Tag: submission

Moonlighting, Part Five

To catch up on the whole series, click here. This is the final installment. Let me know what you think!

“Chelsea, what I want is to take care of you. I want to give you the life you deserve. I want to help you accomplish everything you have ever wanted to and I want you to help anchor me, make me a better man, and turn my world upside down, over and over again. I want to love you the way you have always deserved to be loved…

“I’d like you to move in with me. If you need some time, or need me to court you, …I’ll give you anything, sweet girl. But my goal will be to own you and have you near me always.” Pulling me into him, he stares into my eyes and whispers against my lips, “Tell me, little girl, how to make you mine.”

My heart feels as though it might stop. I can’t answer because I simply cannot believe this is happening. A subconscious fantasy turned reality… in mere hours?!

While my mind is swirling, I suddenly remember, “I told Rachel I would check back on her!” I bolt upright and glance at the clock. It is nearly 11. I can’t stand going back on my word, and I don’t want her to sleep on the couch. I start to get up, then wonder if I need permission. I look back and forth between him, the clock and the door, unable to form words.

Master begins to chuckle as he sits up as well. Taking me by the shoulders, before wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my hair and says softly, “Stop spinning, little one. Please go get dressed, go check on Rachel and come back.”

Such a simple command, but, with such a huge affect. My mind clears, my pulse slows, and I feel completely quieted, like he just wrapped me in a soothing, warm blanket.

Had I always needed to be given orders? Was that part of my problem with anxiety over the years? Or did he create that need within me?

As he pulls away, I stroke his cheek with my fingers and search his eyes for the answers. What I find is peace. It doesn’t matter, I simply need to surrender.

After a moment, I move to stand and he follows me before grabbing my wrist and pulling me back into his arms. I sigh against his lips as he kisses me, and wonder if he wants to see if I’ll pull away. I wonder if he’s testing me.

I wrap my arms around him, deepening the kiss, and allowing my eyes to close. When he releases me, softly and sweetly, he whispers, “Don’t be long, little one. If you are gone more than 30 min., I will have to come collect you.”

He gives me the most delicious grin and I feel my cheeks heat, he was testing me. Exerting his dominance over me in a new way, to see how I’ll react. That smile tells me I passed the test.

He spins me around and swats my naked and wickedly bruised bottom towards the door. I wince but giggle and run to the kitchen to collect my clothes. As I dress, I think about everything that has happened tonight and wonder if I can discuss it with Rachel. I could use a confidant, someone to help me sort through things. Perhaps I shouldn’t discuss Master, though… without permission.

As I slip into my jacket and check my reflection in the dark glass of the upper cabinets in the kitchen, I realize, she is going to ask. It’s late, my cheeks are far more flushed than usual, and, well, Rachel just has an intuition about these things. The conversations we’ve had regarding Master and my questions about submission had always come from her perceptions of my desires.

Running my fingers across my lips and staring into my own face, I simply couldn’t think what I would tell her if she asked what happened.

Suddenly, Master’s arms circle me from behind and his lips find my ear. “Are you stalling for a reason, little girl?”

I look down at his hands and smile at the return of that soothing relief. That feeling of surrendering the decisions to him.

“What should I say, Master, when Rachels asks about my night?”
“You want to discuss it with her? You two have become close, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. I… I want to sort through my feelings with you, but…”
“Go on, sweet Chelsea,” he turns me in his embrace so that we are facing each other.
“I have shared a lot, with Rachel, already, Sir.”
“I have, too,” he whispers, smoothing my hair from my face and smiling.

I smirk at him, realizing this internal struggle is just silly. Surrender. “May I discuss it with her, Master?”

The tender expression that I suddenly recognize washes over his face. Oh, my… It is love. He kisses me softly and whispers, “Yes. Discuss whatever you like with Rachel. Whatever you need to do to answer my question, little one.”

As I make my way into Rachel’s apartment, I feel the goofy grin on my lips, but can do nothing to rid myself of it. She’s lying on the sofa with her eyes closed, so I make my way inside as quietly as possible.

“Ya don’t have to sneak around, I’m not asleep,” she says, actually sounding better than earlier. “Some fantastic lady made me soup that has some kind of magical, healing power to it.” She laughed, before falling into a coughing fit.

“Obviously, it didn’t work THAT well,” I giggle and rush to bring her a glass of water.

She looks at me as I hand it to her, and her lips curl in a devious smirk, “He finally told you!!”

“Told me what?” I try to be coy, but I’m a terrible liar.

She rolls her eyes at me and drags me to sit next to her. “Come on, Roni, spill.”

I freeze, hearing her call me that name. She knows me as Veronica. Marie knew me as Veronica.

Martin knows me as Veronica.

“Hey! You were just smiling and now you look like…” As tears fill my eyes, she can’t finish.

I stare at my hands in my lap and think about pretending to be Veronica all this time. Wondering how little of Chelsea is in her. Martin might think he loves me, but has he really gotten to know me? Even if Veronica is who I’d love to be… It is still just pretending.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” Rachel pushes my hair back so she can see my face, before grabbing the tissues off the table.

“Yes. He told me. Martin has asked me to be his. Me alone. But you just reminded me… I’m not sure he even really knows me.” I grab one of the tissues and wipe my eyes. When I turn toward her, the confusion in her face makes me continue.

“My name is really Chelsea. I was married when I started… coming here. Martin thought the fake name would make it easier for me. But I just realized… Rachel, I’ve been pretending to be someone else. How could he know that he wants me when he doesn’t really know me? He turned his life upside down for someone who doesn’t exist!”

I drop my face to my hands, sobbing, “Fuck.”

Rachel remains quiet for a few moments before laughing softly. I look up at her, startled, and she laughs harder.

“Oh, geez, Chelsea. Just think about that for a second, would you?!” She grabs my shoulders, turning me toward her, “For the last few months, because of this ‘pretending’, you’ve been happier than you were for years before. You told me so, two weeks ago. You told me that you wished you could have more than this. You told Marie you wished you could find a guy just like Martin.”

Sighing, exaggeratedly, she grabs a tissue, and wipes my cheeks. “What exactly did you pretend to be that you aren’t? What exactly are the differences between Veronica and Chelsea?!”

Trying to think it through only makes me more upset, because I can’t see the differences. So instead, I clear away Rachel’s dishes and used tissues from the table. Taking everything into the kitchen quietly and filling the kettle to make her more tea, I set out to wash the dishes, but sense her behind me.

“I’m just going to make you more tea and get you into bed. You need to rest, so you can get better, Rachel. You don’t need to help me sort out my love life.”

“Don’t you see, girl? Look at what you are doing right now! Serving me, to make yourself feel better! You ARE Veronica, Chelsea. You went searching for this act. You sought out a place where you could really be yourself. Where you could submit in the only way you felt comfortable with at the time. Now, you want more, but can’t get past the pretending?

“Being upset about Martin falling for the fake you is ridiculous! There is no fake you. It’s just you. The growing and changing Chelsea.”

I look back at her, those words sinking in like none that I ever could’ve offered myself. As I finish the dishes and the kettle whistles, I recognize how “serving” has always been the thing I turned to. When my marriage was failing and I simply could not do enough at home, I sought out this extra place where I could give of myself, because I needed it.

I smile at her and walk over to take the kettle from the stove. “I guess you might be right, Rach. It was never about acting, it was about finding myself.”

Staring at the door, I take the kettle off the heat. Rachel laughs at me again.

“Go!!!  I am perfectly capable of getting myself to bed, Ron– Chelsea. Go.”

Stepping out of her apartment, I contemplate telling Martin exactly what happened. I think about what I might want out of this relationship. I wonder at how I can go from submitting once a week to every day, hour, and minute.

When I open the door into the foyer, and remove my jacket, I can’t imagine even wanting to go home, at this point. And when I turn to see him, wearing jeans and his undershirt, his natural body language filled with such… command, I am compelled to kneel at his bare feet. To submit to him.

After a moment, I steal a glance up at his face. His tender smile from earlier makes me blush. He reaches down and strokes my face before offering his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up and against him.

Kissing me hard and letting his hands explore my body, he whispers, “I want to fuck you again, little girl, so bad. But I need to know what you are thinking and feeling.”

I smile at the difference in the man he is with me. He was like this, after my punishments, even if he rarely spoke, but I never truly recognized that this was MY Dom. That the tender firmness was how he made me at ease and how he made me feel good. He is so different from Rachel’s and Marie’s Dom. Different, but the same in so many odd and exhilarating ways.

When he starts to drop his hands, I whine softly, “Please, Sir. Your touch is comforting. I have longed for it, without realizing it, for so long. Please, don’t let go.”

“If you allow me, I’ll never let go, little one.”

I giggle and smirk up at him, cocking my head to one side. Just then, I knew exactly what to say. Exactly how to answer.

“Ask me again, Sir? Please?”

“To be mine? How to make you mine?”

“Tell me to. That is all you need to do, Master. Tell me to be yours, and I will be yours. For as long as you’ll keep me.”

His face split into a smile that could have lit the room. “You want to submit to me, then. That is what you truly want.”

“I want to be yours. I want to serve you. I want to please you. I want to bring you pleasure. I want to give you my pleasure. And I want to, and will, turn your world upside down repeatedly. Because I know, you will always right it, quickly and with command. …I want your command.”

I become breathless, at my own words. The desires of my heart and spirit, so tightly intertwined with the desires of my body. “I really want your command,” I repeat, leaning into him, to feel his heat and his own desire.

He groans and bends his lips to mine but does not kiss me. “There is a lot more to discuss. Arrangements to be made. ideals to understood. Limits to go over… Lives to blend…”

“Tomorrow, Sir… Please?  For tonight, just take me… Accept my submission? Please, Master?”

He growls, pulling me hard against him, his eyes searing into me, and his lust scorching my entire body, drawing my own to the surface. “I do love the way you beg, sweet Chelsea.”

Lifting me as though I were nothing, he carries me into the bedroom. As we undress each other, it feels like the first time, all over again. I contemplate how long that feeling could last. But then, as he covers me with his body and enters my sore, swollen and used flesh, I feel a sense of him coming home.

He kisses me, and it feels like completion.

He strokes my body, and it feels like I’ve never been touched in my life.

He says my name, and it sounds like he is naming me, for the first time.

He moves, on top of me, and it feels like magnetism, as though we are always meant to be touching.

And as we slowly climb to the top of our climaxes, I cannot imagination ever experiencing bliss like that again.

Until he wakes me, at sunrise… to take me, again… to heaven.

Dancer

I finished my latest installment of the Dancer series on Hipster Intelligence Agency.

It is a story about Natalie, an eighteen year old, quite cocky and self confident girl, seeking Dominance without quite realizing it. She throws herself in the path of a handsome, but rumored playboy who quickly helps her see things in herself that she had never realized. And makes her want things she has never wanted.

It’s a pretty hot series, which I enjoyed writing a lot. I hope, if you haven’t already, that you’ll check it out.

Dancer
Dancer, Part 2
Dancer, Part 3
Dancer, Part 4

Let me know what you think!!

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Submissive heart

image
Bed by Laura-Skeff via Deviant Art.com

I’ll stay here, hang here, cling here, forever.
I won’t let you down, I want to be better.
I’ll accept it, your discipline, your guidance, your gift.
As long as it’s tempered with sweet tenderness.
I’ll open to you, completely and neatly.
Never hold back, even if it hurts me.
I’ll drip for you, moan for you, scream for you.
Because your power makes me that mess, for you.
I’ll give up myself, and all expectations.
If I don’t, will there be ramifications?
I’ll lick, suck, fuck, writhe, drink your cum.
Please, just please, pleasure me some.
I’ll do all these things and be everything,
If you promise not to take… everything.
I’ll do all these things, I’ll submit to you,
If my pleasure and heart mean the same, to you.

Take it. Hold it. Keep it safe.
My heart and my submission…
Reside… in the same place.

Moonlighting, Part three

To catch up on the whole series, click here.

He laughs and sits on the bed. When I’ve put away all the clutter, and wiped down all the surfaces with a face cloth, I look around the room and leave the hand towel next to His sink rumpled.

“I’m ready for inspection, Sir,” I call into the bedroom. When He walks toward me, this is the Master I know. His confident swagger returned, His demanding attention scoping around the room, searching out the tiny missed detail.

Of course he realizes it was intentional, and perhaps he understands that they all were. When He sees it, He grasps me around the back of the neck and walks me toward the infraction.

“Is this how I like my towels, sweet Chelsea?” His clipped tone hiding the sparkle that I hope gleams in His eye.

“Oh, no Sir. I’m so sorry,” I quiver as I reach to correct it.

“Go and kneel on the bed, knees apart, and wait for your punishment.”

As I obey, I’m again struck with thoughts of Marie. Lying or even kneeling on the bed she normally shares with Master seems like a betrayal, and my pace forward stops.

I glance back at Him, feeling unsure again. Perhaps this will not turn into anything, and we’ll all end up burying each other.

As I stand in the doorway, hesitating, He walks up behind me and places His hands on my shoulders. He pulls my back against Him and whispers, “She’s gone, sweet girl. And she won’t be returning.”

My body spins of its own volition. “What?! No, she’s on vacation, she told me herself!” I quickly check my attitude, “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to shout. I-“

“It’s ok, little one. I asked her not to tell you, because I didn’t want you to assume that my desire to advance our relationship was due to some need to replace her.”

I stare up into His eyes, feeling exactly that.

“The truth is, I have ended my arrangement with both she and Rachel. But, I am allowing Rachel to stay in the apartment for a while.”

I turn and reach for his robe hanging from a hook beside the door, but my knees give out, and I’m suddenly in a heap on the floor.

Sir grabs the robe and drops to His knees to wrap me in it, then holds my face between His hands. “I’m definitely befuddled here, sweet girl. I never expected your loyalty to run so deep. I never expected to… I never thought I’d be willing to turn my life upside down… “

“Please say something… at least look at me?”

I shift my gaze from the floor to His face. Looking at Him still feels odd.  But His expression is so warming.  I feel the questions blooming in my mind.  I need answers.  “May I… Sir…”

“Please, Chelsea, ask me anything,” He breathes, relief washing over His features as he sits with His legs on either side of me, and lowers His hands to cover mine, rubbing them to warm them.  “You’re freezing, little one…” He whispers.

“Why?”

“Why… what?”

“Why did you turn your life upside down?”

He exhales, struggling with the answer. “Do you remember the week your divorce was final?  You texted me that afternoon. You said you were free, and you sounded so pleased. But then the next night, you left me that voicemail.”

He was stroking my hands, and I suddenly wished I was wrapped in his arms in bed instead of huddled in front of him on the cold, marble floor.  I shiver shot through me as I recalled that humiliating message. I had been so sad, lonely and frustrated. I sought out his companionship, knowing it wasn’t truly available.

“I was so concerned about you that I drove to your home. I wanted to hold you and comfort you, make you feel wanted and cared for.  Your sadness drove down deep into my heart, and I honestly couldn’t stop thinking about that. Every week I couldn’t wait for Wednesday, and it became very noticeable to Marie.  She asked me 4 weeks ago if I realized what was happening.

“I told her I was considering asking you to live here with us, and she told me it would never work.  She made me see that you were not like her and Rachel. You were submissive, but if you were truly going to be safe in the lifestyle, you would need someone who could devote themselves completely to being your Dominant.  She does not believe I have it in me to do that.  I’ve surrounded myself for years with many submissives who could all offer me something different.  I could never settle for just one.

“But every week after that, you showed me something about yourself that I had never found before.  And then, a few weeks ago, I heard you chatting with Marie. She had already told me she was leaving, and I was worried what she was going to say to you, so I eavesdropped.  You had just had a pretty brutal strapping, but you babbled away as if you hadn’t been punished at all.  During your conversation, Rachel found me listening and smiling, and she told me she thought I was falling for you.

“And then you said something that knocked the wind out of me.  You told Marie that you wished you could find a single guy, just like me.  Rachel heard it too, and when she saw my face…”

I looked up at Him, waiting for Him to finish.  But His eyes told me everything.

“Sir, May I ask how you even know that…  I mean, what if I… What if we cannot be what each other needs?  I cannot bear the thought of your whole world-“

“Stop. After just ending a marriage, I can’t believe you would even… No, I can believe it, but if you accept… If you become mine, this is your first rule: You are not permitted to believe you are not worth my whole world.”  His fingers trace down my cheek and neck, to stroke my hair.  “You are the most amazing creature I have ever had the pleasure to gaze upon.”

His words stopped my heart. My chest feels odd, and full again, as though the years spent shriveling in an empty marriage never happened.  But I’m still not ready to offer Him my everything… My complete submission?  I’m not even sure what that would mean for my life, career, etc.

“I’m just… Please, Sir.  Can we get up off the floor?”  I squeak, feeling too vulnerable.

“I have more questions, but could we put all of it aside for tonight?  I think… I’d like… You were… About to punish me, Sir?” I know my voice is barely audible, but I know feeling His Dominance will help me.

I need to feel, even just for a moment, what it will be like to be His, completely.

He doesn’t speak, and I can only guess He is struggling with what to do.  He’s never been in this situation before, always having had experienced subs.  Taking me on as a service sub had been a very difficult decision for Him.  This must seem like completely foreign territory.

I decide to help by removing the robe.  I stand to hang it back on the hook, and then lower myself to the floor, on my knees, in front of Him, linking my arms behind me and lowering my chin. A small show of submission. A request for power exchange.

He remains silent and still for a long time.  When he finally rises, I remember Rachel once telling me to never have expectations, when it came to punishments. So I tried to empty my mind, pushing my anxiety down into the pit of my stomach.  I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but He wasn’t reaching down to collect me, so I concentrated on my breathing.

After several more minutes, I hear Him moving around.  He opens a drawer in the bedroom, then I hear Him pulling something out of the linen closet behind me.

“Since, my pet, you let on that you didn’t like being on the floor, part of your punishment will be to remain there for a while.” He kneels beside me and pulls my arms swiftly down my back.  He wraps them with something tightly, and I respond to His signal to clasp my hands together. “Good girl,” He whispers, and the delicious rush those two tiny words provide is exhilarating.  I cannot wait to hear them again and again.

He exhales deeply, and glides His fingers down my backside.  He arranges my body with expert hands, pushing my chest to the floor, pulling my knees apart as far as my muscles will allow, and then he grips my hips and pulls them up, raising my behind into the air.  When I move my feet, to use my toes on the floor for balance, He slaps them both and presses the tops of them against the cold tile beneath me.  “Use your large muscles for balance, pretty girl, not your tiny ones.”  His admonishment sends me further into submission.

“Now, sweet Chelsea, I am not punishing you this evening for the hand towel, but because you intentionally ignored a minor detail while completing your task, and this is clearly a pattern of manipulation.  True submission is to be constantly pleasing, not seeking out punishment.  If you are in need of attention, you need only tell me so.  Manipulation displeases me.  But communication makes me very happy.  Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I bleat against the tile.

“Because you appear to enjoy spanking and strapping, I will only use those for pleasure.  Your punishments will be much more intense.  Do you understand?”

“I… You… Are you going to hurt me badly, Sir?”

“Sweet girl, have I ever hurt you badly? Or even close?”

“No Sir.”

“You have a very high tolerance for pain, so I am going to have to experiment on you.  But if it is too much for you, you need only to tell me so. I will take things slowly, but I am fairly sure I have a better idea of what you can take than you do.”

“Ok, Sir.”

“I’m going to use a flogger to start. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then, I will begin.”

He inhaled a long breath, I felt the air rush over my backside, and then the tiny strands of leather sting against my skin.  After several blows, the stinging sensation gets hotter.  He swings in a steady pace from side to side at first, and the rhythm becomes meditative.  But that doesn’t last long as he increases speed.  Suddenly, I feel the bites of just the tips of the strands, like a hundred bee stings, and I cry out.  He does this again several times, and I feel my will starting to return.  I’m not sure how much more I can take, and just as I think I might say stop, He shifts back into the repetitive side to side swings that he started with.

I don’t allow myself to float off this time, and instead listen to His breathing.  With each blow, He grunts very softly, and I find myself imagining His growing erection.  I picture Him watching my ass redden and undulate with the strikes, with a satisfied smile on His lips.  My body responds to my thoughts and my hips rotate slightly as I raise it higher in the air by arching my back as much as I can.  He groans, and increases His speed again, flicking at the end of each swing so that I feel the bee stings again.

This time, the pain pushes me down further.  I want to complete this punishment, I want to hear him say those lovely two words that will wrap against my heart and make me whole.

Sensing my determination, he changes pace and direction, again. And whimpers and moans escape my throat automatically. Tears sting my eyes, and something within me breaks.  A wrenching sob escapes my chest, and I shout, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry…” He doesn’t stop. And I don’t ask him to.

As he continues, the heartache and sadness that has filled my heart for months, maybe year, pours from deep within me. It is an incredible release.  The sobs rip through me, and I think he is speaking to me, but his words don’t register, even though I think I answer.  I feel like I need it to be more.  Harder.  Suddenly, he throws down the flogger and uses something else. It cracks against my skin and whistles through the air.  With each burning strike, I feel something blooming within me.  I let go, and allow it to take control.  This punishment has turned into something I never expected I needed.  As I let go, the release of my tears and the movement of my body is all that I feel. I inhale deeply and as I release that breath, I feel detached.  I feel words leave my lips, but I don’t hear them.  I feel the air across my skin, and goose-bumps tingle across my flesh, but cannot place what causes them.  I exhale again, suddenly realizing that I think I hear his voice.

“Sir?”  I whisper, unable to open my eyes.

I hear his voice again, but cannot make out the words.  I feel his hands unbinding my arms and then his breath on my back.  His breathing is hard and fast, and I feel him move in front of me, scooping me up and onto His lap.

“Sir?”  I breathe again, still unsure of what is happening.

“Yes, my good girl,” he growls against my hair, stroking me and rubbing my arms.  “I believe that turned out to be a therapy beating.”

“Sir?” I force my eyes to open, and when they do, the flood of light surprises me.

“Shhh, give yourself a moment, my sweet.  You were deep in subspace.  Are you in any pain?” His words are soft and gentle, but his voice is husky and breathless.

“No, sir.  I’m not sure I feel anything….”  He squeezes me in His strong embrace, assuring me.  “I… I’m not sure what happened?”

“You broke.  Reset.  The pain opened you up to let go, emotionally.” He kisses my hair and is pulling the robe around my shivering body. “You said he ruined you…”

“S-sir?  I think I might like a few more of those….” I whisper, the room feeling small and overwhelming at the same time. “Letting go…”

“What did you mean, precious?  Who ruined you? Your ex-husband?”  His hands rubbed and kneaded my hips and thighs.

“He took the best part of me.  I loved him and gave him everything, but he didn’t really know how to love. At the end, I stopped taking care of him.  I stopped talking to him.  When we did talk, he was always hurtful and empty.  I think he is broken, and that is why he ruined me.”

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks again, and Martin’s arms tighten around me.  He leans me back, wiping my tears with his thumbs.

“Oh, darling girl… Thank you for letting me rip it out of you. You are not ruined. He took from you, but not the best parts.  It will be my life long goal to build you back up, to make you complete again. But the best parts are all still here.”  His lips drop to mine, and his flames pour into me, reigniting my desire.

I moan as his tongue circles mine.  His fingers trail down my cheek and neck, and flatten so that his whole hand glides down the length of me.  He lifts me off his lap, setting my seared backside on the cold tile floor before rising to his knees and scooping me up in his arms.  He rises with such ease, his strength so obvious, I’m overcome with my feelings for him, and bury my face against his neck.

As he glides into the bedroom, he dims the lights and places me on the bed, pulling the robe off of my body as he does so.  He quickly removes his clothes and clicks a button on the night table, filling the room with soft music.  He places his palms on the bed next to my shoulder and glides onto the bed, lying directly on top of me. I squirm against his erection, wanting him inside of me, but only achieve a small amount of friction.

He drops to his elbows, placing his hands on either side of my face. “Tonight, I am going to make love to you the way only I can, sweet Chelsea, because that is what your shattered heart needs most.”

…to be continued.

Moonlighting, Part two

To catch up on the whole series, click here.

“Our arrangement was for you to act as a service submissive only.”

He sighs, when my eyes fall to the floor again. Scooting his stool close to mine, he takes my hand.  His touch feels like home, and when I glance back up and see the torn look in His eyes, I cannot look away. “Can you tell me what you want?” He whispers, and pulls my hand to his lips.  I whimper very quietly, wishing those lips were on mine and wondering what in the world to tell him.

“Do you want to keep our arrangement the way it is?” He questions, flipping my hand over and pressing his lips onto my wrist.
“No…” I exhale, willing him to continue.
“I need more than that, sweet girl.  What do you want?”  His mouth continues up my arm to the inside of my elbow, and when his tongue draws a circle on that sensitive area, I moan.
“Please, Sir… I think… I can’t… I don’t know,” my stammered whisper halts his advances.
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice burns through me, deep and heated.
“No, Sir,” I whisper, blushing.

He slides off his stool, and His lips glide up my arm to the edge of my cap sleeve work blouse.  He glides his fingers over the fabric to the buttons, and slowly, precisely, releases each one from their tiny loops.  “Is this what you want?” He breathes, inches from my lips.

“Uh-huh,” I mumble and lick my lips, beckoning Him to kiss me for the first time.  Having wondered what it would be like for so long, but never giving myself the chance to find out.

He resists my pull, and glides the shirt open, slipping it over my shoulders and down my arms.  He takes in the sight of my white lace encased breasts, sucking a breath in through his teeth, and when the blouse falls away, his hands hover over them as his eyes find mine again. “How about these, do you want me to touch these?”

“Oh, yes…” I hiss, and his hands drop, cupping and squeezing, before his fingers tug down the fabric and play with my hard nipples.
“These are quite nice, little one.  What would you like me to do now?” He challenges me, pulling away completely, and folding His arms across His broad chest.
“Sir, I don’t know… Please…”
“Please what, sweet Chelsea, what is it you want me to do?”
“I really… I can’t…”

He takes pity on me for a moment and pulls me to stand.  He slides a finger under my chin and drops His lips to mine, lightly brushing against my mouth until I try to deepen the kiss. As he pulls away again, I whine.

“Sir, I want you, please…” He stays completely still, staring into my eyes, waiting for me to finish.  “I want more.”

He doesn’t contemplate what I mean, but simply crushes me with his kiss.  His tongue dances in my mouth and his body molds into mine. His hands find my ass while his lips find my neck, and our groping only becomes more impatient as we continue.  When he finally frees me of my skirt, his hand makes its way between my thighs and when he feels how wet I am, he groans in appreciation as he pushes a finger past my panties and into me.

I’m already deliriously on the edge, so I tell him again, “I want more.”

He pushes another finger inside, wriggling them inside of me while his thumb circles and presses my clit.  I grind against him, and just before I’m about to explode, he pushes my legs apart with his feet, wraps his free hand around my neck and smacks my pussy, hard, three times.  I cry out and he growls against my ear, “Do you still want more?”

My mind is spinning.  It hurt, but felt SO good.  I can’t truly comprehend my desire for this… punishment, but He obviously can and has for months.  I suddenly realize he is holding me up by the throat, my legs are no longer supporting my weight.  But He isn’t choking me, I’m not struggling, and when he growls again in my ear for an answer, I moan, “Yes,” without fully considering what that might mean.

He swats me five times, and I whimper more, wanting more of his control, more of his correction.  That is what it has always been about.  I did really want him all this time, but wouldn’t allow myself to acknowledge it.  “Since we do not have a functioning agreement, you only have to tell me stop and I will, understand?” He whispers against my lips.  “Yes, Sir… More… Please….”

He lifts me onto the island, folding my arms against the small of my back, and pushing me back to lie on them.  Then he yanks off my panties, bends my knees and spreads them apart, so that I’m lying there open and exposed to him.  He hammers my pussy with several more blows and then kneads my clit with his knuckles.  My moans come from somewhere much deeper than my throat, and when I open my eyes to look at him, he is smiling, looking over me, and enjoying his control.  I am on fire with pleasure, and the idea that this is also bringing Him intense pleasure makes the word slip from my tongue, yet again.

“More!”  His smile turns to hot desire.  He holds my pussy lips apart with one hand, and smacks my clit directly, with the other.  The sharp sting is quickly dampened by the second, and the second by the third.  The pain stops registering as my eyes close and all I feel is the pressure building inside of me.  I can feel myself crying out, but I cannot hear it.  And as the pain starts to return, I feel his fingers slip inside and his hands working me like an instrument. Out of nowhere, I hear him in my ear say, “I need you to come, sweet Chelsea.  Come for your Sir!”

My body quivers and with one single little smack, he sends me flying up past the edge into the clouds.  They crash against me, as I fall back to earth, and I realize after only a few moments that he’s building toward another.  His fingers dance inside me and he dips his tongues into my folds, lapping up my silky wetness and moaning in delight.  “You taste heavenly, little one,” he croons and blows on my clit, sending goose bumps over my belly.

He sucks my clit into his mouth and the combination of sensations pushes me further and further until I suddenly explode into a thousand pieces.  My hips buck and writhe against his continued assault, “It’s too much, please….”

“No it’s not,” I hear him smile, and then feel it against my swollen clit. Massaging me with his tongue and fingers, simultaneously, inside and out, I am quickly driven back up into space, this time. “Relax, and bear down,” He whispers, and as I do, I feel the intensity for only a moment before I gush all over his beautiful face and crash through waves of fire and electricity, experiencing the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt.

I feel like I’m floating and singing, but realize He is carrying me. As He walks across the dining room and living room, I realize He is taking me to His bed. I instantly remember Marie, which elicits thoughts of Rachel. How will this ever work?

My concern must be etched on my face, because he stops. “Have you changed your mind, sweet girl? Do you no longer want more?”
I exhale as He sets me on my feet. Is this what I want? To be His, but have to share Him with two other women who are clearly more beautiful, exotic, and experienced than me. You’ll lose Him completely if you don’t…

I search His face, wondering how it would even be possible. How would He be able to keep up, with a business and life to lead, two submissives must be difficult enough. Would I simply be the live in maid, who occasionally got fucked?

He wrapped His arms around me. He knew what I was thinking, and something in His eyes changed.

He filled His face with the command He uses with Rachel. “Stop thinking.” He realizes very quickly that Rachel’s Dom won’t get me. And before He even tries the mind-fuck he uses on Marie, He realizes that won’t do either.

I know now what I need. So I nod my head to Him and walk my naked ass into His room. I go into the bathroom, which is always messy, and start cleaning.

“What are doing, Chelsea?” The amused surprise is audible in His voice.

“Serving You, Master,” I smile.

…to be continued.

Moonlighting, Part one

To catch up on the whole series, click here.

Pressing my forehead against the cold glass of my car window, I debate going inside. I do this every week.

Every Wednesday, for 10 weeks, I have left my “real life” to come here and pretend to be someone else. In clothes that don’t fit into my wardrobe, shoes that most women would die to own, and a sparkling beauty that I rarely see in myself, I become veronica.

She is sweet but sultry, demure but erotic, fantastic but punishable. She is submissive. She is what I, Chelsea, would truly like to be.

I decided to use the fake name at the suggestion of Martin, my “Master”. He believed it would help me disassociate since I clearly wanted the job, but my morals kept me from feeling good about it. Being paid to play a part makes it easier.

Now, I live for these nights, and I’m not truly doing anything wrong, but I constantly worry that continuing with this arrangement will prevent me from moving on with my life, and finding someone to share my life with.  I tell myself once again, it is just a part. I steel myself against the anxiety, knowing that I have been happier in the last several months than I was at any moment in the past 10 years.

I love this little “job”.  It makes me feel remarkable, and useful. My day job can’t hold a flame to this one.

I straighten up, feeling the familiar release that is veronica’s submission.  I do not have a choice, I must do as Master wishes. Per my contract, his wishes are for me to show up at 8pm every Wednesday, dressed in the clothes he chooses, and complete the tasks he assigns (mostly cooking and cleaning). After these tasks, I am either punished or rewarded, which for me, are often the same thing, a lovely, long, hard spanking. I’ll admit, getting paid after that does feel a little wrong.
But it isn’t much, enough to cover the time I spend actually cleaning.

Sometimes, when he permits me to pleasure myself during or after (reward), I feel especially guilty. But often, he orders me not to touch myself at all, and to go home frustrated. This definitely helps with the guilt, it feels more like work, I guess.

When we first made this arrangement, I was still married. However estranged my husband and I were, I did not feel comfortable having a physical relationship with another man. So, getting this thing I needed from a job seemed like a perfect fit.  I have thought about it many times recently, but cannot imagine having a full relationship with Martin.  He has two other subs, and I don’t think this is the type of relationship I would like full time, unless it was monogamous.  I have always believed in love.  One man, one woman, in deep, loving commitment to each other.

I wonder momentarily if Martin could live that way, with only my submission, somehow.  But I don’t allow myself to dwell on that idea.

As I make my way to the front of the townhouse, Grady is exiting and smiles at me. In his husky voice, he admonishes me. “You are going to be late, veronica.  You know Mr. Martin is not going to be pleased.”
He has been Martin’s assistant for years, so I assume he knows all that there is to know about His lifestyle, in particular, what happens to His subs when they are late.

“I’m hurrying, Grady, Thank you.”  I exhale, fumbling for the key to Rachel’s door.  Sir has two regular subs, Rachel, who lives in an apartment created out of what must have once been servant’s quarters in the luxury home, and Marie, who lives with Him in the main house.  She has been gone, the last few weeks, visiting family.

I use Rachel’s apartment to change into the costumes or outfits that Master chooses for me. As I step inside, I am surprised to find her, lying on the sofa in a fluffy robe, with a bright red nose and a pile of tissues on the table. “Oh, no! Are you sick??”  I squeak before realizing what a stupid question that is.

“Yeb. An’ it sucks,” Rachel moans.  “Don’t come near me, I don’t wanna get you sick too.” She coughs and wheezes before blowing her nose and tossing the tissue towards the pile.

“Don’t worry, I have lungs o’steel.  Do you need anything?  Some soup?” I say as I pull the waste basket from under her desk and tidy up the mess.  I gather several mugs and cups and carry them into the kitchen, not waiting for an answer.

“You’re going to be late, and Marie is still gone, so Master is going to be waiting for some company.”

My heart stops, and I wonder if she meant what I think she meant.

Of course not, ninny.  She just meant companionship. Was that hope I just felt?

After unloading my arms, I pick up the phone in her kitchen and dial Master’s cell.

“What do you need, Rachel?” He answers, sounding distracted.
“Sir, it is veronica. I am here to get dressed, but…”
“But what, veronica, I do not like to be kept waiting.” His voice is lower than normal, and slightly raspy.
“May I ask, if it is OK to be a few minutes late so that I can make Rachel some soup?  …Please, Master?”
He pauses momentarily. “Of course. She is still very ill?” He sounds tired, but the annoyance in his voice wanes.
“Yes, Master.  And I’m not sure she’s eaten anything today.”
“Ten minutes, veronica.  But do not change.” Deeper than ever, I sense something else in his voice… Hunger?
“Sir? -” click.

That was unusual. Well, what did you expect? You are keeping him waiting!

I rush around the kitchen, finding soup and some crackers.  While I pour the soup into a bowl to heat, I contemplate the reason he doesn’t want me to change.  He wants you there sooner, because he’s going to rip your clothes off of you!

No, He would not do that. When we established our agreement, I told Him I was simply looking to be a service submissive, a maid that he could spank. I was excited by the idea of the spankings, because I often fantasized that my husband would find some task incomplete or improperly completed, and would pull me over his knee.  This type of correction seemed like it would help me.  I had no idea how much I would enjoy it until, on my first day, I neglected to wipe out the water droplets in the kitchen sink.  It was such a small detail, after he bent me over the table and smacked me 40 times, it is a detail I never miss, even in my own home.  And that night, I was so aroused that I contemplated hooking up with my soon-to-be ex-husband, just for the release.

After washing Rachel’s dishes, I carry in a tray to her with soup, crackers, some orange juice and tea. “Oh, Roni! How sweet are you?” She smiles up at me. I help her situate herself on the sofa, so that she can eat and after I turn on the TV and hand her the remote, it has already been 9 minutes.

As I run out the door, I tell her that I’ll come back after to clean up and help her get into bed, and she thanks me, in the middle of a coughing fit. I contemplate what it will mean to walk into Master’s home with my own clothes on.  I’ve only done so twice, when we were ironing out our arrangement.  The second meeting, He introduced me to His subs.  They were both friendly and openly answered tons of my questions.  When it was time to decide, I had asked them both why they were willing to share.  And while their answers made sense to me intellectually (they each could provide something to Master that the other couldn’t), emotionally, it made me queasy.

When I push open the front door of the main house, Master is standing in the foyer waiting for me.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, dashing inside and dropping my gaze.
He doesn’t say anything, but ushers me into the kitchen.  He slides off my jacket, and hangs it on the back of one of the stools at the island.  When he beckons me to sit, I just stare at him, anxiety locking my body. This feels nothing like a conference with a regular employer.
Nor does it feel like a meeting between Dom and sub.

“Chelsea, please sit. I want to talk to you for a moment.” His voice is not the normal dominant one I am used to.  And His use of my real name sends shivers down my spine.  I suddenly realize he is wearing jeans and that his normally crisp, white, suit shirt is untucked and his sleeves are rolled up.  This is not the polished Sir I have become used to.

I fold myself onto the stool and look up at him. He glides into the seat next to me, and swivels to face me. “Chelsea, you are such a sweet and lovely woman. I have enjoyed your services greatly, but I find myself in an odd predicament.”  When He licks His lips, I drop my gaze, feeling out of sorts, being Chelsea in the place that veronica knows so well.

“What is it, Sir?  Have I done something wrong?  Are you upset that I am late?”  I twist my hands in my lap, wondering if He’s ending our arrangement.  I silently pray he is not. But it’s not the job I will miss.

“No, my pet,” He whispers, raising a hand to touch my cheek, but pulling away before He reaches me.  I suddenly long for His touch, His fingers on my skin.  This is new.  I twist uncomfortably in my seat, and cast my eyes to the floor again.

“Tonight, you saw Rachel in need of something.  A need that you could have easily ignored or told me to have someone attend to, but you chose to help her yourself.  Many of the evenings you have spent here, I see you do things that are above and beyond the tasks I assign to you.  I want you to know how much that pleases me.  You are very good at what you do, and I only seek out flaws in your work… because…” When His voice trails off, I glance up at him, but see that he is staring at me, and focus my gaze on my fingers in my lap.

“I believe you enjoy being punished, but lately, it seems that you long for more than that.” I feel a blush rise in my cheeks and my stomach turns. I feel excited, nervous, and scared to death. I’m not entirely sure what I want, but I know exactly what he means.  I have lingered in His presence after my punishments lately.  Last week, during a hand spanking for crumbs left on the coffee table, I begged for more until He told me He had been spanking me for an hour and simply couldn’t continue.

I recall the heat in His gaze that evening, and sigh.

“Please look at me, Chelsea.” I look up and see warmth in his expression tonight, however pained it may be.  I see him struggling with what he wants to say, and cannot imagine how he could ever find it difficult to speak to me.

“What is the predicament, Sir?” My soft words seem to ease something in him, he visibly relaxes, and I feel a smile pull at the corners of my mouth.  The realization that I fully desire to please Him is not lost on me.  Or Him.

He smiles as well, and reaches up again to touch my cheek, but this time, he doesn’t pull away.  “Good girl,” He whispers.  And those two little words melt into me like chocolate.  Their delicious sweetness is quite enough for me to realize His dilemma.

“I have developed a crush on you, sweet Chelsea.” His smile broadens, as I lean into his hand on my cheek.  But it fades quickly, and His fingers slide away from me and into His lap.  “And therein lies my predicament.

…to be continued.