The Gentleman Dom Read online

  She frowned, badly squicked at the idea. "Mr. Southgate –"

  "Not him – any boss?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "It's an interesting dynamic, especially for anyone into D/s. If I was yours, I'd definitely be arranging for some late evenings spent working alone together…"

  "Stop."

  She heard him sigh in frustration.

  As much as he didn't want to sound needy, he couldn't stop himself from asking the question that was uppermost on his mind. "Have you…thought about things at all?"

  Elle knew exactly what he meant. "Even at work, I'm rarely doing anything but."

  "Naughty, naughty, Ms. Marden," he scolded. "You're supposed to think about work at work."

  "I do, but then some hunky dork keeps appearing in my doorway every day, demanding that I hug him, and that…distracts me."

  He perked up. "It does?"

  "Honey, you have absolutely no idea. So much so, that I'm pretty much useless for the rest of the day. I think I'm going to need you to buy the company so that I don't get fired." She laughed.

  "No way, missy. If you're doing shitting work for them, you'll do shitty work for me, so you better get your head on straight."

  "Yes, Sir."

  That earned her a groan and a husky whisper, "You've never called me that before."

  "I haven't?" She pretended she didn't remember, but she definitely did.

  "No, believe me, I'd remember it."

  Was that his belt buckle she heard jangling in the background?

  "The next time I have you, I'm going to want you to call me that."

  She demurred teasingly. "Well, it doesn't really fit, does it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you're so much younger than I am. How can I call you 'Sir'? It's not right. And I don't even call Mr. Southgate 'Sir'."

  "You damned well better not."

  "And I've never called any of my other bosses that, either."

  His growl – and the increase in his breathing – was unmistakable. "I'm not like any other boss you'll ever have, because I'll be the boss of you whether you're at work or not."

  "Alton Camden, are you touching yourself?" she accused in disbelief.

  "Fuck yes, of course, honey. All of this talk about me being your boss and you calling me 'Sir'…" She could hear him sucking air in through clenched teeth – and she was sure he was clenching his cock just as hard.

  "Should I…ring off?" she asked, only half teasing.

  "Hell no! It's your fault I'm like this all the time – I'm touching myself because you're not here to do it for me. I think about you all the time. I'm hard all the time, Elle, and even bringing myself off isn't anywhere near satisfying, not in comparison to having you beneath me and all of your warm wetness around me…"

  "Alt…" Elle wasn't at all sure she should keep talking to him.

  "Call me Sir again, in that sweet voice of yours."

  "Alt…"

  "No, 'Sir'."

  Now why was she beet red? "It feels kind of funny to call you that, at your age."

  He was right there with an answer that curled her toes. "Yeah, but don't you want to? To call me that? Who better to look after you than a young man, one with more than enough energy to fuck you till you faint every single time – and one who keeps a very strict, very alert eye out on you, to be sure you're behaving properly?"

  "And if I don't…Sir?" she asked, adding just the right tentative inflection to her voice to make him emit a growling moan.

  "Then I'll have to punish you. And you already know you don't want that to happen again, do you?"

  "No, Sir," Elle whispered, her own hand wanting to wander down between her legs, but she stopped it.

  "I bet I spank you harder than you've ever been spanked, don't I, Elle?"

  And that was no lie! "Oh, yes, Sir!"

  "Because that's what's best for you. I'll only ever spank you, make you cry and beg me not to –"

  He was getting very close, she could tell.

  "Because I know that's what's best for you – for me not to go easy on you –Auugghhhgrrrr!"

  "Yes, Sir," she whimpered, not really expecting him to hear her.

  But those young ears of his caught her sighed confession, and, once he'd gotten his breath back, he asked, his tone slightly chiding, "Where's your hand, little love?"

  "Holding my phone to my ear," she replied pertly.

  Alt smiled to himself. "And your other hand?"

  "Is on the touchpad of my laptop."

  "Are you sure? You're not lying to me, are you, doll?" He let his voice drip with warning.

  She sounded so indignant that he almost laughed. "Yes, I am."

  "And was it always there, or did your fingers walk down to your kitty while you were helping me feel so good I nearly died from it?"

  "It tried to wander, but I corralled it before it got anywhere."

  He changed tactics. "Darlin', where are you right now?"

  "In my living room."

  "I want you to take me into your bedroom."

  "Alt, I don't think that's a very good i –"

  "That's 'Sir', Elle. Did it sound like it was a question? And just for the record, I know how you sound when you come, so don't try to fake it."

  "Oh, all right," she said, knowing she was agreeing to something that was not at all a good idea, but unable to stop herself from following her throbbing clit right down the hallway and into her bedroom.

  "What are you wearing, baby girl?" he asked, and she hear him stretch as she arranged herself on her back by the bed.

  "Pajamas and slippers."

  "What's on the pajamas? What color are they?"

  She chuckled. "Blue and martinis."

  "With olives?"

  "I never looked…"

  "Don't bother because you're not going to be wearing them for much longer."

  "I'm not?"

  "No. Take them off right now. I want you naked while I talk to you. While I guide you."

  She was doing as she was told, but she also said, "We could Facetime, you know…"

  "Nah. I kind of like it like this. Just my voice in your ear. Are you naked?"

  "Yessss…" She wanted to call him Sir, but it didn't want to come out of her lips for some reason.

  "Say it, Elle." A soft, smooth order, not lacking in starch.

  Her stomach – and lower – was doing summersaults. "Sir," she whispered tentatively, somehow even more aware of the power of that simple word now that she was nude, and this was about her instead of him.

  "Yes. Good girl. Don't make me have to prompt you, though. When you decide to come back to me, I want to hear you calling me that more often than not – even in front of other people."

  She balked at that. She'd never flaunted her sexual tastes in any way – not that it didn't sound very titillating to do so at his command. "No –"

  "Yes," he countered immediately, firmly. "Put me on the pillow next to your ear. I want to whisper nasty things into it."

  "Okay, you're there."

  "You know I'm going to make you do this regularly in front of me – if you're well behaved, that is. Naughty little girls don't get orgasms, they get paddlings."

  That had her shivering, her voice reduced by the sudden constriction of her throat brought on by the visions that were dancing in her head at his behest. "N-noooo," she whispered in weak protest.

  "Oh, yes, honey," he vowed. "Do you have some lube?"

  "Yes…Sir."

  "Good girl. Make sure it's nearby."

  She doubted she was going to need it, but she did as he said.

  "Now, I want you to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples. Twist them hard. I want to hear you whimper."

  He didn't have long to wait.

  "Pluck them – pinch them hard and pull back until they pop out of your grip."

  More moans and mewls that had him rising again.

  "Are they nice and tight and sensitive?"

  "Yes, Sir.
"

  "I don't suppose you have any clothes pins around, do you?"

  "No, I don't." She was quite thankful she didn't.

  "No matter. We'll get you some. Now I want you to bend your legs up, then slowly let them open naturally."

  This made her giggle.

  "What'd I say?" he asked, confused.

  "Oh, nothing, but that's exactly what every doctor who's ever done a gynecological exam on me has always said.'Just let your legs fall apart naturally', as if it's natural to be lying there with your legs splayed in front of a total stranger."

  "Hmm. Make a note that we definitely need to play doctor."

  Her sharply indrawn breath was quite revealing, and he made a distinct mental note of his own not to forget to do that.

  Eventually. When she was finally his.

  "Are your legs spread wide, Elle?" he asked, almost businesslike.

  "Yes, Sir."

  Damn, it was getting easier and easier to call him that physically, but every time she did, a jolt went directly to a clit that was already sitting up and begging for attention.

  "Excellent. Then I want you to open yourself wide, as if you're putting yourself on display to me. And believe me, I intend to see and touch and slap and fuck everything you have while you beg me for more."

  And she had absolutely no doubt that he would do exactly as he said he would, either.

  "Now, I want you to put some lube on your finger – fingers?" he asked.

  "Finger."

  "Hmm. But you have five of them. Why wouldn't you use all of them?"

  "Logistics? There's nowhere near as much of me down there as there is of you. I don't need a whole fist to hold myself."

  He laughed, and it washed over her as it always did, making every bit of her tingle even more than it already was.

  "I stand corrected. I want you to listen to me and do as I tell you. If you come before I tell you you may, I'm going to spank you the next time I see you."

  "Alt!"

  "What did you just call me?" he asked so softly she lost her train of thought and allowed him to derail her away from her outrage.

  "Sir?"

  "That's better."

  Every time they were together – or sexual, whether they were together or not – he proved to her just how well he knew her body, how quickly he could master it – and her. He forced her to tease herself, giving alternating commands, in that smooth as silk tone, for her to graze her finger over that little bud quickly, or very, very slowly. Sometimes lightly, sometimes pressing harder, but always changing things up so that she couldn't latch onto any particular rhythm and get ahead of him.

  And he talked to her the entire time, always assuming that they would be together, as if, for him, there was no other possible outcome.

  "I can't wait to watch you do this to yourself, to put a chair at the end of the bed, have every little bit of you in front of me, responding to my commands, clamps on your nipples, perhaps a plug in your bottom…"

  They hadn't talked about anything like that. "Sir, no!"

  "Stop touching yourself. Put your hands on your stomach for the moment. Is that a hard limit, Elle, or are you just embarrassed because that's what you want?"

  "I don't know," she dodged.

  "I think you do, but you don't want to tell me."

  "Please, Sir…"

  "Tell me, Elle. You must always tell me what you want so I can control you better."

  He heard her issue a soft moan of feigned complaint, then barely heard her say, "I'm embarrassed."

  "Well, you're going to get over that quickly, because that's something I like the idea of. A lot."

  "Sir?"

  "Yes, baby?"

  "That was something…he…he hurt me with."

  Alt nearly dropped his phone, closing his eyes and sighing heavily at the gaffe he'd just made in guiding her, appalled at his own thoughtlessness. "I'm sorry, hon. I didn't know."

  "How could you?"

  "Well, then you don't worry about that." He didn't want to downgrade what she'd been through, but he wanted to bring her back to her own pleasure – as directed by him – as soon as possible. "Where are your hands, my love?"

  "On my tummy."

  She sounded almost little girlish, and he wondered if that aspect of D/s interested her, too. He'd have to ask.

  But for now, he said, "Put your hands back where they were after you put some lube on your finger. Let me know when you've done that."

  "It's done, Sir," she said, seconds later.

  "Excellent. Move your finger around and up and over your clit slowly, finding the most sensitive spot you can, and dwelling there more and more frequently. Press lightly, then more firmly as you do so. Flick your finger up and down, then back and forth. Find a rhythm that works and listen to me as I allow you to come. And you are not allowed to suppress any sounds your body tells you to make – I don't care if you scream bloody murder when you come. If that's what you need to do, do it."

  He could hear her breathing rapidly turning into panting.

  "That's my girl. Think of it as my finger – or my tongue. Picture me lying next to you, holding your hands bound above your head in one of mine, lying helpless next to me as I bring you off whether you want me to or not –"

  That was it. That was all she needed to hear. It was more than she needed to hear. He hit every hot button she owned, and her screaming, totally wild orgasm, even though he wasn't actually there, was proof of that.

  He didn't let her get away with just one, either, encouraging – ordering – her to bring herself off another six or seven times – he lost track, until she begged off and he heard her just lying there, panting.

  "I wish I could be there to hold you right now," he whispered huskily.

  Shyly, she answered, "I do, too, Sir."

  Alt cleared his throat. "I seem to have overstepped again, but I can't say I'm sorry in the least. Have I set us back with my depraved tendencies?" he asked, only half-kidding.

  "No, Sir."

  "I'm glad, baby girl."

  He stayed with her until she was more recovered, offering to stay on the line with her all night if she wanted, but she told him he didn't have to do that.

  "Well, I wanted you to know that I do want to. When we're together, I'll probably want to do that whenever we can when we're separated, so that we feel as if we're a little closer together."

  That was so sweet a sentiment that she nearly teared up. Dunn would never have thought of doing anything like that with her. He didn't think much of her beyond the idea that, as his submissive, she was there to see to his needs – hers were so far on the back burner that they were rarely, if ever, addressed.

  The same couldn't be said for Alt in any way, and that thought played repeatedly in her mind after they'd said their good nights, so much so that she didn't get much sleep.

  DAYS LATER, Elle found herself in a quandary. She was leaning heavily towards telling Alt that she wanted to be with him – in every way – but she realized that she was basing that only on the information she'd gleaned from the Internet, magazines, and television and the relatively short amount of time they'd been together. She couldn't meet his family, and he hadn't introduced her to any of his friends.

  Except one.

  So, one Sunday afternoon, about two thirty or so, when she'd figured that the lunch crowds had probably died away, she went back to the tiny burger joint where he'd introduced her to Andrea, hoping to pump her for information that would help her to make a more informed decision.

  But her subject wasn't necessarily into cooperating, even though the place wasn't very busy. Elle made sure she wasn't a bitch – she ordered lunch and paid for it before Andrea even noticed she was there, and she was again amazed by the quality of the food.

  The other woman stopped by to refill her coffee and Elle told her as much, watching her blush, then she asked her if she might have a minute to talk.

  Andrea looked around at the empty restaurant and sat down acro
ss from Elle.

  "What would you like to talk about?"

  Elle blushed. "I would imagine that you can probably guess."

  She seemed to bristle a bit. "I don't usually talk about him with anyone else."

  Elle didn't want to be impolite enough to say to Andrea that she wasn't just anyone, wasn't some obsessed fan. But instead, she said, "I applaud that impulse. I think too many people are posting videos and taking pictures and invading everyone's privacy – it must be terribly hard to be a celebrity nowadays."

  Andrea nodded, but didn't say anything.

  "But I'm not one of those people. I don't have a blog, hell, I didn't even know who he was until I googled him."

  "And now you want him, because you know he's one of the most eligible bachelors in the country?"

  Elle had no idea why Andrea was being belligerent, but she was beginning to think that this was a colossal mistake. "No, actually, I essentially told him to back the fuck off." She chuckled. "I've said those exact words to him several times, in fact."

  "Oh yeah? Why?"

  Elle squirmed a bit in her seat, but if she expected honesty from Andrea, then she had to be prepared to give it, so she thumb-nailed what was happening between the two of them, and why.

  "I really just met him a few weeks ago. I'm looking for some input about what kind of guy he is. He seems so normal and depressingly nice and he's so gentlemanly…" Most of the time, she added in her head. "It's almost anachronistic. Do you know where it comes from? Obviously, his mother didn't drill manners into him."

  "No, she didn't. But we did spend a lot of time watching old movies from the thirties and forties. Cary Grant was a particular favorite of his, and I think he tries to emulate that smooth charm and those exquisite manners."

  Elle nodded. "I've been trying to decide whether that's an act or not, trying to decide whether or not I should trust him."

  Andrea gave her a narrow eyed, considering look. "Well, all I can tell you is that Alt doesn't change who he is based on who he's around or where he is. What you see is what you get. He is how he is, and being that way – unwilling to conform – got him a lot of beatings over the years, but it just seemed to make him stronger in his convictions that he was doing the right thing."

  Elle had to laugh at that. "He is quite sure of himself, isn't he?"

  "He is that, and what's so God awful about it is that he almost always is right!" But the smile evaporated from her face as if it had never been with her next words. "The only time he ever backed away from that stance was when I was in trouble – when I was the one who was going to get it. He stepped up every time he could to take the blame –" Her voice broke. "And to take the beating that was meant for me. The first time it happened, I was horrified, and when I could talk to him alone, I let him know that I was pissed that he'd done it. But he was very resigned and resolute. He told me he would rather take the punishment himself than have to listen to me being hurt." Her dewy eyes flickered to Elle's. "What does that tell you about a seven-year-old boy and the kind of man he'd become?"