Jared

 

 

 

She's most beautiful when she climaxes. My Button is so strong and self-contained, always on top of things, always in control. It's hard to break through that tough shell she has so carefully built around herself, and the only time she's truly able to let go is during those magic seconds when her mind is shut off and her body takes over in a savage outburst.

But boy, does she make these moments her own. She craves them just as much as I do, and to get there, she's willing to go a step further every time we play. Her orgasms all belong to me, but she makes sure to earn them and get as much out of them as she possibly can. By now, she has felt more than just the belt on her impeccable skin. I've left marks on her with thin leather floggers, canes, and even a paddle, one that left an unmistakable imprint on her ass spelling out the word SLUT. She didn't like that one and hated the degrading mark she was forced to carry for a couple of days. But she craves the feeling of leather strings on her skin, and the belt still appears to be her favorite.

I couldn't wait to rip the deep red dress off of her after we got home from the Rotary Club. It was hard enough not to attack her on our drive home, especially since she looked at me with those big, expectant eyes, her breathing deep and heavy, a telltale sign of her ignited anticipation. She teased me by pulling up the hem of her dress just the slightest bit every time my eyes wandered over to her.

We barely made it through the front door before I started tearing at her dress. She mewled and tried to stop me from ruining her dress, which only egged me on further. I was between her legs within seconds, switching the button that shuts off her public self to make room for the slut I need her to be for me behind closed doors.

"The belt," she breathes as I pleasure her with my fingers. "I want the belt, Sir."

So I gave it to her. She squealed in my arms as I carried her over to the bedroom, naked and hungry for pain. Her expressions of joy quickly changed into groans of agony, desperate yelps, and heated, ecstatic cries when I let her taste the leather. Her perky ass is painted in red stripes by the time I'm done with her, and she's in the midst of cathartic wailing when I turn her over to fuck her. I need to see her face every time she comes, I need to be a part of it, witness every moment of victory as I see her shattering beneath me.

Right now, one of those magic moments is about to come to an end, right before I decided it was time to join her. She's still clenching around my cock, my hand at her throat, but not choking her, when I explode in that same delirious bliss she just experienced a few moments before me. I always come so hard with her, harder than I ever have with anyone before. The intensity is blinding and emotionally painful, because I can no longer fuck without being haunted by doubts.

Doubts about her honesty.

Doubts about my decision to let her in.

Doubts about her loyalty.

She's still breathing heavily, her foggy eyes seeking mine as a soft smile plays around the corners of her mouth. Her make-up is smeared from crying, and her ash blond strands of hair are sticking to her sweaty face or tangled in a hot mess. She has never looked more beautiful to me.

How can she fucking dare...

"Thank you."

The smile on her face widens after she says those words. She always thanks me when we're done because I told her to. And while she's following all of the rules, I can't even trust those simple words because she speaks them in a way that makes me believe she may actually mean them.

I can't let this happen. She's being paid to do this, or she will be. I have to remember her place in all of this.

"You did very well today," I tell her, caressing the side of her face and moving a sticky strand of hair out of the way. I’m acting like a fucking little boy in love. "You earned this."

She grins. "I really did, didn't I? Man, those guys were boring! I hear you on the draining part. It really is draining."

"You didn't look exhausted at all," I say. "In fact, you actually looked like you were having a good time, making good conversation."

I notice the accusing tone in my voice, and so does she. Her eyebrows furrow and she slowly shakes her head.

"Heck, no. I was bored out of my mind. But I can't let them know that, can I?"

"No, of course not."

"See? I'm just doing my job."

I don't know why, but her voice leaves a fucking bruise on my heart

I'm just doing my job.

Why did she have to say it like that? Why does it matter? Why does it bother me this much?

"I'm hungry," she complains. "Feed me, Sir."

She cuddles up to me, burying her face in my chest, and my heart almost bursts. This is not how I'm supposed to feel, this is not how she's supposed to be, how it’s supposed to be.

"I'm starving, too," I say. "They never serve proper food at these events; it's pathetic."

She chuckles against my chest. "We should order some pizza next time. Imagine that, all those stuck-up money bags with a slice of pizza in their hands, fresh out of the box."

I laugh, shaking my head at the thought. "That's a picture I'd like to see."

She lifts her eyes up to me. "Can we order pizza? Like right now?"

"If that's what you want, sure."

Her face lights up like that of a little kid who was just handed the keys to a candy store. It looks adorable. Fucking adorable.

"I'm sure that's something you never do," she assumes. "Order pizza. So low-class."

"Don't misjudge me, Button. It's not like I've always lived in this... what did you call it, 'ridiculous rooftop palace'?"

She grins. "Yep. Exactly."

I have to distance myself from her, even if it means getting out of bed, and detaching myself from an embrace that couldn't feel any more comfortable if I wanted it to. I could lie there forever, talking to her, watching her lively face while she speaks or ponders, feeling her body pressed against mine until the urges return, and my hardness orders us to connect as one again. Hell, I could even watch her sleep. I want to watch her sleep.

I have to get out of here.

She throws me a confused look when I jump up from the bed, hastily putting on some pants and getting away from her mesmerizing touch.

"Are you okay?"

She sounds hurt, and her words cut into my heart like a dagger.

"Of course," I assure. "Just fucking hungry. Let's get that pizza."

She sits up, drowsily fixing her hair that's hugging her shoulders in sweat-dampened, ruffled waves. I watch her climb out of bed, grimacing as her tortured ass presses against the sheets, a sight that gives me great satisfaction.

I have to do something about this. We've come further in our training in a shorter amount of time than I expected. She has shown that she’s not only capable, but eager, to explore more of this, test her limits, grow as a submissive, and thus as a person. I wonder if she could develop a deeper understanding of what it means to be mine.

Though the bigger question might be if I’m ready?

I should be. I always have been. Taking it further with her is just a natural next step, something that has to be done. And it may be even more important with her than it ever was with anyone else because it would prove that she's nothing special to me. She shouldn't be, at least not more than any other toy before.

"Button," I say, as she wraps the silk robe around her tender body.

She looks up at me, not suspecting a thing.

"We'll try something new in the near future."

"Something new?" she asks, her face lighting up with curiosity.

I approach her, holding her by the shoulders while her mascara-smeared eyes hold onto mine.

"You're mine now, and you promised to do whatever pleases me," I tell her. "Have you ever been with more than one man before?"

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens just the slightest bit, forming a tiny O as she assimilates the thought. A few more minutes pass before she shakes her head. "No."

"I enjoy sharing what's mine once in a while," I let her know. "And I think it's time for us to do this. I want to show you off. I want to see you get fucked while you worship my cock."

Her cheeks blush, but her expression doesn't change. She's still looking at me with those big eyes and the almost perfectly round circle formed by her lush lips.

I don't know what I expected. Do I want her to protest? Do I want her to be excited? Do I want to see her burst out in tears, yelling that she could never be with another man because she... whatever.

Either way, none of it happens. Whatever she's feeling, whatever is running through her mind - it's not displayed on her face. Instead, she just nods solemnly, placing a hand on my chest and not batting an eye when she whispers, "Okay. If that is what you want, Sir."

I swallow hard, ignoring the knot forming in my throat. "Will you be a good girl for me?"

The smile that appears on her face, so innocent, so fucking natural, real but laced with a hint of sorrow, cuts right through my heart.

"Of course I will."