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“I eased my cock from her mouth and she gasped. She was panting. Her lips were swollen and puffy, her lipstick smudged around the edges of her mouth. She took two deep breaths before I seized her by the hair and lifted her to her feet.
“I spun her around and forced her up against the office wall. I told her to spread her hands and her feet. She pressed her face against the wall and stood there like she was being frisked by the cops. She looked back over her shoulder at me and arched her back so that her bottom was thrust out towards me, and she lifted herself up on tiptoes in silent invitation.
“I savored the sight of her. She was so slim, so perfect in every way. Her skin was pale, her waist tiny. I came up close behind her and I had my cock in my hand. I rubbed the swollen head of myself against the slick warm opening of her sex and Sherry’s mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’. She raised herself up a fraction of an inch and I guided myself into her, sliding deep inside in one long stroke.
“Sherry’s body clenched. I could feel the grip of her and the pulse of her muscles as her body wrapped itself around the heat of me. She was wet and tight and warm, and I threw back my head and some kind of primal growl was torn from my lips. Sherry wriggled her hips and we became locked together like that, each of us lost for long moments. I clawed at her waist and buried my fingers deep into her flesh. I thrust myself deep inside her and then pulled back quickly. Sherry groaned. She braced herself against the wall and her hands bunched into tiny fists. I pressed one hand between her shoulder blades and Sherry folded forward at the waist. I seized a handful of her hair and pulled. Her back arched, her head was thrown back. I reached around her body and wrapped my hand around her throat. I saw Sherry’s eyes grow wide and frenzied with sudden passion and she began to buck and push against me wildly. ‘Can I come?’ she gasped, her voice sounding like it was far away. I heard the sound vibrate beneath my fingers as it rasped in her throat. ‘No,’ I said cruelly. ‘You do not come without my permission. I’m not finished with you yet.’
“Sherry whimpered. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She pushed back against me with more determination and I thrust deeper into her with every stroke so that our bodies collided again and again as we built to our own climaxes.
“I dragged my hand from her throat and reached down for her breasts. She had slid down the wall and was bent almost in half. I still had hold of her hair, tugging it firmly as I drove my cock into her. My hand cupped the swell of her breast and I trapped her nipple between my fingers and kneaded it. Sherry grunted and gasped. Her face was contorted from the effort of withholding her release. ‘I can’t wait…’ she cried out.
“I squeezed her nipple one last time and then thrust two of my fingers into her open mouth. She sucked on them, overcome with a desperate passion. I felt the slide of her tongue, and her head began to bob up and down, as it had when she was on her knees before me. That was when I reached the point of no return. I wrenched my fingers from her mouth and locked my hands around Sherry’s waist. Then suddenly we were both crying out, our voices rising in the last few desperate seconds as I raced towards my release. Sherry’s cries mixed with mine. I heard her scream and squeal, and then I was coming, and so was she, our voices and bodies locked together in a ragged crescendo.”
I stood silently, drawing on the cigar. My memories drifted back over those months I shared with Sherry, so that for long moments I forgot Leticia was in the room. I was a world away – another time and another place – and it wasn’t until I heard Leticia’s voice through the fog that I came back to the present with a start.
“Pardon?” She had said something I had missed.
“I said that you describe Sherry as a kind of nymphomaniac submissive wild woman,” Leticia repeated. “Was she really like that?”
I looked stern. “Everything I have told you is the truth. Everything,” I insisted, and then relaxed a little when I saw the flinch in Leticia’s eyes. I drew on the cigar, and went pacing across the floor.
“Sherry had no limits,” I explained mollifying the sound of my voice. “Normally a Master would speak to a new submissive about the activities they are comfortable being involved in. Most submissives have a set of hard and soft limits. Soft limits are the ones that are negotiable. They’re important. Soft limits are those things that a submissive is reluctant to do, or might be unwilling to do until she gains more confidence in herself, or trust in her Master. The soft limits indicate the directions in which a Master can slowly begin to challenge a submissive – help her to broaden her experiences. Hard limits are those boundaries a submissive will not cross, and they have to be respected by a Master. Perhaps, in time, those boundaries and limitations might shift, or alter, but if they do, that decision should be the submissive’s. In my opinion, a Master has no right to pressure one of his subs to alter her hard limits.”
“But Sherry didn’t have any limits, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Sherry was willing to try absolutely anything and everything.”
Leticia fell back into her chair and gave a soft little sigh. She glanced at her watch, and then started to comb her fingers through her hair. A soft blue cloud of cigar smoke twisted and hung in the air around the ceiling. “It’s late,” Leticia said, her expression almost tragic. “I have to go – but can I ask just one more question?”
I sighed. “If it’s quick?”
She sat up, her expression suddenly earnest. “Who is Trigg? I mean, what is she to you, Jonah? Is she your submissive, or a lover…?”
I gave her a wintery smile. “She’s a friend,” I said. “That’s all.”
* * *
“Hello, Jonah? It’s Leticia.”
I had recognized her instantly, and I smiled. For some reason the sound of her voice made me feel absurdly pleased.
“Hello,” I said.
&n
bsp; There was the noise of murmured voices in the background, and Leticia’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper, as though she had the telephone close to her mouth and her hand cupped around the receiver.
“I was calling to make a time when I could see you again. We didn’t arrange anything before I left last night.”
“Well I’m free whenever it suits you.”
Her tone became brighter. “Great. I’m actually finishing work right now – I always do half-days on Friday.”
I glanced at my watch. It was just after lunch. “Do you want to come over this afternoon?”
Leticia hesitated. “Well, I was actually wondering if you would like to come to my place tonight – for dinner. I told you I was a slow cooker. I figured with an entire afternoon to prepare, I should be able to feed you something that wouldn’t be burned.”
I smiled into the phone. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds fine. What time do you want me there?”
“Six? Is that too early?”
“Six will be fine.”
“Wonderful,” she seemed relieved. “I’ll see you then.”
She sounded like she was about to end the call and I cut in quickly. “Do you want me to bring anything – fire extinguisher, or maybe a bottle of wine?”
“I’m not that bad a cook, mister!” she feigned umbrage. “But some wine would be nice. I’m in the mood for a drink.”
* * *
I always arrive five minutes early.
I’m never late.
Ever.
It’s a habit I developed at an early age, and one I adhere to ruthlessly. I believe it’s a sign of courtesy, but also a measure of how much importance you place on the meeting, and whom it is you are about to meet. Arriving ten minutes late anywhere is a sign of arrogance, in Jonah Noble’s big book of rules to live by. Turning up anywhere late says – loud and clear – that you’re more important than the person who is expecting you, so they can damned-well wait until you’re good and ready to grace them with your presence.
