Unforgettable You (16 page)

“Sure, sweet cheeks! I’d love it! Did you get your homework done?”

Her previously bright, chubby little face falls and her shoulders drop. “Not yet. But almost.” He shoots her the evil eye and she repeats, “Almost.”

“It’s okay, but you really need to get back to work on it. If you’re not finished when Mr. Steffen and Miss Sheila get ready to leave, I’ll come and get you so you can say goodbye, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Her eyes are sad when she looks at me. Homework dodge foiled. She crosses to where he sits and whispers something into his ear in a child’s typical cupped-hand fashion.

“If you want to,” he replies, “and if it’s okay with him.”

Now she’s grinning when she comes back to me. “Mr. Steffen, is it okay if I call you Uncle Steffen? Please?”

I wasn’t expecting that, but I know the right answer. “Yes, ma’am. You certainly may. I’d like that a lot.”

“Hailee! Hailee! We’ve got an uncle!” she screams down the hall as she runs back toward their bedroom.

It takes so little to make a child happy. I think back to when I was that age and I’m not sure I would’ve ever guessed the path I’d take. I’m reflecting on that when Sheila glides through the door, two plates and forks with pie included, one in each hand. “Here you go, babe. Homemade chess pie, Trish’s specialty.”

“Oh, god. It’s so good,” Clint manages to moan out as Trish comes strolling in, her offering identical to Sheila’s.

One bite – that’s all it takes. “Honey, can you bake like this?”

Sheila starts to laugh. “Oh, I can definitely bake like that. I can astound you with my baking skills. Like cupcakes?”

“Love ‘em!” Clint calls out to her.

I nod vigorously. “Yep, I’m with him.”

“Good. You’re getting some cupcakes.” She leans over and kisses me, the sweetness of the pie eclipsed by the honey that is her lips. “Does it matter what kind?”

I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”

And it doesn’t. The idea of a woman baking
anything
for me, well, any woman other than my mother, is a foreign concept. My mind hums as I try to imagine her in my kitchen, mixer running full speed, oven preheating, pans banging together, and me across the room, trying desperately to get those little cupcake papers apart so I can put them in the tins for her. She’s singing along with the radio, and the sun’s shining through the window. For the first time in my life, I dare to believe that it might really happen. I mean, why couldn’t it? I want it so badly. Maybe my ship’s finally come in.

Christmas is coming. I could be wrong, but I’m guessing this will be my best Christmas ever.

“Ready?” Sheila steps out of the locker room door all decked out in an outfit I bought for her last week. It was amazing on the rack, and it’s even more amazing on that lush body. A salmon pink-tinted ivory trimmed in black, all satin and lace and ribbon, and she fills out the whole thing beautifully. I especially like the crotchless panties and the open-tip bra. Very nice and very, very convenient.

“So, what are we negotiating?” She licks her lips as we take a seat on the sofa in the commons room, and I almost come undone.

“I don’t want to negotiate tonight. I just want to play. Is that okay?” Her eyes have a hint of worry in them. “Do you trust me enough to do that?”

I wait and watch as she considers it. Finally, after what seems like an hour, she says, “Yes. I do.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Red.”

“And your hand signal?” She holds up both fists and bobs them up and down in a knocking motion. “Very good. Now, we’re going to start with you on the bondage table, face down.”

“Okay. And then what?” There’s trepidation in her voice that a complete stranger could easily pick up on.

“That’s for me to decide, but I want it to be something you’ll remember.”

She frowns. “In a bad way?”

I have to laugh at her. “Of course not! In a very good way. But it’s going to be something you’ve never experienced before. So, are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she replies as she stands. We’d had a talk on the way and as I walk toward the performance area, she walks about three steps behind me.

Once I mount the steps, I turn to take her hand as she climbs up, then drop my head to look her in the eyes. “Presentation pose.” She demonstrates it just exactly as I taught her, and I can see the looks of approval and even envy on the faces of the guys standing around the stage. I turn to the group gathered there. “Tonight I decided on something a little more, um, colorful, I guess you’d say.” Turning back to her, I order, “To the bondage table, face down.” Once she’s prone, I bind her to the table, wrists and ankles. I kneel in front of her. “You okay? Neck? Head? Breathing?”

She whispers back, “Yes, Sir. Not forever, but I’ll be okay for a good while.”

“Great. Now the fun begins.” I stand and turn back to the audience. “I’ll start with some flogging to warm her skin and then move into something far more interesting.”

Of course she’s still wondering what this far more interesting thing is, but she’ll just have to wait. I begin with the flogger, laying repeated, mildly strong lashes across her back from one side and then moving to the other to repeat the process. Her skin is pinking up and looks delicious. After twenty lashes from each side, I lean down and kiss the right side of her ribcage and I hear her suck in a deep breath. That means I’m ramping up her sensitivity, so I start again with the flogger and put down twenty more lashes on each side. By the time I’m done, her skin is a warm, rosy red – no marks, just red.

As I promised, the fun begins now. I told her before she came out of the locker room to put her hair up, and she did a really good job. The hooks on her bra come apart easily, and once it’s out of the way, I place a rolled-up towel down each side of her body, then reach down under the table where I’ve left a bottle of almond oil. After pouring just a little in my palm, I rub my palms together and begin to stroke the oil onto her back, still red from the flogging and fiery to my touch. She groans softly as the oil begins to add to her relaxation, and I can’t help but smile. I make sure it’s all over her upper and lower back, and down both of her sides to the top of the towels. Completely covered, her skin glistens as I snap the bottle closed and return it to its place under the edge of the table.

Before I straighten up, I move my hand over and find the plate, a big old odd dinner plate I had lying around the house from my college days – I’d slipped it in inside my gig bag. On it are three candles in pink, blue, and purple. The murmur coming from the crowd tells me they know what’s about to happen and want it. Sheila’s head is turned toward them, and she can’t see what I’m doing or what I have in my hands. There’s a lighter on the plate also, but before I light a candle, I lean down to her ear. “You remember your safeword, correct?”

“Yes, Sir. Red.”

“Very good. This may hurt a little at first, but if you give it a chance, it can come to feel good.” With that, I turn my attention back to the audience. “This is one of my favorite things to perform with a sub. I find it relaxing and creative, and they tell me it’s very pleasurable, especially since I work hard to make sure the skin is properly prepared. Which color first? Does anyone have a preference?”

“Purple,” a guy named Felix calls out, and I nod and smile.

“Purple it is!” Lighting the candle as it lies on the plate, I wait until it begins to liquefy. I hold the plate over Sheila’s back, and when I have the candle where I want to start, I draw the plate away.

The first drip catches her by surprise, and she squeals a little. I whisper to her, “Concentrate on the sensation. Nothing else.” I see her nod as more drips begin to fall on her skin, and I draw the candle back and forth, up and down, and in a circular pattern, above her back. After about ten minutes of that, I blow out the purple candle and take a couple of minutes to stroke her hair and talk to her. I round the table, squat beside it, and look into her eyes. “You okay, little subbie?”

“Yes, Sir,” she moans back.

“Your safeword?”

“Red, Sir.”

“Very good. You’re doing quite well, and you’re beautiful too.” With that, I rise, go back around to the back of the table, and start with the blue candle. She’s moaning a little and squirming a lot. This is kind of a surprise to me; I’d about halfway expected her to safeword after the first five drips, but she’s hanging in there. Her skin is still rosy from the flogging, and I know that’s making the heat more intense. When I’m finished with the blue candle, I blow it out and return to look into her face. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

She nods, then moans out, “Yes, Sir.”

“Okay then. We’re almost finished.” Once I start with the pink candle, I concentrate on any area where there is no wax, and it drips down her sides and onto the towels. It occurs to me that she’s being amazingly still. Once the pink candle is blown out, I pick up my phone from a side table where I’ve left it and take a picture of her back. Angled in such a way that her face doesn’t show, I try to get the best shot I can because I want to be able to show her later what it looked like. I also get closer to get some of the detail in. She’ll want to see this, I’m sure. As soon as I’ve got the shots, I start loosening the restraints so she can reposition herself and, when she’s free, I tell her, “Sub, hands and knees.”

She complies instantly, so fast, in fact, that I’m shocked. The wax holds and the towels drop away as she rises, and her bra falls away, leaving her breasts hanging free and beautifully pendulous. Once she’s on her hands and knees, I move to stand in front of the table. In this position and at that height, her face is directly in line with my cock, and I know what she’s thinking. She’d be absolutely right – that’s
exactly
what I’m about to do.

Leathers unzipped, my rock-hard shaft falls out and right in front of her mouth. I look down into her face, expecting her to give me a go-to-hell look, and instead, what I find there is pure lust. Any hardness I hadn’t experienced to that point appears immediately and, to my surprise, her mouth drops wide open and she waits. “Sub, your safeword.”

“Red, Sir,” she responds with a lick of her lips. God, that lip-licking thing pushes all of my horny buttons.

“Do you need to use it?”

“No, Sir, I. Do. Not.” No one in that room could miss the emphasis behind those words.

“I made you recite something earlier. Say it back to me now, sub.”

“You and me and no one else, Sir.”

“Say it again.”

“You and me and no one else, Sir.”

“Very good. Until we finish here, in this room there is no one but you and me. No. One. Else. Remember that.”

“Yes, Sir. You and me and no one else, Sir.”

Slipping into the air, those words are replaced by my dick, and I do believe it’s harder than it’s ever been in my life. I let her suck on it for a few minutes, lick it, just generally have a little fun, but then I grasp her head on either side and look down at her. Our blue eyes meet, and I say loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I fuck your face now.” There’s no fear, no hesitation, no shame on that face, just trust and love, and I draw back and press in forcefully the first time.

Her gag reflex kicks in and she chokes, but I draw back and press back in again, only for her to choke once again. “Sub, you and me and no one else.” And that does it. On the next stroke inward, her jaw drops, her throat opens, and I feel the head of my cock hit the soft back of her tight passage. She times her breathing with my strokes, and I can’t help but be proud of her. My sub. My woman. This one is a keeper.

The tensing begins and I know I’m almost there. I want desperately to come in her throat, but I’ll save that for later. Right now, we’re scening, and we’ve got quite an audience. I pull out to a “pop” from her lips and order, “Drop to your forearms.” Rounding to the back of the table, I step up into the split in it, then rest a knee on it as I roll on a condom and stroke myself a few times. At the same time, I run a finger into her pussy. Yep, soaked, exactly as I suspected. She hasn’t made a sound, so I say in a forceful voice, “I’ll fuck you now. Please feel free to let me hear how you feel about the fucking you’re getting, sub.”

Before she can answer me, I ram into her slick channel, and she cries out, “Oh, god, Sir!” The rhythm I take up really works her over, and she’s crying out with every stroke. After just a couple of minutes, she calls out, “Oh, god, fuck me, Sir! Fuck me hard!” I’m just about to turn loose when she calls out, “I want it, Sir! Fuck me, Sir – FUCK ME HARD!”

This is just too good. It’s beyond anything I could’ve expected, so I slide her ever-so-slightly forward, climb up onto the table behind her on my knees, and, sitting back on my heels, slide partially underneath her and start to stroke upward into her. It’s deeper and harder than she was counting on, I’m sure, because in just a few strokes she cries out, “Oh my god, Sir! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, shit, Sir! Oh, fuck, Sir! Oh, god . . .” Ten more strokes and she cries out, “Oh, god, Sir, may I come? Please, please, may I come?”

“No, sub. You’ll hold that orgasm until I tell you that you may release it. Do you understand?”