Rain and Chinese Sil

Note from Sacrificedangel ~ Just a little word of warning to those who normally read my romance work etc. This may not be for you...but you never know, it might! Keep an open mind and comments in the general realm of 'constructive' if possible. This was a story to make a Dom friend of mine smile - and thankfully it had the desired effect. Enjoy!

~~~

He was going to kill me.

Not merely an idle thought, but quite possibly a fact considering what I was about to do. I was treading not only the very distinct line of our abstract relationship this afternoon, but perhaps straddling the damn thing, erasing the permanent marker with the lacy tops of Chinese silk stockings, fraying the edges on the constitution of our very own sexual etiquette.

I rounded the corner with a fluttering heart beat, though a sure step; my 5 inch stilettos making a delicious percussion off the rain slick pavement, ringing off in the relative silence of the early evening financial district. The lights were on in his building though, as they had been every night for the past week as he and his associates worked diligently towards the end of the financial year...and the inevitable tax season.

I almost felt guilty. Almost. After all, I have no doubt this was not exactly what he was expecting when he had lost his wager in the Grey Room the month before, his cards failing to trump mine. But that was the deal laid on the table during that hand, a moment of servitude of a Master to his Slut. He had been watching me with an odd look in his eyes most avidly in the first few days...less and less the longer it had been since his uncharacteristic loss. I never truly had the desire to call in the marker...not before last night.

I awoke with the sunrise just as he softly closed my bedroom door, his steady footsteps fading as he crossed my lounge and left my apartment. I felt boneless, replete, and utterly intoxicated lying amongst warm blankets which still carried the scent of him, of us, and of the many hours he had spent as my dearest, darkest Sir. My body bore the marks of his dominance and I had admired them with pride in the mirror before I had soothed my aches in the bath he had run for me.

He needed this, the release, the offloading of tension, and I was more than willing to provide the soft landing. The harder he worked, the tenser he became – but the more I could feel him holding back, as though he did not want to hurt me. I had been hurt...but I could find no fault in each little welt, or bruise. I was there to be used, most freely, and I needed, I yearned to ease him in full. It was last night that I had the epiphany.

Though now...the closer I got, the nerves were beginning to make me question the sanity of my visitation tonight. Would it yield the results I was hoping for? He was a proud man, strength not just in body, but more importantly in character...personality...a prerequisite I believe for the perfectly balanced Dominant. One who could abuse you, leave you sore, and utterly used, and yet it have been a gloriously freeing experience rather than a lesson in cruelty.

How my wonderful, proud Sir felt about my cashing in his marker, was something I did not have an answer for.

Stepping off the kerb as the green man flashed, I strode with purpose towards the brightly lit building of silvery glass and steel and schooled my usually open features. It would not do to show my nerves. The ornate iron gate was closed beside the entrance, but not secured and I stepped through and pressed the intercom before I could lose my nerve and escape as fast as my heeled feet could carry me in the rain.

"We are closed Madam, may I suggest you return on Monday." The tinny voice called over the speaker, a be-spectacled woman appearing on the small screen, eying me with weary eyes.

"Do you know who you are talking to?" I was almost as taken aback as she was at the tone I had conjured from god only knew where, but start as you mean to go on was always a good mantra to follow. "I am Ms Camille Grey from Lystwyrn and Carraway, and I have important documents for Mr Conrad Shaw concerning the end of season account. I would have the name of the employee who would turn me away!"

My demand had the desired effect and I could hear his dulcet tones allowing my admittance when the nervous woman neglected to engage her secrecy button. This was at least to my advantage; I knew he would be dealing with me alone in his office at least, though I was hoping he wouldn't recognise the name I had chosen for tonight – the name of the hand I had dealt to win and the name of his infamous gaming club. The buzzer echoed in the stone archway, and I pushed open the door and entered the dimly lit foyer, a floor below my intended goal. I hesitantly fingered the black collar of my designer raincoat, a beautiful 40s style cross over which I had saved an eternity of overtime in order to purchase, and ensured it at least partially concealed me.

The stylish hat, perfect for the weather only added to the vintage elegance I had donned to pose as someone of Lystwyrn and Carraway consequence, and was necessary at least for me to reach his office unrecognised. Shivering slightly from the chill, I glanced at my stocking clad legs, the beautiful silk shimmering beneath the hem of my raincoat, and allowed myself a tremulous smile before I donned my proud mask and ascended into an organised chaos. Men in shirts with sleeves rolled up moved in a flurry of activity to and fro, dodging passing secretaries with tea trays and sandwiches, in a room that could benefit slightly from a window being opened in order to rid the space of that office-y scent of stale coffee and sweat.

It was evident by all before me that the boss – the one who had absconded with a fair few million of the company's funds – had left his work place in more turmoil than Sir had confided.

The shy be-spectacled intercom lady met me in the space between the desks with a stammer of apology and indicated that I follow her to his office. I glowered, and it must have been convincing for she ducked her head and lead the way swiftly. I cringed a little inside, my niceness almost escaping, desperately wanting to give her a hug and apologise for being such a bitch...but that wasn't the mission here. I ruthlessly crushed down my personality, and informed her that Mr Conrad Shaw and I were not to be disturbed before I entered without a knock and closed the door behind me with a deft click and swift turn of a lock.

"Ms..."

"Ms Camille Grey, Mr Shaw." I stepped forward from the shadow of the door and walked towards him, dropping the slightly rain dotted folder down on his desk in front of him, scattering some of the papers he was diligently surveying like miserable ink-stained confetti. His annoyance, so controlled, flickered at the edges of his features, and I almost ran there and then. But no...this was for him. I needed that annoyance, I needed that anger, that loss of control...Just to prove that he COULD.

To prove that he did not need to hold back - to control his control.

He eyed the folder, its singular content now peeking from the corner, a moment before his gaze met mine. His double take was almost amusing. His bright blue eyes, those which held me in thrall so often as he glided his cock into each of my proffered orifices, flitted twice between mine and the offending marker, recognition sparking swiftly followed by his legendary control being summoned into place when he realised he had to obey with marker in front of him.

He was going to kill me. I had been right on the money there in the rain.

He opened his mouth to speak and my mask slipped into place once more.

Start as you mean to go on.

"I do not recall giving you permission to speak." My voice was my own, soft and quiet, yet my tone was unmistakable. It was unreservedly his. Something I had learnt from my Master other than obedience. "You owe me a moment dearest Slave."

I dared him to contradict me. I knew this could be construed as unfair, to turn up at his work, the financial company in uproar, his colleagues barely metres from our blind-sheltered world. But if this was enough...

I smiled, crossing slowly to the high backed sumptuous Armadale chair opposite his desk, and sank into its cushioned comfort with an elegance I hadn't known I possessed. Crossing my legs at a comfortable angle, gave him a nice view of a long length of thigh topped with intricate lace of a stocking and bare skin melting with the shadows of my coat. Carelessly I pulled off my stylish hat and my hair tumbled from the confines, warm dark waves glanced off my shoulders and I could see him visibly tense. I knew his small weaknesses too, I knew he loved to curl his fist in the abundance of it and use it to guide my head or arch my neck in our bed. And now I flaunted it, at its best, and the overtime money I had spent getting it styled into careless, effortless elegance, was worth it to see his fingers flex unconsciously.

I let the hat fall, before running my fingers over the upholstered chair, twirling perfectly polished nails over the patterns. Wishing it were his skin, fighting the need even now to fall to my knees and submit to his pleasures. I too have my little weaknesses.

"Come to me." I motioned, my ladylike composure suitably shaken by the fire in his eyes as he came to his feet and began to circumnavigate the desk. He was coming like the predator he was, and I couldn't allow it. My heart was about three beats from escaping my chest when I halted him with a shake of a red polished nail. "On your knees Slave."

Oh my, he was glorious. On his knees, you might think me to have the higher ground, hold the reins, if anything, crawling towards me his body shifting slowly over the laminate, one perfect eyebrow raised...it was I who felt ready to capitulate. He reached my dangling leg and I shivered at the heat of his breath on my chilled skin, warmth I wished to feel all over before I escaped into the night and calmed my nerves with the rest of his bottle of JD from my kitchen.

"Slave." I waited until his gaze reluctantly met my own. Oh this man would never be anything short of Master. This was a matter of gentlemanly pride in the form of his marker – it was amazing what could indeed be considered worth more in a man's head. "Unfasten my coat. I find I am chilled from the rain."

His fingers loosed from their tight grip and I wondered if he contemplated strangling me with them before he unlooped the belt and tugged free the elegant buttons. Parting the sides to reveal an intricate lace baby doll and no panties, his expellation of warm breath in appreciation made me blush. I was never one to be able to take a compliment well, but that was a moment that made me want to curl in his arms and offer comfort. "Touch me."

I shook my head at my demand coming out more like a whispered plea. "Touch my cunt Slave. Bury your head between my thighs and worship me."

His enthusiasm was commendable...and simply glorious. I watched his blonde head lower, his eyes keeping me transfixed as he teasingly drew my aroused flesh against his lips, his tongue and his incomparable talent. His fingers parted my soaked, swollen folds, his tongue sinking deep, drinking from me as I moaned in the chair, my hips slipping closer and closer to him. Uncommanded, he slipped my thighs over his shoulders and had me at his oral mercy, his eyes fierce with lust...with contained fury...the stress and the strain finally leaching their way to the top. My body twisted slightly and my arm slipped down towards his now straining cock, pulsing against the zipper of his expensive deep black trousers, and I smoothed my hand over the heated length, nails teasing and gently rubbing as he silently ate my cunt and drew moans of delight from me.

When he increased his attentions, I increased mine on him, gripping him now gently, stroking, his hips making infinitesimal movements in my hold. Long strokes of his tongue centred over my clit sent me swiftly over the edge and into the beyond, my cunt spasming, almost lamenting it's emptiness in my solitary orgasm. I shuddered against his mouth and smiled at him with a delighted sigh. My hand still lightly stroking, until I had gained my breath, I stood suddenly, closing my raincoat over my body and bending provocatively to return my hair to the confines of the stylish rimmed hat before I dared look at him. Kneeling, his hands braced on his knees, his cock straining at his fly; I met a gaze that promised much retribution.

Enjoy this my little Slut. I could almost interpret from his predatory smile.

"Thank you Slave. You were most satisfactory."

With a motion I knew would drive him to insanity, I patted him on the head like a little pet, and left with a sway to my hips. My confidence only lasted me to the dark stairs leading down to the abandoned foyer and I cleared the first two as Ms Camille Grey and ran the rest as myself. The moment promised in the marker was over...I was free game now. I didn't even hear him coming.

The breath rushed from my lungs as I fell to the floor, his solid weight behind me, crushing me to the sparkling marble as he disposed of my hat, hand fisted in my hair a moment before my coat was thrown up and his throbbing cock was shoved forward between my legs, uncaring of which hole it found purchase in. His free hand closed harshly over my mouth, smothering my gasp as he roughly fucked me, leaving me to gasp for breath through my nose. He was a master of torment; edging me closer to an orgasm I knew he had no intention of granting me, and pulling back the moment I got too close. His weight left me and I was flipped unceremoniously onto my back as he straddled my breasts, his knee pinning my left arm down as he leant forward.

"Open Slut."

I did. My skull reverberated against the floor as he pushed forward; delving deep into my choking throat and relishing the spasms with a low chuckle that made me want to smile. His hips pumped down, his cock sliding into a willing orifice and taking what it needed from his slave. There was no holding back, there was no question in his eyes as to whether he could trust I could cope and not hate him. I could...I would. My throat opened fully and convulsed with purpose and with his roar I rejoiced, his cum sprayed my throat, my tongue, my lips and then my face in warm bursts ending with a satisfied sigh before he gained his feet and admired his work.

"Return home. You will walk there just as you are. My cum will still be staining your cheeks when I arrive – wont it slut? All dry, pale flakes on even paler skin." He smiled. "A natural masterpiece...yet unfinished."

From the floor. From his feet, I shivered in anticipation as he crumpled his marker and let the ruined paper fall to rest beside my cum soaked cheek with an evil smile as he awaited my answer.

"Yes Master." It was only ever going to be yes.