Cherry Bomb (3 page)

“An extremely hot and fuckable ass. Now, you
are doing this assignment. Maybe he’ll even give you a
demonstration,” Amy said before the phone line went dead.
Yeah,
like a fuckable ass wants a big lard.

I threw the cellphone onto the passenger seat
and screamed. I had not done an interview for The Showcase, a local
magazine for places to go and people to meet, since I left my
husband two months earlier. Luckily, Amy, the editor, had
understood. But why she thought an interview with the most talked
about Dom in the whole city of Memphis was the perfect way to
get-back-my-groove was beyond me.

I pushed the pedal to the floorboard. I had
thirty minutes to get to the other side of town and the warehouse
district. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. James, my
soon-to-be-ex, would have come apart at the thought of me running
around alone in that part of town. On top of that, I was meeting
with the town’s most elusive Dom, and I didn’t even know his name.
All Amy gave me was a time, an address, and that this man had the
ability to control even the strongest lady.

I pulled into the parking garage outside an
old warehouse, and my heart pounded. The side of the building was
covered with graffiti, but the front was all curved glass and
steel. Glancing down at my watch, I stumbled out of my car unsure
of what lay ahead for me that day. I had made it with ten minutes
to spare. It had taken Amy nine months to arrange that particular
interview, and she threatened me not to be late.

I walked in and was immediately greeted by a
stunning brunette. She had on a form fitting charcoal-grey suit. I
was surprised and a little satisfied that a sex club would have a
brown haired beauty as the greeter. After all, James always said no
man in his right mind would want to sleep with anybody other than a
blonde.

“You must be Amy Richardson.” She reached out
and firmly shook my hand.

“Actually, it’s Cherry Webb. I’m here to see
. . .” I went blank. I had no idea what his name was other than
Sir.

She chuckled. “The Master will see you.” She
stood up, and I realized why any guy would forget the brown shade
of hair.
Damn, she was hot and oozed of confidence.

“I’m Kelly, by the way. I’m one of the main
submissives around here.”

My mind started to be bombarded with so many
questions; the utmost being why a woman like her, so beautiful and
self-assured, would allow any man to abuse her. She handed me a
badge that clearly stated visitor in bold print. Surely it was
beyond obvious that I didn’t belong in a place like this. James was
correct. I would never be any man’s fantasy.

She escorted me to a set of elevators and hit
the up button. The door slid open, and as I stepped in I was
greeted by a security guard who was dressed in a well-cut black
suit, black shirt, and black tie. I was getting even more nervous
about meeting Master as Kelly called him. If his security looked
that sharp and well put together, I could only imagine what he
looked like.

The elevator reached the top floor and
opened. I found myself in a rather large lounge with what appeared
to be two king beds mushed together. They stood proud, taking
center stage in the middle of the room. The north and west facing
walls were floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a spectacular
view of downtown Memphis. It was a stunning view but was soon
eclipsed when he walked in the room. He commanded the room like no
one I had ever come across. He was dressed in a tailored
three-piece suit. That suit was hot, but the tall, muscular, and
powerful body inside it was what sent a prickling across my skin.
Still as magnificent as that body was, it wasn’t until my eyes
traveled up to his face and incredible mane of blond hair that I
went weak in the knees. His crystal blue eyes flamed with an
unwavering force that knocked the breath from my lungs. A man that
was so perfect, it was almost painful to look upon him. My head
automatically lowered and focused on his luxurious oxfords.
Oh,
damn, he is . . . devastating.

“You’re not Amy,” he snapped, causing my
nerves to shatter.

I took a step back, tripped on my heel, and
tumbled flat on my ass.
Damn, he is going to kick me out
now.
He extended a thick, manly hand, and I breathlessly
accepted it.

“But, I think I’d rather have you. She is
rather, how can I put it nicely? A bitch. You, on the other hand,
look like you can be fun,” I said and winked at her. “A lot of
fun.”
Note to self: send Billy a thank you card for sending me
this one.

Clasping a small, fragile hand, I pulled her
to her feet. She was embarrassed; her milky-smooth skin flamed. The
image of what that skin would look like striped by the bite of a
cane crossed my mind. I was restless, but that sweet lady was there
for business not my pleasure.
I could at least have a little fun
while she’s here.

“And I have to admit I rather like you on
your knees,” I added, trying to use my amused tone to put her at
ease.

It took a few seconds for her to finally find
her voice to speak. “I’m Cherry Webb, and I’m so sorry for the rude
entrance, Sir.”

I was highly aroused and entertained by that
submissive little look she was giving me. I didn’t believe her eyes
had looked higher than my knees since she tripped over those red
six-inch heels that showcased those long legs of hers. The
loose-fitting skirt, however, did nothing to flatter her. She
adjusted her white blouse to cover the small smidgen of her breast
she was showing. She’d been hurt. Every move she made screamed that
she believed she was less than. Her husband, I was positive, had
hurt her and had taken away her self-worth. I slipped on my
impassive expression. I could never let her know how she affected
me, but I wanted to prove to her that she was a beautiful treasure,
make her believe in herself and be proud of that amazing, curvy,
hot body. I hit the button on the remote in my pocket that
controlled the East facing wall. As it started to slide back to
expose a sitting area, she stared in amazement giving me a moment
to adjust the bulge she was causing in my pants. She looked back at
me confused, so I waved the remote in my hand. “Take a seat, Mrs.
Webb.”

I motioned over to a large circular,
black-leather sectional. The gleam that sparkled from her eyes let
me know she knew that space was entirely too spacious for one
person; because it was not used for one person but an orgy of
people. It was a sex club, after all.

She arched a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.
“Before I sit, what all has happened on that couch?”

I laughed.
Oh, Babe, if I told you all of
that, you would be running for the nearest exit.
“I slept on it
last night. Want to massage out the crick it left me with?” I
wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and kneaded my fingers
into it.

A ghost of a smile darted across those
luscious, lickable lips of hers before she composed that
professional journalist face. She took a seat and glanced up to see
that I had moved directly in front of her, placing my groin in line
with her face. She unconsciously licked her lips.
Oh, Babe,
you’ll get a taste soon.

I tilted my head and judged her expression. I
was getting to her. Her eyes were fixed on my obvious semi-erection
as a pale rosy-pinkness crept up her neck and across her cheeks.
Pushing my fingers through a messy blond cowlick on the crown of my
head, I sank down on the couch across from her, stretched out my
long legs in front of me as I reclined, making sure my foot tapped
against hers, and propped my elbows on the back of the couch.

Her cheeks flamed as she started to fumble in
her purse until she pulled out a digital recorder. She wouldn’t
look at me.

“Stand up, Cherry,” I said making sure I
rolled each letter of her name off of my tongue. She didn’t move.
“Now, Mrs. Webb.” I wanted her to look at me, but in all honesty, I
simply wanted to look at her.

She stood without thinking and started
fidgeting with her ill-fitting blazer. I would fix those nervous
jitters. With my finger, I motioned for her to come closer. She
bent at the waist and brought her face within inches of mine. Her
eyes caught my attention and halted me still. They were downcast,
and the depth of sadness in them was mind-blowing. Maybe, if I
brought a few moments of bliss to Cherry, it would make up for a
small portion of my sins.

“Green, the color of fertility, nature,
money, envy, and lust,” I said then scraped my tongue along my top
teeth.
Please smile.

“What, Sir?” she asked, still leaning over
me. I rubbed my fingers together, dying to actually touch her.

“Your eyes. They’re green. They match the
caramel tones in your hair.”

She stood up and combed her hands through her
thick mane of hair. Something about that statement bothered
her.

“Turn around,” I said and cupped my own chin,
trailing a long index finger over my lips. She stared at me and
then fell back onto the couch.

“I’m here for an interview, not a modeling
gig.”

She slid a pen out of the top of a notepad
and opened it. She still had a spark in her. I wanted to show her
the tremendous value and power she held within herself. She was,
after all, extremely beautiful. She was older than me but could
hold her own against any woman.
Yes, she's affecting me.
A
true submissive. One who needed to learn her value.

I had to rein in my thoughts and remind
myself why she was there.

She finally raised her eyes but not her head.
I pictured her naked at my feet giving me that same heart-stopping
stare.
Fuck, get your mind off of her and onto this god-awful
interview.

“Do you prefer blondes?” She blurted out
before she even turned her recorder on, but it caused her to hold
her head up.

I bit my tongue not to laugh. That question
meant something deeper to her than my preference in hair color.
“Your first question is about hair color?”

“Just curious.”

She blinked, and her eyes appeared even more
lost. I couldn’t stand the fact I had put that look on that
exquisite face.

“No, I don’t. I think blonde is highly
overrated. My personal favorite is red.”
Fuck, she quit looking
at me again.
She had tucked that beautiful face against her
shoulder. “But a close second is brown. There is something about a
brunette. They are dark and mysterious.”

That smile I had been hoping for slowly ran
across her face. She hit the record button on the digital recorder
and pulled out a set of questions.

“What’s your real name?”

Oh no, Beautiful, I don’t trust you enough
for you to know that name.
I only give out my name to those I
care about. “Sir.”

“No, not what you want me to call you, but
your real name?”

“I’d love to have you call me Master, but Sir
will do for now.” I glared at her. “Due to my real job and personal
life, I’m not willing to entrust my name to anyone.”

A name holds too much power, and I hold
all the power here.
Her eyes widened, and I witnessed her
wither under my stare. She slumped deeper into the couch cushion
she was sitting on and that exquisite shade of pink spread across
her face.
Oh, yes, you will be so fun and easy to
control.

She rattled the sheet of paper she was
holding out of nerves. “What led you to this lifestyle? Why did you
choose to become a Dom?” she asked in a soft and shy voice but
arched that perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

“I didn’t choose it. I found who I truly was
through it,” I answered, knowing that was the truest answer I’d
ever given. Billy, my older brother, introduced me to this life,
and I’d never looked back. It was the one place where I could
freely give myself over to someone and not worry about the problems
in my life.

“Is it a power thing?” she continued
expeditiously. She adjusted the collar on the shirt she was
wearing.
Oh, Babe, I want to stop that fidgeting
.
You
should walk in a room and own it. Why do you feel so bad about
yourself?

“It is a power thing, but I’m not the one
with the power. It’s the submissive who holds it all,” I simply
stated. Her mouth flew opened. “Don’t look so shocked. My girl
holds all the power. It’s my job to bring it out in her.” I
shrugged my shoulder and winked. “Then I get the fun of molding
that power to fit my will.”

She didn’t look down at her long list of
basic questions. She let her heart lead her instead. “How does
beating someone give them the power? It sounds like abuse to
me.”

“I do enjoy the handcuffs and whips, but it’s
simply a tool to show the submissive how much power she has in
her.”

She shook her head fervently. “How? I still
don’t understand.”

I’ll soon show you, Babe. But I’ll settle
with trying to explain for now.
“The best part of a BDSM
relationship is total trust. Everyone involved knows where each
other stands. It’s the ultimate freedom.”

“I don’t understand.” She moved to the edge
of the cushion and started to stroke her hand over her thigh,
working the hem of her skirt up to expose a sliver of that sensual
upper leg. I licked my lips. She let the paper holding her
questions fall to the ground. I had her complete and undivided
attention.

“A true Master is not a man, or in some cases
a woman, that likes to fuck hard or control. People like that are
asses. It’s also illegal and called abuse. A proper Dom is a person
that, no matter what, will be there for you. Not just sexually, but
emotionally and physically. He’s not a sub’s abuser, but her
ultimate comforter. Likewise with a sub, she has an inner need to
please her Master. No matter where they are or what they are doing,
the simple tone of his voice makes her body alert and willing to
obey his every wish. Whether it’s to pour him a glass of water or
suck his cock.” I paused as she flinched.