Serving Sophia: Awakenings, #3

By Michele Zurlo

Walls of Pain

Sophia DiMarco wants a forever kind of love. But finding the right sub isn't easy. And so she built a fortified wall around her heart to keep her from wanting more. It worked—until Drew Snow walked through her front door and stormed her citadel with one smoldering look.

Secret Shame

Never having entertained the idea of being submissive before, Drew finds himself enchanted with the beautiful Domme and craving the searing kiss of her dominance. But powerful men like him—he's a sought-after chef with a television show in the works—aren't subs, and the price of his submission is secrecy.

When tragedy strikes, he must decide whether he's strong enough to embrace his true nature and Sophia, who has become so much more than a secret pleasure.

Warnings: Femdom, BDSM

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Goddess Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781942414407

Michele Zurlo

Michele Zurlo is the author of the Awakenings, Doms of the FBI, and the SAFE Security series and many other stories. She write contemporary and paranormal, BDSM and mainstream—whatever it takes to give her characters the happy endings they deserve. Her childhood dream was  to be a librarian so she could read all day. Some words of wisdom from an inspiring lady had her tapping out stories on her first laptop, and writing blossomed from a hobby to a career. Find out more at www.michelezurloauthor.com or @MZurloAuthor.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sophia

I HELD HIM TIGHTLY with one arm as he sobbed against my shoulder, and I skimmed my hand lightly up and down his spine to soothe him. His silky skin seemed to caress me back, something Chris never did consciously.

He dragged the edge of the blanket closer and used it to wipe his eyes and the moisture on my skin. I’m sorry, Mistress.

Now I shushed him. We’ve talked about this, Chris.

I know. I’m sorry. Realizing what he’d done, he chuckled and shook his head, and the tears leaking from his big brown eyes ceased. There I go again.

By day, Christopher was a high-powered attorney, but here, in my dungeon, he was my submissive. I’d spent the last hour breaking him down, a process that enriched both our lives, and now he was a quaking mass tucked into my side.

I loved the power and control I had over my subs. Nobody could give Chris what I gave him—a safe place to come apart and the impact play necessary to facilitate his healing. It was a heady feeling, being in control of such a handsome, virile man.

He sat up next to me. It’s habit. The way I was raised, men don’t cry.

I sat up and rubbed his shoulder. Defined by slim, strong muscles and streaked darker brown from the marks my flogger left, he was a study in perfection. Christopher, men cry, and there is no need for you to apologize for having emotions, for feeling things deeply. You’re human. Embrace your humanity.

Christopher came from tough stock. Outside of my dungeon, he was a man’s man. He drank hard liquor, ate his steak rare, and didn’t blink when faced with a DA who had a solid case. He was methodical and unemotional in his approach to defending his clients, and he was the same way in his personal life.

The only place he felt safe enough to let down his rock-solid wall was with me, and even then, I had to force him to drop the façade.

I thrived on the challenge. I loved breaking him down. I treasured the deep well of trust between us. We had something special.

He snorted. You never cry.

Though he was wrong about that, I didn’t dispute the claim. I’d never cried in front of him. I adored Christopher, and I prized his submission, but I’d learned to keep my emotions stowed safely away. Instead, I basked in his display, soaking in the purifying power of his tears.

In lieu of an answer, I traced my fingertip along his full bottom lip. I loved his lips. Chris was a fantastic kisser, and under my tutelage, he’d become skilled at eating pussy as well. That was one skill women needed to be more vocal about. There shouldn’t be a participation prize for that sport. More men needed to learn how to please a woman with their mouth, and they weren’t going to become proficient without feedback and practice.

Lots of practice.

He turned toward me, following my caress, and he brushed his lips across mine. His foray was tentative, asking for permission. I’d trained him well. When I didn’t give it, he pulled back. Have I displeased you, Mistress?

I scratched my nails through the short, fuzzy black curls that dotted his head. Breaking him down had been a satisfying experience for both of us, and now I was very horny. You pleased me, Christopher. Now lick my pussy and show me how much you appreciate me.

Yes, Mistress. He lifted me easily to remove my shorts, and then those wondrous lips closed around my clit in an erotic caress. The flat of his tongue swiped and teased through my folds as he patiently urged me to completion.

Tension built and released, and he moaned as he slurped evidence of my orgasm. The small climax left me hungry for more.

Get a condom, Chris. I need you inside me.

He snagged a condom from where I’d dropped several on the edge of the bed, and I grabbed the riding crop from where I’d propped it against the headboard. Excitement sparkled in his eyes, and his erection seemed to strain toward me as he rolled the condom over the thick length. I tapped the flap of the crop on the underside of his balls, and he moaned. I tapped harder, and he gasped.

Mistress, I want to please you.

Meaning he was close to coming. My Christopher was a masochist. He couldn’t achieve orgasm without pain, which was why I’d flogged him until his mind floated away, and then I’d brought him back with five cane strokes. I hadn’t broken the skin, but he was tender and bruised.

He entered me roughly, another clue as to the tenuousness of his control, and he set a frantic pace.

I brought the crop down across a cane stripe on his thigh. Slower. If you come before I do, I’ll torture your dick.

Chris wasn’t a fan of CBT—cock and ball torture—so it was definitely a punishment he didn’t relish. Taking a deep breath, he slowed his pace. Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress.

As that was an appropriate action for which to apologize, I let him have that one. My orgasm built anew. Chris found my sweet spot and concentrated on hitting it with every thrust. I brought the crop down on his ass and thighs. It wasn’t a punishment or warning. I got off on his pain, as did he.

He cried out, moans and pleas as he fought for control.

But control was mine. His body, his orgasm—these things belonged to me.  Aiming for a bruise, I hit harder. He trembled on top of me, his moans turning to desperate sobs. More than his cock, his pain and desperation drove my climax. Seconds before my orgasm hit, I dropped the crop and pinched a welt with vicious intensity.

Come, I commanded as delicious bliss washed over my body. Now.

He threw back his head, buried his cock deep, and howled as he came.

Then he collapsed next to me, his chest rising rapidly as he moaned and whispered my title reverently.

I closed my eyes, a pleased smile curling my lips. This had been a great scene.

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TIGHTENING THE BELT of my robe, I watched Christopher wince as he put on his pants. I’d rubbed arnica into his welts, but he was still going to be pleasantly sore for the next few days.

Do you want a robe instead? I motioned to the cabinet where I kept his things. Hanging in there was the crop I’d used on him when we’d fucked, as well as the floggers and cane I’d used earlier. I’d clean them tomorrow. It’s late. You can sleep over.

Thanks, but I can’t stay the night. I have an early meeting.

Though I adored my submissives—I currently had two subs I saw regularly—I rarely invited them to stay the night. We weren’t romantically involved, and so it was often easier on everyone if we parted after a scene. Sometimes when Chris stayed, we did a short scene in the morning.

We need to debrief. You can dress afterward.

That’s okay. Chris wasn’t submissive outside the dungeon, and his mind was already halfway up the stairs. I like this kind of sore.

Scratch that—he was most of the way up the stairs. He’d stopped using my title.

Rather than call him on it, I opened the door. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.

My house was small, a little under a thousand square feet, but it was the perfect size for me. On the main floor I had a kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, a tiny office, and a good-sized bathroom. In the basement, I had a laundry room, a storage room, and a dungeon.

I hopped up the stairs, an extra spring in my step because I was sexually and emotionally sated, and then I got the coffee maker going. As it wheezed and spilled my favorite elixir, I heard the creaking of the stairs.

The door at the top of the steps opened, and Chris poured himself into the nearest chair.

Chuckling at his amorphousness, I got out two mugs. I can set the alarm to get you up early enough to be home in time to change. You can shower here.

He tugged at his collar. I met someone.

In the midst of pouring scalding hot java into a mug, I frowned. We weren’t romantically involved, and we were by no means exclusive. But something in Chris’ tone gave me pause. Someone special?

I think so. We’ve been out twice, but we’ve been talking and texting every day for the past two weeks. I really like her.

I added liberal amounts of sugar to my mug. If you want cream and sugar, you’re going to have to get it yourself. He was too picky when it came to doctoring coffee. After that first time, I’d required him to do the honors himself.

Black is fine.

I set the mug in front of him. If you complain, I won’t beat you next time.

Sophia, I’m trying to tell you that there won’t be a next time. He sighed. Jennifer isn’t into this sort of thing. She wouldn’t understand.

Nonplussed, I sipped my coffee. Though it was late, I didn’t mind the caffeine. Once Chris left, I planned to shower and do some stretches so that my shoulders wouldn’t be sore in the morning. Chris might like muscle pain, but I didn’t.

Christopher. I said his name every bit as crisply as he’d said mine. Does Jennifer know you need pain in order to orgasm? He had trouble achieving an erection without at least a few sharp pinches.

He chewed that delicious bottom lip for a moment. I’ve been researching this whole phenomenon. The brain is the largest sexual organ.

Skin was the largest sexual organ. The brain was the most important. I noted the correction, but I didn’t voice it. Are you planning to fantasize about being flogged and dominated while you’re with her? Or did you get some of those erection pills from TV?

Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, he shifted. I’m not sure I get off on being dominated as much as from being flogged.

By way of response, I lifted a brow. Chris went through this every few months or so. Being submissive and a masochist clashed with the macho upbringing he couldn’t seem to come to terms with. I wasn’t a shrink, but I’d advised him to see one on several occasions. In the meantime, I liked to think our sessions helped him process some of his emotional trauma.

Yeah. He ran a palm over the top of his head, petting himself as a calming mechanism.

I was bothered by this because spending time with me usually left him with an inner peace that was sorely lacking right now.

You’re right, he continued. You’re always right. But you know what? I need to do this. I need to try to have a normal relationship with a woman.

Normal is overrated, I muttered. Leaning forward, I nailed him with a direct look. You never said if she knows you’re a masochist.

Not yet. He pursed his lips. I think she’ll be okay with it. I don’t think she’ll be okay with me having a Dominatrix.

Okay, I said. If that’s what you want, then I’m no longer your Domme.

He seemed simultaneously crushed and relieved. Sometimes I resent that you’re so understanding. Sometimes I wish I could be the man you think I am.

I wasn’t being understanding. Chris and I had been together, on and off, for a little over four years, and though we didn’t have a romantic relationship, he meant something significant to me. I’d given him so much, and in my dungeon, he’d given me everything. At best, I was being a passive-aggressive bitch. On any given day, you’re the man you want to be.

He shook his head. I’m still trying to figure out who that is.

Well, good luck. I hope you find happiness with Jennifer. I knew he wouldn’t. He was too much of a fucking chicken to ask for what he needed. The only reason we’d met was because he’d come to the club where I worked as a service Top. I’d charged him top dollar—ha, ha—to flog him until he was a sobbing mess for almost a year before he’d asked me for more.

I had a strict policy about not having sex with my clients, so I’d forced him to relinquish his membership to City Club before I’d consented to anything. For the past three years, we’d engaged in a fairly steady D/s relationship punctuated by his attempts to have a vanilla girlfriend.

We’d never developed a romantic association, though I hadn’t been opposed to it. Chris had only ever wanted domination from me. Even with all the talking and the number of times he’d poured out his heart and soul to me, he still didn’t see me as a viable candidate for a relationship.

I used to be perturbed about that, but I mollified my emotions by taking them out on his ass, which he loved. Since then, I’d cemented armor around my softer emotions, tucking stray wants and wishes away behind a thorny barrier.

And yet, I wasn’t lying. My wish for his happiness was as genuine as it was bitter.

Deep down, I wanted to find happiness like that, but I’d learned the hard way that my path didn’t lead in that direction.

Chapter 2

Drew

BRIGHT SUNLIGHT GLINTED off the water, turning each small swell into a dozen sparkling jewels. Two days on a yacht meant I was tan, rested, and eager to get back to the kitchen. While I would take almost any kitchen right now, I preferred my own. My kitchen at work was set up exactly the way I wanted, as was my kitchen at home.

An hour ago, I’d gone down to the galley, intent on making myself something to eat, but the chef I’d hired had thrown things at me and yelled in Japanese. I didn’t speak Japanese, but I recognized the tone of someone cursing me out. To be fair, he’d only agreed to cook for me if I stayed out of his kitchen. I’d be lucky if he came out with me on my next trip. Cooking for a chef wasn’t the easiest job in the world, and cooking for a world-renowned chef like me was even harder.

According to my best friend, Ginny, my ego barely fit on board.

People who didn’t know us very well wondered how people with egos the size of Gin’s and mine managed to work together without some serious maiming and killing happening. People who knew us well understood that we shared an ego. It was large enough to accommodate two.

Plus, we divided our business into two distinct sections. Ginny ran the bakery, and I did the catering. While we helped each other out—I was a kick-ass cake decorator and could make mouthwatering confections in my sleep, while she was an excellent cook—we kept out of each other’s way unless specifically asked.

Cold droplets of water landed on my chest, jerking me from my thoughts.

A beautiful blonde straddled my deck chair, and she shook her head to rain more water on me. My yacht had a pool. Okay, it was my buddy’s yacht, and I was borrowing it, but it still had a pool.

She laughed, a husky chuckle with a seductive edge, and she plopped down onto my lower abdomen. Her bare skin slid against mine, an invitation I didn’t mind accepting for a third time today.

I set my hand on her thigh and squeezed. Done swimming?

I’m in the mood for riding. She rocked her pussy on me to demonstrate.

I pulled aside the crotch of her bikini to reveal a bare expanse of rosy flesh. While I didn’t care to have a say in the way a woman wore her hair, I had a distinct preference for pussies that had at least a landing strip. Livia’s pussy wasn’t the most attractive thing I’d ever seen, but she was fun to hang around with, and she had a wild streak in bed, so I’d asked her to come with me to the Keys for a brief getaway.

We’d gone out a few times, and we always had fun. This was no exception.

Touch your clit, I said. I’d noted that she liked when I ordered her around. While I was bossy in the kitchen, it didn’t get me hot to give orders during sex. I didn’t mind asking or proposing, but Livia got wet when I used my chef voice on her.

Her finger dipped into her wetness before traveling to her clit. It circled the bundle of nerves, teasing me with the visual.

Use your other hand to touch your breasts.

She slid her free hand up to knead and squeeze a breast. I pulled the string on the back of her bikini top, and the scant covering fell off her high, perky breasts. I pinched her nipples sharply, twisting them hard, and she gasped.

I sat up and licked the long column of her throat, salty from the chlorinated water. Masochistic slut.

A laugh bubbled from her chest, and she flicked her nail across my nipple until it pebbled. Takes one to know one.

Livia knew I wasn’t a masochist. She referred to the slut thing. I liked sex, and I didn’t try to hide it. Livia was the same way. She was about twenty years older than me, but thanks to a talented plastic surgeon, she looked better than women half her age.

I grasped a handful of her hair and kissed her hard on the mouth. Our tongues wrestled, and she kept her hands working her clit and breasts while mine roamed her body.

When I’d had enough of playing around, I reached into the bag under my chair for a condom. I rolled it on, and she settled onto my cock. I laid back and grasped her hips, watching her face as she rode my cock. She gasped and moaned, calling out to a higher power. When her rhythm faltered, I took over. She came before I did, and she collapsed against my chest before my dick was finished blowing its top.

I held her against me and stroked her wet hair away from her temple.

Drew?

Yeah?

I want you to meet my Dominatrix.

My caress faltered. Livia and I weren’t serious. We had fun together, but we both knew the score. Meeting her dominatrix seemed like something we’d do to move to the next phase of a relationship.

Did I shock you? Livia lifted her head and regarded me with a wicked grin.

I wasn’t sure what part she thought I’d find shocking. I frowned. I know dominant types. My friends who own this yacht are Doms. They were brothers, and we’d known each other since we were kids.

But you’re not. She sat up a little more, searching my face for confirmation.

I shrugged off the idea. I’m not into that stuff. I like vanilla sex. It’s all the fun with none of the leather. And none of the head games. I was not a fan of the psychological warfare that went with those kinds of arrangements.

She lifted a brow. You like sex games. We’ve used vibrators. You’ve gotten rough with me, pulled my hair, slapped my ass.

Those are small kinks, Livia. A dominatrix is going to have bigger kinks. She’s going to be into bondage and flogging and other kinds of things that don’t appeal to me.

Have you ever tried it? She lifted a brow, challenging me the same way she had the first time we’d met. At a friend’s party, I’d asked her to dance, and she’d told me to ask for what I really wanted—a quick fuck for the night. I’d responded by taking her to a hotel and rocking her world for several hours. She’d limped out of there the next morning.

I had a hard time resisting a challenge. I blamed my ego for that. No. I’ve seen it done, but I’ve never had a hankering to be tied up or flogged.

Her grin grew. You don’t have to bottom if you don’t want to, Drew. She can work you into the scene however you want.

I don’t really want to be part of a scene. I knew about scenes—choreographed agreements that included kneeling, flogging, and fucking. I was all for fucking, but flogging didn’t appeal to me. Kneeling was something I didn’t mind as long as it was for a good cause, and subsuming my will to another person was not a good reason. Oral sex was a good reason.

Of course, my imagination had fired up, and it showed me images of Livia eating a Domme’s pussy. The image was so fucking hot that my dick saluted.

Livia’s husky chuckle only intensified the image. I think you’re lying.

I like threesomes, I admitted. I was picturing you licking her pussy. Help me with the image, Liv. Is she as pretty as you?

With a laugh, Livia palmed my cock. I hadn’t put my trunks back on after we’d fucked, so nothing was in her way. Her voice lowered to a seductive hiss. She’s beautiful, Drew. She’s a few inches shorter than us, and she has long brown hair. It’s thick and wavy and soft as satin. She’s fit and toned, so she doesn’t have quite a handful here.

Livia left off stroking my cock to cup her breasts. I didn’t know Livia’s actual breast size, but she’d installed a C cup sometime before we’d met. I admired boobs of all shapes and sizes, but I was first and foremost a leg man.

She has a sexy shape. Curvy hips. Nice ass, so round and squeezable. Her thighs are unbelievably strong, but you only get to know that if she wraps her legs around you. Livia paused to roll a condom over my cock, and then she masturbated by rubbing my crown over her engorged clit.

Her eyes are dark brown, and she has this way of looking at you like she can see all of your secrets. She’s generous with praise and quick to punish. She steals your soul, and you’ll do anything to see her smile, even if it’s the evil smile that comes before she ties you to the wall and flogs you until your knees give out.

I didn’t want to be flogged, so that put a bit of a damper on the wonderful fantasy Livia was weaving for me. Or, for herself. She was close to orgasm just from talking about this dominatrix.

Her lips, Livia sighed as she slipped my cock inside her, and I didn’t know if she found my dick pleasing or she was imagining her Domme’s lips brushing against hers. Drew, her lips are amazing. Her kisses make me weak.

She stopped talking as she rode my cock with a frantic energy that had been missing moments ago. Her cunt squeezed hard, milking an unexpectedly quick climax from me. I cried out, too liquid to catch her when she collapsed against me.

After a time, her lips moved over my collarbone. Just meet her, Drew. She won’t do anything you don’t want.

Set something up for the week after next, Monday or Tuesday. At the very least, I’d get to see Livia in a new light, and I’d get to fuck two beautiful women.

On the big night, I picked Livia up at six and took her out to dinner beforehand. While I was a chef, I had a strict policy of not bringing women to my house for a home-cooked meal unless we were in a committed relationship.

Though I was an admitted slut, I didn’t shy away from a relationship with the right woman. Over the years, there had been a few serious girlfriends, and my heart had been broken by each breakup, even when I’d been the one to initiate it.

At dinner, I questioned Livia. I’d been busy all week, and this was the first time we’d talked since we’d returned from our brief getaway. What will happen when we get there?

She’ll want to talk to you, figure out your preferences and limits. Livia fidgeted, twisting the cloth of her napkin around her finger.

You’re hiding something.

She shrugged. I’ve brought dates to her before.

I didn’t care. Livia and I were having fun, not a relationship, and I wasn’t the jealous type. And?

And you don’t seem as open to enjoying it. Drew, if you don’t want to go, I can cancel. She won’t get mad.

I guessed at the reason, basing it on how I’d reacted. She’d rather have you cancel than bring someone who wasn’t into it.

Yeah. Livia’s blue eyes lifted, her gaze meeting mine. I kind of manipulated you into agreeing, and now I’m rethinking my strategy. When I asked straight out, you weren’t interested.

Her description had intrigued me. I lifted a shoulder. I’m always up for a new adventure. Livia, you’re dangling sex with two beautiful women in front of me. Of course I’m going to agree. I leaned closer. But you’re the only one who’s going to be tied up or flogged. That’s not my thing.

She responded with a brilliant smile. I’m okay with that.

When we left, I plugged the Domme’s address into my GPS. It led me to a neighborhood made up of tiny houses with neat lawns and meticulous landscaping. I pulled into the narrow driveway of a small, white brick ranch that could fit inside my living room and still leave space for all my furniture.

A flower bed ran along the front until it terminated at a square slab meant to be a front porch. It featured a small bench seat that was probably decorative and a clay pot that spilled over with flowers. The house blocked the waning sunlight, muting the blooms’ brilliant colors.

The house was cozy and cute. Nothing about it indicated a leather-clad Dominatrix lived inside. Even the front door featured an oval of stained glass in the shape of a pale blue flower.

Livia knocked.

A shadow moved through the front room, the shape distorted by the wavy glass in the door. It opened, and the most beautiful woman I’d ever set eyes upon smiled as she opened the screen door. Livia’s description had been accurate, but it left out the sheer force of the woman’s physical presence. It also fell far short in communicating exactly how stunning she was. Her eyes sparkled with promise.

She wore no leather. Instead, she’d chosen a simple maroon top with a scooped neck that barely revealed the tantalizing swell of her breasts. On her bottom half, she wore jean shorts with the cuffs rolled up, and her feet were bare. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in gentle waves that glistened in the reflected light.

Her beauty clubbed me over the head, grabbed me by the short hairs, and dragged me off to oblivion. For the first time in my life, I was gobsmacked. Dumbstruck. Rendered speechless. I had the body of a beefcake, but until this moment I’d never had the brain of one.

Livia. Right on time. She kissed Livia’s cheek, rising to her toes to do so. Somehow she used that simple act to establish her dominance over the taller woman.

The vivacious blonde I’d spent a few days with over the past month seemed to shrink into subservience. Her gaze dropped, and a strange calm descended. Hello, Mistress. Thank you for seeing me.

The Domme tilted her head toward me. She held out a hand. You must be Drew. I’m Sophia.

She even had a beautiful name. Already it whispered through my mind, becoming part of my essence. Given all the short-circuiting that was going on with my brain, it took me a moment to stop staring at her like a moron. I took her hand and brought it to my lips. Gently I grazed a kiss along her knuckles. Enchanté.

Lines crinkled around her eyes as she laughed and removed her hand from my grasp. Livia said you were charming.

Most people were swayed by my charm, but this Domme wasn’t, not that I was at my charming best right then. She’d found my greeting amusing, and I wasn’t sure how to react, so I played it cool. I try.

And I failed. Her smile softened, equal parts pity and sympathy—both of those probably for Livia for having chosen to spend time with a complete idiot.

She stepped back to let us pass. Livia went inside first. She kicked off her heels and set them on a mat next to the four tiles that made up the entryway. Three adults could not fit in that space, so I waited for Livia to move before I came inside. I purposely brushed my arm against Sophia’s as I passed her. Part of me wanted the physical contact, and part of me wanted to know if the rest of her skin was as soft as her hand.

I didn’t even care that my wits were scattered.

I toed off my dress shoes and piled them between Livia’s red pumps and a pair of well-worn tennis shoes. Sophia was a jogger. I liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to get sweaty.

Inhaling deeply, I cobbled the remains of my scattered brain cells into something functional. I was there for a threesome with two beautiful women. Tonight was going to be fun. Nights with Livia were always fun.

By the time I settled on the sofa next to Livia, I felt more like myself.

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Sophia

WHEN LIVIA HAD CALLED to ask if she could bring a date to our session, I’d eagerly consented. I didn’t see her every week like I did Chris, but she was my other regular submissive, and we’d been together the longest. I’d met Livia five years ago, when I’d first decided to become a Domme, and we’d learned the lifestyle together.

I’d made mistakes with her early on, as any beginner might, and she always forgave me. She was part of the reason I’d become a confident Domme. Over the