Control (Songs of Submission #4) by CD Reiss Read Free Book Online Page B

for him.
“Hello,” came a voice. Jonathan let my arms go and looked around. It was one of the guys who had wrestled the blimp to the ground. “We’re closing up here.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said without a hint of embarrassment or shame. He popped my helmet off the bike and handed it to me. A smile spread across his face like an uncontrollable oil spill. I took the helmet with the same grin.
The ride home passed with few words. I just rested against him with my hand under his shirt, feeling his warmth. I didn’t stroke or caress him at eighty miles an hour, though the temptation was distracting.
He pulled the bike into my driveway. It was midnight, or close to it, and I was sore all over. “You coming in?” I asked, looping his finger in mine. He yanked me to him.
“We playing? Or am I just throwing you down and fucking you?”
Both options held appeal. Something hot and sweaty before an utter collapse into oblivion would be nice, and I’d be fresh and bright in the morning for work. But when he said “playing,” I felt wetness condense between my legs, and a shiver went up my spine. I let my finger drop from his and put my arms to my sides. I wanted to be under his control, under his dominance, under him . I wanted to forget myself in him and to forget the shame of wanting it so badly.
“I’d like to play again,” I said, then added, “Sir.”
“Up to the porch with you then, and wait for me.” When I turned around to go, he slapped my ass hard. I gasped and strode up the steps.
Jonathan dismounted and, instead of coming right up the porch, stood on the sidewalk. He looked up at the house, then crossed the street and did the same. He jogged back and came past my chain-link fence. “You’re wide open to the street.”
“Sir?”
“It means you have to keep your clothes on until we get inside.”
My street, partly because of the hill and partly because of the neighborhood, was dead at night. If two people passed between midnight and eight in the morning, it would be a newsworthy event. I had the feeling it didn’t matter. He stared at me, calculating. I knew that look. He was constructing the game. He faced the street and me, feet planted on my porch, and said, “Step over here, my little goddess.”
I did it, heart pounding with anticipation. My back faced the street.
“Unbutton your jeans.”
I popped them.
“Unzip, please.”
I did, showing my garter belt and the tops of my new, already-christened lingerie. He stroked my stomach, his finger grazing the top of the lace.
“Touch yourself.”
He watched my hand go down my pants. Between the sweet, secret caresses in the blimp, and the bike ride home, I was ready for him. I shuddered when my fingers found my swollen, soaked pussy. I buckled with pleasure, and he held my chin.
“Stand up.” He put upward pressure on my chin, forcing my spine straight and my view upward. “How wet are you?”
“Very wet, sir.”
“What would you like me to do about it?”
“I want you to fuck me, please.”
“Hold up your hand.”
I slid my hand out of my pants and held it up. The moisture on my fingers glistened. He kissed the tips of my fingers, then put them in his mouth. I gasped as he slid his tongue over them, sucking everything off. His lips might as well have been on my pussy, and I almost buckled again.
“You’re delicious,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Now, do you remember your ready position?”
“Yes, sir.” I wondered how many more times I could call him sir without spontaneously coming.
“And your safeword?”
“Tangerine, sir.”
“Go inside, get undressed, and wait for me in ready position. Be in any room you want. I’ll find you.” A smirk played at his mouth. “You have sixty seconds, and you’d better be ready.”
I unlocked my door and entered the house. Where to go? I wanted to participate in the game. Surprise him. Make him earn it. So the bedroom was the first place I dismissed. The bathroom was in no condition. That was out.