The Dom Project (21 page)

Somehow, she did. Tiny sips of air, but she kept herself from fighting away. Saliva flooded her mouth. She felt tender and rubbed raw and he hadn’t even
started
yet but somehow she knew she could do this. She could welcome him.

“Good...”

Yes
.

He pushed, filling her. Gagging her. Then pulled back as she spasmed and sobbed. Strands of dense saliva coated her tongue and clung to his stiff hot shaft as well. She knew that would happen—it was an obscene moment, sickening, but so fucking primal that a jolt of uncanny pleasure pierced her center.

He pushed again. And again. And she took every inch. Her world was dark and she was warm and wanted and loved and that was all she needed to know.

Far-off voices sounded.
Oh look
,
yeah
,
do it
,
fuck she’s good
,
look
,
look
,
look
. Cool fingers stroked her throat where his cock distended it.
Yours.
Yes
.

When he pulled out, helpless ugly gasping noises spilled from her throat. She knew she was crying into her mask. She wondered if he’d come deep down her throat—no, when he rested his length against her face, he was just as amazingly hard as before.

“You’re perfect. God. I—Come up here.” He eased her up onto his lap and she curled against his warmth. His hands were all over her, soothing her and exciting her all at once. She readjusted her mask and saw a loose semicircle of partygoers, wearing leather or latex or naked, all intent on her.

She smiled at them sweetly, wet lips and all.

Then John grabbed the side of her panties with both fists and yanked.

“Ow!” She gasped as the elastic snapped and he pulled them off her.

“I’ll give you some more of that later, if you ask nicely,” he said, and spanked her ass lightly, hardly more than a tap. “Right now, I think you need to take a ride.” He slipped two fingers into her slit and
spread
her, exposing her to the watchers.

“Oh yes.
Please
.”

He didn’t make her wait longer, just slipped a condom on one-handed with the same supernatural efficiency he’d used to stuff his cock down her throat. He pulled her thighs apart, thrusting a finger inside her as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her cunt. He’d always return to her, touching her over and over again and
God
it felt so right, him swirling inside her and pulling her down onto the thick column of his erection as she cried out in violent joy.

“
Ride
,” he demanded in her ear, and slapped her thigh.

She worked her body up and down his axis, at first slowly and awkwardly but soon finding the right rhythm. When she let herself down all the way it was almost frightening, how deep he was inside her, how far, how strong. The crystals weighed down her nipples and tugged at her every time she snapped her body. The sensations mounted but never quite overwhelmed her—strain and pleasure and John’s hands on her hips and his voice whispering wonderful filthy words in her ear—cresting and lifting her higher.

She didn’t have to imagine how she looked. She saw herself in the hungry, dazzled eyes of her audience.

“Let’s see if I can make you come, baby,” John whispered, and something was different now in his voice—they were playing roles, performing, but underneath that nothing had changed. Nothing was lost. They were only going deeper.

He halted her, thrust his hips against her, burying himself to the root, touched her where they joined. And above. Sliding the edge of his forefinger against her clit, faster and faster.

She’d come in a dream once, years ago, and woken up flushed and shivering and close to the divine. This time was like that, waking. It was slow and poured through her, waves of pleasure washing her mind clean. Her channel tightened around the man inside her.
John
.

“Oh, J—”

“
Shh.
” He kissed her ear, crooned to her. “You.”

“
John
,” she whispered, defiant.

“Yes. Yes.”

He didn’t come. He eased her off him, and smiled, and straightened her mask, and got her a glass of orange juice and a cupcake, of all things.

They talked with his friend Therese for a while, who’d been watching them, and was lovely. And then he took Robin to the sling.

After a night full of perverse delights Robin had only imagined in her wildest dreams, he finally came—across her thighs striped with cane marks—and it was her turn to look at him, and know, at least for tonight, that he was hers alone.

* * *

The steam from the shower curled around the slim pillar of Robin’s body. John leaned against the shower wall and sighed. He didn’t want this to end. Ever. He wanted to dry Robin off and take her to bed and fall asleep and wake up knowing that she’d be there.

She turned to him, drops of water like crystals sparkling on her cheekbones, her wide blue eyes making her seem both innocent and wise. She knew him. As much as he’d hidden from her, she’d always known him.

“Can you stay the night?” she asked, in a voice that barely rose above the
hush hush hush
of the shower.

“Of course,” he said, almost before she’d finished speaking, and moved to hold her in his arms. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“Thank you.”

“Robin, I don’t know if you’re ready to hear this or not, if this is going to be another
Casablanca
too—Shit, I really wish I was telepathic right about now. But what we have between us—it’s so good. I never want it to end. I only want it to get deeper. And to keep making you happy. Are you happy, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his chest. “Yes. So happy.”

He touched her cheek. She tilted her face upward, her lips half-parted, rising to meet him, and they kissed for a long time as the rest of the world washed away.

Chapter Twelve

Week Five

Hello readers, I am overflowing with breathtaking sexy revelations to relate to you here (okay, I know, the wording is a little hyperbolic, but not from my perspective), but first, a bit of housecleaning.

I noticed over the last day or so I’ve been receiving a rash of anonymous comments going back to my posts from as far as a month and a half ago. Now due to the sensitive subject matter of this blog I usually allow anonymous comments, but these ones have been incredibly abusive and disrespectful to both me and the other commenters who use this space. So for now I’m disabling anonymous commenting in the hopes that this troll will move on to other pastures. Hopefully that does the trick, although I will screen all comments if I have to. Remember that I do this as a hobby. I love talking to you all and love hearing your perspectives, but comments that call me slurs (however hilariously misspelled—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a “whore” with three h’s) or make threats just aren’t appropriate and I’m not obligated to put up with them.

Now that that’s taken care of...

J. Wow. Sex party. Exhibitionism. Wow. Ohmigod.

There was a learning curve, but J eased me up it. And down and up and down and up. I met some interesting people, including a few I wouldn’t mind being friends with in the daytime. It was a ride that I will definitely never forget, but it was what happened after the party that really changed, well, everything (there I go being hyperbolic again!).

We’ve known each other since we were undergrads. Neither of us is the type to pour our hearts out, make sweeping declarations, jump into the void. Neither of us is falling. But we’re bending toward each other. We...had a moment. I don’t really know how to describe it or to characterize it. Maybe a meeting of the souls?

We decided to make a new contract. Another month. Less restrictions with each other. And we’re both going to be exclusive in terms of sex, unless the full and enthusiastic consent of the other is granted. I didn’t demand this; it’s something we worked out together. I’m determined not to be dismissive toward his prior relationships. Maybe they’ll just continue in an altered form, or things will change at the end of this month.

I’m not worried about our sex life, or the dynamics of power between us. On the other hand, our public relationship isn’t only about us—there’s our families, our friends, our jobs to consider. Not that I’ll be parading around in a collar and leash! It’s really more the vanilla problems that are currently weighing on my mind. But I won’t bore you with them—this isn’t that kind of blog.

It’s the kind of blog where I try to tally up how much I was, well, pounded last night.

Adding up regular penis-in-vagina and vibrator (condom-covered for hygiene, of course) it must have been at least an hour. Surprisingly, I’m not too sore. I’ve learned that frequent sex, if done the right way, has the consequence of exercising and tightening certain muscles. So I ran a marathon last night, but I’d trained properly for it! The same sense of satisfaction, but without the chafed nipples. Although the new clamps J bought for me certainly were a strain on them. No bleeding, though (that part’s in both contracts).

I’m going to keep the name The Picky Submissive for now, but I may have to change it in future. Does anyone have any suggestions? Is the Whhorhe of Babylon too much of an in-joke? Let me know.

Love,

The Picky Submissive

In the crowded maze of the antique mall, John always felt like a foreign visitor on a diplomatic mission to the nation of the dowdy, moth-eaten Elderly. Or maybe a member of an invading army, judging by the stares he kept catching when they thought he wasn’t looking.

He’d been doing this often enough with Robin by now that he knew to dress down a little in a plain black T-shirt—long-sleeved—and jeans over his boots, but hell, even if he arrived in this place’s unspoken dress code of wool argyle sweater-vests and penny loafers, he’d
still
stick out like a sore thumb. Namely because he was the only person here taller than five-six, a fact he was constantly being reminded of thanks to the cramped quarters. “I never get out of this place without a gouge on my forehead.”

“Come
on
.” Robin tugged at his wrist. She wore an A-line dress with an orange-and-green pattern, and unlike John looked charmingly at home in the antique mall, like a model from the 1960s to rival Twiggy.

He ducked under a low-hanging crystal chandelier missing more than a few teardrops and followed her to a table display of kitsch old salt and pepper shakers.

“See anything interesting?” He wanted to get to the photography aisle, always ready to check out the old cameras and older photographs, but he wasn’t in any particular rush. He’d always liked going antiquing with Robin, even if he was mostly a tagalong, and today was no different. He just felt a lot freer to fantasize about her sexually now.

In fact, an image of Robin bent over the nearby teal velvet fainting sofa leaped into his mind.

“No,” she said. “I thought the painting over there might be by someone I’ve heard of, but it’s not.”

“It’s only the usual dogs playing poker. Don’t tell me someone’s done a postmodern concept piece about dogs playing—” Robin nodded her head. “Damn, someone else used it first.”

“That’s why your college career as an artist never took off,” she told him, leading the way down the treasure-lined corridor. He kept one hand at forehead height as he followed, to guard against the chandeliers that coated the ceilings like cobwebs. “You never took yourself seriously enough.” She turned and smiled over her shoulder. “I like that about you.”

“So you’ve given up trying to change me?”

“Maybe.”

“Tease. I kind of liked it when you tried.” He caught up with her as they turned the corner into the photography aisle, put his hands around her waist, spun her in a circle and kissed her.

Something wasn’t right. Her lips stayed tight, and she leaned against him stiffly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He hoped this wasn’t about public affection, especially here in this quiet corner where almost no one would even see them.

“Sorry. It’s not you. I’m worried about the commenter. There’s something I didn’t mention in that post. The IP address is from right here in Los Angeles.”

A second of relief. And then a surge of anger at whoever had hurt her, had even
thought
about hurting her. “Fucking trolls. It could be a coincidence, but I totally understand why you’re worried.”

“I’m not sure if I’d get fired if someone sent this to my boss, but it definitely wouldn’t be good for me. I’m seriously thinking about deleting the blog. Which, okay, should be an easy decision to make, maybe, but it’s just such an important outlet for my feelings. And a record. And, well, I’m kind of emotionally attached to it because it brought us together.” Her frown turned to a shy little smile, the kind that made him want to run his knuckle down the line of her jaw and kiss her all over again.

“In that case, let me cheer you up. I was going to save it for later—well, first I was going to save it for the end of the contract, and then I was going to save it for when we went for a nice dinner or something, and then I was going to save it until tonight...I guess it doesn’t matter. The point is, I have another record for you.” A beam of light touched one of the chandeliers overhead, dropping a spot of rainbow on Robin’s cheek.
Yes
. The time felt right. “All those photos I took of you—I picked the best ones, got them printed on the right paper and turned them into a book. A very dirty, gorgeous book. There’s even a lock and key on it, so if anyone comes to visit...”