Auction Ch. 13

Naturally, the brunette warmed to him immensely and soon was telling him about her work in detail. Jen watched as Ethan moved in to stand very close to her without appearing to do so, and she watched as it had the intended effect. Under his intense scrutiny, the woman soon began to resume her submissive aspect, even unconsciously throwing in the occasional 'sir' without realizing it.

Jen smiled and shifted her luggage from one hand to the other. The woman was obviously a submissive, but one untamed and likely unaware of it.

Had she ever been so transparent?

"Very good," he said at last, his voice measured, yet insidious, "we're new to the city. Just in town for a wedding."

"Excellent! Where are you staying?"

"The Driskill. We're with the Crane Party."

"You are?" the brunette's surprise was obvious, and endearing. She had a warm, beautiful smile. "I think that's the wedding I'm working this weekend. Only it's not being held at the Driskill, right?"

"Precisely. It's being held at a more ... private ... residence." Again, the measured tone, the deliberate pause. Jen knew he was playing out his line, setting the hook for this apparent newcomer.

She could see it was working on the brunette.

She just didn't know why Ethan was doing it.

Before Heather could ask any further questions, Ethan took her arm in his and began to walk up the jet way. They chatted as they went, Ethan deftly changing the subject away from the wedding, and soon had the young woman telling him her life story.

Jen tottered after them on her heels, wheeling her luggage as they headed toward baggage claim.

She was thoroughly confused.

But as they exited into the larger assembly areas, and as her outfit began to have its effect on the crowd around them, Jen felt the inner heat from the plane returning. Men stopped and stared; women slapped their spouses, and then stared themselves. They either wanted her or were appalled by her.

She was unadulterated sex. A fantasy made real in too high heels, blonde curls, and a miniskirt that was utterly impractical.

Truth be told, Jen loved the attention, and began to strut again, like she had on the plane, drinking in the adoration and revulsion in equal measure.

Ethan turned and frowned, then leaned in for a private joke with Heather.

Her stride quickly became submissive again, her ego abruptly checked by his disapproval.

Would she ever win his lasting acclaim?

Jen was afraid she'd displeased him.

When she left him, would she even be able to self-validate again?

Or was her soul already so thoroughly attuned to his that he'd always be her North Star? That life without him would lack real meaning?

In those hidden parts of her she didn't like to see, she already knew the answer.

When, they finally reached the baggage claim, Ethan made her retrieve their luggage while he and Heather looked on. As she bent over, her pussy and ass were once more on display. Ordinarily, exposing herself for a stranger and her Master would have driven her to new heights, but the sight of the two of them together trumped any feelings the public setting might have provoked.

She noted his arm around her waist as they talked, and felt a red hot spike of jealousy.

If this woman was a total stranger, then what was going on?

And if not, then who was she?

"Master," she began, as their car pulled away from the curb.

She had so many questions.

Did Ethan know her?

His strong hand cupped the back of her head, entangling itself in her curls until tears welled in her eyes. He pulled her down, away from gazing out the window at Heather's receding form and toward his cock. She saw that he'd already freed it; its heavy weight bobbed before her.

"No questions," he said, pushing her down past the steering wheel onto his swelling shaft.

Ethan took her almost immediately upon arriving at their hotel room. No sooner had the bellman closed the door, their luggage neatly arranged by the large closet of their suite, than he pushed her forcefully onto the large California King bed. She stumbled and fell backwards onto to rich scarlet duvet, the buttons of her shirt popping open as her full breasts surged outward with the soft impact.

He was in a mood, she thought, as he grasped her about the waist and flipped her onto her stomach. A tiny sliver of fear stabbed at her, as much from the unexpected fall -- her preternatural clumsiness always made a loss of balance scary for her -- as from his abrupt manner.

Was she being punished?

Was he going to whip her?

She knew she had it coming, but was hoping that he might spare her at least a few moments to compose herself.

To be taken like this, caught totally off guard, thrilled and alarmed her all at the same time.

To her pleasant surprise, strong hands pulled the mini skirt upwards in one quick motion, and then he was between her legs, forcing them apart roughly, his hot shaft pushing into her in one long hard push.

Her pussy ached with the sudden pleasurepain of being so abused.

Jen rasped out her pleasure -- the experience in the airport had left her wet and eager for his touch -- and wrapped her legs around him, clutching at the duvet to steady herself so he could thrust all the deeper.

He smacked her legs aside, deliberately denying her purchase, the better to push down and into her from above. She sobbed loudly, her entire body spasming from the cruel twist of his thrusts, every part of her inner reaches suddenly alight with this unexpected angle.

If he took the time to slow down, she was sure he would bring her to a staggering climax, for the friction was delirious. But he gave her no such thought, pounding into her roughly, one hand on the back of her head, pushing her face into the crisp clean bed linens while he fucked her.

She had no idea how he'd gotten his pants off so quickly, and it was only after several long sloppy moments that she realized that he hadn't taken his pants off at all. The fabric of his trousers scored against the backs of her thighs, rubbing and burning her delicate skin.

Was he angry with her, she wondered, as her body contorted to meet his stabbing shaft. Had she displeased him?

Her body cried out for air, the combination of his hand on her head and the weight of him atop her crushing every ounce of oxygen from her body. Soon her lungs burned, screaming for air, but still he drove on, drowning her in.

The bed linens, smooth at first, soon began to chafe her breasts, tormenting her nipples until they stung and pulsed with an aroused agony.

How she wanted him to bite her nipples then! To give her that pleasurepain she so longed for.

If he knew this, he certainly didn't care, driving into her with such force that the mattress began to shift away. Small spurts of oxygen stole into her lungs, sustaining her for microseconds more as he pushed her into a frenzy.

Her fugue became total. Her very being aflame with desire and a terrible need for the little death.

She was so close, the sounds of their wet sex roared in her ears and the musky scent of her own arousal filled her nostrils, replacing much needed oxygen with the evidence of her abasement to him.

Jen tried to cry out, to beg him to carry her into the little death, but his hold on her curls was iron, and her moans and sobs consumed what little sound she could manage to gasp out.

Suddenly ... he was cumming, spasming his seed into her gasping pussy. He thrust very hard against her, once ... twice ... his hard form bruising her lush body ... and then he became very still.

How she loved moments like this, to be blessed with the very essence of him. She could feel his seed within her, a spreading warmth.

Jen lay there, feverish with desire -- her own orgasm so close! -- waiting for him to begin again.

But then he was withdrawing, pulling out of her even as he twisted his hands into her curls once more and hauled her off the bed and onto the floor before him. She scrambled to move with him, her scalp afire and tears in her eyes as she sobbed and gasped.

Jen stumbled down before him, her inflamed breasts heaving as she tried to take full breaths and restore her sense of equilibrium. But as she opened her mouth to take another breath his cock, wet with her fluids and his, filled her mouth, probing and urgent.

Obedience and training kicked in, and she lavished him with her tongue, ignoring the bruised ache of the car ride to clean his shaft.

For the second time that day, she fulfilled her most basic role. The one that she celebrated even as it made her question her own worth.

Ethan's hand never released her curls, not even a little, and so tears coursed her cheeks as she serviced him, her eyes stinging.

She ached inside, not just from the rough manner in which he'd taken her, but from his obvious displeasure.

At last he shoved her away, releasing her curls so that she spun back and collapsed against the side of the bed. Ethan reached down to place his cock back in his trousers, and then zipped up his fly.

Through her tears she saw him adjust his shirt and inspect his pants. Satisfied that there were no stains -- a minor miracle considering how wet her pussy was -- he turned and strode from the room.

"Two hours," he said, throwing open the door.

And then he was gone.

Jen lay against the bed for a long time, her body wracked by desire she couldn't release.