RecipeforSubmission (13 page)

“No. Maybe a little. Just—to surrender to you. To let you
decide whether to punish me, and how to punish me. To let you decide how to use
me. To let you do as you wish. I’m all yours. Master.”

“Oh.”

She hadn’t thought she’d ever surprise him into
speechlessness, but he was silent for a long time. His hands caressed and
teased her, and she closed her eyes to soak it all in.

He broke the silence. “I want to make love to you. I want to
feel your pussy tighten around me when you come.” His hands ceased their
fondling and left her body. She felt the cuff around one ankle loosen and her
leg fell as he released her.

She didn’t know why he was setting her free to do that, but
if he wanted to, that was his call. She hoped she’d feel his touch soon, but
she hadn’t been lying. To give control over to him felt wonderful. It turned
her on. And she knew, deep down, that as long as he had control, nothing bad
would happen to her.

He released her other ankle and then her wrists and lifted
her. “This may hurt your bottom a little.”

“What will?”

He rolled her over as if she was weightless to him and set
her back down in the swing. He was right. The feel of the leather seat stung,
reminding her where each stripe had been laid, even the third one. Deftly he
cuffed her wrists and ankles above her head again. The way the swing was
constructed it would have been impossible to close her legs even if she wanted
to.

He took the time to take off his clothes, standing naked and
beautiful in front of her. Even standing against the backdrop of the huge room,
he looked big. If she had to stand naked in such a large place, she knew her
confidence would be shot, but he didn’t look the slightest bit concerned.
Certainly his cock didn’t, jutting out, long and thick. Her mouth watered.
“Please.”

He grinned, and for a moment she thought he was going to
make her beg for it. She knew she would too. But he unrolled a condom over his
cock from the foil wrapper he had palmed in his hand. She’d never thought
rubbers were sexy before watching his meaty fist pull one over his big cock.
She pulled at the cuffs, wanting the hand to be her hand, and yet somehow there
was something very intimate about watching him do it too.

He stepped forward between her legs and his cock nudged the
entrance of her pussy for a moment. The delicately balanced swing carried her
an inch away, and then back, until she could feel him again. It was sweet
torture. His hand settled around her hips after a few times and pulled her
toward him. His cock slid inside, stretching her. She bit her lip to stop a
moan, and it came out as a whimper.

He let her go and pushed forward with his hips. She felt her
butt pushed against the leather. The chain from the clamps jostled against her
belly. Then she moved, and felt him sliding out of her. What was so special
about sex in a swing, anyway? It kept propelling her away from him.

And then she swung back, her pussy filling with his cock
again. This time she moaned aloud. He grinned, thrusting inside her, moving in
a rhythm felt and mimicked by the chains above her. She could barely move her own
hips in response, and when she did it only made the pain of the stripes worse,
but the swing did her work for her. He was in control. She couldn’t close her
legs, couldn’t stop from moving back against his thrusts. She never thought
that being out of control could feel so good. She felt a wave rise deep inside
her core and build inexorably.

The stinging in her ass each time he pushed into her, the
ache in her breasts, the stretching of her pussy, the way his pubic bone bumped
against her clit with each swing—or was it her bumping him—was suddenly too
much. She screamed in pleasure as her pussy squeezed tightly around his cock.
Her jerking body rattled the chains. For a moment she felt as if she was
floating in some way beyond the swing’s imitation of weightlessness. She waited
to come crashing back, for the little post-orgasmic letdown, and it didn’t
come. He was still inside her, still thrusting, stretching, and she was still
climbing higher, as if another release was in store.

“This will smart,” he said softly. His voice was tender, but
it wasn’t an apology, just a statement. It barely registered. He unclipped the
clamps and blood flowed back into her aching peaks, and smart didn’t cover half
of it. It was as if the numb nerves had suddenly awakened, and fire spread from
the two peaks. He bent over her, kissing one wetly and then the other, and the
pain didn’t so much subside as it was transformed into something more sensuous
and deeply sexual. One more thrust sent her over the edge again. Her moan turned
into a laugh, and as she threw her head back she felt a tear run back across
her temple.

He jerked and her body moved with it. A low grunt followed
by a moan escaped his lips. She felt him twitch and pulse inside her, and with
her eyes closed she could see his cum spurting out of him. Her muscles
tightened and she squeezed him instinctively, milking his cock with her pussy.
It’s
only natural that I should want as much of this man’s seed in me as I can get.
Dimly she remembered the condom, and the remembrance of him putting it on made
her shudder again in an echo of her orgasms. It was ever so sensible.
Sense
be damned.
She could want whatever she wanted, there, helpless, cuffed, in
his control. He would take care of the sensible part. She could let her instincts
run wild. And her instincts loved the fact that he had come inside her.

“You’re incredible.”

She heard him but it was as if he was talking from a
distance.
Such a sweet thing to say. I am, aren’t I?
She’d never felt
incredible before. She felt him pull out, was dimly aware of him discreetly
disposing of the condom. His warm body pressed against hers as he undid the
cuffs binding her to the swing, and when she was free she fell into his strong
arms.
Maybe I ought to respond. Later.

He sat down with her, cradling her in his arms. She felt
warm and safe, even naked in a huge room. She shifted her weight so that her
ass was in the air. It stung, pressed against his thigh, and while she didn’t
mind the reminder, she didn’t want it to continue. He had cared enough about
her safety to want to make sure she never forgot, and she didn’t think she ever
would. Of all the reasons to hurt, she couldn’t think of a better one. “I love
you too, Master.”

He blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

She smiled. “You didn’t have to.”

She could hear footsteps. Someone was in the room with them.
Had they seen everything? She shocked herself by deciding it didn’t matter. Her
back was to them. But whoever it was, their timing sucked. They could see where
the cane hit still, she was sure.

“Not now, Ken,” Drew said, not looking up.

“You lousy mother fucker.” The voice was strange and angry.
She didn’t think it was Ken, although she thought she might have heard it
somewhere before. “And you whore. Bad enough when you beat up on pussies who
want it, but you let him do that to you? I’m going to kick his ass.”

She twisted around to look. It definitely wasn’t Ken. It was
the man who’d been waiting outside the door when she’d first left, who’d asked
her about his wife. The stalker. He was wearing a dark blue business suit with
a bright red tie, but he still looked nasty.
How did he get in?

“Who the hell are you?” asked Drew. She thought he was going
to drop her and put his guard up to defend himself against the obviously angry
man, but he turned instead and set her down so that she wasn’t between the two
men. It was chivalrous, protective, and stupid. After Drew set her down a kick
to the head sent him sprawling.

She looked up to give the stalker a piece of her mind, but
he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Drew, and that made her stop for a
moment. She got to her feet. She didn’t know what she could do to slow him
down, but she’d grab him and hang on for dear life if it gave Drew a chance to
get himself together.

Drew wasn’t moving.

Shit.

The stalker took a step toward Drew and a realization struck
Kyra. He’d only seen her from the back. What had he said when she first saw
him? That his wife looked like her. That had to be it. “I’m not your wife, you
idiot!” She grabbed his shoulder, but it didn’t even slow him down.

Suddenly Drew moved, pushing up with his hands and one leg,
sweeping his assailant’s feet out from under him with the other. Kyra let go as
the man went sprawling. Drew got to his feet and like that, the tables were
turned. The stalker was on the ground, looking up. Drew’s big hands were
clenched in two dangerous-looking fists. The man on the ground took a look at
them and for the first time focused on Kyra.

“You’re not my wife,” he said.

“No shit, Sherlock.” She wished she had her clothes on, but
she wasn’t about to turn her back on the two men to go get them. Drew might
need her.

The man grinned sheepishly. “Hey, no harm, no foul. Sorry,
man. Thought she was someone else. You’ve got a nice piece of ass there, do
whatever you like to her, none of my business.” He started to scramble to his
feet and Drew put his hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“You’re the guy who is stalking Mary Beth,” Drew said. It
was a statement, not a question.

“My wife, yeah. A man has a right to care when his wife is
fucking other men, you know?”

“Ex-wife.”

“Still married in the eyes of God.”

“That interested in seeing God? I can get you there
quickly.”

Uh-oh. This isn’t going well. It’s not self-defense
anymore, not with the man on the floor.

“Hey. I’m sorry man, please.” There was terror in the man’s
eyes, and Kyra almost felt sorry for him. Almost. The important thing was to
cool Drew down before he got a murder rap. She put her hand on his shoulder,
hoping the touch would help.

Drew didn’t seem to notice. “Let me tell you this, very
clearly. If you touch Mary Beth, or anyone connected with this club, ever—if I
even see you around this place, ever again—I’m going to give you a beating
you’ll never forget. Is that what you want? Do you get off on that, huh, boy?”

“Uh. No.”

“No what?”

The man looked blank for a moment. “No, um, Master?”

Drew looked nauseated. “Get the hell out of here. Now.
Before I change my mind. And never, ever come back.”

Mary Beth’s ex got to his feet and ran. Drew stood there
staring after him until he heard the door shut. Then he turned and gathered
Kyra up in his arms. “Sorry about that, love.”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry.”

“I guess you look a bit like Mary Beth, maybe,” said Drew
doubtfully. “But what the hell. He must have had the place staked out. But
dressed like that? I guess he had someone else staking it out for him. Maybe
someone with just a photo to go on, a private detective or something who gave
him a call when he saw us go in. Dunno how he got in but that lock Ken has is a
piece of crap.”

“Are you okay?” That kick to the head had looked nasty.
Obviously, Drew had been playing possum, waiting for the man to turn his back
or make the wrong move, but he’d been kicked hard enough to make both her and
the stalker fall for it.

He winced. “It hurts a bit,” he admitted. “Doesn’t seem fair
I didn’t give him as good as I got. But I don’t think he’ll be back here
anymore. Not bothering you or Mary Beth.”

“I thought you were going to kill him for a moment there.”

Drew chuckled. “Just make him think I might. Sometimes being
thought a reprobate is an advantage. People don’t know what you’re capable of,
and they think the worst.”

Kyra relaxed in his arms. It hadn’t fit, actually. Although
getting kicked in the head could bring out the temper in anyone. “I don’t think
he would have bothered me anymore anyway.”

“Didn’t cost me anything extra to keep him out of Mary
Beth’s hair at the same time.”

“Is she a good friend?”

He shook his head. “No. But—well, in a way, everyone who
comes here regularly is kind of family, y’know? Nobody else is going to look
after us, if we don’t look after each other.”

“And who looks after you?”

He didn’t seem to have anything to say to that.

She wiggled out of his grasp and he let her. She moved to
his side and then kissed the back of his head, where he’d been hit. It was
right at the base of his skull and it was swelling. He winced at the touch of
her lips.

“That light a touch shouldn’t—” she started to say.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing, my foot. Sit down.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“Sit down.”

He sat down, groaned, and looked up at her. “Now who’s
acting like a Domme?” he asked.

“We’re not playing that game anymore. You can be my Master
any other time you like, but—right now, we’re playing doctor.”

He smiled wryly. “Hello, nurse!” he said, waggling his
eyebrows. And wincing again.

That didn’t look good at all. She knelt in front of him and
held his eyelids open. His pupils looked big to her. Bigger than they should
be, she was sure. “Stay there,” she told him.

She walked over to where she’d left her clothes and pulled
her cell phone from her purse.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting an ambulance,” said Kyra. She dialed 9-1-1.

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

Kyra nodded. “I really hope you’re right. Now shush.” She
explained the situation and the address to the woman on the phone.

“We’re naked,” Drew pointed out.

Kyra shook her head. “See, you’re not even thinking
straight. This is DC. We could get dressed ten times before they get an ambulance
here.”

Drew groaned. “Get me my clothes.”

She smiled. “I can do better than that.” She picked up his
clothes, walked over, and held his shirt open for him behind his back. She
lifted his right arm and put it in the sleeve.