A Dom is for Life Page 8

  “I need to be inside you,” he rasps, briefly releasing his hold on my mouth. “Now.”

  “Yes,” I moan, still clinging to him like a limpet. “Now.”

  He straightens, and I have no choice but to let him go. He shrugs out of his suit jacket, then drags his shirt over his head. Both end up tossed over the back of a chair. I take advantage of the brief moment of freedom to tug off my T-shirt. My hands are on the waistband of my leggings, but he stops me.

  “My job,” he mutters. “I get to unwrap you…”

  He peels the black stretchy fabric down my legs, only pausing to grin at me when he discovers I’m not wearing any underwear there, either.

  “Ah, Libby, you so deserve a spanking… Fancy answering the door in this state.”

  I smile. My pussy clenches around emptiness. I swear, if I check I’ll find a puddle on the tabletop, I’m so damned wet. “Please, Sir, I’d like you to fuck me first,” I beg.

  “No problem. I can go with that.” He dumps my leggings on the floor, then hauls me off the table and slings me over his shoulder.

  I squeal, and he lands a heavy slap on my unturned rump then marches off into the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Bedroom,” he answers succinctly. “I mean to make you scream, and we don’t want any concerned neighbours peering in the windows, do we?”

  “No, Sir.” I clutch at his thin leather belt as he takes the stairs two at a time, then heads for the front bedroom, the one I told the Dangerfields was the master. He drops me in the middle of my bed, then stands at the foot to unfasten his belt and kick off his shoes.

  I watch him drag the leather through the belt loops on his tailored trousers, and I recall how well Josh filled out his military uniform, but he always looked damn fine in a mohair suit, too. He looks even better out of them.

  He folds the belt in half and raises one dark eyebrow. “You fancy a session with this? After?”

  I nod and clench my bottom. The bite of leather was always one of my favourite sensations.

  “Fair enough. For now, hold out your hands, wrists together.”

  I do as I’m told, and he quickly loops the belt around them and secures my hands, then pulls his tie from his trouser pocket to fasten my bound wrists to the headboard.

  His trousers are quickly on the carpet, followed by his boxers. His cock springs free, long, veined, jutting solidly towards his navel. He fists it and pumps a couple of times. If my hands were free, I could…

  But no. Josh always took charge in the bedroom, or in the dungeon. He would allow me to touch him, on occasions, but always under his control, on his command. That’s how it needed to be, between us.

  “Spread for me, Libby.” The instruction is delivered in that low, gravelly, Dom timbre he always used with such precision.

  My obedience is a foregone conclusion. I plant my feet as far apart as I can and allow my thighs to fall open.

  He takes his time, perusing my exposed pussy, on display for him now. His to enjoy. His to fuck. He bends to take a condom from his trouser pocket, then, at last, he joins me on the bed and kneels between my spread thighs.

  “There’s no need for that,” I whisper, looking at the contraceptive in his hand. “I’m still taking the pill. And I haven’t… I mean, there’s been no one else…”

  “Me, neither. You trust me?”

  I nod. With my life.

  “On another occasion, I’ll take my time, maybe coax an orgasm or three out of you first. But it’s been a while, Libby, so this time I mean to just fuck you. It’ll be quick, and hard.”

  I nod, swipe my tongue across my lower lip. “Yes, Sir.”

  He positions himself over me, uses his fist to guide the crown of his cock to my quivering entrance. Despite his threat, he does take the time to ease himself inside, then balances his weight on his arms, planted either side of my shoulders.

  “Look at me, Libby,” he commands. “Eyes on me, all the time. There’s to be no hiding from me, not now.”

  I part my lips to reply, but before I can make a sound, he rocks his hips and drives his cock deep inside my channel. He is buried, right to the hilt, and any words I might have uttered are lost in a startled cry.

  “Did I hurt you?” he enquires politely.

  I blink, press my lips together, and shake my head.

  He lifts one eyebrow, and I wonder if he doesn’t believe me again, and if not, what might be the consequences? I have no time to consider this further. He withdraws, almost fully, then plunges deep again.

  This time, the stroke is less a shock and more a riot of sensation. I squeeze my inner walls about his solid erection, try to grasp him, hold him inside me forever.

  He pulls back again, then delivers another long, deep stroke.

  I moan. Arousal curls, rears up deep in my core. I lift first one leg, then the other to clamp them around his waist again.

  “Harder,” I moan. “More…”

  He nips the delicate skin of my shoulder between his teeth, then starts in earnest. He finds a steady, demanding tempo and maintains it, impaling me with every deep, demanding thrust. My body quivers and clenches around him, greedy for more, grasping for anything and everything he has to offer.

  “Josh,” I grind out. “Please, I need…”

  “Come for me, Libby,” he commands. “Now.”

  How well he must have trained me, back then. Just the words have a devastating effect, and I am helpless to do anything other than obey. My inner core clenches, my pussy ripples, sensation — no, pure lust — overwhelms me. My senses shatter. I am weightless suddenly, floating free on an updraft of excruciating pleasure.

  I arch. Everything tightens, holds fast. I am shaking, every nerve-ending alight with sensation.

  Josh mutters something obscene, then goes still while his cock jerks violently inside me. There’s heat. Wetness, then I drift back to settle on the mattress, Josh a dead weight on top of me.

  He rolls to the side immediately, drawing me with him so I end up sprawled across his chest. We’re both panting, and his heartbeat hammers against my cheek. His fingers are in my hair, his grip just tight enough to hurt.

  It feels divine.

  Chapter 9

  Josh

  “I hope you’re not going to sleep on me, Libby.” I give her hair a sharp tug, and she opens her eyes.

  “I was just…resting,” she breathes, looking up at me sleepily.

  “Tea break’s over. Time for your punishment. I think a dozen strokes with my belt will be enough to keep you awake for a while longer. But first, there’s something I need to check out with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need to know that you will be going to that meeting tomorrow. With Heidi.”

  “I already told her I wouldn’t be there.”

  He passes my phone to me. “Text her back.”

  “She’ll think I’m an idiot. Flaky.”

  “Maybe. You can explain to her if you like. Or not. The main thing is, you should take that job.”

  “I…”

  “If you want me to stay out of your way at work, then I will. But understand this, Libby. I’m back in your life now, and that won’t be changing.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” she protests.

  I cup her chin with my hand. “Nothing will ever happen between us that you haven’t agreed to. But I am back. That’s not negotiable, so get used to it. Now, about the job…”

  She takes the phone. “Okay. I’ll go to the meeting if that makes you happy.” She sends off the text then hands the phone back. “Satisfied now?”

  “Getting there,” I concede. “And now, you need to stand up.”

  A belt is quite severe, or it is in my hands. I always prefer my sub to be on her feet to receive it. That way, if her knees buckle, I’ll know.

  “Sir…” she complains. “It’s so comfy here…”

  A ringing slap to her bottom puts an end to the bratty playacting. Lib
by slithers from the bed to stand beside it, rubbing her abused posterior. She is gloriously, beautifully naked, oozing with just-fucked sensuality. My cock had barely started to soften, but I’m swelling again.

  A dozen strokes, I promise myself. Just a dozen, then I’ll fuck her again.

  “Go over to face the door,” I order her. “Lean on it, resting on your hands, and shove your backside out.”

  I wait until she’s done as I ask, then I eye the sight so prettily displayed. She truly does have a body to die for, sheer perfection, and not a shred of modesty, at least not around me. I’d wondered if that might have changed over the years apart, but it hasn’t. The BDSM gods smiled on me the day I met Libby.

  “Arch your back a little more,” I advise her. “Yes. Perfect. Now, hold that position until we’re done.”

  She’ll struggle to obey me, I know she will. I don’t mean to make this easy. I want both of us to remember this night. This…reunion.

  I roll from the bed and grab my trousers. It’s always been part of the power exchange dynamic for me that I prefer my sub naked and me not. I step into my trousers, do up the zip but leave the button unfastened, then take my time viewing Libby from every angle.

  I always like to make her wait. Anticipation is part of the experience, adds to the frisson of excitement. The pain and anxiety a sub can conjure in her head while she waits for me to start is often far more exquisite than anything I might inflict. I can’t recall who it was who wrote that the most erogenous zone is the human brain, but he — or she — was right.

  I pick up my belt from where I left it on the end of her bed. “Are you ready, Libby?” I ask, eventually.

  She nods quickly.

  “Good.” I move in close and palm her soft buttocks with my free hand. “I can just make out the marks I left the last time I attended to you in this way. This smudge, here…” I trace the faint remains of the bruise with my fingers. “And here, too. How long has it been since I spanked you?”

  “Just over a week, Sir.”

  “Hmm. I think the marks I’m about to leave will last you a bit longer. Would you like that, Libby?”

  “I… I always like it better once it’s finished, Sir,” she answers.

  “I expect you do.” I swing the belt through the air a couple of times, then pick my spot. The leather shrieks as it flies, to land across both her pale buttocks with a sharp crack.

  “Ah,” she gasps, jerking hard.

  I wait until she resumes her former position, then land the next one. Libby lets out a hiss and mutters something.

  “What did you say, Libby?”

  “I said, ‘fuck that hurts, Sir’.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” I know she doesn’t, but I’ll hear her say it, even so.

  “N-no, Sir.”

  “Okay. No swearing, though. I’ll add on five for that little lapse just now. You might like to thank me for my diligence in attending to your sloppy manners.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” She never so much as hesitated. How easily we’ve resumed, more or less where we left off, though at least one of us is a whole lot wiser now.

  I continue to drop stroke after stroke, alternating between one buttock and the other, making occasional forays south to paint a few well-earned stripes on her thighs, too. Libby screams each time my belt falls, though not enough to alert the neighbours. I’m pleased she had the foresight to purchase a detached house.

  I pause at twenty. “How are you doing?” I ask.

  I’ve already noted that her legs are shaking, and she’s sobbing pretty much the whole time. I need to remember that she is out of practice.

  “I…I’m okay, Sir. I think…”

  “Would you like a drink of water?” I noticed a bottle of mineral water on the cabinet beside her bed. “Or a rest, maybe. We could stop, if you want.”

  “I want the other five, Sir.”

  “Oh. You’ve been counting, then?”

  She nods.

  I’m impressed. Most submissives lose count by seven or eight. Maybe it’s the accountant in Libby. Still, she deserves not to be short-changed. She psyched herself up for twenty-five strokes, so that’s what she should have.

  I take my time with the final ones, finding an unmarked space on each buttock and painting it crimson. With each stroke she dances on the spot, so I have to wait for her to settle again. But eventually there’s just one left. Across both thighs, I think.

  “This last one will really smart. Ready?”

  Another quick, determined nod.

  I let it fly.

  Libby howls in pain but manages to remain in position. She obviously remembers her training. It’s bad manners for a sub to move until given permission by her Dom.

  I drop down onto my haunches to examine my handiwork while it’s still fresh. “Beautiful,” I remark. “Your bottom is really glowing, Libby.” I draw my fingertips along some of the most vivid stripes, scratching lightly with my nails until she whimpers. “You know what happens next, don’t you?”

  “Sir?”

  “I never could resist, seeing you like this. Bent over and freshly spanked. Go and kneel on the end of the bed, your back to me, and spread your legs again.”

  She rushes to do as I say.

  “Head down, arse in the air,” I bark.

  She obeys, trembling. Whether its excitement or trepidation I really couldn’t say. I part her buttocks to examine her rear hole. “I wonder, will you still accept me here, as easily as you used to?”

  “I’m not sure, Sir.”

  “I mean to find out, though not today.” I didn’t bring a butt plug or lube with me. An oversight, but the fact is, she’d need more preparation, more care than I’m geared up for right now. Her gorgeous arse will have to wait.

  I unzip my trousers again, and without preamble drive my engorged cock deep in her pussy.

  Libby orgasms almost immediately and carries on climaxing while I pound her hard. Her hands form into fists. She claws at the duvet, her moans almost as loud as her earlier screams. For the first time since I got her pants off, I reach around and find her clit.

  Libby goes wild.

  She writhes under me, gyrating her bottom, her inner muscles spasming as her arousal peaks again and again. Always so responsive, my beautiful Libby is by far the best fuck I ever had, made more so by the fact that I love her so bloody much.

  I can’t believe I let myself come so close to losing her. If she hadn’t dropped that perfume into her pocket last weekend…

  I shake my head, dismissing all extraneous, distracting thoughts. The only thing that matters in this moment is that she’s here, now, and so am I.

  I give a shout of sheer joy when my balls shift, contract, and my semen erupts to fill her hot channel once more.

  *****

  I lean on the glass barrier topped by a shiny metallic rail and observe the throng of shoppers in the food hall below me. There’s a lengthy queue at McDonald’s, mostly families with young children. The lure of the Happy Meal, no doubt, a firm favourite for keeping the little ones quiet on an after-school shopping trip. The stall selling jacket potatoes is having a good day, too. They offer a whole stack of weird and wonderful fillings. Whatever happened to plain old cheese and beans, with the occasional dash of chilli?

  This is one of my favourite vantage points from which to watch over my domain. Most visitors to the shopping centre pass through the food court at least once during their visit, and the CCTV in this area is always the first to be examined when anything goes wrong.

  A sudden and rapid movement to my right catches my eye. A kid of about eleven, on a skateboard. Those things are prohibited in the arcade so I click on my radio to alert my team on the floor below. They’ll stop the lad, take possession of his skateboard, and return it to him when he’s ready to leave. Strictly speaking, we could throw him out of the centre, but I don’t usually do that. I’ve even been known to turn a blind eye to skateboards or scooters when the place is very quiet. I was a ki
d myself once and I can imagine how much fun it must be to whizz up and down on our tiled floors. The kids are in no danger themselves, and as long as there are no shoppers to be annoyed or injured, I always think the youths are better off in here where there is security to keep the more insidious elements out. No knives, no drugs, and no traffic to contend with.

  But at five o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon the place is bustling. I can’t afford to take chances.

  My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. I check the screen and smile.

  A text from Libby. I swipe to open it.

  I’m taking the job.

  I grin. I already knew this as Heidi wasted no time in letting me know. I gather their meeting went well. Each was impressed with the other.

  I know. Heidi texted. When do you start?

  I already did, I think.

  I find her on my speed dial and press ‘call’. She answers at once.

  “You started already? You must be keen.”

  She laughs. “I have a pile of files in my car to go through tomorrow. Heidi insisted…”

  “Tomorrow? So, does that mean you’re free this evening?”

  “Afraid not,” she replies. “I have something planned.”

  I frown. It has nothing to do with me, not really, but even so…

  “In fact, I was wondering…” she continues.

  “Wondering what?”

  “It’s not really your sort of thing, and you probably have better things to do, but…”

  “Libby. What?”

  “It’s my sister’s opening tonight. At the Riverdale.”

  I’m baffled. What the fuck is the Riverdale, and what is the formidable Michele opening there?

  I do have fond memories of Libby’s sister, a feisty woman a couple of years younger than her with spiky crimson hair and a liking for tie-dye dresses and Doc Martens. The pair of them could not be less alike, though they were always very close. Michele spent a lot of time round at our apartment back in the day.

  “What sort of opening?” I ask warily.

  “An exhibition of her sculptures,” Libby explains. “I gather it’s quite an event, and she’s really excited. She’s worked so hard…”