HMBC Gauntlet

By Lillian Jean Daub

Paloma had no idea that her life was going to change when she locked eyes with Aiden. A successful and commanding black man, Aiden is the kind of man her conservative upbringing would not allow. With the first words he spoke, Aiden owned her body and soul, but when his desires in the bedroom match her own, Paloma fears getting lost. As she blooms and thrives under his sexual demands, dangers are lurking. Can Paloma navigate the thorny path between Aiden and his wife? Can she overcome her own upbringing? Can Aiden balance his wife and his submissive? Would they survive being pushed to their breaking points? Was it worth the fight when everything was said and done?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667178868

Book preview

Gauntlet

Chapter One

The party room of the bar was too loud for comfort. The music thrummed in Paloma’s ears, making them itch. The drinks, while discounted for the birthday party, were watered down and way too expensive. Paloma looked up at her roommate, who was about three drinks into a drunk night, and it was her job to keep her from doing something stupid. Another sober night watching her drunken friends and being gracious calling them that, get trashed and make out with each other. It was like they never learned. Like last week, Paloma had gotten a call when Melanie had woken up on a sidewalk downtown missing half her clothes. She still had no idea what had happened, yet another Friday night was here, and she was on her way to being drunk again. Taking her Diet Coke, she went over to a corner where she could watch her roommate but was far enough away from the speakers that they didn’t make her ears itch.

It was good for her to get out of the apartment. She knew that. She tended to hermit, only coming out when Melanie dragged her, or she had to meet with her agent. She was avoiding her agent because she had missed a deadline and didn’t want to hear about it until she figured out how to fix the novel. Her current project had gone sideways from the start, and she couldn’t get it back on track. Usually not one to use sex to sell her books as it rarely advanced her plot, this book seemed to be nothing but bedroom gymnastics. The kinky kind to boot.

Maybe Melanie was right, and she just needed to get laid, but that was problematic, too. It wasn’t like she was seeing anyone, and there weren’t a lot of choices in her friend group to pick one to have benefits with. Even if she did select one, there would be talking and feelings when what she wanted was a good hard fuck that left her exhausted, then to wake up in her bed alone. Looking around, not a single one of the people gathered here would work.

Greg, well, she wasn’t sure he was straight, and she couldn’t imagine him bending her over and slamming into her hard enough to bruise her, much less for there to be any friction at all. Melanie, she was straighter than a straight rule and would never consider an experience with a girl. Lauren and Ryan, too cute as a couple that they were ruled out. Now there was April and Oliver, and while they might have a bit of swinger in them, she didn’t want the look afterward when they looked at her. Maybe a little bit too judgy. If only she could get mindless drunk like them. Get out of her own head. Something. Anything.

While I can’t hear your thoughts, I can tell you’re thinking pretty damn badly. Forget we’re at a party?

Paloma looked up at the voice to see a man that she didn’t know. Since the lights were low, it was hard to tell how dark he was, but he was black. Well built without being too big. He was also very well dressed in dark blue or black slacks and a jacket with a V-necked shirt that was a couple of shades lighter than the suit. His shoes were shiny and expensive, and he smelled manly. In his hand was a small glass. She guessed whiskey or bourbon with soda.

Futility of life. The benefits of booze. You know, the usual, she responded back to him, a smile on her face that was more mask than anything else. She hoped that her sizing him up wasn’t written on her face. He was what she liked; bigger than her all around, an air of masculinity that he wore like cologne, and handsome. What about you? Friend of Jim’s?

Co-worker, he confirmed. Only here because I didn’t want to be the only one from the office who wasn’t.

Paloma snorted. Yeah, that old trap. Glad I don’t have one.

Unemployed. That’s a shame, he said, moving to sit down on the couch next to her.

Independent contractor. Kinda. Sorta. I’m a writer. A novelist, to be exact. I ghostwrite, which pays the bills. And my own stuff, which hopefully someday will pay the bills. She sipped at her Diet Coke and then smiled at him again, wondering where this was coming from. This was very unlike her. She wasn’t good at small talk and usually avoided it, especially when people asked what she did.

Anything I may have read? he asked, leaning towards her.

Was he interested in her? Could he be the solution to her problem? My stuff, probably not. And the ghost stuff, you might if you like action and spy thrillers. She put her glass down to play with her hair that she had brushed and styled for tonight. She had taken the time to wash it and condition it and drench it in hair product so the curls were tight and not frizzy. The light brown that she highlighted with blue looked somewhat cute and not a rat’s nest that it usually was. Melanie had even convinced her to wear a bit of makeup, too, which she was suddenly thankful for.

No titles? He placed his drink down next to hers, so close that he almost touched her hand.

I don’t disclose. She blushed, wondering if he wanted to touch her. She wanted him to but didn’t know how to ask for it. She shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts out of her head.

There’s that look again. Your nose squinches up, just a little. What are you thinking about? he asked her. His hand hovering near his drink, then he leaned back. His arms stretched out on the back of the couch; his legs spread seductively. Or at least that’s what her mind told her. He was doing this on purpose so she would look at his crotch and think about what might be in his pants. The characters in her head were screaming at her. They wanted her to play this out for them. Wanted her to move and kneel between his legs and beg to suck his—

She shook her head to clear it. Nothing. I was just thinking about… characters and things. You never really stop writing when you’re a writer. It’s something that’s always there.

Fascinating. He was looking directly at her like she was the only person in the room when she was quite sure she wasn’t. She also wasn’t nearly the prettiest or even the most provocatively dressed person in the room. It was just a knee-length jean skirt with her favorite riding boots, a black cami top with a black and red open cardigan. So, is this the ghostwriting or your writing that you’re thinking of?

Um, she gave a little giggle, mine. Just working out some little details.

While all this partying is going on around you? That’s a little, um, obsessive? Workaholic? He moved forward to take a drink from his glass and finished it. He held it up and at her. Top shelf whiskey and Coke. Put it on the Johnston tab. Go on.

She took the glass and went to the bar. At the bar, she looked over her shoulder as she waited for the drink, wondering what he saw in her. Or if he really was checking her out like she thought he was. The trip to the bar was just an excuse to see her ass. She found herself sashaying and showing off. Could he be suitable for a one-night stand? A good hard fuck and then a ‘see ya later’? She couldn’t help herself from wondering as she walked back and handed him the glass. Obsessive? she said, hopping right back into the conversation. It’s just the way my brain works. Writers are the great observers of our world. We see all the little things that others overlook.

That’s almost romantic, he said, sipping the drink and putting it down on the table.

At times. Paloma sat back down, carefully arranging her skirt. She was almost painfully aware of all those little things that she didn’t think about usually. The way her freshly shaved legs rubbed together and the way she kept pulling at her hair like she was nervous. But it’s really not. I work a lot. Rarely get out.

He was looking at her again. She was trying to decide how she would describe his eyes if she was writing him; deep, soulful, calculating? How would his lips taste? Would she call them sweet and soft? Hard and demanding. What? she said, coming out of her thoughts. I missed that.

I asked, what do you like to do when you do get out? I don’t think this is really your scene. His voice was amused. He bit his lower lip, still concentrating on her.

Oh, um, she had to think. What did she leave the apartment for? This or that. I’m really boring. And this isn’t my scene at all. Melanie, she pointed across the room where her roommate was doing shots with a guy Paloma had never seen before. Is my roommate. It’s my job to get her home. Probably drunk and belligerent, but home and puking on our floors and not picking up her from the street or a stranger’s.

That’s very kind of you. Selfless to sacrifice a Friday night. He moved to pick up his glass again. But what is it that you really want to do on this Friday night?

Have you strip me naked and fuck me hard right here and now, is what her brain screamed while her hands played with her hair. Um, I… I don’t…

He leaned forward into her space. Almost to the point where it was intrusive. I think there is something particular that you want, Paloma. His voice was just above a whisper and pitched just so that she could hear it. But you have to tell me before I will do anything about it. He then leaned back after picking up his glass.

She looked down, not sure of what had just happened. Was that a proposal? If he did figure out what she was thinking, would he really do anything about it? Could he do anything about it? What did he want to do about it? What makes you think that I want anything and that you’re the guy to do it?

He reached out and placed his hand on her knee. The warmth of his hand intensified the cold of her skin. She swallowed, unconsciously spreading her knees a little bit apart. Who was this guy, and what was he doing to her? Your eyes. Your eyes tell me everything. And I’m the guy to take care of it because I know my tastes and how they run. I’m betting that they align with yours.

They do… do not, she said quickly.

They don’t? he leaned back, taking his hand from her knee. So, you didn’t just get a little excited with my hand on your knee? I didn’t see you spread your knees, just a little? Hmm?

I don’t know what you are talking about, she said while her mind screamed, yes, yes you did. Touch me again.

Oh, that’s a lie, Paloma. He moved forward again. His hand was back on her knee. I should punish you for that. Grab you right here, throw you over my knee. Pull those panties, which I expect are soaked, down and spank your pretty ass until it’s red.

Yes, fuck yes, her brain screamed. Do that. Do it now. Uh, was all her mouth could get out. She knew that she probably resembled a fish out of water as she sat there but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He finished his drink and held out the empty glass for her. Be quick.

Paloma took the glass and went to the bar, missing the feel of his touch on her knee. She looked around the party room. Everyone seemed to be oblivious to her and her plight. Even Melanie was in her own world, making out with the birthday boy himself. She took the drink from the bartender, and returning to the couch, she handed him the glass and waited. He gave her a smile as he sat back, the drink in his hand. What do you want, Paloma? he asked her, looking up at her with those brown eyes that she still hadn’t figured out how to describe if he was a character in one of her books. Had she told him her name? How did he know her name?

She licked her lips, trying to decide what she wanted. How did she want to say it? Could she say it? Was it just that she was horny, and it had been a while since she had gotten any? She was breathless at the possibilities as she blinked and tried to figure out something to say.

As I am pretty sure that Melanie is going home with the birthday boy. He looked around her to the couple standing at the bar with their hands in each other’s pants. I think you just got a reprieve of Babysitting for the night. I’m not going to ask again.

I want, she started and then stopped, looking around the room. I want… what you said.

He laughed at her. It was clearly at her. What did I say?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I want what you’re offering.

What am I offering? He sipped at his drink, looking up with her with a smug look on his face.

Why are you making this difficult? she demanded with a slight stomp of her foot.

Because I can. He rose slowly until he towered over her. This is the fun part of the game. And this, this is the easy part. The hard part comes later. He squared up to her, lifting her chin. Now, Paloma, I want to hear you say it.

She nodded but didn’t move other than that. I want you to throw me over your knee and spank me.

He chuckled at that. We’ll start with that. You drove?

She blushed, shaking her head no. She wanted to drop her eyes, but he was still holding her chin.

Good. Close my tab and meet me outside. He turned and left, leaving her there with just a little bit of whiplash. She headed back to the bar and proceeded to close out his tab. She checked her phone and saw the message from Melanie, confirming what he had said. She texted back a quick, OK. Then she headed out to the front of the club and valet parking. Along the way, she realized all she knew about him was that his last name was Johnston.

The night was mild, and after Paloma explained that her apartment was only a few blocks, they decided to walk. As they talked, she kept looking over at him and trying to take in what she could about him. He was older than her by at least ten years, putting him in the forties range, she surmised. As a co-worker of Jim’s, he was big corporate, but Jim was in corporate security. She had no idea what this gentleman’s place in the company could be. He was comfortable in his swagger, and the suit he was wearing wasn’t cheap.

His was darker than she had first thought, having that vivid dark skin that almost shined blue. His hands were soft as they touched her, guiding her even though he had no idea where they were going. His hair was shorn to his skull that was perfectly smooth, and there wasn’t a trace of five o’clock shadow. He had shaved just before the party, just as she had.

As they entered her building, he moved behind her, almost touching her. The entire elevator ride was exquisite torture of nearly. When she opened the door to the apartment that she shared with Melanie, she found herself wishing they were a little better at housekeeping. The apartment wasn’t horrible, but it also wasn’t super clean either. She hung her jacket and purse in the closet right as they walked in. He didn’t stop and walked all the way into their living room.

The kitchen was behind him, still with the dirty dishes of the day, and the trash hadn’t been taken out. The living room in front of him was a mismatch of furniture. A couch was worn and comfortable in a deep blue color. Two plush chairs that didn’t match. The TV was a good size flat screen with all the usual cable boxes and game systems. Behind that was her home office, a desk with a laptop surrounded by a mess of papers and books with a comfortable office chair that she had been contemplating replacing. The curtains were open to the patio, which had a couple of chairs and a table, and a cooler. Melanie’s room was to the right and hers to the left. He spun to look at her, a smile on his face. Cute. Not nearly as bachelorette-esqe as I would have thought.

Paloma locked the door, a habit, and turned back to him and her apartment. What did you expect? she asked, feeling even more awkward.

Bottles of booze. Bras everywhere. Clothes everywhere. He moved towards her desk. He picked up a stack of her notecards.

They’re all in an order that makes sense to me, Paloma said as she rushed over to take them from his hand. You don’t mess with a writer’s work area. We’re particular. She carefully put them back down, taking a deep breath.

She was standing in front of him again. He reached up and gently started to push the cardigan off her shoulders, leaving her in just the cami. She let him take it off her and put it on her desk. We’re going to establish a few rules here, Paloma. Okay? he asked, his voice rumbling deep.

She nodded.

First is obedience. You do what I say when I say it. If you can’t, tell me why you can’t. Understand? He lifted her chin when it fell to her chest in a natural gesture of hers.

Understood, she pushed out.

You can call me Sir. I like it when you call me Sir. Understand? he asked again, his hands moving down to her cami straps and playing with them.

Understood. Sir, she swallowed. She was more drunk from him than alcohol had ever caused. She felt tipsy and wanted more.

I like to cause pain. And that’s your purpose. His voice was low, almost a growl going straight through her.

She nodded and swallowed the want that was spreading like fire. I like pain. Sir.

Good. He stepped back, moving back around the apartment. Panting, Paloma leaned against her desk. Take your cami off, he ordered her, turning around at the sofa to lean on the back of it.

She pulled the black cami over her head and put it on top of the cardigan on her desk. She stood there, just in her bra. Luckily, it was her good bra, and she waited for the next order. He was looking her over, that look of a predator in his eyes. You like pain? What kind of pain?

She shook her head, trying to clear the headiness of him. Um, what do you mean?

I’m not your first. I want to know what you like. What you want. And I want a drink while you tell me. He crossed his arms across his chest.

We have Jack and probably Coke, Diet. Paloma moved towards the kitchen and opened the cabinet with the liquor. She grabbed one of the nicest glasses they had in their mismatch collection. Filling it with ice, she poured the Jack over it and pulled out a can of Diet Coke. She poured it and then headed back to the living room. She held out the glass, and he took it from her. As for, um, what I like. I like, um—

Make a statement. Don’t um and um. His voice was stern, making his point clear. He sipped at the drink as he waited for her.

She licked her lips and thought, readying the statement before she spoke. I like to be spanked. Especially with a belt. She fidgeted where she was and thought about the next thing. I like to be tied up. And to suck cock. She took a breath, needing the air.

All things I approve of. He put the drink down. Lose the skirt.

She unbuttoned the skirt and put it on the rest of the clothes on her desk. She continued to fidget as he watched her, thankful she had put on good underwear.

What toys do you own? he demanded, standing up from the couch back. He gestured between the two rooms, and Paloma pointed at hers, which he walked into.

There were a couple of pieces of clothes on the floor, and she hadn’t made her bed, but otherwise, it was mostly clean. There was a can of Diet Coke on the nightstand, and the remote to her TV was somewhere in her sheets, but she wasn’t too embarrassed. She followed, staying at the door as he took in the Queen bed, another desk. He opened the door to her walk-in closet and gave her a nod of approval. He flipped on the lights in her vanity that led to her bathroom. Another nod of approval.

She started to give an um and stopped herself. Not a lot. I have a vibrator. Clothespins. A flogger.

That can be remedied, he told her. No anal toys?

She shook her head, closing her eyes and swallowing. She felt like a bowstring, taut and waiting. Was this the moment that everything came crashing down? I don’t… that’s not something I do.

Hard no. I’ll accept it for now, he told her, moving back into the room. STDs?

No. I was clean my last check-up, and there hasn’t been anyone since, she told him, still in the doorway. Next question; am I on birth control? she snorted back at him, the giddy taking over.

He looked up at her, his eyes gone hard. That’s five. I don’t take disrespect.

Sorry, Sir, she said, shrinking into herself.

Answer the question, he demanded. And lose the bra.

She reached up and pulled the bra loose. IUD. She walked it over to her closet and dropped it inside. Sir.

That’s good. He walked over to her. You have any other hard Nos that I need to know about?

Blood. And shit. She shook her head, not wanting to think about the practical side of negotiations. She tried to get lost in the sensations. I don’t have any others.

You have to tell me if there are others, he told her, putting his hands on her shoulders, then running them down her arms, causing her skin to goose pimple. Her pale flesh accented by his dark, a beautiful study in contrasts. I don’t intend for this to be a one-off. You get that?

Paloma nodded, a little shocked. She had figured this was a one and done. I’m not interested in dating anyone. She hoped that it didn’t hurt her chances of getting laid, but she also had to be honest with him and herself. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, especially not one of these relationships.

Neither am I. I’m interested in a submissive. He was looking at her with those intense brown eyes again, his hands soft on her skin. I’m looking for someone that’s going to let me give them pain and take my pleasure with. As long as they enjoy it, too. I think you’re one of those people, Paloma. He stepped forward into her space. Do you have anything I can tie you up with?

She nodded and looked at her closet. I have a couple of scarves.

Stay, he ordered and walked into her closet. She watched as he opened the drawers on her dresser until he found the scarves. He came back to her, and she held out her hands for him. The tie was simple but effective. Now we need to talk about that Five you owe me.

Sir? she squeaked. She blinked, trying to clear the fog, and failed.

Disrespect, remember? He reached up and held her chin for a moment. My usual instrument of punishment is a cane. Don’t suppose you have one? He smiled at her, leaning in and kissing her gently. The kiss was slow as he tasted her and teased her. Making her lean into him more than he was leaning into her. Just as she was becoming breathless, he pulled all the way back. She panted, wanting more. She shook her head no, barely remembering there was a question to answer until he looked at her with the expectation of an answer on his handsome face. I guess I will punt then. Stay, he ordered again and disappeared into the living room. He returned with a spatula. This will have to do.

She swallowed, wondering how this had moved so fast. This was supposed to be something quick and fun and light. Now she was standing in her apartment in her underwear and boots with a man, whose name she didn’t even know, who was going to punish her with her own spatula because she didn’t own a cane. She waited, hands bound in front of her for whatever he dictated next. She’d sort all this out later. Right now, all she wanted was that spatula and his touch again.

He walked over and put the spatula on the desk. I think we’ll build to that. He reached down and pulled his shirt over her head. He wasn’t rock hard, but his chest was broad and defined without being sculpted. There were patches of dark curls on his chest. He took his shoes and socks off, neatly piling everything on her desk next to the spatula. Next, he unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants. She licked her lips in anticipation as he pulled his boxers off to reveal his semi-hard cock.

This was the first black cock that she had seen. Her first reaction was that it was no different than the other ones she had seen except in color. Then the size really sunk in. He was long, she could tell, and thick. Knees, he ordered her.

She dropped down in front of him and opened her mouth.

Kiss it. Kiss the head. Tell him how much you like him, he ordered her.

She leaned in and kissed the head, a dark caramel color that darkened down the shaft to the rich dark like the rest of him. I really like him. I want to taste him. I want him in my mouth, she cooed at the cock, her mouthwatering at the thought.

Lick him. All over, he ordered, his voice deep and rich. All of him was deep, dark, and rich. She wanted it all.

She leaned in and started on the underside, licking up from the balls to the head. She swirled the tip with her tongue and then licked down the shaft. He tasted clean and musky without the sweat taste that some of her past partners had. It was even more of a joy to lick and taste him than she had imaged since he had spoken to her.

Balls, he said, a little breathless.

She moved to lick his balls, marveling at the feel. The hair was slight and not distracting as she licked and sucked them into her mouth. She rolled and pulled them as one of his hands landed on her head, and the other worked his cock. She was breathless when he finally told her, Get that mouth on my cock.

She licked up to the head, twirling it in her mouth before sinking down a few inches. He was bigger than anyone she’d had before. It made her mouth and her pussy water. She pulled off to push down again. She managed to take him a bit further, but she was not going to be able to take all of him. Had her hands been free, she would have used them to help her, but as it was, she could only do her best as she was. As she bobbed on his cock, his hands her on her head, forcing her to take him deeper. Until she gagged on him. He held her there for a moment and then let her go. She pulled off, gasping. He smiled down at her, their demanding nature revealed as she realized that they were the eyes of a predator. Again.

She nodded, moving to suck the head of his cock into her mouth. He set the rhythm of her mouth, making her gag and gasp every few strokes. Her eyes were watering, and her jaw starting to ache when he finally let her come all the way off his cock. Hungry one, aren’t you, Baby? he cooed at her. Go on, get on your knees on the bed. Ass up, head down.

She moved, feeling like she was in a daze. She felt him pull her underwear down and spread her legs as far as they would allow. His hands were warm against her ass. He spread her cheeks and then ran his fingers down into her cunt. She moaned, pushing against his fingers. Then the slap against her ass. It was more noise than anything, but it was like lightning striking. Several more landed, and she found herself moaning with each one, pushing out a, Thank you, Sir.

The warmth built fast, and she imagined that her white ass was getting red. Then he was gone from behind her. The void behind her was accented by the heat radiating off her ass. Then he was back. I want you to count, Baby.

The air whistled, and then she felt the impact and yelped. Once she caught her breath, she pushed out a, One, Sir. Then the second one landed on the other cheek. Fuck, she hissed into the bedsheets before forcing out a, Two, Sir. The third one landed on top of the first one. She understood the feeling of seeing stars, and she cried out, Three, Sir. The fourth landed on top of the second, and the sobs were real, Four, Sir. His hands were rolling over her flesh, and she fought herself for composure. He was playing with her, smearing wetness all over her before pressing a finger inside her, causing another moan. The hands were gone. The air whistled. Fuck, she screamed, processing the blow with the spatula. Five, Sir.

He grabbed her hips and pressed into her. There was no warning, and she groaned, stretching to take him. There was no finesse as he fucked her hard and deep. She pushed back against him, moaning into the bedspread. The haze was back like this was all some dream. Some kinky fantasy where she was letting a stranger fuck her in her bedroom. She moaned, trying to remember if she had to ask to cum, because she was getting close. Had he said anything? Sir, I’m… going to…

A slap across her ass caused her to groan. Not yet, he snarled. When I tell you.

Yes, Sir, she panted, grabbing the comforter.

It wasn’t much longer. A few more thrusts, and then he growled, Now.

Paloma didn’t hold back and let her body go. She shuddered as she felt his cock contract inside her. His hands on her hips the only thing keeping her from falling over as she sucked in a breath and her body refused to release it. Oh, Baby, that’s it. He slapped her ass, and she finally released the breath. He pulled out of her and let her fall over on the bed, curling up in herself. She was caught between crying from pain or from the orgasm that was still raging through her.

Shh, Baby, you did good, he said, petting her head as he pulled the blanket up over her and crawled into bed. It’s all good.

His warmth enveloped her, all-encompassing. She wanted more, so much more. Thank you, Sir, she managed after a few minutes.

Shh, Baby, he whispered in her ear. Relax.

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him. A stranger in her bed, who had just spanked her with her own spatula, then fucked her. Her last thought before sleep took her was that she still didn’t even know his name.

***

It was her phone going off that woke her about 9 am. At first, Paloma thought that last night had been a dream until she moved. Then pain jumped to life on her ass. Grabbing her phone, she read the message from her roommate saying that she would be home after lunch. She placed the phone back on the nightstand and saw the note. She picked it up.

Baby,

Here’s my number. Text me when you wake up so that I know that you’re okay. Thank you for last night, and hopefully, we can have another session soon.

Sir

She grabbed her phone and quickly texted him; Good Morning, Sir. I’m good. She then curled back up in her bed. Usually, she would get up instead of wallowing in her bed. She had things to do, but the thought of sitting on her ass right now was enough to make her cry. When she couldn’t lay there anymore, she got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. When she caught a glimpse of her ass, she was a little shocked. The bruises were deep blue. She filled her tub and lowered herself down, wincing.

Last night had been amazing, and her mind was clear as she sat in the warmth. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she could sit down at her computer, well stand and finish up the manuscript that she had been staring at for weeks. She could stop avoiding her agent and could set into her next ghost-writing assignment without it hovering over her shoulder. Which was precisely what she did when she got out of the bath. Melanie breezed in, smelling like sex and alcohol, and went straight to her room, slamming the door. That suited Paloma fine. She placed a take-out order for Chinese and went back to working on her novel.

Melanie appeared to eat and babbled at her about her night, but like the self-absorbed typical drunk blond girl that she was. Paloma had always felt that Melanie was as shallow as they come, but they had been living together since college. It worked for the two of them. Not once did Melanie ask about Paloma’s night. Not that she would have told her anything, but it shows the difference in the way they interacted with each other.

Since Melanie was sleeping, Paloma decided to go back to her room to watch TV. It was easier to lay down than sit on the couch anyway. When her phone pinged, a little after ten pm, she picked it up, wondering who would be texting her this late: Hey Baby, just thinking of you.

She smiled as she realized that it was Sir. Thanks, she typed back.

Whatcha doing?

She looked at the phone, trying to figure out how to answer that. Watching TV. Just finished working for the day.

Got a lot done?

She smiled. Only her editor or agent asked her things like that. Actually, I did. Then she found herself holding the phone and waiting for him to respond like she was some girl with a crush waiting for the boy to call her back.

That’s good.

What was she supposed to say to that? Was she supposed to ask about his day? How was your day?

It was good. Thinking a lot about you.

She blushed, deep and red. Really?

Really. What are you wearing?

She sat up and looked at her phone. How did she feel about this? This was a strange development. One that she had never thought of. Large t-shirt.

That all?

She giggled. Yes. Figured it was better.

Little bit sore?

A little. Paloma giggled again, wrapping herself around her phone. This was exciting, she decided. Just a bit of the naughty side.

That’s good. You should be. Go to bed, Baby. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Good Night, Sir, she texted back, a little sad, but she also realized that it was after 11 pm. She did need to get some sleep, and she was tired. Turning off the TV, she reached back to touch the sore spots on her ass. She winced but smiled at the same time. She closed her eyes, thinking of him, and fell asleep.

Chapter Two

Sir likes to text, Paloma realized as he used them to get to know her schedule. The first text usually came in between 7:30 am and 8:30. Then randomly throughout her day. The last ones come right before 11 pm. The texts were all over the place. Some were small orders or demands. Some were simple ‘thinking of you’s. Some turned into deep conversations about politics, religion, and submission, specifically hers. What she wanted, how she wanted it, how far she was willing to go. Somehow those texts started to become the most important things in her life.

It had been two weeks since the party. Paloma was wallowing in her bed, naked as he had told her to sleep, when the first ding of the morning sounded. She grabbed the phone, desperate to see what it was. He mentioned that he might have time for her today. Her body thrummed with the want of him. She opened the message, a smile on her face; I want to see you today, but my time is limited. Do you trust me?

Many of their conversations were about trust. What was it? How far did it go? How was it measured? The innate need for faith from the submissive. Paloma hesitated a moment before typing her response; Of course, I trust you.

Butterflies were dancing jigs in her stomach as she waited for his response; One hour. Skirt, button-up, pussy bald, hair pigtails. The address came through a few moments later. Paloma had no time to waste as she ran to the shower.

She managed to make it to the address, still panting after running the last 50 yards or so. She hadn’t even stopped to eat breakfast but now wished she had. Her stomach was growling, adding to her nervousness. Would she live up to his standards? Was this really something that she could manage?

He pulled up in a minivan with dark tinted windows. Paloma stood there, pulling at the hem of the jean skirt she had chosen for the day. The door opened, and he stepped out. He was much taller than her and classically handsome. Clean-shaven and well-groomed, his deep black skin enticing. He was dressed nicely in jeans and a collared shirt today. She blushed as he looked her over, reciprocating the once over she had given him. Looking good, Baby, he cooed at her, moving forward and pulling her into a hug. Come on now. Get in. On the floor. Like a good girl.

She crawled in and sat down on the floor where the middle seat had been removed. He entered the van and closed the door. She waited, trying to keep her calm. Here? He was going to use her here? Anyone could discover them?

Remember the rules. From here on out, you call me Sir. You also obey me. The speech was simple and practiced and went straight through her. She melted into his voice.

Yes, Sir, she said, shifting slightly.

Good girl. Take off your skirt. Shirt, too. And kneel there, facing out. I need to look you over. He pointed, his voice low, directing the action.

She undid her shirt, letting it fall away as she moved to where he had pointed. She pulled off her shirt and then her bra. She fought not to squirm. Part of her couldn’t believe that she was in a parking lot, naked with a man she barely knew. Part of her wanted this so bad that she was shaking.

Good. Spread those legs and bend over. Another command, simple. The headiness was back as if his voice was the honeyed nectar to her alcoholic bee.

She did, shuffling her knees wide. She bent over, using her hands to brace herself. His hands were neither cold nor hot but just a few degrees off hers. She shuddered, panting just a bit. The world narrowed to his hands on her body, the feel of him as he touched her.

You healed nice, just a few hints. You excited, Baby? he asked, his hand running down her back.

Yes, Sir, she breathed out.

His hands pressed her forward, and she took the direction. As her face went down to the floor on the blanket he had laid out for them, her ass went up, and she spread her knees further. His hand traveled further down, over her ass and spreading her cheeks. A lingering finger over her asshole, and she shuddered. Then down to her pussy, and she gave a moan.

Already wet, he chuckled, pulling gently at her pussy lips.

Yes, Sir, she said breathlessly.

That’s a good girl. You’re not to cum until I allow it. Understand? His finger pressed into her.

Yes, Sir, she panted.

Let me know if you’re getting close and ask, he continued as he pushed his finger a little bit further into her.

Yes, Sir, she said again with a little more force.

Paloma moaned as he played with her pussy, his fingers sliding in and out of her. She spread herself more, wanting him deep inside her. She pushed back, wordlessly demanding that he mount her right here. Fuck her hard and deep with her face pressed into the dirty carpet of the minivan. Please, she muttered to herself as he played with her. When his hands left her, she sighed in disappointment.

On your back, he ordered a bit breathless himself.

She obeyed, her knees bent and spread in front of him, he moved down to between her legs.

This is just a quick meet, Baby. His hands on her thighs. Just a beginning. A moment to make sure that you’re mine. His voice was soothing and went straight to the core of her. He wanted her. She was his. There wasn’t anything else to test. He had laid his claim on her with that term of endearment that would have pissed her off coming from anyone else’s lips; Baby. His name for her.

Yes, Sir, she panted, wanting him to touch her more. Wanting him to give her more orders. She moaned and closed her eyes as his fingers spread her pussylips and found her clit. Her hips moved of their own accord, and he lightly slapped her thigh.

Did I say you could move? he asked, landing another light slap.

No, Sir, she said, her eyes fluttering open.

His fingers were back on her clit, and she moaned. He rubbed and pressed it as she tried to stay still. He pressed a finger inside her, and she felt herself get wetter with every moment. It felt so good that she realized that her orgasm was approaching fast. He had barely touched her, and she flushed red, embarrassed that she was this close, this fast. She fought, unsure exactly how to stop the flood that was threatening as she had never had to control herself before. She had to tell him, Sir, I’m close.

No. His hands pulled back and slapped her pussy mound. Breathe through it.

She nodded, Yes, Sir. She took a breath and tried to calm down, but