The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) (12 page)

All the while, I thought of him doing these things to me.
And in a real way, it truly was his hands. Mine had become his, under his
command. I would do his bidding. The understanding grew under the erotic slow
rhythm he set.

I looked away from the mirror, a powerful need pushing me to
seek him out, to discover what he thought. He wasn’t looking at my face, of
course. No, he stared at my pussy, watched me fuck myself with his toy.

On first glance, he was as dispassionate as ever, as if he
were watching a mildly interesting television show. His breathing was slow and
even, unlike my own, which got louder and faster with each passing moment. I
searched for signs, any sign, that there was more behind his impassive gaze.

There ... his hair, always perfectly arranged, it had fallen
a bit on one side. And there ... a subtle, recurring twitch in his jaw. Was his
hand gripping the arm of the chair with unnecessary force, was there tension in
his forearm?

I decided there was. I needed it, needed him to be moved, to
prove his desire. These suppositions, the potentially phantom evidence, were
all I’d get from him for now.

And then he told me to rub my clitoris. I stroked across my
clit, then around and around, harder when he told me he wanted harder, faster
when he wanted faster. The dildo slid in and out of me, moving in a slick and
steady rhythm.

The pressure grew inside me, and when I clamped down, the
pleasure spiraled outward. Faster. He said to rub my clit faster. Not the
dildo, he said. Keep it slow. I want it slow, he said. Rub harder. Faster.

“I want to see you come,” he said.

So I clamped down onto the dildo, and I worked my clit. I
watched his eyes, his dark eyes, always watching my pussy, watching my fingers.
Faster, he ordered.

And the pressure grew, and grew, until it finally burst. My
orgasm flooded through me, and his eyes met mine. I rode the pleasure, rode the
desire I wanted to see in those dark, dark eyes.

I held his gaze as my orgasm faded away into the diminishing
repeated pulse of my clit. Then he broke our gaze and looked at my pussy. I
turned my eyes to the mirror, to see what he saw.

I was sprawled, slack-limbed, looking satiated, for the
moment. The dildo laid in my hand, loosely, more like it was resting there than
being held. My labia were red and swollen. I appeared to be waiting. Not
finished. Indeed, I felt far from finished.

I soon discovered I was alone in that feeling.

The Businessman smiled. “You did well. I enjoyed it. Thank
you. Now, tidy yourself up, if you wish, but don’t take too long. I’m expected
somewhere else this evening. I’ll be in the other room.”

He stood, leaned down and patted my knee, then turned away.
I flashed on Michael telling me we were done. Is that what The Businessman was
doing? Was he telling me we were done?

He hadn’t even touched me, except for that pat on my knee. I
couldn’t recall him touching me any other time. We couldn’t be done.

And he said that he had somewhere to be. Did he actually say
that?

I jerked myself upright. My disbelief and disgust tumbled
out in sharp notes and edges. “Is this it? Is that what you’re saying?”

Chapter 8

He turned back to me, an eyebrow arched in silent question.

“Basically, I’m dismissed,” I said. “We’re done here. Is
that right?”

“Not exactly. There are a few things I want to discuss with
you, but other than that, yes, I suppose we’re finished.”

“That’s just great.” I couldn’t fail to notice that he
didn’t like the tone I was using with him, but in that moment, I didn’t care.
“You could at least tell me what stupid rule I broke. Let me guess, I looked
away from the mirror, so I have to be punished.”

“Why do you think you’re being punished?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” My voice grew louder as my
outrage fueled the volume. “You’re not going to have sex with me, and you ask
why I think I’m being punished? It’s unbelievable. After what I just did? You
never even touched —”

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. In two quick strides he
was on the bed next to me. Before I could process what was happening, he
grabbed me, flipped me onto my stomach, and pushed a knee into my lower back.
With one hand, he restrained my wrists, arms bent at the elbow, my hands
pressed against the middle of my back.

He weighed heavily on me, forcing me to work hard to breath.
One side of my face was mashed into the mattress, but I could still see the
mirror, see how I appeared crushed, flattened under his bulk. He loomed over
and beside me, glowering, his leg in my back an immovable pillar.

I struggled, no matter the futility of it. I wanted away.

His question erupted as a growl. “Do you think this is a
game I’m playing with you?”

I didn’t answer and tried to pull out of his hold.
Impossible.

“Maybe it’s a game to you,” he said, “but I assure you it’s
not, not to me. You speak to me as if I owe you something, as if you earned
some reward that I’ve denied you, like I’ve cheated you.”

I gulped air, my words a raspy plea. “Let me go.”

“No problem. And then we’re truly done. We’ll part ways for
good. Just say the word and I’ll let you go.”

I wanted to say it. I truly did. But I couldn’t. I didn’t
know why, but I couldn’t say it. I stopped struggling and tried to catch my
breath.

“What is it? What did I fail to give you? What do you want?”
he asked.

I didn’t answer.

He delivered a resounding smack to my bare ass. “Answer me.
What do you want?”

He slightly lifted his knee off my back and I gratefully
filled my aching lungs. It was several seconds before I could speak.

“I thought you would have sex with me,” I said.

He shoved against my back again. “What do you want?”

“Sex. With you.”

“You want me to fuck you. Is that right? Then say it. Say,
‘I want you to fuck me.’ Exactly like that.”

God help me, I said it, exactly like that.

He reached into the black bag that laid half-spilled nearby.
He pulled out a long, purple velvet sack that I paid little mind to earlier. He
loosened the tie at the top, then shook out the biggest dildo I’d ever seen.

It was flesh-colored latex, easily over 12 inches long, and
thick, too thick. One end was the usual shape of a circumcised penis. But it
was the other end that scared me. Sticking out of the other end was a handle.

The Businessman flipped open the tube of lube and squirted a
large quantity down the length of the ugly thing. Then he grabbed it by the
handle, reached back and shoved it between my legs. He paused for a moment at
the entry of my pussy and caught my eye in the mirror.

He tone was fearsome. “Spread your legs.”

I didn’t. I was going to, or I thought I might, but I was
scared, and I didn’t spread my legs, at least not fast enough.

It didn’t matter, ultimately. He pushed the huge dildo
inside me all the same. I gasped at the intrusion of the huge rod of latex. I
was clenched tight, afraid. It hurt when he pushed it farther inside me, my
tensed muscles no barrier to his invasion.

“Spread your legs.”

I obeyed, quickly this time.

He pulled the dildo out of me, then pressed it back in. I
cried out. It was too big. How did he not realize that? I felt like I couldn’t
stretch enough. I couldn’t even be sure how much of the thing was inside me.
What if there were more to it, more he had yet to shove inside me? No, I
thought, please, no more.

It looked brutal, in the mirror, the way he held the handle
of the thing, the way it disappeared behind my leg when he shoved the dildo
into me. Again. Again. So hard. Too hard. Even as my muscles stretched to
receive it, I thought it could not be enough. It was too big. Too much. I
grunted and whimpered and twisted.

His knee in my back kept me struggling for every deep
breath. My wrists began to ache from the pressure of his hold.

“This is what you wanted,” he said.

And he pushed the dildo into me. “You wanted me to fuck
you.”

He pulled out the dildo, all the way, then stuffed it inside
me again. “This is what you wanted.”

I began crying, tears running over my nose and soaking into
the white linens. My response was a weak “No.”

“No what?” Relentless.

“No, no, it’s not what I want.”

“Then what did you want?”

“You. I wanted you in me. Not that thing. Your cock.”

He tossed the dildo aside. I hardly had time to feel the
relief of the dildo’s removal before he reached into the black bag again. He
pulled out a length of cord and tied my wrists together. Then he climbed off of
me and flipped me onto my back. My tied hands remained trapped underneath me,
the softness of the mattress making the position more bearable than it would have
been on a harder surface. I feared what he was about to do.

He climbed off the bed and grabbed my ankles, pulling me
toward him, stopping when my butt rested against the edge of the mattress. He
dropped my legs and reached for his belt, which he quickly unbuckled, then he
unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down along with his underwear.

I only saw his cock for the briefest instant when he paused
to rip open a condom package and roll the sheath down his shaft. My tears
blurred everything around me. He reached under my knees and lifted them high,
spreading my legs as wide as they would go out to my sides, pressing them back
toward the mattress.

And then, he began to fuck me. His cock slid inside me and I
gasped, not because it hurt or because I was afraid. I gasped because it was
perfect. After the big, ugly dildo, he was silky, hard perfection. He filled
me, and a bit beyond. I gratefully welcomed his warm flesh after the invasion
of cold, inanimate plastic.

He held my legs behind my knees, and he pumped, out and in
and out and in.

He said nothing, his gaze on my breasts and pussy, his dick
sliding in and out of me. He fucked me with a steady pace which set the entire
lower half of my body into a tingling buzz.

He brought my knees back together, then pushed them to one
side, my torso twisting with the movement, my ass turning into view, the
pressure of my weight gone from one of my restrained arms.

Then he fucked me like that, with my legs pressed together
and off to one side. Both of his hands were on my topmost thigh, and his thumbs
dug in near my pussy and pulled up, opening me wider. My tears dried and I
moaned and tried to grind against him, a practically impossible task in my
position.

I kept thinking, “Oh, I didn’t know.” I didn’t know sex
could feel like that. Never. Never had it felt like that. Almost overwhelming,
the totality of the sensations.

He thrust faster and harder, then landed a fearsome swat on
the topmost cheek of my ass. I cried out in surprise more than pain. He grabbed
my shoulder, shoving me completely onto my side, never once missing a stroke as
he fucked me.

With my whole ass available and vulnerable now, he landed a
stinging swat on my other cheek. I cried out, even as he struck again, and
again, and again. He smacked my ass until it burned.

He fucked and spanked. Spanked and fucked. And my cries grew
louder and he felt so damned good in me that I didn’t want it to stop, even
though tears threatened a return.

I don’t know when the pain of the spanking began adding to
the pleasure. I moaned, gasped, made uncountable guttural sounds and didn’t
give a damn about it. Just don’t stop. Don’t stop.

He flipped me onto my back again, and spread my legs wide.
He left them splayed open, pressing down on my lower stomach with one hand, and
using the other to pinch and toy with my clit.

My ass burned. He never stopped fucking me, a constant
source of boggling pleasure. Something about his hand pushing on my stomach
added a pressure, an urgency. I moaned and moved my hips in rhythm with his
thrusts. He rolled my clitoris between his fingers.

And like that, the force that had been building inside,
reached its peak and exploded outward. I came.

I gasped and shook, tremors passing through me, the release
eclipsing the climax I’d given myself earlier. The Businessman maintained his
steady pace while I thrashed underneath him and shuddered and moaned. All
thought ceased, and I became a creature of pure sensation, no distractions, no
questions, no thought. Only bright and brilliant pleasure.

When the sensations finally died away, my ability to think
returned. I looked to The Businessman.

He pulled out of me, his cock still standing out from his
body, as hard and long as when I first glimpsed it through the blur of tears.

“Was that what you wanted? What you earned?” he asked.

I answered quietly. “Yes ... no.”

He glanced significantly at the big fleshy dildo that lay
nearby.

“No, no more. Not that.”

He stared at me. I knew that he waited for me to tell him
what was missing. I said nothing, though. He bent over and began pulling up his
pants.

My stomach flip-flopped. “You,” I said quickly. “You didn’t
come.”

He hitched his pants over his hips, rolled off the empty
condom and somehow tucked his huge erection away before he buttoned and zipped
his pants.

He was buckling his belt when he asked, “You wanted me to
come?”

I sat up. “Yes, of course, I wanted —”

I didn’t finish because he leaned into me. I flinched, but
he only reached behind me and, with a few deft motions, untied my hands. Then
he turned and walked away, heading into the bathroom.

I sat there, listening to him running water in the sink.
Time moved slowly while I waited. What next?

He was drying his hands on a towel when he returned to the
bedroom. I thought he was going to leave, but he stopped and looked at me, his
features closed. “What you’ve failed to understand this evening, though I
thought I made the point adequately, is that none of this is about what you
want. Needs are a different matter, and since yours have been met, you have no
reason to complain.”

He picked up his jacket and tie. His voice was appallingly
calm. “This is about me, about what I want and what I don’t want. That’s all it
will ever be.”

Then he turned and left the room.

I sat stock still. I felt like I’d been slapped across the
face. Humiliation boiled up from my stomach and burned in my throat.

I thought of how I must have looked, tossing my head and
wriggling my hips, coming and moaning and ... I didn’t want to think about it.
I didn’t want to think about how he’d been in complete control of his body the
entire while and I never noticed. I realized now that he hadn’t even been
breathing hard, or not as hard as I was, anyway.

I’d been punished after all, but not for failing to follow
his commands. He punished me for thinking I deserved something from him. Him.
It was all about what he wanted.

No. That wasn’t it at all. It was worse than that. I truly
had failed to understand, precisely as he said.

This wasn’t a tryst, or an assignation. I thought I was
meeting a sexy man in a hotel room and we’d have a great time together, the way
we did in the hallway at the bar. If it went well, and we enjoyed ourselves,
maybe we’d do it again.

But I was wrong. Completely wrong. This wasn’t an
assignation.

This was an interview.

I remembered thinking of interviews after he grilled me with
those questions in the sitting room, but I hadn’t imagined that’s what this
actually was.

He asked me here to interview me for ... something, I didn’t
know what, exactly, but that didn’t matter so much as the fact that I missed
his entire point of our meeting.

I practically begged him for sex, and for him, this was only
an interview, an examination, a study of my fitness for whatever task he had in
mind for me.

I didn’t know how I missed it. He basically told me as much.
But I’d missed it.

The memory of me asking him to have sex with me, to fuck me,
it wouldn’t let me be. I wanted to curl into a ball and never see him again.

The skin on my face felt tight. My throat was dry and my
head ached. I didn’t want to think about any of this anymore. I wanted him to
leave, to go to that other appointment of his, and let me slink away once he
was gone.

That wouldn’t happen, though. So I walked on shaky legs to
the bathroom and got a drink of water. It soothed my throat, but my head still
pounded. I splashed my face, washed the dried tears from my cheeks.

I sat on the toilet for a while, trying not to think, but
failing. I was pointlessly putting off the inevitable. I would have to see him
again. His previous command that I not take too long while I tidied myself,
still stood. He had another engagement. No more time to waste on the likes of
me.

I winced at my own bitterness.

I got up, wrapped myself in the other bathrobe that hung in
the bathroom and tucked my feet into the smallest pair of slippers that sat in
a line on the floor. Time to face him.