Transgressions Read online

  He'd gotten into her head, even that far back, when she'd thought she'd had her defenses in place against that kind of thing, certainly from him, since she'd had so much experience at it.

  "Are you all right?" he asked solicitously, having felt her spasm.

  "Yes," she answered in an abnormally quiet voice.

  "Good," he said with a little too much glee for Ally's comfort, sliding that possessive hand of his down to the junction of her thighs and up, deep into her perpetually wet and welcoming pussy.

  One finger, slowly and steadily, then another, forced her to open for him as he fucked her slowly, listening to her pant and enjoying every one of her soft cries. When he withdrew, she actually moaned, until the tips of those fingers found her clit.

  Ally's breath hissed in between clenched teeth as he began to swirl those digits insistently around her clit.

  "Come for me, Ally," he growled.

  An unexpected bark of protest at that command earned her a sound spanking, delivered at the same time as his fingers were frigging her. Suddenly, she was fighting him, really fighting for all she was worth, but he subdued her with ridiculous ease and she ended up in the exact same position she'd started in.

  "Am I hurting you?" he asked, once she'd settled down, just to make sure he wasn't missing something. He would always do his best to read her, but there was always the possibility that he would miss a cue or a clue from her, especially considering how lost in his own lust he was with her.

  Ally shook her head.

  "Ah, so you're testing me." It wasn't a question, but he provided an answer anyway, since she'd begun to struggle again.

  She was surprised to find herself, seconds later, perched on her sore bum in front of him, between his legs with each of hers draped over his and facing away from him, leaving her very exposed and forced to lean back against him for balance.

  "Hands on my legs, and if you know what's good for you, you won't move them until I say you may."

  She tried to suppress the hiss of her quick intake of breath at what he'd said, but she failed miserably at it. She did as she was told but not without groans and moans of protest that sounded hollow in the face of her first bald, raw reaction.

  His own hands were quite busy, roaming over her like he owned her, exploring everywhere—into her hair and her ticklish underarms and down over her waist to her hips, then back up to cup her breasts, hefting them gently. He was so tall that she felt completely surrounded by him, and there was no place on her body that he couldn't reach with those long arms of his.

  His mouth wasn't lazy in the least, either, trailing tiny kisses down the very sensitive sides of her neck, licking her there, nibbling on her earlobe.

  "I love the way you come for me, Allegra."

  She shivered—he could feel it shake the entire length of her—but then she shifted, but had nowhere to go and made absolutely no progress in getting away from him no matter what she tried. She was here—and expected to submit to him—until he released her.

  Her nipples were pinched fiercely and tugged as far away from her body as they could be while she mewled and tried to pant through the pain—but it didn't work.

  "Stay still," he chided, finally letting her nipples go, but not until he'd pinched them to the very ends of each tip.

  Ally nodded, trying to quiet a body that wanted to move, to rub, to writhe with his every touch. The combination of pleasure and pain he was bringing it made her antsy and quite likely to find herself punished for not being able to contain it.

  "Yes, Sir," he prompted. He wasn't a strict adherent to any particular form of address from her, but he wanted to show her just how easily she could be made to do as she was told, and that he wouldn't hesitate to do whatever was necessary to get her to obey him.

  Stiffness—automatic, unconscious rebellion—snapped through her, until he did something to her that no one else ever had—he snapped just the tips of his fingers down on her exposed clit.

  Her howl—if they had been at his place—would have set off the coyotes that lived in the woods surrounding his house.

  He allowed her a short moment to collect herself and respond correctly, but he wasn't going to prompt her again, and he didn't before he brought those fingers down again, this time even more sharply, and with better, more lethal accuracy.

  Tears burst from her eyes and she had never been so desperate to stop something from happening again in her life.

  "Y-yes, S-sir," she whispered.

  His hand remained where it was, although he didn't swat her again.

  Without his having to ask, she repeated what she'd said, louder and more steadily, "Yes, Sir."

  "Very good, Allegra."

  The same fingers that had swatted her so cruelly a few seconds ago, instead, set about drawing her cringing button back out, while his other hand traveled from nipple to nipple, sometimes pinching pleasantly and sometimes hurting them cruelly.

  "Fold your arms behind your back, Allegra."

  This time, she scrambled to obey him, then nearly wept at how the position forced her to arch, presenting her breasts even more profanely than they already had been.

  "Eventually, I'm going to attach clamps to these pretty buds, and you're going to wear them all the time that we're together," he promised, marking her with his teeth where her neck joined her shoulder.

  "We were interrupted by someone who was being very naughty, weren't we? What were you doing for me before, hmm? What did I tell you to do so I could watch?"

  He loved seeing her flush; it swept all the way down through her body until even the tips of her toes were pink.

  She didn't want to say it! But she knew she had to or face another punishment. "You—I—you had told me to come."

  "Yes, I had, hadn't I? So, we have unfinished business to take care of, don't we?"

  Just his words were more than enough for her to get off, but then, when the insistent work of his hands was brought into the equation, she nearly came right there and then.

  "I want you to come as soon as you feel you can—although, as I've told you before, this is not a race. I just expect that you will submit to me and not interfere in any way—even one you think I might desire. I will make you come when I want you to. You are not to do anything to support or hinder it."

  She was nearly breathless from his efforts but still managed to get out a wispy, "Yes, Sir."

  It was still strange for her to do—not to try to come, but to submit to his pace. But there was a startling, intense pleasure in striving to obey him that made her orgasms with him unbelievably explosive.

  Enzo continued to play with her, talking to her occasionally, careful to temper any praise with firm commands to arch her back more or to spread her legs wider. At this point, it didn't matter to him whether she could even physically do any of the things he charged her with. It mattered that he could see that she was making the effort to do it—and immediately after he'd said it. He knew that committing herself to her submission to him would add yet another layer to her pleasure.

  Because he was observing her so carefully, although not in anywhere near as clinical a manner as he might have preferred, he was much too involved—sexually and emotionally—in what he was doing to her. He easily recognized when the ultimate ecstasy was near for her and demanded what he wanted from her when she was at her weakest, which was exactly where he had put her.

  "Say you're mine, Allegra. Mine to do with as I please. Say it now, or I'll stop and take my belt to you."

  She groaned loudly, as if in protest at the intensity his demand added to her condition, then it morphed into what he was demanding of her and felt a thousand times more sensational because of it. "I am yours!" she screamed. "I am yours!"

  But when it began, she almost tried to run from it, from him, her body tensing at the sheer magnitude of the tsunami that was headed her way.

  "Allegra!" he scolded. "Stay still!"

  And that only added to all of that stunning, startling pleasure t
hat completely took her breath away when it finally hit her, her body completely out of her own control, given over to him, subject to his whim and his will as he drew it out as best he could, wringing five, six, then finally, and almost painfully, seven full and complete explosions from her before he claimed her from behind, slipping up inside her with embarrassing ease and fucking her as he held her immobile for his thrusts, her arms still folded between them, breasts bobbing from his powerful invasions.

  His own culmination was much too quick, having overstimulated himself by overstimulating her. Still, he didn't regret a single second.

  She was his, by her own words. And he kept what was his. There would be no more wondering if she wanted something, wondering if he was overstepping his bounds and he should back off and play the gentleman businessman. Not with her, not when they were alone. And eventually, not at all.

  He would build them a world where they would never have to worry about what anyone else thought, where they could be hidden away or out in public; it wouldn't matter, and she would be free to be overtly his.

  He had more than enough money to do it now—he just had to arrange things so that he could control them from a much more secluded spot.

  Things fell together for them better than she would have thought, and there were really only two small dark spots on the horizon, for Ally, anyway.

  One was that Frankie seemed to be having a very hard time dealing with her association with Enzo. He'd had to come to her house—and even to his—occasionally, and he always seemed to be incredibly uncomfortable, and she worried that this might have caused him to say some inappropriate things about her to the other guys—which was something that could end their long association in a very unpleasant manner.

  The second thing was her own hang up that Enzo tried to be patient with her about, but he had already begun to lay down rules about it that she found very hard to comply with.

  She wasn't used to having to ask permission to do anything, and he insisted that she ask him if she could do anything that didn't involve him—although he didn't impose that rule in regards to her business, which sometimes interfered with the life they'd constructed around themselves and their Dominant/submissive relationship.

  Christ, she'd stopped asking her parents if she could do something when she was seven or so, but, of course, there had been no consequences from them if she decided to do something wrong.

  The same could definitely not be said for her relationship with Enzo. If she thought back, she would bet there was barely a day that went by that she wasn't punished in one way or the other—usually on her bottom, but he was sometimes a creative bastard.

  More often than not, she received multiple corrections, especially over the weekend, when they usually had more time together and he had more time to devote to testing the limits of her submission to him.

  And asking for something—especially for herself—was something she hated to do. Not, she didn't think, because she was trying to rebel against his authority at all, but more because she wasn't a little girl anymore who had gotten into the habit of couching a demand in a sweet-sounding request. She'd grown up, and she almost felt as if asking him for something was imposing on him, somehow, which she knew was ridiculous.

  He'd caught her coming to him in his office at his cabin, where he preferred to keep her since there were no close neighbors if he made her scream, which he did with alarming regularity, for one reason or another. She hesitated at the door, which was unlike her. She wasn't a hesitant person, and he'd been pleased to see that, since he'd begun to guide her—to have solid and steady expectations of her that she could neither flaunt nor thwart—she'd become even more confident about herself and her needs, in and out of the bedroom. But somehow, it hadn't translated to whatever it was she was bringing to him now.

  She was nude, the way he required she be from the moment she hit the door—or sooner, if he got his hands on her—of any place they were staying together until she was allowed to dress for work or whatever the next day.

  She was growing her hair because he informed her that she would no longer be allowed to cut it, and it was in what she referred to as a messy stage that she hated but he loved. Her curls were somewhat looser and longer, and it gave him more to hold onto if the thought struck him. It was bouncing, almost in time with those pretty breasts of hers—just touching her shoulders—as she walked over to him and kissed him. He required from the beginning that, when she first entered a room that he was in, she was to kiss him. He didn't believe in having her crawl to him or perform some sort of obeisance. He knew she was his submissive, she knew he was her dominant. He had her kiss him because he damned well enjoyed kissing her!

  "What is it, beautiful?" he asked, pulling her down onto his lap, smiling wickedly as she hissed when her behind met his jeans. "Someone's bottom is still sore, hmm?"

  He hoped she never lost her blush as she fiddled with the first button of his polo shirt. "Yes, Sir." And he'd come to like the fact that she seemed to take naturally to calling him 'Sir' after the first few times, and she used it much more often than he would ever have expected of her, and somehow that warmed his decidedly Grinchy heart.

  She also knew that, by approaching him, which she was supposed to do, she was expected to tell him what she wanted within three minutes. And she knew he had already looked at the clock. He had been amazed to find that this was such a hard spot for her. He'd demanded things of her in bed that she had done without a second's hesitation, but something this simple seemed to have some sort of hold over her, this asking him for things. It seemed to intimidate her, somehow, although he tried to make sure she knew he would always hear her out and that he would never punish her for asking about or for something.

  But that hadn't worked very well—in fact, not at all—and his patience, which had never been very prevalent in his make up, had worn quite thin. He had quickly taken to, once he'd asked her the first time, simply remaining silent. It annoyed him to have to pull things out of her, not that he thought she was trying to manipulate him into doing so for attention—she got more than that from him than she'd bargained for. It wasn't that.

  But that hadn't worked, either, and they ended up just sitting there when either one of them could have been getting work done, or he could have been fucking her or doing any number of much more pleasant things than waiting for her to get up the gumption to ask him something.

  So, he had instituted a time limit. If she came to him—which she was required to—and obviously wanted to ask him about something, she had three minutes in which to do it—which he thought was, really, three times more generous than it needed to be—or he would punish her.

  Ally knew the time was slipping away, so she spit it out as fast as she could, "Tanya and I were going to see the male strippers in town, but we arranged to do this well before us, and I don't know if I can still go."

  He gave her a look that said he knew what she had done—waiting until the last few seconds, then cramming her question in like the procrastinator she could be at times, especially about something she really didn't want to do.

  "I'm sorry honey," he began, and Ally thought he was going to say no to her going, but then she'd expected that. But instead, he said something entirely different. "We're going to a minute and a half." He gave her a stern look. "And you know where we're headed with this, don't you?"

  She put her cheek down on his chest, one hand holding onto the collar of his shirt for dear life. "Yes, Sir."

  "And where is that?"

  "Eventually, I'm going to have to come in and tell you when you ask, first thing, no waiting." She was practically in tears by the end of it, which he promptly soothed away with kisses.

  "And you already know that you can ask or tell me anything, right, honey, as long as you do it respectfully?"

  She nodded dutifully. "Yes, Sir." She hadn't raised her head from his chest.

  "Good girl. Well, you complied with the letter of my law but not the spirit of it, didn't
you?"

  Whenever he asked her a direct question like that, she was compelled to answer. "Yes, Sir," not liking where she could see this was going.

  "And I could barely understand what you said, which, as far as I'm concerned, is no better than not asking me at all."

  She sighed heavily against his chest and he knew she wanted to protest against what he'd said, but she knew better.

  "So you're not allowed to do that again, I'm afraid."

  Her "Yes, Sir," was quiet and meek, almost defeated, which was the opposite of how he wanted her submission to feel.

  "So, let me see if I got what you said at all. You and Tanya D'Agostino—and probably that whole gaggle of your friends—are going to see those male strippers in town?"

  She nodded.

  "And you made the plans before we got together, huh?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  Sometimes, he was—very pleasantly—surprised by the depth of her submission. She was a strong woman, and yet there were days—and he had his own somewhat chauvinistic theory that it had a lot to do with when she was in her cycle—when she seemed even more vulnerable to him. They were also the days when he could challenge her—physically or sexually—and pretty much be sure that she would meet or exceed any goal he set.

  Other times, not so much. But he enjoyed challenging her. He intended to help her stretch her boundaries. It was good for her to occasionally really have to think—and think hard—about the choice she'd made to become his.

  Chapter 7

  "Male strippers, huh?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "Yes."

  He felt torn. He really didn't like the idea of her ogling other men—especially, not other men who were ripped and oiled up and who were quite likely to shake their junk in front of her face.

  But he also tried to be scrupulously careful not to overtake her life. It was a distinct danger in this type of relationship that he would become her whole world outside of her work, and, as much as he liked the idea of that, it wouldn't be healthy for either of them, but most definitely not for her. He wanted Ally to have friends and go and do things without him—as long as she'd cleared it with him first.