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gogobootz1 · 7 months ago

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Dog Day Afternoon

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: New to town but oh-so sought after, a few stumbles might just lead you to love

Word Count: 3k

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Today, I write with news from the North. The reclusive Duke of Devonshire has come to London. It seems that after the death of his younger brother some time back, he is determined to find his eldest daughter, the new heir, a husband. The lady is supposedly very beautiful and will no doubt consume all of the attention of eligible young bachelors. I only bid good luck to her competition, as they will surely need it.

The fluffy tails of your two best friends could not keep still. The black Newfoundlands you had trained from puppyhood loved carriage rides, mostly because they loved meeting the horses before and after. You were sure they'd grow even more excited when you arrived at the park.

As the carriage slowed, you smiled, eager to get them some exercise. Your maid stepped out first, and you momentarily handed her both dogs' leads. Accepting a hand down from a footman, you turned to take them back when they broke free of her grasp entirely. Worse yet, they took off at a run.

You called after them, then whistled, but they were determined. Usually, they didn't give you any trouble with recall. Reaching for the dog whistle you kept on your person, you found nothing.

Without a second thought, you took off after them.

"My Lady!" Your maid called from behind you, panicked. You paid her little heed, anxious to have your babies back safe.

Park patrons stood as your dogs, followed by yourself, ran past. They gawked openly at the strange scene put on by an unknown young lady.

You were relieved when they slowed, but it didn't take long for them to sprint off again. They rounded a corner, quick as lighting. You kept after them, unable to see the obstacle around the bend.

Crashing right into someone's back, the two of you stumbled. The poor gentleman in front of you took the brunt of the impact, but you didn't have time to stay and make a formal apology. Staggering a bit, you resumed your chase.

"Sorry!" You yelled over your shoulder.

"Wait! Miss," the man called after you but gave up as you ran further away.

When your dogs ran off the path and into a clearing where people were picnicking, you grew really worried. Chasing after them on a trail was one thing, but ruining the outings of fellow nobility would be an altogether worse embarrassment.

You stopped in your tracks when you realized who the boys were scampering up to: your little sister. Abigail sat on a blanket with a girl who looked to be about her age. In her mouth was the dog whistle. You tended only to use that whistle when you took them out in the woods, and you'd trained them to run back to you at the sound of it. It gave you peace of mind knowing that you could call them back at any time if they went too far off in the forest or on one of your walks.

Abigail seemed pleased to see the two of them. A surprised grin graced her face as she patted them. They were even happier to see her, showering her in kisses. "Hoo-y? Moo? What are you doing here?" She giggled.

Her laughter stopped when she saw you stalking over. Thoroughly out of breath, you crossed your arms when you reached them. The three of them looked guiltily up at you. With a snap, your dogs came to sit on either side of you. Although your countenance was thoroughly enraged, scratching behind both dogs' ears decreased your intimidation factor.

"Why on Earth did you steal that?" You nodded toward your whistle.

"I think it makes for a chic necklace," Abigail said defensively. You stuck a hand out, and she reluctantly placed the whistle she'd put on a chain in it.

"And why on Earth were you using it?" You asked expectantly.

She held her hands up in surrender, "Miss Hyacinth was skeptical that the whistle could not be heard with human ears. I was simply showing her how it worked." Abigail was clever- you'd give her that. You could hardly scold her in front of her companion, and you wouldn't dream of scolding the other young girl for something so clearly not her fault. Using her as a human shield was a cowardly tactic by your sister, however. "And I thought you weren't arriving until later!"

"They were antsy. I figured I could abandon the harp in favor of allowing them some exercise," you explained, then glared at her, "This was not the type of exercise I had in mind."

"But Hoo-y and Moo love running free," she pouted at you.

"They are not allowed to run free in public spaces where I must chase after them!" You snapped at her. Crouching to get closer, you reached into your purse and gave both dogs a scrap of jerky. "Huginn and Muninn are both well-behaved gentlemen, and you may have tarnished their good names by causing this wild romp!"

"Huginn and Muninn? Does that make you Odin?" A deep voice called from behind you. You rose and turned to see a tall, handsome gentleman with dark hair.

His question took you by surprise. Most people did not understand their names. You blinked for a second before collecting yourself, "No." It was hardly a smart reply, but it was the most you could manage after chasing your dogs a few hundred meters. You shook your head a little, vaguely embarrassed by your answer, before turning back to the girls.

"Would you please excuse Lady Abigail, Miss Hyacinth?" The bright young lady nodded at you with a pleasant smile before you even finished speaking, "The least she can do after causing such trouble is help me walk the dogs." You directed the last part toward your sister, who reluctantly stood. Taking one of the leads from your hand, she bid goodbye to her companion before walking off. You nodded at the young lady and the handsome stranger before following after her.

Benedict watched you walk away from his sister's picnic spot, only slightly removed from the rest of the family's. He collapsed down next to Hyacinth and stole a grape from her plate, "Who was that?"

"My new friend, Abigail," she replied, smacking his wrist. He ate the grape anyway.

"And the older one?"

"Her sister," Hyacinth looked at him skeptically, "why do you ask?"

Benedict thought of how you'd practically pushed him to the ground in the middle of the walkway, then ran from the scene. "No reason," he shrugged.

——————————————

The first ball you'd be attending was later that evening, and you were incredibly nervous. Sat on the floor of the library, you brushed through Muninn's coat in an attempt to calm your nerves. Waiting for your father to finish changing was making you even more anxious, the dread just building up in your body.

"Why are you on the floor?" His voice finally came from the doorway.

"His coat needed brushing," you shrugged innocently. The Duke waved at you to come join him, and you stood, brushing some fur off yourself. Muninn stood, too, and closely followed as you joined your father.

"You're only lucky he didn't slobber on you," your father shook his head at you fondly, offering his arm.

Taking it, you made one last bid to skip the event, "Remind me why we are attending this?"

"A future Duchess needs a husband," he said simply.

"Does she really?" You asked wryly.

"No," your father answered seriously, causing you to stop. "Well, only if she should like a Duke or Duchess of her blood to follow in her footsteps," he tugged on your arm to keep you walking.

That only made you feel worse. While before you felt nervous, guilt was now in the mix. What if that didn't happen?

"If you never marry, I will not love you any less," he revealed. "I only ask that you try," your father asserted, "but if there is nary a man up to snuff, I would have you die a spinster." You laughed at that, feeling some pressure relieved. He joked with you for the duration of the carriage ride and up until you were announced at the ball.

"Now presenting; His Grace Daniel, Duke of Devonshire, and his daughter Lady-"

The entire company of the room turned to watch the two of you descend the stairs.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Your father whispered to you jokingly.

"Oh, only that awful mustache," you whispered back playfully. You caught the corner of his lip twitching as he tried not to laugh at the jab at his expense.

A few more seconds of staring had you whispering to him again, "I see now why you never leave the house." That earned a huff of a laugh from him.

"Let us thank our host, then visit the refreshments," he relayed the plan.

"Excellent idea," you replied quietly as he dragged you toward a finely dressed older woman.

"Lady Danbury," your father nodded at her in greeting.

"Lovely to see you again, Your Grace. It's been quite some time," she smiled at him knowingly.

"Indeed it has," he laughed, "may I present my daughter?" You smiled then, giving her a polite nod as well.

"My, how you've grown, my lady. The last time I saw you, you were far shorter than me," she chuckled, and you laughed politely with her. Unfortunately, you had no memory of that meeting. It must have been a long time ago, and she must have visited your home at Chatsworth House.

It was only a few more moments of small talk before your father excused the two of you, under the guise of not impeding her from talking to other guests.

He fixed you both a glass of lemonade at the refreshments table before he was pulled away. As much as he hated socializing, people loved him. He sent you an apologetic glance as he left. You only shook your head at him, smiling.

You took a brief glance around the room, noticing a few debutantes conversing near you. You sent them a smile, but they sneered in reply and closed ranks. Stunned at their response, you didn't quite know what to do.

"They can be rather mean," you turned to find a young red-headed woman beside you. "Not to mention jealous," she said helpfully.

"Jealous?" You were confused. They hadn't even met you. "Of me?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed a bit. "Haven't you read Lady Whistledown?"

You were embarrassed to have no idea of what she spoke, "I haven't met her. Is she in attendance?" That got an even greater laugh from your companion.

"Lady Whistledown is a gossip columnist and a rather popular one at that," she informed you, and you felt foolish for your last comment. "She wrote about you in her latest issue."

"Really?" You were stunned, as you'd only recently arrived in London.

"She predicted you'd steal the attentions of every available gentleman away from your fellow debutants," she nodded.

"No wonder they hate me," you sighed, sorry to have made a bad impression on the debutants before making their acquaintance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I still haven't introduced myself!" You were eager to make at least one good first impression.

"I'm Penelope Featherington," she said with a smile.

"I must admit, Miss Featherington," you shook your head, "I think Lady Whistledown's prediction will prove incorrect." She tilted her head and gestured for you to go on, "I've not been approached by a single gentleman."

Penelope took a quick look around the room, accidentally meeting a few pairs of eyes. Plenty of people had already been looking in your direction. She smiled a bit at your obliviousness, "I think perhaps they're just intimidated."

"Oh no," your eyes widened, "have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," she assured you, "I think it's just... no one wants to take the first shot at a great stag and miss."

"I'm not sure I like being prey in this metaphor," you deadpanned, causing her to laugh once again.

It seemed one young gentleman mustered the courage to be the first to approach, and he really was young. "Good evening, ladies," he greeted you both, then offered you his hand, "would you care to dance?"

You placed your hand lightly in his but sent Penelope a look as he led you off. She giggled as you went. From there, you were off to the races. Dance after dance, gentleman after gentleman, you were exhausted.

"Please excuse me, sir, I'm feeling rather parched," you did not even recall this one's name.

"Oh no, please, my lady, I shall fetch a beverage for you," he nodded, "stay right there! Don't move!" He kept eye contact with you as he walked backward a few paces. You couldn't help but walk backward away from him, and you continued to do so even after he'd scurried off.

In fact, you retreated so far back that you retreated right into someone else's back. You both turned.

“You rather love bumping into me,” the gentleman you’d seen earlier said.

“Excuse me?” You certainly hadn’t seen him before this morning, so you had no idea what he meant by that smart comment. Your offense at his statement outweighed the sway of his good looks, unlike earlier.

“This makes twice,” he insisted, “once chasing after your ravens and once just now.”

It took you a second to catch up, “It was you I knocked over in the park earlier?!” Embarrassment rolled over you like a wave. “Oh God,” this was awful, “I am so incredibly sorry. Truly, I am mortified. And I would have apologized earlier, I-“

He only laughed a bit, “It’s quite alright. I got the sense you were in a rush.” His teasing tone brought a smile to your face.

“They’re usually so well-behaved,” you assured him, “I’m afraid my sister was behind the debacle.”

“Oh, yes, she was sitting with Hyacinth, was she not?”

“You know Miss Hyacinth?”

The gentleman grinned and bowed, “Benedict Bridgerton, her brother.”

“Very nice to meet you,” you smiled, “officially.”

“I’m not sure I caught your name,” right as he asked, you heard it being called.

“My lady?” You whipped around, and spotted the gentleman you’d abandoned searching for you. Wincing, you scuttled toward the closest pillar and ducked behind it. Benedict stayed put, but watched you run off with great amusement. After a moment, he chose to follow you.

“Are you hiding?” He teasingly asked.

You peered around the pillar, hoping the man had walked away. When you saw he hadn’t, you ducked away again, “yes!”

Benedict blinked at you, smiling, “Why?”

“My feet hurt,” you confessed, “I have danced every dance. I haven’t sat down in hours. Frankly, I’m surprised so many are interested after my jaunt through the park.”

“Perhaps they were impressed by your display of athleticism,” a crooked grin crossed his face. You leveled him with a look.

“There you are, my lady,” you jolted at the foreign voice, and Benedict had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “I could not find you, so I’m afraid I drank your lemonade as well,” you could see Benedict’s shoulders shake with laughter, “Are you ready for our next dance?”

A look of pure horror must have crossed your face, because Benedict finally intervened, “I’m afraid she’s promised the next dance to me.” He pulled a pencil from a pocket in his jacket and outstretched one hand to you. You held out the arm your dance card was attached to, “In fact, I’ve very generously been granted all her remaining dances.” He winked at you as he filled in the four remaining spots. You fought off a grin.

“I see,” the man you interrupted you said sourly. He turned on his heel and marched away. Neither you nor Benedict could stop your laughter at his reaction.

“It is not my intention to further burden your feet,” he assured you after a moment, “I only hoped to dissuade him.”

“You did a fine job,” you grinned at him, “you have my gratitude.”

“I think I rather scandalized him,” Benedict chuckled, and you shook your head.

“It seems rather easy to scandalize this lot,” you said.

“Well, you’re right about that,” he nodded.

You sighed, “I think they’re all so concerned with presenting themselves as proper and important they forget to consider anyone else. Not one man I danced with asked me about myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict shook his head, “I hope the rest of your evening is more relaxing.”

“Thank you,” you nodded at him, “at the very least, I know my dogs will listen to me when I return to them.”

Benedict laughed at that and slightly bowed towards you again, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I hope to bump into you again soon.”

Your eyes widened, “Maybe not bump.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled at you and nodded before leaving you free to go find somewhere to sit.

Soon enough, you father found you relaxing on a chaise lounge in a nearby study. He only shook his head, and offered you his arm to depart.

——————————————

The next morning brought with it house calls. You’d been hoping to spend a quiet morning working on a new piece for the harp, as you’d forgone practice the day before. But, much to your chagrin, you were forced to dress and be presentable within only ten minutes of your waking.

It didn’t take long for the sitting room to be bombarded with interested parties, though none were interested enough to truly speak with you. Each brought with him a new bouquet of flowers, and you soon grew worried you’d start sneezing uncontrollably. Eventually, you became so overwhelmed that you bribed poor Abigail to keep them occupied while you disappeared.

The only question she had for you was if you cared what she did to them. You’d given her free rein. With one look at her wicked grin, you fled the room.

Quickly turning the corner to another hallway, you quite nearly crashed into someone.

“That was almost three,” Benedict joked with you.

“Almost,” you highlighted, “but only a close call.”

“True,” he nodded.

"What brings you here?"

Benedict smiled, "I had hoped to call on you. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," you shook your head jovially.

"Excellent! I brought a gift," he produced a brown paper bag. You were slightly confused but glad for something other than flowers.

"Thank you," you reached for it, but he pulled it back.

"Not for you," he shook his head. You blinked back at him, wide-eyed. "Unless you have a proclivity for raw steak." Benedict laughed at the shock on your face, "I thought Huginn and Muninn might enjoy a treat."

A surprised smile eased onto your face. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"Do you think they might also appreciate a walk in the park?" He asked, "A chance at redemption?"

"I think they'd like that," you grinned widely as Benedict smiled and offered you his arm.

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He didn't ask a single question! And he was wearing these- FUGLY jeans

Lol I've been toying with this idea since S3 part 1 came out, hope you liked it! I let her live in 2005 Mr. Darcy's luxurious mansion so you're welcome

(sorry for obscure norse mythology references)

#benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton

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mountainsandmayhem · 3 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 5 (Part One)

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You let Mister Miller help you out of a slump and learn you might like a little pain

WC: 8.9k

CW: Reader as some descriptors (freckles, long hair etc) so this might be more of an original character vs female reader. Dom/Sub dynamics, pet names (sweet girl, baby, baby girl etc). More CW in red below the cut but will contain spoilers.

AN: THANK YOU for being sooooo patient with me while I delayed this chapter. This is only HALF of the chapter and as soon as my lovely @lotusbxtch beta's the other half I will post it. No pressure thought, bb!! I just couldn't WAIT to share this since you've all been so wonderful and supportive. Moodboard by me, dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

CW: riding crop, oral (male and female receiving), male masturbation, female orgasms, hand cuffs, deep throating/face fucking, descriptions of self doubt and panic attacks; reader is going through it, ok? Hair pulling, Joel is a bit mean but he does it with love and care. Joel being a consent and aftercare king.

Joel

Joel sits on the Trocadéro platform of Café de l’Homme, the birds chirping and the sound of rustling papers keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts of you. Sarah sits across from him, a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower to their left, and a buying agreement typed out in French taking up most of the table. Joel might not look like it, but he can see himself eventually living out his years in either Paris or Italy. He speaks enough French and Italian to get by, but relies on Sarah to read over the contract for her new condo. His baby girl is a doctor and now that she’s almost a year into her surgery residency, this condo is her graduation present finally coming to fruition.

He looks down at his phone, opening the text thread he has with you. He’s been trying to give you space to study this week, telling himself each day that this isn’t what you signed up for but he can’t help himself, and when you responded with a selfie of yourself in your maid discreetly polo the other day he knew there was no way he’d be able to keep that pledge to himself anymore. Joel looks at the time, factoring in the time change, and your LSAT retake is in a few hours. His thumbs move on their own.

Good Morning. Good luck on your LSAT today.

He attaches a picture of the coffee he had that morning before hitting send.

The waiter comes by to take their orders, Sarah’s French flowing from her lips as easily as she breathes, happily telling the waiter what both her and her dad will have. Joel mutters a ‘merci’ as the waiter nods.

Thank you. That coffee looks a lot better than mine.

A selfie of you, all pink cheeked and smiling follows. A paper to go cup with a plastic lid in your hand beside your face.

Were you running?

“How’s it going over there?” Joel says over his phone screen to Sarah, her focus is intent on the stack of papers in front of her.

“Shh, I’m reading,” she says lightly as the waiter opens an expensive looking bottle of white wine and pours a little for her to try. After taking her small sip and nodding at the waiter she looks to her dad. “What? I thought we were celebrating!”

He shakes his head, laughing at his daughter as both of them look back at what they were doing.

Yes. I run most mornings. Gotta clear my head.

What’s bothering you, sweet girl?

You know, you calling me that has the same effect as me calling you Mister Miller.

Ok, we’ll just call each other by our names then.

Joel is so wrapped up in his little bubble with you that he doesn’t notice Sarah sitting back and watching him as she sips her wine.

That’s no fun, let’s come up with safe nicknames.

He feels the side of cheek tug up. She’s so fucking cute.

Alright, I’m calling you giggles

What am I, a rodeo clown?

Joel laughs silently to himself, not realizing that he’s sporting a full and cheesy ear to ear grin across his face.

Fine - Freckles

Eww, that’s what the mean girls in high school used to call me

Well the hot, successful man who owns a sex club and supplies your orgasms finds your freckles incredibly sexy. What’s my safe nickname?

“Who are you texting?” Sarah says, her voice thick with amusement.

Joel clicks his phone shut, laying it face down on the table. He wipes the smile off his face and looks up at Sarah like a child who just got caught stealing candy. “No one. Just work stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure dad. I know that smile. Did you meet someone?”

Joel grabs his wine, taking a larger drink then necessary. A drink of someone who’s lying. There’s no way he can tell his daughter about this. Sure, Sarah knows about the club but they never talk about what goes on there. “No! Of course not. I’m too busy for that.”

Her eyes blink to his phone as it vibrates on the table, but he keeps his attention on Sarah, his wine glass looking comically small in his large hand. “I’ll just ask uncle Tommy.”

“Funny story, he’s been removed from the family.” He deadpans.

“Tess will tell me then,” Sarah says, her and her dad both challenging each other jokingly.

“Who? Never heard of a Tess before,” Joel says, crossing his arms.

Sarah laughs into her wine glass, “Ok dad. Look, I want you to meet someone, so don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, you’re a catch and have been alone for a long time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Sarah. Not yet at least.” His phone vibrates again and she cocks an eyebrow before going back to her papers.

Joel scoops up his phone to read your texts.

Huh, suddenly I’m over being bullied. Weird. Oh, I have the peeerrrfect nickname for you!

Go on, Freckles…

Sweet Cheeks, cuz seriously Miller, dat ass.

Daaaammmnn!

You’re treading on mighty thin ice, baby girl

Joel, I have a serious question…

Go on?

Are your suit pants tailored TO your ass?!

Joel chokes on his wine, trying to stifle his laugh.

“Alright, who is she?”

“Fine. I met someone, but she’s really young, like younger than you, Sarah. And she’s leaving soon for law school so it’s just best if I don’t talk about it.”

Sarah smiles at her dad. “First of all, I don’t care if she’s younger than me, especially seeing you smile like that. Do you have any idea how many of the girls at college wanted you? You're my dad, so it’s gross to say, but you were the campus DILF.”

Joel feels himself blushing as she continues, “Second of all, you don’t have to end things just because of school. Me and Wyatt maintained our relationship while I was in New York and he was in Seattle.” As she wiggles the pear shaped diamond on her left hand the waiter brings out their food, and Joel changes the subject to the condo that he just bought for his incredible daughter.

Our little girl did it, Tiff. Thank you for giving her to me, he thinks.

You

“That’s time, everyone,” The proctor calls from the front of the stuffy, windowless room that you and forty five other law school hopefuls have been in for just over three hours.

You let out a slow breath, cheeks puffing and eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t finish, last time you finished, and the proctor has been eyeing you the entire time. He knows, he fucking knows you aren’t nearly as qualified or as smart as the rest of the people in this room. That line from Gilmore Girls, something about having shiny Harvard hair is all your anxiety can focus on. The people in this room have Havard hair, even the men. You don’t belong here.

You’ve never been in a lower spot and after the high of the flirty text conversation with Joel this morning you didn’t anything could get you down. In the span of just a few hours you’ve been completely torn apart, you can feel the panic attack clawing greedily at your chest. You fucking blew it, all of it. You blew your chances at law school, you blew your future as a lawyer and, in turn, your future as a judge. You’ll be cleaning houses forever, and not that there’s anything wrong with being a professional maid, but it’s not your goal.

Maybe I was fucking stupid for only having one goal. Maybe I need to do something else with my degree. Maybe my father was right, I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. Maybe my mother was right too, I’m the smartest girl at home but the world is going to chew me up and spit me out. It’s doing that right now, isn’t it?

Your feet take you to the locker where your phone’s been locked up, and then out to your car. You don’t notice the warm late March air when you leave the testing building and there's a good chance that you jay walked, narrowly missing being hit by a car as you walked to the parking lot. Before turning the key in the ignition you open your phone, there’s a little red bubble on the JMK app. When you tap on it you have a new calendar section and Joel has invited you to the club tomorrow night. You stare down at it, waiting and hoping to feel something. That excited giddiness you usually feel, or the butterflies that typically erupt in your stomach, but nothing comes. You close out of the app without accepting the invite and drive home.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from the anxiety-ridden nightmares you’ve been slipping in and out of. In the first one, you were having your degree taken away. In the second, you were sitting on the end of the bed in Joel’s private room looking out a window into the voyeur room. Joel was walking another woman around, similar to how he did with you the first time. The one that your roommate interrupted involved you being completely naked while trying to find your first class at Harvard.

“Babe?” Odette’s calm voice fills your room, “You ok?”

You tap your phone screen: 9 pm. You’ve been passed out all afternoon and evening.

“Ya, just had a hard day.” You try to move out from the blankets, but they’re tangled around your limbs; a clear sign that you were restless in your sleep.

“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza. You have a few more college letters too, I think three were in the mailbox today.” Her voice is light and excited, as if she’s trying to pump you up.

“Thanks, O. I’ll, umm, I’ll be out in a sec.”

The door shuts gently and the tears finally come. Five minutes, you tell yourself, before you start sobbing into your pillow to not alert Odette. After your allotted crying time is up, you open your phone. Messages from Jamie and Laren are left on read before you slide into the JMK app and accept Joel's request to meet at the club tomorrow night. You join Odette for a late dinner, but there’s no way you’re opening those letters tonight.

Cap drops you off outside of the club the next night. This seems to be the officially unofficial routine of being Joel’s sub and you aren’t sure why. Cap confirmed last time that he didn’t do this for the other girls; you don’t deserve special treatment.

Any treatment, really, you think. Even the little box of feelings in your mind feels the same way, sulking sadly in the dark corner you banished it to.

The black marble foyer feels cold and mocking tonight, even with the beautiful hostess smiling brightly and greeting you by name. As you turn towards the entrance to the club, a man dressed in an impeccable black suit holds his arm out for you.

“Good evening, Miss. Joel asked me to escort you to his room tonight.”

You nod, forcing a smile and a thank you. All this black feels like he’s walking you to your own funeral. As you step into the club there are people everywhere. Couples are dancing, people are taking up the tables and the barstools. The deep bass of the music thumps through the club and the nagging pressure behind your right eye threatens to pop it right from its socket.

The security guard holds his wrist to the pad on the door and holds it open for you.

“Thanks,” you say again through another fake smile.

The door clicks behind you and the music dulls, the only light on this side of the door comes from the propped open door of Mister Miller’s room. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door frame and Joel steps into view. Your eyes travel from his shiny black dress shoes, up the perfectly tailored black dress pants and fitted white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong muscle lined forearms that usually drive you wild. You stand there, waiting and hoping to feel something, but just like in your car yesterday, nothing comes. Meanwhile, he’s smiling at you as if he’s just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“Hi, my sweet girl,” Joel’s voice usually coats you like warm molasses, especially when he calls you his. But the rejection letters feel like they have plastered themselves onto you, seemingly creating a hard shell, keeping that miserable gray fog from escaping.

“Hi, Mister Miller,” you say obediently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is wrong.

He motions for you to come inside, and pulls you into his arms as the door quietly clicks shut behind you. You wrap yours around his waist subconsciously as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re sure the two of you have embraced like this before but right now it feels foreign. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days. I’m sorry, I can go. I don’t want to drag you down.” Your hands fist his dress shirt, a silent cry for him to not let you leave as an annoying dry lump forms in your throat.

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, baby girl.” His hands run long, slow lines up and down your back as he brings his forehead to meet yours.

The pounding of the music on the other side of the club fades away completely as his eyes melt into yours. It's absurd that you missed him, isn’t it? You are his submissive, nothing else. But when he looks at you the way he is now it’s hard to remember up from down. The pressure behind your eye dissipates as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck and squeezes gently. From the outside eye, you could almost argue that he’s acting as if he missed you too.

His voice is a soft whisper as he continues, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it’s his years of experience as a dom and taking care of his subs. Or maybe this is just normal for him, but you aren’t used to someone wanting to talk about it. You’re used to a quick hug and a shitty pep talk. His hands felt heavenly on your clothed body, but as they brush against the bare skin of your neck to cup your cheeks they’re out of this world. This strong, successful, handsome man is giving you his full attention, wants to give you his full attention, and as his nose runs down yours it finally happens.

Your body is flooded with that familiar desire. Your breathing catches as you practically moan, “No, I need you to make me forget. Help me, Mister Miller. Please?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, exposing that dimple that makes him so damn endearing as he pulls his face back from yours. “I’m going to push you tonight, sweet girl.” He slides your faux leather jacket off, letting it hit the floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you say, your voice turning husky.

His eyes dance around your features and with a single blink he switches. You don’t think you could ever describe it, but it’s like he puts on a mask. His soft brown eyes turn almost onyx, the muscles in his jaw seem flexed, but it’s his voice that really gives away when he’s transformed into his fully dominant form. Joel’s voice is deep yet has a soft aura. Mister Miller's voice on the other hand is full of gravel, and nothing is a suggestion.

“Take off your clothes.”

Joel steps back, watching as you slip your bare feet out of your sandals. You felt underdressed tonight, but you just couldn’t convince yourself to put together an outfit. Your denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt come off easily and after stepping out of your shorts you look up at Mister Miller. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as he takes you in, eyes widening at your lack of bra and panties tonight.

“Dirty little girl.” He accentuates every word as his eyes travel a burning path up and down your exposed skin and then to the side of the room behind you. “See that pillow?”

You spin slowly, a black velvet pillow sits on the floor, handcuffs hanging above it from a chain connected to the ceiling. You look over your bare shoulder at Joel who simply juts his chin towards it in a silent command. As you walk towards the pillow, the metallic clink of his ring hitting the ceramic dish washes over you. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you feel the anxiety leaving your body. The doubt that has been screaming at you dulls to a barely-there whisper. For a second you feel weightless, floating towards the black pillow like the little styrofoam packing peanuts you used to place in rain run off as a kid.

‘No one has ever made you feel like this’. The little box of feelings says from the dark, ‘He’d take care of you, if you let him.’ You push that box deeper into the archives of your mind as you stop in front of the pillow.

Joel’s voice is deep, almost a menacing growl from behind you as he says, “Kneel.”

Your mind shuts off completely as you comply, dropping to your knees, facing the wall, and tucking your feet underneath you.

“Toes planted on the floor, sweet girl.” You adjust how you're sitting, exposing the soles of your feet to Joel as he walks towards you, his expensive dress shoes clicking slightly on the hardwood. You can feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches from your bare skin. “Good. Hands up.”

His touch is gentle as he places the cuffs around your wrists. “What’s your safeword?”

“Stegosaurus,” you say softly.

“Louder!” He barks.

You jump slightly before saying it again with confidence, “Stegosaurus.”

Joel takes a small step towards the wall and tugs the other end of the chain to pull it tighter, stretching your arms up above your head. You’re almost lifted off your knees. A small piece of leather running up and down your spine and your breathing starts to speed up. The anticipation of what’s to come almost has you bursting at the seams.

“This is a riding crop. You said you’re interested in impact play, as well as paddles, whips and crops. Is that correct?”

You nod, your throat going dry and voice cracking as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“How’d your LSAT go, baby?”

“I…I th-think I failed,” you murmur.

A sharp snapping sound fills the room, quickly followed by red hot pain on your right ass cheek; you gasp at the sensation.

The soft leather goes back to tracing your spine, slowly up and down, almost feather light and ticklish. “Again, how did your LSAT go?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller. But,” your try to swallow the dry lump in your throat. “I think I failed.”

As if he’s had years of sniper training, he strikes you in the exact same spot. This time your body jerks, the chains rattling above you as you cry out. However, the heat of this strike spreads right to your clit, and your cry morphs into a whine of pleasure.

“Sweet girl, do you belong to me?” He trails the leather along your hip, slowly teasing up your side.

“Y-Yes, Mister Miller.”

“Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect?” The soft end of the crop continues its trail, over the side of your breast and to your armpit.

“No.” You whisper.

I can’t do this, he’s going to ask me to say I’m perfect and I can’t do it.

“I don’t appreciate you talking bad about something I own.” A strike lands on the sole of your left foot, you hadn’t even realized the crop had moved from your arm. He taps the foot again, lighter this time but the pain from the first strike hasn’t ceased, a strangled cry passes your lips. “Especially when what you’re talking about is yourself.”

Another strike hits your right ass cheek and the red hot stings of it causes you to shoot up onto your knees. The chains above you rattle and go slack. Joel makes a noise similar to a growl behind you before two quick snaps land on the back of both of your thighs. “Kneel, sweet girl.”

You’re shocked by the moans and gasps that are filling the room, sounds that are unconsciously coming from your own mouth. Your pussy is throbbing and as you settle back onto your heels you realize how wet you are. You didn’t think you’d like this this much.

“You need to learn how to stay still without being tied down.”

“Sorry, Mister Miller,” you whine through the panting breaths you’re taking.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, striking your left cheek and then gently rubbing along your ass. “How did your LSAT go?”

“I…It…I don’t know,” you say defeatedly.

He hits the sole of your left foot again, then your right ass cheek and this time your body acts on its own, your hips tilting to push your ass out towards Joel, a needy moan filling the room. “Come on, baby girl. Use your words.”

“It was harder then I remember,” you hum, your body practically vibrating with need. God, you can’t believe how good this feels.

The crop makes a slow line from the top of your ass, up your spine again and you tense up, sucking in a big breath. “Relax, my sweet girl. Until we talk about it, I will never strike you anywhere above the waist.”

“In fact,” he continues. “Anywhere here,” he draws a big circle along your entire lower back, “Should never, ever, be hit.”

“Ok, th-thank you.” You sink onto your heels again, your inner thighs are almost slippery with how turned on you are.

Joel laughs lightly, “You’re welcome. So, it was harder than you remember?”

“Y-yes. I think I failed, Joel.” As soon you say it, you know you’ve fucked up. Eight quick, sharp snaps of the crop hit; two on each ass cheek and two on each foot, all at random. It’s over faster than you can apologize, and the walls of your pussy spasm with each crack of leather on skin. “Sorry, Mister Mill, hnng, M-Miller.”

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as he speaks. “Again, it was harder than you remember?”

You whine before whispering, “Yes, but I tried my hardest.”

“Up,” Joel commands, pulling the chain so you’re up on your knees. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

He bends down behind you, the heat of his broad upper body warming your back. His strong hands grip your waist to steady you as you walk your knees out. “That’s it, good job sweet girl.”

His praise shifts everything. Sure, maybe you failed, but you are stronger than a little test. You are bigger than law school. If you don’t get in, you’ll try again and you’ll keep on trying, because you can do anything. A bright light shines on the little box of feelings.

The crop lightly tapping your inner thigh brings your back to the moment. “Please, Mister Miller.”

“You don’t have to ask, sweet girl. If this is enough to make you come then let go for me.” He whispers, trailing the leather of the crop up your thigh before trailing down the other.

“I need you to touch me,” you whine, letting your head fall forward.

“Aww, poor baby,” he mocks before bringing the little leather square between your legs and taps lightly against your swollen clit.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“Yea? My perfect sweet girl gonna come?”

“Yes,” you cry, head now falling back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Tell me,” he commands, stopping the tapping and just letting the soft leather rest against you, “Tell me you're perfect.”

“No, please,” you murmur.

“Tell me you’re perfect and you can come, sweet girl.” The crop is barely touching you now.

“I’m perfect,” you whine.

He smacks your clit harder once, twice and with the third snap of the crop you fall over the edge. The chains rattle as pleasure consumes you. Your orgasm rolls through you so hard and all you can do is take it. You moan loudly and your legs start to give out beneath you, the handcuffs and chain above you the only thing holding you up.

Joel

Fuck, she looks absolutely stunning when she finally submits. My beautiful, broken girl. She’s so smart, so driven, always pushing, pushing, pushing. Always taking care of everyone else. I wish she’d just let go, let me take care of her.

As you slump forward he drops the riding crop, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you up, as he undoes the cuffs. You go completely boneless in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his soft lips peppering kisses along the top of your glistening shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. God, you’re so beautiful.”

He supports your weakened body, lowering you to the floor and rolling you onto your back. He pushes the hair that’s stuck to your sweat soaked forehead back. The soft and mischievous smile across your face is exactly what he was hoping for; you’re not ready to be done yet and luckily, neither is he.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers, gravel in his throat, before kissing your forehead.

Joel stands and takes a few long strides across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes glued to him as he walks away. After your joke about his pants he picked a pair that's extra snug, just for you. He’s never picked an outfit for a sub before, and this just further proves that even if he’s not ready to fully admit it to himself yet, you are so much more than just a sub.

“Sweet girl, come here.” He pats his thigh. As you sit up he says, “No, I want you to crawl to me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing, and his heart nearly flutters right out of his fucking chest as you say, “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He wants to wrap you in his arms and praise you, but you’re responding so well to him being mean and he knows you need him to keep going. “I said to fucking crawl.”

When you get on your hands and knees, his cock swells to its full potential, pushing painfully behind the zipper of his dress pants. He begins memorizing every inch of your glistening skin and the lust-filled expression on your face as you move so beautifully across the room.

“Like this, Mister Miller?” You ask innocently, wetting your lips and effectively ruining his life at the same time.

“Just like that, my sweet girl,” he praises, sitting back up and patting his thigh as he adds, “All the way, then rest your head right here.”

You finally reach him, settling yourself in a kneeling position again and laying your head on his lap, big eyes looking up at him sweetly. His short nails scrape along your scalp as his fingers card through your hair and butterflies fill his stomach as you melt into his touch. “You look so pretty like this. So sweet and submissive. I’m a bad man for the thoughts I have about you when you’re like this.”

You hum quietly, eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. You’re fully at his mercy, trusting him to do what he thinks is best. It’s not a role he takes lightly, not like when he was younger. If this was fifteen years ago you still be handcuffed to that ceiling as he fucked you, but after breaking a lot of hearts he’s reformed his ways. No sex, that’s the rule, as badly as he’d love to sink into your tight, wet heat, you’re trusting him to keep you safe.

A sense of calm and comfort washes over him as he continues to massage at your scalp, and he smiles to himself as your body gets heavier between his spread thighs. There’s lots of things he likes about you, but the thing he loves the most is how he never knows what’s going to come out of your mouth next. And you prove that when your eyes flutter open and you confidently say, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Fuck, baby. Gonna give me a heart attack sayin’ shit like that outta the blue.”

Your perfect pink lips curl up into a shy smile, his hand moving from your hair so he can brush his knuckles lightly down your cheek. “S’ that what you want? To suck on my cock?”

Your head comes off his lap as you nod up at him. “Yes, Mister Miller. Please?”

“You know that you don’t have to do that. Right? I don’t do this for orgasms, it’s about so much more than that for me.” He asks softly, knuckles trailing your jaw.

“I know, it’s more than that for me too, but I want to.”

The two of you look at one another for a while, eyes dancing along each other's faces. His voice comes out thick and full of sand, “Take it out.”

He sits back, resting his hands on the bed behind him as your hands go to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and then opening his pants. His thick cock springs free as you pull down his soft black boxers, the tip already leaking a bead of milky precome. As you eagerly press the flat of your tongue to the tip, he stifles a moan and watches as your eyes widen. He knows that look, it’s the same look every other man and woman has when they see it for the first time. Joel’s never been with someone of the same sex, but on the rare times he’s shared a sub with another man they have the same expression too.

“You have a piercing,” you say, curiosity thick in your voice, eyes glued to the nickel sized silver hoop that sits at the very bottom of his pelvis, the bottom of the hoop sitting just above the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the questions about the unusual placement of it run behind your inquisitive eyes.

Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock now, your pinky grazing the shiny metal, and his hands fist the sheets behind him to stop himself from grabbing you. “I didn’t know that was a place people pierced.”

He smirks. “Welcome to the wonderful world of kink, sweet girl.”

He got the piercing shortly after he began his journey to become a dom. In certain positions it can be very beneficial for his partner, and even though he’s vowed over and over again to himself that he’s not going to cross that line with you, he can’t help but imagine your perfect face as you find out exactly what it can do. A little piece of metal that would stimulate your clit as he fucks you.

Your soft pink tongue wets your lips before you begin to suckle on the sensitive rosy pink tip of his cock. His lips part with a quiet sigh. The entire tip of his cock slips into your mouth and his hands clench harder at the fluffy white sheets, desperately trying to let you explore him when all he wants to do is wrap your silky hair around his hands and hear what you sound like when you gag. His efforts double as you hum and then swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, big doe eyes looking up at him.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whimpers. “Do that again.” You smile up at him sweetly and his heart starts to thunder behind his ribs. This isn’t a good idea. He should just focus on you, he gets off on that too, just in a much different way.

Submissives come to him for many different reasons but he’s a dominant for one reason only. From the minute Tiffany passed, Joel has been responsible for everything. From raising Sarah, to bailing out Tommy whenever he got in trouble. Not to mention his construction job, which eventually led to being a business owner. Everyone needed everything from Joel. He had to pivot plans or multitask, nothing ever went as planned; but when he’s Mister Miller it goes exactly how he wants it to. He can say no, he can make them beg or say please, he plans what happens and it goes just how it’s supposed to. For a man who is supposed to be “the boss”, he only feels in control when he’s playing the role of dominant.

And then came you. This beautiful little ray of light. From that first gasp and wide eyed stare in his office he had a feeling about you. And then everything that came out of your mouth took him by surprise. And right now, how good your mouth feels has him even more surprised.

You haven’t looked away as you’ve worked more of him down your throat, your hand moves in tandem with your mouth, and your tongue flicks against the ridge along the bottom of the tip each time.

“Feels s’good, sweet girl.” One of his hands moves on its own, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can take more though. Come on. Be a good girl and take it all.”

A small humming giggle vibrates along his length as you work more of him into your mouth and he can’t fight it anymore. Both his hands come to your hair, pushing it back as he wraps the soft strands around his fingers and grips tightly, guiding you down and holding you as low as he can get you before you gag. “Good fuckin’ girl. Jus’ like that.”

You

Joel’s salty precum is like a drug. You want it. Need it. And know you’re going to crave it forever. He’s been mean tonight, something you haven’t really seen from him, but it was exactly what had to happen to get your head back on straight. You needed a harsh hand to snap you out of the dark looming cloud that’s been threatening to swallow you whole.

You’ve probably always suffered from depression or high-functioning anxiety, not that your parents would have noticed or said anything. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten their braggable daughter diagnosed. God forbid you weren’t something for them to hold over their friends’ heads.

Joel’s hands tighten in your hair as he starts to take over. He let you taste him, let you get his cock nice and sloppy with your saliva. He looked down at you softly while you started, but now he’s back to full dominance. Full Mister Miller.

He pushes you down onto his cock, the tip just kissing against your gag reflex. Your scalp burns under his strong fingers and you can feel yourself submitting. Everything goes quiet: your limbs feel heavy yet ready to move or adjust as he commands, the sides of your vision darken, and the only thing that matters now is him. His wishes. His desires. His commands.

He pulls you off of him, and you gasp in air, a string of your spit landing on your chin, your eyes watering. “You snap if you need me to stop, got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you say hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

“Open,” he says growls.

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide while looking into his dark obsidian eyes. You can see his cheeks and tongue working behind his closed lips before he spits into your mouth.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he rasps and then roughly guides you back onto his cock. He doesn’t take his time or stop at that point of resistance this time. No, this time he pushes you further than you’ve ever been. The cool metal of the ring on his pelvis touches your nose. The juxtaposition of his hard cock meeting your soft mouth and his cold piercing meeting your warm face is staggering, yet comforting.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs.

You switch your focus, sucking air in through your nostrils slowly. “That’s it, sweet girl. Relax.”

You let your body sink again into his muscled lined thighs. He starts to move you up his cock. He gets about halfway before he forces you down again. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, shocking yourself when the gag ends in a moan and your pussy starts to weep for him. In fact, almost everywhere is weeping for him. Salvia drips from your lips and onto his lap, tears run down face.

You’re a mess.

‘His mess’, says that annoying little box in the corner of your mind which now has ‘Mister Miller’ written across it in loopy cursive handwriting, the dots of the i’s little bedazzled hearts.

Joel uses your hair to pull you up to the tip and you gasp in a few breaths before he starts moving you up and down his now obscenely wet and fully erect cock. Your jaw aches with how wide you need to open your mouth to fit him. Your fingertips just met around the tapered base earlier. You’ve never looked at man’s cock before and thought much, but Joel’s might be enough to ruin your life.

“Fuck, this mouth. Feels s’ fuckin’ good. Look at you, takin’ it so well. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, although it’s muffled around his cock. He pulls you off fully, releasing his grips from your hair. You sit back on your heels, his eyes raking over your body, pausing to watch your heaving chest; a mixture of needing to catch your breath and being insanely turned on. You don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice is deep enough that you feel it reverberate through you. You lick your lips, swallowing down the taste of him that you’ve become addicted to and place your hands on your lap.

One of his hands comes up to his mouth and he spits into his own palm before bringing it down to fist his cock. Your eyes flick down to watch as he pumps himself slowly. “You have me doin’ shit that I didn’t plan, sweet girl. I give in to you, let you take the reins. But I’m in charge here.”

He pumps faster, and you fight to stay where you’re supposed to. “You need to remember that, so you don’t get to be the one to make me come today, you don’t get to feel it or taste it. No, you’re going to sit there, like a good little obedient submissive, and watch.”

You whimper, your right hand moving on its own to between your thighs.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is strained as the movement of his hand becomes less fluid. His free hand comes to his balls, massaging them lightly and you try to commit the sight of him like this to memory. Tall, wide, and commanding, yet falling apart as he looks at your naked and kneeling form in front of him.

“Mister Miller?” You ask, your voice small and cracking, the back of your throat raw from the way he fucked your mouth. “I’m so wet. Please, can I just touch for a little bit?”

His mouth falls open, pleasure etched across his features, his focus never leaving you. “Show me how wet you are. Spread your legs for me.”

You raise off your heels slightly and slide your knees apart, exposing your wet and swollen cunt to him. Then you lean back, hands resting on the floor behind you, tilting your hips up so he can see all of you.

“Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty,” he moans and then you watch as white ropes of cum spill over his hand. Your name passes his lips in a groan as he comes simply from the sight of your pussy. His hand stills and you lock eyes. You should feel shy like this, but instead you smile at him, a mischievous giggle bubbling up your chest as you bite down on your bottom lip.

His head nods towards the small dresser by the door, the one with the ceramic dish where his ring is on top. “Bring me a small towel from the top drawer and then get on the bed.”

You saunter to the dresser, trying your hardest not to look too eager, and then back towards him with a small fluffy white hand towel. He takes it from you and cleans himself up as you lay on the bed. He stuffs his softening cock into his boxers and then removes his pants and shirt. If you thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing to how you feel now seeing him almost naked in front of you.

That whole looking like you’re carved from stone gene is strong with the Millers, you think, watching the muscles behind his toned skin flex beneath his tanned skin as he climbs onto the bed. He grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the end of the bed, a squeal leaving your lips. You had almost forgotten about the riding crop welts, but the friction against the sheets has them burning slightly and you wince as the heat settles.

“I’ll fix those sore spots, but first I need to taste you. Is that ok?”

You spread your legs wide for him, “Y-Yes. I need you, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you need,” he hums, settling himself between your legs.

“What you said,” shyness seems to have finally caught up to you, although you aren’t sure why.

He raises a thick dark eyebrow at you. “Ask for it, tell me how you like it.” He nods at you encouragingly as you take a few breaths. “Come on, my sweet girl. You can do it.”

My sweet girl, you melt. That fucking bedazzled box of feelings is fully in the spotlight now. He has years of experience in this role, but you can’t be imagining it. Looking at someone the way he’s looking at you now isn’t something that someone can fake. You can’t be the only one to feel whatever this invisible teether is between the two of you.

“I like fingers curled inside while the tip of your tongue flicks at my clit. I like suction too.” The pride in Joel’s face is almost overwhelming as he listens. God, he’s beautiful.

He hums slightly, readjusting himself between your spread thighs. “My pretty girl gets what she wants,” he whispers before using the tip of his tongue to gently work at the soft folds of your cunt, working his way from your tight entrance to your clit.

Your body jerks when he reaches your most sensitive part and you can’t stop the salacious moan that fills the room. “Oh god, Mister Miller.”

He runs his tongue in slow, teasing circles around your clit. Not with enough pressure to actually make you orgasm, just enough to taunt you, and your entire body breaks out in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat at the same time. He slides his right arm under your leg, hooking his elbow under your thigh and reaches his hand up and over towards your pussy. His thick pointer finger and thumb easily slip to each side of your puffy clit. Just as you’re about to float off into another dimension he pinches hard. You scream out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching off the mattress.

He holds your clit in his fingers, easing up the pinch to tease at it with his tongue again while he works the middle finger of his other hand inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” he hums between licks. “Gotta relax for me. Let me into this tight little cunt.”

You whimper at the push of his finger inside of you. One of his fingers is easily one and half of yours, and if he’s having a hard time getting just one of them in, you can’t imagine how it will feel to have two.

“Eyes on me, sweet girl,” he rasps, releasing your clit from his fingers. His strong hand presses lightly on your mound. “You’re safe here, baby. Open up for me.”

As always, you follow exactly what your dom says. Craning your neck slightly and opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The honey flecks in his dark brown irises warm your skin and as your body relaxes he smiles up at you. You feel Joel’s finger slide the rest of the way in with minimal resistance and it sends a wave of pleasure from your core to your toes.

“There’s my perfect sweet girl.” He groans as you let out a euphoric whimper. And then he’s back on you. Soft lips pressing to your wet heat, the flat of his large tongue circling your clit.

Your head falls back to the mattress, “Fuckfuckfuck. Oh god!”

Your orgasm is embarrassingly close. Joel is hitting almost all the spots you love. No man has gotten you to the edge this quickly. Just as that tingle at the base of your spine starts to spread he curls his finger forward and sucks your clit into your mouth.

“Mis…hnnng…fuck. I’m - I'm gonna.” You can barely think outside of the pleasure, nevermind form a sentence.

A second finger slips inside of you, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me what I do to you.”

Your orgasm hits you like an earthquake, making you shake harder than you ever have. The walls of your pussy clench hard on his strong fingers. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking it between his soft, warm lips. The lewd sounds of his sucking mix with your cries of pleasure. Joel is ruthless, never stopping as you absolutely crumble underneath his touch. Another strong wave of your orgasm rushes through you when he curls his fingers forward again, pressing right on your g-spot.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck Mister Miller.” You whine.

He slows the motion of his tongue as the convulsions of your body slow, working you through the aftershocks of your earth shattering orgasm.

“Good girl,” he whispers before placing a light kiss to your spent clit and slowly slips his fingers out of you. As your gazes lock he licks your arousal off his fingers and then rolls you onto your stomach. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth when he sees the aftermath of his riding crop punishment earlier. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Just stay on your stomach for me.”

His lips press to your shoulder blade as the mattress baubles under his weight leaving the bed. You glance over at him, watching his broad, tanned back as he grabs a few items. He spins to face you, coconut oil in one hand and an orange juice and a bottle of water in the other. He places the drinks on the bedside table then scoops a bit of coconut oil onto his fingers.

You wince as he makes contact with your right cheek, “Ouch, Mister Miller.”

“I know. This will help, and hopefully you learned your lesson about talking badly about what belongs to me.” His voice is sweet yet serious and he moves onto the other cheek, then the back of your thighs before his hand wraps around your right ankle, guiding you to bend your knee so he can look at the sole of your foot.

He places a light kiss on the light pink spot and you giggle, “Your beard tickles.”

He laughs and does the same thing to the other foot before lining his body up with yours and pulling you in to be his little spoon. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, sinking back into his warmth. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he holds you tighter, biceps flexing around your body like a ring of muscled safety. You're both quiet for a few minutes before he breaks it. “You kinda scared me tonight if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, hiding your face in the arm he has under your head.

“No, don’t be. I’ve always been good at reading people, it’s probably more of a curse than a gift, but I just - I could feel that you weren’t in a good space when you got here.”

“Ya,” you agree.

“I know I can’t fix it, it’s not my place, but I hope I at least helped.”

You fixed it.

“You did help. I feel much better. Plus,” you turn to face him, both of you using one of your own arms to support your heads and your other arms wrapping around the other person. “Plus, you were right. I am smart. I can do this. I need to not be so hard on myself.”

Joel smiles sweetly, straight white teeth shining at you.

“If I can be spanked with a riding crop while handcuffed, fuck, I can be aaaanything.”

You and Joel laugh together and it all feels so natural. Maybe too natural. There’s something comfortable and familiar about him. It might be that southern hospitality, but in all the years you’ve been in Texas you’ve never felt this content with someone else.

“Mister Miller?” you say as the laughter subsides.

“You can call me Joel now,” his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second after it leaves his lips, almost as if he didn’t intend for it to come out before adding, “The scene is over.”

“Ah, so you’re saying this is a safe nickname zone now?” His smile makes your stomach flip.

“Careful, freckles.” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.

You give him a closed lipped smile, “Hey, if you’re gonna use it then so am I, sweet cheeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice the extra tight pants tonight.”

He shrugs a strong shoulder to his ear as you continue. “So, if you don’t sleep with your subs, why the piercing?”

He takes one big breath and licks his lips before he starts, his fingertips trailing up and down your arm. “I got it a long time ago, I wasn’t always as strict with my rules. I’m not proud of it, I broke a lot of hearts when I first started this whole thing. I haven’t taken it out because…well, I don’t really know. I guess because when I do finally reach that point with a partner I want them to experience the benefits.”

Always the giver, you think.

“Can you have a traditional partner while living this lifestyle?” You immediately begin to back track, realizing that you don’t want to seem like you’re getting attached. “Not you in particular. What you do outside of this room isn’t my business. I just mean like, are there doms that have subs that are married? Again, not you.”

He stares at you as you continue to ramble. “That whole thing came out wrong.”

“Relax, freckles, I knew what you meant. You’re kinda cute when you get all flustered and start to ramble though.”

The lid of the now pink painted box of feelings in your mind lifts a little. It seems to have gained an entire personality, and has the voice of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast as it says, ‘oh he definitely feels that tether too.’

“To answer your question,” his voice pulls you out of your own mind, “There are doms that do this professionally. I did have paying subs at one point myself and had a fairly serious girlfriend.”

Jealousy churns in your stomach. It’s irrational and you really hope it isn’t whoever Tess is.

“But,” he continues, “It’s a tricky situation and involves a lot of trust and communication. Probably more than a sub-dom dynamic. But, yes, I’ve seen lots of happily married people who live and explore the kink lifestyle.”

You shiver slightly and he pulls you in closer, tucking your head into his chest, inhaling that ash, leather and natural Joel musk. His hand runs up and down your naked back, the calluses on his fingers scratching slightly.

His body tenses, almost as if he’s nervous before he speaks. “Did you want to come to a Shibari class with me this week? We are hosting a demonstration at the club on Wednesday.”

You glance up at him, “I’d really like that, Joel.”

He tucks your head back into his chest. His lips press to the crown of your head at the same time that yours meet the soft skin of his sternum. “It’s a date.”

Part Two

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