Kept Women: Two Fertile Submissive Stories (10 page)

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Kisses,

Nicole Snow

More Erotic Romance by Nicole Snow

SUBMISSIVE'S FOLLY (SEDUCED AND RAVAGED)

SUBMISSIVE'S EDUCATION

SUBMISSIVE'S HARD DISCOVERY

HER STRICT NEIGHBOR

SOLDIER'S STRICT ORDERS

COWBOY'S STRICT COMMANDS

FIGHT FOR HER HEART

SEXY SAMPLES:
FIGHT FOR HER HEART

My moment of truth had arrived. My breathing
picked up, quickly matching his heavy chest rising and falling
above me.

I stopped. Eyes gently closed, I inhaled the
cinnamon spice wafting off his body, letting his scent re-wire the
bad connections clipped by my attacker in the alley.

I wouldn't – couldn't! – let what had
happened at the studio happen again. There wouldn't be a third
chance.

He needed to kiss me. Right now.

I wasn't sure what happened first. My legs
opened a little wider for him, my wrists relaxed, and I went limp
and breathless. I pursed my lips and angled my neck upward.

Soft. Inviting. Hungry.

Take me, warrior! Forget the past. Don't
hold back. Take control, just like you do in the ring.

The light behind my eyelids disappeared. I
sensed his powerful face moving to mine, lips searching for a soft
place to land, to burn and pillage.

His kiss lit me on fire. He sucked the
breath from my lungs, replacing my uncertain fog with brilliant,
purifying fire.

I almost choked at the intensity. The part
of my brain running on fear shut down, and all circuits went firing
toward desire, feeding the frenzy raging between my legs.

Moaning into his mouth, I stiffened.

His tongue devoured my excitement, lapping
at my moan in swift laps, circular and sweetly hypnotic. My knees
began to tremble. My lips were satisfied, but the rest of me needed
more – and needed it now!

“Oh, fuck!” I whispered.
“No man's ever kissed me like that.”

He muttered something about wanting me like
no one else, the words of an apex hunter. “Think you can handle my
heat?”

Yes! No! Maybe?

I mumbled a weak reply, too drunk on the
sticky dynamite going off inside me to say anything coherent.
Really, I didn't know if I could handle him, but there was no
stopping this.

Not when my body needed it so bad. My skin
heated, softening beneath his touch, submitting and opening itself
for every last rigor he intended to make on my ready flesh.

Suddenly, his strong hand was on my skirt.
He worked it down, pouring his hot breath across my moist face,
panting in triumph when layer one was down to my knees...

Get Fight For Her Heart!

When Mr. Callaway hired Jane, she mistakenly
thought the job would be easy money. Working for an affluent man
who wanted a live-in nanny at his beck and call for a
three-year-old boy who’d only be around Wednesday nights and every
other weekend sounded like a dream job.

Nowadays, she knew how wrong she’d been; Mr.
Callaway owned her and every waking minute of her life. Looking
back, she could see his careful steps to ensure her dependence so
she couldn’t walk away. He bought her a Porsche Cayenne, saying it
was for his child’s safety.

Then there was the unlimited credit card he
put in her name, insisting she may need it if he wasn’t there to
withdraw funds. The rich lifestyle came with lavish parties and
extravagant trips.

In case he needed her, she attended
everything. To fill her idle time, he introduced her to a renowned
interior designer willing to hire her after a few years working as
a protégé.

At his whim, it could all go away, and Mr.
Callaway was very demanding. He made leaving impossible, because as
weak as it sounded, she quickly became accustomed to him spoiling
her.

If Jane didn’t decide the first time he
intimidated her that she’d refuse to be frightened by his
authoritative demeanor and the influence he had over everyone
around him, she’d be terrified of such power. The man ruled
everything in his world; he easily maintained his respectability
and sway over all around him as if he spent a lifetime perfecting
the art of persuasion.

She learned the hard way that Mr. Callaway
micromanaged everything, and checked on things she did without her
knowledge. She had no idea he monitored her every move until he
became livid she invited a boy over and gave out the gate code.
There were countless things he spoke to her about, too; for
instance, not bringing Cody’s jacket to the ice arena during the
heat of the summer; keeping Mr. Callaway waiting when he arrived
early for scheduled outings to the zoo, science museum, and
sporting events, or dressing inappropriately for children’s
activities. All these mistakes held severe consequences.

He demanded perfection, but in a lot of
instances, his attention to detail did a lot of good. Not many knew
of his humanitarian work, but his wealth and generosity impacted
the world. He spent a fortune anonymously; supplying third-world
countries with vaccines; founding a charity called Children’s
Nutrition Worldwide; and in recent years he became a Goodwill
Ambassador for the United Nations.

Jane asked about pictures of him surrounded
by children in Africa; when she showed an interest in his work, he
got her involved, and she saw his passion for helping others
firsthand. After that, her respect for him, and even his dominant
ways, became lovable.

She always searched for that compassion when
she was in trouble, but Jane knew he’d find the perfect penalty for
the charges on a receipt he found in his office. Men like Mr.
Callaway, the impossible-to-please type, had far too many creative
punishments.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem, Mr.
Callaway. I didn’t realize I had a clothing allowance as long as I
kept it reasonable,” she groveled, explaining honestly. He never
cared before, but then she never came home with a five thousand
dollar charge for so little. She thought the amount practical since
he spent more on suits; he never breathed a word when she bought a
stylish, one-of-a-kind fur coat as a fashion statement. “I’m
sorry.”

“The amount doesn’t concern me as much as
the establishment where you purchased these four items.” He took
another threatening step into her room, looking serious, powerful,
and above all handsome.

She hated herself for thinking his flushed
skin made his eyes smolder, but he was damn sexy when drilling his
unblinking gaze into her like he could see into her soul and
discover her crush. As always, he outwardly wore his authority with
an intoxicating effect; undeniably, her greatest weakness was his
ability to seduce her with a stern grumble that she’d done
something wrong. He gave her butterflies, and once again, his stare
made her excitedly nervous. He never got close unless he had a
reason to seize her wrist and tell her that she wasn’t building
trust; he demanded trust from the beginning when he wanted to know
everywhere she went.

He narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to
tell him everything with demanding silence. But not for one second
did she let his steel-gray eyes chill her insides and crumble. If
she didn’t know better, she’d smile until he loosened up, but he
only responded to submission with satisfaction—another lesson she
learned by trial and error.

“You have an account there, Mr. Callaway. I
asked. I decided that if you thought it was an elegant boutique, I
couldn’t go wrong.” When his face flushed red with anger, she knew
she said the wrong thing. She nervously squirmed, and chose not to
ramble on about their last argument over clothes when she wasn’t
shopping at high-end stores; he refused to give anyone reason to
think he didn’t pay her well.

“You were inquiring,” his voice dropped to a
whisper, which became more lethal, “if I’m buying lingerie for
women?”

“No,” she said quickly and shook her head
forcefully. She’d rather pretend he didn’t date, though she knew of
numerous discreet affairs. Jane wasn’t the only woman drawn to
power; and Mr. Callaway never lacked offers from women seeking a
rich, dominant man. “I asked if you had an account; that’s
all.”

“That is
none
of your business, Miss
Jane,” he growled. “However, I have every right to demand why you’d
spend over five thousand dollars on lingerie when I told you that
you are not allowed to date. Are you seeing someone behind my back
when you’re supposed to be at the gallery? Answer carefully,
because I
will
look into this.”

“No,” she said emphatically because it was
the truth. “No, Mr. Callaway…but…you told me not to bring anyone
over...not that I couldn’t date.”

“I’m saying it now. I don’t want you seeing
anyone.”

Jane gaped. They knew he had no right to
demand that. Gathering her courage to confront him took a moment,
but she eventually answered quietly. “I’m not sure that’s something
you can ask me, as an employee.”

“I don’t see it that way. I can; your time
belongs to me. This lingerie belongs to me. I want to know why I
spent six hundred dollars on a single pair of panties if you’re not
seeing anyone. Tell the truth. I demand the truth, Miss Jane.
Watching my child, I should have unwavering trust in you.”

“I am telling the truth.” She shrugged,
defensively, wishing he didn’t make her admit her next words. “I
got them to feel pretty.” She looked at her shoes, embarrassed. Mr.
Callaway had a way of making her feel completely vulnerable to him
by exposing so much to him. Jane was always blown-away how her
confessions gave her a sense of closeness to him. She loved that he
didn’t allow secrets between them, but during the incidents when he
wanted to know all, they were humbling and humiliating. Divulging
her inner thoughts made her feel small. This was an instance when
she wished he didn’t press.

Mr. Callaway lifted her chin, wanting more.
He wasn’t going to let her statement remain unexplored—typical.

She swallowed her pride. “It’s hard to feel
sexy at nineteen when you’re single and someone isn’t around
reminding you that you’re desirable.”

“Don’t mumble, Miss Jane. That’s not
something
you of all people
should be ashamed about,” he
said. Then he turned, sat in an antique chair, and crossed his
arms, looking at home in her bedroom. She was so shocked that he
stayed after the argument, that she watched him stare at her.
Curiously, he shifted until comfortable with his fist over his
mouth, thinking quietly while eyeing her black-and-white checkered
wool dress that hung loosely on her hips. Jane wondered what he was
thinking. After practically pointing out she needed lingerie to
give her small frame with its narrow hips, A-cup breasts, and no
ass definition; she hoped he didn’t struggle to find something sexy
about her. She thought he was gorgeous, but after repeatedly trying
to get him to notice her, Jane concluded she wasn’t his type.

Hoping to have an affair with him, no matter
how brief, was pointless and she knew it. Rich men had the luxury
of having women curvier than she, and he wouldn’t choose her over
someone who knew how to be sexy. Dating him would never happen,
even if they bonded while working on his charities. He’d never give
up such a variety to have only one, especially at the young age of
thirty-three. Mr. Callaway had everything going for him. He had
classic good looks, treated women well long after relationships
ended, and despite asking for perfection, he gave a lot in
return.

Jane wasn’t his lover, but nevertheless he'd
drop everything if she called him, no matter how small her request.
He flew half-way around the world to meet her at the hospital when
her mom broke her leg skiing; and then rushed a team of specialists
to care for the injury. He showered her with extravagant gifts,
including setting up her family for life and bought them a summer
home in Greece.

She forgot all that when he smiled,
apparently coming up with a punishment that he would benefit from.
“Since you feel it’s appropriate to inquire into my personal
affairs and what I buy, I think it’s only fair I see what you
bought. And while you wear this lingerie, you’re to stand where you
are, and I’ll freely pry into your life as you have mine.”

Jane exhaled slowly, giving her time to get
over the shock. He was asking her, his employee, to stand nearly
nude in front of him, her boss, as a punishment. Obviously, if she
bought lingerie to feel pretty, she didn’t have the confidence to
flaunt curves she didn’t have; she was floored he used his position
of authority this way.

In all the times she fantasized about being
with Mr. Callaway, it didn’t begin with him demanding to see her
nearly naked, shaking with nerves. She wanted him to kiss her in
Paris, make love to her on a white, sandy beach, or confess at
great length that he found her irresistible; demanding she strip in
front of him because she did him wrong wasn’t one of the scenarios
she imagined.