The Playboy's Proposition (8 page)

He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ve said it
before, but it’s worth repeating. You’re charming.”

I smiled.

Chapter 6

We chatted about unimportant things while he drove us to
find food, and while we ate and sped down the roads to my apartment. I couldn’t
say that everything was completely fine between us; that wouldn’t have been
possible after all of the night’s events. But it was getting there, and I felt
like I understood him better than before.

Any lingering tension between us was understandable and
unavoidable, I believed. The important thing was that we were both clearly
trying to get past the events in the restaurant, something we had to do to
continue to build this relationship. After hearing about his childhood and what
he had gone through, I had a fierce need to please him, to try to make up for
some of his losses.

As we got closer to my place, the heat grew between us as
Michael’s flirtatious banter increased. I was in a heady and sexy daze as we
practically jogged up to my apartment.

No sooner had the door closed behind us and I tossed my
handbag on the table near the entry, than Michael took me by my shoulders, his
playfulness vanishing as if it had never been there. He said, “We’re alone. I’m
your master. Don’t forget.”

I shuddered at his intensity. “I won’t forget, Master.”

I was ready for him, more ready than I had ever been.

He grabbed the shoulder straps of my dress, and in one
smooth movement, yanked down, pulling the straps over my arms, then dropping
the straps and letting the dress fall into a silky puddle on the floor.

His eyes were shuttered as he studied my nude form. “You
removed the toy I put in your pussy. You’ll have to be punished for that.”

I opened my mouth to ask how he knew, and to say that
considering the events of the night I didn’t see how I could have done anything
else. But I stopped myself.

I said, “I understand, Master. I’m sorry.”

He said, “You also endangered my property by going into an
enclosed area alone with another man without my permission. You’ll have to be
punished for that as well.”

I gulped. Well, damn, that didn’t sound good. I said, “I
apologize, Master.”

“Lastly, you willfully disobeyed and embarrassed me at the
restaurant when you stopped me from displaying your breasts to my fellow
dominant. For that disrespect, you will be most severely punished.”

I took a deep breath and held it. To think, just a few
seconds earlier I had been excited to be alone with him. I said as meekly as I
could muster, “I apologize, Master. Truly, I am very sorry.”

“Well if you’re not, you definitely will be.” He paused and
scowled down at me. “But your punishment won’t come tonight.”

I felt a surge of happiness, until he added, “I want you to
think about what’s to come, how bad it will be. Because it will be bad. It must
be. I don’t tolerate disrespect in a sub. Ever. So you get the additional
punishment of having to wait.”

He was right. Waiting would be worse. So much for happy
feelings, I thought.

He told me to pick up my dress. I did so and he took it from
me and laid it neatly over a chair. He then slipped off his jacket and hung it
on one of the hooks on the back of my front door. Next, he rolled up his shirt
sleeves. I fidgeted. He was making me nervous.

When he reached for his belt, I thought, oh no. He slowly
unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops of his pants.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

I reluctantly turned around, my body tensing, readying for
what I knew was coming. But he didn’t strike me. Instead, he pulled my wrists
behind my back and tightly began wrapping his belt around my wrists and on up
my forearms. He pulled my forearms closer together, wrapping tighter and
tighter until he heard me whimper from the growing discomfort. He stopped pulling
and cinched the belt closed.

It was extremely uncomfortable being restrained like this. I
have always been flexible, but this was truly testing the bounds of the
flexibility of my shoulder sockets, straining muscles I didn’t know I had. It
was clear what made it attractive to Michael, though, since it forced me to
arch my back, and sent my breasts thrusting outwards.

He held me by my upper arm and walked me into the center of
the room, then he turned me back around to face him and fixed me with a glare.
I remembered myself and looked down at the ground.

Michael grunted and said, “Get down on your knees. Kneel in
front of me.”

I managed to obey him without toppling over.

He said, “Spread your knees and display your pussy. Yes.
Good. Now put your head back and look at the ceiling. Open your mouth, all the
way. Perfect. I like seeing my holes open wide.”

He stepped up to me, and reached out and grabbed a big
handful of the hair I had piled on top of my head. He pulled my head back further,
straining the limits of my neck.

Then he stuck two of his fingers in my mouth and commanded,
“Suck.”

I closed my lips around his fingers and sucked. I snuck a
glance at him. His eyes were focused intently on my mouth. He slowly slid his
fingers in and out, in and out. He twisted and turned them, playing with my
tongue which he would catch and squeeze between his fingers.

He added another finger to his little game. Now there were
three fingers pushing in and out of my mouth. He clenched my hair tighter and
pinned me ever more firmly in place. He continued to slowly finger-fuck my
mouth.

Then he added the fourth finger and I accommodated
everything he was giving me as best I could. In and out. His eyes always on my
mouth. His lips a tight line. His jaw taut with focus. He said nothing, not a
word, not even when he began pushing his fingers farther and farther back into
my mouth.

I breathed hard through my nose, and sucked his fingers and
tried not to gag. I whimpered. A little smile curved up on one side of his
lips. He pulled his fingers out. I drew in a harsh breath.

He said, “Close your mouth. Lick your lips, all around. I
want them shiny and wet, really wet. Yes. Now pucker your lips. Tight. Pucker
up hard.”

I did whatever he wanted. He pushed his thumb against my
puckered mouth. He ran his thumb over my wet lips and then pushed his thumb a
short way into my mouth. He played in this way for a few minutes, running his
thumb over my lips then pushing past them and into my mouth. A few times he had
me lick my lips again, to moisten my lips and the tip of his thumb. A few other
times, he made a growling sound of pleasure.

Then he said, “Open your mouth all the way again.”

He reached for the button on his pants.

Once he unzipped his pants, he gave them a little shove to
make them fall off his hips, but didn’t bother removing them all the way, just
letting them fall around his calves. He reached into the open fly of his snug
boxer briefs and pulled out his cock. It was hard as stone.

He came even closer, and still holding his dick, ran the tip
over my wet lips. He said, his voice gruff, “Keep your mouth open and stick
your tongue out.”

I did as he commanded. He pushed his cock against my
outstretched tongue, wetting the end and then circling the tip over my lips. He
toyed with me in this manner for awhile, then he began tapping me with his
dick, tapping my tongue, my lips, my cheeks.

His other hand still held me tightly by my hair, rendering
me immobile, forcing me to remain in place while he hit my face with his cock.
It didn’t hurt, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t have an effect.

He said, softly, “Who owns this mouth hole?”

His dick slapped against my cheek. I said, “You do, Master.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It’s my hole. Now open wide and
accept what I give you.”

With that, he rammed his cock into my mouth. “Take it,” he
commanded. “Take it all.” And he shoved hard.

I gagged when his dick hit the back of my throat.

He taunted me. “Poor baby. You need to learn what it is to
be claimed.”

He pulled out then drove into me again. I gagged harder.
Tears began to well in my eyes. I breathed heavily through my nose and prayed
it didn’t start running because there was no way I’d be able to breathe through
my mouth.

His free hand joined his other in holding my head still while
he fucked my mouth. I was horrified at the thought that he might shove his dick
all the way down my throat, but he didn’t. He pushed against the back of my
throat, but never actually entered it. For that at least, I was grateful.

Saliva streamed in a slow trickle out the sides of my mouth.
I gagged repeatedly, but managed to hold down my stomach’s contents. He told me
to suck harder, and I obeyed to the best of my abilities. I felt trapped, his
hands holding me viciously while he pumped in and out of my mouth.

Several times he stopped and told me to tell him who my
mouth hole belonged to. I obeyed and savored each opportunity to grab a big
gulp of air.

It was clear to me what he was doing. He was taking me back
from Gibson, staking his claim. He himself had said he was claiming me. And it
was violent, and harsh, but I understood that he needed this, so I gave it to
him.

And I understood something more, something he made me admit.

He pulled out of my mouth and said, “Tell me you want it.
Tell me you love that I’m taking you like this. You love it. Say it.”

I grabbed a mouthful of air then swallowed down the saliva
that had pooled in my mouth. I felt the tears running down the side of my face,
into my hair, the hair that Michael had wrapped around his fingers so tightly
and painfully.

I managed to gasp out, “Yes, I want it. I love it, Master.”

“Say it again.”

“I want it. I love it, Master.”

“What do you love?”

“I love that you’re taking me, Master. Like this. Please
don’t stop.”

He made that low growling sound of his, then he shoved his
dick back in my mouth, stopping only when he rammed up against the back of my
throat. I gagged. He pulled out, then shoved hard again, all the way back. I
gagged again. He shoved, and I gagged.

And I hadn’t lied about wanting it, or about the rest of it
either. My pussy was throbbing and wet with need.

He fucked my mouth over and over, his hips thrusting forward
and backward, in and away from my trapped face. He would move my head around at
will to get some different angle he wanted. Sometimes he stopped and he’d slap
me with his dick on my lips and cheeks and even my eyes, then he’d resume
thrusting. Sometimes he let go of my head with one of his hands and reached
down and pinch my nipples until I whimpered.

My world became a struggle to breathe, to not throw up, to
manage the pain of the restraints on my arms and the pulling on my hair. He
wanted this of me. He took pleasure from my struggles. Every time I gagged, he
wanted me more. His passion was written in his face; it was what drove his dick
into my mouth.

I lost track of time. I was aware that I was making all
sorts of struggling noises, but I didn’t care anymore. I had surrendered to
this man, this powerful, sexy man who could have anyone, but wanted me, wanted
me in this special way. The heat within me built steadily with his every
demand.

When he stopped and pulled out of me a final time, I thought
he would come on my breasts again, like he had that first night we were
together. But he didn’t come. He kicked off his shoes, then stepped out of his
pants.

He pulled me by the hair and barked at me to stand up. I got
to my feet in a horribly ungainly way, practically falling, my balance upset by
my arms being restrained behind my back. Michael held me upright by my hair,
and with a hand clamped around my upper arm.

He walked me over to the couch, then shoved me face first
down over the end of the couch, my stomach flat against the armrest, my ass in
the air.

I managed to get my head turned to the side so I could
breathe better. I could just make out Michael pulling off the rest of his
clothes and tossing them behind him.

When he was naked, he demanded that I spread my legs. I
quickly obeyed, though I couldn’t open them that far in this position.

He grabbed me below my buttocks with both hands, his thumbs
digging into my pussy. He squeezed me and pulled my pussy open with his hooked
thumbs.

He asked, “Who does this pussy belong to?”

I answered, “To you, Master.”

And he claimed it. He grabbed my hips and drove into me. I
cried out. I had thought I was ready for him, knew I was wet and slick enough.
But I must have involuntarily tightened my muscles at his entry, because it
hurt when he slammed into me.

My cries didn’t slow him down any. He pulled out then rammed
home again. I sucked air and tried to relax my muscles. He was always a tight
fit, and if I didn’t manage to get my muscles to relax soon, this threatened to
be the most painful fucking of my life.

I breathed and tried to focus while he drove in and out of
me. Finally, after what felt like an age, my muscles relaxed and stretched for
him. Immediately, waves of pleasure flooded my system.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips as he bucked
against me. His balls slapped my clitoris. I squirmed whenever he shoved
himself into me up to the hilt, then he would stop and grind himself against my
pussy, his dick moving from side to side inside me.

He grunted and would sometimes tell me “Take it.” I did.
Greedily.

I desperately wanted to come, but knew better than to do so
until he gave the okay. I moaned and cried out while he pounded in and out, in
and out, over and over again. I wondered at his stamina, how powerful he was
that he could keep it up over and over.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I begged, “Please,
Master. May I come? Please. I don’t think I can hold it back.”

He slammed his cock into me, then did that maddening
grinding thing of his. It drove me wild.