Sugar (12 page)

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold money clip. Counting out five one-hundred-dollar bills with deliberate precision, he asked, “Would you like the chance to earn this?”

She widened her eyes like a guileless girl might. “Five hundred dollars! But I’m just a coat-check girl. What could I possibly do for you that would be worth so much money?”

Cock thrumming, Cole forced down his smile. A grinning dom would never do. For their role-playing to really take off, he needed to stick as closely as possible to the arrogant businessman from the film.

“Open that door and let me in, and you’ll find out,” he dared her, his erect penis pressing against his pants. Neither of them had so much as dropped a button, and yet he felt closer to coming than he usually did after minutes of heavy making out.

She hesitated, her pink smile slipping. “But sir, I’m not allowed to bring customers back here. If the manager finds out, he’ll—”

“I’ll decide what’s allowed,” he broke in, perspiration pearling on his forehead and not because it was too warm for a coat. “I’m the only one you need to worry about pleasing—or angering,” he added harshly.

She moistened her mouth, pretending to prevaricate. “My mother is sick. She needs surgery. I’ve been trying to save, but I . . . I don’t earn very much stuck back in here.” Her sad gaze circuited to the tip jar.

Cole decided for her. “Then it’s settled.”

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do.” She stepped back, bringing the hinged half door with her.

Cole whisked inside, his heartbeat quickening as though there were real urgency. The door banged closed behind him. He took hold of her forearms and ferried her to the racked coats at the back of the closet. The previous play with rolled-up money had been intensely exciting for them both. Dropping his hand, he brushed the fold of crisp notes over her lips, her jaw, and lastly the scooped neckline of her demure little dress.

Summoning his most severe voice, he said, “If you want this, you know what you have to do for it.”

Sarah’s breath hitched. She trembled, not just her mouth but her whole body. “Y-yes.”

Jesus, were those actual tears in her eyes? Damn, she was good. Reminded none of it was real, he hoisted a brow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes,
sir
.”

He nodded briskly. “Better. Now be a good girl and do exactly as I say, and if you please me, I’ll give you this money and even more.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“First, take off my coat. I’m paying you good money, so you’d better start doing your job, or I’ll have to punish you.”

A mute nod signaled her acceptance of his terms. Bending her head to his buttons, she went down the line, releasing him from the heavy wool with nimble fingers. She slid the coat off his shoulders and stepped back, waiting.

Catching his cue, Cole said, “Now hang it up with the others, and be sure to do so neatly and straight, or I’ll make you do it again.”

“Yes, sir.” Turning away, she secured the coat on a hanger, careful to do up all the buttons.

Covering a hand over his cock, Cole watched her. “Now turn around and take off your dress.”

Sarah slowly turned back to him. She raised one arm and then dropped it to her side, her eyes pleading. “Please, sir, don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything. I’m giving you a choice. Life is about choices. Do you want to help your mother or do you not?”

“I do . . . sir, but—”

“Then take off your dress.”

Breathing hard, he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. Her dress had a zipper at the back. She reached behind to pull it down, making a show of struggling. On second thought, given the location, it might not be a show at all. Cole could have helped her, but doing so would mean breaking character—and taking them both out of the fantasy.

She finally got the zipper down. A shimmy of shoulders brought the dress slinking off her shoulders. She threaded her arms through the sleeves, tears spangling her bottom lashes—so damned good. The dress rode her waist, exposing her pretty pink bra and the gorgeous full breasts he couldn’t wait to worship once more.

A tug took the garment the rest of the way off. Sarah—Sugar—stepped out of the pink pool at her feet. Her bra and panties were confections of matching pink lace. Cole ran his gaze over her, pretending he was seeing her for the first time. Her waist was tiny, her belly flat and supple, her slender hips flaring into long, shapely legs with just the right amount of flesh and muscle. Hot pink stilettos graced her slender feet, tipped in pink-painted toes.

Looking away, she crossed an arm over her breasts and covered a trembling hand over her mons. “Please, sir—”

“Drop your hands and straighten your shoulders,” he demanded, his barking voice sending her starting.

Recovering, she obeyed. “Yes, sir,” she said, sniffing back tears.

Back still braced against the wall, he nodded. “Good, very good. Now it’s time to earn my cock.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“Get down on your hands and knees.”

She hesitated and then knelt. She stretched her slender arms before her.

“Palms flattened on the floor for now and whatever you do, don’t dare look at me unless I give you my permission,” he commanded, shoving away from the wall.

An infinitesimal nod signaled her continued obedience.

He silently counted to ten, making her wait. “Head down,” he warned when hers started lifting.

Closing the space between them to a few inches, Cole swallowed hard. He lifted his right foot several inches, the wingtip freshly polished and immaculately clean. “You know what I want,” he hissed, his every muscle going rigid.

Shoulders shaking and eyes out, she lifted both hands to take him.

“Touch only the shoe, not me,” he emphasized. “You haven’t yet earned the right,” he added, resisting the urge to reach down and stroke her head.

Cradling his arch, Sarah brought her mouth to the shoe’s polished toe. Watching her press her lips to the leather, Cole nearly lost it. A bubblegum pink tongue darted out and swiped a slow circle over the dimpled vamp. Cole lifted his leg higher. Angling her face, she started lapping at his sole. Her mouth returned to the wingtip, and she opened wider. On the brink of blowing his load, Cole pulled free.

“You may look up at me now.”

Eyes streaming, Sarah looked up.

Bracing a hand against the sidewall to balance himself, he carefully probed her with the point of the shoe—the valley between her breasts, her belly, and finally between her legs.

Pushing against her lightly, he whispered, “I will allow you to come now.”

Cole had no doubt that he was the one of them closest to climax. He’d never thought of himself as having a fetish but the boot worship byplay might just prove him wrong. That she was nearly naked while he remained fully and formally dressed, his tie still cinched around his neck, further amped up the head trip. Suddenly he wasn’t playing at dominating her. He was doing it, much to their mutual pleasure.

Like an ancient maiden submitting as sacrifice, Sarah remained kneeling. Hands resting atop her legs, she waited. Cole gently nudged her pubis. She moaned and rocked against him. Her hands left her legs to cradle his foot once more, this time guiding him to her core. Holding on, she began working the wingtip against herself like a toy, wriggling against the hard point, grinding her hips in greeting, her movements coming faster and surer, harder and more deliberate. Sweating through his suit, Cole couldn’t take his eyes off her. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he didn’t think what he was seeing was all acting. Her breaths became more rapid, the tops of her breasts flushed. A circle of moisture bled through her panties’ crotch. Suddenly she jerked, spasmed—screamed.

She collapsed forward. Wrapping her arms around his calf, she pressed her face against his pant leg and sobbed.

Knowing he wore her juices on his foot, Cole was so turned on, he nearly forgot his next line, all of two words. “Get up.”

Letting go, Sarah stumbled to stand. Tears tracked her cheeks. Pebbled nipples pushed hard against the bra cups. The dampened front of her panties was a darker pink, a kinky scarlet letter.

Sliding his hand from the wall, Cole sucked in a ragged breath. “Now turn around.”

She pretended to misunderstand. “Sir?”

“I said turn around!” The dom character in the film had a thing about not allowing his sub to look into his eyes, at least not without his “permission.” Cole had never gotten that part, but suddenly he did, oh how he did.

Sarah turned.

Staring at the elegant arch of her back, her beautifully molded buttocks, and dancer’s gorgeous, long legs, Cole hesitated, reaching for his next line. The blood pumping through his penis seemed to have paralyzed his brain.

“That’s better,” he improvised, losing patience with the play.

How did these BDSM guys keep it going? Rock hard and throbbing, he was half tempted to forget the scripted scenario and just fuck her.

But they had a deal. She’d just come using nothing more than his foot. Regardless of their respective roles, their play was as much about her pleasure as his. Judging from the wetness staining the front of her panties, under the right circumstances submission suited her.

Picking up the thread of paraphrased dialogue, he said, “Lift your arms over your head and grab hold of the bar with both hands.”

Once again Sarah—Sugar—obeyed.

“Now bend over and offer me your ass.”

Sarah bent. Cole reached around and grabbed her roughly, first her waist and then lower, his hand squeezing her crotch. She moaned and pushed back against him, grinding into his groin. Cole gulped down a breath. He’d never wanted to bareback a woman so badly in his life but that wasn’t part of this scene—or their deal, not yet anyway.

“Take hold of the bar, and don’t let go until I tell you.”

Sarah hesitated and then reached out, her slender fingers curving around the coat rack, the hooks of the hangers no doubt biting into her palms. In one swift motion, he pulled down her panties, stopping at her knees as though she were a naughty child about to be spanked. He grabbed her front again. With the lace barrier gone, his fingers sank into the strip of drenched curls and wet, willing flesh. If he’d had any doubts as to whether or not she was really into it, the cream coating his hand set them to rest. Like springtime grass still slippery from a storm, the earthy, sweet scent of her rose up to tantalize him.

As in the movie, she struggled against his probing. “Sir, please,” she whimpered, not with pain, he knew, but more likely because the friction further stimulated her G-spot.

“Be still or I’ll punish you,” he warned, chafing his forefinger inside her.

But the threat was an empty one. Cole wasn’t going to last much longer. Fortunately he didn’t have to. With their sexual health confirmed, there was no need to press pause and put on a condom.

“Please, sir,” she whimpered, twisting against his hand.

Easing back, he reached down between them and unzipped his trouser fly. “I’m going to give you my cock now,” he said, fitting himself against her. “You’ve earned it.”

He thrust into her, the force knocking her forward and buckling her knees. Fortunately her white-knuckled hold on the metal rod was solid. Like a good submissive, she hadn’t presumed to release it without him telling her to.

Thinking how hot she’d looked mouth fucking his foot, how helpless and hot she looked now with her arms, slender yet strong, stretched over her head and her beautiful ass stuck straight out, Cole pulled out and slammed into her again. She moaned and pushed back against him, her back beaded with moisture.

As if suddenly remembering her stage direction and closing line, Sarah twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “Please.”

Jaw clenched and sweat pouring, Cole demanded, “Please what?”

“Please come inside me, sir.”

Cole didn’t need to make her say it a second time. He reared back, re-entered, and thrust, releasing himself inside her.

Sarah lifted her head from Cole’s shoulder and said, “Please tell me those shoes were clean.”

They were lying on the coatroom floor, the full-length fur spread out as a buffer beneath them. Cole had stripped off his suit jacket, but otherwise he’d stayed dressed. Sarah wore only her bra and panties. The close air was heavy with the scents of fruit and flowers, sweat and sex. The perfume from her pussy was so intense Cole wondered if maybe there wasn’t a way to bottle it.

Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, he chuckled. “You can relax. I put them on inside the elevator.”

She turned to look at him, visibly relieved. “Thank you. Playing out fantasies is all well and good, but I wouldn’t want to risk trench mouth.”

Pushing up one elbow, he shifted onto his side and asked, “What is trench mouth anyway?”

Rolling over to face him, Sarah laughed. “You know, that’s a good question. I
think
it’s some form of gingivitis. My mother was always threatening me with it when I was little. I know this will be hard for you to believe, but I liked finding things and putting them in my mouth.” She followed the admission with a saucy smile.