“Just saying.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “A bit of company would be preferable to an empty penthouse.”
“Charlene,” I said with more force than necessary. “I do not enjoy repeating myself endlessly, nor do I like being badgered. I’m having dinner alone tonight. Do you understand?”
Her eyes had grown dark. “Yes, sir.”
It was not unheard of for employees to call me sir. However, I had been a Dominant long enough to know the difference between a business associate using the title and a submissive’s yielding. Our eyes locked and a moment of recognition passed between us as we each acknowledged what the other person was.
Knowledge was a good thing. Wisdom a better thing. And I had the only submissive I wanted or needed in Abby. I nonchalantly reached for my cell phone. “The sir isn’t necessary. You know I prefer Nathaniel.”
She shook herself, as if waking from a trance. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Of course, saying not to worry about it is quite different from not worrying about it myself. As I ate dinner in the penthouse that night, watching the lights of the city, I wondered if somehow I had known all along. Had I been drawn to hire Charlene because I somehow instinctively recognized her submissive nature?
I didn’t believe that to be the case. I felt certain that in all my years of business, I had worked with people who identified themselves as submissives and I was none the wiser. After all, I didn’t tell my business associates I was a Dominant.
Which led me to another question: did I tell Abby?
She made no secret of her dislike of Charlene. But I was around submissive women all the time when we met with our BDSM groups, and she had never reacted toward them the way she did toward Charlene. Abby was normally a very sensible woman who rarely made rash judgments.
I stood up from the table, cleaned the kitchen, and took a shower. By the time I got out and dried off, it was after ten. Abby was probably either working on the assignment I gave her or writing the revised piece for the blog. On any other Saturday night, we’d be headed to the playroom. I’d spend the next few hours working her into a frenzy of pleasure, driving us both to the highs we craved so much. I missed her.
I glanced once more at the clock and picked up my phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello, Master.”
“Abigail.” My body immediately relaxed at the sound of her voice. “How was your day?”
“Productive, Master. I accomplished a lot. I did the writing assignment you asked for and then I did my new piece for work.”
“You did all that today?”
“Only because I found some things I’d written while researching other posts. I was able to use some of it for the new piece. That cut down on the time I had to spend working.”
“Sounds like you were very productive. I think you deserve a reward.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She had to be on edge after not being able to come the night before. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m reading in bed, Master.”
“What are you reading?”
“A dirty, filthy erotic novel and thinking about you.”
I was already hard, and hearing her mention the book she was reading made me uncomfortably so. I undid my pants. “What are you wearing?”
“One of your white dress shirts.”
I groaned. My plan was to have her strip, but the image of her in my shirt had me pushing my boxer briefs down. “Leave it on. Are you wearing panties?”
“Just a tiny pair.”
“Take them off.”
There was a rustle of clothes from the other end of the phone and then her breathless “Done, Master.”
“Very nice. Now I have to warn you, you still aren’t allowed to come. But tell me about the last sex scene you read.”
“It was hot, Master.”
“How so?”
“The hero had the heroine in front of a group of people. She was blindfolded and he was explaining to the crowd all the various positions he could take her in.”
“Interesting.”
“And he made her get into all of them, but he just teased her and never took her.”
“Never?”
“I haven’t finished reading the scene yet. I’m sure he will soon, though. He’d just taken his cock out when you called.”
I chuckled. “Bad timing, huh?”
“Not really, Master. With you on the phone, I can pretend you and your cock are here in bed with me.”
“So why don’t you tell me what you would do to my cock if I was in the bed with you right now?”
“Mmm, your cock in bed right now. Don’t I wish?” She sighed. “I’m assuming you’re already naked in this scenario, by the way, Master.”
“That’s fine.”
“I think the first thing I’d do is pour a bit of lubrication into my hands. And I’d stroke it all over your cock.”
“Fuck, I like where this is going.” I was surprised by the mention of lube. She liked anal sex, but not really enough for it to make an appearance in a fantasy.
“It’s not going there, so don’t get too excited, Master.”
“I’ll try to curtail my enthusiasm.”
“Curtail and enthusiasm, Master?” she asked. “Not exactly the kind of sex talk I’m used to.”
“Sorry, is that killing the mood?”
“Slightly.”
“Okay, so my cock is all lubed up, but apparently it’s not going in the orifice I thought.”
“It’s not actually going in any orifice.”
She was fantasizing about giving me a hand job? “I’ll be quiet now and won’t assume anything. You can continue.”
“I move up the bed and get on my back. Then I ask you to hold on to the headboard.”
I pictured it in my mind, still not sure about where the fantasy was headed. “Okay.”
“Once you’re in position, I take your cock and slip it between my breasts. Then I hold them all—”
“Motherfucking hell, Abigail.”
“You like?”
I took myself in hand. “Fuck yes. Go on.”
“So, I hold them together real tight and tell you to fuck my tits.”
I stoked myself, imagining. “Damn, I love doing that.”