The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey (8 page)

“That’s it, yes,” she murmured encouragingly, thrilled as she watched Owen’s fingers loosen and felt the tension draining from his body. Moving to his side so she could see his face, Sylvie continued to heat his skin with the leather, slapping hard against his ass, less hard over his back and shoulders.

His head had fallen back so he was looking upward, as if toward the heavens, except that his eyes were closed. He almost looked as if he were sleeping, but Sylvie knew better. His cock was still erect, but the rest of his body was completely relaxed. He was riding the wave, flying high on wings of masochistic ecstasy. Sylvie grabbed on, the slapper her conduit into what he was experiencing. She felt powerful and alive, joy surging through her being as she continued to strike him, though each stroke was now softer than the last.

Finally she stopped altogether, dropping the slapper and moving to stand in front of this man who had submitted with such grace. Slowly he lifted his head, his eyes opening, though they remained unfocused. His lips were still parted, and they curved slightly in a surprised smile. He was breathing deeply and slowly, still half in a trance.

Without thinking what she was doing, Sylvie took Owen’s face in her hands, feeling the stubble of his five o’clock shadow beneath her fingers. Leaning forward, she touched her lips to his, slipping her tongue between them.

He responded in kind, his tongue rising to meet hers, his lips pressing hard against her. Sylvie felt herself tumbling into that hot, sweet kiss and all at once she realized what she was doing and pulled back as if burned.

Her hand flew to her face, for a moment covering the lips he had just kissed before she dropped her arms to her sides. Stunned, she blurted, “
Je suis
désolé
,”
before catching herself. Switching to English, she reiterated, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. That was wrong. I don’t do that.”

Owen was staring at her, his lips still parted, his eyes blazing. Sylvie moved away so he wouldn’t see the scalding blush she felt rising on her cheeks. What in hell was the matter with her? She
never
kissed a client. Never, ever,
ever
.

Quickly she retrieved the stepladder and climbed it, releasing Owen’s wrists in short order. Crouching in front of his legs, she unlocked the ankle restraints. She wanted to order him from her presence, and quickly, but she knew that wasn’t fair, not after the intense session she’d just put him through. Aftercare was crucial, and it wasn’t about
her
, she reminded herself. Owen was the client. Owen came first.

“Sit a moment,” Sylvie said, waving toward the loveseat with the specially fitted sheet she would later remove and wash. He appeared none too steady on his feet, and Sylvie took his hand, guiding him toward the loveseat.

Once he was seated, or more accurately, sprawled on the small sofa, Sylvie said, “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the bathroom off the office and wet and wrung a washcloth, bringing it and a hand towel back into the room.

Kneeling in front of her charge, Sylvie gently washed his body with the wet cloth, more to soothe than to clean him. She brought him a cold bottle of water and handed it to him, watching him drink. He’d need a long, hot shower after such an intense session, but he could take that on his own time, in his own space.

His cock, she couldn’t help but notice, was still erect, hard and thick above his balls. She patted and stroked the shaft with the wet cloth and moved the washcloth carefully over his balls, following up with the soft towel. She could feel Owen’s eyes burning into her as she ministered to him, but she didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

Satisfied she’d done her duty in aftercare, Sylvie pulled herself upright and stared down at her client. “You did very well, Owen. You took a lot today. You may dress now. The session is over.”

She turned away, eager for him to be gone. She had to think. She had to regroup. She needed to be alone.

Sylvie sat behind her desk, pretending to be busy while Owen pulled on his clothing. She didn’t look up until she realized he was standing beside the desk looking down at her.

“Mistress Sylvie,” he began. “I just wanted to say—”

“I apologize for that kiss,” she interrupted. “It was most unprofessional. I assure you it won’t happen again. Isabel will contact you for the next session.” Sylvie looked blindly down at her papers, cursing the heat she felt in her cheeks.

“Please, let me speak.” Owen insisted. His voice was quiet but firm, no longer her submissive client, but just a man, a man with something to say. Sylvie looked up slowly and waited, her lips pressed together.

“I just want to say, it’s okay. There’s no need to apologize for anything. Really.”

Her cheeks still hot, Sylvie nodded mutely. Owen moved toward the door, turning back at the last moment. “Oh, and one more thing, Mistress.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Chapter 6

Finally, a Saturday session. Owen could arrive relaxed, dressed in jeans, freshly showered and shaved. It was a crisp spring morning, the kind of day that held the promise of new beginnings. Instead of taking a cab, Owen decided to take the subway and then walk from the Washington Square station to Mistress Sylvie’s townhouse.

He touched his mouth with two fingers as he stood on the stoop, the memory of her kiss still imprinted on his lips. If his hands had been free when they’d shared that brief kiss he would have pulled her to him, he would have crushed her body to his and never let her go.

In retrospect, he was glad he’d been bound. It was clear from her reaction afterwards that she hadn't meant to kiss him. It had been a whim, one she obviously regretted. He’d recognized then that he needed to back off, to be careful. No doubt Mistress Sylvie had men hitting on her all the time. Owen was her client, nothing more. He seriously doubted he had a shot in hell with her on any kind of personal level, but hey, a guy could dream.

Owen pressed the doorbell and identified himself. He stood back, staring at the peephole as if he could see inside, his heart kicking into gear at the thought of seeing Mistress Sylvie again. The door was opened by Isabel. He realized he’d been hoping that once again she would have the day off. Knowing he was alone with Mistress Sylvie during that last session had made it that much more intense.

Isabel gestured him inside, inclining her head toward him as if to say he was no longer a new client. He was established—a regular. After Owen dropped the requisite envelope onto the silver tray, Isabel led him up the stairs to the dungeon.

Mistress Sylvie was sitting on the high stool in front of the square of carpet. She was wearing a white silk dress, the bodice of which hugged her luscious breasts. The skirt was long and flowing, and Owen could see the outline of Mistress Sylvie’s shapely legs beneath its sheer fabric. Her feet were shod in white slippers and her thick, shiny hair hung to her shoulders. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale.

She met his eyes, lifting her brows as she nodded toward the carpet. Recalling himself, Owen reached for the hem of his polo shirt and pulled the shirt over his head. Kicking off his topsiders, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them, along with his underwear, from his body. Naked, he moved toward the square of carpet and knelt, his head bowed, resisting the impulse to kiss Mistress Sylvie’s white slippers.

She was holding his leather cuffs in her hands, the clips glinting silver in the soft lighting of the room. “Wrists,” she said briskly. Owen held out his wrists, a sensual, peaceful feeling moving over him as she clipped the cuffs into place.

“Stand up,” Mistress Sylvie commanded. “Hands behind your head, eyes ahead. Don’t move a muscle until I return.”

Owen obeyed, locking his fingers behind his neck, aware his cock was already rising with anticipation as Mistress Sylvie slipped from the stool and moved toward the toy table. She was there a while. Owen tried to see what she was doing in his peripheral vision, but her back was to him. His mind spun with the possibilities as visions of rope, chain and whips moved in an erotic jumble through his imagination.

When Mistress Sylvie came back into his line of vision, Owen saw she was wearing latex gloves. In one hand was a tube of lubricant. She held out other. “Do you know what this is?”

Owen swallowed. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s a butt plug, Mistress.” Though he’d never seen one in person, he’d seen them used often enough on the BDSM porn sites he sometimes scrolled through on the Internet. He’d watched in fascination as the shiny black plug was pushed slowly into some gorgeous woman’s ass, disappearing between her cheeks until only the flat circle of rubber at its base remained in view.

“Have you ever had a butt plug used on you, slave Owen?” Mistress Sylvie asked.

“No, Mistress,” Owen replied, his heart fluttering against his ribs. In spite of the situation, or, if he were completely honest, perhaps partially because of it, he felt his cock harden. He’d thought often about the session when Mistress Sylvie had probed his ass, searching for the sweet spot, as she’d called it, and finding it. That scene had been intimate, even sexual, between them, at least it had been for him. He would have rather experienced that again—her gentle, sure fingers, the sweet murmur of her voice over him, her breasts grazing his back as she moved.

Mistress Sylvie shook him out of the brief fantasy as she pointed toward the stool.  “Bend over and spread your legs,” she ordered. “You may grip the legs of the stool with your hands for balance.”

Owen took a deep breath, willing his body to comply. In spite of his trepidation, a part of him was deeply aroused by the authority in her tone. She didn’t ask him—she commanded, and he, with all choice removed, obeyed.

Bending over the stool, he shifted until his midriff was resting against the seat, his legs spread, his ass thrust outward. He drew in a sharp breath when he felt Mistress Sylvie’s hands spread his ass cheeks. He was glad his face was hidden from her as she examined his exposed asshole, lightly rimming it with a single finger. He tensed as he felt a blob of gooey lube squeezed onto the puckered hole.

Owen squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip when he felt the tip of the hard rubber butt plug pushing against his tight sphincter. “That’s it,” Mistress Sylvie urged. “You are doing well, Owen. Don’t resist what I want for you. Give of yourself. Show me you can obey, even when it’s difficult for you.”

Energized by her words, Owen made a conscious effort to relax his rectal muscles, trying not to clench as the plug was pushed slowly but inexorably into his passage. He did okay until the very end, when the flared base of the plug stretched him painfully open as it slipped inside.

“Ah!” he cried, before he could stop himself. “That hurts!”

And it had hurt, but just as quickly, the pain subsided as his sphincter muscles adapted to the invading phallus. He felt Mistress Sylvie’s hands moving over his ass and back.  She leaned over his body, her breasts pressed against him, separated only by the silk that covered them.

“You will be punished for speaking out of turn.” Owen felt Mistress Sylvie’s soft cheek against his shoulder and he wanted to turn and kiss her, but of course he did not. All at once she stood. His skin ached with the loss of her.

“Stand at attention, hands behind your head,” she said brusquely.

Owen stood slowly upright, clenching his ass cheeks to keep the plug inside, though he realized as he relaxed a little that it wasn’t going anywhere, not with that flared base wedged inside his ass. He put his hands behind his head and waited, watching as Mistress Sylvie resumed her perch on the stool. The plug created an odd sensation inside him, but it didn’t hurt, not anymore.

Mistress Sylvie tilted her head as she regarded him, her pretty sea-green eyes penetrating his. Owen was aware of the steady pulse in his cock. It had sprung into a full erection, and a droplet of pre-come trembled at its tip.

She was so beautiful. As they stared at one another, Owen felt as if he were falling into Mistress Sylvie’s eyes, losing himself in them. He felt as if he could look at her forever. As she gazed at him, her lips parted and Owen felt something catch in his heart. Before he realized what he was doing, he had taken a step toward her.

“Back in position!” Mistress Sylvie snapped suddenly, shocking Owen out of whatever spell she’d woven around him. The softness in her face of a moment before was replaced with a frown. “Eyes on the ground.”

Owen stepped back as if he’d been slapped. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d let his imagination run away with him. He was no better than those deluded assholes who managed to convince themselves the prostitute they’d hired for an hour was “really into it.” That kiss had been a one-time fluke. Time to get over it. He was getting what he paid for from the hired Dominatrix. He had no right to expect anything more.

Determined to keep his mind on what was really being offered, which was in itself pretty fucking great, Owen thrust his chest forward at attention and fixed his eyes on Mistress Sylvie’s slipper-clad feet.

“Better,” she said. Owen could feel her eyes moving over his body, but he resisted the impulse to look up. “I want to try something with you,” Mistress Sylvie finally said. “I want to push your boundaries today.” Standing, she stepped close and reached for his face, cupping his chin in her hand as she stared again into his eyes. “Do you trust me, Owen?”

Owen didn’t have to think about his response. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied at once.

“Good.” Letting him go, she stepped back. “I have been thinking about the heightened experience that can result when sight and sound are removed, when the focus is solely on what you are experiencing, with no distractions. You handle erotic pain well. I want to take you further today. I think we can get there if we remove all distractions. Do you think you could handle that?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Owen replied, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about.

Mistress Sylvie stood and moved toward the toy table. She returned holding a black leather hood in one hand, a long, thin rattan cane in the other. “I would like you to wear this hood for our session.” She held it up for Owen to see. It had long silver zippers along either side of it and hole cut into the center. “I’ll plug your ears first, and then the leather hood will blind and silence you. I want to secure you to the spanking horse and give you the experience you crave. I want to mark you with my cane.”