Sugar Vol. 01 Ch. 01

My heart thuds in my throat in synchronisation with the flashing haloes of the elevator buttons. 1, 2, 3... right up to the top, leaving the world I know behind me. The doors slide open (blank, apathetic, clinical) & I step into the echo of a marble floor before teetering apprehensively down the glistening corridor. It smells like money, like power, so unfamiliar it almost makes me spin on my heel & go back -- back, back, before I go too far. The glaring, intrusive brightness of too many reflective surfaces shows me as I am: small, scared, uncertain. Wondering how I got here. Wondering how many more steps I've yet to take before the floor falls out from under me. Before I lose the illusion of power & autonomy that I cling to, as if it's anything more than an illusion.

The door's not hard to find. It's right at the end of the corridor, like it's waiting for me. End of the line, start of... start of what? The fall? The undoing? Like I'll somehow lose myself behind that door?

I'm in it for the money, I think to myself as I raise my hand to knock, just one night & I'm out of here. Just one night, & in the morning I'll still be me. I can forget all this, being brought so low I had to give them my power for a fee -- but there are other ways, darling. There are dead-end jobs, so dull you couldn't bear it. So why here? Don't tell me it's just for the money. I knock: once, twice, so anxious, so exact, trying to drown out the noise of that voice in my head. He opens the door almost instantly & everything is gone but him.

The first thing I see is his eyes. They bore into me, right through me, with an intensity that pins me down like a flightless butterfly. Like there is nowhere I can hide. Like every detail is open for him to extricate & analyse, pulling me apart with that stern hard gaze.

The rest of him builds itself around those eyes, but none of it so instantly compelling. Tall, square shoulders, dark greying hair, heavy brow. All these details of men, all these insinuations of strength, of power. His hand on the doorframe, gentle but as if he could break it all the same. His lips, quirking into a smile that I cannot define as admiring or mocking. As if he could break me all the same.

"Well, hello there," -- his voice, deep but playful, like this is all a game -- "won't you come in & make yourself comfortable."

I step through the doorway, he moves aside to let me pass. I can feel those piercing eyes on me, watching my tentative progress into the room. It's so white, everything's so white, like this big void come to capture my fall, to strip me of everything I thought I knew. I instinctively make my way to the big leather couch, perching on its edge & looking around with my eyes all big like a lost bird. That smile is still on his face, as if he likes what he sees. I can't help but think of the dichotomy of prey & predator.

"Can I get you a drink?"

I look up at him, he towers over me, smiling, smiling. I almost stutter on my response & he raises an eyebrow, that smile only getting deeper.

"Uh -- yes please." I give a little laugh that's almost a cough & add "something strong, if you don't mind."

He glides to the kitchen (how can a man so big seem to glide like that?) & opens a bottle of wine like he's cracking its neck. He pours it into two glasses, the oversized ones rich people always seem to have, & glides back over to me with the bottle tucked under his arm. He passes me one of the glasses, puts the bottle down on the coffee table in front of me (also glass), & taps his to mine with a little clink. All of these motions are delicate somehow, I can't help but notice as I take a sip. The wine's smooth, gentle, rich, not like I'm used to, & my sips become prolific -- as if I'm trying to drown something, some fear.

He's still looking at me with that damn smile, like he's sizing me up -- hell, I could tell him I'm small. Small & getting smaller, sinking through these stupid heels right into his neat white carpet.

"What's your name?" he asks me around the corners of that smile, his eyes not looking away from mine even for a moment.

"I -- I --" I really do stutter this time. Unexpectedly he laughs, deep chuckle like my father's.

"No, I understand, you don't want this world to cross over into that one. This is merely... what is this to you? Labour? Fantasy? Oh sugar, you know I would prefer the latter."

My eyes flash, & his smile slips into the realms of a smirk. "Oh, Sugar."

I look up at him, I don't know whether I'm asking a question or answering it but either way it must be something cos he grabs me, he takes my chin in his big rough hand & lifts it up like I wasn't quite meeting his eyes. & I'm stuck there, I'm stuck there immobile & incapable of looking away.

"You're a shy one, aren't you?" he asks, or tells me, & I would nod if I could.

He suddenly releases me as if I've grown red-hot -- I wouldn't be surprised -- & I cradle my chin instinctively as he sinks with a powerful elegance into an armchair perpendicular to the couch.

"Forgive me --" he says, running a hand across his stubble in the most self-conscious movement I've seen from him so far. "I can get carried away, especially with women as... youthful, & innocent as you." He looks at me, assessing. The wine glass is back in my hands & I'm throwing it back like I haven't seen a drink in weeks. He takes it from me to refill it & I blush. "You are innocent, yes?"

"Well, if you mean things like this... then yes." It's the most I've said all night.

"Mmmm, I thought so. What I mean to say is that I don't want to rush you. But if I may be so bold as to ask... why this? Why are you here, if you are so shy?"

The question reverberates all through me & I tip my second glass of wine to my lips before answering. "Well... the money, you know, I've been having a hard time..."

"Is that all?" His eyes are sparkling now, that smile dancing. "Why this path, of all paths, if not for something more?"

God, how is it that he sees so much with those eyes? "Well, I guess..."

"You want it, don't you? What a man like me can give you? Even if you don't know how to put that longing into words. You want to feel a release... the release of giving up your power. Isn't it so tiring to cling to? Aren't you tired? Don't you wish that you could just... succumb? To the vulnerability that aches in you? It is like a wound, the pain of which you have never been able to name, or truly feel. Women like you, these young, gentle, women, they are always hurt, & it is never on their own terms. Their power is taken, stolen, & never given freely. Don't you wish to give, give it all up? What freedom there is in surrender. Freedom that fighters like you have never felt, only yearned for, inexplicably, indefinably. Oh sweet, sweet, Sugar, I know what it is that you want."

My eyes are fixed on him, as his are on mine, & they are wide, they are open, they are broken, they are...

"Stand up. Let me see you."

I take another swig of wine before I rise, tugging my skirt down shyly with one hand as I rest the glass on the coffee table with the other. It makes a clinking sound -- like hardness & fragility intertwined.

He stays sitting as I stand before him, leaning back in his armchair swirling his wine in its glass as his eyes travel slowly up & down, as if I'm a piece of art for him to assess with a critical eye.

"Your outfit," he says, "did you choose it?"

"Uh... yes. I thought I ought to... dress up a bit for the occasion." I'm wearing a tight short skirt, & a crop top exposing maximum cleavage, & these damn heels. I thought if I was gonna do this whole sugar baby thing I may as well dress the part.

"Is this what you usually wear?" he's asking me now.

"Well... no," I say, embarrassed at being so transparent.

"Take them off -- the shoes, I mean."

"Uh, ok."

His eyes are laughing at me now. "For future reference, I think you'll find the right phrase is 'yes, sir'.

My heart is in my throat, in my mouth -- "uh, yes, sir."

I bend down to undo the straps of my shoes, hyperconscious of trying to be sexy while I do it but I'm fumbling & teetering awkwardly & his eyes are still on me as I remove one shoe & eventually the next while stumbling there all imbalanced. I put them tentatively to the side & stand facing him, waiting for something, feeling so very particularly small in this moment, maybe this was why I wore heels in the first place...

He stands as he starts speaking, laying a hand on my shoulder, caressing my chin with his thumb...

"I want you to understand that you do not have to agree to everything I say. Your consent is essential in this arrangement, & you may remove yourself from the situation at any time you wish with merely a word. I do not want you to feel pressured, or uncomfortable in any activity we may undertake. So often these lines of consent can be blurred where power dynamics are in play, but I do not wish to rob you of your power -- only for you to give it up willingly."

His hand is on my waist now, running up the small of my back.

"However -- in those instances where you do consent, I want you to play your part. To submit to me."

-- a quiver between my thighs, fear, or excitement? --

"I will push you. Challenge you -- that is the beauty of such a dynamic. You may discover things about yourself you never thought to know, about your body, your... intimate psychology. You may release things you did not know you were holding onto inside yourself. You may find the purest pleasure in pain you would never willingly inflict upon yourself. Maybe a girl so sweet, so shy as you..." -- his hand runs through my hair, wraps itself around the back of my neck -- "would have had a softer, sweeter time with a lesser man, a gentler man, but looking at you I think... you want, you need a man like me."

I'm looking at him, my eyes wide, afraid but... willing. Willing to accept whatever challenge he might lay on me. His hand tightens on my neck & my lips part with a little gasp. I'm anticipating something, some movement, some hard kiss or the continued roaming of his hands but he merely releases his grip as if he's come too close to me & takes a step away.

"Do you understand everything I've just said?" he asks of me in a demanding tone, all playfulness gone from his voice, my answer evidently of the strictest importance.

"Yes... sir," I respond, knowing there's no going back... knowing I don't want to go back. I am suspended in this man's gaze, at the mercy of his power.

"Get on your knees." It isn't a question. I lower myself to the carpeted floor, still looking up at him, awaiting his next command. He gestures to the glass coffee table beside me.

"Palms down. Don't move them unless I tell you to. If one finger comes off that glass, we're done here."

I reposition myself so I'm facing the table & put my hands firmly on the glass surface, fingers spread. It feels hard, & cold, but I keep them there. I don't want to leave, especially now with my breath coming in quick bursts of anticipation.

Our held gaze is broken, I'm looking instead at the backs of my hands -- so tight with tension as if I'm afraid to move them an inch.

"Bend down. Knees apart."

I shuffle my knees outwards. Bend down so my torso's pressed to the glass. I can feel the cold on my nipples through the thin material of my shirt.

I feel exposed now, vulnerable, my ass in the air & this skirt not covering much. I can't see anything except my own hands pressed against the table but I feel him move behind me, put his hand on my thigh, push my skirt higher around my waist. I shiver at his touch. At his finger running up my exposed crotch, back down again. I can't seem to help but press myself into him. His free hand wraps itself around the back of my neck, pressing my cheek into the glass as I turn my head slightly towards him.

He deftly removes my panties, tugging them down my thighs. He leaves them stretched between my spread knees, his finger continuing its journey, only now nothing separating it from that hot, begging part of me.

"Oh Sugar, you're so wet. You like it, don't you. Being told what to do." His finger slips inside me, just once, before forming circles around my clit. I lean back into it, wanting it inside me, a tiny moan escaping my lips as he increases the pressure, stirring up that desperate feeling.

His hands reposition themselves so he grips both asscheeks, spreading them outwards, my pussy opening itself up to him. Before I know it he's bending over me, his tongue between my legs, licking me up & down before focussing on my clit. A finger in my pussy, two fingers... I push myself into him, feeling the sensation build, my breath fogging up the glass beneath my face. It seems like mere moments before I'm coming, his fingers still inside me, pressing me up against the table where my hands remain, unmoving.

I'm still lost in the throes of ecstasy, my thighs spasming slightly, when the first blow hits. I gasp in surprise & pain, the sting lingering.

"Pleasure... & pain," he says as he spanks me again. It hurts even worse this time, the sting layering itself on top of the other. "You will find that they feed into each other quite naturally. You cannot have too much of a good thing or there will be no... suspense" -- another blow, I hiss in air -- "or anticipation" -- the other asscheek this time, the first is throbbing delicately -- "you must find balance, explore the dichotomy... open up new layers of sensation, of surrender..." I'm ready for the next blow. I can sense the arc of his palm through the air before it hits me, & in that moment I want it, I'm waiting for it. The sting symbolises his power over me, the freedom I have in surrender, in giving up control. I wait for the next but he abruptly stands up, lifts his wine glass by its stem & reclines back in his armchair. My hands are still pressed to the table, my panties around my knees, & I look at him with a question in my eyes as he takes a nonchalant sip.

"All in good time, Sugar. Too much pain or too much pleasure might ruin a newfound treasure."