Brokered Submission (6 page)

She realized with a small shock that she couldn’t move. Her bones had dissolved, and her muscles had turned to jelly. Finally she stopped thinking altogether and simply surrendered to the peace that enveloped her.

Strong arms suddenly lifted her into the air and set her down on the carpet. “On your knees, Zoë. Back straight, hands on your thighs.”

It took Zoë a moment to return from the blissful place she’d been a moment before. She looked up to see Dylan standing over her, his hands on his hips. “What?” she blurted in confusion. “What’s happening?”

Dylan was looking down at her, a half smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Zoë. I warned you the weekend would be intense. Normally I’d have given you more time to come down, but we only have so many hours, and I have a lot of things planned for you.” He stood, and in spite of herself, Zoë’s eyes were drawn to the very obvious erection tenting his shorts.

Her cunt spasmed in response, but when she looked again at his face, Dylan was frowning. “I gave you a direct command. Obey it at once.”

Chagrined, Zoë struggled to replay in her mind what he’d said a moment before. Blowing out a breath, she scrambled to her knees. Dylan reached for a bottle of water he must have brought with him when he’d entered the room that morning.

He handed her the bottle. “You may drink as much of that as you wish,” he said. “But pay attention because I’m only going to give you the next set of instructions once, and I expect you to adhere to them to the letter.”

Whatever was left of the sensual lethargy she’d experienced while lying on his lap evaporated completely. He continued, “I’m going to go make some breakfast for us. While I’m gone, you will shower and groom. You may remove the collar while showering, but then put it back on. In addition to underarms and legs, you will shave your pussy and asshole completely smooth. There is a pair of barber’s scissors in the drawer so you can trim before you shave, if you wish.

“Once you’re done with grooming, you may dry yourself. You will not wear any makeup. You will pull your hair back in a ponytail. If you don’t have an elastic in your bag, you’ll find an unopened packet of them in the drawer as well.

“When I return, I expect to find you standing at attention beneath the suspension beam. I will inspect you carefully, so make sure you do a thorough job.” He paused a beat. “Any questions?”

You bet your ass I have questions. Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to shave my pussy and asshole? First of all, my asshole isn’t hairy, thank you, and second, I’m here for a weekend. We’re talking a matter of hours. How dare you order me to alter my appearance to such a degree? What’s on the schedule after breakfast? You going to tell me to shave my head?

He was staring down at her, his eyes boring into hers, his mouth set in a firm line, power emanating from him like a force-field. She experienced a sudden crazy impulse to lean forward and kiss the top of his bare foot. What the hell was happening to her?

“No, Sir,” she found herself replying.

Once he had gone, it was as if she’d been released from a spell. Unscrewing the cap of the plastic bottle, she drank deeply, nearly finishing the water in one gulp. It was refreshing, but what she really needed was coffee. A habitually early riser, she would have had two cups by now, and her body was pissed off that it hadn’t yet had its quota of caffeine.

She hauled herself to her feet, reaching back to massage her still-tender bottom as she made her way to the tiny, doorless bathroom. She turned on the water in the shower and faced the sink, regarding herself in the mirror. Her cheeks and throat were flushed, the skin on her chest mottled as if she’d had an orgasm.

The experience had been more sensual than sexual, in spite of the pain, or perhaps partially because of it. She twisted back to regard her ass in the mirror. The skin was dark red and hot to the touch, a faint hint of bruising on her left cheek. A part of her was deeply shocked by this visual, but another part was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Turning back to face the mirror, she touched the red dog collar at her throat. No question—it had been humiliating when he’d attached that leash and led her by it to the basement. At the same time it had been exciting—a concrete testament of her new, if temporary, status as slave girl.

The room was filling with steam, recalling her to her task. She reached back behind her head, lifting her heavy hair to get at the Velcro closure. She pulled it open and slid the collar from her neck, placing it on the small counter beside the sink.

Reaching into the drawer, she found the small pair of very sharp scissors. She gripped a pubic curl between her fingers and carefully snipped it away, dropping the bit of hair into the small trashcan beside the toilet. When she’d trimmed as much as she could, she climbed into the shower stall.

As she stood beneath the hot spray, she pondered the morning’s events. She’d been frightened at the prospect of the spanking, and had started out gritting her teeth, determined to bear it and get through as best she could. She had held her breath, tensed her body and squeezed her eyes shut in fearful anticipation. As the spanking had intensified, it was like being caught in a series of rough waves at the seashore—each wave nearly drowning her before she could catch and hold her breath for the next one. There came a moment when she nearly gave up, where she almost screamed out the safeword they’d agreed upon.

Yet somehow Dylan’s deep, soothing voice had penetrated the panic, and the steadying comfort of his other hand on her lower back kept her anchored amid the torrent. Though it hadn’t been a conscious decision, suddenly, instead of fighting the waves, she dove headlong into them. But rather than being sucked completely under, she found herself buoyed up to a place of serenity the likes of which she’d never experienced.

It wasn’t that he’d stopped spanking her. If anything, he was hitting her harder than a moment before. But the stinging pain shifted into something different. Not pleasure, but something more encompassing and somehow loftier than mere pleasure.

Her hair washed and conditioned, she reached for the bar of creamy soap, lathering it over her body. She smoothed the sharp razor beneath her arms, following its path with the fingers of her other hand to assure she was completely smooth. There was a small, unopened bottle of baby oil she hadn’t noticed her first time in the shower, and she used this to shave her legs.

She stared down at her trimmed pubic hair, and again the audacity of the man ordering her to shave her privates assailed her. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the thrumming pulse of desire that emanated from her cunt and radiated outward like fire moving through her blood.

She moved the razor carefully over her sex, using both baby oil and soap to lubricate the blades’ path over her skin. Just in case, she spread her legs and arched forward, drawing the razor between her ass cheeks. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” she muttered aloud, as she stroked the now-smooth skin with her fingertips, in search of any errant stubble.

Most of the erotic romance novels she read were more vanilla than spice, but there was one novel in particular she’d read over and over, in which the Dom had shaved his sub girl while she perched on a stool, reaching back behind her to grip the legs of her perch for balance. The guy had purposely aroused his slave girl while he trimmed and shaved her pussy. She had to remain still, even when his fingers moved tantalizingly over her clit and swollen labia. Something about the mix of pleasure and danger—the possibility the Dom might cut his sub if she jerked suddenly—sent a jolt to some secret part of Zoë, a part that until last night she had always dismissed as not worthy of a strong, independent woman.

Turning off the shower, she reached for the towel Dylan had dried her with earlier that morning. Bending over, she twisted it around her head and stood, the terrycloth turban in place. She reached for the second towel and wrapped it around her body as she stepped out of the stall.

Rummaging in her overnight bag, Zoë retrieved her birth control pills. Pressing out the day’s dose, she swallowed it with the last of the water in the bottle he’d given her. She removed the towel from her head and draped it over the towel rack.

She combed out her wet hair and tucked it behind her ears. Reaching for the collar, she secured it once more around her throat, making it a little tighter than Dylan had done the night before. As odd as it was to admit, she quite liked its snug feel around her neck. No—
like
wasn’t the right word. It was as if the collar belonged there—as if without even knowing it, she’d been somehow bare without it—not her body so much as her soul. She looped a finger through the O-ring, thinking about its purpose.

She took the packet of thick, black elastic hair ties from the drawer. As she pulled her hair back and twisted an elastic into place behind her head, the second towel fell from her body.

Her eyes were drawn to her shaved pubis. She touched the area, running her fingers over the newly denuded flesh. Her clit gave a pulsing throb as she imagined standing at attention in the other room beneath Dylan’s scrutiny.

She briefly considered masturbating just to take the edge off, Dylan’s assertion that her body belonged to him for the weekend notwithstanding, but realized she had no idea when he might return. She didn’t want to still be fumbling around in the bathroom when he came back to the room.

She made it into position just in time. As the deadbolt turned, she laced her fingers behind her head and arched her back, keenly aware of how this made her breasts thrust prominently forward. She spread her legs to shoulder-width, and felt a faint stir of air over her bare mons.

Using his shoulder against the door, Dylan entered the room with a large serving tray in his hands. The smell of bacon and fresh coffee assailed her nostrils, and Zoë had to swallow to keep from choking on the saliva that filled her mouth. Dylan did something on the side of the large tray that caused an attached metal stand to be released. He set the tray carefully on its stand near Zoë, and she saw a large plate heaped with scrambled eggs and half a dozen pieces of crisp bacon. Two large white ceramic mugs of coffee steamed beside the plate, one with cream, and one black.

They’d shared many cups of coffee while putting together their merger deal, and Zoë was gratified to see Dylan remembered she took hers black. The rich aroma of the brewed coffee beans was nearly too much for her. She had to forcibly restrain herself from falling out of position so she could grab the mug and take a long, restorative drink.

Dylan added insult to injury by picking up his mug and sipping it as he regarded her, his eyes lingering on her pubis before slowly moving to her face. “Nice,” he finally said, taking another sip while her coffee cooled on the TV tray.

A tiny mewl of frustration pushed itself past her lips. Dylan smiled. “Is there a problem, Zoë?”

“Coffee,” she muttered, and then remembered to add, “Sir. May I please have some coffee?”

“You may.”

Dylan set his mug on the tray and reached for hers. Zoë started to reach gratefully for it, but was stopped by his sharp command. “Remain in position. I did not tell you to move out of position.”

“But,” Zoë began, confused. “You said—”

“I said you may have some coffee. I will hold the mug for you. You will remain in position.”

Frustration, annoyance and need for the caffeine warred inside her, along with, if she were completely honest, another feeling—a strange, visceral thrill to be subjected to such complete and total control.

“Yes, Sir,” she finally said, her eyes fixed on the coffee.

Dylan held the mug to her lips. The ceramic rim was cool, but the coffee was still hot. He tipped it carefully, and she sucked greedily at the strong brew. It was delicious. He let her sip for several long, lovely seconds before withdrawing the mug.

Turning back to the tray, he selected a piece of bacon and held it close to her mouth. “Hungry?”

The caffeine had kick-started her appetite. “Ravenous...Sir,” she said, her stomach growling in accompanying agreement.

Dylan smiled again, and held the meat to her lips. Zoë bit it and chewed, thinking nothing had ever tasted so good. He allowed her to eat the entire piece, and followed it with more coffee. He ate a piece himself, and then scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs, cooked slightly wet, just the way she liked them. An explosion of buttery pleasure filled her mouth as she took the offered food. More coffee, more bacon, more eggs, until at last Zoë shook her head, her tummy full.

Dylan finished what was left on the plate, and then sipped from his mug, once more silently regarding her. She stared back at him, both confused and aroused. No one had fed her in her memory, though she assumed her mother must have when she was a small child.

Certainly she had never had to stand at attention, hands behind her head, butt-naked and shaved smooth, while the man who had just spanked her ass fed her bacon and eggs. If someone had told her just a day before she would be in this position, she would have scoffed and laughed, dismissing the prospect as not only absurd, but as demeaning to her as a woman and a person. Yet she felt anything but demeaned. She felt sexy, exotic, and as if she were perched on the edge of something both dangerous and exhilarating.

Dylan lifted the tray with its now empty plate and mugs and set it alongside the wall by the door. Returning to Zoë, he said, “Time for inspection.” He stood close to her, so close her inclination was either to kiss him or to step back. She did neither.

He ran his fingers lightly under her arms and she giggled a little, instinctively pulling away. “Remain still and quiet,” Dylan said, his voice calm but firm. Zoë stiffened and bit her lip in her effort to comply.

Mercifully he stopped tickling her, moving his hands down her sides as if sculpting her form with his touch. He crouched in front of her, his face only inches from her body. “Arch your hips forward and spread your legs wider,” he commanded. “Show me that cunt.”

A wave of heat washed over Zoë’s face, but she forced herself to comply. Six million dollars, she reminded the part of her brain that still resisted what was happening.