In His Cuffs (16 page)

By measures, she noticed the rich rumble of his voice even if she couldn’t understand his words. Finally, something about removing her clamps penetrated her haze. “Yes, please.”

“Spread your legs.”

“My body feels as if it’s rubber,” she admitted.

He helped her to move, and she was nervous to have the clamps removed. Without any fuss, he removed them and dropped the mean little pieces alongside the tawse. That would teach her to underestimate him again.

“I think you’ve earned an orgasm.”

He laid her down and raised her legs over his shoulders. He placed a pillow under her hips then licked her cunt.

“Mr Tomlinson!”

He pinched her labia where the clamps had been affixed. The flesh was tender and his touch drove her mad. She whimpered and squirmed, but he wouldn’t be deterred.

The leather couch beneath her raw legs and buttocks magnified the agony.

He finger fucked her, licked her, sucked her, pinched her and, when she couldn’t take any more, slid a finger up her tightest hole.

She shattered from the inside out, coming with a hoarse cry as she shamelessly lifted her hips and begged for more.

He obliged, plunging his tongue in her hot moistness then licking her clit.

“I’m going to come again,” she warned him.

He increased his motions and brought her off, leaving her feeling as if she had nothing more to give.

“Let’s get you in the shower so I can see to your bruises.”

Her whole body was sensitised. Her pussy throbbed. The back of her legs and buttocks still felt aflame from his tawse.

His attention to her body wasn’t the worst of it. The way he read her desires—then met them—had pushed her beyond where she’d ever gone before. She hadn’t known she could take that much pain.

What he demanded from her emotionally was something else—he allowed her no secrets. He’d sensed there was something wrong with her when she fired off a smartass reply earlier. His ability to see her upset and hurt disturbed her.

She’d never met anyone like him, and she knew the experience would change her. She hoped she’d survive it.

He scooped her from the couch.

“You can’t do this,” she protested, grabbing on tightly.

“Because?”

“I’m too heavy.”

He looked at her. “I want you to be clear on this, Maggie, I’ve got you. In all ways.”

The reassurance frightened her more than anything.

Upstairs, he deposited her on the bed while he turned on the shower. When he returned for her, he was naked. His cock was glorious in its arousal. She wanted it in her with a desperation she’d never had before. “I am certain I can walk on my own,” she told him.

“I think you’ll do as you’re told.”

He carried her into the shower and detached the showerhead to cool off her body. Afterwards, he wrapped her in a towel then carried her back to the bedroom where he rubbed arnica into her reddened spots.

“You may have one or two bruises.”

“From the way it felt, I expected more than that.”

“The weekend is young,” he said.

He pulled on a pair of thin workout pants, a clean T-shirt and sandals.

“You won’t need clothing,” he told her as she headed for her closet. “I’ll adjust the temperature so you’re comfortable.”

“That seems…awkward.”

“Natural,” he challenged. “And it’s how a Dom behaves,” he said, his feet shoulder-width apart and his arms folded across his chest. “You can fight me all you want, but I will win.”

She scowled at him. Hanging out in the nude seemed different to her than when they were sceneing.

“Stay there.” He went into his closet and came back with a strip of lilac-coloured leather.

“What’s that?” she asked unnecessarily.

“A reinforcement of your role,” he told her. “It means what we say it does, nothing more.”

“And to you?”

“It will keep you in the right frame of mind.”

“The naked kind.”

He inclined his head. They were having a disagreement, and they both seemed to know it.

“You can take it off at any time and put your clothing back on.”

David had softened his tone, and she responded to that.

She’d donned a collar for her night at the Den. That had been for kicks, nothing more. It amazed her how much more laden this felt.

“Kneel.”

Her temptation was to rebel, but she realised they were fighting over scraps of fabric. She’d packed little more than lingerie and some don’t-appear-in-public skirts. He’d have the same access to her body regardless.

“Tell me the problem.”

“I’ll have no way to hide,” she admitted to both of them.

“That’s why I want you nude.”

At times she wasn’t sure she liked him much.

“Now kneel, Maggie.”

Something primitive, as old as the heartbeat of time, responded to his dominance.

Looking up at him, she obeyed. Her face was near his crotch, and the masculine scent of him combined with the power of his body to make her feel utterly feminine.

“Mine,” he said as he buckled the collar closed.

She was scared that was true, and more frightened that it might not be.

Chapter Seven

“Have a seat,” David told Maggie, indicating a stool beneath the stone countertop.

She did as he’d instructed—her motions deliberate.

“Trying to get comfortable should be impossible. If it’s not, I can give you a second beating now.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her words a jumbled rush. “Thank you, Mr Tomlinson.”

“More wine?”

“Please.”

From the living room, he collected his unfinished glass.

“Mine’s upstairs, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll get it later.” He put his in the dishwasher then asked, “Red to go with the steak?”

“I’ll stick with the white unless it offends your sensibilities.”

“You should have whatever you prefer, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He uncorked a bottle of red and poured her a white. He liked having her collared, naked body in his kitchen. Other than when he’d hosted a party for several people, he’d never invited a woman to his house.

Since his divorce from Sandy, he hadn’t had the inclination to share his space. But with this dark-haired beauty, he hadn’t had a choice. The other night, he’d realised a few hours wouldn’t satiate his need for her.

All week, he’d noticed her growing frustration when he’d stayed away from her at work. But he’d needed some time to think things through. What the hell was he supposed to do when he knew he wanted uninterrupted time together, but was honest enough to admit he was a less than perfect partner when it came to committed relationships? He hadn’t just failed with Sandra—he’d been guilty of withholding attention no matter who his partner was, be she submissive or vanilla.

He’d known that spending more time with Maggie would take a concerted effort on his part. He hadn’t been sure he was capable of expending the energy on a long-term basis, or if she’d appreciate it even if he did. She’d been clear that sceneing was all she wanted. Once he’d reached his decision, about twenty minutes into a run on Wednesday morning, he’d set his sights on having her. He’d turned part of his considerable energies towards figuring out how to make it happen.

He’d wanted her as hungry for him as he was for her.

He’d wanted privacy and a place where she was out of her element. His house. With no clothes.

Objective accomplished. Not that he’d doubted it would happen. They wanted each other bad enough to break all their self-imposed rules.

For the first time that he could remember, he’d left work early on Friday night. As he’d blazed through the grocery store with at least two hundred other people then cruised the aisles at the supersized liquor store, he’d realised that he’d never made the time for a relationship. Wanting to be available for all her needs, he’d climbed out of bed at five a.m. to exercise, answer emails and plan next week’s schedule before Maggie arrived.

It was hard for him to admit he’d been a jerk before. Not that it should have come as a surprise. He’d been told that often enough.

He slid Maggie’s drink towards her.

She glanced around before taking a sip.

“You can relax. It’s just us.”

He noticed she crossed her legs then uncrossed them again and pulled back her shoulders. Within seconds, she’d curled back into herself.

“Stand up,” he told her, the words clipped and commanding.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

She released her glass and followed his command.

“Bend over the stool.”

Her eyes widened.

He moved towards her and fisted her hair. “Now.” He waited a moment for her to safe word before forcing her down.

Her muskiness flooded his senses. The woman might fight him, but she was turned on.

This wasn’t meant as a punishment, more it was a reinforcement of their roles and a physical way to jar her out of her discomfort. “Count them,” he instructed as she grasped the stool’s legs for balance. He gave her the first spank with his open hand on her right buttock. “I said count,” he snapped when she remained silent. This was a battle of wills, and he wouldn’t lose.

“One, Mr Tomlinson.”

He gave her four more slaps in quick succession, forcing gasps out of her. Earlier he’d let her be in charge of the pace if not the number. This time, he took even that from her.

“Three, four, five, Mr Tomlinson.”

He moved to the other butt cheek.

She gasped and cried out, carrying on instead of counting. He wanted her tears, wanted to break through her resolve.

When her chest was heaving and her body blazed with his marks, he helped her to stand. He kept a firm grip on her shoulders as he said, “Thank me.”

“Thank you, Mr Tomlinson,” she whispered.

He liked her compliance. “You were right that you need spankings. Regular ones. Now that I know that, I’ll be sure you always have one. I’ll keep a belt or hairbrush handy. Back on your stool.” He helped her, and she trembled, keeping her gaze down.

Giving her a quick thrashing shouldn’t turn him on as much as it did. He told himself he should be able to deliver it dispassionately. Good Doms were capable of separating their corrective actions from their arousal.

There were moments with her, though, when that didn’t seem possible. Forcing her out of her self-conscious prison meant he had to rein in his libido. He released her and put the distance of the kitchen between them. He took the steaks out of the refrigerator and brushed on his homemade sauce before setting them aside to marinate. He poured his wine and swirled it in the glass before levelling his gaze on her. “Masturbate.”

“I…
What?”

“Get yourself off. Don’t tell me you can’t. I know you’re aroused from my spanking as well as my dominance. Do it.”

To her credit, she didn’t look around. She kept her gaze on him, even if she did hesitate.

“My request is not negotiable,” he said.

She worried her upper lip.

Hard to believe this was the same woman who challenged him at every turn in the office. “Would you like me to put your labia clamps back on as punishment?”

“No thank you, Sir. I’m good.”

“Then get on with it.” He leant back against the counter while she parted her pussy lips. “I want to hear you. Be verbal.”

Once she got past this, being spanked and playing with herself in the kitchen, she’d feel no more embarrassment.

She moistened a finger and slid it across her clit. Still watching him, she repeated the move several times.

“That’s hot,” he said.

After a few more strokes, she closed her eyes. As he’d wanted, she expressed herself in whimpers and moans.

“Do you like that, Maggie?”

“Oh, definitely, Mr Tomlinson. My clit is pounding and it feels…” She tipped her head back. “
Damn.
So, so good. I’m pretending it’s you touching me.”

His cock hardened. Who was being punished here?

He shoved away the wine and went to find his wallet. Where in the hell had he left it? He found it on a table near the front door. Trying for the control he was nowhere close to harnessing, he dug out a condom. Cash spilled out and he didn’t care. His mind was filled with one thing—Maggie. “Such a good sub,” he told her when he returned to the kitchen to find her still toying with her cunt. “I have to have you now.” He shucked his sandals and pants then donned the sheath.

“Mr Tomlinson…”

None of this had been his intention. He’d planned a nice dinner, conversation in the living room then a long, deep fuck in bed. But the sight of her in a collar—permanent or not—as she pleasured herself was too much for any mere mortal man.

He removed her from the stool and bent her over it. Their height difference was a slight challenge. “Feet together and stand on your toes.” He knew that would make the fit even tighter, and he relished it.

David spread his legs wide and parted her buttocks with his palms.

“Sir is so hot,” she murmured.

“Sub is slick.” He surged up into her welcoming heat. Once he was balls-deep, he reached around to fondle her nipples.

“I’m not going to last long, Mr Tomlinson.” She constricted her muscles hard enough that he slid out of her.

“You are so fucking responsive, Maggie. I’m going to keep you cuffed to my bed.”

“Promises, promises,” she retorted.

He repositioned himself so he could slip back inside her. Consumed by heat and lust, he rocked his pelvis. His engorged cock throbbed with demand. He thrust and she gasped, urging him on.

This woman matched his sexual desire and clouded his brain. Nothing with her went as he thought it would. Possession was the only thing on his mind.

She milked the ejaculate from his cock in less time than it had taken him to come as a teenager.

Replete, breathless, he eased out of her then turned her to face him. He feathered back hair from her face. Then he did something that would have been uncharacteristic with any other submissive. He kissed her. The gentle brush was insufficient. Holding her imprisoned, he licked across her lower lip then said, “Open for me.”