Captivated. Lisette Ashton

I like to be under his thumb, on his To-Do list … in his bed.

      I shake off my worry and smooth down my hem. He nods appreciatively before finally speaking. ‘It’s the kind of party you fear.’ Then he grins and it’s wicked.

      We have our arrangement. I love him and he loves me and Monday through Thursday I am my own woman. Often considered domineering by the men I work with. Some might even call me a ball buster. But I shuck all that when I come through our front door and we are alone. I cater to him, crawl to him, let him make decisions and, yes, he is kind. He treats me for the most part in a way that makes me sigh wistfully for Friday to come.

      But this kind of party he’s proposing … that is what I dread. Where the masters parade their pets around. Where the Doms make a Best in Show situation of their subs. My fingers are trembling so I press them firmly to my knees.

      ‘And you want us to go?’

      He cocks an eyebrow. ‘It’s on a Saturday evening. We will go.’

      I nod, the tremble in my throat threatening to make me cry. We will go …

      Images of girls in cat ears wearing belled collars rush through my mind. Dog chains, nipple clamps, crotchless panties, those horrible fetish shoes that are impossible to walk in. Whips and crops and slave bracelets with thin chains that run to hammered metal rings.

      I am not flamboyant. I am not showy. I don’t want to be put on display.

      But … I have agreed. We have agreed. And the weekends have become a safe haven for me. A place to surrender and just be. And I cherish it. I don’t want to argue over one little party. I don’t want to risk what we’ve carefully shaped. Together.

      Because despite the games and the sex and the back and forth … I love him and he loves me.

      ‘We will,’ I say, nodding. ‘Of course.’

      ‘And tonight?’

      I inhale deeply, full of anxiety. I just wish …

      He plucks the thought from my head, moving in and unzipping his pants as he does. He pulls his cock free and presses the glans, silken-smooth and warm, to my lower lip. ‘If you need to, Paige, we can pretend it’s Friday.’

      I can only nod as he wedges himself more, filling my mouth, and I moan. I want this. To be full of him. My body, my mind, my soul. I want to not think and just feel. I suck and lick and lap at him until he grunts. That grunt that makes my neck rise up, my skin pebbled. He grabs me by my upper arms, pulls me upright and spins me towards the wall. I’m no fool – I put my arms out fast and brace myself. Spread my legs and put my ass up.

       Assume the position.

      Samuel is unkind to my panties – tugging and when they snag ripping them up one side. They’re gone for good, that pretty pink pair, but then he’s in me after sliding his hot flesh along my damp slit hard enough to make me tremble. He moves in me, shoving high and hard, almost lifting my feet off the floor. My toes perch precariously on the cool tile but he holds me firm as he rocks into me. He’s watching us in the vanity mirror and I do too. My dress shoved up around my hips, my ass bare above my thigh-high stockings. His cock slipping in and out of me at his will. Two twin splotches of bright red adorn my cheeks. My lips look freshly kissed. My eyes blue and startled. I feel the most beautiful when he’s in me and I’m giving myself over to him.

      I come. Just from looking at us in that shiny reflective surface.

      He chuckles, lips to the back of my neck, fingers pinching my hard nipple through my dress. ‘Good thing you weren’t supposed to wait for permission, little girl. What do you say, Paige? Shall we pretend it’s Friday?’

      I nod and push my bottom back towards him. I arch and do my best to meet his eager thrusts and give him what he wants. He grunts again and I tremble. His fingers dig into my hips, his body ramming into me so hard I push my cheek to the wall.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ I answer.

      Another grunt and as a reward he reaches under the sagging front of my dress and finds my clit. He pinches me repeatedly in time with his driving beat and, when it’s all too much and his lips are a thin line of concentration, he rubs me gently as he moves. And that is when my body – all amped up and utterly confused – capitulates and I come. He’s coming with me, teeth clamped to my earlobe to introduce that sparkling bit of pain I usually need.

      ‘Good girl. Go get dressed. I don’t want us to be late.’

      He pats my ass and smoothes my dress and I move slowly – floaty like I’m dreaming – to do just that. I am much calmer and once again staggered by how much I love this man. I’m half stunned, body thumping with the after-pleasure of him taking me that way.

      Finally, he walks in, chuckles and says, ‘This one.’

      Red wrap dress, black stacked heels, new panties and hair up. That’s how I was dressed for our big night out.

      * * *

      ‘So are you going?’ The man – the client, name of Roker – addresses me and I feel my mouth open and close. Open and close.

      Samuel’s hand finds my thigh beneath the tablecloth and he squeezes. I shut my mouth and wait. Silent. Smiling, though, so as to make a good impression. Roker’s girlfriend is a bottle blonde with inflated boobs, big green eyes and a cotton-candy-pink dress. She drinks her fruity drink like she’s making out with it. But she does smile at me when I glance at her, and it’s a genuine smile, too. Some women can be catty. This one is not. She’s just colourful.

      ‘We’re thinking of attending,’ Samuel says, moving his hands so our waiter can set down our food. Ribeye for him, crab-stuffed shrimp for me. I have no appetite because all I can think of is my face pressed to the bathroom wall as he fucks me. And that it’s Thursday but we are going to pretend it’s Friday. The fact that he’s told me I’m attending this slave party is haunting me, too.

      A vision of myself dressed like a mix of pirate and whore in bondage gear shimmers in my mind and makes me swallow hard. There is a small click in my throat. Samuel, reading my mind, smiles as if amused and squeezes my thigh again. But higher up this time so his pinky finger brushes my mound. A sizzle of arousal skitters under my skin and I’m instantly wet. For him.

      ‘You really should come. It’s fun.’ Roker reaches out and touches my hand. I feel like a snake has slithered over my skin.

      Samuel puts his hand on Roker’s, moving it. ‘Let’s talk business tonight,’ he says. ‘We can show off our ladies later.’

      Even this ballsy, bloated, red-faced business mogul capitulates to Samuel. He nods and they start to discuss supply and demand and shipments and I zone out. But not all the way out, because, as I pick at my food and chat with the Barbie wannabe, Samuel’s hand is firmly at the top of my thigh. He squeezes and my cunt flexes for him. There will be more when we get home. More for us. For now, I just have to hang tight.

      Finally, he’s whisking me out. Getting me in the car. Taking me home. I breathe a sigh of relief.

      ‘I was very proud of you tonight, Paige.’ He murmurs this against my neck as we move through our front door into our dark house.

      ‘Thank you.’ My voice is breathy and weak. He’s touching me.

      Samuel nods and the ambient light from outside illuminates only half his face. He looks like a comic-book hero in this light. My stomach buzzes with want, but I don’t know what he’ll give me. Just teasing and then bed or an actual reward? He puts my hand on his cock and I sigh. Curling my fingers to the long hard line of his shaft, I hear them whisper on the charcoal grey of his slacks. He’s shoving my dress up and when he says, ‘Hands up,’ I obey. My hands shoot into the air and my dress is whisked free, the silken fabric briefly battering my head and hair as he tugs.

      ‘Take those off,’ he says in a voice that is a growl and he sets about removing his trousers. Folding them. Putting them on the reading chair.