Smoke and Mirrors (36 page)

“I understand, Sir Smoke. Thank you.”

It was rather ironic how well the woman fell into her act. The more aggressive he was, the more turned on and relaxed she became. What a disturbing, yet lovely, paradox she was.

“Put my big, hard cock inside your sweet, little wet pussy,” he commanded. “I’ve removed the chains.”

She reached down between them and took hold of his dick, anchoring it just so. Her breathing accelerated to the point that he could hear her loud and clear over the industrial racket as she brought the damn thing to her pussy with bated anticipation.

“Hurry up.” He stood back a bit and placed one hand behind his back to help steady himself. Staring at him with hungry eyes, she guided the bulbous head of his dick inside of her.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned as she let him go to grip the edges of the table.

He began slowly, but wasted no time in speeding up his pace.

“Uhhhh,” he groaned hoarsely. Gripping her hips, he pulled her into him, causing the remaining chains to swing and bump against his nuts and her pussy lips. “Uhhhh!”

“I like it, Sir Smoke! I like it!” She fucked him back, moving her hips just so.

He thrust a bit harder and faster, now pressed against her, flattening her breasts as he clutched the back of her neck, ensuring she stayed just where he wanted. He pushed hard and heavy inside of her, but studied her facial expressions, making sure he wasn’t taking things too far.

“Uhhhh! Fuck!” It was simply getting too good to him as her pussy muscles contracted and she came all over his damn dick.

“I didn’t give you permission to cum!” he barked, noting the smirk on her face. Ahhh yes, Paris was not following proper protocol. He really didn’t mind, but he had to correct her, nevertheless.

“I let it go the second time while you sucked my dick, but if it happens again, you’ll be reprimanded and punished, worse than the first time. Do you understand me?!” he shouted between hard thrusts.

“Yes, Sir Smoke!” He gripped her as she slumped a bit, as if losing control of herself. “May I cum again, Sir Smoke? Ahhhh!” She shook beneath him, desperately trying to keep a series of back-to-back orgasms at bay.

“No.”

“Please, Sir Smoke! I beg you!”

To shut her up, he thrust his tongue in her mouth, while he continued to pump her beautiful body.

“Uhhhh…” He moaned into her mouth, unable to control his damn self. Pulling away from her, he looked down and observed his cock moving in and out of her, the damn shimmering chains bumping into them, slapping their genitals like drumsticks as he rode her pussy with all of his might.

“May we cum together, Sir Smoke?” she asked wearily, finally getting the gist of the game.

“Yes.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a satisfied smile as they both relinquished their control, and poured into one another, their moans and sighs intermingling, intertwining, and embracing their erotic call.

“Ahhhhh!” He caught her as she fell forward, limp and spent from her climaxes. Seconds later, his cock shot within her, bursting inside, leaving his copious cream behind as proof of his unquenchable desire for the woman.

“Uhhhh… Damn it!” Sweat rained down his face and his body jerked, the muscles tightening and dancing beneath his skin. He flexed his fingers, feeling rather lethargic, as if he’d just worked out on his elliptical for two hours straight at maximum stride. Although he prided himself on his self-control, this woman surely compromised it. For her first time as a submissive, she’d done fairly well. He dropped to his knees and took the time to remove the leather and metal contraption from her body. He found it covered in her honey, so damn much of it…

After setting it aside, he got to his feet.

“Don’t move.”

He marched over to another area where he’d placed the clear collar with a diamond studded lock and key pendant, picked it up and approached her.

“Lift up your hair, baby.” He stood behind her and fastened it around her delicate, lovely neck.

“This is yours. We will have to go over some do’s and don’ts and discuss this further, but for someone who didn’t know what the hell she was doing, you did some things fairly well.”

She smiled proudly, clasped her hands together and rose on her tippy toes, clicking her shiny black heels together.

“This is not just about my needs, it’s about yours, too. Some Doms don’t know what they’re doing. They think having a sub means doing whatever they want, treating her in a way that is demeaning. Everything I do to you and
for
you, in and out of our bedroom, I want you to enjoy, Paris.”

She nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Contrary to some peoples’ opinion, subs are not completely powerless.
I
am the one that is supposed to please
you
, never forget that…” He looked at the belt that had been wrapped around her zone. “I’ll be keeping this chastity belt for our private collection.” He chuckled as he grabbed it off the floor. “Remind me to order a new one for this room though before the end of the day.” He watched trails of her liquor stream down the leather. Unable to resist the temptation, he brought the belt to his lips and flicked his tongue against a couple rebellious drops, drawing a whimper from her while she stared at his brazen act of perversion.

“Go over to the mirror, and take a glance at how you look in your new collar. Then come back to me and I’ll remove it.” He waved the key in the air.

She nodded, happily falling into her role.

As she did so, he began to clean up the place. Typically, this was a duty of a submissive. She’d be forced to tidy the area, wipe away the drops of semen, body fluids, and thoroughly clean any of the items used. However, he was all about baby steps with this woman as it pertained to this lifestyle. Fact was, he had to be cautious with Paris. She’d been hurt; he could see it on her face, even if she’d never uttered the stories she’d shared with him. He could feel it when they made love, the way she craved him and kept him close, afraid to ever let him go during her most vulnerable moments. There was a thin line between unconventional sexual play and dysfunction, and he refused to endanger her, to complicate her life any further. He enjoyed ruling her body, but it was essential to take his time and allow her to dictate the pace.

As he finished cleaning up, he shot her a look. She looked like a little girl in his eyes as she pivoted around, admiring her collar, observing it from various angles. She undoubtedly knew the diamonds were real… To him, being a submissive was a precious, serious thing. He’d purchased the collar for her soon after they became official, for he had high hopes that one day he’d be able to present it to her. Until now, he’d kept it in his office on the premises, under lock and key. When she showed interest that evening in the lifestyle, he went to retrieve it, knowing the time to act had come…
now
…

Later, when she relived their session in her mind, playing it over and over inside that ever working brain of hers, she’d look at her collar again and notice the tiny inscription on the inside of the lock that read:

I will fuck you roughly, but love you tenderly.

Your friend. Your lover. Your Dom.

—Sir Smoke

*

Three weeks later…

C
arla sat inside
the shoe store, her long legs crossed, and placed the leopard print pair of thong flip-flops to the side. The smell of pleather and sweaty children mingled, making her slightly nauseous as a pending headache wormed its way in her throbbing skull. She ran her tongue across her upper teeth, bored out of her damn mind. She was under new management, and she fucking hated the bastard. He took most of the money, was verbally abusive too, but shit, she needed a place to stay until she got on her feet.

Since she’d been let go from Paris’ stable, things had gone from average to downright ghastly. She had to admit to herself she didn’t know how well she had it until she got out there, fending for herself. Initially, she tried to go it alone, be a renegade, but she couldn’t muster the same business. Not only that, she didn’t have quite enough to keep a roof over her head and buy her weed, too. She nursed her red Slurpee from the nearby Seven-Eleven, the flavor now dull from the quickly melting ice. It matched her disimpassioned mood. She’d broken down a time or two and called Paris, begging the cold-hearted woman to allow her to return, but the bitch wouldn’t hear any of it.

Paris would sit on the other end on the phone, going on and on about a lack of respect, how she should have gotten rid of her a long time earlier, and things of that nature. She could almost see the woman’s smug expression in her mind, that silly ass school marm bun on the top of her head and those big slanted alien eyes.

Fucking cunt.

She wanted Paris to pay, but couldn’t figure out how. She didn’t want to call the police on her, the main reason being, her best friend still worked there. No need to have Juniper suffer, too…

She’d thought about getting someone to maybe beat that bitch the fuck up, but Paris kept a gun, and she sure as hell didn’t want anyone that went after her ass to die. Besides, that was far too messy, although the fantasy delighted her just the same. Slashing tires was always a good bet, but usually Art drove her snobbish butt around, despite her having two Mercedes, so that was pointless. Regardless, there had to be a way to exact retribution. Fact of the matter was, she never fucking liked Paris. She did admire her, though. Paris was hard to get close to and even harder to manipulate. She couldn’t sweet talk her, for the woman grew up the daughter of a pimp and prostitute and had been put out on the block at a tender age. Paris looked sweet and demure, but she was a damn rattlesnake hidden in long, camouflaging grass, and anyone who didn’t realize it would soon find out once the little bitch wrapped her scaly body around them and squeezed with all of her might. There was no point in trying to scam a scammer, play a player, or backstab a professional knife thrower. Paris seemed to always have her bases covered.

Carla woke up in a fairly decent mood that morning, but now it was spoiled and soiled once she walked into the shoe store to get something flat for her throbbing feet. What had started it all—a pair of silver sling-back heels, just like ones Paris owned, though she was sure Ms. Name Brand Everything had the
real
deal, and not these bargain basement, plastic knock-offs. That reminded Carla of another ‘Paris perk’—she missed the gifts, too. Paris was rather generous and sometimes would purchase the ladies adorable shoes.

All
of her ladies would get things on top of their salaries and that was just how Paris rolled. She’d give jewelry, gift certificates, all sorts of pleasant things, and there never had to be a specific reason as to why. Best of all, she didn’t expect them to start doing more because she’d been so lavish. It really was just a token of her appreciation. That was
one
good thing about the bitch, but the only damn thing.

So what if I approached Smoke?! It didn’t mean she was a bad boss, damn! I just wanted a new opportunity. How is that fucking disrespectful?! These bitches fucking kill me.

She worked inside of her head, running from her own responsibility in the matter. This was about business, about survival. Surely Paris could understand that?! A part of Carla however felt completely foolish. Only a few pimps actually could say that they had a damn waiting list. Most pimps had a certain number of women they wanted to monitor, and that number was different for each individual. Due to the fact Smoke and Paris had a reputation for being fair, screening johns properly, giving suitable medical care and legal help, they, too, had to begin to turn people down.

Carla could only think of six other pimps as being sought after in the city, and they also were telling bitches, ‘No, try back in a few months’. A good pimp knew his limitations, and their need for control was oftentimes wrapped up not only in the almighty dollar, but in who they allowed under their damn roof. Nevertheless, when she’d pleaded her case, she’d expected Paris to be gentler, kinder. She was a woman after all. But when it came to business, and what she considered discourteous, Paris was just as brutal, if not worse than the pimps running their stables with a bloody fist. Carla sneered as she plucked her cellphone from her purse and called Juniper. Maybe Paris had slipped and broken her hip, which would be good news. She chuckled as she entertained the thought.