Money Shot (95 page)

He snorted, “Heh,” and stopped. “I’d mark you too if I had the go-ahead.”

He untied the leash from around her wrists. Her arms felt stiff and a little sore. She rubbed them to loosen them up a bit.

The gardener picked up the skirt and went to pick up the panties.

She said, as instructed, “Leave them.”

“Oh yeah,” he sniggered, holding them to his nose and inhaling deeply. His face briefly spread into a look of pure bliss. “Damn, that fat cunt you got makes a lot of juice.” He wadded the soaked thong. “Open wide.”

What else could she do? This man could report to Marcus or Riccardo just as easily as anyone else. She had to carry the panties between her teeth anyway. And she was always under Marcus’s orders to obey anyone who expressed sexual interest (which, considering her new skimpy wardrobe, was a lot more common these days), so open her mouth she did.

The gardener stuffed the thong in her mouth. The wet cloth filled her senses with the smell and taste of her own lust. The whole exercise was incredibly humiliating, standing there in front of a strange man with her own underwear in her mouth.

“Damn,” he said. “Obedient, too.” He reached inside his pants and stroked himself briefly. “Oh, wait, wouldn’t want to forget this.” He clipped the leash back onto the ring on her collar, and tugged on it to make sure it was secure. Valerie stumbled forward on the precarious heels, reaching her arms out to steady herself.

The gardener guffawed, tossed the leash in her direction, and walked away. Well, thank goodness that was over. For a moment Valerie considered walking up to the house herself. The gardener was the only servant she’d seen on this estate, and Marcus was gone until Riccardo summoned him back. Which wouldn’t be until after he was satisfied with her.

What was she thinking? A place like this had to have security cameras at a minimum. Where did she think Marcus got the idea to record their first sexual encounter and use it to blackmail her? She sighed, the warm exhalation trapped in the wadded cloth in her mouth, and got on her hands and knees.

She crawled over the hilly lawn back up to the house. There was no one in sight. Her blouse was a joke, just some white, now soiled material that covered her back, some of her arms, and only a strip below her breasts in front. Her full breasts themselves swayed pendulously as she crawled on the lush grass. A welcome breeze came up, blowing on her ass and pussy. The swaying of her own hips as she moved felt sensuous, as if she were crawling to an appreciative boyfriend, or a stern master. Or one of her master’s friends, as she’d been loaned out more than once. Her pussy twitched, and she felt the warm tingle of reignited arousal. If only she didn’t have to taste and smell her own desire with every breath!

Her trepidation returned as she crawled along the side of the house. Who might be inside? And the front, wasn’t that a pretty public entrance? She remembered a wide, tree-lined drive. When she turned the corner, she breathed a sigh of relief. No people in sight to see her here on hands and knees outdoors, dressed in nothing but a collar and leash, a skimpy excuse for a shirt that covered nothing, really, and evil high heels locked to her ankles…and gagged with her own wet panties.

The landscaping stones though…the entire wide entrance area was paved in rough bricks. They hurt her hands and especially her knees. She was immediately miserable. Her thoughts focused simply on getting to that imposing front door and away from these stone instruments of torture. She crawled slowly up the steps, the leash rasping on the stone as it trailed beneath her, her knees feeling scraped and sore. Her head hung low as she focused on the next hand-step and the next.

And she bumped into someone’s leg. Oh, thank goodness, she was done—in more ways than one. Exhausted from the crawl, on edge from her state of confused arousal, and above all anxious about her task. Had she done everything she was supposed to? Had she pleased Riccardo to his satisfaction?

“Hey, pet.”

Was it…? She looked up. It was Marcus, still wearing that suit. He motioned for her to get up. When she did, he chuckled and plucked the soaked thong from her mouth. “Looks like you’ve been busy.” He seemed to be all smiles. With some of his friends, that was a warning, but with him smiles were genuine, even if sometimes they were genuinely evil.

“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice quavering. She didn’t mean for it to. It just had been a long day.

“Well, not to worry,” Marcus said. “Papa loved you!” He gathered her up in a warm hug.

“He did?” She buried her nose in his shirt. God, he smelled nice. He certainly had better taste in aftershave than his father did. She felt a million times better than she had a minute ago.

“Well, he said, ‘She’s a fat slut, but she’ll make a good goomah. And I’ll want her at the next poker game with my associates.’ Which is as good as saying he loved you.”

A wave of relief washed over her. Marcus took her leash. “Come with me.” He smiled. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He led her into the entranceway.

“What is it?” Valerie asked, dying of curiosity.

Marcus pushed open a door and led her into a small, dark room. He closed the door. She realized it was actually a large coat closet, full of outerwear and just enough room for them both to stand. A sliver of light from under the door lent enough illumination to see shadows.

“Kneel,” he ordered.

Valerie sunk to her knees in an instant, another behavior that came to her without thinking now. The abraded skin complained, but she didn’t care.

“Hands behind back.”

She crossed her hands behind her back. “What
is
it?” she cried.

He unzipped his pants, releasing his erection.

“Surprise!”

He twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her head forward.

As her lips parted and encircled his shaft, she thought,
He always knows what I want.

ABOUT SASHA STORM

Sasha writes BDSM erotica and tentacle erotica featuring dominant men (and dominant creatures) and submissive women. Stories often feature BBWs, billionaires, unprotected encounters, and multiple partners.

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“There’s something I need to tell you now, before things between us go any further, Roisin.”

I looked into dark eyes that held no hint of laughter.

“So tell me,” I said, wondering why he’d waited till now, when we were in a hotel room three thousand miles from home, to make some sort of statement.

“Roisin, I’m a Dominant.”

Oh my God!

I had no idea Thomas Nash was a Dominant until we embarked on our first trip together overseas. We’d talked about Dom/sub relationships before going to Paris but only in abstract, not relating to our own partnership which was, at that point, still very new. The fact was, I had agreed to travel to Paris with him before I knew very much about him at all. We’d only been dating a matter of weeks, but he’d already turned my head. When he suggested a romantic break in the City of Lights—a place I’d been dreaming of going to for so many years—I simply jumped at the chance. I adored him, I was desperate to go there. There simply wasn’t a reason on this earth to turn him down. After all, Paris is the perfect place for falling in love.

I met Thomas through mutual friends—someone I knew, Martin, was an old college friend of his or a roommate, something like that—and to my naïve twenty-year-old self, at twenty-nine he encapsulated worldly glamor, wealth and sophistication. He wore Armani suits and Prada shoes, while I could only afford cheap chain stores. He drove a Lamborghini sports car, while I didn’t even have a driving license. He worked at something incredibly grown-up and important. I was a student, and so far the only job I’d had in my short life was working in my mother’s cousin’s shoe shop over the summer break. In short, I was bowled over by Thomas Nash, hanging on his every word and fearfully wondering what he could possibly see in me. It was a given that he could be dating someone far more worldly. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Smart.

He was beyond good-looking and he could have his pick—that’s what I thought the moment I laid eyes on him. So when I got talking to him over drinks to celebrate Martin’s new job, it never crossed my mind that he might find me interesting or attractive. He didn’t seem to know anyone else there and Martin was taken up talking to a couple of new colleagues, so I assumed he was talking to me just to pass the time. Finding a diversion until he’d been at the party long enough not to appear rude when he left. No one could have been more surprised than I when he phoned the next day and asked me out on a date.

But we clicked. We shared a couple of dinners, a long Sunday walk, and sex. The sex was a fucking revelation to me. Up to now, my experience had involved being grappled by nervous students who had even less idea what they were doing than I did. But Thomas… Oh. My. God. It was scarily good! So naturally, when just a few weeks later, he suggested a trip to the French capital, I jumped at the chance. Little did I realize that he would be taking me to a foreign country in more than the simply geographic sense. I borrowed money from my sister to buy new outfits. I practiced French phrases in front of the mirror. I trained myself to walk in far higher heels than I was used to. The night before our departure, I didn’t sleep a wink.

Financially this trip was going to take me way out of my depths. I knew that the moment he arrived to pick me up in a sleek, black limousine. But I’d made a deal with him that if I was going to come, I’d have to pay my way. He laughed and said I could pay for my share when we got back home. I wondered whether he’d take it in installments.

The limo took us straight to the runway where a private jet stood waiting. When I noticed the logo on the tail—Nash Corporation—it was all I could do not to gasp. NashCorp was huge. Why hadn’t I made the connection? For the next couple of hours, I was definitely in shock. If Thomas seemed quiet on the flight, I didn’t really notice it. The champagne he opened after we took off loosened my tongue and I prattled on about everything and nothing, while he read The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times from start to finish. Every now and again, he’d pick up my hand from my lap and press the back of it to his lips with a smile—sending a tiny thrill ricocheting through me and making my breath hitch. I wondered if I could tempt him to join the mile-high club but thought better of it. I didn’t want to appear crass.

We took another limo from Charles de Gaulle Airport and checked into a hotel that surpassed all my expectations. It wasn’t large but it was opulent, dripping with modern artwork and sleek contemporary furniture. An elegant receptionist perked up as she saw us crossing the marble lobby toward her desk.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nash. Lovely to see you again.”

Without him having to sign anything or show a passport, she handed him a key.

“Please let me know if there’s anything at all we can do for you or Miss Brannon.”

She knew my name?

Giving her a curt nod, Thomas caught me under the elbow and steered me toward the elevator. I can remember that moment so well—my heart was pounding like a drum and, for all the excitement of finally arriving, I felt nervous. Although we’d been dating for a while, this would be the first time we’d spent time together—days rather than hours—and I sensed it would take our relationship on to a new stage. I couldn’t help feeling it was a test I needed to pass.

The elevator doors slid open silently and we stepped inside, Thomas’s hand on the small of my back, propelling me forward and disturbing my equilibrium.

“Oh Thomas,” I gushed, “this is wonderful!”

He wouldn’t let me kiss him in the lift, holding me at arm’s length and smiling down at me. His eyes twinkled with laughter because he knew exactly what effect he was having on me. I tried to wriggle free of his grasp on my shoulders.

“Greedy girl,” he said, and then let go of me as the elevator door slid open and a man got in. The stranger stood between us until we reached our floor.

The room was large and after taking note of the vast expanse of the over-sized double bed, I ran out onto the private terrace. My first proper view of Paris and I was instantly in love. We overlooked the Louvre and the Jardin des Tuilleries and across the distant rooftops I could see the Eiffel Tower. I probably shrieked with delight and Thomas came out to join me, leaning on the balustrade and pointing out other landmarks—the two towers of Notre Dame and the Musée d’Orsay—and finally I got the kiss I needed. My mouth surrendered to his lips and my body melted against his as I let him steer me back into the room.

I pulled at his shirt to release it from his pants. I’d been wanting to do this ever since the first limo had picked us up so many hours before but he instantly gripped my wrists to stop me. Something was wrong, and a flash of anxiety twisted my gut.

“What?” I asked, unsteady on my legs.

“Roisin,” he said, simply.

He sat me down on the end of the bed and I watched as he paced back and forth in front of me a few times. He looked worried. What had I done?

“Thomas, what is it? Have I…”

He turned to face me.

“It’s nothing you’ve done, Roisin.”

Relief flooded through me. But only for an instant.

“Do you trust me?” he said.

I nodded. “Of course I do, Thomas.”

“Always know, Roisin, you’re free to leave whenever you want. Just say the word and you can go.”

Anxiety blossomed into fear and I looked down and saw my hands were shaking. I planted them firmly on my thighs so Thomas wouldn’t see, though I was sure he already had. This wasn’t how things were meant to be. I didn’t understand what was happening.

“I need to tell you now, before things between us go any further.” He paused, watching my face closely, gauging my reaction to his words. “Roisin, I’m a Dominant.”

I looked him in the eye but I didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. He looked as scared and as worried as I felt. I heard him take a deep breath.

“If we’re to carry on seeing each other, I need you to be my submissive.” The words tumbled out of him as if he’d been holding them back, carrying them inside him for a long time. And now they’d escaped into the open. I’d heard them and I couldn’t un-hear them.

I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut, the air gone from my lungs. I felt panic rising as I fought to get the breath back inside me. I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t even gauge my own reaction to what he’d said. Despite our previous talks, I really wasn’t sure what it meant.

Thomas knelt in front of me and placed his hands over mine. Slowly and patiently he outlined what it would mean for our relationship and specifically what it would mean for me.

“Whenever we’re together, you’ll need to obey me and follow certain rules that we will have agreed upon in advance. And if you break any of my rules, I’ll need to punish you.”

I hardly dared to ask what the punishment would consist of but he anticipated my need to know and told me quite calmly.

“Sometimes punishing you will mean beating you or restraining you. Sometimes it might mean humiliating you in public.”

I didn’t know what to say. To be truthful, I think I was in shock. Why hadn’t I guessed that he was a dominant? That he might need me to submit to be in a relationship with him? I suppose I was just still very young and naïve.

He brought me some wine to drink, and my hand still trembled as I held the glass.

“You’re shocked, aren’t you?” he said. “I thought you would be ready for this but maybe I judged you wrongly.”

“No, I’m ready.”

The words were out of my mouth before I’d reached a decision. I practically heard myself saying them before I thought them. But saying them felt right. I did trust Thomas and I wanted to please him. I wanted to prove myself worthy of his attention. His trust. And maybe one day, if I was lucky, his love.

When I told him I was ready, he kissed me again. Fear receded as desire flared and the connection between us seemed to have intensified.

“Tell me what to do, Sir,” I whispered in his ear.

He pulled away from me and sat down in a large armchair.

“Undress yourself.”

I did as he asked without making a show of it. I simply stood in front of him and peeled away the layers of my clothing, quickly folding each item and piling them on the corner of the bed.

“Good girl,” he said. “Whenever we’re here, in this room, you will be naked. This is the first of my rules.”

“Yes, Sir.” This was a rule I could certainly live with.

Then he told me to look in the wardrobe. The only garment hanging inside was a silky black trench coat with a Louis Vuitton label. I lifted it out on the hanger—it hardly weighed a thing.

“When we go out, this is what you’ll wear. Nothing underneath. There are shoes, too…”

“No underwear?” I gasped.

Thomas frowned.

“You’ve just earned your first punishment, Roisin.”