Since the departure of Dr. Elliot, things went back mostly to normal. They never said a word about her inquiry to the outside world. She did her chores, serviced him as she liked, worked to calm his vicious and amazingly short temper, and worked his ego so often to avoid any undeserved punishments that the words spilled out of her tongue now, mostly unsolicited and with comfortable ease. When she sat in his lap after one of his long workdays, stroking his hair and face, she believed the words she told him.
He was tender often. He had been telling her the truth when he told her he preferred to be a gentle master. That is not to say he did not enjoy his time with her in the dungeon, as she called it, striking her hard with canes and paddles and floggers, for nothing she did, but simply because her soft cries of pain brought him a powerful pleasure.
But when, on days like today, he went into his office and told her he did not care what she made for lunch, as long as it was ready for him at noon, he meant it. Even when he grunted with some displeasure, realizing suddenly he hadn’t wanted that particular meal, he ate, remarking only on how well cooked it is. There were no cruel punishments. He rarely tricked her into anything. He was a good, kind, master, with a terrible, frightful temper she would do anything to avoid.
She checked the clock anxiously as she continued to cook. She would be cutting it close, but she thought she would have his lunch ready by one today as he asked. Her heart was pounding with excitement, and thought she had more still to do in the house, she was anxious for the time to come.
He had woken up, and unlike most mornings, he rolled out of bed without requiring something of her. He went into the bathroom, showered himself, shaved, combed his hair, got dressed in a handsome black suit, combed his hair again, and told her she could sleep an hour longer, and then come downstairs to the chores list he would leave on the table.
“I have a video conference today. It will take most of the day. You’ll bring my lunch in at one exactly. Stay out of sight, don’t say a word. Put it on my desk and leave. Understand?” he asked.
“Yes, master,” she answered, but now there was no hope she would sleep. She was too anxious. Did it mean that when she went in there he would still be on his conference? She had no idea how long she’d been with him. She was not even sure how long had passed since Dr. Elliot had left. She did know that when he returned from the village with a new batch of groceries just a week or so earlier, he had the smell of snow on him and his cheeks were flushed red.
She was too anxious to sleep. She was actually excited. She wanted to prove to him that he could trust her. When she brought in his food to him, she would do exactly as he said. She would not say a word. She would not alert anyone to her presence. She could only imagine the look in his eyes. He would be happy with her. Proud.
A clock chimed and she went to the oven. He was working very hard. She wanted to make sure lunch was perfect for him. She finished just in time and went to his study door. She could hear him speaking. He was speaking in German. She let out a deep breath, suddenly terrified, and opened the door as slowly as she could.
He glanced up from his computer but did not miss a beat speaking. He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil in his fingers. He looked very much the dashing, charming, international businessman. He was the type of man you read about in those trashy romance novels. She moved to the desk, careful to avoid to the webcam, but it was not difficult at all. It was directed directly toward him.
He stopped talking and she heard a woman’s voice. The dialect was one she could not understand. She heard a word or two here and there, but not nearly enough to understand what was being spoken about. She had enough sense to know this was the woman that he spoke about so often. The one he hated.
She smiled at him. He looked at her. There was a certain alertness in his eyes. His face remained blank as he listened to the new voice that chimed in. She settled the plate and then turned to leave the room. She paused at the door, eyes lingering on him, hoping to find a glimmer of pride and love in his gaze. He simply raised a hand and waived her out.
She left, suddenly terrified that she had ruined everything. What if he thought she was thinking about turning on him? What if he thought that she had wanted to betray him? She cleaned up the kitchen, telling herself he knew the look on her face was one of wonder and affection. She wanted him to be proud so badly. It was all she thought about the rest of the day.
She had just finished cleaning on of the bathrooms when he walked out of his office. It was about three and he was scrubbing a hand over his face. She got to her hands and knees the moment she saw him. He moved to the fridge, retrieved a soda, and stared down at her. He leaned against the counter and let out a sigh.
“Come here, Jessica, and stand up,” he ordered. The use of her name sent a rush of relief through her. He never used it when he was angry. Only when he was happy. She crawled to him, kissed his feet, and then got up to her own. She leaned against him, hands stroking his tie gently. His hand touched her now totally healed bottom and thigh. He stroked the skin gently and bent town to put a kiss to the tip of her nose.
She loved when he did this. It was like she was a real girlfriend. Not just a slave.
“Du bist meines gutes Maedchen,” he told her with a smile. Her heart burst with my pride. He patted her bottom gently. “I have a bit more work to do. Set the table for two, hmm. Have some wine chilled?”
Her knees went week and she nodded. She leaned against him. He smiled down at her and stroked her cheek.
“Take a shower. Get cleaned up.”
She knew what that meant. She nodded and he gently removed himself from her grip. He paused and looked around before returning to his office.
“The house looks nice, slave,” he told her. She smiled and nodded. She was at a loss for words. She was simply too overjoyed.
She finished up her chores, started dinner, and then went up to shower. She took her time. She shaved her legs, her pussy, everywhere she could reach. She washed herself thoroughly, she brushed her teeth again, she put her hair up. As she finished, she pinched the tag on the collar around her neck. She smiled as she pinched it.
She looked different. So different than she remembered. Thinner, older. Wanted by a wonderful master.
She hurried downstairs and set the table and selected a bottle of wine. Unless he gave her a specific, she was free to choose. That went with most anything. When he said she could wear one of his shirts, when he told her to get him a drink. He was an intelligent man. He never simply forgot. If he said nothing, he meant to say nothing.
When her master returned he was in a good mood. He looked tired, but happy. He beckoned her closer silently and she walked toward him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and accepted a gentle kiss to her lips.
“I have a present for you,” he murmured to her. Her lips twitched up into a smile but her eyes sang.
“A present?” she asked. He nodded.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked. She nodded happily. He took her by the hand and lead her into the living room. He had her sit on the couch and then went into the hall. He returned with a white box.
“Open it up,” he ordered gently, seating himself on the couch beside her. She obeyed. Her heart beat happily. She tried to keep the smile on her face somewhat subdued. Sometimes, he found her interest in the things he had as a comment on his power and success. Sometimes, he thought it made her a shallow whore who’d suck a stranger’s dick if it meant a pretty toy.
She removed the cover from the box and her eyes widened slightly. It was a dress. A real dress. It’d been so long since she’d warn clothing. Not including an oversized t-shirt of course. She looked at him, lips parted. He had a tiny smile on his lips.
“Take it out,” he gave her permission and she reached for it. She pulled it out and examined it. It was a pretty black dress. Short, classy, sexy. Within it was a bra appropriate to the dress and a pair of shoes. She noted there were no panties. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “For me?”
“For you,” he smiled. He lifted another box, one that had been resting on top of it when he came in. “Open.”
She opened it. Her lips parted again. Her mouth all but hung open. Her mouth was a bit dry. Slowly, she ran her fingers over it. The most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. Diamond after diamond after diamond strung together in a magnificent, but tasteful necklace. And at the bottom, a slightly larger diamond. He reached out, flipping it over. Inscribed, so small she hardly thought it was possible. Scrawled, beautifully, was simply the word, mine.
“Master,” she breathed.
“Do you like it?” he asked softly.
“It’s… it’s amazing,” she said. “Master it’s… it’s too much.”
“I think I get to decide what’s too much, hmm?” he asked with a smile. He unlocked her collar and slowly took it from her neck. She felt naked with it off, vulnerable. She wanted it on. But he lifted the necklace carefully from the little box, the word mine written so beautifully on the back, and she felt the weight of the diamonds as a type of blanket as he placed it around her neck.
“You were made for a man that could cover you with diamonds,” he told her softly. He looked over her neck, her collar bone.
She turned to look up at him. He was smiling softly, eyes twinkling.
“I’ll finish dinner. You go up and get dressed. There’s some makeup under the sink now. Make yourself pretty for me, hmm?”
“Yes, master,” she said. Her fingers trailed over the diamonds. She was afraid any little move would send them scattering the floor, necklace ruined. She collected the box with the dress. Another smaller box was at the side. He placed that on top of the box. She rose and went upstairs.
Putting on the bra and dress felt amazing. The shoes were magnificent. Perhaps a bit higher than she was used to. She applied her makeup as best she could. She fixed her hair in a type of simple bun that a friend had once shown her. It was not nearly as good as her friend had done, but it was the best she could do.
She walked back downstairs with butterflies in her stomach. She was nervous. Like if he saw her like this, he would realize she wasn’t that pretty, and decide to find a more beautiful woman. She wanted to impress him. She wanted him to look at her and see a gorgeous, sexy woman. Not just a cute girl he saw on a train.
She rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen anxiously. She rang her fingers in front of her. She bit her bottom lip. He had a spoon to his lips, tasting the sauce. He went Italian tonight. Odd for him. He had a glass of wine poured. Her heart swelled at the sight of him.
My God, he’s handsome, she thought as she looked at him. Handsome and worldly, intelligence, confident.
“Master?” she announced herself softly. He turned, the spoon still in his lips. The look on his face had a smile come to her face. He put the spoon back on its little plate.
“Gut Gott,” he breathed, expanding her smile wider. Even in her heels, she had to look up at him. His arm slowly wrapped around her middle. She grabbed onto his shirt sleeves. He lowered a gentle kiss onto her lips. So soft, yet filled with passion. She felt it in every fiber of being. Every part of him called to every part of her. When he pulled back, she was content to stare into his eyes.
“Look how beautiful,” he mused. “You look like a proper lady,” he continued, voice low. “Not the wanton little whore you’ll be later tonight.”
A little gust of air escaped her.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said and moved to the table. She set about readying it and bringing it to the table. “The sauce is delicious,” he praised her as she put the spaghetti on the table. She beamed. She made it from scratch, like the meatballs. The pasta had been easy. “And a fine wine selection.”
“Thank you, Master,” she smiled and refilled his glass to a respectable level. She did not pour any into her own glass. That she would do only with his permission. As she sat, he picked up the bottle and poured for her.
“Did you get another promotion?” she asked hesitantly. He chuckled.
“I did not,” he said and put the wine bottle down. “It is my birthday.”
“Oh, happy birthday,” she breathed with a genuine smile. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but this felt so odd. Dressed, seated at the table, eating with him like this, the diamonds. She was terrified any action that felt too familiar would be an act of disrespect.
“Thank you, slave,” he said warmly.
“Thirty-thirty-nine?” she asked. He chuckled.
“Thirty-seven,” he corrected. “Do I look so old?” he asked. Sheer terror gripped her. Her eyes widened. She shook her head. He looked over and winked at her. He lifted his fork and knife. “Eat, Jessica. Act freely at the table. If you begin to overstep I will tell you. Ask permission before you leave the table.”
“Yes, Master,” she answered. “What –”
She broke off and looked at her food. She regretted even starting. This would ruin everything. He would think it was because she wanted to know how long. Because she wanted to know… to know something.
“Speak,” he ordered. He brought the spaghetti to his mouth.
“What date is it?” she asked. He considered and answered only once he had finished chewing.
“December 2nd,” he answered. “My mother was pleased by the timing. One set of presents. Not two. I could choose. Birthday presents or Christmas presents. I could not have both.” There was a bitter bite to his voice.
“I was born April, 28th,” she told him, hoping to avoid the subject of his mother. It only ever angered him.
“I know,” he answered dryly.
“Oh,” she breathed with some embarrassment. “Do you celebrate Christmas?”
“I haven’t in some time. I think I might this year,” he said. He paused to look at her. “Would you like that?”
She nodded with a shy smile.
“A Christmas Tree?” she asked.
“I will see what I can do,” he promised. He took a sip of wine. He smiled over at her. “I look forward to not being alone on Christmas,” he admitted. “You are so beautiful, Jessica,” he breathed.
“Thank you, Master,” she smiled. “I… Thank you so much. The dress, the necklace.”
“I told you,” he said sharply. “I’ll take good care of you… I’m a good man. I am. And as long as you obey me, I will be good to you. I want to. I told you that the day I brought you home with me. You didn’t believe me then, but you do now. Don’t you?”
“I do,” she answered. “I promise you I do –”
“And now you’re obeying me,” he cut her off. He reached out and touched her cheek. “Behaving as you should, and look at you.” He looked over her affectionately. She reached up and placed her hand over his. He smiled at her. He removed his hand and went back to his food.
“Elliot called to ask about your thigh. I think you made an impression on him,” her master said. He seemed in a fine mood.
“I’m glad he liked me,” she answered. Her master snorted.
“Any cocaine cravings?” he asked.
“None,” she answered. “I’m surprised, actually, that I didn’t.”
It felt odd, speaking to him like this, but he had opened the door to it. She was afraid he would think she did not want such conversation if she remained quiet.
“I think that I…”
She trailed off and jabbed at the spaghetti. She paused, swallowing thickly.
“Continue,” he coaxed with gentle firmness.
“I think maybe, if I had been able to dance just for you instead. I would have liked it better,” she said with a little smile. He looked over at her, a tilt to his lips.
“You’ll be asked to do things you don’t like in the future,” he said. “But you can trust me.”
“I do,” she smiled. “Like I said. Once, I doubted you, but after that… I knew you’d take care of me.”
“I figured the cocaine would make it easier for you,” he mused. “Now it won’t be so daunting.”
“I won’t have to do it often though?” she asked. “You said it would be only occasional?”
“I don’t like when another man puts his hands on you,” he explained. “I don’t like it at all. But… one must be a good host,” he said begrudgingly. “And Elliot is a good friend. He’s like me, he… he understands.”
“Generally speaking, there are two types of men. Men that want a slave to be a toy, and those that want a slave to be a companion. Elliot wants a companion. Men are more likely to share a toy than a lover,” he answered. “Refusing to share you to some men is a… a weakness.”
“Would you ever use the word lover to describe me?” she asked softly.
He looked at her, eyes twinkling. God, he was handsome.
“Aren’t you my lover?” he asked.
“I’m your slave,” she said quickly. It was a test. She should have known better. But his eyes glimmered and he chuckled as he finished chewing.
“You don’t think you can be both?” he asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” she replied. He nodded.
“I think you can,” he said. “And you are.”
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine.
“When the time comes…” he said and then broke off, like he realized who he was speaking to. He stared at her, considering his words. He shook his head and took another sip of wine. To her amazement, he reached out and took hold of her hand. He squeezed gently and smiled at her.
“Tell me about yourself, Jessica,” he said and took his hand away.
“What do y – I- I’m your slave.”
He gave her a bit of a smile. His eyes twinkled. Bright blue and icy.
“Tell me about you, Jessica.”
“Umn… well I… I um… I…” she giggled anxiously. She bit her lip. Wet her lips with her tongue. “Well I… I obey and I serve and –”
“About you, Jessica. You know what I mean. Misunderstand again and we will go down stairs.”
“Yes, Master. Um… I’m not really sure where to start,” she said.
“Your politics?” he asked. She told him. He winked at her. “Good girl.”
She giggled softly. She took a sip of wine and felt a bit lighter.
“When I was a bit younger, I used to think I wanted to go into politics. Then I thought I might go for my Phd. I promised myself I’d make the decision before I returned home. Um. To Delaware I mean. This is home now.”
“History. I didn’t have the languages though. You needed two European languages. I had a hard enough time speaking German and I studied it for four years.”
“Sprichst Deutsch mit mir,” he ordered. She switched to German.
“I learned high-German in school. Coming to Austria, I had trouble with the accents. You don’t have the accent.”
“I lost it on purpose,” he answered. She took a sip of wine.
“Why do American’s change their accents when they go into business or enter Hollywood. Same principal.”
“I like the dialect,” she said with a shy smile.
“You wouldn’t have understood me as a boy, before I left for Uni. That’s where I made an effort to speak more standard German.”
“I am surprised you can understand me at all,” she laughed.
“You are doing very well,” he praised. “I suppose I should have you speak it more. You’ll be fluent in no time at all.”
“I just um…”she looked at her wine glass. She bit her lip and he reached out to touch her wrist gently.
“Talk to me,” he encouraged her.
“I only ask that if you are leaving instructions, or giving orders, that you still do it in English. That way I’ll know exactly what you want and I won’t screw it up.”
He chuckled softly and nodded. “It’s a deal.”
“You didn’t ask for a dessert,” she suddenly realized. “Not a cake… a strudel?”
“The amount of time I’ll spend feasting on your pussy will more than make up for it,” he answered and gave a wink. She blushed and reached for her wine. She finished the glass and he reached out and poured her more. She thanked him. “I’m going to spend a lot of time between your legs tonight. I haven’t eaten that pussy in far too long.”
She let out a breathy laugh. She had never been very good at dirty talk. She never knew what to say. He did not seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her shyness.
“It amazes me that after so long, and for such a dirty whore, you can be so bashful,” he chuckled. His eyes glimmered affectionately. “Is that a little game you’d play, hmm? To get the boys come chasing?”
“No,” she laughed shyly. “Boys didn’t like me until college really.”
“No. I was a tom-boy. The boys in the neighborhood treated me like one of them. I remember, I remember I got so angry, Jimmy Criv, I hated him, I beat him up this big sycamore tree when we were twelve. He said I couldn’t do it because I was a – ” she looked at him with slightly widened eyes.
“Because…?” he was finishing up the last of his food, eyes twinkling.
“Because I was a girl. I –”
“Even a monkey can climb a tree,” he said dismissively. “You certainly don’t look like a tom-boy now,” he said appreciatively, his fingertips gently walking their way up her calf. “They never thought I’d be anything, and look at me now. In one of many homes, CFO of a thriving, billion dollar company, owner of the most beautiful woman on Earth.”
Her cheeks turned red and he leaned in. The kiss he placed to her lips was gentle, chaste.
“Happy birthday, Master,” she breathed when he pulled back. He gave a little smile.
“Thank you, pet,” he murmured. “Clean this up. Meet me in the living room. Bring the wine glasses. I’m going to my wine cellar.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, but he stopped her as he stood, seizing her by the wrist and pulling her into his lap. He touched her with such command, pure ownership, confident dominance. His hand hands moved up her waist and his eyes moved over her body.
“Absolutely perfect,” he mused softly. She put her hands on his neck. She stroked his skin, touched his hair. He gave a firm squeeze to a breast and then sent her on her way. She cleaned as fast as she could. When he was this affectionate, she wanted to be with him. It killed her to waste even ten minutes cleaning the kitchen. She entered returned with clean wine glasses just as he re-entered the room.
“I was saving this for a special occasion,” he said. She smiled at him. She waited on the couch. He had the fire started, only a dim lamp added to the light, the TV off. It was rather romantic. She almost didn’t feel like his slave. “Domaine Leroy Musigny. ’99. I bought it when I made my first million. I’ve purchased more expensive wines, but this has always been special.”
He sat down beside her and retrieved a small cork screw from his pocket, from his wine locker no doubt.
“I can think of no better occasion,” he smiled. He pulled the cork from the bottle and poured it into the glass. It was red wine, dark.
“H-how much? How much did it cost?” she asked.
“Four thousand two hundred and twenty seventy seven dollars,” he said with a wry smile. He looked at her. “Let’s hope it is good.”
He handed her the wine with a wink. She waited to drink. He stretched an arm out across the back of the couch. She scooted closer to him. He trailed a knuckle over her cheek. He had a tiny smile on his lips. She could see the pride twinkling in his eyes as he looked at her. The arrogance. The pride. He was basking in how grand his life was, and she was a part of that. She was his prized possession, the thing he was most proud of. Somehow, that sent her heart a flutter.
“Thank you, Master, for letting my celebrate with you,” she said softly.
“To us,” he said, raising his class between them. “To the perfect slave.”
“And a better master,” she added. He smirked at her. It was amazing how that one little smirk made her feel more owned, more defeated, more mastered than anything he had ever done before. What amazed her even more, was that she did not care one little bit. She fed on it, felt protected by it. He gently clinked his glass to hers. She took a sip as he did.
“Hmm, thoughts?” he asked her.
“I usually don’t like dry wines,” she answered.
“That is a five thousand dollar bottle of wine, is my slave telling me she doesn’t like it?” he asked. It took her a moment to realize he was teasing.
“I don’t dislike it,” she answered. He stroked her hair with his free hand. She pressed her thighs together. Her pussy hummed and clenched. She waited for him to begin kissing her more earnestly, but he simply stared. She itched anxiously. She wanted him on top of her, inside of her, she wanted his large, warm hands on her throat.
“You look so good in diamonds,” he whispered. He trailed his fingers along the diamonds and stopped at the tag. “Mine,” he whispered. He rubbed his thumb over the engraving. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
“We have,” she answered. She reached up and touched the wrist of the hand at her necklace. Her fingers touched the hot skin gently, played with the cuff of his shirt.
“My beautiful girl,” he praised. “What will you do for me tonight?”
“Anything,” she answered.
“Anything,” he smiled. He switched hands with the wine glass and wrapped a hand around her ankle. He lifted her legs up to drape across his lap. He ran his hands up her legs slowly, gently. He leaned in to kiss her, but the moment his lips touched hers, she started. The sound of the phone ringing was jarring. It surprised him too and he pulled back. He glanced over his shoulder and reached for the phone. He stared at it a moment and then handed her the phone. “Pick it up.”
“Master?” she asked.
“Obey,” he scolded gently. She took the phone. She heisted a moment, steadying her breath, and then jabbed the button with her thumb.
“Hallo?” she answered. She looked at him. His fingers went up her skirt, gently massaging her thighs. There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.
“Hallo?” It was a woman. An older woman from the sounds of it. Her voice was low and scratchy. Jessica frowned and looked at her master.
“Hallo?” she repeated again, a bit more aggressive. Her master’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. He was slightly concerned she was trying to signal the person on the other end. In truth, the thought never crossed her mind.
“Wer bist du?”
Jessica was surprised at the disrespect.
“Ich bin seine Freundin,” she answered. Her master did not seem angry. “Wer bist du?” she returned the disrespect. The woman seemed to realize the tone she had used and corrected herself.
“Sind Sie Amerikanerin?”
“Wer Sind Sie?” she asked again.
“Gib meinem Sohn das Telefon, Amerikanerin.”
The word Sohn had her blood run cold and her lips parted. She looked at him with wide eyes. She almost burst into tears. This would ruin everything. She could already see the anger, the fury, the rage. He frowned and took the phone from her.
“Wer ist das?” he asked. She watched his face change. Her lower lip trembled and she took a healthy gulp of wine. He spoke slowly, curtly. Was Wollen. Sie? Was Wollen Sie? Was. Wollen. Sie. Some curt words. Mehr Geld?
He jabbed at the phone and threw it across the room in a single, violent jerk of the arm. She wet her lips. Her heart pounded in her throat. She could see sweat on his brow. His hand quivered as he brought it up to his mouth.
“Master?” she finally said softly. He looked at her. His eyes burned with rage and hatred. It frightened her, to see him look at her like that. “I’m not your mother,” she reminded him weakly. He continued to stare. He breaths were slow, controlled, but heavy and deep. She put the wine down and got onto her knees on the couch beside him. She touched his face, cupping his cheeks. She held his gaze, no matter how it made her feel.
“I love you,” she told him. “I worship you. My entire goal in life is to make you happy. I’ll do anything for you. I’m not like her. Like any of them before. I promise.” She smoothed a hand over his hair. She placed a kiss to his temple, his forehead. His skin was hot to the touch. It was red and blotchy. She pulled back. She could see the distress he was under. It amazed her. This man, so shaken by a phone call that could not have lasted more than two minutes. “Take me down stairs,” she suddenly said. His eyes flickered with surprise. “Tie me up and… hurt me,” she said. “Punish me. Work it out. Do what you want to. What you need to.”
She continued to stroke his face. Anything to make him happy. Even if it ruined their night. Even if she didn’t get to sit on his couch and drink his wine, wear his dress and hear his praise. He could hit her, spit on her, piss on her, degrade her. If it made him happy, if he found pleasure in her use, then so be it.
“Take me downstairs,” she whispered again, resigned to her fate. He reached up and touched her cheek. His hands trembled. It was not visible to the eye, but she could feel it. He stroked her cheek gently. He looked at her mouth. He blinked rapidly and slowly shook his head.
“No,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
He looked back up at her. His thumb ran over her bottom lip. She swallowed thickly. It hurt.
“You’re not my mother,” he said. Her heart leapt. He slapped her thigh gently and brought his wine to his lips. “Now, dote on your master.”
She moved forward, legs draped back over his lap. She stroked his face, kissed his cheeks, stroked his hair. She whispered loving words to him. He was the most handsome. He was the smartest. The most powerful. Most masculine. She would never leave him. She loved him. Worshiped him. She ignored the other tenets for the moment. Those were the ones he wanted to hear now. His hands went from her hair and hips. He had a fair bit of wine. She got her fair share. She could taste it on his tongue.
With boldness that surprised her, she reached down and placed her hand over the throbbing erection. She closed her hand around it through the trousers. She breathed against his mouth.
“Let me worship you, Master,” she begged breathlessly. “Please, let me suck on your cock.”
“No,” he answered. He flipped her backward with ease. She landed on her back on the couch, heart thundering. Her body warmed with desire. His hands slid up her thighs. He pushed the dress up around her hips. With a bruising grip he yanked her closer. “Now lay back, my sweet little toy. I’m going to enjoy this million dollar pussy.”
She nodded. She could find no words. His head disappeared between her legs, and the moment she felt his lips close around her swollen bud, she was blinded with an indescribable pleasure.