Brat and Master (5 page)

“I called him Percy earlier.” She wasn’t sure why she felt constrained to confess, but once she did, she couldn’t resist a giggle.

He chuckled. “Not very respectful.”

“No,” she agreed. “But I don’t think he respects me, either.”

She half expected him to give her a lecture, lifted straight from popular fiction, on the difference between doms and subs. But he didn’t. “Shame, that.” His eyes twinkled. “Clearly, though, you need to be punished for your disrespect.”

The smile in his eyes reassured her, and she grinned. “Clearly, Sir.”

“Sir. That’s the right way to address me, isn’t it?” He tilted her chin up and held it to force her gaze to stay on him.

It wasn’t as if she wanted it anywhere else anyway. “Yes, Sir,” she breathed, her voice unsteady.

“Very good, Amanda. If you disrespect
me
, the spanking will become distinctly less enjoyable.”

She took in his meaning. On one hand, it was a warning. But he was also telling her that he expected her to enjoy what he was going to do to her. Her pussy moistened at the thought. What turned her on might not be what did it for everyone, but she never enjoyed a dom’s anger, even if it made him do exactly what she otherwise wanted. Yet being able to be bratty and having a dom use that to drive the scene forward was perfect.

I’ve chosen well.

He sat down on the chair and pulled her toward him. Feeling mischievous, she started to sit in his lap. His grip tightened, and without warning, she found herself tipped over, her ass skyward, her waist bent over his lap. She knew why he had moved the chair, and it wasn’t only to get away from Percival and Lucy. They were seated where everyone could see them, nearly as much so as they would have been if they were in the center of the room. He’d heard what she said about there being times she cared more about how a scene looked, and assumed she liked to be watched.
Sometimes.
She knew she did. She just didn’t know why she did. Maybe just that having people watch seemed so wrong it was hot.

“You are not in control, Amanda.” His voice was as firmly in command as any experienced dom’s. Like Gray or Vincent.

Was he really a novice? It seemed incredible.
“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you have any shyness about being in public like this, Amanda?”

“Um, no, not really.”
Once.
It seemed so long ago.

“Good.” He flipped up her skirt, and she felt a sudden breeze of air on her bottom. “You’re wearing panties.”

“Just a thong, Sir.” She wondered if he’d yank it off or ask first.

“Good,” he said instead. He ran a warming palm over her bottom.

Good? Why is that good?
She didn’t understand what made Jeremy tick. Which was unfair, because judging from his actions, he had a very good idea of what did it for her. Her heart was racing, and she wondered if there was a damp spot on her panties.

There wasn’t much she could do about it if there was. At least probably only he could see. There was something uniquely helpless about the position she was in: her head down, her feet stretching to touch the floor, his arm over her back with a firm grip on her side to hold her in place.

He lifted his hand, and she braced for it. He probably didn’t know how hard he should hit. But instead of a smack, he just patted her bottom lightly. It was almost disappointing.

“You can hit harder than that, Sir,” she told him.

“Really?” She couldn’t tell whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. But the next swat was exactly the same as the one before.

“Rea—” she started as he raised his hand again. He cut it short with a sharp smack that made her exhale suddenly. It was harder than she would have wanted, with more follow-through, but it definitely made a statement about who was in control. The question was, did he know enough to take charge?
I’ll let him follow his instincts, then offer helpful suggestions after.

“I want to start slow and build up. You, Amanda, need to be patient. I want to give you what you need as much as you want to get it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He did exactly that, working from cheek to cheek, slowly building up the intensity. Her bottom got warmer. Her pussy got warmer too. He nudged one leg to separate her thighs. He had to be able to see how wet she was. That part never ceased to be embarrassing and to make her feel vulnerable. Once a dom knew how turned on she was, the power shifted toward him.

He delivered a series of soft, stinging slaps to each buttock, and then a soft, thuddy press right in the middle, his fingers curling to stroke her pussy through the damp cloth.
Oh God.
She shivered. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what, Amanda?” he asked and gave her a stinging slap. The sharpness of it faded and seem to wind itself into her core, coiling like a second strand of rope with the tension his gentle stroke had provided.

She wasn’t sure, so she didn’t answer. His fingers on her pussy were heaven; his hand on her bottom was making her ache. She didn’t know which one turned her on more. She arched, instinctively pushing her ass higher, and spread her legs as far as they could go without falling off his lap.

He slipped his hand between her legs, not bothering to disguise it as the follow-through of a swat this time. His fingers found her clit with unerring accuracy, and she took a sharp breath. She hadn’t expected such a perfect touch. There were guys who seemed to have trouble even without her panties in the way. Hell, there were guys who probably couldn’t do it with a flashlight. He moved his fingers so that they slid on each side of her tender nub, creating pressure.

“You squirm beautifully. Don’t stop.” His voice contained genuine admiration. She hadn’t even realized she was moving. She was grateful she was facing the floor, because she was sure she was blushing. She tried to stay still.

He withdrew his hand.

“Don’t stop,” she said, almost at the same time.

He caressed her bottom, then spanked her again. She yelped, although she had suspected it was coming. Her feet kicked up in surprise, and he tightened his grip on her to stop her from falling off. “Whatever I have to do to get you to move is fine with me,” he said softly.

She relaxed and closed her eyes. Somehow, that simple statement that he was going to get what
he
wanted let her make the transition from bottom to submissive. She didn’t need to control the scene anymore, even though he was a novice and she had probably more experience than any man found attractive. She found her bottom swaying, and this time she didn’t hold back. He wanted movement. She wanted to please him.

He slid his hand between her legs again, pushing the narrow fabric between her lips, soaking it further in her wetness. She wanted him to pull it aside and slip his fingers in, but he didn’t. But she could tell she was getting to him. His breathing changed, taking on the heavy rhythm of desire. Something hard stirred underneath her thigh. It helped her relax, knowing he was aroused with her. Power exchange was all fine and good, but she didn’t want it to be all about her.

His fingers rubbed against her clit through the damp fabric, pushing all other thoughts aside. He massaged the tender nub until she was on the edge of release.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” she muttered over and over, more a prayer than an attempt to be heard. She was so close.

He stopped.

Sadist.
Then she remembered he was new. He probably didn’t realize how close he’d gotten her. Maybe he got bored. Although new to BDSM didn’t mean new to sex, and the skill he’d shown with his fingers made it clear he was far from inexperienced.
Maybe he knows exactly.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he said to her, even though she hadn’t been doing a thing but taking all he gave. He accompanied it with a swat on her bum that made her yelp.

“I want to make you pink.” He swatted her again, and again, close enough together that the whaps started to merge into each other in her mind. “A dark, rosy pink.”

Was he asking for permission? “Yesss,” she hissed, pushing her bottom up. She didn’t feel she was capable of any more verbal communication than that. She wanted to please him. She wanted him to get her off. In a fair world, the first would lead to the latter, and she wanted to trust that it would. The thought flashed through of going down on him to get him to promise to let her orgasm. She mentally added a condom to the picture and then rejected the whole idea. She wasn’t going to do that to a stranger in front of all her friends. His hard cock tempted her, though, and while she couldn’t tell exactly how big it was with her thigh against his jeans, she already knew enough to know it was above average. That made her curious.

His swats brought her back to the present. He hadn’t asked for a blowjob. He wanted to make her bottom red, and she was going to let him.

Each stinging swat brought more warmth in its wake, keeping her turned on without bringing her closer to her release. At first she felt she was teetering on an edge, but as he continued, she started floating.

“You’ll have more,” he told her. She hadn’t realized she’d been asking for it. Her mouth tended to run at the worst of times, without her even being aware of it. Doms often gagged her to shut up her constant chattering. He didn’t seem to mind, though. Unless that was why he was spanking her.
Smack. Smack.

“Yes, please. Yes yes more more… Unh!”

“Good girl,” he said and pushed his hand between her legs suddenly. “You’re a good color now.” He put his finger on her clit and moved it in firm circles.

“I’m gonna gonna gonna…”

“Come for me, ’Manda,” he ordered.

At his words everything held inside uncoiled. She would have shuddered right off his lap if his grip had not been so firm. Her pussy pulsed around nothing, wanting to be filled. But waves of pleasure swept through her without that, starting where his skillful fingers touched her and rippling through her belly and her heavy breasts and then down to the tips of her fingers.

Even as the intensity faded, she couldn’t stop shaking. He shifted his hand to move her closer to him, sensing the change. He pulled her up, turning her over so she was sitting in his lap, clasping her head to his shoulder. His other arm provided a steadying presence around her waist.

“My God, I’m shaking,” she said, stating the obvious.

“You’re safe,” he said.

She wasn’t sure what was going on. Little aftershocks were still hitting her, even though he’d stopped his most intimate touch. “Hold me. Hold me.” He held her tighter.

“I shouldn’t be still shaking,” she said.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” In fact, she felt extra warm. Her bottom was downright hot, but her breasts tingled with pleasant heat as well. “Kiss me,” she said.

He bent forward and kissed her softly. She parted her lips to invite more, but he simply pulled his head away and pulled her back against his shoulder.

Okay, not much of a kisser. But oh, those magic fingers.
And his arms were good and strong. She wanted to keep him coming back, and she wanted to be even with him. She didn’t remember ever shaking that way after a scene, but then normally she didn’t get to come during her scenes at all. She’d become an expert at bringing herself off at home after an evening of play.

“We could go into one of the theme rooms, if you wanted to, and”—she rested her hand on the bulge of his jeans—“I could take care of that somehow.” Her voice was shaking like the rest of her.

He smiled. “I might like that sometime.”

Sometime. As in not now. But he was aroused, she knew that. She could feel that, so if not now, why ever? He might as well have said no. She tried to keep her voice light. At least it felt more steady. “Well, then, you can have a rain check.”

“Thank you.” There was sadness in his eyes she didn’t understand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about me.” He smiled. “I’m fine, and I’m having a wonderful time.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not sure she believed.
Trust your top, Amanda.
She snuggled against him, the room slowly coming back in focus. Lucy and Percival had left the table at some point. There was a large curvy woman suspended twelve feet above the floor in the center of the room, looking lovely wrapped in a web of rope that immobilized her. She was right around Amanda’s eye level. John, a big, burly dom, held on to two lines that led to pulleys in the ceiling, but they were also cinched to an iron ring bolted into the floor. The rope work was exquisite, done with pink and black nylon rope. The girl, who Amanda recognized as one of the newbies, was the center of everyone’s attention. She, however, was looking at Amanda and Jeremy.

Amanda blushed. She knew she got verbal when she came. She had no idea if she screamed or babbled. But she knew it had been obvious. No matter how many times she played in public, she doubted she would get fully used to that.

Jeremy put his hand on the side of her chin, and she expected him to swing her face back to put her attention where it belonged—on him. But he seemed to change his mind. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“This is an interesting place. I feel as if I’ve found a home.”

“Then you’ll be coming back.”
God, that sounded way too eager.

He chuckled. “Yes, I’ll be coming back. I don’t think I can stay away. This is where I belong.” When the chuckled faded, it was replaced by sadness.

Amanda decided she wouldn’t wait for him to turn her face, even though she wanted him to direct her. She looked at him, conscious of how close their lips were. Of the air they shared between them as they breathed. “You don’t seem to like the idea.”

“Don’t ask.”

“But I want to know,” she insisted.

“I was in a Master/slave relationship with my wife,” he said. “This all brings back memories.”

So, not really new after all.
Master/slave meant something very much more intense than anything Amanda had done or wanted to do. Sure it was hot to think about being totally submissive to someone, all the time, but she didn’t think it was practical. Not for her. “Oh.”

“I should go soon. I have a lot to process.”