breath out slowly, she smiled at him.

“Okay.”

If she’d hoped to fuddle him, she failed. He just smiled and leaned back as their ice cream was served. When the waiter left, he gestured with his spoon.

“Eat.”

Dom voice.

She ate.

************************************************************

She stood beside him as they waited for their coats. Her back straightened, shoulders back, and shot him a look when his hand slid over the curve of her ass.

“What. Was. That.”

“My hand.”

Gritting her teeth, she looked up at him.

“I know it was your hand.”

“Why did you ask? Did you think it was my foot?”

There was that deep breath again, in, out, in, out. She was not going to let him goad her. Pizza and temper had gotten her into this mess, and calm was going to get her home in her bed alone in a little bit. She was not going to let him poke her into flaring at him.

“I was sure it wasn’t your foot, because that is firmly planted…”

“yes?”

That smirk, again. So help her god, she was going to…breathe, breathe…

“on the floor.  Why was your hand on my butt?”

“Why?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sometimes hands have a mind of their own. It’s a very curvy ass.”

“You’re calling me …fat?”

“Curvy. In all the right places. I’m not into stick figure women, Kat.”

“Oh, so all I need to do to get you to leave me alone is go on a diet?”

He laughed. He was so fucking outrageously sexy when he laughed like that. All-in, that was how he expressed his joy. Head back, lips smiling, the total abandon of his guffaws made her smile.

Except, she wasn’t going to smile and encourage him.

He flicked a finger down her cheek.

“So serious. Yet, a lovely ass. I doubt if anything you did could discourage me…other than saying ‘no’. No is acceptable…if you are truly uncomfortable with me.”

Considering the current climate, it was a decent thing for him to say. And truthfully, he wasn’t forcing  her to do any of this. He may have tweaked her into it, but she was honest enough to admit that she was…kind of…sort of…maybe enjoying his company.

At least he wasn’t her boss, so that bridge was gone downriver.

She leaned close.

“I could fart.”

“One assumes so, yes. Amazingly enough, so do I.”

“I could have spinach between my teeth.”

“Nope, clear.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“You didn’t have spinach at dinner.”

“Well, I didn’t have it today.”

“Oh.” That gave him pause.

“Well, that might preclude me kissing you…but since I already have, I can confidently say that you do not, nor did you earlier, have spinach between your teeth.”

She laughed. He loved the way her entire face lit up when she really let herself go. This was becoming a very enjoyable evening, and yet the best was yet to come. No pun intended.

He leaned close again.

“How about, before the coats come, you jot into that restroom and remove your panties for me?”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked up at him, wide-eyed, before leaning up to his ear. Coming towards them was the hostess with their jackets in hand. She held his arm to brace herself as she rose to tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“I can’t do that!”

He looked down at her, and grinned that heart-melting, devilish grin.

“Sure you can,” he said, normal voiced.

On tiptoe again, she tugged him down lower to her mouth by his tie.

“I can’t,” she whispered, sounding breathless. He had to admit that the sound of her voice, and the wisp of her warm breath against his ear was a two-pronged turn on.

“You can.”

“But I can’t,” she said again, then swirled her tongue around his ear, the cheeky witch!

“I’m not wearing any.”

 

 

Hired! ~7~

She opened her mouth to speak, but his finger pressed against her lips, quieting her.

“Don’t argue just for the sake of arguing,” he cautioned. “We both know how much you’d hate eating your own words.”

He didn’t just remove his finger. Oh, that would have been far too simple, she thought. She felt pissy thinking it, and tried to figure out where that was coming from. Self-examination before going out with Mr. Dangerous? Weird, but likely necessary. It seemed silly, okay, stupid to be holding onto a work-grudge. And yet he had  figuratively tied her hands there, holding her back from doing all but the most mundane and trivial work that even a gopher could have accomplished.  Still, the curl of lust in her belly could not be denied as that finger slipped down her chin, then raised it. His eyes practically ate her, she thought, her heart fluttering nervously. He moved closer still, then his lips brushed lightly across hers.

“Okay,” he said, a smile on his face, “let’s be off, shall we?” and he lightly smacked her bottom. She jumped, the spell he’d woven around her broken.

No. Not broken. Enhanced.

Still, she wasn’t ready to get into a sexual haze with her boss, version 2.0. Been there, done that, ripped up the tee-shirt,  she thought.

“You’re frowning already.”

Shaking herself, she tried to find a snappy retort, but she found herself unable to find one that seemed appropriate.

“I’m trying to decide what to wear. As a jacket.”

“Well, choose quickly, as our reservation time is approaching.”

Quickly, she opened the coat closet, where order ruled, and grabbed her short leather jacket. It would pair nicely with her outfit.

“Ready,” she said.

“I think you’ve forgotten something.”

“I have my purse here, my jacket…you’re here, so….” she looked at him like he was mentally deficient, he thought.

“Is going out barefoot the new thing?” he mused.

“Oh HELL!” she said, then giggled. “Okay, you win. I’ll go get shoes.”

She dashing into her bedroom and paused. Shit, she’d almost forgotten the unholy mess in here.

“Dear. God.”

She turned to find a look of shock and perhaps horror on his face.

“Katherine…” he said, his voice trailing away as he took in the enormity of the mess.

“No. No, go away. You didn’t see this. It never happened. I mean, never. It’s one date, and you’ll never have to witness this ever again.”

She pushed him back, but he was like a brick wall.

“Well, we’ll debate that later, but what the hell happened in here? It looks like you threw your very own panty party in here. Or a rave. Or whatever the hell they call it these days. This…from my tidy, organized, everything-in-it’s-place  Katherine? I…it…” he ran a hand over his hair, then looked at her, and laughed. “You’re a fucking slob at home, Ms. TidyPants.”

“I am NOT,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing. She shoved at him again.

“Oh, only all this evidence to the contrary,” he guffawed, his hand swinging around to take in the entirety of the room.

“Shut. Up. Mr. Jerkface Jackson.” Teeth gritted she began pushing him in earnest. “Out. Shoes. Go.”

She darted to the open closet door, and grabbed the first pair of black shoes in there. She knew they were the right ones because those had not been affected by the Attack of  First Date Syndrome. Darting back to the door, her foot caught in a bra strap, the other caught in a cup. When she tried to shake it off, she stepped on the boning of the her corset, and yelped. Hopping on one foot, she immediately slid across a silk teddy, and wound up flailing along the side of her bed, until she fell. She landed face first. Burying  her face deeper into the pile of crap on her bed, she moaned.

His footfalls moved across the room. Carefully and slowly, she noted, so he wouldn’t step on her shit. She didn’t want him to get any closer so she tried to shoo him away.

“I’m not ever getting up from here. I’m not ever going to look at you, or remember that you exist in the world. Go away and leave me to die in my embarrassment.”

Her hands made flopping motions at him, as if to wave goodbye.  Her voice, muffled by the pile of clothing and blankets on the bed, came out as a wail. His laughter clearly carried to her, however.

Damn him.

He kept laughing. He laughed so hard that he tried to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, but he slipped on a silk charmeuse robe, rolling right down the side of the bed to land on his butt on the floor beside her legs.

And still he laughed, the dumb ass.

“ohmygawd,” she moaned, but a giggle escaped.

He gulped air, coughed, as he laughed even harder, then tugged on her leg until she fell down beside him.  He had tears in his eyes from laughing, the rotten cur!

“Stop laughing,” she laughed.

“Can’t,” he laughed.

Later, she was never sure how long they sat there in the destruction of her room, but they were both exhausted, sides aching, when they finally ran out of giggles.

 

 

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.