Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (33 page)

“Your list is good,” he said.

“Really? It seemed like I didn’t leave much.”

“Monica, this should be fun. If we’re not having fun, we’re doing it wrong.” He looked at our clasped hands and softened. “The other day, I said everything in the worst way possible. I like playing, and I know how to do it safely, but I haven’t made a lifestyle out of it. I wasn’t out looking for a submissive, and I haven’t set hooks in the ceilings.”

“So no dungeon?”

“The Historical Society wouldn’t allow it,” he joked.

“Oh please, you could buy and sell the Historical Society.”

I tilted my head up, and he took the signal, kissing me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Jessica was the last woman I cared about that I discussed this with, and it didn’t go well. None of it did. I was scared you’d run away.”

“And I did.”

“Sure as fuck you did. I was pretty upset.”

“You didn’t seem upset.”

“I have a rich inner life, but that’s where it stays.”

“Really? Nobody gets in?” I slipped my arms around his waist.

“Can you live with that?” He puts his hands on my cheeks and kissed me. His stubble scraped my face, a rough counterpoint the softness of his lips and the slickness of his tongue.

“No. Not for long.”

“I’d like to see how long.” He kissed me in earnest, pressing his body to mine. He felt good. Delicious. Warm and supple with his hands on my back and his open mouth on mine.

I could have kissed him for hours, but I didn’t have the luxury. I kept my body close to his while moving my mouth away. “I need a test night. Like a trial run. To see if I’m scared.”

“Boo.” He dragged his lips down my neck and pushed his hands up my shirt.

“I mean it.”

“Okay. You just smell perfect. And also...” He pulled far enough away to look into my eyes. “I’m blocked. I have everything I want from you, and I can’t think of anything to do. I have too many options.”

I pushed him away, smiling. “You’re supposed to stand in the doorway and tell me to get undressed.”

He laughed and stood framed in the warm light of the open door. He looked me up and down. I’d come from the meeting in tight jeans, boots, and a woven long-sleeved shirt with a daunting number of buttons.

“That outfit’s bulletproof,” he said.

“Sorry.” I started unbuttoning the shirt.

“No,” he said, his smile an infectious disease spreading all over his face. “Stop. Let’s start over. Come up the steps.”

He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him. Okay. He wanted to start over in the right frame of mind. I went down the porch steps and back up slowly. I knocked on the door and stepped back, clearing my throat. It seemed like two full minutes before the door opened, and he was there again, wearing the same shirt and linen pants, in his sock feet, smile in dormancy, but there at the corners of his mouth.

“Monica.”

“Jonathan.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“And you.”

“Turn around.”

My breathing immediately got heavier, pooling between my legs as I turned my back to him.

“Unbutton your pants.” His voice had gotten half an octave deeper and more staccato at the hard consonants. The change in it made laughter impossible.

I yanked my belt loose, unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled down the zipper, then put my hands back at my sides.

“Good girl.”

I felt him get closer behind me. He stuck his thumbs in my waistband and tugged down my jeans. In three heaves, they were mid-thigh, with my panties still protecting my ass.

“Now,” he said, putting his hand on my back, “when I say bend over, you do it from the waist.”

“Okay.”

“Do it.”

I bent over until my nose was inches from my knees. He put his hand on my ass and a finger in my panties, slipping under them to feel me. I gasped.

“You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

“What were you thinking about while you were waiting out here?”

“Nothing.”

“This is only fun if we’re honest.” He pulled my underwear down and circled my opening with his finger. “So say it.”

Through my knees, I could see his legs behind me and the open door of the house. I closed my eyes. “I was imagining you’d come through the door. You put your hand at the back of my neck and grabbed my hair. You kissed me. Then you pulled me down until I was kneeling. You had your dick out. I don’t know how, but it’s a fantasy, and you did it really fast. And you put your cock to my lips, and I took you in my mouth. You sighed really loud.”

“Then what?”

“I started over. Did it a little differently. Maybe more kissing. Or I went to one knee instead of both.”

“So it was that moment.”

“Yes.”

He put two fingers in me. I groaned.

“Another time. Maybe. When you trust me completely.” He leaned over, brushing his free hand against my neck and shoulder, and pulled me up to standing, telling me what he wanted with a slight pressure. He pulled out his fingers and reached around me with his other hand, cupping my chin. “Open.”

I opened my mouth, and he put in the two fingers he’d just removed from me.

“This is what I taste when I eat you.”

I sucked his fingers, savoring the sex on them, the taste of arousal filling my mouth, my tongue licking his hard fingers. His erection pressed against my ass. His other hand pressed against my belly, pulling me against him. He took his fingers out of my mouth and put them back on my cheek, leaving dampness in their wake.

“You turned on?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“If I do anything that changes that, you let me know.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

At once, I rebelled against the suggestion that I call him by an honorary, but at the same time, I wanted desperately to complete the act of surrender. “Yes, sir.”

“You just gave me a little palpitation.”

“I am at your service.”

He brushed my hair from my ear and spoke softly. “Your knees, darling. Turn around and make use of them.”

I stumbled a little as I tried to get on my knees in my half pulled-down pants. He took my elbow and helped me. Kneeling eye-level to his crotch, I watched him undo his pants and pull out his dick. I wanted it. I wanted to suck it dry. He took me by the back of the head and put his cock to my lips. I waited a second before opening my mouth and giving him complete power over me.

“Like you did it at the club,” he said. “Open all the way for me.”

He pushed his hips forward, and I took him, all of him, down my throat. I groaned for him, vibrating, concentrating on keeping open, accepting, concentrating on his pleasure, which peaked my own. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became less gentle, more erratic.

“God, Monica. Get ready...” He groaned loudly, and the sticky bite of his semen filled my mouth and throat. He slowed, still coming.

I couldn’t close my lips, so my mouth dripped his fluid. He thrust twice more then fell out of me. I looked up at him as he stroked my hair.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

He whipped out one of those expensive hankies and wiped my mouth. It felt smooth and warm. “You change when you call me sir,” he said as he helped me up.

“It turns me on.”

“It’s only for when we’re together like this.”

I nodded. He pulled me to him by the waist and kissed me hard and deep. I didn’t know if I was supposed to put my arms around him, so I kept them at my sides until he lifted them over his shoulders, and I embraced him fully.

“You’re both the best and worst submissive I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the only dominant I’ve ever met.”

“I want to be your last. I want to ruin you for other men.”

“Better get cracking then, Drazen.”

“Sir.”

“Drazen, sir.”

He smirked. “Leave your clothes on the porch. Then, upstairs with you. There’s one door open.”

He watched as I pulled my boots off, wiggled out of my jeans, then unbuttoned my shirt. I didn’t do it in a lascivious way, using only the most functional movements to complete the task. When I was naked head to toe, he moved to the side so I could get past him. He took my hand, and I went upstairs in front of him.

My heart beat so hard I could barely breathe. I was doing it. The thing on the porch was an appetizer. Upstairs, I’d be his completely. I could do it. I had to. My soaking, pulsing sex demanded it. My hard nipples insisted on it. My come-covered throat required it.

I felt his eyes on my ass as I got to the top of the stairs. All the hall doors were closed except one, and it wasn’t the one I’d been to twice before.

“Go on,” he said.

I went through the open door. The difference between the two bedrooms I’d been in was more than the size, with the new one being bigger by fifty percent. The room was finished, lived in, and full of personal objects and photographs. The rug was worn where a man might lay his feet in the morning and night. The night table on one side held books, a half-empty glass of water, and a box of tissues.

“This is your room.”

“Yes, darling.” He ran his fingertips down my arms. “Get on the bed. On your back, please.”

The bed was higher than the other. I crawled up and rolled over. The down comforter was cool on my back, soft on the feather bed.

Jonathan put his hands between my knees and spread them apart, then pulled them up, bending them until my heels touched my ass. I groaned from his touch and the act of obeying it.

“Stay there,” he said. He got undressed, tossing his things on a leather chair while I lay on the bed, pussy and asshole up in the air. I watched his biceps tighten and release as he got his shirt off. His cock bounced out of his pants again. Naked, he slid on top of me and kissed my breasts and the diamond in my navel. I put my hands on his head, trying to push him down, but he wasn’t being moved.

“So, the receipt from the clinic?” he started.

“Yes?”

“When does that birth control thing kick in?” he asked, coming face to face.

“Because of when I had my period last... uuuuuhm.... I have to figure it because the doctor said it was real important.” I pretended to count on my fingers and tapped my cheek like I was thinking, screwing my eyes around.

“Monica, please.” He played at annoyed, but he was smiling.

“Immediately.”

He buried his face in my neck. “And I’m clean. What do you think?”

“You’re the boss.”

“This has to be more of a consensus.”

I touched his face. He’d already ruined me for other men. “Yes,” I said. “I want to feel you.”

“You’ve overwhelmed me twice in one night.”

“Don’t freeze up on me on my first night of submission.”

He straightened his arms, holding his body over me. “What happened to freaked-out Monica?”

“She turned into aroused Monica.”

He shifted to my side and sat up. “Roll over then, aroused Monica.”

I rolled over onto my stomach, holding myself up on my elbows. He placed his palm on my back, dragging it down my shoulder blades and the curve of my spine, landing on my ass, which he squeezed before standing up behind me.

“Okay, I’m going to show you something.” He picked my ass up off the mattress. “Bend your knees under you.”

I did it. I had one side of my face against the down comforter, watching him as he touched me and shifted my body the way he thought necessary.

“Now, pick up your butt. All the way up.”

I did as I was told, straightening my knees to right angles.

“Higher.” He gave my ass a slap that made me groan, then drew his hand along my back again, as if feeling for the right curve, “Put your hands under you, between your knees.”

I wiggled to get them under me. “Touch your ankles.”

“Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

He touched me all over, and I did feel like his work of art, his living opus with my ass in the air, so far up and bent out that my cunt must have been saluting the room.

“Physically,” he said, “are you comfortable?”

“No, not really.”

“And emotionally?”

“Not scared, but I feel exposed.”

He kissed my ass, using his tongue along my cheeks. My cunt twitched in anticipation. But he stood up. I heard fabric shifting behind me and his movements, but I didn’t look. When he came into my field of vision, he was wearing sweatpants.

“Stay there,” he said. “Don’t move.”

“Where are you going?”

“You don’t get to ask questions. You get to wait.”

And he left me there, butt up, bedroom door open behind me. I wasn’t scared, but I should have been. My ass tingled. Was he getting something to spank me with? Some rough tether? Cuffs? Hooks? Yes, I thought I should be terrified, but all I could think about was how much I wanted him to come back and fuck the living shit out of me.

I heard clicks and steps from downstairs, then nothing.

Your ass is out to a psychopath.

You don’t know that. He could have been in the institution for anything.

At sixteen? Drugs. Suicide. Depression.

Violence?

I heard him on the creaky wood stairs, then his feet padding down the hall, then I smelled his sawdust scent.

“Very good.” His voice was close behind me. “When I tell you to go upstairs and be ready, this is what I mean, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How was it? Waiting?”

“Not my favorite. But also kind of good because I just stewed, wondering what you were going to do to me.”

He stroked my ass, letting his fingertips brush the crack, inside the cleft, touching where I was wettest. “It turns me on knowing you’re up here doing what I tell you.” He put both palms on my cheeks. I felt something in his right hand.

He put his mouth on me, and I groaned when he kissed between my legs. He flicked his tongue over my clit. I bucked a little. I knew I wasn’t close, but I felt as though I could come from a warm breeze.

He moved me onto my back. He had a length of brown leather twine in his right hand. It might have made a fringed bag or a shoelace, but long. He looked at me clinically again, as if I were a problem to solve, then he went back to my eyes. “You ready?”