At Mr. Cartwright's Command (3 page)

He resumes his place behind the camera and smiles.  “Perfect.”

I begin to pose again and he coaches me more. He turns on music to help me get into it.  “Turn around,” he instructs me.  “Make it sexier.”  I think he might be enjoying this too much.

He stops again and sits back in his chair. 

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask nervously.

He shakes his head.  “Absolutely not. I just...I want to see more.  More of you.”

My hand grips the seam of my play-suit.

“You should take that off,” he requests, and I freeze.

“I... I'm not wearing anything under this.” I say nervously, “Just my bra and underwear.”

“Exactly.”

I know I should get out of here quick, but there's something about Mr. Cartwright.  I can't even pretend it's just about the modeling now because it's not.  There's something commanding about his presence, and when he says to do something, I want to do it. I have to.

My hand shake as I unzip the side of the play-suit and remove the fabric from over my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground beneath me.  His eyes travel over my barely clothed breasts and down to my barely there thong – why exactly did I  choose a thong?

“Good,” he says with a nod.  “Pose for me, Tamara.”

This is a bad idea and I know it.  If these pictures ended up on the internet, I could kiss any hope of ever getting a job goodbye.  But I can't help it – something about Mr. Cartwright makes me want to do very bad things, and I soon find myself moving sexily for him.

His mouth curves into a crooked half smile again.

“Remove the bustier.”

Did he? He did.

“What?” I blurt out.

He stops shooting and looks up at me from over top of the camera.  “Did you not understand something I said.”

“But I...do I really need to take it off. I'm not really comf--”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because I asked you to,” he says with wicked eyes.

I reach around my back and unclasp my bra, letting it fall off my shoulders and on to the ground beside me.  I stand there awkwardly with my arms over my chest.

“I want to see your beautiful body, Tamara,”

I swallow the lump in my throat as I relax my arms against my side, baring my half naked body for him.

He watches me intensely for a moment.  Out of nowhere he pulls his chair across the room and on to backdrop.  He removes his jacket and takes a seat directly in front of me.

“Come,” he says, beckoning me with his finger.  I back away from him.  “No, this way,” he says as he reaches out for my wrist, pulling me towards him. Before I can say anything his arm wraps around my back and he pulls me down onto his lap.  I'm straddling him now, and I'm oh so close to him. I can feel his erection underneath my thigh and his hand gropes my ass. 

I shouldn't be turned on, but I am.

He pulls me even closer into him – he smells like an intoxicating mix of leather and citrus and sandlewood, all things masculine.  His eyes pierce mine and my lips part slightly.  He takes full advantage of this, capturing my mouth with his.

I don't even know this man but I'm letting his tongue explore my mouth.  And I want more.

He breaks the kiss.

“I have to admit, Tamara, you aren't quite right for my agency,” he tells me bluntly.

His words crush me. I've been hurt on a pretty regular basis during my fairly short life, but this
stung
.  Sitting upon his lap, I can't help but feel used and degraded—embarrassed that I was naive enough to think this man brought me up here because he saw potential in me.

He would move, but he's holding me far too tightly against him.

“Because,” he continues, as his eyes travel down my cleavage.  “I'd rather use you for...other purposes.”

His wicked green eyes lock with mine again and I'm speechless as he brings his face closer to my chest.   His eyes close as he kisses right above my cleavage, his face soon becoming lost in the valley between my breasts and I feel his tongue flicker against the soft tissue. 

His hand travels from my waist to my breast as he massages it and runs his fingers over my erect nipples.

I breathe out and arch my back against him,  my hands tangled in his own locks.  I haven't been touched in such a long time. Hell, I haven't been touched like
this
ever. 

His tongue travels to my other breast and circles my nipple before taking it lightly between his teeth.  Soft lips run over it as he flicks the tip with his tongue, and I clench.

I should stop him.  I should stop myself.  I only met this man about an hour ago and now I'm nearly naked with my body wrapped around him, but he's already almost driving me to ecstasy and I just can't stop.

But then he does.

He sits back in the chair and my hands come to a rest on his well muscled chest.  My core is quivering and aching for him, but he just watches me.  He looks pleased, too pleased.  A wave of humiliation creeps over me once again.

“Get up,” he commands me, and like always, I do it without hesitation.  Why is that?

He stands up and violently kicks the chair back behind him.  He's a few feet away from me now and his eyes lock with mine again.  “Remove your panties,” he tells me, and it's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever heard.

My thumbs rush to hook the sides of black lace thong I'm wearing—I rip them off and let them fall behind me.  And now I'm wearing nothing but jewels and stiletto’s, completely naked before him.

He looks at me like he wants to taste every inch of me, and I kinda want to do the same to him too.

“Get on the ground.”

I sit, and the lie back fully, my ass and back touching the cold backdrop paper.  He comes and stands over me, placing his feet in between mine.  His hands slide up his sides and to his belt –  I watch with anticipation as his fingers unlock the buckle.

“Open your legs,” he instructs me, and I spread them wide.  “Wider,” he says as he taps his designer shoe against the inside of my shin, and I open them  as wide as I can. My pussy is slick and fully exposed – it's awkward, but I just want him now.

Lying below him he flashes a wicked smile at me once again, like he wants to posses me.  He slowly slides his belt out of the loop, letting it fall behind him.  He unbuttons his white shirt, revealing his taut and toned chest. I bite my lip hard. 

The shirt falls behind him, obscuring his belt and his pants soon follow.  He crouches down at my feet, removing my heels and taking one foot in his hand. He runs his thumb down it's sole— it feels strangely erotic.

His hot tongue follows the trail that his finger made, and then slides in between my toes.  I don't understand how this feels so good, but I can't help but slide my own hand between my legs, feeling the moisture between my slit.

“Not yet,” he says with bravado as he removes my hand.  It's torture— beautiful torture.

He kneels between my open legs and removes his boxers.  His cock is long, thick and wet.  I grip the paper with my hands, wanting to touch it, wanting to taste it. 

His head comes diving between my legs, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of my inner thigh. My breathing deepens when I feel his warm breath against my core.  His tongue teases my hole before sliding inside of me.  I moan and my hands grab his hair roughly as he explores my depths with his mouth.  He continues to writhe inside of me and I can't take much more of this— my sex becomes hotter, and wetter, until it gushes, leaving me panting and aching for more.

I feel his hands on my stomach and trailing up to my breast again.  His face replaces them and licks my belly button, kissing up my body between my breasts, over my chest, and landing in the nape of my neck.

His lips tickle my ear and he says, “I want your legs around me.”

He rests his hips on top of mine and I bring my l hook my leg over his back.  He gropes my thigh, roughly bring it up higher around his waist.  The skin of my neck is taken in between his lips, his tongue darting out and swirling against it, tasting it.  My legs tighten around him.

He brings his head up and places his forehead against mine.  I lock eyes with him as he reaches between us to position himself at my entrance.  His lips brush against mine and I feel his cock jump against me, right before he pushes the tip into me.  I let out a loud whimper and grip the back of his neck tighter.

He holds on tightly to my thigh as he slides is full length inside.  His chest rises and falls against mine as he rocks his hips against mine with a steady motion. Lifting his body off of mine, he grabs my wrists and pins them against the paper.  My pussy tightens around him as he thrust harder against me, and my eyes roll back into my head.  One thing is certain—this white boy knows how to work his shit.

I feel the sensation of my orgasm build up inside me, and then abruptly he stops and pulls out. 
Fuck! No.

He grabs my hips and flips me over on to my hands and knees, opening my legs around him and pulling my ass hard against his skin.  He grips my hips tightly as I feel his cock fill me again, moaning as slides inside.  He fucks me hard, thrusting into me and pulling my hips back against him— I can barely keep up.  I hear him groan sexily and feel his orgasm, and then he releases into me.  And my release follows.

We both fall on our sides, panting and attempting to catch our breath.  His hand snakes around my waist and he pulls me against his chest. 

Placing a kiss against his neck he says, “You pass.”

I turn to look at him out of confusion and he grins at me, cryptically, as he removes his body from mine to retrieve his clothes, leaving me naked and alone on the paper.

“I pass what?” I ask him, sitting up and shielding my nakedness with my arms.

“The audition.  That's what this is, after all.”

I didn't understand.  If
that's
an audition, what the hell am I auditioning for?

“That doesn't make sense, you said I wasn't cut out to be a model,” I repeat bitterly.

“No, I said I had a more important job for you,” he says as he buckles his pants. 

“And what would that be?”

He laughs, and kneels in front of me. “The job requirements are simple.  I want you. 
More
of you,” he says as his eyes grow dark and hungry again.  He touches my neck gently with the side of his finger. “I won't share you, do you understand that?  You're mine only, and you're to be here for me when I need you.”

I...what?

“
And you're welcome to break this agreement anytime you want, but once you leave you can't come back. Those are the rules.  Because our next session will get a bit more,” his gaze dashes over me again, “Intense.”

My eyes grow wide as a million dirty thoughts run through my mind.

He smiles devilishly.  “So we'll see if you can keep up, Tamara.” 

He hands me my clothes and I wonder where he gets off assuming I'm going to accept his deviant arrangement.  But before I can protest he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and places them in my hand.  “Just think about it. Oh and don't forget to lockup after I leave.”

“Lock up? Lock up what?” Nothing he was saying made any sense.

“Your apartment.  I hope you like it.”

Confused, I glance around. 
My
apartment? The penthouse? No he couldn't mean that.

“Wait, you don't live here?”

His face scrunched.  “In this tiny place?  God no.”
Tiny, really?
”But I hope you find it quaint.  If you need anything Ronald will check in with you in the morning.”

I stand there flabbergasted, not knowing what to say. 

He steps in front of me, lifting my chin with his fingers and touching my lips with his own.  His kiss is intense, almost as intense as his sex.  His tongue presses against mine and I suck it mercilessly. I would take plenty more of him right here, right now.  His mouth is intoxicating.

I quickly realize this arrangement will work out perfectly.

His lips leave mine and he says, “Good night, Tamara.”

I
guess you could say I'm a “kept” woman now.  I live in the penthouse suite of the most exclusive apartment building in New York City.  I have a driver, a black card, and a closet full of designer clothes.  Yet most mornings I still awake thinking I'm back in that shelter, or nearly freezing on the streets, and most nights I fall asleep with the fear that I'll have to go back.

Why?  Because this is only temporary and I'm aware of that. You can call me a pessimist, but I'm not, I'm a realist.  I don't remember much about my mother, mainly because I don't care to, but one thing she taught me stuck with me. “There ain't no such thing as a fairytale.  Especially not for people like us,” is what she always said.  And she was right.

Every once in a while I wonder if she's still out there somewhere, and if she ever thinks about me...

But I know from experience that things get really good right before you hit rock bottom again, and that's why I'm looking for a job instead of sitting on my laurels and eating bon bons all day.  Who needs bon bons, anyways? This opportunity is a godsend and I'm going to make the most of it.

After a long day of job searching I couldn't be happier to come home and throw my shoes off.  Nothing feels better than having an actual home of my own to come back to.

I rip my shirt over my head as soon I enter my bed room, and then come to a full stop when I see him.

Mr. Cartwright is there, perched on the edge of my bed in all his sexy, erotic glory.

Now
this
I wasn't expecting.

I haven't seen Mr. Cartwright in two weeks since our initial... encounter.  He's been out of the country on business since then, and wasn't supposed to be back until the end of the month. And it's been torture thinking about him every night.

But I quickly realize that he doesn't look happy.

“I didn't expect you back for two more days,” I stammer when I see him.

His face is cold and stoic, his jaw clenched.   I've waited not so patiently for him to return and I've planned out in my head, multiple times, what I plan to do to him.  And what I want him to do to me.

But now that he's actually here I have no idea
what
to do.

“Close the door, Tamara,” he says.

With a click, I shut it behind me and my hand stays wrapped tightly around the knob.

He doesn't move for a moment, just watches me intensely, the way he always does.  His legs are apart and his hands are resting on his knees.

“I've heard you've been looking for a job,” he states.

That's what this is about?
“Yeah? I have.  That's what I just got back from doing.”

“And that is strictly against our agreement.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Since when?”

“Since now.  So you are to cease your job search. Understood?”

“Um, no I honestly don't.  What the hell is wrong with me looking for a job?”

“Do not question me.”

This all seems random, controlling, and frankly ridiculous.  “What the—”

“Tamara,” he says in his stern tone and I fall silent.  “You've lied to me.”

“I didn't lie, I just didn't get a chance to tell you yet.  I didn't think it was that important.”

He shakes his head.  “No, I'm not just talking about the job.  You've lied to me about everything.  Veronica ran a background check.”

Shit.  Shit.  Shit!

Oh, but of
course
she did.

“And I don't like liars,” he continues.

“Look, I can explain,” I start, “and I'm sorry, I just—”

“Be quiet,” he commands, holding his hand up to me.  “You will explain.  I'll get the truth out of you. But you'll have to be...
punished
.”

Punished? What does he think I am, a child?

I stand there in stunned silence as I watch him remove his jacket—ever so slowly—and let's it fall to the ground beside the bed.
 
He's wearing a fitted emerald button down that brings out his lusty, heavy lidded eyes and hugs the curves of his muscles and practically looks like it's made only for him – hell it probably is.  Something tells me his brand of punishment won't be so bad.

“Remove your clothes.”

I hesitate before unzipping my pencil skirt, letting it collect in a pool around my feet.  He looks hypnotized as he studies my body and I continue, removing my bra, slower this time.

His eyes flicker up to mine and narrow.  “Come here,” he instructs.

I walk towards him wearing only my thong, and stop in between his legs. His hands come to caress my sides, his breath feels so good against my stomach.  I run my hands along his arms, feeling the soft material of his shirt.

He stops  abruptly, pulling my body down into his lap and positioning me face down against the bed and draped over him.  Oh God, is he going to....shit he's going to do exactly what I think he is!

“This is going to hurt me a lot more than it will hurt you,” he whispers and I feel his thumb slide underneath my thong, snaking it down over my ass and letting it rest between my thighs. 

He gropes my ass cheek and says, “Now, the more truthful you are, the easier this goes. And I will know if you're lying.”

“You don't need to do this!” I say, “I will tell you
everything
!”

“No, I have to make sure I'm getting the truth out of you,” he responds.

“But I—”

I don't even have time to think before his and comes crashing against my ass with a swat. A loud yelp escapes my mouth, and he asks “What's your name?”

“You know my name! It's Tamara. Tamara Pie—
ayee
!” I scream out again as he swats me again harder this time. 

“How old are you?”

“I...I'm twenty....” I hesitate, allowing him to spank me again and my whole body jerks forward.  “Twenty two! I'm twenty two,” I finally admit.  He groans.  He sounds angry but he won't allow me to explain anything.

“Where were you born?”

“Here, right here in New York.” His hand swats me again and it stings this time. “I swear!”

He moves on.  “What are your parents names?”

I cringe a little.  “Michelle! My mother's name was Michelle Pierce.”

He waits for a second.  “And your father?”

“I don't know. I never knew him.”

I feel him sigh and he doesn't swat me after that.  “Where do you live?” he asks, his voice sounding softer now.

“I....no place.  Here, for now. I don't have a home,” I admit and the shame nearly kills me. It's not something I should be ashamed of, it isn't my fault the situation I was born into.  But I'd be lying if I said it didn't.

He looks down at me with confusion, his eyes imploring mine.  He rests a hand on the back of my thigh and tangles the other in my hair.  Then he grips my hips, twisting my body so that I'm sitting upright on his lap.  His features are more relaxed now but his eyes still look betrayed, and there's a twinkling of something else behind them.  Could it be pity? Because I hate that; I don't want
anyone's
pity, especially not his.

“You should have told me this, Tamara,” he says, his voice softer than before.

Well you didn't exactly give me the chance now did you?
Not that I would have divulged the information willingly...

But I don't apologize.
I won't.

He pulls me in by the waist and completely removes my underwear.  The hardness beneath his slacks brush against my thigh and I'm quickly reminded of what I've wanted for the last two weeks.  His hand slips between my thighs and finds my slit— I'm wet, from his spanking none the less; I should probably be ashamed but at the moment, I'm not.

“Mmm, let me take care of this.”  He moves and slides back towards the headboard of the bed, pulling me along with him.  I'm seated between his legs now, cradled against his body, and his hand returns to my most sensitive area.  My legs fall open wider as he massages my clit and I melt against him, grabbing the seams of his slacks tight in my hands.

His hand snakes down lower and finds my entrance.  I can't help but let out a moan as he slips a finger inside of me, followed by another, massaging me from the inside me and driving me wild.

His hot breathe fogs the nape of my neck and he follows by dragging his tongue over the supple skin.  When he nips it with is teeth I can't take any more—my back arches and I release on his fingers.  He kisses me softly and I relax against his chest.

I turn towards him wanting more, but he slides his body from behind me and stands next to the bed. He looks down at me with playful eyes and runs his finger beneath my chin.  “Haven't you had enough for today?” he asks mockingly.

No. Not even close.  But I have too much pride to tell him that. Instead I jerk my chin away from him in a smug fashion, averting my eyes away.  He chuckles at me as he retrieves his jacket from the ground.  “I don't want to hear anything about jobs or work again.  And you'd be wise not to test me.”

I'm not sure what it is with this man, but one minute he's making me hot with pleasure, and hot with anger he next.  But I'm smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds me.

“Goodnight, Tamara,” he says as he leaves me alone in the penthouse.

I pull my knees against my chest and wrap my arms protectively around them.  I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge, and as an added bonus, plenty of hot sex.  For the most part.  I can't complain.  It's not like I need or want more from him.

I swear I don't.