Nessa Connor (5 page)

“Give me your hands,” he ordered.

She held her wrists together before her. He bound them tightly with the silk scarf that was in the breast pocket of his suit.

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head no.

He pulled them tighter.

“Yes,” she cried.

“I did not give you permission to speak, wench,” he growled. “Now you will be punished.”

He placed an object in her hands. She recognized it as a martinet - a small, multi-tailed whip made of leather

with a short wooden handle. It was a French inspired instrument of pain. Like Napoleon Bonaparte, it was a small

but brutal device, although the flogger was reportedly used much earlier by Louis the Fourteenth, The Sun King and

his favorite general, Juan Martinet, after whom it was named.

“Three lashes,” Charles proclaimed the penalty for her transgression of speaking out of turn.

Scarlett squirmed and pretended to try to close her legs. Charles grabbed them roughly and held them apart.

“Naughty girl,” he rebuked her.

“Three lashes on your clit for crying out and the handle rammed up your pussy for trying to close your legs

on me,” he added to her castigation.

Scarlett nodded and held still, gladly accepting his domination.

Swish!

The first lash licked her pussy and she arched forward with pleasure.

“Count them,” Charles directed, adding to her chastisement.

“One,” she whispered breathlessly.

Swish!

The second lashing stung, but she spread her legs further with passion.

“Two,” she peeped.

Swish!

The third lash drew a loud cry of desire from her lips.

“I will let that transgression pass,” he muttered.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered soundlessly.

“Quiet!”

She nodded obediently.

Without warning, Scarlett felt the smooth, wooden handle of the martinet slide into her warm, wet pussy.

She thrust her hips towards him, accepting it fully and begging for more. The slick handle felt good, but she wanted

his big, fat cock buried all the way inside her.

Now!

“Oh, Charles. Yes. Please—-”

“—-Quiet, woman,” he barked, but she could hear he was smiling.

“You’re a real rookie, Scarlett,” he teased her. “Three little lashes and you’re dripping cum all over my new

leather chair,” he said.

Scarlett knew what he claimed was true. She was so hot for him, she felt like a gushing geyser. Or a tsunami.

“And can’t keep your mouth shut to save your life.”

The veiled threat made her heart pound in her chest and her knees turn to jelly. He sounded dangerous now

and it whipped her into a wild frenzy of lust.

In one smooth motion, he lifted her off the chair, wrists still bound, eyes still covered, and carried her across

the room. He laid her gently on the leather bed. He pulled her arms above her head and fastened them tightly to the

headboard. Then, he spread her legs wide and tied them to the foot posts with rope.

“Since you’re still a
novice
,” he accentuated the insulting word, “you’re not ready for plastic zip ties or nylon cords yet. Cotton rope will leave a nice, pretty mark on those lovely, slim, ankles....so you can remember me tomorrow. But no long-term scarring.”

Imagining the red chafing on her ankles in the morning made Scarlett tingle; it was a secret reminder of her night of pleasure that only she could view and decipher. It was like a hickey for a teenager - a little souvenir from her lover, Mr. Clayton, so she could re-live their encounter for days to come.

“Once you are no longer an
amateur
,” he continued, knowing the word would make her seethe, “we can move up to metal handcuffs and iron manacles.”

Scarlett expelled her breath loudly. Before she could protest, Charles’ firm, hot mouth latched over her breast. He suckled one nipple, then the other, slowly and tenderly, until she was writhing with exquisite agony upon

the bed. She longed to grab his head and press him harder into her breast, but her arms were held taut by her bonds.

The feeling of utter helplessness and sheer surrender was the strongest aphrodisiac she had ever imagined.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her quivering with unfulfilled desire. She heard him remove his shirt and

hang it on the coat tree. His slacks and shoes followed. He moved with torturous sloth, denying her pleasure and

building her longing to a fevered pitch. Her hips gyrated against the air, searching for him.

He chuckled aloud diabolically at her predicament.

“Easy, filly,” he spoke to her as if she were a wayward mare. “Easy girl.”

Smack!

He slapped her rump unexpectedly with a loud crack, provoking her.

“Ouch!” she complained.

“Naughty girl,” he chided.

She swallowed her muffled moans of desire.

“I was going to let you eat my cock,” he said, easing himself between her legs on the bed. “But now I shall

have to deny you the pleasure. No more crying out,” he reminded her.

She whimpered with disappointment, but did not speak.

He ran his hand lightly down her abdomen, causing her flat belly to undulate.

“So responsive, my little pet,” he praised her.

With her eyes covered, all of Scarlett’s other senses were heightened. She felt Charles position himself between her legs, and she tried to wriggle against him. He pulled her leg bonds tighter until she was completely immobile. It was sweet torture. Then he parted her pussy lips with both hands and admired her sex.

“You are magnificent, Scarlett,” he murmured. She was gratefully aware of the distinct opening of a soft foil

packet for protection.

With one of his thumbs, he softly circled her clitoris, while he gently stroked her thighs and her nether lips

with the other. Scarlett could feel the heat of his cock hovering closer, until he finally pressed it lightly against her womanhood.

“My God—-” The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

Charles laughed at her reaction. “You may speak.”

“It’s gigantic!” she exclaimed.

Even without the benefit of vision, she could feel the massive girth of the beast against her delicate flesh. He

ran the full length of it down her slit without entering her.

Scarlett shuddered involuntarily with a mixture of fear and fascination. It was gargantuan, to say the least.

Then all she could feel was craving....

She bit her lip to prevent unauthorized speech.

“You may speak,” he gifted her.

“May I see it, Master?” she asked, almost pleading.

“No,” he said decisively.

She bit her lip again. She truly wanted to beg for it.

“It will frighten you even more if you see it,” he replied. “Trust me. I know from past experience.”

Scarlett suddenly felt a stab of jealousy that he had been with other women. It was beyond silly; they were both adults, of course they had both had other lovers. While she had no idea of his age, he had to be two or three

years older than her, at least. But still, the painful pang of envy remained.

She couldn’t help but pout.

Charles leaned over her and nibbled her bottom lip affectionately. Scarlett felt his hot body atop hers, and

then he kissed her fully. His lips moved to the corners of her mouth, down her jaw, across her neck. He licked and

nibbled her earlobes and the erogenous zone behind her ears. He suckled her neck and her shoulder, before he moved lower across her belly and lower.

Scarlett bucked against the ropes when his mouth met her sex. In only an instant, she spiraled out of control

as wave after wave of orgasm overtook her. There was no way in Hell she could keep quiet; she screamed like a banshee as raw, primeval pleasure battered her body.

Charles seized the moment and rammed his giant cock into her welcoming pussy. The sides of her sex were

hot and slick, squeezing and contracting as her climax continued. He battered her long and hard with his magnificent manhood, until he found his own release. He roared like a lion as he came, his glorious body shuddering

until he was spent.

“Fuck me,” he exclaimed as he collapsed upon her.

“I think I just did,” she laughed.

Scarlett hummed happily to herself the next morning as she opened the doors to the beauty salon where she worked

near the Lincoln Park Zoo. She had back-to-back Swedish deep tissue massage clients at nine and ten o’clock respectively. After that, she had manicure and pedicure appointments stacked one atop the other from eleven a.m.

until twelve thirty. Hopefully, they would all be good tippers, she prayed. The Oubliette was going to cost her an

arm and a leg.

Thoughts of Charles would not leave her head. She had spent the entire night in his arms as they fucked like

animals until dawn. They had left no piece of equipment untouched in his secret love lair, and Scarlett felt flattered

when he told her every piece of furniture in the room was new and unused. In fact, she was the first person, besides

the builders, who had ever laid eyes on the place.

After her shift at the salon, she would have to hustle to make it to her other part time job as a waitress at The

Country Club, a cowboy themed bar near Wrigley Field, by one o’clock. It was only a fifteen minute bus ride, but

the bus only came every ten minutes, so she was cutting it close, especially since she needed time to change into her

cowgirl waitress uniform.

Scarlett would wait tables at The Country Club all afternoon, hopefully making decent tips for ‘Taco and

Tequila Tuesday.’ Tacos were only one dollar, and Tecate beer was on special along with tequila shots. Normally, the

long afternoon shift was the slowest time in the restaurant business, and many places were even closed during that

time, but Scarlett was hopeful the daily specials at the new bar would grab customers’ attention.

She would have to skip her volunteer committee meeting at the Historical Society, she thought with a sigh.

Before she had dropped out of college freshman year, she had wanted to be a historian, so her volunteer position on

the committee was one source of joy that still linked her to the innocent and hope-filled dreams of her youth before

the economic realities of life had set in.

She had learned about the volunteer opportunity while working her weekend shift as a housekeeper at the

Chicago History Museum in the Old Town Triangle neighborhood. Joelle and Rissa thought she spent her

weekends coordinating fundraising activities for billionaire donors when, truthfully, she was actually scrubbing the

toilets for them.

“What are you smiling about?” asked the salon’s owner, Sally. “Did you have a fun night last night?”

“Indeed,” Scarlett said enigmatically with a grin.

“Did you meet a new gentleman?” Ms. Hansen asked.

“Yes.” Scarlett grinned from ear to ear.

“I know you’re not one to kiss and tell,” Sally said.

All Scarlett could do was smile.

She was walking on air the rest of the day.

That evening, Scarlett rushed out of a taxi, into the rear employee entrance to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. It was

nearly five o’clock and she was almost late for her shift as a cocktail waitress at Bernard’s Bar, the hotel’s cocktail lounge and boîte, inspired by Coco Chanel. She would be working there until midnight.

“How can I help you, sir?” Scarlett rushed to the next table. After only an hour of work, she was already exhausted. She hadn’t slept a wink.

“I‘ll have the eighteen-year Jameson,” the man replied.

Scarlett’s eyes flew to his face.

It was Charles!

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“How did you know I worked here?” she asked.

“You told me this morning at breakfast you would be here for cocktail hour,” he answered.

She smiled. She should have known he would have an impeccable memory.

“I booked the Gold Coast Suite for the night,” said Charles with a boyish grin.

Scarlett’s heart sunk. He was here with another woman. She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“I thought you would be excited,” he said, confused.

Scarlett frowned at him, perplexed.

“I mean, I know there is no equipment here....” he went on, “....but I thought it would be fun anyway.”

She continued to stare.

“I thought maybe we could have a vanilla night,” he referred to conventional sex by its BDSM nickname.

Suddenly, it dawned on Scarlett that he meant with
her
.

“Me?” she asked, coquettishly. “Vanilla?”

He laughed, flashing his handsome white teeth.

“Vanilla? Not hardly!” she bubbled.

“Well, I’m sure we can think of a few ways to spice it up....”

“Hot candles, wine bottles, ice buckets, corkscrews, shoe laces,” she listed. “I can do amazingly kinky things

with ordinary household items,” she bragged.

“I bet you can,” his eyes glowed. “I can’t wait to find out.”

“Feather duster, toothbrush....”

“Toothbrush, eh?”

Her eyes shimmered.

“I work until midnight.” She looked at the clock. “That’s six hours from now. Are you sure you can wait that

long?”

“For you, Scarlett Eire,” he said charmingly. “I would wait six years.”

Her heart tingled.

“However.....” his voice trailed off. “Tonight, you are not working.”

“I have to work,” she said with embarrassment.

“My sub
never
has to work,” he said, whisking off her apron and tossing it on the table.

He stood up and put his arm around her.