Unexpected Submission Ch. 01

As the event wound down, Brian excused himself from the crowd surrounding him, picked up a fresh drink, and carefully stepped over the velvet rope placed to keep attendees from the second floor of the club. The house music faded slowly as he climbed the stairs.

He was all but running away from his own book signing, but he needed a few minutes of relative quiet.

The top of the stairway opened onto a balcony overlooking the first floor. The music was once again loud, but it was dark, and he was no longer besieged by a horde of people asking the same questions over and over. Booths stretched out on both sides, and he stayed away from those on his left lest someone from below see him.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out figures in some of the booths on his right.

Apparently, he thought, I'm not the only one looking for privacy.

He walked to the far end of the balcony, and sat down in the last booth. He propped his right elbow on the table, and dropped his head into his hand. He massaged his forehead with his fingers as he swirled Coca-Cola around in the glass in his left hand. He heard the ice in his drink clinking against the sides of the glass. After a minute, he took a sip.

"Christ," he said, out loud. "Whose bonehead idea was it to have a book signing in a club?"

"Mine," said a decidedly female voice in the dark.

He turned his head to the left. She stood in the aisle, silhouetted by the lights from below.

"Well," she continued, "it's not all my fault. My agency worked with yours. We thought it would boost interest amongst a younger crowd; late 20s, early 30s."

The figure stepped closer. He'd seen her earlier – been introduced to her – and had watched her move about the room while he signed books and talked with fans. She was hard to miss, wearing a flowing, bright – almost neon – orange dress. In front, it ended just above her knees, but in back it fell to the mid-calf. Black four-inch ankle boots augmented what he estimated to be a height of 5'5".

He thought her nose was a bit flat, and her cheekbones broad, but she was beautiful – that was undeniable. She wasn't bone thin, possessing a healthy build, and bronze skin. Her straight, chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, then gathered to the left and allowed to cascade over her shoulder onto her chest. The vision of her striking green eyes was enhanced by rectangular, black framed eyeglasses. She carried an oversized handbag, clutching it to her body as she stood in front of him.

He tried to remember her name.

Lisa? Lindsay? he thought.

"Who are you, again?" he said, more than asked.

"I'm Linda," she said. "I'm a marketing manager for Stromboli vodka, the company sponsoring your signing."

"Ah, yes," he said. "Sorry, I meet a hundred new people at every one of these."

"That's OK," she said, smiling.

"No, it's not," he said. "A woman as beautiful as you should be remembered; even celebrated."

She laughed.

"I'm used to being in the background," she said. "If everything runs smoothly, nobody notices me."

"I noticed you," he said.

"Sure you did," she teased.

"I did," he assured her. "Especially your green eyes."

She knew he couldn't possibly see her eyes in the darkness of the balcony.

"So, Linda," he began, "what can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing." she said. "I just wanted to make sure you're OK. And, to see if you need anything. We'll be out of here soon."

"I just came up here to get away for a few minutes," he said. "And, as for what I need, you can't give me that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," she said, turning to go.

"You're not," he said, quickly. "I didn't mean that. I just...I don't really like people...crowds. That's why I write, so I don't have to talk. Please, would you like to join me?"

She hesitated for a moment, then moved to the booth, set her bag on the seat, and sat across the table from him."

"But, you speak so well," she said. "I heard you answering questions."

"Thank you," he said. "I fake it."

"Not the words though," she said. "I mean, the stories you wrote; they aren't fake, are they?"

"Well, it is sold in the fiction section," Brian said.

"But, it says 'loosely based on actual events,'" Linda said.

"Yes, it does," he granted.

"How loosely?" she asked.

He laughed. Then, sensing her disappointment, he looked into her eyes for a few moments.

"I'll tell you this," he said. "Everything in those stories is either something I've done, or is a fantasy of mine – something I want to do."

"Where's the line?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked in return.

"Which are experiences, and which are fantasies?" she asked.

He smiled.

"If I told you that, it might ruin the book," he said.

Neither spoke for nearly a minute.

"I wish I could be more like Gaby," she said, at last.

"How?" he asked.

"More open to new things," she said. "I mean, I'm no prude, but some of things she does – that you wrote about her doing – they just...I don't know."

"Turned you on?" he asked.

She turned her head away from him.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he said. "I wrote the stories to turn people on. Fuck, I started writing them because they turned me on."

"Really?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Absolutely," he assured her.

She shifted in her seat.

"So, what do you like so much about Gaby?" he asked.

"I don't know," Linda said. "She takes chances. She loses control. And, she's a bit...dangerous."

"Well, she gives the control to Ben because she trusts him," Brian said. "She knows he loves her, and while she likes to be dominated, she knows he won't hurt her. They're a perfectly matched couple. They love each other. They can give and take, and talk about everything. And, there's no jealousy. That's why it's fantasy."

She laughed.

"Maybe that's what I want," she said. "I want to do all the things I read about in your book, but I need someone to take control...someone I can trust."

"Find him...or her," he said.

"It's not that easy," she said.

"So, no boyfriend?" he asked.

"I'm seeing someone," she said, almost reluctantly.

"But..." he said.

"He just...I don't know," she said, then paused for a moment. "Guys my age seem to think taking control means slapping my ass a few times, calling me their whore, and then forcing their cock down my throat until I gag."

"A big old thank you to modern porn," Brian sighed.

"It's not that I necessarily object to any of those things, but the guys just don't seem to get that I want to cum, too," she said, trailing off. "Your male characters understand."

"I don't know if it's an age thing, or an individual thing," Brian said. "I love making a woman cum. I love seeing her face; hearing the sounds she makes; feeling her body react. So, I guess that trickles down to the characters I write."

The other thing I hate, is when guys I've been with talk to their friends," she said. "I usually end up being called weird, or slut, or worse."

"There's no such thing as a 'slut,'" Brian said. "There's nothing wrong with liking to have sex. Or, liking to do things other people don't like."

"I know," she said, "but..."

"I've learned a lot of things in my life," he said, interrupting her. "And, one of the most important is that it doesn't mean shit. In a hundred years, you'll be dead, and very little of this will matter. What people think of you now or then won't mean a damned thing. Sure, you can change the world; bring about peace in the Middle East; cure cancer; win a dozen awards – it won't affect how your private life is judged. Whether you like to be handcuffed and spanked, or you get caught running naked through Times Square; if you like to be dominant or submissive; even if your ex- posts your 'No, Baby, I swear I'm the only one who'll ever see it' sex tape on-line; it might rate a line or two in your Wikipedia entry, and that's it. And, if you're dead – and if everyone you know, and who judged you, is dead too – what will you care? Too many people in this world give a shit about things that don't matter a bit; especially other people's shit. I figure, if you're not hurting someone else, and what you're doing works for you, fuck what other people think."

"I try to think like that," she said.

"It took me a long time to develop that attitude," Brian said. "Do you know why it took so long for me to publish Ben & Gabrielle? It wasn't because I couldn't find a publisher. Christ! After that 50 Shades crap came out, a monkey with a typewriter could publish erotica. It was because I worried about what people would think; what my parents would think; what their friends might say. I finally decided it didn't matter. Erotica is only part of what I write, and if they don't like it, they don't have to read it. And, if that's what I'm remembered for, so be it."

"I'll try," she said.

"Don't wait around thinking there will be a better time," he said. "There won't be. There is only time, and it goes a lot faster than you realize. Before you know it, you'll be 30. You'll go from 30 to 40 in about 10 minutes. And, from 40 to 50 even faster. Einstein, or Hawking, or whoever might argue with me, but time really does speed up as you get older."

He fell silent for a few moments.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, raising his glass toward her. "Don't spend too much time sitting around, listening to old men spout off about what you should be doing."

She laughed.

"You're not old," she said.

"Sadly, I am," he said, "in body, at least. When I was your age, I thought 30 was old, and that I'd never get there. Shit, there were a few days when I was in the Army, I didn't think I'd make it to 22. Now, I'm 45 and there's very little I wouldn't trade to go back to 25 knowing what I know now."

"But, you can't go back," she said, before he could. "You have to do what you can with the time you've got, right?"

"That's right," he said, laughing.

She laughed, too. At that moment, the music playing on the first floor changed. The volume dropped significantly, and the pounding beat of dance music was replaced with a generic pop song. The whirling, multi-colored lights disappeared, and the overheads on the first floor came on. The large fluorescent lights increased the indirect illumination reaching the balcony.

Must be closing time, Brian thought.

"I should get back downstairs. My people are probably wondering where I disappeared to," she said, finally. "Thank you for talking to me like this."

She stood up, then turned to open her bag. After rifling through it for a few seconds, she pulled out a copy of Brian's book.

"Do you have the kitchen sink in there?" Brian asked.

"Everything but," she said. "I carry all the stuff I think we might possibly need in almost any situation."

"Ah, I like a woman who is prepared for anything," he said.

"Could I ask you to autograph this for me?" she asked, holding out the book.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll sign it, if you do something for me."

"Of course," she said. "Anything you want."

"Take off your panties," he said, matter-of-factly.

She hesitated, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

"What?" she asked, quietly.

"Take off your panties," he said again, slowly enunciating each word as she looked at him.

"I can't..." she began, her face flushing the dim light. "There are people..."

"I thought you said you wanted to try being more like Gaby," he said.

"I do," she said, "but, not here."

"Do you want to just read and daydream about being like Gaby, or do you want to do it?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

"I'm not going to ask again, Linda," he said. "Do it right now."

She turned her head and looked down the aisle, trying to see the people in the other booths. After a moment, she placed the book on the table and moved her hands to the front of her dress. Still unsure, she crouched slightly, moved her hands under the fabric, and up her legs.

She looked into his eyes. His did not waver from hers.

As he watched, she slipped her fingers inside the top of her panties and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them, carefully. He reached out with his left hand to steady her, and she took his hand with her right.

She held up a pair of flesh-colored lace boyshorts, hooked on the first two fingers of her left hand, displaying them for him.

"Come here," he said, gently pulling her toward him.

She stepped closer. He released her hand and took the underwear from her. He dropped the delicate fabric on the table, and then pushed the heavy wooden table to the other side of the booth. He scooted himself back, giving her some space.

She stood, looking into his eyes in the dim light.

"Show me," he said.

Again, she hesitated. He waited.

Slowly, she grasped the hem of her dress, and lifted it upward until her hands reached her waist.

Brian lowered his eyes to her cleanly shaven pubic region.

"Touch it," he said.

She bunched up her dress in her left hand, and moved her right downward. Moving her left foot a few inches on the left – spreading her legs slightly – she slipped her fingers between her legs.

She moaned softly as her middle finger brushed her clit.

"That's right, get them wet," he said, as she moved her fingers against her lips.

He spread her legs farther.

"Put them inside," he ordered.

This time she complied immediately, slipping her forefinger into her wetness. After a few strokes, her middle finger joined the first.

"Is it wet?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Faster," he said.

She did as he ordered. Only a minute later, he saw her mouth fall open, and her knees bend slightly, as if wanting to buckle.

"Are you close?" he asked.

"Yessss," she hissed.

He smiled for a moment.

"Stop," he demanded.

It took a few seconds for his command to register in her brain.

"What?" she said, confused.

"You heard me," he said.

She pulled her hand from between her legs.

"Clean off your fingers," he said.

As he watched, she moved her fingers to her lips. She stuck out her tongue and licked them slowly, tasting her juices. After a moment, she took the fingers into her mouth and sucked on them, cleaning them thoroughly.

He moved his right hand to his crotch and adjusted himself through his pants. Her eyes followed his hand.

"Put your foot up here," he said, patting the blood red vinyl.

She complied, silently, taking a step closer and placing her right foot between his legs, on the seat.

Brian placed his hands on the toe of her boot. He let his fingers trail over the leather for a moment. He lifted his head and looked at her face as he moved his hands upward. When his fingers touched the skin above her boot, a small moan escaped her lips.

He trailed his fingers over her warm skin. Without breaking eye contact, he placed his left hand on her hip. His right slowly moved up her calf, over her knee, under her dress, and along her thigh. She trembled as he moved higher. Her head fell back and her mouth fell open as his fingers found her sex.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

"Mmmm, so hot," he said, smiling.

He slid his forefinger between her wet lips. Moving it back and forth several times, it quickly became slick with her juices. Turning his right hand slightly, he let his fingers brush her clit.

She gasped.

"Take your top down," Brian said.

She looked toward the other booths again. She couldn't see the other people, but she felt sure their eyes were locked on her.

"I..." she began.

Brian slipped his middle finger into her pussy, pushing until his second knuckle entered her. She grabbed at his wrist with her left hand.

"Yesss," she hissed.

He added his forefinger to her wetness and her left knee nearly buckled. She reached out to steady herself by grabbing his shoulder with her right hand. Her nails dug into his skin.

Brian reached up with his left hand and pulled the strap of her dress off her shoulder. She released his wrist and reached up to pull the other strap. The top slid down to her waist, exposing her flawless A-cup breasts. He placed his hand on her right breast and felt her hard nipple brushing against his palm.

He pushed his fingers deeper inside her. Her leg trembled as she tried to remain standing. She tried to lower her right leg to the floor, to steady herself.

"No," he said, loudly and slapped her nipple hard.

"Fuck," she nearly screamed, stopping herself knowing everyone in the club would hear.

"Don't fucking move," he ordered.

"Please," she whispered.

He slapped her nipple again, while burying his fingers in her cunt. Her body jumped at the mix of pleasure and pain.

Knowing she couldn't remain standing much longer, he pulled her to him, spinning her body so she sat on his lap, facing away from him.

Her ass rubbed against his hard cock through his pants as she wiggled on top of him. His right hand returned to her crotch and he rubbed her clit hard. With his left hand, he took hold of her hair, and pulled her head back.

"Make me cum," she pleaded.

He pulled harder on her hair.

"Beg me," he said.

"Pleeease, Sir," she whispered. "I need to...I need to cum."

He gave her nipple another sharp slap.

"Do not call me 'Sir'," he growled, as she moaned.

She writhed on top of him, and he began to feel small tremors running through her body. Knowing she was on the verge of orgasm, he removed his hands from her body, dropping them to his sides.

"Nooo," she pleaded. "I'm gonna cummm..."

Her breath came in short huffs as she continued to grind herself against him. Her body began to convulse and he realized he'd waited too long, pushing her too close to the edge before stopping.

"Don't cum," he said in her ear.

"Oh, God! I..." she began, but a wave of pleasure washed over her, and her speech dissolved into a long moan.

Worried she would fall off him, he put his arms around her. Her body contorted and her knees came up toward her chest. She dug her fingernails into his arms, scratching his skin.

Brian twisted his head to watch her face as she came. He could tell she was fighting the urge to cry out.

Again, he pushed his right hand between her legs. His fingers quickly found her clit and he rubbed fast and hard. She nearly screamed as another orgasm rocked her body before the first had died away. Her body shook on top of his and she fought to breathe.

"Please..." she tried to begin.

He ignored her attempt to speak, continuing to move his fingers. Squirming, she whimpered and gasped as he drove her toward the edge yet again.

A minute later, as the waves of her third orgasm receded, her body went limp on top of him. He moved his fingers away from her clit, letting them trail over the skin of her inner thighs, then up to her stomach. His left hand rested on her hip, steadying her.

"Are you OK?" he asked, as diminishing aftershocks continued to run through her body.

She turned her head. It took a few moments for her to collect herself.

"I don't know," she said. "I just came so hard I can't feel anything right now."

"Just relax for a minute," he said. "Then, we'll start with your punishment."

Her eyes went wide.

"Punishment?" she asked. "For what?"

"You came after I told you not to," he said.

"I couldn't help it," she cried. "You made me."

He moved his left hand to her chest and slapped her nipple. Her body jumped as if hit by a jolt of electricity.

"I'm sorry," she cried.

"Don't apologize for your pleasure," he said. "That's the whole point of this. But, you did disobey me. Now you have to be punished, so you'll learn."

"How?" she questioned.

Brian turned his head to look toward the other booths. The brighter lights from the lower level allowed him to see three were occupied by couples. At the moment, they each seemed to be minding their own business, though Brian felt sure some of them had been watching before he turned his head.