The Alexandra Series (80 page)

“Hummm,” was the redhead’s answer as her eyes perused the array of bondage and discipline equipment in the cases before her. Reggie had as much at home, though that was so familiar to her that it hardly gave rise to much sexual titillation anymore. Together they were much less prone to using toys than early in their relationship. Reg kept the bondage simple, the domination as much mental as physical. Being able to mesmerize her with magical words evoked the stimulation that made such moments soar. “Frankly, I have this intense desire to be spanked right now,” Jocelyn admitted, finding it as easy to talk with the girl as it would have been to confess her thoughts to Alexandra, her best friend and sexually deviant female lover.

“I’d spank you if you like,” the girl replied, looking quite serious even though the suggestion almost made Jocelyn laugh.

“I need a man for that.”

“You want to buy a paddle or strap, I can arrange that, too.”

Not expecting to be so easily accommodated, Jocelyn backed off. This was just an innocent exploration of a sex shop, wasn’t it?

“Which one do you like?” The girl pulled her pussy off her seat so the short leather skirt managed to cover her sufficiently. A case on the opposite wall displayed leather paddles and short straps that Jocelyn knew from experience made a sensuous smack against bare flesh. Reggie’s store of implements had been collected before she met him. Jocelyn always wondered where he found these especially designed wares that had such a devilish purpose.

Noting that each tooled piece of leather made her body’s lust acute, she recognized the signs of sexual obsession urging her to some alarming choice. She pointed to a slapper inside the glass case, ten inches long, she estimated, and three inch wide with marble sized holes in the stiff rectangular hide. She imagined stern sensations in just a smack or two of the awesome thing.

“I want that one,” she said, at first thinking she’d take it home and use it on herself. Hungry for the stimulation, passionately in need of something dark to set her off, the obsession was moving swiftly along to a rightfully sane conclusion. But that ended when a man walked out from the room behind the shop. An ass kicker. Like Gus, Reggie’s foreman at their country estate, or like one of the burly Germans that she’d seen top submissives in German clubs. He loomed over her like god’s wrath incarnate, and she was sure that Reggie would smile to see her first alarmed response. Bald head, goatee, he should have been wearing leather, but was dominant enough in black jeans and a black shirt that draped his muscled chest.

“You say you want to be spanked?” he asked her.

“I said I wanted to buy that slapper,” she answered.

“Not if I don’t get to use it.” He eyed her gravely.

As if to suggest that he was being too presumptuous, Jocelyn drew up in a pinched expression that came from annoyance and puzzlement. All that was ignoring the gnawing need between her legs. Her bottom burned before even a strike was landed. There would be no question whether to submit if Reggie had been right there; but with her husband due home from Japan any day, the risk to her monogamous agreement with him posed a dilemma.

The burly man placed his hands on either end of the counter that separated them and stared down at the leather implement. “You don’t look at all content, lady, if you don’t mind my observation. Let’s just say I warm your ass the way you want.”

Dominant men make assumptive proposals, and Jocelyn’s obsessive need was basking in that kind of mind control.

“And you’ll take pictures?” Jocelyn asked, noting a camera behind the counter. It was an impetuous request, but it suited her mood.

“We can do that too. Libra here gets off on photographing sessions,” he nodded to the girl.

In the room behind the shop, there were boxes and a few chairs. On one chair Jocelyn placed her folded skirt after she’d let it drop to the cement floor. On another the Dom sat waiting for her ass. A soft fluff of red, cream white skin and a sticky wet pubis were revealed when she stood facing the man. He might have been seduced by the perfection of a lady in expensive clothes, but he was Dom enough not to care about her pedigree or her wealth. She was just a submissive, and she was going to pay for whatever crimes remained in her mind unresolved. It wasn’t his to question the woman, only his good luck to know she needed his attention. Some man had done his work well to have this peach of a lady giving him so little flack.

“It won’t take long,” he advised her. She stood for one second before him, and the next was guided by his powerful hands to a humbled position over his lap, her ass end high. Two steps away, the young woman snapped pictures of all the important moments: the exposure, the positioning, and then of course the results when there was a crimson pair of ass cheeks getting more roughed up with each strike of the leather.

That Jocelyn cried her eyes out, and kicked with abandon, didn’t seem to matter to anyone in the room. The girl caught that image, too, of Jocelyn’s tortured face screwed up in agony.

She hadn’t said the ‘safe’ word, ‘Reggie’, so the man kept up the spanking. Though seeing the red on her ass looking liked fire-scorched flesh, he paused one time thinking she might have had enough. When she made no attempt to rise, he continued, letting the woes of the woman affect his most dominant desires. Obviously her need was great, and that produced great need in him. Like submissive and dominant should be, they were as harmonious in the task as any determined dominant and wailing submissive.

Jocelyn was sopping between her thighs when the spanking was over. She never did say her ‘safe’ word; rather there seemed a natural rise and fall of emotion that spelled the beginning and the end. In the man’s last glance at the well-worked behind, he saw it marred with streaks that wouldn’t fade, and noted places where there’d be small bruises by morning.

When he dropped the pretty woman to her knees in front of him and withdrew his erection, she was obliged to pay for the favor. While the camera continued to chronicle the episode, Jocelyn took his mean organ in her mouth and sucked until every trace of lipstick had disappeared and he spewed cum on her mascara smudged face. With her hot, naked ass resting on the cold cement, Jocelyn was satisfied, even if her loins still burned hot.

“You got some man to take care of your cunt?” the man asked her.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“Let me see your tits.”

Still submissively inclined, she opened the suit jacket and raised the silk teddy so he could see the rest of her.

“You need a Dom, I’ll do the chore,” he told her.

“Thank you, you’ve been enough for one day. But the pictures?” She pulled down the teddy and started to rise from the floor. “How about I buy the memory card?”

“I’ve got other images on that I’ll need to download first. Truth is the computer is down, and til Roscoe fixes it, I can’t do nothing with that memory card.”

“Then I’ll stop by and pick it up.”

She was on her feet, putting her skirt on over her wounded bottom, letting the lovely feeling of warmth settle inside where it would remain until she was in her car and could masturbate herself to a climax.

“Couple of days. I can call you,” he replied.

“No, I’ll stop by,” she said.

He nodded, as he watched her button the jacket, then slip into her high heels. Handing her the slapper, she pulled from her purse a few bills, having no idea how much the thing cost.

“Will this be enough?” she asked.

He took three and returned one.

“That’s enough,” he said.

Then with the bell on the door tinkling behind her, Jocelyn was on her way home, a fallen woman in her own eyes, having broken one of Reggie’s strict commandments for fidelity. That would be remedied, she was sure, without too much damage to her marriage.

Chapter Two

The house was so quiet, Reggie felt as though he was creeping into a tomb. With a few lights on his home brightened, but now it was dreadfully dark. There was only the faint smell of Jocelyn in the air when he was used to a full bodied whiff of her delicious essence. Moving from the foyer, through the living room toward his private office, that room was normally bereft of any aroma of his wife. Yet stepping inside, Reggie found her fragrance was most noticeable inside these four walls. Perhaps an hour before she’d spent some time there, certainly she was somewhere in the house.

Maneuvering through the room without a light, when he turned on his desk lamp, his eyes abruptly focused on items resting on the blotter. Pictures and a leather spanker were deliberately arrayed for his eyes to notice. A quick examination of the photographs and he picked up the intercom phone and rang for the maid.

“Trina, where’s Mrs. Harold?”

“You’re home, sir?”

“Of course I’m home,” he snapped impatiently. A lock of his blonde hair was uncharacteristically hanging over his face, casting a shadow on his austere visage. A man of precision, order, calm and practiced finesse, nothing about the unexpected sight of his wife in full color alarmed him, but he was aware that she was making a premeditated statement. “Where is she?” he asked again.

“I’m not sure, sir,” the maid quipped. There was a little giggle behind her comment and a second giggle that was not hers.

“Unless you want me to throw your boyfriend out of your bed and haul your ass over my desk to be strapped, you’ll answer better than that.”

The command given, the girl shrieked, “Ooo, sir, I really don’t know where Mrs. Harold went. The last time I saw her she was on the path to the lake. It was raining cats and dogs and I saw that she had no umbrella. Then the light went on in the boathouse. That was about an hour ago. Maybe she’s still there?”

“Thank-you Trina.” Reggie slammed down the phone.

With the paddle in hand, Reggie exited the house through the French doors in his study, taking a path around the side of the building that led to the boathouse and the lake. Though it was still pitch black, the rain had stopped and it looked as if the clouds overhead were breaking up. Seeing no light from the frame building at the shoreline, he walked around the deck to the front and tried the door. Locked, he retreated to the back door and found it ajar.

There was no way to cross stealthily from one end of the creaky old structure to the other. With floor boards squeaking beneath his feet, his presence was unmistakable to the woman with her back to him, sitting on a stool looking like a statue in gray—except for the red of her hair, of course. Even in the dark, Jocelyn’s auburn locks gleamed, having an uncanny way of picking up any stray light that might be lurking about a dim lit room.

Knowing her husband was stalking her, she let him approach until she could feel the energy of his body reaching out to her. That warm and sultry bath of sensuality she associated with his every move soothed the chill in her shoulders and then made her tingle at the nape of her neck. From that electrified place the sensation crept down her back to her bottom, appearing there at same moment that Reggie reached out and placed his hand on her derriere. She turned around to face him, finding the cool force of his stare enough to make her gasp.

“I should explain,” she acknowledged.

“Eventually,” he agreed.

But she didn’t want to wait. “My business trials are only getting worse, Reg. Every day I feel like another ax is going to fall.” There were tears in her eyes about to spill. “And then in the middle of that I get a call from Morgenstern, he has a six month assignment and I don’t have the hotshots to do the work. Kevin walked. Andrea’s about to. And Emma…”

“Shush!” He cupped a gentle hand over her mouth. “So getting your ass paddled by another man is the solution?”

“I don’t know what came over me. It was there, the shop, the paddle, the need for it took over like an obsession.”

“How many days ago?” he asked.

“Two.”

“Any marks remaining?”

“A couple of bruises.”

“Let me see.”

Hopping off the stool, she leaned over facing him, her ass pointed toward a streak of moonlight that suddenly appeared through the boathouse window. Reggie moved to inspect her, while Jocelyn trembled feeling her husband’s hot hand run along her soft skin. He stopped where there were bruises, seeing the signs of the roughed skin he’d noticed in the photographs. A finger along the anal cleft he’d mastered after years of attentive discipline, he drove it deep until he could feel her puckering anus. Trained to give him access to the portal of his choice, Jocelyn parted her legs enough so there was no obstacle in the way of his exploration. But he withdrew his hand and backed off.

“Get up,” he ordered.

The sizzling nature of the command frightened her in all the places she was accustomed to fright. With a shower of prickly energy descending from her shoulders, her belly quaked and her sex spasmed in a place so deep she couldn’t remember when it was last engaged. He was rarely angry and he wasn’t at this moment; but instead, stern, severe and cold to the point of unfeeling. How that seemingly cruel state could arouse her had always been a mystery, but aroused she was. Standing before him a trickle of female juice escaped her vagina. Labia pulsing, the center of her sex aching, breasts anxious for the feel of his hands on her, that tear that had welled in her eye finally spilled down her cheek.

“You’re way out of character, love,” he said. “Taking your decisions from Alexandra’s playbook, perhaps?” he said referring to her abidingly sexual and perpetually guilt-ridden friend, who he’d once trained in submission.