my card,’ said the boss, handing it over.
It read: ‘J Barraclough. Professional disciplinarian and dom. All submissive tastes catered for.’
‘Oh! So you aren’t …?’
‘We have a purely business relationship,’ said Mara. ‘You can have my card too, if you want. Or just my mobile number.’
‘I’d like that.’
Leaving the room with Mara’s contact details, I praised whoever might be the patron saint of voyeurs. And, as I passed the bust of the old lord, I almost thought he winked at me.
Property Of
Sommer Marsden
‘Winona,’ he said. Just him saying my name sent a shiver up my spine. I turned a bit too fast and almost propelled myself out of my office chair. Which led to a nervous little titter.
Nice. Very sexy.
‘Mr Bennett,’ I said, nodding.
I wanted to look cool, but I felt like I was vibrating. How long would this last? I wondered.
He smiled as he put some papers neatly on top of his stack of folders. His suit was charcoal grey, his tie a navy blue, his shirt white. All very boring components that did nothing at all until you tied them all together by hanging them on a lean but muscular handsome man. A breath-stealing kind of handsome.
Trevor Bennett. My boss of all things.
‘Can you come into my office, please?’
The word ‘can’ was a joke. He meant: ‘Come into my office. Now.’
I nodded and cleared my throat. I had nothing to say, but he just made me feel that way. Like I had something stuck in my throat – maybe his cock. I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing and then said softly, ‘Coffee?’
‘Already have some. We need to discuss tonight.’
Tonight? I had no idea, but I faked like I did and locked my computer. ‘Coming,’ I said.
That made him smile.
***
Trevor Bennett is a powerful man. He plays with money the way I used to play with dolls as a young girl. I followed him into his office, feeling like my legs were only a mirage. That they couldn’t actually support me. My spiffy black slingback heels tip-tapped on the hardwood floor. They are his favourite shoes. I wear them often. And often when I wear them, they are all that I am wearing.
Trevor indicated a seat and I took it, smoothing my skirt primly because I knew it made him think dirty things. It often made him do dirty things shortly after thinking them.
‘Tonight is the big wooing party. We bring in all the millionaires and billionaires and all those we want to bring into the fold. We woo them and wine them and dine them and try to convince them to let us play with their money.’
I nodded. Waiting.
‘I’d like you to attend with me.’
I blinked and stared. Brilliant.
‘I … um, I … of course.It’s my duty as your assistant to –’
‘As my date.’
Trevor leaned back against his desk and opened the button ofhis suit coat. I loved to watch him move that way – short, economical movements with no fluffery or wasted energy. He was a work of art. And he could make me come like I was dying. Brutal, wild, sweet – all the things orgasms were made to deliver.
‘Your date?’ I echoed. Flabbergasted. I had never in a million years dreamed it would ever go beyond fucking.
His smile said he knew that. Big grey eyes, as stormy as the weather in March, regarded me and my stomach tingled like I had swallowed a live electrical wire. My face was hot, my hands cold, my stomach and chest full of anxiety and, yes … excitement.
‘Yes, as my date. I think we’ve gotten to that point, don’t you?’
I could only nod dumbly. If I opened my mouth, something entirely mortifying would pop out, I was sure.
‘You do know what they think of us? Don’t you? You and your pointy shoes or your big black boots? You and your fucking phenomenal ass and ice-blue eyes? And me in my big hot-shot office giving you dick-tation.’
I blushed and studied my lap. I bit my lip and tried to breathe. The toe of that pointy shoe was swinging like a metronome.
‘Do you, Winona?’
I shook my head. ‘No, Sir.’
‘No, what?’
‘No, Trevor,’ I said.
The man was a paradox. Expecting – no, demanding – the exact opposite of what most dominant men demanded. He confused me and scared me and, oh, fuck, God, yes, he made me want him so badly all I could focus on was the thumping demand of my cunt.
‘They think you have me pussy-whipped. But not just figuratively, literally. They think you are the one wielding the whip, as it were. And I am the one asking for one more, Mistress.’ He winked and I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position for my poor, swollen, wanting nether bits.
‘I had no idea.’
He straightened his trouser leg. ‘Doesn’t matter. I don’t really give a shit what they think.’
‘The mark of a true dominant.’
‘But I find it amusing. I’d like to put a little trinket on you. So you remember when they all start flirting, and touching and joking … that you are mine. Do you approve?’
Again, I nodded mutely. Maybe I had a future career as a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘But, you know, some studded dog collar or bondage nonsense would look really stupid with a lovely cocktail dress and delicate sensual shoes. It would also be abysmal on that neck of yours.’
Thank God. The thought of something that tight to my throat made me jangle with fear and anxiety. I had a thing about my throat and he knew it. It was one thing to let him grip me there – his hand imprisoning my jumping pulse – while he fucked me. It was another to ask me to wear something constricting for hours and hours and not freak out.
‘Thank you, Trevor.’
‘So this was the thing I thought would help us celebrate our first date. Also celebrating the fact that you’re mine now. You are mine now, aren’t you, Winona?’
‘Yes, Trevor,’ I breathed. All of me felt like I was trembling. Inside and out. I pictured him eating me out, I pictured him fucking me with his fingers, I pictured him trussing me up and making me say his name until I wept it.
‘Good girl.
