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I asked her to suck my cock for two reasons. One, she was subbing out hard core and I wanted to play with that, to see how real it was. And two, Henderson’s rumored to be here. I want him to see her sitting with me, not just a head buried in my crotch.
But damn it would be fucking incredible.
I think I’ll do it if I see him, but not here. I have a reputation, as does he. I don’t do overtly public acts. It’s not that I’m against exhibitionism, I just rarely do. And not like this, in the general area of a club.
But fuck, I need her sweet lips stretched around my cock. I need to fuck her mouth so deep. she gags and I hit the back of her throat.
I need a lot of things.
Right now, though, they can wait. Delayed gratification works both ways.
I put my hand on hers and stop her from unzipping and pulling my cock out. Once she does that, not even my control’s worth a fucking thing.
“Did I do something wrong?” Ivy asks, hand trembling beneath mine. “Sir.”
The added sir should make me mad because it wasn’t automatic. When I’m in this mode, I need control. Of course, with the women I fuck, there are safe words, time taken to set up scenes and what we both want if I take one down this path.
Normally I don’t. Those relationships are far and few between.
Because they take time. Effort.
And no one’s grabbed my attention in that way for a long time.
Normally, I’ll play in a general way—rope work, spankings, rough, hard sex, and some D/s roles…but it’s all generic. A sub can just be a sub, there for pleasure that rolls out both ways. Or I could just find a woman I want and fuck her. It’s simple, easy, no strings.
Some know who I am, some don’t.
And Pollyanna…
She both knows and doesn’t know me. There’s a level where we speak to each other, a level that makes the air we share hum. But she doesn’t know anything beyond the fact that I’m now rich. Probably thinks I’m some kind of a fucking drug baron.
In a way I am, but not in the way she thinks. I have investments all over the place, in companies I head with money and have final say in the big decisions. And the rest? I’m diverse enough, rich enough, that I can indulge in the Knights. Take onthe lucrative work that helped make me who I am, helped fatten my bank accounts, and now helps scratch an itch.
The minutiae in that work, as well as the satisfaction of destroying the bastards who run those sordid worlds, is far more intricate and fulfilling than boardroom bullshit.
“Master?”
She’s got the potential to rival the satisfaction I take as a Knight. Not the sexual aspect to the club, where a smorgasbord of carnal delights is always at your fingertips. But the clique of the exclusive club, the thrill of the jobs I choose and take painstaking time to execute.
Pretty Pollyanna speaks to me on that level.
And from her, I want it all. The power imbalance of the slave, the control over her pleasure and her pain. Her need to explore the darkest depths with me.
When Ivy calls me sir or master, it isn’t playing. It’s who I am with her.
When she does it with attitude and resentment, there’s no barrier of game. It’s us at our core.
And that imbalance drives me. I don’t like her. I’m going to crush her. But before that, I want to make her utterly mine and bring her such pleasure she can’t breathe.
“You do know how to obey, don’t you?”
I stare down at her tits. I’m not sure why, when each beat of the blood in my veins wants me to take in her face and those eyes that’ll be the deep green of a still ocean right before a storm. That brilliant, brief moment where everything is quiet, intense, and filled with anticipation.
“I thought you wanted…me.”
The last word is so quiet and she’s starting to slip. Deeper, sideways, out of the space she’s in. And the doubt is exquisite pain that even the cruelest word from me can’t bring. I revel in it.
“Rise up on your knees, Pollyanna.”
