When in Rio (9 page)

About being sensible and responsible
, I thought, but I blanked out completely when Jack leaned around, tipped my chin to the side and kissed me slowly and thoroughly, a big high-school-prom-date kiss. As he released me, he slipped his hand around the back of my neck and angled my head down into its previous position.

“Back down you go, little one,” he said fondly. “Now don’t move until I say you can.”

“Yes Sir,” I consented, more easily this time, and then consented again when he also told me not to come until he said I could. I felt strangely comfortable, so much more so than I usually did at this stage of things, because I already knew Jack so well. There was none of that lingering background fear. Will this person really stop, am I really safe? I realized my barriers had come down with him a long time ago, as he’d also clearly realized when he recognized my proclivities even in what were meant to be innocent, professional interactions.

And he’d realized too that I had already started to fall just a bit into the slight daze of subspace, and he’d known to bring me back up to make sure I was attending to what was important. Perversely, this meant that when he told me to go back down, I went almost immediately because I trusted him so readily.

I had only a fleeting thought that I was giving him an unprecedented amount of control over me, showing an unprecedented amount of trust, taking an unprecedented risk. He was my
boss
…but I had wanted this for
so long
. The fact that it was happening in real life was so surreal, I half believed I was dreaming it all.

“Have I mentioned you have a gorgeous ass? You don’t have to answer that. And there’s just one thing it always makes me want to do.”

Smack!

I was actually startled at the weight he put behind it, yelped a little, and heard him chuckle at my reaction before he landed a matching strike on the other side and then raked his nails lightly over both stinging cheeks. “Yep. Every bit as good as I imagined.” He aimed several more calculated swats at the very tops of my thighs, stroking in between smacks, fingers drifting closer and closer to my pussy, which was burning for his attention every bit as much as my rear end was burning from the spanking.

He had spoken only the truth about his ability to accomplish as much as he needed with his bare hand. In fact, I tensed a little at the idea of what he would do if he were actually trying to discipline me, not just playing. But I was hardly able to think that far ahead. Things were taking on a hazy warmness as the pain started to melt and dissipate into a rosy glow of need.

Without warning, Jack switched tactics, plunging a finger into my wet channel and then quickly adding a second, pumping slowly until I couldn’t help but push back against the blissful intrusion, moaning in desire.

Smack!

“No moving, little one. Remember?” He sounded calm, his fingers resuming their gentle in-and-out, and I may have begun whimpering in time with his thrusts with the need for stimulation on my clit that I had no way to obtain, with the one spike of pain marring the warm tingling that felt so good over the rest of my rear. He had meant that one to sting, and it had, a
lot
.

I could feel, every so often, the hot length of his cock against me or the stray brush of the tip as he moved, and I wanted it more badly than I had ever wanted anything in my life. I couldn’t remember ever being brought to that point so quickly, if indeed I’d ever been at quite that point. But angling ever-so slightly toward it when next it approached only brought another few sharp swats, just as the last had begun to fade.

Tears sprang to my eyes and my grip on the back of the couch tightened to the point of pain, grounding me, distracting me. I tried to distance myself from the sensations Jack’s hand was stirring, but it seemed my entire world was constructed of those sensations.

“I can see we’re going to need some restraints for you,” Jack said smugly, the third time he’d had to redirect me to remain still. “If I start leaving marks right now it’s just a waste of a really great and extremely expensive bathing suit. And I would really like to see you in it again, so…” He lifted me up by the shoulders gently, almost tenderly, until I was kneeling up on the couch, and then knelt behind me and pulled me back against his chest, reaching around to toy with my breasts as he nibbled at the sensitive skin just below my ear. Torture, more torture…

“Some restraints, and at some point possibly some jewelry for these.” He gave my nipples a sharp tweak before letting me go. “If I recall, I mentioned wanting to see you kneeling on the floor. This seems like a good time.”

The change in position wasn’t quite enough to ease my trembling muscles, but then most of the shaking had little to do with muscle fatigue in any case. When he sat down in front of me and I could finally see his cock, half-erect and bobbing slightly as he moved, I started trembling all over again. I licked my lips and Jack laughed and chucked his finger under my chin to encourage me to look at him. When I did look up, his eyes were sparkling, even in the dim light of the room—and he looked
wonderful
, happier and more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

I could too easily get lost in this man, I realized, lost in wanting to be the reason he looked that way. But I couldn’t see my flashing neon danger sign anywhere, only a fuzzy glow of well-being and unsatisfied lust. Which, in itself, was unusual and therefore a bit worrisome. I was used to basking in the constant glow of that neon sign.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Do you want something?”

“Yes Sir,” I said, nodding like an idiot. I was already
so
far gone.

“Cock? In your pussy? Something like that, little Katie?”

I had just enough reason left to neatly sidestep the potential trap of saying yes to that, which I knew was almost certainly the wrong answer. Sometime I would do that, just to test the limits, learn how he would respond—what type of Dominant he really was—but at the moment, I chose the answer I thought would be the path of least resistance. “I want you to use me in the way that will please you best, Sir.”
Good answer, Kate, good answer.

“Good answer, little Katie.”

Yes!

“Did you learn that by heart from the Big Book of Submission?”

Shit.

“Sir?”

“I like to hear you say it—if you want it,” he clarified. “A lot of the rules everyone seems to have, I just think are stupid. You won’t get in trouble, you’re allowed to want. Even want parts of me. Doesn’t mean I’ll always give it to you, of course.”

“Oh.”

“So ask away. I’m feeling pretty generous right now, I
gotta
admit.”

Trying to think fast with extremely limited mental resources, I finally squeaked out, “I want…to suck your cock? Sir? Please?”

“Of course,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I will hardly
ever
say no to that, little one…
aaaahhh
…”

I couldn’t say it wasn’t a marketable skill, because of course there were people who marketed it. Hookers, porn stars, trophy wives. But
I
had never marketed it. It was just something I was very, very good at, or so I’d been told. And it was something that I enjoyed tremendously, probably because I was good at it.

One delicate scratch of my nails over Jack’s testicles—biggish, not unpleasantly hairy, not much division between the two sides—and a well-coordinated sweep of the tongue over the plump head of his penis, ending with a deliberate rub on his long, pronounced and apparently supersensitive
frenulum
, and he was gasping in surprised pleasure. By the time I had licked and sucked his length from base to tip thoroughly, then shifted to a more leisurely exploration of his balls while my hand kept up a steady rhythm on his shaft, he had thrown his head back against the couch cushion and was groaning in time with my motions.

“God…! God, stop. Stop,
stop
!” he demanded at last, when the pressure was building so high he felt tight as a drum under my hands and mouth. “Come up here.” And he pulled me into his lap, squeezing me almost painfully close. “You are far too good at that—and you know it, I can tell.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said a little saucily, giggling. His erection was pressing firmly into my thigh and I couldn’t resist grinding against it a little, increasing the pressure.

For my trouble, I swiftly found myself flipped over Jack’s knee, rump in the air, the wind nearly knocked out of me with the speed of the move. The whacks on my bottom were much less a surprise, and I could tell they were more for entertainment than anything else. He really must have been pleased—and by the feel of him against my belly, he still was. And the lightly stinging smacks, alternating with deft caresses, soon had me panting with greedy, nearly mindless lust again.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about putting you over my knee, by the way,” Jack said almost conversationally, only his obvious arousal giving lie to his calm. Petting, stroking, letting me slip nearly into pure bliss before inflicting another rain of stinging blows. He would have to stop soon or risk bruising me, I thought. He might have already left marks, in fact. It had been a very long time since I’d received treatment like this, and I bruised all too easily. Was too easily marked…

Which he had probably already realized, because what he did next was deliberate marking—and it aroused me almost more than anything else he had done so far.

Sliding me off his lap onto the couch on my stomach, parting my legs and selecting a spot high on one buttock—a spot he knew the bathing suit would cover—he suckled a tiny nip of soft skin slowly into his mouth at first, then more aggressively, roughing it with his tongue, growling a bit when I cried out softly at the change in sensation. Finally he released me, soothing the pain with soft licks and kisses, and turning me slowly over with his hands, guiding me to lie back as he coaxed my legs over his shoulders and started kissing his way up my inner thigh.

The first sweep of his tongue over my pussy was delicious, and ended just short of doing me any real good. He teased and laved my nether lips with his tongue until I was near tears with frustration, and the feel of his fingers sliding into me again was agonizing, so close to what I needed but not quite enough. And he knew it too, was gauging my reactions expertly and drawing back just enough to drive me crazy with wanting that little bit more.

And then, just as his lips were poised, his breath so hot on my clit I could have almost come from that one sensation alone, just before he reached his tongue out to taste, he said, “Remember, you don’t come until I say so, little one.”

When his tongue finally flicked against my clit with lethal accuracy the shock was galvanic, and I bucked toward his incredible mouth before I could stop myself.

The slow motion of his fingers fucking my pussy never stopped and he pressed my hips back down to the couch with his free hand before moving in again, sucking the little nub of nerves between his lips and flicking harder with his tongue this time. I whined, tried to breathe out, not just wanting to come but
needing
to, but knowing full well that this was a test I would do better to pass.

“Good girl,” he said softly, and the rush of pride that swept over me was nearly as good, as hot and fulfilling, as the orgasm I was trying so desperately not to have. “Not much longer, little one. Soon I’m planning to fuck you like my life depended on it, and once my cock’s inside you, you can come whenever you want to.”

He brushed his lips against my clit again, pressing soft little kisses there, keeping the sensitivity high, so high it was nearly painful now. I breathed in, breathed out. I waited…my whole world had been reduced to that simple equation of waiting for Jack to slide inside me so I could come…for him. Just for him.

“Just for you,” I murmured, and he lifted his head and looked at me sternly.

“Damn straight,” he replied, and then he was covering my body, spreading my thighs with his and angling his hips, his feverish cock poised at my entrance. I could no more have dropped my eyes from his than stopped my heart beating at that moment, and when he slid inside me it felt like the world had flipped on its axis.

Perhaps I cried out, I don’t remember, but my body flew apart around his, slowly reassembled itself while he stroked harder and faster and I gasped and pleaded for something I couldn’t name, and then flew apart again when I felt him thrusting all the way to the bottom of me and coming, hot and inexorably and impossibly deep, pulse after pulse of pure bliss that was some new flavor of unbelievable I couldn’t recall ever tasting before.

* * * * *

At some point we made it to the bathtub, which was even larger than the one in my suite and had a view of the sea every bit as good as the one from the balcony. Jack held me cradled against his chest, first soothing away the trembling that overtook me when I came down and then softly talking me back from wherever it was I went in my head during those delectable moments. Talking about anything and nothing, he stroked my hair and held me close until I started stroking him back and was able to laugh at his jokes again.

It struck me that he was very practiced, but I didn’t want to know about the specifics yet, the details of how he had acquired those skills. At some point it would probably come out. It usually did, at least in my relatively limited experience. But for the moment I just basked in it. His expertise made me feel safe.
He
made me feel safe, cared for, looked after.

I kept expecting red flags, but then remembered that this…was
Jack
. The man I’d worked for, more or less, for over two years. To whose house in the quietly classy Memorial area the entire department had been invited on at least two occasions for cocktails. It was not the home of a madman, no skeletons buried under the floorboards that anyone could see. His house had been airy, attractive, expensive. It was decorated in a style I believe they refer to as “organic modern”, a pleasing mix of clean-lined wood and stone with hints of textures like sisal and palm here and there. Gorgeous cork floors, I recalled from out of nowhere. We had conversed briefly in his kitchen about their durability, because of course I had spilled a glass of wine all over the cork floor in question and gone hunting for supplies to clean it up.