Chapter 2: First Taste of Submission
Her fingers were still cool on his cheeks, but the heat coming off his skin now was something else entirely. A furnace had been lit inside his slender frame. The kiss was a slick, deepening thing, all her invention and his stumbling, eager response. When she pulled back, his eyes were glazed, his lips parted, breathing already ragged.
“You said you wanted to serve me,” she murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in the quiet room. The bass from the party was a distant ghost now.“So serve. Start with this.”
She took a step back and raised her arms, a slow, deliberate gesture. The lamplight caught the silky material of her blood-colored dress. “Undress me.Slowly. I want to watch you figure it out.”
Matt’s hands lifted, hovering for a second before they settled on her hips. They trembled slightly. He found the hem of the slip, the delicate fabric whispering against his knuckles as he gathered it. He began to draw it up, revealing her thighs, the plain black lace of her panties, the smooth plane of her stomach. The dress caught under her arms and he hesitated, fumbling.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her tone leaving no room for question.
He lifted it over her head, the silk sighing as it released her. She shook her hair out, a dark cascade over her bare shoulders, and stood before him wearing only the lace panties and the locket, which lay cold and heavy between her small breasts. She watched his face, the way his eyes drank her in—the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, the dark peaks of her nipples hardening in the cool air. There was desire there, but it was a flat, obedient thing. It belonged to her.
“Good,” she breathed. “Now the rest.”
His fingers hooked into the sides of her panties. He knelt, awkwardly, on the rug as he drew them down her legs. He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her skin. When she stepped free of the lace, she placed a bare foot on his shoulder, not pushing, just resting. A claim. He looked up the length of her body, his expression one of devout confusion.
“Stand up.”
He did. She reached for the button of his jeans, popping it open with a sharp twist. The zipper’s rasp was loud. She pushed his jeans and compression shorts down in one rough motion, freeing his cock. It was already hard, straining upwards. A needy, pathetic little thing, she thought, but useful. She closed her hand around the shaft, giving him one rough, dry stroke that made his whole body jerk.
“You’re already so fucking ready for me,” she said, her voice dripping with contemptuous pleasure. “All that principled bullshit by the kitchen counter, and look at you now. My good boy.”
He whimpered. The sound went straight to her core, a spark of pure power.
She pushed him backwards. He stumbled, his legs hitting the edge of the mattress, and sat down hard. The black sheets were cool and slippery under his palms. Cat followed him down, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, her knees sinking into the bedding on either side of his hips. She didn’t kiss him. She just looked down at him, her hair forming a curtain that blocked out the rest of the room. Her cunt was hot against his stomach.
“You don’t get to fuck me,” she whispered, leaning close so her lips brushed his ear. “I fuck you. You’re just the toy. Understand?”
“Yes,” he breathed, the word a sigh of surrender.
“Say it.”
“I’m your toy.”
She reached between them, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. She was wet, the readiness a physiological betrayal he had no part in. She positioned him, then sank down onto him in one relentless, conquering motion.
He cried out—a short, sharp sound of overwhelmed sensation. She was tight, a silken, clenching heat that swallowed him whole. She didn’t give him a second to adjust. She began to move, setting a brutal, rhythmic pace from the start, riding him with the focused intensity of a mechanic working a tool.
“That’s it,” she grunted, her hands braced on his chest, her nails digging in.“Take it. This is what you wanted. This is all you’re good for now.”
Her hips pistoned, taking him deep with every downward stroke. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies filled the room, syncopated with her ragged breaths. Matt’s hands fluttered at her sides, unsure where to land. She grabbed his wrists and slammed them down onto the mattress above his head, pinning them there.
“Don’t you fucking touch me unless I say,” she snarled, her face a mask of fierce concentration. Sweat beaded along her hairline. “You just lie there and take what I give you.”
He obeyed, his body taut as a bowstring, his hips lifting off the bed to meet her drives on instinct. His eyes were wide, locked on hers, full of a terror and ecstasy that were becoming indistinguishable. The command in his head was a drumbeat now: Serve.Obey. Feel good.
Cat leaned back, changing the angle, grinding down on him so hard he saw stars. The new pressure made her gasp. “Oh fuck, yes.Right there. You feel that? That’s mine.”
She increased her pace, bouncing on him now, her tits bouncing with the force of it. The locket swung wildly, a silver blur against her skin. The room smelled of sex and sweat and her jasmine perfume. She was close. She could feel the coil tightening low in her belly, the inevitable wave gathering.
“You’re gonna make me come,” she panted, her rhythm starting to fracture. “And you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna remember who owns this cock. Who you belong to.”
Her words unraveled him. With a choked, broken sound, his body went rigid beneath her. His cock pulsed inside her, hot and helpless, as his orgasm ripped through him. The raw, involuntary submission of it was the final trigger for her. She let out a sharp, vicious cry as her own climax seized her, clenching around him in wave after wave of possessive pleasure.
She collapsed forward, her small body shuddering, her forehead damp against his shoulder. She stayed there for a long moment, listening to the frantic hammer of his heart, feeling the weak tremors that still ran through his limbs.
Slowly, she pushed herself up. She lifted herself off him, a slick separation, and swung her legs off the bed. She stood, naked and gleaming in the low light, and looked down at him. He was a wreck—pale skin flushed, chest heaving, eyes hollow and spent.
She walked to the nightstand, picked up a half-empty glass of water, and drank from it. Then she turned back.
“Clean me up.”
Matt blinked, processing the command through a fog of exhaustion and residual bliss. He moved stiffly, getting onto his knees on the floor before her. He leaned forward, his tongue tentative at first, then more thorough, lapping at the mess of their coupling that gleamed on her inner thighs. The taste of himself and her was bitter and intimate. He did it with a solemn dedication that made her smile.
When he finished, she tangled her fingers in his hair, not gently. “Get on the bed. Sleep.”
He crawled onto the black sheets, curling onto his side like a child. The profound emptiness in his head was a sweet relief. The last thing he saw before sleep took him was Cat, pulling on a silk robe, her silhouette against the neon bleeding through the blinds as she lit a cigarette. She took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that hung in the still air.
She looked at his sleeping form, a pale shape against the dark linen. The party was still thrumming through the walls, a world away.
“Starting tomorrow,” she said softly, to the room, to the sleeping boy, to herself, “you come here after work.Every day. You don’t make other plans. You are my plan.” She tapped ash into an empty tequila bottle. “We’re going to have so much fun, Matty.”
Outside, a siren wailed, fading into the city’s eternal noise. Inside, the only sound was Matt’s deep, even breathing, and the quiet click of the locket as Cat fastened it back around her neck.