Unrestrained (38 page)

Putting the purse on top of a piece of humming equipment, she removed the brush, handed it to him. Her gaze lowered as he took it from her fingers, her breath shortening as she unzipped the skirt. She let it slide down to her ankles. He guided her to a steel pole, made her grasp it with both hands. Sliding his arm around her, he pressed his palm to her abdomen, and pulled her out further, so she was bent over, holding on to the pole, her hip pressed into his upper thigh and hip bone.

“Open up.”

She spread her legs before she realized he was talking about the yellow rubber ball he was holding, the one he’d taken from her desk that first time he’d visited. She turned rosy at her mistake, but before she could close her legs, he cupped her there. Her pussy was already so wet, two of his fingertips slid into her quivering tissues.

“Good girl. My slave should always make herself accessible to her Master’s cock, wherever he wants to put it. Now, open your mouth.”

The ball gag was put in place, stretching her lips as before, and then he proceeded. He gave her every bit as fierce a spanking with the brush as he had before, such that she was soon squealing against the gag, her fingers biting into the pipe. When he was done and she was breathless, blinking back the tears, he nudged her to an upright position. While he had her continue to hold the pole, he made her step back into her skirt and aligned it properly on her hips, zipping the side zipper. After he straightened her blouse over it, he curved that arm around her waist, pressing her back against him. Leaning into his strength, she watched as he produced a wet wipe packet from his pocket. He cleaned the dirt from the pole off each of her hands, his touch as gentle and careful as it had been brutal.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “Day one, girl. I’ll call you tonight. You sit as much as possible. I want you to suffer. Bad as you scared me, consider yourself lucky I didn’t send you one of those wooden school chairs to sit on all week, instead of that cushy office chair you put your pretty ass into each day.”

He opened the door and checked the corridor before escorting her back to the entrance of the hallway. He left her there with a nod, a press of her arm beneath his firm hand. Clutching her purse, she stared after him, striding across her lobby. The scattering of women all gave him a second look. Though most of the men passing through her lobby wore suits and ties, Dale didn’t need any such fabrication of power. It emanated off the fit man in his dark jeans and T-shirt and commanded attention, likely inspiring all sorts of female fantasies. She tried not to begrudge them that, since he was actually part of her reality. But good heavens, the man had an arm.

Back in her office and sitting in her “cushy chair,” she found herself wondering how much worse the wood would have been, given her ass felt as if it had been pummeled. He’d be doing this every day this week. The same thought that evoked trepidation also kept her pussy soaked, such that she had to go into her private restroom several times to dry herself. The sensitive petals screamed for her to rub them, to bring her some relief, but she restrained herself, remembering her Master’s orders.

Denial just made the desire worse, which he’d made clear was his intent. She’d wear skirts with liners the rest of the week, and keep the box of tissues at her desk so she could put some between her legs while in her office by herself, to staunch the near-constant flow of arousal.

After making that prudent mental note, she gathered up her files and headed for her meeting. She felt like a fish floundering against a heavy, sensual current, threatening to sweep her away.

—

T
hat night, the phone rang at ten, twelve hours after the spanking. Would he be that prompt every night? She expected not. He’d scramble the times to keep her off balance. Like he wasn’t already excelling at that. When she answered, touching her hands-free piece at her ear, her mind was already locked into the place he wanted her to be.

“Yes, Master.”

“Are you in your bedroom?”

“Yes sir.”

“Take off everything, put the vibrator on yourself and lie spread eagle on the bed, legs out as wide as they can go.”

Spreading her legs pressed the clit stimulator even more firmly against her. The first hum of it made her jerk.

“So tell me about your day, Athena. Not just your meeting. Everything you did from the time you got up until I called you just now. In detail.”

She worked her way through her schedule, but of course he wouldn’t leave it there. He asked her questions, making her think through her impressions of people, how she felt about those scenarios, the dynamics involved. All things she might volunteer herself, if she wasn’t losing her mind a thousand brain cells at a time, like lemmings jumping a cliff.

She stumbled and stuttered, gasped, and he patiently kept her on track, sharpening his tone when needed. It became all about pleasing him, and somewhere along the way, she completely let go of herself, immersed in arousal and his voice, answering his demands.

“I’m . . . I’m close, Master. I don’t think I can . . . stop.”

“Stop the vibration.”

She did, with shaky, uncoordinated fingers, and returned her hands to the rails of her headboard, where she’d been clinging, trying to resist the overwhelming desire to come.

“Good girl. We’re done for tonight. You remember to keep your hands away from what’s mine.”

“Yes sir.” She wanted him to keep talking to her, needed something from him, but she didn’t know what. What he gave her helped.

“I love you, Athena. Sweet dreams.”

—

T
he simple, straightforward way he said it made her cry for some reason. Being so fiercely aroused made a woman emotional, for sure, but it was also because she now knew how deeply he meant it. Dale was a man of commitment. He didn’t make promises he didn’t keep, and he knew
I love you
was the biggest promise a man could offer a woman.

I hope you get to feel what you’ve given me.
Had this been what Roy meant? If so, the love of the husband departed and the lover present were enough to overwhelm her. She almost didn’t get out of bed the next day. She was still aroused, yes, but other emotions were churning inside her as well. She wasn’t due at the office, so she worked in the garden and prepared herself for a tea with several women from the Junior League, another planning meeting for the spring festival.

She was glad Dale had persuaded her to call Lynn and ask her to come back to work before Monday. Okay, well, he’d ordered her to do it, stating he wanted someone around the house with her during the day until he was sure she was solidly on her feet again. She was, enough to resent being treated like a child, but understanding his worry enough to capitulate with grace to the overbearing request . . . this time.

Now, though, she found herself grateful for the companionable chatter with her housekeeper as they set the table in the gazebo and she arranged cut flowers in a vase. Her mind slid to her first meet with Dale there. The way she’d gone to her knees beside him right where Lynn was standing. She’d taken food from his hand.

He’d said he loved her.

Intense BDSM practices like the spanking were so incredibly physical it could leave a woman’s soul feeling a wistful twinge, a craving for the emotional. By cleaning her hands after the spanking, by leaving her with a statement of his love last night on the phone, he weighted the scale firmly back on the side of her heart. With each punishment, he was also helping her reconcile what had happened at the club, tipping the scales away from her fixation on that and instead on what they could have together. At least she sincerely hoped that was what was happening. Trust and faith. That’s what he’d asked of her, and she was trying, day by day.

After the tea with the ladies, she did her workout, a hundred laps in her pool. Usually she donned her functional one-piece for that. But teetering all day on a sharp edge of arousal, trying to predict when Dale would next appear, she was a creature of pure sensuality. It didn’t matter if he arrived now or three hours from now. She wanted to dress as if her Master might come to her at any moment, and when he did, she wanted to give him a reason to linger. Maybe test his control a little bit. The idea gave her a spurt of wicked mischief.

The bikini was a sea green color that picked up the green in her eyes. The first time she’d worn it, Roy had reacted like a randy teenage boy, a gratifying and memorable response. The straps crisscrossed over the sternum so her breasts were lifted and pressed together, the deep cleavage drawing the male eye. The bottoms were a Brazilian cut with several horizontal strands of beads dangling low over the crotch. When she looked at herself from multiple angles in the mirror in the pool house, she saw the bottoms hitched high enough to display the faint bruising of her buttocks from her Master’s punishment. She wanted to show them off like a brand of ownership, and she guessed that was what they were.

She started her laps. On the twenty-fifth, she noticed the light on her phone. She came to the edge, looked.

I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes. Be ready.

He’d texted that eight minutes ago. She responded:

I’m in the pool house, Master.

Then she called the kitchen to let Lynn know he’d be arriving but wouldn’t need an escort. He knew where the pool house was.

She did five more laps to burn off the nervous energy, then left the pool and padded over to her towel. She started, seeing him leaning in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, his gaze sliding over her like his hands. Firm, proprietary. She stopped in the act of reaching for the towel because he shook his head, crooked his finger at her.

She picked up the brush off the lounge chair and came toward him. The blue-green eyes became even more vibrant, watching her walk, the jut of her nipples through the thin suit. When wet, it clung to her pussy and breasts in a way that was pretty much indecent. He put out his hand for the brush, then motioned to her to turn, show him the back. She heard him let out a breath that made her glow. Then quake, because of his next words.

“Going to be extra hard on you today, girl. You’re purposefully tempting your Master, and you’re too damn good at it.”

Her toes curled. He took her arm, guided her into the private changing room, closed the door and took a seat on the bench, reaching out to manacle her wrist with his strong fingers. “Everyone’s in the house,” he said, his tone dark and dangerous. “No one to hear you scream, especially after I gag you with this.”

Instead of the ball gag, today he had a ring gag. There was only one reason a man would put a ring gag on his sub, and that was because he wanted her jaw locked open wide and her tongue pressed down so she was helpless to do anything but take the thrust of his cock.

He gave her a look. “Going to make it interesting, girl? Fight me?”

She thought about the pain of that brush coming down on her haunches. As if following her train of thought, he let his gaze slide that way. “Your ass is nice and wet. It hurts more that way, you know.”

He increased pressure on her wrist and their gazes locked. In an instant, she understood what he wanted, the intense play he wanted to give them both. The pressure of the past two days obliged, her mind willing to play rabbit to his wolf. She twisted, broke the grip, bolted for the door. He caught her, moving much faster than she would have expected. The man was so unbelievably strong, catching her about the waist and swinging her toward the bench as she thrashed and fought him, trying to get away.

That strength also kept her from hurting herself, because though he was relentless, he put her down on her stomach on the bench as if she were an egg. Her knees pressed against the outdoor carpet as he straddled her, gripping her wet hair to bring up her head. She tried to worm away from him as he forced the ring into her mouth, strapped it on. Her struggles earned her a sharp slap on her thigh that quieted her, made her surrender. He cinched the gag around her head, then stepped back.

“Take your bottoms down to your knees. Your thumbs stay hooked into either side of them to keep those hands there.”

Her stomach was on the bench, her breasts on the other side, and as she complied, he circled her, squatting before her to lift her chin. He gazed at her face, her mouth stretched wide with the ring gag, her fevered eyes upon him. His touch dropped so he could play in the cleavage the suit presented, then moved over the wet fabric clinging to her nipples. She whimpered, her fingers tightening in her swimsuit bottoms as he pinched her.

“You’re a wet dream, girl,” he said. “Looking at the way that suit pushes your breasts together, I’m getting some good ideas about the next time I tell you to put it on. I’ll put my fingers in your pussy, collect some of your honey and lube up this sweet cleft”—his fingers stroked the channel between her breasts—“then I’ll put my cock between them and fuck your tits until I come.”

She swallowed, her gaze now pleading. He was making her insane. His next words suggested the feeling might be mutual.

“When you look at me that way, you rip my heart right out of my chest.”

He rose. Moving behind her, he started on day two of her punishment. He was right. Wet flesh made the slap of the brush even more severe, such that she was screaming against the gag in no time.

After it was over, he laid the brush next to her, came back to her front and lifted her onto her knees with a firm grip on her hair and a steadying hand pressed against her chest. As she swayed there, waiting on his pleasure, he opened his jeans, revealing an enormous erection. He stroked it for a few agonizing moments, denying her as her tongue worked against the steel ring, wanting his taste, wanting to do that for him. Her hands were still bound by her swimsuit bottoms, fingers pressed against her thighs.

Finally, he moved forward, taking hold of her hair again and pressing his knees against the bench, his cock to her spread lips. Bound by his will, her mouth controlled by the gag and her hands by his imposed restraints, she could only close her eyes and savor the way it felt, being used by him in whatever manner drove his pleasure, which in turn heightened hers to an almost drug-induced euphoria.