It's Always the Quiet Ones Pt. 01

I had two nights off in a row that time and the next night was when I was supposed to meet him, so he knew my schedule. We had to speak of it in order to plan our dates. I went to night classes, having grown used to being a night owl. But when I had days off together I didn't sleep much during them, instead twisting my sleep schedule for some daytime. So I was awake when he called. And I blinked at my phone where I sat in my apartment, reading one of my textbooks, so stunned that it had to ring again before I answered it. My heart thundered at the thought of hearing his voice on a phone call. "H-hello, sir?"

"Hello, kitten." His answer was soft, but there was something serious underlying it. "You have time before your classes?"

"Yes. Hours. I don't have to be to the first one until 5 and the next is at 7."

"Good. I'm going to send you an address. Will you go to it?"

An address? For what? But I didn't ask that. Instead, I smiled. "Yes, sir. Send it to me."

"Okay. Wear a dress. No collar, no ears." And that was it. He hung up and sent me the location.

It turned out to be a hotel when I looked up the address. I took the subway to get there and showed up in what he had commanded, my heart going haywire. A hotel? What was this, exactly? Was it a game of some kind? But he hadn't told me the command that went with a game. And he always spoke that special command. I turned a little more nervous as I approached the door because I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do there. All I had was an address and what to wear and it was a ritzy hotel too, part of a high end franchise, and with hundreds of rooms.

He met me in the lobby, though, and he gave me a smile, but it wasn't his playful smile I was used to and there was something serious in his eyes. Was this because of the story? Had I messed up? I really hoped not because he was satisfying some pretty deep needs within myself, and I had never meant to ruin our light games with talk or thoughts of a serious relationship. "Hello, sir."

"Hello, kitten. Come with me." He took my hand and that was all he said, for the time being. He guided me through the well kept lobby, past different check in desks for different tiers of members. His grip on my wrist was firm, something that reminded me of his restraints. My eyes went wide when he guided me through a housekeeping door to some back offices. They went wider when he took me to his own personal office, one that was fairly sized. And when he pulled me inside, he shut the door and locked it. No one had even been around to see us walk in, but he moved with such authority that I doubted anyone would question him.

Even so, I knew better than to make any sound. I was very aware that the walls here weren't part of a sex club and this wasn't a game. They weren't soundproofed and I bit my lip to be quiet, but for a moment it was hard. I wasn't expecting it when he pressed me forward over the desk, lifted my dress, and stroked his fingers between my legs. He massaged my clit through my g-string and I trembled with the effort of holding in the cries I so badly wanted to give him. The hardest part wasn't even biting against the pleasure. No, the hardest part was that I knew how much pleasure he took in hearing it, and I couldn't give him that.

So I gave it as best I could in other ways. I braced on his desk and lifted my hips, grinding my sex against his palm. He bent forward so he could whisper in my ear and his voice was pure desire. "I want you to cum on my hand to drench this pussy. Because I don't have any lubricant, kitten. I only have a condom and I want your asshole, so you're going to give us lubricant with your horny little cunt, understood?"

I turned my head to nod, eyes wide. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Not another sound. Not another word, no squeals. Be silent and take what I give you. If you can't be a good girl, then I'll stop and I'll be very displeased and dissatisfied, understood?" He spoke in that same voice, low and intent and serious, right at my ear.

I nodded frantically, refusing to even speak the words after he said that. I could deal with my own pain, but making him end when he was using me? That would have made me feel like a failure and I refused to do it.

I never knew how much willpower I actually had until I was serving someone and he gave me a command like that, but I learned. It was hard when he started, crazy hard, because he knew all of the right things to do. He stroked his fingers between my legs, in commanding strokes that ruled my pleasure. I resorted to spreading my legs incredibly wide, since I couldn't make sound. And in answer, when he couldn't spank me in approval, he violently twisted my thong string around his finger and pulled so the fabric teased across my clit, rubbing me. He tormented me with assaulting sensation, teasing me through the fabric until I came from that alone. And then he pushed it aside to spear his fingers into me and I almost let loose a cry, but I managed to bite my lip instead. I arched and he responded with the most deliciously strict finger fucking. I turned my head to look back, to see his face, and he was staring at my pussy with such fervor in his eyes, evidently highly aroused by the sight of it splaying open to accommodate his penetration. His gaze snapped to mine and I felt pinned by what I saw there. His stare alone seemed to hold sentences of dirty talk that he was dying to say, yet he didn't lean forward to speak those words. He suffered the silence with me, and it somehow felt even more intense than when we did talk together.

I had to turn away when he made me orgasm again, had to lift myself with my palms on the desk, had to throw my head back and open my mouth with soundless pleasure. I had to do those things because they aroused him and it was his needs that mattered for me. Words from my story rolled through my mind, words like service and use. In response to my display, he pulled his fingers from my pussy and leaned forward to shove them in my mouth instead. And I grabbed his hand to hold it closer, to take it when he thrust the digits between my lips, sucking my cum off and thrilling to the taste.

He pulled back only to undo his suit pants and fit himself with a condom and I watched silently, my eyes fixed on the cock I was intent on serving. I had been blindfolded each time he'd had it out so far, but he was large in all the best ways and he was so... masculine. Every movement was a confident one, something part of his dominance. And I was beginning to realize how complete his dominance was. I wondered if this was what had made me fantasize about him to begin with, these small mannerisms that translated to subliminal messages and let my body know what he was. I wondered right up until he walked back behind me and braced his legs, stroking his cock over my pussy lips, and then I didn't wonder anything.

I really did have to work to keep from sound, then, too. I mouthed profanities of my pleasure instead and he pressed inside of me and I closed my eyes, trembling, knowing that this was only to coat himself in my cum, so he could fuck my ass instead. And it was all too short. But I didn't protest when he withdrew, didn't even shake my head against the loss. Instead, I bowed lower to the desk, lifting on my toes to offer myself up. He had made it clear which hole he preferred to use at the moment, and I wanted him to use me as he wished. I thought of his date and wondered if he'd gotten release. I wondered if they'd even done anything or if he'd gotten pleasure at all. What if he hadn't? I let myself imagine him calling me to him so he could fuck my mouth, like the story, so he could relieve himself of any tension he might have had. I considered all of that right as he pressed to my asshole and I relaxed, trying to make it easy for him. He still had to fight, since I was so tight and he hadn't done so much as finger me or have me play with a toy beforehand. He held me still with a hand on my shoulder and I worked to accept his impalement. I let the blissful pain wash over me and felt my own arousal only intensify. This was what I craved. It felt right that his use of me should hurt, so that it was more difficult for me to obey. It forced me to focus on serving him, instead of seeking my own pleasure, and that was how it should be. That was perfect and whole and my subspace wrapped me in its grip.

I was still pulsating around his thick cock, my tight asshole squeezing in spasms of alarm as it tried to adjust to having such size hold it open, when he bottomed out and his thighs tapped my asscheeks. He didn't give me any time to adjust and I felt as if that was on purpose. He just started his railing me instead and, if I wasn't so focused on his commands that I was forced silent, I would have cried out for sure. But he was using me and I was focused on those commands and I bowed my head, weakly, instead. I took it when he clasped his hands around my waist and used his grip to fuck me back on his rhythm. He didn't give me a chance to meet his strokes. No, he was in the sadistic mood to just take instead and he did. He jerked me back and fucked me raw. After a moment, he paused to reach behind him, grabbed a chair, and he lifted his foot to its wooden slat the same way he'd done with the medical table, using the leverage so that he could drill me deeper and harder. God, he fucked with positions that only porn stars used and now I wanted more of those filthy ways.

I came, thinking of things from videos, and had to bite my forearm, but damn it, I wouldn't cry out. I wouldn't. Not now, not when he was using me to cum. I wouldn't take relief and then fuck up, because it'd be the worst possible ending. But he didn't make it easy. He kept drilling me, for so long that my asshole stopped squeezing his cock from aftershocks and I felt myself start to climb to another orgasm. I lowered my head and forced myself to remember his command, to fall to subspace so I wouldn't fail. No sounds. I was torquing under his use though, jerking wildly with his thrusts. I used the desk to help him and I was opened completely for him, in every way. The only thing that could have made it better was if I felt weak from some pain beforehand, so I could feel even more used and abused.

I arched on the table with the second orgasm, and I couldn't stop myself from reaching behind me and stroking my hand up his hair in my heat. He ripped my hand away, though, and held it behind my back, twisting it up almost painfully, restricting me. I snapped my teeth, my ass constricting him again. And still, he fucked and fucked.

It was a full two minutes after the second set of aftershocks faded that he finally inhaled above me, his own silent sound of torment, and he finished, jerking me back on him in final strokes that were not as fast, but they were the hardest yet. His fingers left dots of pain where he held me so fiercely through his orgasm.

When he released me, I looked down and, almost dazedly, noticed the marks on my torso. His nails had clawed so hard that there were a few tiny scratches of red, and red marks covered my sides and probably trailed up to my shoulders. He turned me to face him and then pushed on my shoulders, his eyes dark with stern dominance, and I realized he seemed trapped in a domspace in the same way I got trapped after a scene. Even then, I was trapped. I fell to my knees automatically, then sucked his thumb fervently when he pressed it to my lips. My asshole twitched, now that it was empty, and it made me suck all the harder. I floated in that subspace, feeling as if it was my most natural state of being after his use of me. My dress had fallen back down and I wished I was naked instead, so that he could see the marks of his use on me, knowing that he would love them. I wished he'd been able to use me more fully so that there could be more marks for him to see, any kind of marks that might please him. I had felt intense servility during our scenes, but after his abrupt use, I felt it so completely that it was stunning. He pulled his thumb away only to throw the condom away and dress himself again, and then he sat in the chair he had used to better fuck me. He leaned forward to grasp me by my hair and I crawled to him at the rough touch. I kissed his cock through his suit pants when he pressed my lips to it, but then he refilled my mouth with his fingers and I sucked gratefully, internally thanking him for filling up one of my holes. Good girl, kitten. Service slaves adore being filled. Oh, but I did love it, in any hole he wanted to give it to me. I sucked adoringly, caressed his fingers with my tongue in my thanks.

Little by little, he seemed to calm above me. He twisted his hand so I would be forced to nurse him at different angles, holding me tight so that my cheek was rubbing his cock. But his movements turned slower, until he removed his hand entirely and went to stroking my hair instead. He gentled, and seemed to tame whatever dragon had risen to his surface, until finally he lifted me to his lap and cradled me instead, touching my nose.

"I read your story," he finally said softly.

I took a breath and nuzzled him, laughing a little shakily. "Um. So, did you like it?"

It worked. His face regained some of the playfulness he usually had. Not that I minded that level of the hottest fucking intensity I'd ever felt in my life. "Yes, I damn well liked it." But then his face went back to something serious again. "You wrote that after my date." It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway and he tightened his arms around me. "Jesus. I'm trying to think of where to begin to explain to you what you did, without even knowing you were doing it." I tucked close to him, looking up while he gathered his thoughts and considered them. "That date was for a charity event for my parents. It was one of a political nature. I was seen with her, danced with her, said all the right things. But it ended up back at my apartment that night because she wasn't sober anymore, and I was internally cringing, wondering how the hell I was going to extricate myself from her in a tactful way that wouldn't piss her off.

"And then you were there in the lobby and it was awful, but we'll get to that in a minute. First, I don't take people to my place. The only reason why I would is to play with them in the dungeon, and I haven't done that since my divorce. I've played occasionally, in the lightest ways, at Sulfur's, but not at home. So there's that. But then I had her to deal with and when I got her upstairs, that actually didn't turn out to be as much of a problem as I thought. When I tried to give her water and used a wet washcloth on her head, she rubbed on me some and then passed out. So that was a good thing because then I could worry about letting her go easy, when she woke up and was thinking straight. But then there was you. It felt like the shittiest thing to do, to take someone there while you were working."

When he paused to think again, I asked softly, "How come? I mean we haven't established anything like dating, so it's not like you owe me anything like that."

He cringed at that. "You're right. We haven't and we definitely shouldn't, because I'm not a good person to date. But, even so, don't you see? You're someone who subs for me, who I'm showing the ropes and taking care of. If I were on a date and we ran into each other someplace by happenstance, it'd be one thing because it's not something to hide or anything like that. But bringing that one after what we did and throwing it in your face like that? It felt pretty shitty of me. I've spent the past two nights wondering if you'd bring it up, wondering if I should bring it up. I was still sending you fun little commands, so why didn't I just ask if you were okay about it, if it didn't sit well with me?

"And then you posted that. And Jesus, but there wasn't a jealous note to any of it. You took all of my work frustration of today, and all of the concern I felt the past two days, and turned it into something hot as all hell, kitten. It made me think of you in my dungeon, waiting to serve me in whatever way I wanted you to."

I laughed. "Well, I hope so. That was the idea anyway. Also, being really horny and weird has its advantages sometimes, with things like that."

He curled me closer, touching my nose with a mischievous grin. "Horny and submissive, you mean, not horny and weird." His voice turned softer while he studied me, his expression unreadable for a moment. "I fantasized about chaining you by my bed, so that I could wake up and use your mouth or your ass whenever I wanted, just because I could. I thought about setting up a slave bed for you, about collaring you in heavy iron, so you would feel it with every movement."

I shifted on his lap. "Um, I'm trying very hard to make sure all the cum that I'm dripping gets on my dress around the thong, instead of your suit pants, but it's pretty difficult."

He laughed at that. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I asked you to play, Hunter. Sorry to bother you during the day like that."

"Yes, how very goddamn dare you call me to give me orgasms and some seriously bitching sex. You're just the actual worst." I don't know where the burst of courage came from, but now that I had bowed to his games, it gave me a sense of comfort around him and I could tease him. What was more, it came easy.

He grinned and curled a hand around my throat. "Mouthy little brat." I giggled and lifted my head so he could choke me easier, if he wanted to, and his eyes darkened with that heat he got with his dominance. But instead, he forced himself to let me go and stroked my hair.

"No, really, if I'm not in class or anything, you can message me anytime." I looked him up and down pointedly. "You are mildly hot and all, and somewhat good at the whole topping thing, so..." I laughed when he wrestled with me in the chair, lifting me to smack my ass.

"You're just a bundle of surprises, aren't you? So sweet and so taunting at the same time."

I grinned and nuzzled him. "Honestly, I think it's only because you said you had a bad couple of days and I want to cheer you up."

At those words, I knew we had come to some kind of crossroads. He met my gaze with such desire hidden behind the playfulness and I thought over everything he had told me, thinking it through with logic. Why feel like he owed me something after his date at all? The look in his eyes when he spoke of his fantasies had a sense of wariness behind them, as if he was concerned about those fantasies of me.

Damn, what heartache had come of his past marriage? Poor guy. Top or bottom, dom or sub, sadist or masochist, it didn't matter. Heartache was still shit. I curled closer to him and asked him about his work, where he told me about his hotels and what he did. I asked him about the stressful bits of his past days. I asked everything, except how to go about making those wicked fantasies into realities. My Sir was uncomfortable with those topics and I wanted to please him more than anything else. And it worked too. When he let me leave him, he was smiling again, the wild lusts I had evidently inspired soothed and calmed.

At least for the moment. It turns out that two people can only lie to themselves, and each other, for so long.