Trading Tides (8 page)

"I was gonna head over to Westminster and take a look at the Ben Franklin House for a script I'm developing, anyway. I also brought a book. You don't worry about a thing."

I pouted and he laughed.

"Besides, I like the idea of my pet squirming in her seat, aching for me all afternoon."

I smiled, too far lost in his eyes and his voice to grumble. I loved the sound of the chain that still hung between us, loved the ease with which we fell in step, the warmth of his hand around mine. I don't remember us talking a lot; the air between us was tense and full of static longing for each other, for the promises he'd hinted at. The walk back seemed shorter, too; we could walk with faster, more confident steps and it was just a few minutes until I saw the familiar storefront of the Gate to India looming into view. It reminded me that I was still hungry, that my lunch had consisted of nothing but a spoonful of protein. The thought made me grin. I'd get something from the vending machine. It wouldn't be the first time.

There was a small parking lot, nestled next to the restaurant. His car stood there, all familiar and too big for the city. I smiled, stroked its flank as we passed it.

"You came," I said again; he squeezed my hand and my heart leapt, then powered along a little faster.

He had parked almost precariously close to the wall and we had to walk around the car before he could open the passenger door for me. Once open, it created a barrier between us and the busy street and then I knew, even before I turned to see the glint in his eyes, that he had planned this.

"Put your hands on the passenger's seat, baby girl. I'm not so cruel as to leave you with nothing to remind you of me all afternoon."

Immediately, my breath grew more shallow, but I obeyed. I closed my eyes as I braced my fingers against the sheep skin he'd fixed to the seat, fluffy and soft, and I dug around until I found a good grip. I wasn't really bent over, his pick-up truck seats were located rather higher than in a normal city car, but I still felt as though my rear was sticking out at him dangerously.

I gasped when he reached around, popped open the button of my trousers again like he had in the bathroom of the restaurant, and then gently lowered them to my knees. He pushed my legs apart as far as they would go. I shivered at the cold wind around my thighs and bit my lip when he dragged my panties to the side. I heard him sigh, and then his fingers were inside me, hard and fast and I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name.

"There she is. Always wet for me. So much wetter than half an hour ago," he whispered. His nose brushed over the shell of my ear and his breath stirred the peach fluff inside. I trembled and closed my eyes.

"Yes, Sir."

"I can't wait to fuck again." He was smirking, I could tell, teasing, raising the anticipation even higher as he pumped his fingers in and out of me, rubbing against my g-spot with each turn. I let my head hang, gasped and whimpered and pressed my eyes closed as though nobody could possibly see me if I couldn't see them.

"For now, though..." his hand left my hip, the other my cunt and then I felt him pry my ass cheeks apart so that he could drag my juices all over my crack. I held my breath. "For now, I want to test how well you followed orders."

The tip of his finger started to press against the tight ring of muscles. I knew what to do now, knew how to relax but that wasn't easy, standing in public, out in the cold, fingers balled to fists in the sheep skin on his passenger's seat. He rubbed, pressed again and then it gave, just like that. It was nothing like my finger. How I could ever have convinced myself that it was even comparable, was beyond me now. With his inside me, I felt helpless and small, I felt owned and perfect, and the calloused, lined texture rubbed against the sensitive nerve endings in its own special way that my fingers couldn't hope to imitate.

"There you go. There's a good girl. Here, this will make it easier for you later..." I heard the chain clink, something rustle in his pocket and a second later he pressed something else against my sphincter. This time, it was smooth and soft and it slid inside easily at first. Then it grew bigger, stretched me more and more. I grunted when it passed its biggest point and the flanged bottom came to rest against my ass. I felt full, marked,
his
.

"It's only a small one." He patted my ass, and then pulled my trousers back up. I managed not to protest, but it was a close thing. My clit felt on fire, my heart was racing.

"You can sit down now, baby girl."

"Yes, Sir."

He offered me his hand and I took it as I climbed into his truck. I'm not sure my jelly legs would have made it on their own, and he stood there, watching me until I gingerly lowered my bottom onto the seat. Even with the soft pelt, it pushed the plug further inside and I groaned again, just as our eyes met.

"Your ass is mine, this time," he said, spreading his fingers over my thigh. "I'll fuck it before the night is through."

VIII

I exhaled a shaky sigh and clawed my fingers into the edge of the table. I couldn't even recall who was talking or what question had been posed. The twisted, dark ache in my ass came and went in waves, and it left me sweaty and needy every time. I hated the conference room then, hated its white, undecorated walls, hated the window front that showed nothing but other ugly office buildings in the grey winter light. It had started to rain again, a soft spray that could just as well have been snow.

I'd been sitting with my team for about two hours and dusk was beginning to settle already—not too visibly, but the light grew dimmer all the time. I thought about getting up to switch on the overhead lighting, but decided not to, afraid I might moan or walk funny. Rubbing my face, I stared at the flip chart we'd set up. I put the intern in charge of standing there to write things down. He, too, looked bored. I didn't blame him.

"Are you okay, Iris?" Dan asked looking at me rubbing my face, and I looked up.

"You're really pale," someone else put in.
 

They made it too easy, that's what I would tell myself later. Maybe, they were hoping for an early start to their evening as well. I touched my stomach and shrugged.

"I don't know, I think I may have had something dodgy for lunch." I shook my head, made myself look a little weaker than I felt. "What do you say, we just wrap it up for today? I think we'd all benefit from some time to let all these ideas percolate in our heads and then we can come back fresh?"

Everybody nodded—a little too vigorously, maybe, but then who was I to complain.

"How about we meet again tomorrow afternoon, and by then I want one good idea from each of you, something you care about in a web portal and how to make it our own, okay?"

This time the nods were smaller, accompanied by little murmurs as the chairs were pushed back. I sighed, almost dizzy with relief. I could leave, go home—now. Just blow off the rest of the day and see Paul. Almost immediately the plug stopped hurting, felt good again, good and wrong and dirty. I waited until they were all out the door before I pushed myself to my feet with a little groan.

"Do you need a ride? I could take you home?" I turned to see Dan again, standing in the doorframe. He swept his gaze along my neck and down to my ass. I swallowed hard, blushed and stood up straight.

There was a part of me, maybe a cruel part, that wanted to throw the sympathy flirting back in his sweet, handsome face—tell him that my Master had shoved a plug up my ass to remind me of him, that I just wanted to go home to get spanked sore and fucked into the ground.
 

I took a deep breath and smiled instead.

"Oh, it's fine. I just need to get to bed, I'll be good. I'll get my boyfriend to come get me. Thank you, though." I did blush a little—at the lie more than anything. I didn't care about lying to Dan, but it made me stop and frown anyway. Paul wasn't my boyfriend. Nothing about that word felt appropriate, and that both hurt and excited me even more. I was so preoccupied with this, I hardly noticed Dan's expression. He apologized for no reason and then walked back to his desk, while I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Paul.

Iris:
Can get out of here early. Are you still busy at the museum?

He answered when I was back at my desk, cleaning up for the day.

Paul:
Just got out a few minutes ago. Tiny place. Can be there in 15 minutes or so.

Paul:
Wait outside.

I couldn't help the broad smile that slid over my face. I hid it though, ducking deep over my keyboard, until I could keep a straight face. Then I walked into Lyle's office and explained I'd head out early.
 

I'd always been a good girl, not someone to blow off work or invent excuses, and I was a little shocked at how easy it was. He smiled, wished me a speedy recovery and then practically ushered me out of the office. The subterfuge alone sent excitement coursing through my body when I left the building like a naughty girl, skipping the last few classes to go smoke with her friends. Or in my case, to get fucked by her Master.

I stayed at the nearby bus station for its roof and protection against the wind, stepping from one foot to the other while the plug seemed to drag heavier against the tight ring of muscles with every minute I stood. I bit on the back of my hand, stifled a groan, then pushed my head against the glass wall of the small station, waiting, waiting.

When his truck rolled to a stop in front of me, I almost collapsed against the opening door. He lifted a plastic bag off the passenger's seat and then pulled me inside, smiling at the look on my face.

"Naughty girl," he chastised and I slammed the door shut. He did look far too delighted for it to take effect of course, and I wriggled my ass against the sheep's skin to find relief against the sudden rush of desire.

"I got us some real dinner, can't have you passing out can we?" Nodding to the bag now sitting on the dashboard, he shifted the gear stick and craned his neck back to check the road behind him. I directed him to the fastest route back to my place. It was still afternoon, just before rush hour and despite the weather, we got through traffic easily as he drove us out into the Croydon outskirts.
 

It didn't occur to me to feel embarrassed by this, but when we came upon the ill-kept apartment building I called home, I felt uncomfortable. I remembered the first time I saw his seaside cottage—I'd thought it small, but sweet, cared for and lived-in. This place had a different kind of vibe, but he didn't remark on it as I led him past the rows of mailboxes to the elevator.

"I'm not sure I cleaned..." I started when the door shut, trapping us in the enclosed little box, the mirror almost completely obscured by tags and graffiti. He looked at me and I didn't finish the sentence. It didn't matter, none of it mattered.

"What did you tell them at work?"

Biting my lip, I looked at the glowing floor numbers as we tuckered along.

"That I was feeling poorly?"

"Hmm. Are you?"

"Uh..." My fingers formed little fists and I took a deep breath. The tone of his voice indicated that he was after more than just small talk, that I was walking on dangerous ground, but I didn't know why or what he wanted to hear. "The plug has been hurting, just a little, Sir."

He chuckled and his hand cupped my ass just as the elevator dinged and opened up onto the 4th floor. The keys jangled in my hand, it shook while I searched for the right one. He moved behind me, the plastic bag with our food rustling like leaves.

"Are you nervous?"

I turned around, the right key resting against my palm. His voice had changed again, and so had his face. He lifted his free hand to brush his fingertips over my cheeks. "Because you know you don't have to be, don't you?"

I nodded, tilting my face against his touch like a cat.

"But you're still nervous?"

"Only... only a little," I managed, pulling up my shoulders. "Only as much as feels good."

That answer satisfied him; I could tell by the look on his face, even if he didn't answer immediately. He nodded towards the lock and I opened up, stepped inside ahead of him, taking a shivering breath. It was cool in my apartment; I'd turned the heating off for the day and left a window slightly ajar. The curtain fluttered softly when Paul closed the door behind us.

He put his hand on my shoulder, then kissed my hair.

"We'll have dinner first, hmm? Why don't you go to the bathroom while I unpack this—you may take the plug out for now."

He walked ahead like he'd been here before, and I stood there, watching him move between the familiar furniture, looking at the artwork on my walls, running his finger along the kitchen counter.

"Plates up here?" he asked, turning back to me. I nodded, not sure I could have found the voice to say anything.
 

He was tall and beautiful and he was here with me, amongst my stuff.

***

It was another jolt of pain that finally set me in motion. I closed the bathroom door behind me, then groped at the sink for balance as I kicked off my shoes. I pulled down my trousers, and turned around, trying to see the plug in the mirror. There was a hint of color at the bottom of my ass.

It shouldn't have required courage to reach for it, but it did.
 
I sucked a sharp, whistling breath between my teeth when I started to ease it back out. The first bit hurt, but the rest slipped out almost by itself, and my muscles relaxed in a heady sense of relief. A little disgusted, I dropped the wriggly blue thing into the sink and turned on the hot water.

Somewhere on the other side of the door, I heard jangling plates and cutlery. Still, I couldn't come back out without cleaning myself up, washing my hands, throwing some fresh water in my face and brushing my hair. It made me less shaky, started to settle me into the situation.

Paul was looking over my CD collection when I came back out. Indian food was steaming on the table, filling the apartment with the smells of curry and cumin.

"All of that stuff is from years ago," I admitted with a chuckle. "I haven't bought a CD in ages, it's all digital now. I always thought I'd sell these if anyone still paid for them but... you know. They don't, but I can't throw anything away."