5

Chapter 5

Vanessa Holloway

When I got his text, my heart skipped a beat. How long had it been? A month? A year? I checked his last text and found, to my surprise, that it had been only a week. I sighed, realizing that I was still pining over him. He's the most amazing person, but it's frustrating that he only calls me when he needs me. His actions denote he doesn't want anything deeper than our erotic encounters, but I'm hopeful that I'll be able to win him over with time.

I had gotten ready in my usual professional journalist attire, but with something beneath in preparation for our encounter: a jacket to go with the otherwise revealing blouse and my pretty jean skirt. It didn't take me long to get to his company, but the minutes wound slowly when he didn't show immediately.

I was, however, glad to be in his car, already turned on by his apology and the possibilities before us. Currently, I'm in a hotel room with him, unbuttoning my dress sensually. There's soft music in the background, and all my tools are ready. I switch the bright light to the night light in further preparation. He's standing right in the middle of the room, staring at me fixedly. His eyes glaze over when I undo my bra strap, and I know I've got him.

I walk up to him, my steps in rhythm with the playing tone. Despite his hastened breathing, his touch is rather detached. I remove his belt proactively but find myself thinking, bothered. Something's wrong—why is he distracted?

The explanation comes when he kisses me greedily. The passion is so strong that I feel it; he's needy. He's tired—he always is when he calls me, but this time I think it's more than usual.

I double my efforts, undressing him before me in a flash. Since he needs me for this, I'm more than happy to make him forget his problems. He stands there naked, looking like a god. He's only mildly built, but I think it's perfect!

He brings his hand to my waist, pulling at my panties, but I stop him abruptly. Our eyes lock. He wants to see me too, but that's where it gets interesting. I kiss him on his neck softly, drawing a groan before standing on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Not yet..." A frustrated growl, low in his throat from him, and I frown. "Down now!"

There's silence except for the soft music. I see it in his eyes—resistance—but I already know he'll give in. He drops down to his knees, and I smile. Now we've started.

I get my tools from my bag on the bed. For now, only the handcuffs are needed. After cuffing his hands together, I find some support and hang his hands above his head by a rope.

I spend the next couple of seconds taking in the scene before me: the powerful billionaire CEO, kneeling before me. His consent is evident—agreeing to my request and letting me cuff him is pretty much rendering me all control. I feel powerful and incredibly aroused, dripping wet as I gaze on his bare fair skin. His dick hanging between his thighs as he kneels fills my mind with fantasies... Fantasies and creative ideas on what to do next.

I bend down to him and take it in my hand. Engorged with blood, it's long and hard. I give a gentle squeeze. He groans, his eyes looking at me hungrily, but he's helpless as I tease him for some seconds.

"You kept me waiting," I tell him slowly in a low voice that's barely audible above the music. He smiles subtly as I continue, "What should happen to you?"

"I deserve punishment," was his response, humbly and promptly. What's an S/M session without a bit of punishment?

I take out my whip from my bag and begin, some on his back and others on his butt. The strokes are in beat with the playing tone, but I break it occasionally. It's extremely hot for me to do this to him—I feel special that he lets me, that he somewhat enjoys it himself—yet I know there's a thin line between pleasure and pain. My professionalism comes from just dancing around that line but never crossing over.

I end the session some two minutes later, thinking I've teased enough and wanting the real deal. I uncuff him and hug him tightly as he uses me to support himself back to his feet. My panties drop to the floor as his hands roam, making circles around my ass and finally holding my waist.

I find myself blushing as he holds me some distance away to take my naked frame in. With others, it's just the job so I might be nonchalant, but with him, it's more. Even when I'm going about my usual day, thoughts of him fill my head, so with the current intimacy, it's consuming. His steady hungry gaze fills me up with so much heat that I want to burn with him. I want him to devour me whole.

I make the next move, unable to wait any longer. I trail kisses down his back, red from the whipping. He seems to notice my desperation. I shouldn't have let him because now he's not about to act. I know how to make him though, but I wrestle with the thought of relinquishing the control I've built steadily since getting here.

Unable to take it any longer, I drop to my knees before him, willingly—without a command. The power play between us is like a wave. I could never hold my control over him for long; he's different, someone I can't resist.

I deal with the feeling of vulnerability. I'm completely exposed—naked before him and kneeling too. He doesn't restrain me like I did him, but my total submission is apparent as I look up at him, hoping my eyes aren't as large as they get when I'm going through intense emotions. Crawling without my hands, I inch up to him slowly before grabbing his long hard dick carefully. My body acts on its own as I put it into my mouth, sucking and rubbing in a rhythmic flow.

He throws his head back in pleasure and grabs my hair. Seeing him enjoy it makes me feel nice, like a good little girl, but when he squeezes my firm breasts and strokes my hardened nipples, I'm overloaded with sensation. I don't know how long it lasts, but I feel an orgasm coming. Gosh, he's not even fucked me yet and I'm already...

But then he stops me. His devious eyes take in my frustration as he lifts me off the ground. I'm plopped onto the bed while he lands above me, looking like a lion about to devour its prey.

I'm the dominatrix here, I think, as he takes those cuffs—the ones I used on him earlier—and attaches my hands to the bedposts on either side. He spreads my legs out before him and stares at the treasure in the middle, my pussy glossy and wet. He doesn't take a condom; it isn't needed. We're long-time fuck partners, and he trusts me that much. He smiles and positions his cock above my opening as he kneels above my waist, giving me visions of what is to come.

I wait for it impatiently, desperately, but he remains halted. The look he has in his eyes is one I've never seen before. It takes me a while before I can place that it's confusion. "Luca, what's wrong?"

He snaps back to the present, the lost look in his eyes gone. I'm still uncertain as he repositions before my opening, making circles and curls with a finger to stimulate me even further before pushing his dick in and out with brutal thrusts. "Oh, yes..." I cry, not able to keep the feeling within. His response is a grunt as he increases the intensity of the exercise. I want to kiss him, to flail and touch him, but I find that I can't. With a start, I see my hands tied to the bedposts. I might have growled in frustration if not for the next thrust that had me moaning despite myself, "Uhm mmm..." He should be the one feeling this way with me having complete power, but somehow it's the reverse... And I like it that way.

What I don't like though is the silence. Yes, there's music playing and I'm unable to keep my voice down, but he doesn't say anything to me; he never does. There are no words, no promises. With others, it's fine, but with him, I want more. I want him to see me past my body, to love me or at least fake it. But that's one thing I'm unable to force, even during the times he's artfully hogtied and I'm specially whipping his dick—long and hard—while he calls my name for mercy.

He fucks me till we're both panting beside each other on the bed, a sweaty mess. He doesn't loose me, so I'm still open and helpless. He takes full advantage of that by fondling my breasts and teasing me mercilessly without fucking me again.

Suddenly, his eyes glaze over again. It's a look I'm coming to dread—like he's looking at me but not seeing me... Like he's seeing another instead.

"Is anything the matter?" I question. It's not tiredness, I know it for a fact now because now he's more than relaxed. I must've been wrong to dismiss it previously because now I know it's something more.

"Nothing at all," was his response, loosing me and smiling while he spoke. I could have settled for more fondling and fingering, but it's fine, though the abruptness makes me frown again.

"Thanks so much, Vanessa. I really enjoyed that," he says. I smile in response, but I'm silently thinking... Could he have met someone? And likes her?