The Dom Project (17 page)

He laughed and held her tighter, rocked her until she was on top of him, elbows resting on his chest, chin in her hands, attentive.

“All right. I’d take you to a private party, all dressed up.” He thought for a while, then started from the bottom up. “Heels, of course. Seamed stockings with a garter belt—no. A waist cincher. Full-length opera sleeves and nothing else. You’d have pierced nipples.” He checked her reaction. Still curious, still neutral. But then, it was just a fantasy. It wasn’t like he’d brought out piercing needles and jewelry. “You’re definitely the most beautiful woman at the party, and everybody knows it. All the other guests are dying with jealousy.”

“That sounds kind of sad for them,” she said, with a mock frown.

“They’re dying of jealousy in a sexy way, okay? Work with me here. They’re moaning and eye-fucking you and touching themselves. But you can’t see them, because you’re blindfolded. I’m leading you by the collar. No leash, just gripping the back and guiding you.”

“Oh, I like that.” She massaged her neck, testing how it would feel. Seeing that gesture got to him,
really
got to him, and his cock twitched against her thigh, hardening again. “And you do too.”

“I’m a twisted motherfucker, sweetheart,” he said, smiling. “So I lead you around for a while. Show you off. Everyone can look all they want, but no touching what’s mine.” She licked her top lip and let out her breath in a long sigh. “Oh but
I
get to touch. And I look all those jealous horny motherfuckers right in the eye as I come up behind you and squeeze your pretty pierced tits.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not yet. Later. After I play with you for a while, I tie you over a saddle, wrists to ankles, and spread your cheeks so everyone sees your jewelry. I can’t decide whether to fuck your soft wet pussy or your tight little ass, so I put it up for a vote.” He stroked himself now, too caught up in the image to control himself. And the taste of her still on his lips when he licked them...
yes.
“Of course, your ass is just so pretty with that shiny plug in it, nobody wants to ruin it. So I’m forced to...” He licked his lips, on purpose this time, savoring her, letting that taste carry him deeper into the fantasy.

“Forced?” She raised one delicate eyebrow and shifted temptingly against him.

“Well, you know, peer pressure. Audience expectation.” He tried to look innocent in the full knowledge that he’d likely fail. “Forced to fuck you blind.”

“I thought I was already wearing a blindfold.”

He threw his head back and laughed, feeling her shifting on top of his chest as his whole body shook with it. God, she was perfect.

“Aside from a few conflicting details, it’s really hot,” she added, giggling a little herself.

“Oh, I’m not done yet. Not nearly. There’s a lot more. But you’d better tell me yours, and then I’ll finish.” He dipped a finger between her legs, not roughly but not slowly either, and was rewarded with a full-body quiver and breathy sigh. Oh, she’d
definitely
thought his setup was hot. Hot enough to trade her own fantasy to make sure he gave her the rest?

But no. “That—that wasn’t the deal,” she gasped, and her dreamy smile at having his finger on her clit turned into a determined look. “No.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her audaciousness. “Now’s the time I’d call you an evil bitch if we weren’t both naked.”

“And if you weren’t hoping to get a piece of this?” she added, sweetly, as she stretched out on top of him. She ran a hand down her arched body from just beneath her high breasts to join his hand where it rested cupped between her legs. “If you want me to tell, you’ll have to
make
me.”

That’s my cue.
The words flipped a switch buried deep in his mind, sending a dark, primal energy surging through him. He rolled over so that she was beneath him and pinned her wrists down, keeping just enough weight on her to overwhelm without crushing. He stayed frozen for a while, staring down at her, testing the qualities of her submission. So hard to keep his face impassive in the light of this privilege, granted to him after so many years, unexpected, like a miracle.

He was ready.

So was she. Her eyes had gone unfocused, gaze drifting, lips slightly parted. He briefly thought of drawing this out—having her put in the plug and perform for him—but they’d done that already, and the moment called for intense relief,
now
.

So he rolled her over and drew back until she was on her knees, wrists pinned behind her back. “I’ve never used my open hand on you,” he said. “Even though I wanted to so bad.” He half coughed, trying to bring the impassive tone back, the voice he needed to make this discipline and not just a silly game. “Because I thought it walked the line of the boundaries we’d set. I think we can put all that aside now.”

“Oh. Yes.
Yes
.” The side of her face pressed into the quilt, and her voice was hoarse and muffled and absolutely desperate. The cheeky girl who’d teased and challenged him...well, she didn’t vanish or disappear, but she
flipped
, giving John another side of herself.

“Always nice to hear you say that,” he said as he drew his right hand. “But I didn’t say you could speak.”

He hit across her right cheek, not too hard but very quickly. The palm of his hand came alive with sensation and gave him a full-body rush, mental as well as physical.
I
know her body.
I
know the kind of pain she likes
,
the sharp stinging pain
,
how it goes straight to her pussy and sends her to the sweetest place.
I
know her.
I
know her.
I
love her.

He struck her again, in the same spot, and reveled in her high wail of pain, how she shivered away from him and then immediately
back
again, arching her ass upward, presenting herself for his punishment. No.
Begging
for it.

Pink glowed across her right cheek. He went for her left. He remembered thinking of love—love could mean so many things. Pain and pleasure and compassion all braided together and tied them close, Robin and John, hearts and flowers and collars and
mine
.

He couldn’t think it through now. All he wanted was to get her crying and wet and shove his cock into her and fucking
ride
.

But this feeling wouldn’t go away.

He didn’t want it to go away.

* * *

I’ve never used my open hand on you.

She lost count of the times he made up for that. And even though part of her, ruled by animal fear, flinched away with every smack, her higher self was singing out in victory because it felt so strong and so right and John...John trusted her to take the pain. There was nothing timid or playful in his technique. He measured. He struck.

She felt it. God, she felt it. His hand. The air cupped in his palm. The heat on her skin. The reverberations of impact through her aching flesh. The slickness of her labia and inner thighs when she shifted and they slipped together. The emptiness at her core, desperate to be filled, and only John would do.

When he stopped to caress her, barely skimming his hands over the hurt he’d caused—
that
was what made her cry, finally.

She expected more pain. Would accept more pain. With willing joy.

But his touch became a grip, pulling her up into position, ass raised again from where she’d fallen limp to the bed. And then—
then
—became the one sensation she wanted most, the feeling of his sheathed cock head nudging up against her.

She might have sobbed
please.
She wasn’t sure.

Whether she had or not, John fucked into her in one slow, inexorable stroke. Silently. He filled her cunt the same way he’d struck her, merciless and exact. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see what he was doing to her, how he was splitting her open, but God could she
feel
. There was a little pain at first, a tiny pain, and then it melted into searing pleasure, and then a different pain as he rested so deep inside her that the hard lines of his hip bones pressed against her sore, tender ass.

His hand clasped her shoulder, palm slapping across her sweat-damp skin, and held her firmly in place as he pounded her from behind. She needed this. She needed to be taken with no hesitation and no second thoughts.
I’ll be your doll.
Your toy.
Serve you as long as you make me feel this way
,
like heaven made flesh
,
like dying
,
like coming alive.

She was dimly aware of sights and sounds. Something higher than a growl and lower than a scream came out of her throat every few thrusts, when he buried himself balls-deep. And over those noises his words, disconnected and harsh—
Beautiful.
Robin.
Fuck.
Yes.
Robin.
Amazing.
You.
You.

She never wanted this to end.

It had to, of course, but the ending was good too. John slowed, and reached around her thigh to touch her where they joined. He worked her with his fingers until she came, tight and bucking and saying his name over and over like a spell that would make the pleasure last longer, take it higher, and maybe it did.

He rocked into her gently, following the waves of her orgasm, and took her to a different, slower rhythm. When he turned her around—all while staying inside her somehow, but he was strong and used his hands well—she was ready to look him in the eyes. Eager for it.

And so was he, because he grinned down on her and kissed her again, panting into her mouth and tracing her teeth with his tongue. “Guess I forgot to make you tell me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “You win.”

“
John
,” was all she could say, because she wanted to laugh along with him but didn’t have the breath. So she put all of her happiness into that one syllable.

“I don’t want—” he said, and broke off with a gasp, his gorgeous full lips twisted in subtle pain. She tried to console him with her body, moving against him and tightening her channel around him and mouthing at the smooth, hard plane of his chest.

They spent what could have been hours joined and lost in each other, John taking her across every surface and angle of her bed.

The sadness came over him again when he spent himself at last, and she felt him softening inside her and slipping away as he held her all the closer.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, because somehow she knew instinctively what he needed to hear. Maybe because his insecurities were her own too. “We’re still
us
.”

I
don’t want to let you go.

And what she was feeling now, if that was what he really felt for her...oh God. Everything changed. Everything.

Chapter Ten

Week Four

Commenter orangepeel, I owe you five bucks.

Oh, context. So, for those of you who don’t have the time or inclination to follow my comment-section closely, back when I posted the terms of my contract with J, commenter “orangepeel” from New York left a slightly smug comment stating that he bet me five bucks we wouldn’t be able to hold out on the no-sex clause.

Well, guess who’s eating humble pie, and guess who’s getting a five-dollar gift certificate to the online sex shop of their choice?

Yeah, that’s right. I’ll admit it. J and I had sex.

AND
IT
WAS
A
-
MA
-
ZING
.

There was some doubt in my mind as to whether it was so good because of my long dry spell. So in the name of science, we tried it again the next night.

And it was still amazing.

I’m not sure what this means for our friendship. For our relationship. For his...other relationships. We keep trying to have serious conversations about renegotiating boundaries and laying down ground rules and whatever else and it just ends with me with my ankles around my ears. Or my legs around his waist. Or bent over in the shower. Or giddy-up cowgirling. Well, I’m sure you get the picture. (And if you don’t get the picture, I suppose there’s always those photos I still owe you all.)

So anyway, orangepeel, contact me with your email and I’ll send you that gift certificate.

Until next time!

Love,

The Picky Submissive

In the rare event that John was up early Saturday morning, he watched cartoons. And then he went back to sleep. He liked to do outdoors stuff on the weekends, sure, but only when the sun was hanging in the sky at a civilized angle, not stabbing bright yellow slivers into his eyes with sadistic solar glee.

But when Robin had asked him if he’d like to meet her on Venice Beach after her early morning yoga group finished, he’d agreed without the slightest hesitation.

He slipped on a pair of drugstore sunglasses when he hit the boardwalk and tried to stick to the shadows, away from the ocean side of the street. The beach was waking up around him. Sometimes, in the case of the homeless, literally. A pair of crusty kids with dreadlocks and lip piercings stirred from their cardboard bed under a palm tree. A woman in a designer tracksuit walking a wiener dog gave them a wide berth.