Authors: Nessa Connor
“Charles Clayton.” He extended a mammoth hand. Raw power coursed through the muscles of his hands
and forearms. Scarlett’s hand actually hurt when he shook it, but she gripped it firmly and squeezed back. She was a
strong, independent woman, not some fainting flower. She wasn’t going to swoon like a harlequin heroine just because a big, strong man was touching her.
Or was she?
The room started to spin a little as blood rushed to her head.
And other places.
“What’s your name?” he asked, throwing her off guard again. People didn’t usually share their true names in
sex clubs.
“Scarlett,” she replied.
“Scarlett O’Hara?” He cocked a devilish eyebrow. His bright, sapphire eyes twinkled merrily.
“Something like that,” she muttered, her alabaster face flushing pink under his masculine gaze.
“Wrong era,” he corrected her.
“Elizabeth,” she responded, feeling tongue-tied in his presence.
She had never lost her head around a man before. It was unnerving.
And titillating.
“Queen Elizabeth?” he bantered. “Too plain....besides, she was the Virgin Queen. Too boring.”
“Elizabeth Báthory,” she batted her long eyelashes.
“Ahhh.....Erzsébet Báthory, sixteenth century Countess of the Kingdom of Hungary,” he nodded. “She
slaughtered her young, beautiful handmaidens, then bathed in their virgin blood. Much more interesting character.”
She giggled and her voice sounded like a little girl.
Damn, he was going to mistake her for a submissive or a Switch if she kept acting like a moonstruck ninny!
“I’m a Domme,” she blurted out awkwardly.
Damn, she wanted to stick her foot in her mouth. She couldn’t even speak intelligently when he looked at
her. All she wanted to do was lose herself in those bright azure eyes.
“You’re not a Domme with me,” he replied, taking one step closer.
Scarlett could feel the heat of his flesh emanating towards her. Her cheeks flushed again with uncomfortable
warmth and she felt the blush creep all the way down her neck and chest. She felt like a delicate little gazelle, stalked by a savage lion on the African savannah.
What had happened to the strong, powerful tigress she had been only moments ago?
“I’m not a Switch,” she gasped breathlessly. Now he was standing toe to toe with her. The top of Scarlett’s
head barely reached his blonde goatee. He reached out and tipped her chin upwards with one large finger.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed.
He caressed her jaw with his thumb.
Her hands were actually shaking.
“With me, you’re a sub,” he stated boldly. It was not a question, nor a request.
It was a command.
“Yes, sir,” she heard her own voice floating back into her ears.
She sounded like a stranger to herself.
What the fuck has gotten in me?
Her knees quaked.
“I am your Dom,” he held her chin gently, but firmly. Scarlett’s belly clenched with the force of her longing.
She had never reacted to someone like this before.
Ever.
Why did Charles Clayton have such powerful control over her?
“Yes, sir,” she acquiesced.
“Tonight, I am your Master,” he continued authoritatively. His impressively large hand slid down her long
neck, and across her delicate collarbone.
“Yes, Master.”
With those words, the game commenced, and the deal was sealed.
For the first time in her entire life, Scarlett was a submissive.
She felt like she was floating on air.
“I prefer privacy,” he stated, gesturing towards the open, public playroom.
She nodded, although her opinion had not been solicited. As a submissive, her preferences were irrelevant.
Honestly, she liked privacy as well, but at the moment, she felt like she would let him march her naked down
Lakeshore Drive or right through Soldier Field on game day, if that’s what he desired. Coherent speech eluded her.
Not that she was allowed to express her wishes anyway; she had already agreed to be his submissive. He was in charge
now. Obedience was her only option or she would be punished.
The thought was thrilling.
“There is a large, private boudoir behind the front office,” he said.
Charles put his hand on the small of her back and led her past the lobby.
“Mr. Clayton,” the pretty secretary smiled and greeted him.
He nodded and smiled in return.
Charles sauntered a few steps ahead of Scarlett and opened another antique wood-planked door that led to a
short hallway. The rustic bronze plaque on the door read: ‘Employees Only.’ He gestured gallantly for her to enter,
before he clasped her elbow again possessively. Scarlett’s flesh burned where he touched her and she felt as if she had been branded.
To one side a door marked ‘STAFF LOUNGE’ stood slightly ajar. To the other side, another door was
tightly locked.
‘CHARLES CLAYTON, OWNER’
“You’re——” she began questioningly.
“—-Quiet!” he cut her off, his voice omnipotent.
He unlocked the deadbolt with his key and held the door for her again. He bowed reverently as she entered.
Scarlett’s eyes went wide as she stepped into his world.
The room was like nothing she had expected. Rather than old wood and the dungeon theme, this office - or bedroom rather - was decorated ultramodern. The walls were bright, optic white. Track lights shone in every corner,
illuminating every inch of the space so brightly, Scarlett’s eyes hurt for a moment before they adjusted.
Directly before her was a black desk with another name plate: Charles Clayton, Owner. In front of it were
two black, leather wingback chairs, presumably for conducting business with clients and vendors. Between the chairs
was a black wood coffee table with a ballistic-glass top and a slave cage below.
And behind it were two thousand square feet more of private play space.
“You may speak, woman.”
“My god....” she stuttered. “It’s....it’s......”
“A wonderland?”
Scarlett remained speechless as she looked around at the stark black and white room. Not a single color marred the dichromatic scheme, except for the collection of ornate-handled rattan canes that covered the rear wall.
There had to be a hundred in all, and they looked like they hailed from every country and every time period, Scarlett
thought.
Next to the desk, on the right, was a full sized, free standing suspension rig complete with hooks and chains;
to the left a human sized, raven-colored birdcage with a black, steel bondage chair inside. The side walls boasted an
inverted St. Andrew’s cross and a wall mounted Trident respectively, while the corners were adorned with a plethora
of black leather slings and swings. There was a massive bondage table to one side and various pleasure horses scattered around it.
The piece de resistance of the room was a huge king-sized, four poster bed that stood proudly in the center.
The white mattress and throw pillows were made of leather and there were no linens or bedding upon them. The
black wooden headboard was a head box and the smaller footboard was a punishment bench. Up and down the four posts were various hooks and rings for bondage with chains or ropes.
It was like Disneyland for adults.
“What is your pleasure, Scarlett?” he asked.
She didn’t dare answer.
“You may speak.”
“Cunnilingus,” she said, keeping her eyes to the ground. “And falanga.”
“I presume since you were previously a Domme, that you have never been the
recipient
of falanga,” he asked.
She waited for permission to reply.
“You may speak.”
“Correct, sir.....I mean, Master.”
“We’ll see if you can handle it,” he smirked. “You can dish it out, but can you take it?”
“I have been——” Scarlett began automatically to defend herself.
“—-Quiet!” he demanded. His voice echoed in the cavernous room like thunder.
Scarlett bit the inside of her lip to keep silent. Every ounce of her being had always been a vocal, outspoken
woman. She had been a Domme ever since she first learned about the birds and the bees as an adolescent. This was
going to be difficult. But something about Charles Clayton made her
want
to be obedient,
want
to be a sweet, docile little woman for him. His masculine essence reached deep down into her feminine soul.
The feeling was delicious.
“I will decide later if you have
earned
getting your pussy eaten or your feet
flogged,” he said, his compelling blue eyes turning nebulous grey with lust as he envisioned the lascivious encounter soon to come.
She nodded and stared at the floor.
“Disrobe,” he ordered, folding his bulging biceps across his muscular chest to watch as she obeyed.
Scarlett unzipped her tight, black shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the floor.
Charles inhaled sharply when he saw the red and black lacy push-up bra she wore across her ample breasts. The tops
of her bosoms threatened to spill over the top of the fabric, and her hard, rosy nipples strained against the thin lace cloth.
She turned away from him and unzipped her thigh-high boots, and then her tight latex pants. She bent
forward as she peeled the skin-tight leggings down her thighs and calves, intentionally giving him the best view of her ass. She heard him groan appreciatively behind her, so she wiggled her bottom seductively. She kicked the pants off
her ankles, but remained as she was, bent over in front of him as she slowly removed her silk stockings and red garter
belt.
She knew her pretty red and black thong was rising up the crack of her ass and she
accidentally
forgot to remove it before she turned around.
Chad’s eyes flew from her high, round tits to the red, Valentine-heart shaped swatch of satin that covered
her waxed pussy. Without a word, he reached forward and ripped the panties from her body. She stood, completely
naked before him - confident and unabashed. She knew her body was exquisite and she knew her sexual talents were
second to none. Hot lava coursed through her veins and she felt a trickle of her love nectar streaming down the inside of her thigh. She raised her arms above her head and ran her fingers through her long hair, arching her back
and breasts closer to him.
“Very good,” he praised her, his eyes following the little white rivulet that betrayed her arousal. “You are so hot for me.”
Scarlett shuddered with yearning. “Yes, Master.”
“Clean that up,” he ordered.
Scarlett used her right pointer finger and slowly traced the wet trail back up her thigh. She continued to the
juncture of her legs and opened her peachy pussy lips with her left hand, while she swirled her index finger around
her clit with the other.
“All the way,” Charles said gruffly.
She put one foot on the arm of the wing chair, making sure her pussy was wide open for him to see, before
she dipped her right pointer finger all the way into her sex. When she pulled it out, it was glistening white with her
slick, fragrant juices. She eased it in again, this time with her middle finger as well.
“Wash your hands, dirty wench.”
Scarlett bit her bottom lip with feigned shyness and mock indignation, then opened her sexy coral mouth.
She slid her index finger erotically between her tangerine lips, sucking the digit as if it were his cock in her mouth.
She moaned with pleasure, imagining swirling his big dick with her little tongue, and suckled harder, closing her eyes
with bliss. She licked each of her fingers individually, washing them clean of her sweet, white honey.
“How does it taste?”
“Delectable,” she replied.
“How does it smell?”
She raised her left hand to her nose and inhaled. “Like apple pie.”
“Good girl,” he chuckled.
Charles doffed his suit jacket and hung it carefully on a hanger first, and then on a coat tree beside his desk.
Scarlett hadn’t noticed before there was a Natuzzi leather recliner behind his desk also. He retrieved a remote control from the chair arm and pointed it at the wall. Miraculously, it was suddenly a movie screen, and the image of
Scarlett’s shimmering, naked body projected ten feet tall behind him in living color.
She laughed with glee, and posed for the camera. She cupped her round, full breasts, pale as ivory, and then
circled her apricot nipples with her fingers. She held her hair atop her head, admiring herself playfully, before she let her tresses fall in a fiery cascade about her hips. She pouted her luscious lips like Jane Russell, the sexy siren bombshell.
“Sit down.” He pointed to the recliner.
She obeyed without a word. Scarlett sat primly on the seat with her legs crossed demurely. She folded her
arms over her chest to cover herself like a proper lady.
“Arms down.”
She complied.
“Legs open.”
She smiled wickedly, then opened her knees wide, slinging each of her long, shapely legs over the arm of the
chair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the colorful image of her pink pussy projected all over the wall behind
her. She licked her lips confidently and awaited her master’s next command.
Charles unbuttoned his starched dress shirt and loosened his tie. He rolled up the crisp, white sleeves to his
elbows, then removed his tie completely. He draped it across Scarlett’ eyes, then tied it tightly behind her head so she was completely blindfolded. She breathed in raggedly with excitement.