The Dom Project (20 page)

She shook her head.

“All right then, Robin.” He looked at her with a measuring, heavy-lidded stare that made her tense her thighs and shift in her seat—her body already flowering open to him, wanting to serve. “The pearls.”

He put them around her neck. A second necklace around her throat, against her heartbeat, marking its mounting rhythm.

“We’re
on
now,” he said. “You’ll walk two paces behind me. The other subs there might be following a no-speaking-unless-spoken-to rule, but don’t feel any pressure to do that with me. If it suits you to be quiet, be quiet. If you need to tell me
anything
, tell me.”

“Yes, sir.” Saying that word was another marker along the way to wonderland, another warm feeling pulsing from her heart to her stomach and sinking lower, lower.

“Now get out and open the door for me.”

* * *

She looked otherworldly when she floated in front of the headlights, masked and haloed. He’d summoned up this spirit, drawn the magic circle.

Keep a steady head
, he warned himself.
For her sake and yours
.

She opened his door and stood there poised, holding it. He climbed out and acknowledged her with a curt nod. Slipped his own black masquerade mask—as pointless as it was, what with the tattoos—over his eyes. Part of this felt a little silly, like he was a Bond supervillain entering a secret lair, but it was still one hell of a sexy game. Especially when he curled his fingers in the back of her pearl necklace to straighten her head and keep her to him.

Steady head.
Steady hand
.

She gasped.

He let go, and set off for the front door, leaving her to fall in behind him.

The woman who opened the door was almost entirely encased in latex and kept her eyes downcast. That kind of fetishwear wasn’t really his thing—hard to get a grip on it—but he appreciated the craftsmanship. He waited until he sensed Robin was right behind him, then moved on into the house.

The interior was full-on Spanish Colonial, geometric tiled floors and white stucco walls and dark beams lining the ceiling. He could imagine “Hotel California” happening here, although the music that came from the living room was ambient electronic.

The guests were gathered in the living room, a space dominated by a huge sectional couch that followed the lines of the walls. At the center of the room hung an imposing sex-swing, where a woman was already suspended and a man, a naked submissive in a heavy-looking cock cage, stood fucking her with a fat red dildo at the behest of a cluster of canapé-eating onlookers. All masked.

The leather-clad hostess came up to him. “Hello, J—Excuse me. Hello.” Annalise smiled ruefully.

“Hello yourself,” John replied cheerfully, remembering not to use her name. “Should I call you just plain ‘Mistress’? I’ve brought someone new to play with, by the way.”

Robin stepped up, right on cue.

“Lovely,” Annalise purred. “And yes, ‘Mistress’ will do.”

He turned to look at Robin—it was hard to read her under the mask, but the time felt right to take the final step. To trust that she knew her own limits.

“Take off your dress,” he told her.

No question—she’d chosen the dress for exactly this scenario. One tug on the tails of the neat little bow at her nipped waist, and the dress fell open with a soft whisper of fabric.

John had to force himself to breathe. He heard Robin breathing deeply beside him, saw her chest arch upward, her shoulders tilt back, presenting herself. The flimsy dress slipped down her arms and fell away from her body. God, he was so proud of her.

“Pearls!” Annalise exclaimed, and clapped her hands. The riding crop clasped between her arm and her side swung and almost hit John.

He stepped behind Robin and cupped her soft breasts, raising them higher, showing off the crystals that tipped them. “These are new.”

She readjusted her crop and tapped it against her boot. “Do you share?”

He felt Robin stiffen against him, out of fear or desire or, most likely, some mysterious mixture of the two. “Not tonight. I’m just showing her off, really.”

“Well, it might be a while before you can put her in the sling. There are a lot of
terrible
attention whores already here tonight.” Her smile had a touch of wicked humor in it.

“Oh, you do know me, don’t you?”

She laughed and drifted back toward the onlookers around the sling. Working the room, as if this were a normal high society party instead of some perverse parody of one.

John dropped his hands down Robin’s body until he cradled her from behind, became her rock, her wall. “Are you doing all right, sweetheart?” he whispered down to her.

“Yes.” Her voice was low and faint, but she didn’t hesitate. “Can we...sit down for a while though?”

He stroked her hip in calming circles and led her to a section of the couch that had a good view of the swing. He didn’t count exactly how many guests there were—more than ten, less than twenty, some no doubt in more private rooms—but it seemed like a good number for the space. Several people met his eyes and silently nodded. He enjoyed how they looked at Robin too. Some hungry. A few jealous. All appraising.

He sat down on the couch and guided Robin down to sit on his knee. Her soft ass molded around his thigh, and he thought he felt the firm pressure of her plug bearing down on him. When she hissed, he knew it was pushing into her as well. “Is this good?” he asked. “I thought about having you sit at my feet.”

“Wherever you want me, sir.”

Oh yes, he liked that answer.

With Robin curled up warm in his lap, he settled back to enjoy the show. A man in a red leather mask attended to the woman in the sling now, attaching clothespins to her breasts in two neat parallel rows. Against John’s chest, Robin shivered.

“Like the look of that?” he murmured into her ear, reaching up to cup her left breast and weigh it in his hand. “It’s fun taking them off too.”

“Well, I don’t have as much, um, padding...”

True. The woman in the sling was
exceptionally
well-endowed. “I’m sure I could still fit a few in there.” He traced a circle around her left breast with his right forefinger, then trailed down to play with the lace of her garter belt. “But forget your tits. What I’d really love would be to clamp your little clit.”

“
Ow
,” Robin squeaked—there really wasn’t any other word for it—and clapped her knees together so quickly she almost fell off his lap. But she relaxed a second later, and wiggled backward to regain the position that was becoming increasingly painful for John’s hopelessly stiff, leather-encased cock. Damn her, she knew
exactly
where she was sitting.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as painful as it sounds, promise. Just a light pinch to keep you alert, maybe a bell to make it pretty...” He swept his hand down the soft skin of her belly, down to cup her mound outside of her panties.
God
,
the heat of her
.

“I could—I could be persuaded. Especially for the right reward.” She paused, then added, “
Sir
.”

“I see what you did there. I should still spank you for bargaining.” He tightened his grip. The fabric felt heavy and slippery against his fingers, and he knew that tonight they needed sex before pain.

Regardless of what he’d just said, he wouldn’t make her wait.

Robin opened her mouth to answer, or maybe beg, but at that moment the man silenced the woman’s moans by putting her mouth into service. John wanted to shift forward to hear the inevitable, unmistakable sounds over the low thrum of the music. He settled for massaging Robin’s thighs open, making her a spectacle for whoever wasn’t absorbed with watching the other scene.

“Oh, wow,” she finally said. “She’s—I like this, John. Sorry. Sir.” Her voice had gone high and breathy and distracted there at the end.

“What do you like about it?” He traced the edges of her smooth labia where her panties had rucked up between them.

“I like how she’s holding on to the straps. I like how he’s not holding back.” She took a ragged breath. “It’s
hard
. I mean, it’s never been easy for me. But with people watching, it seems...easier, maybe.”

He hooked his thumbs under the elastic, pulled, let it snap back against her hips, enjoying the resulting wriggle and gasp. “You’d be performing. Pleasing other people as well. Not that you’d see them, of course—you’d have a face full of my cock. But you’d
know
.”

“
Yes
.”

“What are you waiting for?” He did his best to ask it not as a goad, but as an honest question.

She didn’t answer. She only slid to the floor, down to her knees, between his.

He spread the palm of his hand over the top of her head like a benediction, holding her in place, and put a sharper edge into his tone. “But you didn’t quite answer my question, did you? What’s he doing to her, specifically, that you like? What do you want me to do for
you
?” This was as every bit as sweet as pain...pushing, pulling. Mind-fucking.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, eyebrows twitching in...was that annoyance? He couldn’t help but grin at the thought. So even here, even in these changed, ever-changing, roles, there was still a part of him that loved to vex her.

“I wa—” Her voice fell to a faint murmur, her eyes lowering again, her hands splayed out on his thighs. She set her jaw and glowered up at him, daring him to laugh at the blush of shame that rose to her cheeks. “I want you to fuck my mouth, sir. In front of all these people.”

He could draw this amazing moment out a little longer, perhaps.

No.
His flavor of sadism wasn’t quite patient enough. He smiled down at her, and began unbuttoning his pants.

* * *

I
don’t know who I am anymore
. Robin edged her knees apart, lowering herself to just the right angle. Letting go of who she was didn’t feel like a loss, it felt like she’d immersed herself in endless possibility.
I
can be anything
.

She poured herself into a new mold. The center of possible burning gazes, desiring her body. Her skin was feverishly hot and the pearls weighed heavy against her throat.

Waiting for John was becoming unbearable. Sensory overload loomed. Faint music echoed in her ears, and the moans and somewhere to her right, the slap of a flogger and oh God she could almost hear the thrum of her own blood through her veins.

And then John’s hands covered her ears, cradling her head, and turned her world inside out.
Him.
Only him
.

He tipped her face upward. She couldn’t see well; the mask had slipped over half her eyes. Something hot and slick rubbed against her cheek, and she didn’t need to see to know to turn toward it, mouth passively open. The waiting was still terrible, but knowing it would soon come to an end sent shivers of dark delight crawling through her.
Take me.
Take me down from the shelf and play with me.
Your toy.

Two of his fingers insinuated into her mouth first, testing, pushing her jaw down, stroking her tongue. Deeper than a kiss. Her mouth watered at the first salty taste of him. Memories rushed through her mind, years of them, and the new ones they’d made in the last whirling, reeling, miraculous weeks.

He withdrew his fingers, took her by the back of her head and pulled her forward onto his cock. The physical reality of it didn’t really hit until a heartbeat later, and then it hit her
hard
, seizing up her stomach and almost making her flinch back, panicked. He filled her completely and he wasn’t even in halfway, the musky taste of his flesh shocking her senses, but suddenly the wanting rose up inside her to meet him, to open for him, to moan helplessly as he rubbed his cockhead along the roof of her mouth.
You taste so fucking good
, she would have cried out, because the wanting didn’t leave any room for shame.

“Open wider, sweetheart. That’s it, that’s right.”

She closed her lips around him and did what she could.

“Yes. Beautiful.”

Her mouth suddenly wasn’t as dry now, and she found an equilibrium with her aching jaw where the pain didn’t seem to matter. She loved the feeling of his hand twined in her hair, gently but insistently pulling. Controlling.

“We’ve got a few people watching now. Reach back and roll your panties down. I want to show them who owns your ass.”

She followed his command. With the side of her head supported by his thigh, she didn’t worry about balance, just reached behind blindly, and rolled the waistband down under the garter belt, down as far as it would go.
I’m yours.
Your porn star
,
your whore
,
your pet—yours
. She arched her ass higher, spread her knees more, feeling exposed but totally safe at the same time. If she really wanted it,
anyone
could take her, fill her throbbing wet pussy with a warm cock or a cold merciless strap-on and fuck her forward onto John. John would look into their eyes over her body, dare them to try and satisfy her the way he did.

“Isn’t she good?” John’s voice, distant and proud.

“Oh, yes. Can I sit next to you and watch?” A strange woman’s voice, thick with excitement.

“Sure. Hands off though. Except on yourself, of course. I’m going to take her deeper now.”

Deeper
,
yes please.
Show these strangers just how good I am.
Make them want me for their own.

He hooked his thumb across the root of his cock, pressing and angling it down, and she went pliant as he pulled her forward with his other hand and thrust his hips to meet her. The series of actions was so smooth and so brutal that something like an aesthetic orgasm flowered in her mind in admiration of how beautifully he took her, even as her body writhed and choked around him.

“Oh yeah, that’s it. Fucking swallow it.
Breathe
.”