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HUMMING UNDER MY BREATH, scurrying down the hall, coffee in hand I get ready for first period. Rog stayed over last night. Luce already texted that she’s going to buy ear plugs after school gets out today. She moved into the apartment below us but claims we’re so loud it’s like she’s in the same room.
That man is insatiable.
Ever since the romantic date we shared a few weeks ago—we’ve been inseparable. Luce and I never did make it down to San Francisco to the BDSM club. I remember the first night he stayed over. I had told him that if we were going to see each other during the week that I’d need to go back to the apartment at night. I couldn’t do the walk of shame to school as a teacher. I love my job and making a good impression on the staff and students is very important to me. He said I make him so horny that he needs me every night. September passed quickly. My days were filled by learning new students and a new school, and my nights were filled by him; literally.
Truthfully, I’m addicted to the man.
One night, after he had taken me to the movies where we necked like teens in the back of the theater, he took me home where we didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
I half-jokingly asked him straight out if he was DOM after he demanded I strip and get ready for him.
“A DOM? I don’t know sugar. All I know is that I want everything you can give me. Every damn thing,” he muttered stripping his clothes and stalking towards me. “But if I was a DOM—I’d tell you to turn around, place your hands on the counter and don’t move until I tell you to.”
I did. I placed my hands on the cold granite counter in the kitchen, felt him at my back and waited, getting wetter and hotter by the second as I wondered what he was going to do to me.
“Ah,” I had gasped as he dropped to his knees spread my ass cheeks, tongue and mouth finding me from behind. His soft beard made my inner thighs tingle as the hairs brushed in and out between my legs.
It was dirty.
Decadent.
And hot AF.
He pulled back slapping my cheeks and said, “I told you not to move. If you do it again, I won’t let you come.”
My hands slid to grip the edge of the counter, my teeth sank into my lip so hard I tasted blood. But I didn’t move as I swallowed my cries of ecstasy, coming all over his face.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come,” he told me gruffly. Somehow, I managed to escape being pinned between the counter and his body. I had walked to the fridge needing an ice-cold drink. “I-I didn’t think I needed it. Maybe Luce is right, and we should go to San Francisco,” I half-muttered.
“What’s that doll?”
“I said, me and Luce have plans to go to San Francisco soon.”
“The hell you do. Tell me. Tell me why you wanna go.”
“Too see Alcatraz,” I deadpanned sipping my water.
“Dev…,” he warned coming closer.
“Luce found a BDSM club there. We want to go. She thinks Smith might be a DOM too.”
“Fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped closing his eyes, clenching his fists. “Do you know what they’d do to sweet naive girls like the two of you? Once you’re in, they wouldn’t let you out. If you’re not wearing a collar signifying that you’re already taken by DOM—any male or female, would consider you fair game to be their submissive.
That’s not a club for first timer’s sugar. It’s the real deal. Hardcore people into that lifestyle fly in from all over the world to go there. How in the hell did she find out about it?”
I had shrugged, “It’s Luce. She has ways.”
“Fuckin’ hell, I need to call Smith. He needs to get a handle on her real quick,” he had replied.
“Yeah, you do that,” I had laughed, knowing Luce was pissed to hell at Smith. He had come on so hard—so fast, only to disappear after a week or two of intense texts and phone calls.
He took the drink right outta my hands, “Maybe I’ll show you what they’d do. You wanna be with a DOM, sugar? Well here I am.”
He lifted me like a sack of flour carrying me into the bedroom. He grabbed a pair of winter socks from my drawer and blindfolded me with them. He took my hands placing them above my head. I felt the worn leather of his belt binding them tighter and tighter together.
“Nice improvising,” I had taunted.
“This is fifty shades of BDSM; backwoods style,” he answered. I could hear the affection in his voice as his words floated through the dark.