At Mr. Cartwright's Command (4 page)

B
e ready for me by 7pm.

It's a simple text message, but those few words are enough to send my world into a tizzy.

It's not like I have much else to do now that my job search has been abruptly called off.  Instead, I spend the day in a haze – my thoughts are consumed with everything that Mr. Cartwright is: his touch,  his stare, his intoxicating scent that lingers on my pillow after last night.

And tonight we're going to try something new.

New, huh?  Consider my curiosity officially piqued. 

It feels like each hour goes by slower than the last as I wait for Mr. Cartwright's return.

7pm comes and goes, and soon the 8 o'clock hour does as well.  It's not until 9:45pm that I hear the front door of my apartment creak open.

I rush to the hallway, a little bit too eager. Mr. Cartwright is in the doorway and he smiles at me with that sexy, sinister grin of his as the door slams shut behind him.   He's on me,
all
over me, before I can even say hell

He takes me by the waist and pins me between his body and the wall.  My arms curl around is neck as his lips assault mine.  I can't help but whimper feeling his tongue dart into my mouth as he pushes my legs apart with his knee.

His lips leave mine and he pulls back slightly, looking down into my eyes.  “I'm sorry but I've been thinking about you all day,” he growls.

“It's okay,” is all I can muster up to say.  I've been thinking about him, too.

“Good,” he says as that wicked look returns to his eyes, “because I have plans for you.  And they're going to make last night look like child’s play.”

“What?” I ask confusedly.  We didn't really even have sex last night he just....
oh God
. “What do you mean?”

“Come.  You'll see.”  He grabs my wrist and starts leading me down the hall, but I jerk away from him.

“Wait, you're going to hit me again?” Actually, it wasn't that bad.  It was kind of hot even. 

“I didn't hit you, I spanked you, there's a difference.”

I cross my arms defiantly.  “Really is there?”

“Your body told me you liked it,” he replies with a smirk.  Well he's not wrong about that.  “Now, come along.”  He proceeds to grab my wrist again.  Clearly, this is not a man who's used to hearing no.

He leads me down the hall and around the corner before coming to a stop in front of
that
door.  The large, reinforced metal one at the end of the hall.  Earlier in the week I tried asking Ronald what was behind it and he avoided the question until he told me it was a safe.
Right.

I snatch my wrist away from him again and say, “You know, I am apart of this too, right? I think I deserve a bit of an explanation before hand if I ask for one.”

Mr. Cartwright comes toward me, his green eyes growing dark as he corners me against the opposite wall. My heart races.

“I don't
owe
, you anything.  You do as
I
say.  Those are the rules, that's how this works,” he seethes.

Most of me thinks this is pretty fucked up, but a small part of me thinks he's right, and that part scares me.  He turns from me again, pulling out his key ring and selecting a rather small silver key which he inserts in the door.

“Ladies first,” he commands as he holds the door wide open for me.  He's holding me in an intense  glare and I don't dare disobey.

The room is dark and I can't see anything in front of or around me as I step in.  I hear the door slam behind us before he flips on the light.  And that's when I see it.

Truth be told I'm not even sure what I'm looking at.  The room is filled with all kinds of odd contraptions—some coming down from the ceiling, some bolted into the wall, and oddly shaped furniture throughout.  And on the far wall I see a plethora of items I do recognize—rope, chains, handcuffs, and whips.   And lots of them.

Oh, so it's a sex room.  He as a whole room dedicated to sex, and that was the big secret?

I turn quickly on my heel only to face-plant against his chest.  “You aren't going to...use  all those things on me? Are you?” My face is twisted with shock and disgust, none of which seem to phase Mr. Cartwright, who now looks thoroughly amused.

“Oh, Tamara,” he says as he rests his hands on my shoulders, messaging them in a hypnotic rhythm.  “You see, this is the problem with you.  You don't know how to relax and let go, and let me take control.”

Control.
There it was, that word.  I think back to the questions he asked me when we first met. “What are your fears?” he ASKED to me, and that's when I revealed that my biggest fear was not having control. 

His pupils danced over my face wildly as his tongue coated his lips.  “This is what you need.  This is what you want.  You must trust me,” he says, his hand slipping softly around the nape of my neck.  He draws my hair back and plants his lips at it's base, nipping and sucking the skin with his mouth. It doesn't take much for his touch to make my body instantly respond.

He caresses my shoulder with his finger tips, brushing the narrow straps of my slip dress off my shoulders.  I'm wearing one of his designer bra and panty sets—a rather demure white lace one with little powder blue bows on it.  He seems to like the way it looks on me.  He pulls me in close, his hands traveling down my spine and over the curve of my ass.  He gropes my malleable flesh, while his lips exploring my neck. I bite my own lip hard as my body melts into his and my mind drifts to a very dirty place.

His hands come up to my bra, unlatching it in back and letting it slide over my shoulders and off my arms.  He walks me backwards into the room, and then suddenly let's me go. 

“Look around,” he says to me.  “Since it's your first time, I'll let you pick your poison.”

My eyes survey the room.  Every contraption looks foreign, odd or slightly dangerous. Something tells me I'm going to make this worse for myself, having no idea what any of this shit is.  Just to the left of us is an S-shaped black leather sofa with strange straps coming out of the bottom.  It looks like something out of the future, but it also looks like the most sane thing in the room.

“That one?” I say, pointing at it.  His eyes light up and I'm sort of scared.

“The tantra chair, that's an excellent choice!”

God, what have I gotten myself into?

With his hand against the small of my back he leads me towards it.  “Don't be scared, you picked a good one.  You'll be comfortable.”

Well that's reassuring...I think?

“Here, lay down,” he instructs me.  With my hips against the highest end of the chair, I lie flat, face first against it, the cool leather giving my bare skin a chill.  Mr. Cartwright drapes his body over mine, takes my wrists and pulls them down towards the floor.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Trust me,” he says bluntly. 

One by one, he pulls a strap from beneath the sofa and secures my wrists in place.  They don't look at much but when I tug on them I realize just how secure they are—I couldn't get free of these things if my life depended on it, and that's kind of scary.

He leaves me there, feeling helpless and exposed, as he moves across the room. 

“Uh, should we have a safeword or something?”

He snickers as he stares at the opposite wall.  The one with all the chains and whips on it—
fuck.

“Pick a number?”

“What?!”

“A number, Tamara. One through eight. Pick one.”

“God, um...seven?”

“Lucky number seven it is!”

His sadistic enthusiasm makes me think I've made the wrong choice.  I see him pull something long and black off the wall.  It looks like a whip.  Like one giant whip with multiple whips built in!  My eyes flare as he comes back towards me with it.

“No!  Hell no!  You're going to whip me with that thing?”

“Again, trust me,” he says as he takes my other wrist and shackles it as well.  “Do you trust me, Tamara?”

“I...” I'd be lying if I said I did, and I already know how he feels about liars.

“Well you'll learn quickly,” he says

My mind is reeling.  He's going to whip me like a dog!  “M—Mr. Cartwright,” I stammer – fuck, I don't even know this mans first name and he's about to
beat
me with God knows what, “Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you, okay? I swear I will never do anything like it again.”

“Tamara I've forgiven you for that.  This has nothing to do with your punishment.  This is for your
pleasure
.”

“My pleasure? How?”

“Did you not enjoy last night?” he asked.

Dammit.
I don't respond, I just sort of...squirm.  And he gets it.

He chuckles.  “It doesn't even hurt. It's just a flogger, much different from a regular whip,” he says as he tickles my behind and back with the tassels. 
Oh.
Alright, that doesn't feel so bad.  “Just be glad you didn't pick number six.”

Mentally noted.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he walks around me, 'flogger' in hand, stroking it like it's his dick.  He positions himself behind me and begins to reach back with it and—damnit, I'm not ready for this!

I close my eyes tight and blurt out, “Safeword! What about the safe word?” I say interrupting him.

He groans. “Fine.  Your safe-word is,
petunia
.” 

Weird choice, but I'll go with it.

“Are you ready now, Tamara?” he asks me, gently tracing my spine with the fringe.  It's way more relaxing and tantalizing that it should be.

I close my eyes tight and whisper, “I'm ready.”

The anticipation just might be the worst part, and something tells me that Mr. Cartwright knows this.  He's standing behind me so I cant see him at all right now, but I can hear him shuffling with my eyes closed, bracing my body for the impending impact of the whip.  He waits a good minute before he finally—

“Eeep!” I yelp as the leather collides with the soft flesh of my ass. It's more shocking than painful.  It leaves a dull stinging feeling, but it doesn't hurt.

“Not so bad, right?” he asks, rubbing my ass with his fingertips.  His hand feels a hell of a lot better than that thing.

Before I can even answer he hits me again, my body jerking upright.  “Don't do that,” he says, punishing me on my back with the flogger.  I instantly lay back against the chair. 

“Just a few more,” he says, but Mr. Cartwright is relentless.  He hits me again and again, but slowly and tortuously.  I groan and moan and struggle against the straps that bind my wrists, feeling them dig into my skin, but it doesn't compare to the stinging that whip. 

“Stop struggling, or I'll make this even harder.” he says, and I instantly still my hands.

He whips me three more times in a row – it's making me wet and it hurts so good, but I'm not sure how much more of it I can take.

“How many more?” I dare to ask.

“Just a few, but if you aren't good I'll double it.”

I shut my mouth, along with my eyes.  A muffled whimper escapes my throat as the punishment of my ass continues.  I bite my lip hard, feeling the crack against my body two more times.  And then, he stops.

He leans against me, his slacks brushing against the backs of my thighs.  I can hear his heavy breathing.  “You did excellent, Tamara.  I'm impressed.  Most crack after the first few sets,” he says. I can't help but wonder how many women he's put through this.  I can't help but wonder how many other penthouses he has, around the world, with kept women just like me in them.

He softly caresses my curve and my back.  “Does this feel better?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” I mumble, biting my lip as the dull pain subsides.  His own lips touch my cheek and he nips at my skin, groping me at the same time. My body arches and I moan out for him.  His lips trail slowly over my back. God, he knows just how to torture me with anticipation.

I hear him undo his belt, followed by the sound of it hitting the floor.  He unbuttons his zipper behind me, and grips my hips to position me just right.  My wrists tug tighter against the restraints.  I feel his cock slide through my cheeks, teasing my hole, and I grip the rope above my head tightly.  My mind screams,
just fucking get in me already!

“Do you like this, Tamara?” he asks seductively as he continues to tease me.

“Yes,” I pant.

“Do you want me inside you?”

“Fuck, yes,” I hiss.

“How much?”

“So much...” I reply breathlessly.

“What do you say?”

“I...what?”

“What do you say when you want something?”

“I want this,
please
.”

“Please who?”

“Please, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Mmm,” he moans and I feel the head of his cock penetrate me.  I groan, throwing my head back he pushes deeper and deeper into me, gripping my hips tighter with every stride.   I feel his skin against mine as he fills me completely with his length.  His hand winds around my thigh, disappearing between my legs as he begins to rock slowly into me.  He stimulates my mound with his finger and I groan at the top of my lungs, barely being able to contain it all, and he's just getting started.