I remember the day of his interview well. He sat calmly opposite me, long legs extended, his hands clasped in his lap. He exuded a cool arrogance that I was immediately attracted to. He was well dressed, quite handsome. When I started to ask him questions, his answers were short and to the point, his eyes fixed on my face. Oh those eyes. They sparkled with such cheekiness, such promise; they smiled along with his mouth. I was curious why he had sought me out.
“Are you married?”
I had glanced at his hands. No ring. That was 3 months ago, and until dinner recently, I had fully believed him.
Enzo’s had become a regular Friday habit for me some time ago. I had arrived 5 minutes late, and on the way I had received a text from Adrienne telling me that she was also behind schedule. I was seated promptly and ordered a cocktail. The restaurant bustled with warmth and noise, people chatting and laughing, the aromas from the kitchen spilling into the room and instantly making my mouth water. I scanned the crowd, sipping my drink. The moment my eyes fell on him my body seized, a wave of panic spreading through every part of me. Fuck. My gaze lingered for confirmation; he was seated at a table with a group of people, his back to me, his arm wrapped around a woman. I rarely ran into clients on my down time, and when I had in the past, it never went well. I raised my menu as a shield and cussed at the appetizers. Just then Adrienne arrived, her smile quickly vanishing, her pretty face echoing the worry plastered on my own.
“Over there.” I nodded quietly towards them. “The blue shirt. A client.”
She discreetly peeked to her right, just long enough to see. “Closest to us? The wife is pretty…”
I peer over the top of my menu, and she’s right; a gold band glistens on his left hand, his arm resting on the redhead’s shoulder while they chat with their company. I’m stunned into silence, and I quickly decide it’s time to find another restaurant. I leave money on the table for my drink, and quietly slip out the back entrance unnoticed with Adrienne in tow.
I remember feeling a mixture of emotions when I returned home that night, none of them being the standard fare. I felt betrayed, and rightly so, but I felt it on a more personal level. The relationships I had with my clients were based on trust, and how could I trust him if he had lied from the beginning? Deep in the pit of my stomach, jealousy raged on. It was the first time I had ever felt anything remotely like that towards someone I had a working relationship with. Throughout the months, our meetings had become more personal, our bond stronger. I enjoyed his company, and for the first time in a very long time, I honestly looked forward to our sessions. Now that all the cards were on the table, and everything I knew had vanished, I was livid. I had to decide on how to handle the situation, and I had already kept him waiting 20 minutes. I locked the door to my office and made my way downstairs, my heels clicking on the hard cement, the noise bouncing down the hall. My fingertips felt on fire, my corset feeling too tight. I paused to steady myself, and breathing in, I opened the dungeon door.
The sight before me was always enough to calm jangled nerves and to put my mind and body at ease. The expanse of the room was dimly lit, plush carpet covering the floor. The walls were adorned with warm flames flickering atop sconces, the crystals droplets sparkling in the half light. From the mahogany beams hung an assortment of metal hooks, chains and pulleys, ropes hanging from the ceiling in various places. To my left lay an assortment of benches, each varying in size and width. To my right the walls were covered with floggers, whips, different sized canes and paddles. I smiled as my gaze lingered on the center of the room.
There he sat on a tall stool, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers and a blindfold. His hands were bound in his lap. I noted that Natasha had followed my every instruction, even down to using a stool instead of a high backed chair, rope instead of a sash. I didn’t want him comfortable, I wanted him rigid and on edge, and the sight of him helpless and struggling to gain composure only encouraged the ruthless streak in me. I crossed the room and grabbed a riding crop. I stood before him, drinking in the sight of his thick thighs, his hairy chest, the bulge of his erection through his shorts. I could feel my thong already wet, my pussy buzzed for attention. It took every part of me to not drop to my knees and take his hard cock into my mouth right there and then.
That is not how the game will be played this time.
“Hello, Mistress Eve.”
I note he’s breathing evenly, calmly, his chest expanding and contracting slowly. All of that is about to change. The keeper of the crop comes down hard on his left thigh, and he involuntarily jumps.
“I’m sorry, did I ask you to speak to me?”
My anger simmers underneath the surface. With my voice stern, my sentence is punctuated with a matching swat on his right thigh. This time it’s harder, and he recoils with the sting.
“No, I’m sorry Mistress Eve.” His face is painted with confusion. Good, I think to myself.
“Stand up,” I bark at him, and he stands immediately. With a slight tug, his shorts slip to the floor, his erection bobbing into clear view. He has a deliciously thick and rigid cock, and for a second I have trouble taking my eyes off it. Thank God for the blindfold. With a command, he sits straight back down on the stool, his balls resting on the edge. I raise the crop and run the keeper over his testicles lightly as I speak.
“Something tells me you haven’t been completely honest with me, Eric.”
I run the leather flap over his thighs and up his arms, back over his shoulders, and down to his legs again as I circle him. I watch him eagerly, his uneasiness has started to show. He shifts his weight on the stool uncomfortably. My face level with his, he licks his lips with panic. I push the leather of the keeper up under his jaw line and hold it shut. I slip the blindfold off his eyes. It takes him a few seconds to adjust, and when he does, his eyes rake over my body. His gaze falls from my face down to my cleavage and over the tightness of my black corset, dropping to the silk that covers my thighs. He smiles and says nothing, his mouth still pursed shut at my hand, my will.
“So tell me,” I whisper and smile, “How is your wife? She has pretty red hair, just like mine.”
His eyes become large, and for a second I swear he’s going to speak. I say nothing as I drop the crop and pick up his shorts. I shove them in his mouth, and I can feel the rage starting to burn in my belly, desire spiking my every move. I stand behind his chair, and even with him sitting down, he still equals my height. I thrust my hip forward, pushing the stool off balance, sending him falling onto his bound hands and knees. I walk over to the wall and grab my fiberglass cane.
“You’ve disappointed me, and well, that won’t do Eric.”
The first strike hits his flesh with a thud, a cry escaping into the material he holds in his mouth. Picking up rhythm, I shower his back, buttocks and backs of his thighs with strike after strike, his skin immediately raising in a cross-hatch of welts. Every time I hear his pain muffled, I come down harder, my strike more deliberate, my appetite growing with each blow. When his back is covered in red welts, I rest my right foot on his side, the heel digging into his rib.
“See what happens when you upset me? Our sessions aren’t nearly as fun, for you anyway…”
I push at his side with my foot, knocking him onto his back. I remove the material from his mouth, slip my thong to the floor, sit and straddle him. His breathing hard, alarm shines brightly in his eyes.
“So, you’re a taken man? I think it’s about time for me to take what I want, what I deserve. No more games, no more lying.”
I look down to his engorged cock. It stands alone, begs to be used. I want to do all sorts of things to this man, and right now, I think I will. I am full of ache for him, and any professionalism I had remaining has slipped away. I want him deep inside me, coming into me, giving me his all. I’ve never had the honor of fucking this man, and the thought of the coupling sends an electrical current of pleasure surging through me. Even though he has no say in the matter, his body is telling me all I need to know. I push the head of his cock past my clitoris and into the warmth of my cunt, my muscles tightening as I slip down the length of his shaft. I look into his eyes and we both moan in unison. His length feels delectable, better than I could have imagined, and I start rocking back and forth, my fingers rubbing at my pussy.
Impaled on his prick, I untie him. I want all of him, now. The moment his hands find freedom, they are on me. He reaches to the base of my neck and tangles his digits in my hair. He pulls me down to kiss him, and I strain against it. The second time he’s rough, and he gets what he wants, his lips and hands on my face, his warm tongue tasting mine. He slips one hand down my back and unzips me free from my corset, my naked breasts bouncing to view, pressing against the soft of his chest hair. My hands scratch at his back, my fingertips drag on the skin of his shoulders. I nip roughly at his neck, and he pinches each of my nipples between thumb and index finger. His hands push my hips down until he is fully embedded in the heat of my cunt, his cock kissing my cervix. I can’t help but moan and surrender, and with his hands holding mine behind my back, I ride him to my first shuddering climax. As soon as he hears my moans of pleasure, his grip tightens down on me. He growls himself, his cock exploding into me, his mouth kissing at my shoulders and licking at my breasts.
Moments pass, and I regain composure from my heady orgasm. I stand and sit myself on the stool.
“There’s only one woman who can do that to me, Mistress Eve, and that happens to be you.”
He looks at me in earnest. His whisper has me smiling, his boyish charm showcased all over his face with a grin. Right now I find him nothing short of adorable. How could this man not be taken? I shake my head and smile as I walk over to the shelf and pick up a collar.
“Good, then I suspect you wont have an issue wearing this then. We’re not nearly done…”
I pick up a length of chain and make my way to him.