Adventurous Me (9 page)

I open the car door but before I can get out, he’s there. As soon as I stand up, he says, “From this point on, you will allow me to assist you with doors, chairs, all of those kinds of things. It’s a sign of my respect for you.” That one surprises me. “As long as we’re outside the house in the vanilla world, we’ll act vanilla – with a few exceptions. Once inside, it’s my rules.”

He opens the door and motions for me to pass him and go inside, then turns on the light. It’s a nice house, nice furnishings, kind of warm and homey. I think I was expecting industrial steel and vinyl and spotlights, with eye bolts on every surface. Not like that at all. Then he gives me the grand tour. “Living room, kitchen,” he points, “and the laundry room is back there.” Down the hallway we go. “My bedroom and bath.” Two of the doors are closed; he doesn’t open them, but he points to one and says, “Home office.” At the end of the hall he opens a door and points in. “Your room.”

I have my own room. Now I’m confused. In answer to my unspoken question, he says, “Sometimes you will be in my bed. But not always. And if things get too intense, this gives you a sanctuary to quiet your mind and rest, somewhere to retreat to.”

I whisper, “Thank you, Sir.” Once I’ve dropped my bag on the bed, I follow him back into the living area.

He motions for me to take a seat on the sofa, and I remember I don’t have panties on. I look at the cushions and he says, “Oh. Sorry.” He disappears for a few seconds and comes back with a bath towel, which he spreads out on the sofa. Then he motions for me to sit again, and I try to be graceful as I do.

“Protocol. I am the master of this house. It’s literally my way or the highway here. You are the sub. You are not a slave. You are not expected to do all of the housework, but I would appreciate it if you did some.”

“I won’t mind at all, Sir.”

“Good. You will be nude at all times inside the house unless I specify otherwise, or unless you’re performing a task that would be dangerous to your skin. Your only articles of clothing will be a training collar and the heels I give you. Size seven and a half?”

I gasp. “How did you know that, Sir?”

“Good guess.” He stops, then starts again. “You will wear the training collar for as long as you’re here. That will make restraining you easier in a jam.” What kind of jam would make me need to be restrained? I don’t really understand that, but I nod. “You will meet me at the door when I come in. I expect you to be nude and in the collar and heels, kneeling at the door in presentation. Be aware that I may fuck you immediately upon returning home.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I am not a sadist, but I do enjoy bondage, restraints, and discipline sessions with my subs. This is only for the purpose of arousal. I will, however, punish if needed for an infraction. Discipline and punishment are very different. You’ll learn the difference. But know this: Sex will never be used to punish. Never. I don’t believe in that. And I think the punishment should fit the crime. With that in mind, a word of warning: I can be very creative in my punishment methods, so be afraid.” He doesn’t crack a smile, and I swallow hard.

“You will sleep in your room unless I tell you to stay in my bed. If I want, I will chain you to the bed so you cannot get out unless I give you permission. But if you’re in my bed, you always need permission to get out. Bathroom, drink of water, doesn’t matter. Permission required. And no closed doors. You will shower, shave, toilet, everything with the door open.”

I nod. This doesn’t seem too bad, just the usual dominance stuff. “While you are here, your sex belongs to me. All of it. You will not have sex with anyone else if we go to the club unless I tell you to, and if I tell you to, you will do so. You will not touch yourself in such a way as to arouse yourself or satisfy yourself unless I so direct. Your body, your arousal, your orgasms, they all belong to me. Is that understood?” I nod again. “Good. There will be times when I leave you wanting and unsatisfied for an extended period of time. I do practice forced orgasm and orgasm denial as discipline, and you are not to pleasure yourself unless I give express permission, and that’s usually for my entertainment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.

“Good. The two doors that are closed in the hallway are off limits to you. One is the office. The other,” he stops, then starts again, “is my kids’ bedroom.”

“You have children, Sir?” I had no idea.

“Yes. Two girls, ages ten and eight. You will not meet them. They’re with my mother.”
Okay then, good enough to fuck but not good enough to meet your kids. I get it
, I think. “I was once married. I do not want to talk about it, so do not ask. If you forget and ask, that will be okay the first time. The second time you will be punished.” Wow. He doesn’t intend to share anything about himself with me. I get that now too. “I understand that you were married. That’s all I need to know. I don’t need details. I’m really not interested.” Ouch.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Any questions?”

“Yes, Sir. What do I do if I’m alone here and the doorbell or the phone rings? Do I answer it?”

“Do not answer the door. Please do answer the phone and take a message for me. Most of my calls come in on my cell, though, so there shouldn’t be too many instances of that. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so, Sir.” At least I’ve stopped shaking, but that’s about it. “And may I call you Master, Sir?”

“Interchangeably. Sir or Master. Makes no difference to me as long as you show me the respect I deserve as your Dominant.”

“Yes, Sir. Absolutely.”

“Then go and put your things away. Sometime in the next couple of days we’ll go and get more of your things. But you won’t need many clothes.” Yeah, I get that too. “You’ll find your collar and heels in the closet. When you have them on, come back out here and kneel in front of the sofa.” He turns and strolls into the kitchen. I assume that means I’ve been dismissed, so I go back to the bedroom.

Sure enough, the heels and collar are in the closet, the heels on a shelf and the collar on a hook. It’s obvious the collar’s been worn before; it’s obvious the heels are brand new. I try them on and they fit perfectly except they’re five-inch stilettos and I don’t wear heels, especially not heels that high. I’ll probably fall and kill myself, but I’ll wear them until the coroner gets here.

When I’m undressed and wearing the collar and shoes, I go back out and kneel in front of the sofa. It feels like I’m there forever and there’s no sign of him. Just when I think I misunderstood, I hear footsteps and look up just in time to see him come out of the hallway.

He’s naked – gloriously, beautifully naked. The night he did my anal workout he was behind me the whole time, and he never completely undressed. This is something else entirely. I’m trying not to stare, but it’s hard. I mean, literally, it’s hard. Big and hard. And his body is amazing, the epitome of the perfect male specimen, a smattering of dark hair across his pecs drifting inward and downward, ending at his beautiful cock. I think I must’ve let out a gasp or something because he asks, “Sub, is there something you want to say?”

Now I’m embarrassed. “No, Sir.”

He stands for a few seconds and waits, but I don’t elaborate. Finally, he says, “Stand. Back to me. Feet spread, hands on the sofa.” I go through everything he just said and realize that the heels put me at just the right height for him to come up behind me.

But he surprises me when he sits down on the floor, then scoots under me and turns around. His back is against the front of the sofa, and his face is . . . oh, my god. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he demands. His fingers draw my pussy lips apart and he can see it all, touch it all, and I feel myself go wet. I feel his hands go up my groin, up my belly, up my lower ribs, and suddenly clutch my breasts, the thumb and index finger of each hand twisting my already-erect peaks. After he’s twisted and pulled them for a good three minutes, his hands wander back down my body and spread my slit open again.

“Wet and ready. Your cunt is very pretty when it’s engorged and hot. And it smells delicious.” I was worried that I hadn’t had time to sort of clean up. Guess that’s not an issue. “You will hold still and you will remain silent. Not a peep or a groan. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Then I wonder,
Was I supposed to answer him out loud?

Before I can ask, I feel his tongue slide up into my slit, and the tip enters my pussy. It’s velvety and hot, and then he drags it upward to my hard little pearl. The miracle that is his mouth engulfs my dripping sex and laps at it, and I have to work to keep a moan in. When he circles my clit with his tongue, I can barely stand. I think my legs might give out, but he’s holding me steady.

Just when I think it can’t get any wilder, he sucks my nub in between his lips and I feel faint. He’s working it in and out of those hot lips, and then he scrapes it with his teeth. I almost scream. He starts with the tongue circling again, and I’m struggling to be still and quiet, but it’s almost impossible. About the time I’ve got it under control again, he wraps his hands around my hips and then slaps my ass – hard.

My body gives in and I shudder with my release. I can feel my hips start to churn, but I can’t get away from his mouth with him holding my hips that way, and staying quiet takes everything I’ve got. The orgasm goes on and on, and I’m biting my tongue to keep from crying out. I feel my knees give way, but I guess he anticipated it because he catches me and lowers me.

But when he lowers me, it’s straight down, and he impales me on his long, thick, hard shaft. I almost gasp. “Wrap your legs around behind me. Go ahead and kick the heels off. You won’t need them right now.” When my legs are around him, he says, “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work. Just feel me inside you, stroking you, filling you. Am I stretching you, sub? You may speak.”

“Yes, Sir,” I manage to pant out. He’s hitting just the right spot and my vision is starting to blur.

“Good. Will you come for me?” His lifting and dropping of me picks up speed, and everything below my waist tenses. Watching his biceps as he moves me up and down on his length makes me burn all over.

“Yes, Sir. I want to come for you, Sir.” It’s building, and fast. I feel the ache inside me and I’m awash with longing, my clit dragging down his pelvis, his hands under my ass, lifting and dropping me, my arms around his neck, helping even though he said I didn’t have to. The need is so strong that I feel like I’m losing myself in it, dropping down into it, being swallowed up by it. “Oh, god, Sir, I want to come for you, Sir.” Time is slowing down and everything in my body is swelling, expanding, trembling. This room, his body, my thirst for him, they’re all that’s left in the whole world.

“Then come for me, sub. Let go for me,” he growls and bites my shoulder. No one’s ever done that to me before, and it feels like a lit match to a powder keg. My insides explode, shatter, start to spasm and throb, and my body falls into the climax like a skydiver out of an airplane. I cry out over and over, but even in my ecstasy I feel his cock start to pulse inside me and his hot, bitter syrup fills me to bursting.

He lets me fall onto his shaft, its length and girth embedded solidly in me, and drop to his chest, my arms around his neck. His hands slide from my ass up around my waist and grip me to him. I’m drifting along, floating on a breeze, feeling light and free, and then his finger under my chin tips my face up and he kisses me.

It’s a long, scorching kiss, his tongue forcing my mouth open and lashing against mine. I moan through his lips and return the desperation, latching onto him and refusing to let go. The kiss goes on and on, like it’s binding us together, making us one. When he finally releases me, he pushes me back so he can look into my face. “Look into my eyes, sub,” he whispers.

When I look up, his eyes lock onto mine and I suddenly feel naked and embarrassed. The raw sexuality in those dark pools snatches my breath away. “Are you satisfied?” he asks. My mind screams,
Really? You have to ask me that?

“Yes, Sir, totally.” With a hand on the back of my neck, he draws my face to his shoulder and hugs me against him, holding me there while he goes soft inside me. “Are you satisfied, Sir?”

“For now. I will be using you like this often during the day. When you leave in two weeks, you will have been fucked more than you have been in your whole life previously. I will fuck you everywhere in this house, in every way I can think of and some I’ll probably invent. Is that something you want?”

I shiver all over. “Oh, yes, Sir. Absolutely.”

“Good.” He pushes me back again to look at me. “Go to your bathroom and clean yourself up, then go to bed. Set your alarm for six o’clock in the morning, get up and go to the bathroom to relieve yourself and freshen up, then come to my bed. Be prepared to please me immediately upon your arrival. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He helps me up and stands beside me. I reach down and pick up my shoes, but he says, “No. You will put them on and wear them. I want to watch you walk down the hall with my cum running down your legs.” I do exactly as he says, and I can feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hall, trying to do so in the sexiest way I can manage, considering I’m not used to heels. And I do feel his cum trickle down my legs, a hot river of sex rolling down my skin.

The one thing I noticed throughout the whole encounter is that he didn’t smile one single time. Matter of fact, I can’t remember ever seeing him look anything but serious. And that becomes my mission.

I want to see Clint Winstead smile.