The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) (2 page)

He rolled up the back of my skirt and tucked it into the
waistband, baring my ass. My face grew warm when he did nothing for a few
moments. I assumed he was standing there looking at me. I tried not to think
about it. And I tried not to imagine someone else seeing me from the hall. But
mostly, I tried not to admit how both those thoughts excited me far more than
they frightened me.

“Arch your back and stick out your ass,” he said.

I didn’t act quickly enough, apparently, since he pushed a
hand into the small of my back, and with the other hand roughly reached between
my legs and pulled backwards.

While I tried to adjust to the feel of him on my most
private parts, he continued to give me orders. “Hold it like that. Spread your
legs. Wider. Don’t move.”

And then his hands were gone again. “Pretty,” he said, then
nothing more.

My face must have been scarlet by then. I was on display to
this stranger, and really, to anyone who might wander down the main hall and
glance our way. What if someone were standing over there at this moment, right
now, watching the tall, powerful man arrange me for his viewing pleasure?

I pictured the scene in my head, as if I stood in that
hallway, watching a different me, tied and helpless, back arched, ass thrust
out, exposed, a fully-clothed stranger scrutinizing, exploring. It was
humiliating and thrilling. I was on fire.

God, I wanted his hands on me. Please bring them back.

As if he heard, The Businessman reached between my legs and
trailed his fingers all the way from my clitoris to my ass. His fingers were
slick as they slid, slick from me.

I shuddered and it wasn’t difficult to hold the pose he
placed me in. I pushed my butt out as far as I could. To find him.

He toyed with me a few seconds more, stroking up and down,
down and up. Then with both hands, he took hold of my labia and pulled them
apart. He held me open for a while, as if this, also, he must inspect, though
surely it was too dark for him to see much. He squeezed and pulled on my flesh
with demanding fingers, mixing the thrill from this unexpected action with the
discomfort of his pinches.

Hold and pull. Pinch and pull. Watching. Watching. He
watched this most intimate part of me as he played.

And then he let go and shoved two fingers inside me. I
groaned. Oh, God. I groaned loudly. I was ready for the invasion, and his
fingers entered me easily, though they felt large at the same time, stretching
me. It felt like heaven. I tingled practically everywhere.

How long had it been since anyone was inside me? I couldn’t
remember. It didn’t matter. Not now.

He slid his fingers in and out. Slowly, he increased the
force until he was pumping his fingers into me. Pumping, pumping. Deliberately
and forcefully, he pounded his fingers into my pussy. Those fingers felt so
large and long, and I pushed against him.

Straining to get closer, I ground myself into his fist as he
finger-fucked me. He drove inside me ever harder, pounding me, really, the
force of impact an ever-spreading spike of pain. I stopped straining toward
him. And yet the pleasure, God, the pleasure. It grew too.

Pounding me, pounding me. I tried to shrink away. A
deliberate thrust. Rhythmic. Harder, ever harder. Pleasure. Pain. I wanted it.
I didn’t want it. His fingers inside me. Then gone. Then ramming home.
Forceful. Distinct. I grunted. Mmph. Pound. Mmph. Pound.

Finally, I shrank away from him so far that I pressed flush
against the wall, my cheek once more mashed against the paneling. But the
pounding didn’t stop. Mmph! Pound. And then I couldn’t stop myself — I tried to
close my legs around his hand.

A big mistake on my part, I quickly discovered.

The Businessman immediately stopped. Just like that. He made
a clipped sound of disgust and like a flash of lightening, he smacked my ass
three times. Smack! Smack! Smack! Hard as hell. Not playful. Not fun. Hard as
hell. And it hurt like hell, too. I cried out. What was this?

His voice was low, but clearly audible over the distant
noises from the bar. “Resume the pose.”

I was confused and befuddled from desire and heat and pain.
I wasn’t allowed any time to consider my options, to even realize I had
options.

Smack! Smack! Smack! He struck my ass again. I cried out
once more and yanked on the restraining tie.

“Stop,” he said.

And oddly enough, I did.

“Either you resume the pose,” he said, “or I’ll stop doing
this.” He slid his hand between my closed legs and slipped his fingers inside
me. He began some kind of twisting dance in there and made me groan.

“Decide now, or we’re done,” he said.

His fingers were magical things, making me not care about
the pain of the spanking, or anything really, except that he not stop. It
became clear what I needed to do, and I could only wonder that I had ever been
confused.

So I resumed the pose, of course.

He’d get whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop.

He twisted his fingers around inside me, making me squirm.
With his other hand, he rubbed my ass cheeks, soothing the fiery residuals of
his swats. I moaned.

The rising heat from the spanking and his rubbing added to
the sensuality of his motions. What was he doing, anyway? I’d never felt
anything like it. I moved my hips in rhythm with his clever fingers, a need
building inside me for more, more. Something more.

My pussy still ached from his pounding, and my ass still
burned from his spanking, but those fingers of his ... oh well, those fingers
working and working. Mmm. There was no getting enough. I closed my eyes and
floated on it.

His voice filtered through to me, seemingly from a distance.
“You have a beautiful ass. I would imagine anyone walking down that hall over
there would love to see it. Don’t you think?”

I groaned. Oh God. A reminder of the hall. My naked ass and
pussy. Anyone could see. But more than that, he saw me. I didn’t know. I
couldn’t think.

“Shall I fuck you now?” he asked.

This, I did know. I panted and answered with a breathy,
“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

I opened my eyes. “Yes I want you to fuck me.” Shameless in
my need.

He stopped moving his fingers, though he left them inside
me. Then he stopped rubbing my ass. I held my breath. Now he would pull out his
dick and thrust it inside me. That’s what I wanted. I needed him to fill me as
only his cock could.

He leaned forward and delivered an ominous whisper. “You
might be a very foolish young woman.”

I couldn’t give his statement much thought, though I had no
doubt he was right. I had no doubt he was right about anything and everything,
as long as his fingers started moving again, or he fucked me. Whatever. Was
that foolish?

“You stepped into a dark hall with a stranger,” he
continued, “in a noisy bar where it’s unlikely anyone would hear your screams.”

I nodded. No doubt about it. He was right on that one. It
was pretty damned stupid of me. But I couldn’t be bothered by it for long, not
when his other hand slipped around my hip and found its way to my clit. He
rubbed it gently. Oh God. Tingles and heat. A pang low in my belly. A rising
pressure.

He shifted so I could see his face, see into his dark, dark
eyes. “But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt tonight,” he said,
“and assume this isn’t something you’d normally do.”

His fingers twitched inside me again. Clearly and
distinctly, as if he wanted to make sure I registered each and every word, he
said, “I’m going to believe that you saw what I did.”

I moaned and pushed against him, rolling my hips. I wasn’t
certain what he meant. The world had turned into a wonderland of pure
sensation. His fingers. Magical fingers. And when would he fuck me? I didn’t
want him to stop what he was doing, but at the same time, I was ready for him.
I wanted it.

“Please fuck me,” I said. The blatant, pleading words would
surprise me when I remembered them later.

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at me, then he smiled.
“You don’t get what you want. I get what I want.”

And with that, he pulled out of me and began to spank me,
this time on my pussy. Smack! A sharp fiery strike. If I tried to pull away, he
forced me back and smacked harder. Smack! On my ass. I fought my instinct to
escape, and struggled to hold the pose he wanted.

Then his fingers were inside me again. And he returned to
rubbing my clit in the most delicious way, circling around and around. And his
fingers inside me, they resumed their special dance.

He did none of this quickly, or in a rushed frenzy. Far from
it. Each action was measured, considered. Even when it changed, it was done in
a conscious way. He pulled his fingers out of me and slapped my pussy. Then he
shoved his fingers into me again. Pound. Pound. Pound. Was he twisting his
hand? A deliberate one, two, three. Then a withdrawal, and a fierce blow to my
pussy or my ass.

Pound. The staccato burst of a stinging slap. And all the
while he teased my clit with feathery circles and flicks. I could have come at
any moment.

The sensations nearly peaked in my belly, the tightness
ready for release, but each time I came close, he changed the rhythm or the
pressure, or whatever it was he was doing, and my imminent need to come
decreased. Then he began building me up again.

Each smack of my pussy and ass was distinct. Each thrust
inside done with controlled fierceness. I experienced each act individually,
even as they bled into the whole.

He smacked and pounded me until tears ran down my cheeks and
I gasped for air. Fingers in me. Fingers out. Pinches. Flicks. Spanks. I wanted
to get away but there was no way I could or would. I craved the release.
Couldn’t do without it. He drove me to the point that I rose to meet him as he
shoved into me.

Please, please. I may have even said the words. And then ...

I came. I came hard and total. My body rocked from it,
shuddering as the orgasm rolled through me.

The Businessman found some spot inside me and rubbed it hard
as I came. I went to a higher level. The climax was shattering and lasted
longer than I thought possible. The bliss of it. God. It was nearly too much,
nearly more than I knew how to deal with. Nearly.

As my orgasm died away, The Businessman removed his fingers
and cupped my pussy in his hand, holding me, most likely feeling the receding
twitches of my clit and pussy as my climax subsided. A pulse. And then another.
Then longer until the next.

When it passed at last, The Businessman let go of me, and I
slumped against the wall. I no longer gasped for air, but I still breathed hard
and my heartbeat had yet to return to normal. From time to time, bursts of
aftershocks skittered over my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

I was only vaguely aware of The Businessman righting my
skirt. It fell against the back of my thighs. My legs felt shaky and quivery.

He reached out and grabbed the hair at the base of my head
and tilted me back enough to see him looming over me.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice a stunted whisper.

“You know who I am, and I know you. We knew the instant our
eyes met,” he said.

I knew that he was right in one respect, that I felt
something powerful when I saw him. I didn’t know what it was, what to call it,
other than desire. Was it something else, something more? What did he mean when
he said I knew him? Desire wasn’t knowledge, was it? I gulped hard.

His eyes were intense and black and he spoke in a way that
was almost sinister. “Our kind will always find one another.”

The way he said it. The fierce look, the stern line of his
lips. The power.

I thought, now he will take me, and I will fly apart in the
dark hall of this noisy bar. He’ll throw me on the dirty floor, and I won’t
care. In fact, I’ll like that it’s filthy.

He’ll take me from behind and shove his cock into me and
fuck me until I beg for mercy. And I ... will fly ... apart.

Except none of that happened. He didn’t take me.

The intensity left his face as if it had never been there.
Had I only imagined it? No, I hadn’t imagined it, but it was gone nonetheless,
replaced by a smooth calmness. He gave me an enigmatic smile.

He untied my hands, smoothed out my clothes and pushed my
hair into half-assed order. He picked up my purse and stuck it under my arm.

Holding my hand, he led me back to the main hallway then to
the door of the ladies room. I followed along like some silly, brainless thing.

“You should clean yourself up,” he said. “Your girlfriends
will be getting worried about you.”

He leaned down and gave me an oddly chaste kiss.

“It was a pleasure,” he said, then he opened the door of the
restroom and gently nudged me inside. The door closed and he was gone.

I was alone.

I thought, “My name is Nonnie Crawford. And yours?”

Chapter 2

I sat in a stall in the restroom, trying to pull myself into
some sort of order. I wondered how long we’d been in that shadowy corridor. I couldn’t
be certain of duration, but surely it was long enough for my friends to get
worried about me.

Where were they, anyway? I could have been robbed and
stabbed, or dragged off through the back door, raped and killed in the back
lot, my body left lifeless and crumpled next to a reeking dumpster.

When I went to a bar with friends, I expected them to look
after me. They should have been tearing around the place, calling my name,
frantic and insistent that I be found. So where were they? I wanted to stalk up
to our table and chew them out for putting me in danger.

I stood up to go do just that ... but I stopped, and sat
back down. I wasn’t really angry at my friends. I was angry at myself. They
hadn’t put me in danger; I managed that all on my own. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What was I thinking?

I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been acting on some bizarre
compulsion. It was an anomaly, an erotically-fueled error of judgment. Luckily
I survived no worse for the wear, the only repercussions being a sore bottom,
and the loss of a pair of panties.

I groaned. God, I had no panties. I wanted to go home and
climb into my bed and sleep the sleep of the stupid and wicked for a week.

I sighed and slogged to the mirror. I expected to see a
smeared and smudged Smoking Gun mugshot looking back at me. But no, it wasn’t
too bad. Tear tracks on my cheeks were the most obvious evidence of my
encounter, nothing a little water and some mascara and lipstick couldn’t fix.
By the time I completed my repairs, the only reminder on my face was the
heightened color of my cheeks.

I was thoroughly aware of my underwear problem when I exited
the restroom, and couldn’t resist holding one of my hands against the side of
my skirt. Just in case, I thought. It was nothing more than a gesture, but I
needed the reassurance.

I didn’t look at The Businessman as I passed by him, though
I noticed from the corner of my eye that he’d resumed his former position and
chatted with the same man as before. I kept my gaze directed forward, seeking
out the safety of the table where I’d left my friends.

As soon as I saw them, I knew why they hadn’t come to find
me — two men had joined our table. Of course. They probably had no idea how
long I’d been gone. Too busy flirting.

I sat down to a flurry of introductions and smiles and
comments of how they were starting to worry about me and was I okay and so on
and so forth. I gave all the appropriate fibbing answers.

The two men had a couple more friends who joined us, managed
to squeeze in around the table, bringing more drinks for the group. Oh boy.
This was too much. I accepted the drink, though. I needed it.

I played the game as best I could and hoped to cover my
distraction. I snuck an occasional glance toward The Businessman, but never
caught his eye.

It struck me as bizarre that I knew the name of the man
sitting next to me, Kevin, but that I didn’t know the name of the man who had
ripped my panties and done things to me that made sitting in my chair more than
a bit uncomfortable. Why hadn’t he told me his name? Rude. Disdainful. As if I
weren’t worthy of knowing it. As if my name weren’t worth being known.

I considered going to him and demanding he tell me his name.
And then I would tell him mine. I almost worked up the courage when I looked
his way again and saw he was gone. I scanned the bar. He wasn’t there. Wait.
There he was, leaving with his friend. I could still catch him, I thought, as
the door closed behind him. But I didn’t.

I stayed put and half-listened to Kevin drone about a
concert he’d attended.

Perhaps it was best that The Businessman go.

The remainder of the evening dragged until I had to plead a
headache to get my friends to take me home. They were jolly on the drive,
having met new men, exchanged phone numbers and done all the things they hoped
to do at the beginning of the evening; in other words, they garnered dates to
fill future Friday nights.

I made it into my apartment without suffering a skirt
catastrophe. I showered then pulled on a t-shirt and climbed into bed. I was
asleep within moments.

I slept hard, dreamless, until nearly noon the next day,
which thankfully was Saturday. When I first woke up, I didn’t think about what
I’d done the night before. I just did what I normally did in the mornings, a
routine which began with coffee.

I didn’t think about anything until I sat down at the
kitchen table to drink my coffee. Ouch. I squirmed on the chair. Still a bit
sore. From ... oh yeah, that’s right. I was still sore from letting a stranger
have his way with me in a dirty back hallway. I closed my eyes and groaned.
Ugh.

The rest of my day proceeded in pretty much the same
fashion. I would keep myself busy and sidetracked and then I would remember and
begin the self-chastisement, and then I would do something so I’d forget, and
repeat, and repeat.

I had no plans for the evening apart from watching a movie I
rented earlier in the week. While watching the movie, memories of what happened
in that corridor kept popping into my head. Eventually, I gave up and turned
off the television. I sat there, thinking.

I am a powerful woman. I left my husband mostly because he
was weak and I couldn’t afford that weakness in my life anymore. I determined
that I didn’t owe him anything, that it wasn’t my mission in life to prop him
up and do for him what he was too weak-willed to do for himself.

For more than ten years I had propped up the dead love of a
pair of high school sweethearts who had foolishly married right after
graduation. I’d acted as the sturdy support while he was the dreamer. He
dreamed and I worked. I studied and barely made it through college, while he
dreamed some more. I found a new job that paid our bills, while his dreams
faded and I encouraged him to keep them alive.

I remembered days without end of him lying on the couch. Had
he been drinking? Probably. It didn’t matter, really. It didn’t sustain him.

I sustained him. He drank my power as if he deserved it, as
if I owed it to him. He took it and left me with nothing for myself. When I
truly understood this, I left him. And we were broken apart forever.

I wanted more for myself. I wanted everything.

Last night, only a few hours after the declaration of my
freedom became official, I was supposed to begin a new life where I claimed
myself for myself. My power belonged to me and I would give it away to no one.

And then, I met the eyes of a stranger. I looked at him and
with no thought at all, I allowed him to diddle me in a dirty hallway. He used
me, pawed me, fingered me, then left me without telling me his name. Without
asking for mine. He seized my power with appalling ease, my power to say no, to
tell him that wasn’t who I was.

I wasn’t some easy slut who allowed anyone with a penis to
do as they pleased with her body. But The Businessman did as he pleased. And I
let him. It was raunchy and filthy and ...

It was the most erotic encounter of my life.

I sat perfectly still. There was the truth. It was the most
erotic moment of my life.

For all the wrong I’d done the night before, there was a
rightness there, too. The clench in my belly when he posed me for his
enjoyment. The fear and anticipation of a witness peeking from the main hall.
The biting restraint of his tie around my wrists. The sting of a slap. His
hands sliding over me, inside me.

My breasts began to tingle and I sighed when I thought of
how he’d never touched my breasts. I longed for his touch.

That wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be wrong.

I could continue berating myself, or I could just own what
I’d done. I could take the tryst in the hallway as a coming out, a glimpse at
what I was capable of feeling. I hadn’t known a real orgasm until The
Businessman shattered me into pieces. It was luck, maybe fate, that I should
learn this new thing on the night of my debut.

My time in that shadowy corridor was up. Over and done with.
No more worries and definitely no more guilt. I owned my sexuality. It belonged
to me, and it was separate from what I’d believed about right and wrong. It
simply was.

That night, I dreamed of The Businessman.