Days Off with Lindsay - Megan Pt. 01

He chuckled at her, and began to fuck her hard with his fist.

It was that evil chuckle followed by the vicious fucking that got me, and it was too late to stop. I gasped, my mouth falling open as I pulled my hands away, and I came suddenly, feeling that rush of heat explode in my gut and wash up through my whole body, and I jerked as it almost knocked me over. My pussy was screaming, demanding to be filled as it clenched against nothing. I felt myself let out a sound that was half a moan, half a cry, and my hand flew to my mouth, like I could keep it in. I stopped moving, stopped rocking, and pulled my fingers out and away from my pussy, ruining my orgasm before I could really ride it out.

On the screen, the girl wailed as she continued to get fucked. Now he was brushing his fingers of his other hand against her nipple like he'd been earlier. He was saying something but I couldn't tell what it was, his voice mostly blocked out by her powerful orgasm.

I paused the video, and took a deep breath, trying to decide if I was going to keep watching. There was still twenty minutes left on the video.

"Fuck," I whispered, and turned it off. I'd already failed my task, and I knew if I kept watching it would probably happen again. "Oh my god," I whispered quietly, shutting the laptop.

Then I saw my phone, still set up and recording myself. "Shit," I said. I bit my lip as I leaned forward to turn off the recording, catching a look at my guilty expression.

I called Becca and she answered. I could hear the smile in her voice. "How long did you last?"

She knew I'd fail. The leather, the dirty talk with that rough voice, the tattoos and the scars on his arms, and my not-so-secret kink... hell she knew exactly what I liked and had absolutely chosen that video on purpose. It was like it was made for me.

"Um... like ten minutes."

She laughed loudly. "Don't masturbate again until I tell you to. I'll give you your punishment on Sunday at Reuben's. Send me the video... Sleep well."

I sent her the video, feeling more embarrassed than I had in a long time, and climbed into bed and tried to sleep, my mind returning to the tenderness of those rough fingers and the look on her face as he'd shoved his fist in deep. Little waves went through me as I tried to relax, little almost-orgasms that I gasped at and chased, but could never hold onto. It took everything in my power not to grab my biggest dildo and just fuck myself silly, but I knew if I did, Becca would know, and my punishment would be worse. I wondered what she'd do.

Chapter 2

I woke up soaking wet and horny in the morning, my mind almost instantly going back to the porn clip I'd watched the night before. Today was going to be a long day. Actually it was going to be a long rest of the week if I wasn't getting my punishment until Sunday. It was only over my breakfast that I remembered I was supposed to meet Mr. Weston.

I can't meet him like this, I thought. Not as horny as I was. I'd be a disaster. He'd probably know, too. He had always taken pleasure in degrading me on how strongly I smelled when I got wet, knowing it just made me wetter.

I'm not going to think about him today, I told myself. Maybe if I felt better after lunch I'd send him a text and drop by the bar, but not this early in the day, not like this. I couldn't make good decisions like this.

When I got to the office, though, I dried up quickly. There was an emergency meeting regarding a client we were about to lose, and they were one of our biggest. Numbers were thrown out, contracts were re-negotiated, and energy was high and intense. By three in the afternoon my whole team was feeling faint from not eating. I ordered some sandwiches to be delivered and we all took a much needed twenty minute break to eat, breathe, and gossip our frustrations out.

As I was feeling more level on my hormones, I decided to give it a shot and text Mr. Weston. My message was simple, but I crafted it carefully.

Good afternoon, I apologize for the delay in my answer. What time would you like to see me this evening?

He replied an hour later: I will be here all night. Just come by.

I sighed, my gut instantly twisting. What did he want? Who was the collar for? God I needed some fucking closure. Or a distraction. Or to be properly fucked and allowed to cum.

But I didn't just want to get fucked, I realized. I could have asked Becca for that months ago and she would have set it up for me. What was it that I wanted?

That evening after work, I hiked up the stairs to the lounge. Noah was behind the bar this evening. I asked him for a Secretary for me, and for Mr. Weston's favorite drink, and brought both back towards his office. It wasn't until I got to the door that I realized I couldn't open it holding two drinks. I was about to shuffle around and hold mine in the crook of my arm when the door opened.

Mr. Weston stood in the doorway, a knowing look on his face. I swallowed hard.

God, he looked exactly the same... and yet somehow different. Older... Tired. He was a little over six feet tall, shoulders like a linebacker, deeply tanned skin and deep set dark brown eyes. His square face and chiseled jaw was always freshly shaven. His hair was always perfectly cut. He always wore a suit and tie, with a pin on his tie, and his favorite set of cufflinks. One had an anchor. One had a whip.

He stepped out of the doorway and gestured for me to come in. I handed him his drink, and stood by his desk. I didn't know if I should look at him, or look at the ground.

"Megan, it's good to see you. Please sit, make yourself comfortable." So polite, so distant. Yet it was still his voice, the voice that I was so used to hearing command me.

I sat, tucking one ankle behind the other, and sipped my drink. He sat back at his desk, sighed, and took a few sips of his own.

"You wanted to see me?" I felt the urge to say Sir at the end, but cut it off.

"How have you been?"

I shrugged. "Fine. Busy with work. Generally happy."

"I spoke with Becca. She tells me you haven't had another Dom since I so rudely abandoned you?"

I felt my face soften at his comment, and I shook my head.

"Any particular reason?"

I thought carefully as I worded my answer. He waited patiently. I knew he would. "I spent some time with some other Doms, and I enjoyed my time with them, but it didn't feel right for a long-term relationship."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I assumed that was the case. Is it a particular kink that you can't get, or the connection?"

"The connection... but it's more than that. There was no build-up. There was no adventure. There was no relationship." I thought more about the first time I'd finally come to meet him. We'd been in a relationship for over a year by that time. He had already owned me by the time we played together the first time, and he knew it. "It just felt like kinky sex. There was play, without the buildup."

"There was no game." He nodded quietly.

"Yes," I said, "That's... exactly right."

"Has anything changed majorly for you since we were together?"

I shook my head. I was a pretty straightforward service sub, a reluctant denial slut, and a major weakness for giving sloppy blowjobs. "You know me... I'm pretty happy as long as I'm being properly topped."

"Would you like me to connect you with someone?" He took another sip of his drink as he asked, and then looked up at me.

I felt my face change, and I hurried to hide my startled expression, but I was sure he'd seen it. Part of me had given up that I'd ever really find anything as powerful as the connection I'd had with Mr. Weston. But how could that be so? There were tons of Doms out there, right? He couldn't be the only one who could make me happy. I'd thought about that plenty of times, but then every time I thought I'd found someone... they just jumped right in. Because I was a "well trained sub," and I was "Reuben Weston's former sub," and they could. It always felt more like a hookup, or being used, than a relationship.

Besides, I trusted him. I knew he wouldn't put me with someone horrible.

Before I could say anything, he continued. "Over the past few years I've been mentoring a friend of mine. He lost his submissive about a year ago and is looking for another one. He has had similar complaints. I think you two would be good together. He and I are very similar in many ways, and I think you would be suitable for him."

The word "yes" came out of my mouth as I was thinking, before my brain really decided on an answer. He nodded, finished his drink with a quick swig, and set it aside where I couldn't reach it to take it from him.

"Thank you for the drink," he smiled, and I knew I was being dismissed.

I stood, not knowing what else I was supposed to do. Would I get a text? Would he show up at my door? As I walked to the door, part of me wanted to ask him, 'Who is he?' which was code for, 'do you trust him?'

But I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn't put me with someone he didn't trust. So I reached for the doorknob and didn't ask any questions.

"Oh, Megan," he said as I reached for the doorknob. I turned and clasped my hands tightly, slightly nervous. "On an unrelated note... will you be here Saturday?"

"I can be, if you'd like."

"Good... there's someone else I'd like you to meet as well." With that he turned back to his screen and resumed his typing.

I left quickly, shutting the door behind me, an ominous feeling settling over me.

What next? What should I do? And who else did he want me to meet? Maybe someone would just walk up to me on Saturday. My emotions spun and I tried to steady my heart rate by breathing slowly.

Back out in the bar, I sat at one of the bar stools and let the business around me distract me from my excitement and stress. Noah and Jack were talking, and Noah was scrolling and watching something on his phone that made him grin. He noticed me, put his phone away, and came over to take my order.

I ordered a club sandwich, and another drink, and Jack ran my order back to the kitchen. Noah started working on my drink. "You okay? You look... stressed."

I nodded. "I'm fine. Mr. Weston is going to set me up with one of his friends."

Noah was a friend of Jack's who had started working here maybe two years ago. We'd never really had more than surface-level conversation, though sometimes he shared some drama or gossip. He was about five foot six or seven, just a smidge taller than me, with messy light brown hair and a wide mischievous smile that always got him good tips. He raised an eyebrow as he poured my drink. "You nervous?"

I nodded. "It's been a while," I sighed. "Too long." He slid the drink over and I took it, thanking him.

"Do you trust him?"

"Mr. Weston? Yes. With my life," I said, knowing it was true.

"So you've got nothing to worry about, right?"

I nodded, and smiled. He moved to the couple that had just sat down a few seats from me, and left me to my thoughts.

My food came out shortly after and I ate quietly, thinking about our conversation. I'd been so taken aback by his offer to set me up with his friend that I hadn't asked him about the collar.

***

Saturday was busier than normal. The lounge was temporarily closed for a business meeting that Mr. Weston was hosting, probably investors or other business owners or other dungeon masters. Everyone was downstairs, music was playing loudly, and Jack, Sanaii, and Noah were bustling behind the bar.

There was buzz about The Sadist.

"I never met her but I heard she sent Michael into subspace in ten minutes. He hasn't had another Domme since."

"She's heavy into impact and pain play."

"There's a video of her online, if you know where to look. It's straight-up torture porn. I had it saved, but something happened to it."

As far as I knew, she wasn't here yet. Michael, Jackson, Becca, and I were at a table in the corner. Becca had asked me to bring my copy of Pain and Pleasure, and I just knew she was going to make me ask for an autograph. Hopefully, that plus my four day stint of chastity was the extent of my punishment for my ruined orgasm on Wednesday night, but I doubted it. Becca was a professional Domme. It was literally her full-time job.

"Where did she go, and why is she back," I quietly asked Becca. I looked around and didn't see Julia or Paul, so I felt a little braver asking.

"She was kicked out, but Mr. Weston has been in contact with her and wanted to meet with her the next time they were both in town."

"Why did she get kicked out?"

"She got in a fight," Jackson chimed in. "Remember Peter Woodrow? She beat the hell out of him. They both got kicked out."

"Why?"

"Nobody knows," Michael chimed in. "Apparently she yelled something about a girl named Scarlett, but nobody really knows what happened. Reuben wasn't here. I guess she reached out to him and he's trying to clear the air."

And then suddenly, there she was. It was like everyone in the room suddenly knew it was her, and she was here, like her presence was a physical blanket that covered the crowd. The buzz around the room died down so that the only noise was the quiet clinking of glasses and some murmuring. The music suddenly seemed too loud.

She stood in the doorway, leaning slightly into one hip, one of her arms hanging carelessly at her side, the other hand on her hip. Confidence oozed off of her as she quietly took in the scene in front of her, her eyes starting at one end of the room and carefully skimming over every face. When she made eye contact with me, I felt... seen. More seen than I had in a long time. Like she was looking into my brain... like she was tasting me. It only lasted for a split second but holy fuck was it powerful.

She was tall, five foot nine or ten, and had large strong legs that looked like they were solid muscle. I could see strong toned muscles in her arms and shoulders. She wore tight dark-washed skinny jeans, knee-high leather riding boots with chains hooked onto them, a black leather belt with rivets, a black shirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket with too many zippers. Her long brown hair had a bit of a red tint, and was parted slightly on the side, messy and wavy and full of life, like it was moving on its own. Pale skin, a wide mouth and dark pink lips. Her eyes were bright green, and even from how far away I was, I could see the color was intense.

Her scan of the room ended as her gaze fell on the bartenders. She smirked, her smile twisting up onto one side of her face, like she forgot she even had the other side to smile with. "Jack!" she yelled out, and walked with long purposeful strides to the bar.

"Lindsay!" he said, lifting a hand to her, and looking completely relaxed and happy to see her, like she was here every month and wasn't an anomaly.

"I knew it," I said. I knew the infamous Sadist was named Lindsay. There had been little hints throughout the past few years, her name floating around here and there, and even appearing on the menu as a mixed drink. Lindsay's Choice, they called it.

"Go on," Becca whispered, handing me my book and shoving me a little. "Better go before she gets monopolized."

"Too late," Michael said as he brought his beer to his lips. He was right. People were already starting to flock to her. Old friends, maybe? Or perhaps people who had felt that same jolt as I had when she'd locked eyes with them?

Numbly, I stood, and made my way to the bar. Ask her, I thought. Just ask her. Will you sign my book please? Just one sentence. Though I wasn't particularly shy, something about her intimidated me.

Noah handed her a drink, and she grinned widely at him, showing a set of perfect white straight teeth. I edged closer and saw that a few of the newer Doms who had begun frequenting our little club had come up beside her, already pulling her into a conversation. She looked excited, proud, and a little curious. As I neared them, I could hear a little of what she was saying to them.

"It's an old torture technique. It takes a while to start really hurting. Like, a solid half hour. At first it's uncomfortable. But then it starts to get really bad." She took a sip, turned her back on the bar, and leaned against it, putting one foot up on the wood behind her. "But the psychological torture that happens is even more intense than the physical, because when you pull it out, it's going to hurt for days. Not just hours, but days. The physical pain and the knowledge that it won't end creates a compound effect. So even if they break, they know they're still going to hurt for a long time afterwards. Now for some people, that makes them strong, some people it breaks them down. You have to know what their reaction will be beforehand... Isn't that right, Megan?" She turned to look me square in the eye as she said her last sentence.

I swear she had x-ray vision or was psychic or something, because when she turned the full intensity of her gaze on me, I choked and my knees almost gave out. I felt like she'd grabbed me by the throat shoved me against a wall, physically held my gaze, and was pawing through my memories with her fingers. I staggered and fell back against someone, and whoever it was caught me, helping me back to my feet.

Lindsay took a step closer to me, cocked her head, and her mouth broke into that twisted smirk. "You wanted to ask me something," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Did I? Oh, autograph, right. Wordlessly I handed my book over to her. She looked at it, smiled, and her expression softened. She glanced back up at me and I braced myself for the onslaught of whatever the hell had just happened... but it didn't. I felt like I was just looking at a normal girl. A tall, beautiful terrifying femdom, but just a normal person.

She reached over and grabbed a pen right out of Jack's shirt pocket, signed my book with a looping script, and stuck it back in, like he was her personal pen holder. "There are only a few of those," she motioned to the autograph. "Hold onto it." I nodded mutely, and went to retreat.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "We have shit to talk about." She smirked at me, and then looked over at the guys she'd been talking to. "Good luck boys," she said, kicked herself off the bar, looped an arm around my shoulders, and walked back with me towards where my friends sat. "I've got some catching up to do."

Becca grinned and embraced her when she got closer, and I stepped back from her, relieved to be out of her grip. A few girls I didn't know ran over to greet her as well, and a few other guys came by through the course of the evening. There were also a few people who glared at her, avoiding her like the plague. It was a strange mix. People seemed to either love her or hate her.

A little later, Mr. Weston came down, motioned to our little group, and nodded that we could come upstairs. He also gestured to Noah to come upstairs to run the bar in the lounge. Soon we were out of the bustle and back in our comfort zones.

Lindsay livened things up quite a bit.

She was loud, charismatic, not nearly as terrifying as I'd expected, and she could drink like a fish. I watched her put away six Lindsay's Choice mixed drinks in less than an hour, and she seemed completely unaffected.

Around nine that evening, I was getting another drink at the bar for Becca and I, when I heard a loud gasp. People turned and saw Julia and Paul, standing at the door of the lounge.

Julia was gorgeous as ever, wearing her cute tight jeans and big pink cat-ear hoodie, her jeweled collar sparkling around her neck and her brown wavy hair falling elegantly around her face. Paul wore his typical dark jeans and button-down shirt. While Paul looked nervous, the look on Julia's face was of pure shock and betrayal.