Doris O'Connor

RIDING HER TIGER

Club Ink, 1

Doris O’Connor

Copyright © 2012

"You've enrolled me in
what?
Are you insane?"

Estelle rolled her eyes and clenched her thighs together in a vain effort to stop the rush of hot arousal trickling down her inner thigh. She'd felt deliciously wicked, foregoing underwear today. It had given her a secret thrill to sit in this morning's interminably boring meeting knowing she was bare-assed under her sensible A-line skirt. It was decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassing now. Her mind had wandered during that meeting, imagining she was under orders from her Dom, who would fuck her fast and hard on her desk, when her boss had gone out to lunch.

No Dom had appeared, alas. She hadn't figured out a magic spell to conjure the Dom of her dreams out her favorite BDSM novel.

No, instead she'd found a Skype message from her best friend Neeve with orders to click on a link. With one flick of her finger, she'd been taken to her newly created profile on a kink dating site. The pictures in the side banner of
findurkink.com
alone had pitched her arousal sky high. Not to mention the three messages from someone called Ink, each one more explicit than the next.

Apparently he'd taken her silence as assent, and she was scheduled for a private, live chat in five minutes.

Shit, five minutes!

"Neeve! I know you're there. What the fuck have you done?"

Estelle typed feverishly, not daring to examine why she didn't just click out of that site. Instead she found herself perusing Ink's online profile, and she gulped. No picture, sadly, but he was an exploration facilitator, whatever the hell that meant.

His list of credentials was impressive. Her clit clenched, and her heart rate sped up, reading that fire play and knife play were his specialty. Not that her fantasies went that far, but if he was good at that, then no doubt he was an expert at the rest, too.

Oh shit, three minutes!

"Neeve, stop messing about. What is this?"

A laughing emoticon appeared in the Skype box, followed by a mooning one.

"Neeve, really, this isn't funny. What did you do?" Oh she was going to strangle her. Neeve was known for her practical jokes, but this was a step too far, even for her. Her computer pinged, and Estelle jumped as a private chat screen popped up.

She stared at the empty speech bubble as though it was a poisonous snake ready to bite her hand off. Skype beeped at her, and she jumped again.
Shit
, this was ridiculous; she was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Just go with it. I've checked it out. He's the best facilitator they have. I know you want this, and you'd never do it by yourself, so consider it a late birthday present. You need to get fucked, good and proper, and get your silly girl crush on your boss out of your head.

Just one thing. Don't piss him off. Word has it, this Ink is …

inventive."

And just like that Neeve was gone. Estelle wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and willed her breathing to slow down. Trust Neeve

– she never should have confided her deepest, darkest fantasies to her.

Estelle still wasn't sure what had made her admit it. Finding out that her boss was finally divorced had shaken her. It meant he was free, and she could do something about her fevered imaginings. In typical Neeve fashion she'd suggested tying Estelle to his desk to get his attention. After all, rumor had it that his ex-wife and he had been into kink big time. Estelle had no experience to speak of in that field.

She recalled Neeve's ominous response that night only too well now. "Well, we'll have to do something about that."

Her computer pinged again, and Estelle's heart stopped for an instant, before it turned into a jackhammer. He was there, this Ink.

Oh good God, am I really doing this?

"Punctual, I like it. Have you followed orders?"

Orders, what orders?

"I asked you a question. I expect an answer!"

"Err, what orders?"

Nerves settled in Estelle's stomach like lead as she waited for his reply. Maybe she should have paid more attention to the fine print off the site.
Damn Neeve. She could have given me some warning.
But even as she thought that, she was honest enough to admit to herself, that she would never have logged on. Why wasn't he replying? Had she blown it before she even started?

"Who is this?"

The words mocked her, and her fingers shook when she typed her reply.

"I'm, well, I'm Estelle, but I didn’t read any orders, sorry."

Again the silence was deafening. Well, as deafening as a pc screen could be.

"I'm sorry." Why did she feel the need to apologize? This was ridiculous. She wasn't a child. She didn't need his approval.

"Actually, no, I'm not sorry. I didn't even know about this, until my friend sent me the link. She signed me up you see. So, if you sent any orders, then, well I didn't see them." She paused, biting her lip nervously. "And I'm not sure I would follow orders, even if I had seen them."

There, that wasn't so hard to type.

"I see."

Again there was an unsettling silence, but come what may, Estelle couldn't just click out. So she waited.

"Why would your friend sign you up to this site?"

"Well, she…she …"

Could she really tell a complete stranger her fantasies?

"Yes? Tell me. Whatever you say will stay between the two of us. If you read the rules, you'd know that."

Okay, here went nothing.

"You have read the rules at least?"

"I skimmed them,"

"Thank you for your honesty, Estelle. That really is the most important rule, followed by confidentiality. So, your friend signed you up because…?"

She imagined him sitting there, one eyebrow raised, waiting for her reply. What did he look like, she wondered. Unbidden an image of her boss swam in front of her mind. Nathan Fielding was six foot four of pure muscle expertly hidden under his tailored business suits. Close cropped hair, warm auburn eyes, strong jaw, full lips and adorable steel rimmed glasses that always ended up at the bottom of his nose and made Estelle's fingers itch to swipe them off him. Not to mention strong, large hands and a deep, gravelly voice to die for. Just thinking about that voice of his had more of her juices flow out of her pussy, and Estelle swore. She would leave a fucking stain on the cloth of her office chair at this rate. How the hell was she going to explain that?

"Answer me, Estelle, or I finish this now, and your membership will be revoked immediately."

The cursor blinked impatiently at her, yet she couldn't get her fingers to move.

"Good bye, Estelle, it was nice speaking to you."

No, he couldn't leave, not now. What could she say to get his attention?

"I'm not wearing any underwear!"

He didn't respond. But he didn't leave either. After a small eternity that blasted cursor moved.

"You were going to tell me why your friend signed you up, Estelle."

What?
She just told him she was going commando, and he didn't react to that at all?
Sheesh
, she would never understand men.

"Now would be a good time to tell you that I do not like waiting. If I ask you a question, I expect an immediate answer. I give you five seconds before I add to your punishment."

Shit,
that didn't sound good. Estelle's fingers flew over the keyboard.

" Fine, have it your way. She signed me up, because I … I."

Estelle took a deep fortifying breath. "Because I want to learn how to submit. I think, I mean, I hope that's what I need to… well you know."

"To what, Estelle? If you can't type the words to an impersonal computer screen, how do you expect to be able to tell me in person?"

"In person?"

Her pussy clamped down in fevered anticipation of imagining such a meeting, and she bit back a groan.

"Yes, this is just an introduction. I prefer to meet in person, if I feel the lady warrants it. Are your thighs growing wet with your juices, imagining such a meeting, Estelle? Is your cunt clenching in anticipation? Are you wondering what I will do to you when we meet?"

"Yes…."

Her fingers typed the words of their own volition. Oh Jesus, she was really doing this, here in the office. The little clock in the corner of her pc screen confirmed that her boss would be back any minute now. Faint voices reached her from the corridor, as the office workers slowly filtered back into the building at the end of the lunch hour. Anyone could walk in and see what she was doing. The site colors weren't exactly subtle.

"Good girl. Now touch yourself for me. Spread your legs and sink your fingers into your cunt. Are you doing that, Estelle?"

"Yes…"

One hand gripped the side of her desk, and the other found her wet folds. She bit back the moan as her body responded instantly.

"Good girl, now rub yourself for me, just enough to have you climbing, do you hear? I do not give you permission to come yet."

Estelle whimpered her need as her fingers rubbed her clitoris.

The fear of discovery heightened her senses, and her pussy spasmed as her body climbed. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she panted her arousal. The pc screen blurred, and she scooted her ass forward and spread her legs wider. Her movements grew faster and more urgent, as she waited for that blasted cursor to move.

"Are you close, Estelle?"

"Yeeeessss."

Nathan Fielding's deep voice just outside the office door broke through Estelle's climbing pleasure, and she froze.
Shit, shit, shit.

She just had time to remove her fingers and sit up straight, before he was behind her. She slammed her laptop shut and forced a smile on her face, as he appeared next to her. Puzzled brown eyes sought hers, and she wanted the ground to swallow her up when his nostrils flared and his eyes seemed to zero on her nipples straining against the flimsy fabric of her bra.

"Are you quite allright, Estelle? You seem a bit flushed."

"I…I'm fine thank you, Sir."

She flinched at the double entendre, and she knew her cheeks were flaming. She hastily crossed her arms over her traitorous nipples and clenched her hands to hide the wet evidence of her arousal. Time stood still, whilst he slowly ran his gaze over her body; and by the time he smiled, Estelle was sure she was going to combust with nervous energy and unfulfilled sexual need.

"If you're sure. I wouldn't want you to come down with anything. Have the Johnson files ready in ten minutes and schedule a conference call, would you?

"Yes, certainly." Estelle said to his back, and breathed out a sigh of relief. She opened her laptop and swore.

The chat room was empty.

The taxi beeped outside, and Estelle took one long last look at herself in the floor length hallway mirror. The outfit had been Ink's choice, his orders explicit. Estelle had a hard time recognizing herself.

The clingy sheath dress showed every one of her curves off to perfection. Bright red wasn't normally a color she wore, let alone with lipstick, and finger and toe nails to match, and if she bent over anyone would get a full view of her waxed pussy. Another thing she didn't normally do. Thankfully the whole process hadn't been as mortally embarrassing as she'd imagined it would be. Neeve had dragged her along to her regular beautician, and once the middle aged woman was finished with her, an entirely new version of Estelle had emerged.

Now if only she'd feel as confident as she looked. Her newly layered and feathered hair tumbled down to her shoulders, drawing the attention to her bare back. The dress was so low cut, she would be looking at the top of her knickers, had Inkallowed her to wear any. He hadn't, of course. He seemed to have a thing for wanting her bare-assed, wet and needy. He'd refused to even talk to her online until she'd removed her underwear. And even though he couldn't see her, she'd followed his orders to the latter. Foregoing underwear completely the last few days and wearing shorter and shorter outfits to work, that had some of her male colleagues literally tripping up over their feet.

Estelle's nipples beaded against the silk of her dress, recalling her boss Nathan's silent response to yesterday's outfit. She'd been under strict instructions to wear the shortest skirt possible, topped with a too tight blouse. She hadn't been able to walk properly due to the butt plug Ink had also instructed her to wear for her session, and she had run into Nathan, when she had stumbled out of the ladies.

He'd caught her in his arms and just held her for several heartstopping seconds, during which his natural scent had wrapped itself around Estelle's senses, and she hadn't dared look at him. His body heat had burned through her clothes, and Estelle had flushed all over.

When he'd carefully set her aside from him his voice had dropped an octave, and Estelle's stomach had dropped right with the growled words, so unlike his usual timbre.

"Careful, Estelle."

His hand under her chin had forced her to look at him. His intense gaze had flashed in annoyance and something else – primal, dangerous and incredibly exciting. Estelle had stopped breathing, not daring to move a muscle in response. Whatever he'd read in her eyes, had made him swear, the grip on her chin turning painful. He'd stepped away from her, arms crossed over his chest.

"Run along. I wouldn't want you to miss your…
lunch
."

Estelle shivered even now remembering that conversation.

She's scooted off as fast as she could without dislodging that blasted butt plug, feeling his stare on her ass the whole time, as though he'd known exactly what she was hiding under the frilly excuse of a skirt.

And maybe he had known. If the rumors flying round the office were true, Nathan Fielding was no stranger to the way a woman would look with God only knew what shoved wherever.

He'd not been in the office for the rest of the day, and her brains had been so fried by her online session with Ink, that Estelle hadn't missed her boss.

As she awkwardly climbed into the waiting taxi, she wondered about his disappearance. She'd had to reschedule several appointments that afternoon, as well as clear up the mess in his office. Piles of shredded paper had been everywhere, as though his shredder had had an epileptic fit. When she'd cautiously investigated it, however, wondering if she needed to call maintenance, it had worked just fine.

The deep grooves on his oak desk had been another concern. They'd reminded her of the scratches her cat had inflicted on her leather settee. Not that a cat could have done these marks.Notunless it was some sort of were-cat, and they didn't exist outside of novels, no matter what stories she'd grown up with. That was all they had to be –

stories. Her gran had always smiled when she'd called them that, had patted her head and said, "You carry on calling them that, if it helps you sleep better, sweet child." And besides, that would make her boss what? A shifter? She'd giggled, ignoring the shiver of unease traveling down her spine, as her fingers had traced those deep grooves.

"We're here, Miss, but pardon me saying, are you sure you want to go in there?" Estelle looked up in surprise, when the taxi driver addressed her. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't noticed they'd reached her intended destination.

Tucked away in a London side street, the club didn't look like much from the outside. In fact it didn't pronounce what it was at all.

There wasn't even a sign, just a large metal door in a wall, with a heavily tattooed mountain of a man casually leaning against it. An army of butterflies invaded her being, not helped by the worried look her taxi driver leveled at her through the rear view mirror.

"There's all sorts going in in there, Miss, and pardon me again, but you don't look as though you belong in there."

A trickle of annoyance replaced her nerves. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. If he thought she didn't belong in there dressed like this, what would he have said seeing her in her usual far more conservative get up. She was so fed up with people making assumptions about her. So far the only one who seemed to truly get her had been Ink, and Neeve of course. Providing she survived whatever awaited her in that mysterious club, she would have to properly thank her outrageous friend.

"Yes, well, thank you for your concern, but I will be just fine."

She forced a smile for the still worried looking taxi driver and handed him her fare. With an outward show of confidence she swung her legs out of the taxi, straightened, precariously teetering on her high heels, and encountered a hard wall of muscle. She bit back her shriek of surprise when strong arms all but lifted her away from the taxi and a deep grumble told the driver to scoot.

The screech of burning tires, as the taxi driver put his foot down as though the hounds of hell were after him, brought Estelle's nerves back in full force. The muscled hunk she'd observed leaning against the wall earlier, leant down and sniffed her.
What the hell?

"What is a pretty little human thing like you doing here?" The animalistic growl should have frightened her, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Estelle. There was something very sexy about a man growling after all. She peeped up at him and found him observing her through hooded yellow eyes.

Sheesh,
what was he? The big bad wolf? She had to suppress a giggle. Did that make her Little Red Riding Hood in her itty bitty little red dress?
Clearly I've still got Gran's silly stories in my head.

She sobered when the mountain of a man continued to simply watch her, seemingly waiting for her to answer. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she automatically dropped her gaze to his heavy boots.

"I'm here to see Ink. We have an appointment."

She jumped at the rumble of laughter emanating from the broad chest, shaking in merriment. What was so funny?

"I've never heard it called that before, little human. We best get you in there then. He's busy with a demonstration at the moment, but I'm sure we can find you some other entertainment while you're waiting."

Estelle swallowed nervously at the wicked grin those words accompanied. His extremely warm hand settled on her bare back, and she had no choice but to follow where he led. The huge doors swung open as if by magic, and she was propelled into the gloomy interior of the club. Greeted by yet another mountain of a man, Estelle stopped dead. The place was huge and completely open plan. Comfortable seating was dotted around, the lighting muted and intimate. One side of the club was completely taken up by a long bar, behind which several scantily clad young women were serving drinks to a handful of customers. The opposite side was taken up by a stage, in front of which everyone seemed to have congregated. Estelle's breathing hitched, and she hugged her arms around herself to hide her nipples’

immediate reaction to what was happening on that stage. Why she bothered she wasn't quite sure; the shadows were so deep near the entrance, she couldn't even see her feet properly. No one would be able to see her body's betraying signs of arousal.

As if to put lie to that thought, the men she stood next to both turned and watched her. Their nostrils flared, as though they could smell the juices gathering inside her pussy, and she clamped her thighs together hastily. The men chuckled low in their throats, and Estelle's cheeks flamed.

"As you can see Ink is rather busy." The blond beefcake, who must have been the one to open the door for them from the inside, flashed brilliantly white teeth at her. Estelle took a step back until she felt the heat of the other's man's chest burn into her back. Large hands settled on her hips, and she didn't even want to contemplate what hard object poked into her ass right now.

She focused her attention on the row of CCTV monitors instead. That explained it. It hadn't been magic at all. One of the screens gave a perfect view of the outside of the club. The others showed various rooms that must be behind the many doors she could see on the sides of the club. One was occupied, and her blush intensified witnessing the ménage displayed on the screen, before she hastily looked away again.

This evening would definitely prove to be an education it seemed.

"Sign here, and then I would suggest you grab a drink and wait for Ink at the bar. His demonstration is almost over." The blond man shoved a 'rules of conduct' sheet under her nose, and Estelle scribbled her signature automatically. Ink had e-mailed her the rules only yesterday; the man was nothing if not thorough.

Again her gaze strayed to the stage. Knowing it was Ink wielding that menacing looking whip made her insides quiver.

Dressed in nothing but low riding leather pants, his back was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, clearly visible in the spotlights illuminating the stage. His muscles rippled, and his biceps flexed with every stroke he expertly delivered. The crack of the whip as it sailed through the air, before it curled across the bound woman's naked back and ass, made Estelle flinch.

The blonde tied spread-eagled to the St Andrew's Cross, however, moaned her arousal. Ink alternated light touches with heavier strokes, building the crescendo, and the woman's groans and pleas, begging for her orgasm could be heard echoing around the club.

The action on the stage drowned out the low music completely, and Estelle stumbled her way to the bar, fascinated to see this display of raw power and leashed aggression. There was something familiar about the set of Ink's broad shoulders and the way he held himself, but Estelle couldn't place it. She perched her backside on one of the high barstools, cursing inwardly at the indecently short hem of her dress that made not flashing her bits to the club a bit of a military operation.

Though why that bothered her when half of the women and the men, too, seemed to be in various states of nakedness was beyond her.

She suppressed a giggle thinking what the good nuns of her school years would make of this place.

"What can I get you, doll? New here, aren't you?"

Estelle forced her eyes away from admiring Ink's tight butt cheeks and smiled at the brunette behind the bar. Curves in all the right places, she was nonetheless much plumper than was deemed desirable these days. The tight corset cinched in her ample waist until her impressive bosom all but spilled over the top of the cups. Face surprisingly free of make-up, she was a natural beauty, and her open smile caused Estelle's tight insides to unfurl slowly. She hadn't realized how tightly coiled she'd been until now.

"Is it that obvious?"

The brunette laughed and winked at her.

"Well, let's just say I've seen men on death row more relaxed then you, doll. I'm Cherie, by the way. Which of one these overgrown fleabags dragged you here tonight?"

Again Estelle's eyes strayed to the stage, and Cherie whistled under her breath.

"The man himself, hey? Well, good luck with taming him."

"What do you mean?" Estelle asked, her insides once again churning at the shadow that crossed Cherie's features briefly as she, too, looked towards the stage.

"Nothing, doll, don't you worry. He knows what he's doing.

Ignore me." Cherie fixed a smile on her face and busied herself with wiping the immaculate bar top. When she did eventually look up, some undefined emotion in her deep brown eyes stopped Estelle from asking any other questions.

"So, what will it be, doll?"

"A black Russian, please, and my name is Estelle." Cherie smirked, looking behind her and made herself busy fixing the drink.

"Someone called for me?"

The deep accented voice rumbled through Estelle, and two heavily muscled arms came round her and caged her in against the bar. Eyes the color of coal connected with hers in the mirrors behind the bar, the man's white hair a direct contrast to the ebony hues of his skin. He, too, seemed a walking furnace. He rested his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply.

"Hmm, so sweet and fresh and unclaimed." Cherie rolled her eyes at Estelle and passed her the drink she ordered.

"She asked for a drink, not you. The lady is spoken for, so back off, Grisha." She smiled at Estelle and glared at Grisha.