Silk and Champagne

Silk and Champagne

M.M. Brennan

Copyright 2013 P.D. Kyner

All rights reserved.

Silk and Champagne

An Erotic Bondage Story

Book design by P.D. Kyner

Cover Image Copyright © Lisja | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Two months ago I would never have imagined I'd be standing in the lobby of a D.C. Marriott waiting to meet a man I'd only known via an online community. Not just any community, either, but one centered around sex, kinks, and fetishes. A community that I actually worked for. That's right, I was a webcam model, performing various solo sex acts for a nominal fee. It's not worth explaining how I got into that line of work. Why is all that matters, and she was laying in a hospital room that very moment, a shadow of the girl she'd been only months before.

I suppose the same could be said for me. I could hardly remember the girl I'd been before my descent. But somehow, even as I stood in the hotel lobby, I knew I wasn't that kind of girl. The kind of girl who bartered her body for cash. The thought of what I was about to do sickened me, and in that moment, I wasn't sure what kind of girl I was anymore.

I shook my head. Of course I knew. I was the desperate kind. The kind who had sat in a hospital room nearly every day for the last three months and watched helplessly as my niece whither while doctors struggled for an explanation. I was the kind of girl who knew my sister couldn't afford to take off work to be with her daughter as she endured countless tests, let alone the resulting medical expenses. I was the kind of girl who wasn't going to stand idly by while my family suffered, especially my niece.

We had an unexplainable umbilicus connection, she and I. My heart beat when hers did, broke when hers did. I could feel her pain. It was real to me and the only thing that mattered. I'd do anything to stop it, give anything, sacrifice anything ... even my morality.

I scanned the hotel bar, and spotted him quickly. I'd only seen one picture of him. He wasn't unattractive, simply unremarkable in every aspect of the word. Nevertheless, I was sure it was him. I watched him from across the lobby as he brought a glass tumbler to his thick lips and took a long sip. Scotch, I imagined. Top shelf, no doubt.

I took a deep breath and let it go slowly, stealing a moment to marshal my resolve. "You can do this," I whispered. I had to do it. My niece needed to see a specialist, which the hospital wouldn't send her to until her expenses were caught up. They didn't say that, of course, but we knew. I'd grown up poorer than dirt and still was. I knew how the world worked, the unspoken rules that separated the impoverished from the upper crust.

I smoothed my hands down my hips to keep them from shaking. My dress was short, red, tight, and probably cheaper than the scotch in his hand. My heels black and too tall. I felt eyes on me as I strode across the lobby toward the bar. I refused to meet any of them. Not the knowing glances from hotel staff, the scornful gazes of women sipping sherry, or the probing eyes of their husbands. I lifted my chin an inch as I walked past them. A show of pride, though I had none left in me.

He saw me then and I tried to smile, but failed. I couldn't make my lips turn up or my stomach stop roiling. He pushed his stool away from the bar and took me in an awkward embrace. I tried not to pull away too soon. He seemed to sense my unease and let go.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, as if this were a date. To him, perhaps it was. Over time, we'd developed a relationship of sorts. A phone call here, a text there. I knew enough about him to be unafraid to meet him and he knew enough about me to want to spend a night together.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no fool and certainly not quixotic enough to believe he had feelings for me. Well, besides the feelings causing the swell in his pants. My feelings for him didn't extend that far... literally and figuratively.

"No," I said. I just wanted to get this over with, though I had no idea what the night would entail. I knew his fetishes- bondage and obedience. He'd paid for a few web shows and we'd discussed his sexual desires during several late-night conversations. But telling someone you want to tie them to a bed and fuck their brains out and actually doing it are two very different things.

He nodded. "Okay, let me just pay for mine."

I waited as he took care of his tab, anticipation and nervousness coursing through my veins like a drug. I was dizzy, hot, and breathless... and, unfortunately, not from a long bout of delirious passion. I sighed, knowing that wouldn't come tonight.

"Shall we?" he said, and surprised me by taking my hand. He laced his fingers in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm so glad you came."

I'll be glad when you do, I thought as he lead me through the lobby to a bank of elevators. We stepped in together and I watched as he pressed the button for the top floor. Governor's Suite not the penthouse. He was well off but, perhaps, not wealthy.

I stood beside him, my heart drumming, as he unlocked his room. He held the door, allowing me to enter first. I swallowed down the lump of fear stuck in my throat and crossed the threshold. The room glowed a warm yellow from the light of dozens of flickering candles. Pink and white rose petals were scattered about the floor and across the bed.

I rolled my eyes. How pathetically cliche. An open bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket on the bedside table. He caught me eyeing it and smiled.

"Change your mind about that drink?" he asked and poured us both a glass.

"I suppose one couldn't hurt," I managed and thanked him as I took the drink.

"You seem nervous."

"I am," I said. Why bother lying? My unease was apparent.

"I know you don't trust me," he said. His tone was sad, his breath laced with the scent of scotch.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling a little guilty. I was the one who had suggested this, not him. Of course, he'd talked about meeting. Claimed he adored me. Wanted to take care of me. All talk with an unlikely follow through, which, didn't matter to me. I just hoped one night of drunken, mind-numbing sex could convince him into loaning me some money. Actually, a great deal of money.

"Don't apologize," he said, and the edge of his lips lifted into a sad smile. He ran his fingers through my hair, pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "In time."

I nodded, took a sip of champagne, and willed my hands not to tremble. How much time did he think we had? Just till checkout, then I was out of there! I sure as hell had no intentions of making a habit out of this. Hell, if the price was right, I'd never see him again.

He kissed the edge of my jaw, his lips soft, full, and warm. I shuddered. Just my nerves, I assured myself, but couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in my stomach. His lips found my earlobe and moved slowly down my neck, stopping at the hollow between my collarbones. A faint sigh escaped my lips as he wrapped a hand through my hair at the nape of my neck and pulled my head back gently. The champagne slipped through my fingers and I pulled away to pick up the glass.

"Forget about it," he whispered, and steered me toward the bed.

He pulled his tie loose. "Give my your arms."

'

I hesitated, alarm stealing into my heart.

"I'll take care of you," he promised. And despite myself, I wanted to believe him.

My past relationships were certainly not for the pages of a Nicolas Sparks novel. Probably fair to say I was bitter, holding a hard kernel of resentment for... well, for men in general. I'd been cheated on, lied to, beat up, knocked down, and abandoned and that was just the treatment I'd endured from my third grade crush. Things had only escalated from there. So, when he claimed he would take care of me, of course I was reluctant to believe him. But, he'd said it before... so many times before. It seemed to be his mantra. I want you. I need you. Let me take care of you. I adore you.

I shut my eyes and my niece's face flashed behind my lids. My heart splintered a little further and I extended my arms toward him. He took them in his hands and ran his fingers along my wrists.

"So thin, so delicate," he whispered, and I didn't think I was meant to hear. "Lay back."

"Whatever it takes," I told myself. Whatever it takes.

I laid back and released myself to him. He wasted no time wrapping the necktie around my wrists. He pulled the cloth taut. I winced and he released it slightly. He kept his dark eyes on mine, taking in everything about me. I knew he could sense my fear, and he fed off of it. I could see his erection swelling inside his pants. It pleased him to know he held that power over me. He kissed me gently then pulled my arms over my head and tied the end of the necktie to the headboard, securing me tightly. Fear and arousal swirled inside me, an intoxicating mixture. My head swam, lost between apprehension and longing, lust and shame... and an ever growing sense of desire.

He pushed my dress up, bunching it around my waist. His hands weren't the rough, harsh hands I was used to feeling on my body. Instead, they were soft and gentle, with long, delicate musician's fingers. He ran those gentle fingers along my rib cage, drawing a gasp from my throat. He smiled knowingly. I looked away, embarrassed that I was growing wet beneath his touch. It had been so long since a man had touched me. Even longer since I'd felt a touch so gentle, so kind, so... intimate.

He traced a string of kisses beneath my ribs, down my belly to the hem of my lace panties. His mouth found my hip bone and lingered there, licking, sucking, teasing. I shivered, unable to control my body's natural reaction. He inched down until his face was between my legs. I could feel his breath on me, warm and wet. My skin tingled with anticipation. His tongue found my clit and he licked me through my panties. My hips moved up to meet his mouth, thrusting gently against his face. He growled, pleased at my reaction. I moaned, surprised by it. He sucked hard on my clit, soaking my panties with his mouth and my own moistness.

"Please," I whispered.

He lifted his head just slightly. "Please, what?"

"Take them off."

He smiled, something dark and devilish. "I will when I'm ready."

He moved away from my clit, leaving me wet and wanted. Leaning back on his heels, he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a chest sprinkled with dark curls. He wasn't rock hard and rippled, but lean and sculpted. I watched as the shirt fell away from him, exposing wide shoulders and slim hips. His hands moved to his pants and he undid them with nimble fingers. There was nothing beneath, nothing to cover his erection. It was long and thick and only grew harder as he ran his hand along the smooth shaft. He abandoned the rest of his clothing and moved on top of me, working his body between my legs.