Romancing John Cly

My knees, wobbly already, threaten to give out from under me. I've never done that to Sydney, and she's never asked me to, let alone commanded me to. I can see what's going on now, but I can't decide if this is all good or bad. What exactly are Sydney's intentions? If she wanted sex, why not just give it up?

"Happy Valentine's Day, my sweet," she says in an entirely unnerving tone, "I own you."

Her words chill me to my very core. I own you. I'm suddenly reminded of primitive man, clubbing his woman over the head and dragging her back to the cave. I can still feel the tingle of her heavy-handed slaps on my cheek. My, how times have changed.

Sydney lets loose her grip on my hair once again, and I pray this will be the last time. I should be okay as long as I can manage to keep my stupid mouth shut. She pulls me to the bedroom by the ropes binding my wrists; I trail behind her feeling like a scolded puppy. After all, that's what I am now, isn't it?

I can't believe this. Sydney is ruining The Big Book of John Clay, she's practically taking the son of a bitch and throwing it on the fire, and I have no choice but to let her. My book, my big wonderful leather-bound book I've clung to for so many years, through so many relationships, now useless. All because I let this little bitch tie me up and smack me around.

As my mind wanders, she jerks me into the bedroom, and I realize the room is glowing with dozens of candles. At the center of the room is Sydney's four-poster bed, delicate sheer material hanging all around it. Sydney has impeccable style, but I'm suddenly aware of how dangerous this bed is to me. Four posts, plenty of ways to get tied down. Can I escape? Dare I even try?

Do I want to escape?

"Sit down," Sydney commands me sharply, and this time I'm smart enough to listen. There's a small wooden chair across from the bed, and I put my ass in it almost as soon as the words leave her lips. Now that we're in the light, I can see her clearly. She's like an angel in devil's clothing, and I barely recognize her. Her golden blonde hair is streaked with crimson red highlights, her lips coated with blood red lipstick, her eyes darkened with thick mascara. Sydney never wears makeup.

She sits down on the edge of the bed across from me, eyeing me up and down. Her shapely legs spread, and she runs a black-nailed hand from her calf up to her thigh casually as she watches me.

"You never answered me properly," she purrs, "do you like this?"

"Yes… uh, yes, Mistress."

Her hand continues up her bare thigh to the strip of black leather between her legs. I watch her fingers as they lightly caress the smooth material, pressing a little harder with each pass until a light sigh escapes her lips. My eyes travel up to her mouth, where her teeth gently bite her bottom lip. Her crystal blue eyes are still fixed on me.

"I love touching myself like this," she whispers. "Would you like to touch me?"

"God yeah, Syd--" but I'm interrupted again as she darts forward again, her hand palm lashing against my face again. There's going to be a hell of a bruise there tomorrow morning. That is, if I ever see tomorrow morning.

Sydney's eyes are flaring again, her breath heavy. "This is going to take forever if you don't smarten up and learn your lesson, stupid little swine."

I reel for a moment from the impact. Jesus Christ, it was hard, she's really, really serious. For a split second, I stupidly wonder if I get a safety word...

"I'm sorry, Sy--Mistress, I'm sorry," I manage to sputter, my mind swimming in shock and confusion. How far is she going to take this? My face is already throbbing at the hand of the very same woman who caressed it lovingly only last night. Who the hell is this girl?

"Would you like to touch me," Sydney repeated, in a much firmer tone of voice this time.

"Yes, Mistress, very much." It's becoming easier to call her 'Mistress' now because any semblance of the Sydney I once knew has faded. She was right, the sweet little Southern girl isn't here any longer; she's been replaced by this woman who--yes, I'll admit it now--scares the living shit out of me.

"Very good, you're learning. Maybe you're not so stupid after all." She slowly moves back to the bed, pushing aside the curtain. I watch her every movement from the quick graceful flitter of her fingers to the subtle flex of the muscles in her smooth legs as she crawls into the bed. Without another word, she lays back and her fingers immediately return to her leather-clad pussy.

My mouth, I can't help but notice, waters almost uncontrollably as her fingers press into leather, trying to reach the flesh behind it. Breaking her gaze for the first time, Sydney—my mistress—drops her head back, her blue eyes squeezing shut, her lips opening to breath a sigh of pleasure. A strong tingle of lust flares deep in my stomach, though it's different from what I've known before. I don't want to just throw her down and fuck her… deep down, I want her to take over me. I want this night to go too far.

Her fingers skillfully slip beneath the leather between her legs and press against her body. Her cries become louder and more hungry as she pleasures herself, but in a heartbeat, she pulls her fingers away and sits up to fix me with those piercing eyes. Without breaking her gaze, she draws a wet finger to her mouth, deliberately spreading a bit of her moisture on her bottom lip. In a second, her tongue slips out to taste her own silky juices. Then she smiles at me, a smile both inviting and devious.

"Do you want to taste me, little swine? Have you ever tasted country pussy? Do you want to taste your sweet little Southern girl?"

"Yes, Mistress, please."

"Tastes like honey," she says softly, once again raising her hand to her lips, her tongue sliding along her fingers. My heart thunders in my chest. Never have I wanted anything so badly.

She slowly turns and kneels, facing away from me. Leaving her beautifully curved ass in the air, she lays her head on a pillow. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing the warm spot between her thighs. This is a show for me now, to torture me, and it's working. I can feel my cock throbbing wildly in my pants and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

"Ask me for it," she whispers just loud enough for me to hear, "no, don't ask me, beg me."

"Please, Mistress… " Dear God, Mistress, please, I'll do anything, I'll give myself to you completely, do with me what you want, just please let me have it. No, I'm not ready for that yet, damn it. It'll take more than a taste of pussy to break John Clay, I swear it.

She turns over again and sits gazing at me. It's her eyes, I don't know if I can take the stare of those blue eyes anymore. Before they were just pretty, now they're… hungry. "I think you're holding back on me, John Clay," she says skeptically. "Say it again. Tell me what you want."

"Please, Mistress," I say, trying to keep my voice from wavering, "please, I just want to taste you."

"That'll have to do for now. Stand up. Come here." I stand, a little unevenly considering my legs are all but ready to go out from under me. My mistress gazes at my crotch in amusement. "My, you are enjoying yourself, aren't you? Come here."

I approach the bed slowly as she crawls towards me. She reaches out her hands and stops me at the edge of the bed. In a moment, she has my pants unbuckled and is sliding them down to the floor. There's no hiding from her any more as my cock stands at full attention before her. She licks her red lips, then gently slides them over the very tip of my head. The sensation sends electricity all through my spine, but it stops almost immediately as she pulls away.

"Don't think I'm going to make this easy, dearest. I know how easy you think I am—"

"No—"

"Don't try to argue. I know what you think about me. You think I can be bought, or swindled, or charmed. You think that's what today is about, give the little girl some pretty jewelry on Valentine's Day and she's yours forever… " her soft hand moves to grasp my cock, her slender fingers wrapping around the shaft, an incredibly possessive action, but almost comforting nonetheless. "Well, John, don't think that this night is a reward for your behavior. This night is for you to learn."

She lets go of me and lies back on the bed. As I suddenly realize I've never seen anything more than the smallest portion of her breasts, she begins to strip. She slides the straps of her leather teddy over her shoulders, slowly moving the rest of the outfit down her body.

Her body… her body is flawless, smooth skin with a slight tan, firm, round breasts, a tight stomach… her hands reach her waist, then continue to move the teddy down. I can see even in the dim glow of the candlelight that her pussy is entirely shaved. Her moist lips are smooth and curved, and the tiniest hint of pink shows through, just enough to make my mouth water once again.

My mistress throws the leather outfit to the floor and leans back against her pillows, her legs spread invitingly.

"Do you like it?"

"Very much… Mistress… " my voice is barely holding up anymore.

"I've wanted to show you for months now, but I knew you'd never appreciate it until I did something truly drastic. Now you'll learn to appreciate every last inch of this body. Kneel down, now."

I do as she says. She turns away from me once again, on her hands and knees, offering up her delicious rear. I lean forward slowly, not wanting to seem to eager, knowing how eager I really am. I think she knows as well, she has to. She knows she has me under her control now, but I won't let her break me. Not yet…

I press my face between her thighs, taking in the scent of her musk. It's delicious and intoxicating, and now it clouds my head, making me forget that I'm a prisoner to her desires. Now, her desires are mine. As my tongue slips deftly between her thighs, she almost immediately releases a moan of pleasure. Her legs spread to allow her to open herself to me, and I slide my tongue along the soft flesh of her inner labia, savoring the taste of her juices. Like honey. She was right.

I continue to tease her with the jabbing motion of my tongue, but she reaches blindly with her hand to take hold of my hair, pulling me even closer to her. Another wordless sound escapes her lips, and she need not say anything to me. I press my tongue into her deeply, probing for the hard nub of her clit. The taste of her untouched country pussy and the scent of her sex fill my head once again, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. I've gone down on many women in my time, but this is different. I want to taste every inch of her, not just to make her come, but to make her come over and over and over…

She presses back against me as if trying to fill herself up with my tongue. A loud cry passes through her lips as I gently suckle her clit, and I can feel her inner muscles clenching as the first orgasm strikes her. As her body shivers with pleasure, I run my tongue upwards, along the wet slit of her pussy, to the puckered hole above it. I flicker my tongue over the spot lightly, and for my effort, I'm rewarded with a cry of passion louder than any I've ever heard.

I've pleased my mistress.

Her breath coming in heavy waves, she pulls away from me, collapsing face down onto the bed. She turns her head to cast a sideways glance at me, her red-streaked hair tousled lightly. Her face, her entire body, is flush with excitement. I've never seen her look so enticing.

But I won't touch her until she says.

"That was wonderful, my love," she says breathlessly as I kneel reverently before her. "You should be rewarded for that." She pushes herself towards me on the bed, and takes hold of the ropes around my wrists. To my surprise, she undoes the knot and begins unwinding the ropes that have bound me so securely.

"I'll only untie you for a few moments," she says, a tone of contempt creeping into her voice, "but if you even think about trying anything… "

"No, Mistress," and I mean it. If I fuck up now, she may take it away from me, all of it. I don't dare test her now. My heart, my soul, my entire body, are all crying out for release, for pleasure, for satisfaction, and at this moment in time, my mistress is the only one who can bring it to me.

She finishes taking off the ropes, giving my hands merciful freedom. The only movement I allow myself is to rub my wrists tenderly, and my mistress seems okay with it for now. She gazes at me, and behind the hunger and lust in those blue eyes of hers, I can, for the first time, see true adoration. It makes me feel warm and safe, despite the fact that she intends to use me to suit her will.

"Take off your shirt, my love," she quietly commands, and I obey quickly, letting my shirt drop to the floor. Now I kneel naked before her, and while I should feel shame—my mind is fully aware that I should feel shame—I feel only… what is it? Devotion?

She runs her soft, able hands over the flesh of my naked chest, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly loved. Is it possible, over the span of my short life, with all the women I've known, that I've never felt this? It doesn't seem possible, but then again, at the moment he comes, every man thinks he feels love, even if just for the split second it takes to empty himself. But now… now things are different.

"Come here and lie down on the bed, my love," she tells me. I rise to me feet once again and do as she says. I watch as she circles me, moving to the post by my right hand. I know what's going to happen next, I've known all along since she first brought me in here, but I chose not to do anything about it. Now, as she ties my right hand down I know I'm under her control, and The Big Book of John Clay is gone. John Clay as I know him is gone as well, he was gone the moment he decided to give up control to a woman.

My mistress saunters to the other side of the bed and firmly ties down my other hand. She climbs onto the bed and straddles her legs across my hips, my fully erect cock throbbing between her legs. She allows my head to rub slightly against her wet lips, allowing me fleeting moments of pleasure, but not enough.

"I'm sorry I have to do this to you," she says quietly, almost sounding remorseful, "but this is the only way you'll learn. You've made so many mistakes, love, and it's apparent to me that you don't know anything about women. Like this, for instance… " she reaches to her wrist and undoes the clasp on her thousand-dollar bracelet, the bracelet I handed her so proudly this morning, the most expensive gift I've ever bought for a woman. If I was going to have to suffer through another Valentine's Day, I was going to do it with a one-way ticket to total adoration.

She holds the bracelet up against the light of a candle and regards it grimly. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she says, "but it means nothing. I saw you this afternoon, looking at it, wondering how it might save you, wondering what it might get you. You were trying to buy me with this thing, weren't you?"

I stare up at her dumbly. What am I supposed to say?

"Answer me. You can tell me the truth."

"Yes, I was. I'm sorry."

There's a certain hurt that comes into her eyes that I can't bear. I feel stupid, I feel like an asshole, and I deserve it. How many women have I done this to?

She leans forward, resting her head on my chest, her eyes focused absently on the bracelet in her hand. She stares at it, and there's a long moment of silence. I can only lie here and bask in the warmth of her body, the steady pulse of her heart, and the soft rise of her breath.

"It almost worked," she says sadly, quietly, "when I saw it, I thought to myself, 'He must love me.' And then, this afternoon, when I realized what it really meant, what this whole day means to you… you don't really love me, you only love yourself."

My heart drops and I actually feel like I want to cry. I want desperately to tell her how wrong she is, but I don't dare speak, I don't dare breath a word. If I could hold her and cradle her in my arms, I would. But now isn't the time, I know she isn't finished with me yet. Maybe by the time this is all over, I can convince her… somehow.

She sucks in a deep breath and rises to kneel over me once again. Her face is hard once again, the emotion drained from her. "It doesn't matter. I'll show you what this bracelet means to me now." Still on her knees, she leans back, her left arm bracing her against the bed. It's an unimaginably sexy pose, and it makes me realize how limber she actually is. She holds the bracelet in her free hand and slowly lets it slide down her body, the sparkling diamonds caressing the curve of her gorgeous breasts. I watch as the string of diamonds falls smoothly down her taut belly, down her soft flesh, to the vale of her pussy. She lets the sparkling rocks slip up and down her wet cunt, teasing herself as the bracelet just brushes over her sensitive clit.

I can only watch her in stunned silence. Never in the six months we had been together could I have even imagined this kind of erotic dance from her. She was supposed to be the sweet one, the innocent one… my sweet country girl is a seductress, pure and simple.

She leans forward again, moving the bracelet to my face, sliding it across my lips.

"Open your mouth," she orders. I open my mouth, just enough for her to slide the clasp of the bracelet past my lips and between my teeth. "Hold this in your teeth." I close my teeth gently around the studded band and it hangs out of the side of my mouth.

"Now," my mistress continues sternly, "you'll hold on to that, or you'll be punished. If it drops out of your mouth, no matter what, you'll pay for it, even more than you already have. You think you can buy me with a worthless trinket… "

She smacks me lightly on the cheek, just hard enough to rattle my jaw, and I let the bracelet slip away from me. She grabs the bracelet and holds it up triumphantly. "Well, look at the little swine," she taunts, "this thing was supposed to be a symbol of your possession. Look where it gets you now." She places the bracelet against my lips again, and I grasp it with my teeth. She reaches over and picks up one of the candles sitting on a small table beside her bed. I groan uncontrollably as she holds the lit candle over my chest. Without another word, she carefully tips the candle, letting a few drops of hot wax drip down onto my flesh.

The burn is painful, but short-lived, just enough to get my attention. She shifts her weight back, and I feel her rub herself against my aching cock. As she continues pouring small streams of hot wax on my chest, her outer lips slip over my cock, spreading her moisture over my hard flesh. The sensation of pain and pleasure together is creating a fireworks display in my head, and it's all I can do to keep that damn bracelet from slipping out of my mouth.

Mercifully, my mistress smiles down at me and places the candle back on the table. "Very good, my love," she purrs, "you're starting to learn, aren't you?" She reaches down between her legs and grasps my cock. With an inviting moan, she rubs my rigid member firmly between her lips, allowing it to just barely penetrate her. I feel like I'm going to burst already, I've never wanted to come so bad in my entire life. Not just come, but come with her, make her come with me. But I know she isn't going to make it that easy.

As if to prove me right, she releases me and slides down my legs, her hardened nipples trailing down my body. Her red-streaked hair falls in a cascade over my hips as she traces her tongue from the base of my cock to the very tip. Once again, I moan loudly through clenched teeth, swearing to the gods that I'll never let that bracelet slip away from me again. It may now be my only saving grace, the only way that my mistress will ever stop torturing me and give me the pleasure I so desperately need.