Glancing at his reflection in her mirror, she followed the movements of his hands. He was standing in front of the vanity in the en suite, twisting the knot of his tie into place. He was 6'5" with a muscular physique which he honed daily, for reasons of fitness rather than vanity. His disarmingly blue eyes contrasted heavily with the rest of his form. His body was a paragon of strength and dominance but his eyes were so beguilingly bright that he could look almost childlike at times. However, the twin azure pools were typically clouded by a deviant glint which burned, now, as he turned to regard her.
A small smile danced over his lips. She was nearly a foot smaller than him and slim without being too skinny. Her hips bones jutted out gently and her clavicle crowned her chest. When she arched her stomach skywards and stretched her arms to their full potential, cat-like, as she lay with her head on his lap watching television or first thing in the morning as she stirred from sleep, her ribcage emerged underneath her breasts. These glimpses of her skeleton were a reminder of the fragility he loved. Even when he was his roughest with her, even during his severest punishments, he was acutely aware of her vulnerability. She trusted him to bridle his strength, he could easily cause her serious injury if he did not.
She applied the feline flick which completed the black line circling her eye. Her long blonde lashes were coated in mascara and her cheeks were rouged. A look which could seem overdone on other girls highlighted her natural features excellently. She always looked elegant. It was her hair, he thought to himself, that gave her that air of majesty. Strawberry blonde: a colour that hovered between auburn and gold.
Her breasts were not large but bigger than her frame suggested. The floor length chiffon dress showcased them beautifully. Her hair had been teased into loose curls and fell to the bottom of her exposed shoulder blades, grazing the midnight blue material. Turning away from the mirror, she rose from the chair at her dressing table and looked at him, seeking approval.
'You look perfect, princess.'
She approached him, pride lighting up her face. The natural sway of her hips, so often mistaken by others for arrogance, had a mesmerising effect on him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she tipped her chin upwards slightly to meet his lips. Her round-toe patent pumps afforded her extra height and they both adjusted, unused to the small distance between them. He reluctantly broke away from the kiss and urged her towards the door.
The charity ball was at a prestigious hotel in central London. She peered upwards, appreciating the architecture of the building as he reached for her hand. She curled and laced her fingers through his.
In the lobby, he soon acquired a glass of champagne for each of them and they were promptly accosted by various acquaintances. As they conversed, she recognised the traits that had initially attracted her to him. His voice commanded respect and his words held the attention of anybody within earshot. He was in his early thirties but possessed an astuteness that belied his age.
He held her in similar esteem. Younger than him, a recently-qualified lawyer with two degrees from illustrious universities, she masked a natural shyness and presented herself to the world as independent and ambitious. Comparing this poised, engaging woman with the submissive whore that offered herself to him each night caused his cock to stir. The thought of having her suck him off and struggle to swallow all of his seed - so as not to smudge her make up - before emerging immaculate was making his cock harden. Nobody knew of their secret dynamic and they both wanted it to remain that way. Even so, the risk of being discovered only added to his desire. It was too much to bear.
He leant into her ear and whispered, 'I'm going to take you into one of the bathrooms and facefuck you, you dirty cocksucking slut.'
A strange, unfamiliar feeling of resistance washed over her. She didn't feel like submitting to him and the champagne had emboldened her. She wanted to test him.
'Can you fuck my cunt instead?' She replied and pulled away. He saw a look of defiance cross her face. '...Alex.' She added pointedly.
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. He could take her question as a request, if he chose, rather than insubordination. It was the final word that cemented her meaning. In their day to day life, she regularly used his given name. He liked the way her tongue curled around the syllables. Yet, she always called him Master or Sir or even Daddy when he was asserting his dominance over her. It wasn't something he insisted on, she'd starting doing it of her own accord, but choosing deliberately to use his familiar name was a certain attempt at disobedience. He laughed.
He would fuck her, he decided, but he was going to shoot his load into her mouth, regardless of what she wanted. Making their excuses, he led her to a bathroom on the second floor, to minimise the chance of disturbance. Like the rest of the hotel, they were ornate and contained several chairs and a chaise longue. Wedging a chair under the door handle, he ordered her to lie on the chaise. She did as she was told. Just as he went to straddle her, she slipped from underneath him and laughed, playfully. He raised his left eyebrow. It was a habit that made his face unreadable: he did it when he was amused; when he was surprised; when he was angry. Unsure of his reaction, she met his gaze and asked:
'May I go on top tonight, Sir?'
Unwilling to let her bratty behaviour prevent his release, he granted her request. He would correct her later with a quick hand spanking. She eased her legs over his hips and glanced up to his face, checking she had permission to unzip him. He nodded, once, barely noticeably. Unfastening his trousers and shifting his boxers down slightly, she watched his cock spring free with an audible sigh. Pushing her knickers to the side, she rocked her hips forward until her thighs were astride his cock but her pussy was just out of reach. Underneath her bravado, she knew that she was only being allowed to exercise this superficial control because he was letting her. As if to remind her, he gripped her hips and forced her downwards, spearing her with his cock. They groaned almost in unison.
Remaining fully-clothed was a thrill to which they were unaccustomed. Watching her chest heave under the confines of her dress, he clenched his fists to restrain himself from tearing the material away and biting her nipple. She was never hidden from him as he fucked her; a rush of exhilaration ran through him as he pictured the leaking cunt that enclosed his cock, knowing her whole body would be unveiled to him later. His hips surged upwards to invade her deeper, their moans echoed around the high ceilings. The rub of his suit on her inner thighs generated a hypersensitivity that transcended her pussy. Occasionally, a slip of chiffon would catch under her and stroke along her lips. She slowly increased the pace and twisted to gawk at their reflected bodies in the gold-edged mirror.
Feeling her muscles convulse around his cock, he knew she getting close and it pulled him towards his own orgasm.
'Ask.' he ordered, huskily.
She tipped her head forward and appealed to him.
'Beg.' he replied, cruelly demanding more from her, knowing she would stave off her climax until he permitted it to her.
She begged in seductive pants, almost incoherently, but he denied her.
'Get off my cock and kneel between my legs, slut.' She was going to lick up his seed greedily. His refusal to allow her to cum was retribution for her naughtiness.
Seconds later, she was still impaling herself repeatedly on him. A vexed hand reached up to dislodge her by force but stopped, mid-air, when he noted the glazed sheen on her eyes. Her head was thrown back, her spine arching, forcing that ribcage to peek through her skin. Her breath came in ragged bursts, interspersed with gratified moans. Her cunt was tightening like beating heart around his cock.
He lay back, assessing her coolly. Anger had quelled his orgasm.
As she recovered, a feeling of cold realisation engulfed her. She felt nauseous. Lowering her head, painfully slowly, she took in his face. His teeth were gritted. His eyes were hard little diamonds boring into her.
His left arm struck her left side with such impact that she landed, gracelessly, in a heap on the floor. Before she was even aware of his movement, he was stalking towards the sinks on the far wall. Snatching something in his hand, she fixed her stare on his activity. Discerning what he grasped within white knuckles, she staggered to her feet, wide-eyed and panic-stricken. He turned to look at her and the decorative hairbrush, designed to complement the boudoir-style bathroom, was no longer obscured.
'No, Daddy, please...no!' she implored.
Her legs were buckling under her as he began to advance. No, she couldn't take it, she would be unable to sit for the imminent meal and everyone would know her shame. She span around and jolted from the room, sending the chair toppling to the floor. She hurtled away as quickly as the restrictive dress and precarious heels would allow. Her underwear was still rearranged.
He did not follow her, he would not be drawn into her absurd games. He simply returned to the party.
Moving through the large ballroom, he made polite conversation with the other guests but his eyes continually scanned the crowd. He was a lion, ruthlessly hunting his prey. When they inquired as to her whereabouts, he replied brusquely that she was talking to some friends across the room. He had not seen her since she fled the bathroom but knew she remained in the hotel. He had driven and the keys were still in his pocket; finding no bag matched her outfit, she had nowhere to keep any money so he stored the cash from their joint account in his wallet. She had no way of escaping.
She revealed herself nearly an hour later. As the gong reverberated around the room, signalling dinner, he felt her presence by his right shoulder. He did not turn to look at her, he merely clasped a large hand around her elfin wrist and dragged her from the room. They brushed past the streams of people pressing, in the opposite direction, towards the double doors to the great hall. She craved the presence of his protective arm as the jostling shoulders barged her but he marched in front, his fingers marking her skin with an ugly, red imprint. Leading her through the foyer and into the bitingly cold night air, the concierge barely acknowledged them - just another drunken, warring couple leaving prematurely.
He didn't open the passenger door for her as he normally did. She had to struggle into the low sports car unassisted, her dress catching on her heels. By the time she had settled into her seat, he'd already turned the ignition. The second she had shut the door, he pulled away.
He always drove fast but she never doubted that he was in control. Tonight, he seemed erratic. She could see the veins in his neck straining against his skin. His jaw was visibly tense.
He could sense her fear as she cast anxious, sideways glances at him.
'Daddy...' She tried, in a tiny voice.
He snapped his head towards her, assaulting her with a look of pure rage.
'If you say another word, I will pull over and punish you on the side of the road. Everyone will see what a dirty, disobedient little cunt you are.'
The journey continued in silence.
