Geoffrey's Rules (20 page)

Geoffrey said, “Hold on a moment, slut.” I sat back on my heels. “Would you like a little crème brûlée?” he asked. He had his spoon again with custard on it, and he put a dollop of the custard on the tip of his cock.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you, sir.” The wonderful shame of it was making me light-headed. I knelt forward again and bent my head down to where my two desserts waited. I took them in my mouth together, and it was delicious; the soft, creamy custard so sweet and his flesh very slightly salty. I swirled the custard on my tongue around his shaft, and then I gently licked it off. Geoffrey repeated the exercise twice more and then was content to finish his own custard while I pleasured him with my bobbing head.

I could feel he was close to coming, and then he said, “Alright. Stand up in front of me, naughty girl. Hands behind your head.” When I had complied, he looked up into my eyes and reached out with his right middle finger, with his palm turned upward. Trembling, I watched it come closer and closer to the modest, though bare, little slit that peeped out between my thighs.

“Look into my eyes, naughty girl.”

I obeyed, and I felt the finger come to rest right where my deprived little clitoris was hiding.

“Mine,” he said. The finger began to vibrate ever so gently.

I cried out, “Oh, sir, I—”

“Listen to me, naughty Chloe. You are going to go upstairs to my bedroom and take the covers off the bed. Then you are going to lie down on the bed, on your back, and close your eyes. You are going to raise your knees and spread your legs.” I whimpered in response to each of his instructions. The finger became more insistent, pushed inward. I felt my head jerk back in response as my body sought any kind of release.

“Then you are going to masturbate until I get there. You will not open your eyes, and you will not come. You will fantasize about when we went hiking in New Hampshire.”

I blushed, remembering how he had told me to hold onto the trunk of the ancient oak tree at the side of the trail while he had gagged me with a towel, then stripped down my shorts and panties to spank me for violating rule four at the hotel the night before as I had waited for him to emerge from the shower. After the disciplinary spanking, he had ordered me to masturbate to orgasm right there, against the tree, while he kept spanking me. Without the gag, I’m sure a scream would have echoed through the mountains—one so loud that it brought down a landslide.

“Yes, sir,” I said. His lovely finger left me, and he turned me around, his hands on my waist, and gave me a little pat on my bottom to let me know it was time to obey.

In my mind, I was in the New Hampshire woods again, holding the tree with my left arm to keep from falling down while with my right I rubbed frantically, seeking the quickest path to an orgasm by fantasizing about the first time Geoffrey had fucked me in the ass. I noticed, idly, as I lay spread out for him on his bed, my eyes closed, that it was possible to have a fantasy inside a fantasy.

Was he here already, watching? He could move nearly silently when he wanted to. I felt myself opening further to the room to show him how obedient I was and yet how naughty. I had come close to orgasm so many times already that I had lost count. I could feel a huge wet spot forming on the sheet under my bottom.

And apparently my old, quietly orgasmic habits were completely gone, because I was moaning like I was in a porn video. Or maybe that was because Geoffrey had set this up so that I couldn’t help feeling that I was putting on a show for him and for however many friends he decided to invite to come silently into his bedroom. Hell, he might have a webcam on me right now.

Obediently, I turned my thoughts back to the tree—how rough the bark had felt under my fingertips, how incredibly wet my pussy had been under the fingers of my other hand, so humiliated and so aroused at the same time… like now… when Geoffrey was watching, again. He must be watching now; he must have been watching for ages…

I felt his hands on my knees, and I was yanked down the bed suddenly. My eyes flew open, of course; I couldn’t help it. There was Geoffrey, naked and very erect, with the aggressive look I knew so well in his eyes, the one that despite the tiny seed of fear it always planted also made me feel utterly desirable.

“Close those eyes, slut,” he growled. “I’ll tell you when to open them.”

In darkness, then, I felt my backside pulled all the way to the foot of the bed and my knees pushed back firmly and spread even wider.

“Oh my God, Geoffrey,” I said. “Sir…” He hadn’t ever taken me this way before, and I suddenly feared he would actually break me in two.

“Hush, Chloe.” I felt him maneuver his cock to the place it belonged, which was so wet in anticipation. I felt him adjust his footing, and then he was fucking me, holding my knees in his hands, while I moaned at the intensity of the pleasure of having him inside me and feeling him move so dominantly against my well-punished ass.

Suddenly, I realized I was too close to stop, and with a shriek I came, arching my back and saying, “I’m sorry, sir, I just—”

“Are you coming, you naughty slut?” Geoffrey said. “Open your eyes.”

I opened them and looked into his. He stopped moving inside me and fixed me with a bemused expression, as if he just wasn’t sure what to do with me, but he was going to have a great deal of fun figuring it out. Suddenly, I knew what I really wanted in so many ways.

“Sir?” I asked.

“Yes, naughty slut?”

“May I have my exemption?”

“For coming when you were told not to?”

“No…”

“What then?”

“May I please have your cock in my ass?”

He laughed. “Your wish is granted. Close your eyes again, please.”

He went to get the lube and returned and raised my knees even higher to position my anus for his use. He told me to hold my knees there, and I blushed as I always did when he lubed me, knowing that the little ceremony was in order that my master have a pleasant ride in my bottom. Then the cockhead, and the leaning, and my falling cry of discomfort at the burning.

Again he took my knees in his own hands. “Open your eyes,” he said softly as he urged himself gently deeper and deeper into me. Our gazes held one another. I was biting my lower lip, and he was smiling tenderly. “Play with yourself,” my master said. “I want to see you come with my cock in your ass.”

I moved my right hand to my pussy and cried out as Geoffrey began his thrusting just as I began to masturbate.

“Do you remember when I first saw you?” he murmured. “Playing with yourself in the bathroom?”

I was so overwhelmed with arousal and submissive discomfort that I couldn’t answer, but Geoffrey wasn’t really asking, I was sure.

“I thought to myself, that girl is going to have my cock in her ass one day soon, whether she likes it or not. She’s the kind of girl who really, really needs anal to show her what her sweet young body is for.”

“Oh, sir…” I managed. He thrust harder and faster—more vigorous than he had ever been in my ass before. “No! Please!” I cried and realized it was the same thing I had said in the bathroom in the café, and I came, screaming, as Geoffrey pounded his way to his own orgasm, and I felt his cock pulsing inside my taken-in-hand backside.

“Where are we going, sir?” I asked, as we rode the elevator in one of the tallest skyscrapers in Boston. The view of the harbor was stunning, and there was a restaurant at the top of this building, but Geoffrey had stopped us on the 25
^th
floor. The elevator doors opened to reveal that we were in the offices of Jackson and Hughes, which I knew was a very large corporate law firm.

“Patience, young lady,” he said as he escorted me out of the elevator.

“Wait…” I said, remembering that I had seen envelopes from Jackson and Hughes in Geoffrey’s office. “This is your lawyers’ office.”

“You really are very observant,” he teased. “Sit, now.” I sat in the reception area while he went to the receptionist’s desk. He came to sit by me and took my hand.

“Very mysterious, sir,” I said.

He laughed.

Two minutes later, an older man in a suit came to get us.

“Chloe, meet Dan Reeves,” said Geoffrey. “Our corporate attorney.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Miss Revkin,” Dan Reeves, Esq. said.

I blushed, wondering what that meant and hoping that it referred only to business matters.

“This way,” Reeves said and brought us down the hall to his spectacular office overlooking the Back Bay and the Charles.

“I understand,” the attorney continued as he sat down at his desk, “that you don’t know why you’re here, Chloe.”

“That’s right,” I said, looking from him to Geoffrey.

“I’m making you my partner,” Geoffrey said.

The shock must have shown very plainly on my face because they both started to laugh.

“Is that okay?” Geoffrey asked.

My mouth hung open. What I desperately wanted to ask was not something I could ask here at all, so I said, “Um, yes. Sure.” I think I smiled goofily enough to satisfy them, but what I really wanted to ask was, “You’re still going to spank me, right?”

But instead, I went over to hug Geoffrey and kiss him, even in the office of Dan Reeves, Esq., and whisper in his ear, “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

“Is the proposal for
Green Début
done yet?” Geoffrey called up the stairs to where I was working in his office—our office, now.

“Ten minutes, sir,” I called back.

“Did you put in the bit about the Sade allusion?”

“No, you were right; over the top.”

The Sade allusion had been the source of great controversy ever since I had suggested it at the client meeting, during what we now called the “Chloe period” at the end of the meeting, when Geoffrey would turn to me and say “What do you think, Chloe?”
Green Début
was a marquee feature with artistic pretensions, about aristocrats in the French Second Empire; Geoffrey had been called in to try to make a birching scene both realistic and hot. I had seen a brilliant opening for my ongoing cultural project of reconciling modernity with Sade (Professor Whitlock was no longer very happy with me, but I was resolved to get my Ph.D. in my own version of comparative literature, which I called—to myself and Geoffrey—“BDSM Studies”; who cared if I got an academic job or not?).

I had suggested that two of the aristocrats witnessing the birching should talk about Sade’s monstrosities and pronounce him a visionary. Desperate for cultural capital, the director and writer had been very excited about the idea, but Geoffrey had shot me a look that said “That’s the kind of thing you need to clear with me first,” and we’d had a little fight afterward, which had ended in a spanking for me for calling him an “anti-intellectual prick”. Geoffrey was worried that the hotness factor would evaporate in a cloud of intellect, but he had then recanted and told me to include it in the proposal. I would write the scene, and the writer could use it if he wanted to; if he did, I would get an honest-to-goodness screenwriting credit.

“But I told you to put it in, sweetheart,” he called, still standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“It was my idea, so it’s my prerogative, right?”

I smiled as I heard Geoffrey coming up the stairs to the office. I had been too aroused for my own good all morning, ever since I had brought him his coffee in bed, and he had insisted on lifting my nightgown to kiss my pussy good morning. He stood in the doorway and looked at me; I swiveled my chair to face him.

“This is the strangest way to get a spanking you’ve ever tried, Chloe,” he said, looking like he wasn’t yet sure whether I was serious or if he was. “Is the Sade allusion in there or not?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Alright then, please finish it up and send it.”

“But you should see the typos!”

It was his turn to sigh. “I’ll take your word for it. Fix them, send it, and get my cane, please. I’ll be in the living room.”

“Yes, sir.”

The End

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The Count’s Discipline

When Robert de Lourcy’s wife spurns his desire to spank her, the young count contents himself with disciplining other women of the court, until a rash decision to chastise the women of a captured castle arouses the ire of the local bishop and Robert is forced to seek absolution. In an act of penance, he visits a cathedral and stumbles upon a young girl named Sophia who has been set upon by robbers. Remembering his promise make amends for his sins, Robert takes pity on the destitute child, placing her in a convent so that she may be properly educated.

When Sophia comes of age, the nuns at the convent grow more firm with her. The young woman is simultaneously drawn to their discipline but also unconvinced that their motivations are particularly noble. After Sophia’s education is complete, Robert brings her into his household to serve as his secretary. Though he has decided to never spank another woman again, when Sophia begs him to chastise her as the nuns did he cannot resist the opportunity to take her over his knee.

The two begin a happy relationship based on Sophia’s acceptance of the count’s discipline, but he remains devoted to his wife until she dies tragically in childbirth. After that sad event, Sophia expects the count to marry another noblewoman, but will that new wife be jealous and send her away? Is she doomed to be cast back onto the streets from whence she came, or will Robert break the shackles of society and wed a commoner?