Dominating Jess: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella (4 page)

Which he did. He let
his arm fall so that the back of his hand brushed my bare ass. I blinked,
hoping I betrayed nothing. I could do this. I could ignore this man. Jake would
be proud of me when he came back.

The man curled his
fingers and dragged his nails over the skin of my right ass cheek. It felt
almost good. Devastatingly erotic. A soft touch, after the hard ones I’d had
already this morning.

But his hand didn’t
stop wandering. One long finger trailed up to where the thong disappeared into
my crack. He stuck his finger under the lace and pulled. The feeling of the
fabric slipping out of me was almost too much to bear. I struggled to breathe
around the gag. Still the man didn’t even turn toward me, keeping his eyes on
the newspaper he’d picked up with his free hand.

And no one in the
whole crowded cafe seemed to notice that the man’s hand was now kneading my
ass, pushing and pulling, pinching softly. It was all I could do not to wriggle
against him.

Then, from the back,
his long finger parted my cheeks and pressed the lace against my asshole. A
gentle insistence. Then his finger wandered further toward the front of me, and
as he pressed the lace against me, I knew he could feel that I’d soaked my
thong long ago. His finger didn’t enter me, but like he had with my ass, he
pressed the lace in toward my cunt.

I closed my eyes and
tried not to sway. I would have given anything for his finger to push harder,
to make its way inside me. I arched my hips almost imperceptibly, and he
punished me by drawing his fingers away. My stomach clenched. I
needed
...

“I thought I told you
to keep your eyes open.” Jake stood in front of me, his voice harsh. I’d never
heard him speak like that before, and I was terrified.

With one motion, he
pulled the chain, ripping off the nipple clamps. If I’d thought they hurt going
on, it was nothing compared to what I felt when they were removed. Black dots
danced in front of my eyes and I screamed against the ball gag. A young woman
with blue tattoos at her wrist looked at me and smiled.

No one would do
anything, then. The man next to me had pulled his hand away when Jake grabbed
the chain and was now pretending he’d done nothing, completely absorbed in his
newspaper. I wasn’t even sure Jake knew he’d been touching me.

“There, you felt that,
didn’t you? That’s just the start, slut. Remember, your only job is to be my
whore. That’s all. It’s pretty simple.”

Of course, he didn’t
say what his version of treating me well was. I felt as if I didn’t know this
Jake. He was so foreign to the man I knew at home, the man who grew huge
tomatoes in his postage stamp garden and brought me the chèvre he knew I loved
from the farmer’s market near his place. No. This was a different man. I was
scared of this Jake, terrified to my shaking ankles.

Good God, if this was
what women paid him for, no wonder he could afford that gorgeous Park Slope
brownstone. I’d give him my pin code if he asked.

And I wanted him more
than I’d ever wanted anyone in my whole life.

Chapter Two - Whipped in
Public

Jake undid the leash
(I’d been right, it came loose with one light tug) and turned, leading me
through the red curtain at the back and up the stairs.

Two flights up, he
opened a glossy black door. Inside, instead of the business office I expected,
was a huge darkened room. Red floor-to-ceiling drapes filtered out the daylight
and small tables lined the perimeter of the room. The men at the tables barely
glanced up from their cards. A waitress wearing little more than a sheer black
nylon dress carried a tray of small cups. I didn’t know if it was coffee or
alcohol she was circulating, but I suddenly craved it, whatever it was. Against
the rubber, my tongue was dry. Oh, for just a sip of water. I tried to catch
Jake’s eye to somehow telegraph to him what I needed, but he studiously ignored
me.

He pulled the leash
sharply, leading me to a huge man standing at a long wooden bar at the end of
the room. Tall, with a broad chest, he wore a well-made charcoal suit and had
eyes that said he didn’t give a shit.

Jake said, “This is
Zee. You’re on loan for a little while. I want to play a hand or two.” He
patted me on my rump and pushed me forward. “Make sure you do what he says, or
he’ll make it harder for you. And not in the good way.”

This right here, this
was what I’d been afraid of. I remembered with vivid clarity the conversation
we’d had before we left on the trip.

Jake and I had met for
drinks at a small neighborhood bar near my apartment. Over vodka tonics, I’d
asked him, “How do they allow themselves to do it?”

“How are you going to
allow yourself?”

“No, not me. I’m not
talking about that. I’m going because you’re my friend, and I lost the bet.” I
paused. “Okay, and I’m curious.”

“Just curious?”

I said, “Learning
about dominance and submission will be good for me to use in my classes.” I
reached for his glass of water and without asking, sipped.

He raised his
eyebrows. “So you’re thinking this will be a business trip?” His expression
said he didn’t believe me.

“I can admit I have
some things to learn.”
So many things.

“So you’re going to be
submissive in order to learn dominance?” Jake asked.

“Why is everything a
question with you?”

He leaned forward, his
face serious. “This isn’t a game, Jess. This isn’t something you do instead of
going on a cruise to Acapulco. This is real. As I test you, what’s really going
on is you testing yourself.”

His intensity gave me
butterflies. “But...”

“No buts. The women
who pay me for these trips have very real intentions behind what they’re doing.
I make sure of that because I don’t take my work lightly. This is what I have
to give to people, and it’s important to me.”
 

I must have given a
slight eye-roll because he wrapped his hand around my wrist. His fingers were
strong. He wasn’t kidding. I tugged the slightest bit and he tightened his
grip. I became nervous about the plan for the first time.

I said
conversationally, “I could not only pull away from you right now, but I could
flip you to the floor and pin you with a knee at your neck.”

He nodded. “I know you
could.” His grip was getting painful.

“Then why are you
still holding on to me?”

“Because you’re
letting me.”

“Oh.” And with that, I
got it. It was a huge idea. On our trip, I would be
allowing
him to
touch me. To hurt me. To...humiliate me. And I’d realized at that moment I
wasn’t going on the trip with him in order to learn about dominance. Not at
all.

Now, in the red room,
Jake placed my leash in Zee’s hand before walking to a small table of men where
he was greeted as a friend.

I was on my own now.
With Zee.

The man towered above
me. The elegant suit didn’t cover up the fact that he’d look equally at home in
motorcycle leathers. A scar marked his left cheek, dragging his lip up in a
permanent sneer, and I could determine no specific emotion on his face. Was he
pleased to have me? Annoyed? Angry? Not knowing was the most frightening part.

“This way,” he said in
heavily accented English. He turned and walked to the center of the room. He
pulled the leash but he didn’t have to. I stayed close on his heels. Men were
starting to notice me now, several of them turning in their chairs and lighting
cigarettes, as if they were getting ready to watch a show.

I had a feeling I
might be the star attraction.

In the middle of the
room, a metal locking hook hung from the ceiling like a simple, unlit
chandelier. My insides twisted as I looked at it. I couldn’t reconcile how I
felt about this: I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be placed here on view. I
wanted to be controlled.

And I wanted so badly
to run. It was good I was hobbled, or I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have made a
break for it.

Zee stopped and
turned, putting his hands up as if to stop me, also. I stood stock still, conscious
that my nipples had tightened again. They still hurt from the clamps and were
throbbing low and steadily.

From a concealed
pocket Zee drew a thin white rope. With his hands on my shoulders, he turned me
around. He undid Jake’s silken ties, removed my bra which had still been
twisted at my elbows, and for one glorious moment he let me rub my hands
together. The sudden circulation was both pleasant and slightly painful.

“Enough,” he said, and
turned me again so that I was facing him. He wrapped my wrists together in
front of me with a tight but comfortable knot. Maybe this was all it would be.
He’d string my wrists up on the hook above, and I’d be watched by everyone in
the room. I could take that. I knew I could.

Somehow, though, I
doubted that was all Zee had in mind.

I was right about the
hands-overhead. The hook was on a lever system, and he winched it down low
enough that he could loop the rope’s knot over it. Then he cranked it up again.
My arms got higher and higher until my weight came off my heels, and I was
teetering on my toes inside my stilettos.

Then, without another
word, he walked away.

Maybe I’d been right.
Maybe this was all I would get.

And God, it was
enough. A man in the corner was pointing at me, making a gesture like he was talking
about my calves, and another one waggled his tongue at me. I hung there,
feeling the blood drain from my fingers. I kept my eyes wide open, as Jake had
said to do—Jake, who had his back to me, as if he didn’t care what
happened to me. He had a handful of cards in his hand and what looked like
whiskey on the table next to him.

Long minutes passed. I
was by myself, with no one near me, smack dab in the middle of the room,
hanging by my wrists. Strangely, whatever he’d done to string me up wasn’t
painful. It should have been. And yeah, it was uncomfortable. My muscles were
already aching, my calves tightly tensed. But it wasn’t bad.

Maybe it was the
adrenaline. I watched as the man sitting next to Jake threw his cards on the
table and then looked at me. He seemed to take my measure for a good number of
seconds, then slid his eyes to Jake, saying something I couldn’t hear, not that
I would have understood him anyway.

Jake shrugged. I
wished to hell I knew what they were talking about.

I took a deep breath,
the kind I taught in class, pulling it all the way into my diaphragm and
letting it out slowly for a count of ten. I was used to the gag now, and I
liked the way my tongue rested against it. It was almost relaxing.

Then Zee was behind
me, and I wasn’t relaxed anymore.

He said something to
me in a low, guttural voice. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body
against my back, my ass. He touched my shoulder with one finger, just a light
touch, but I almost jumped out of my skin. He laughed at my reaction, then ran
his finger along the top of my shoulder, up my neck, and then swept my hair out
of the way. He raked his nails against my nape. I got chills, goosebumps rising
on my arms and legs. My nipples tightened again.

With one swift move,
he wrapped his hand around my hair, pulling my head back. With his other hand,
he undid the catch on the ball gag, and it dropped from my mouth, saliva
stringing out, wetting my chin.

“Oh,” I couldn’t help
saying. I whispered, “Thank you.”

In a heavy accent, Zee
said, “You do not speak.” He let go of my hair and I raised my head again.

I heard something, a
swoosh of air, the second before something landed on my back. The pain was
instant and intense, streaming through me with a clear brilliance.

He held the whip in
front of me, as if to get my reaction which should have been obvious. It was a
thick black braided handle with many short leather strips coming from it.

And it hurt like a
motherfucker.

“What do you think?”

I was too scared to
say anything.

Zee shook his head.
“Now, you speak. What do you think?”

Quickly, I tried to
figure out what would be the best answer. Did he want to know I was terrified
of him hitting me again? Did he want me to be strong and pretend I didn’t mind?
What would save me here?

“Thank you,” was all I
could gasp.

Zee nodded. “Good.”

And he hit me again,
the short strips landing in the same place in the middle of my back. I couldn’t
help the scream that tore out of my mouth, and I realized why he had removed
the ball gag. The men at the tables paused in their games to tilt their heads
toward us. Through the tears that swam in my eyes, I saw appreciative nods in
my direction.

Another blow. I
screamed again, ending with a whimper that trailed off pathetically. The pain
was like none I’d ever had before. It was knife-sharp, coursing through my
body, almost unbearable.