Her heart pounding in her chest, Sarah pulled the heavy glass door open and walked into the lobby. She nodded at Joe, the sweet, gray-haired security guard. He said a cheery good afternoon to her with a big smile. Feeling herself blush, she mumbled back, "Good afternoon."
The elevator took forever, of course, and she worried about Joe wandering over and talking to her. Fortunately, he ignored her just like she ignored him until the elevator finally dinged its cheery ding, and the doors opened.
She pushed the button for the 19th floor, and felt the slight annoyance she always felt. It wasn't really the 19th floor, it was the 18th floor. Didn't the idiots on the 14th floor know they were really on the 13th floor? Or did they simply not care?
The elevator was one of those smooth and fast ones, and with another annoyingly cheerful ding, the doors opened. Suddenly she couldn't ignore it any more; the reason she was here, the reason her heart was still beating fast, the reason the crotch of her black pants was already damp. She walked to the 3rd door, 1903 (at least they had gotten that right) and checked her watch. It was 3:57; three minutes left. She'd learned that being late was a very bad idea.
She took off her jacket, made sure her cell and her keys were zipped up safe in the inside pocket, then folded it neatly and sat it on the tile floor next to Cole's door. After kicking off her Adidas high-tops (a recent gift from him), she unzipped her pants. It was important not to think about it too much, not to think about it at all, if she could; she'd learned that much, at least. She pushed the pants down—he hadn't mentioned which panties she should wear, which meant she wasn't wearing any—and stepped out of them, the open air caressing her moist pussy. After folding them neatly, she pulled off her socks and added them to her pants. She slid her tee over her head, folded it as she stood in the hallway, completely aware that she was wearing nothing but a bra. The bra was always last. He'd told her a hundred times how much he liked her 'perky' B-cups, told her another hundred times how much of an ass-guy he was and how beautiful she was, but still... Quickly, she unhooked the bra and put it on the pile, like the decoration on top of a wedding cake.
Confident he'd be pleased with her neat pile, she kneeled in front of the door, her back straight, her hands on her thighs, her ass resting on her heels, her toes curled under. Then there was nothing left to do but wait. The hardest part. Had he looked through the peephole and seen his pet naked and waiting and on time? This was the fourth time she'd waited naked in the hallway, after he'd decided it was no longer proper for her to step foot inside his place with a single stitch of clothing on. The first time he hadn't made her wait long at all, maybe two minutes (though it was the longest two minutes of her life).
The second time...Sarah still dreamed about the second time. Perhaps ten minutes? That was the day the blonde from 1904 had opened her door, walked down the hallway as she tried to find something in her purse. Her keys? Suddenly she'd looked up and saw Sarah there, naked and kneeling and desperately wanting to disappear under the cold tile. Of course the blonde would have to be beautiful, perhaps 28 or 30, dressed to kill in a little black dress. No, hers were definitely not B's. The blonde had drank her in, muttered a little 'huh,' as she kept walking down the hall, closer and closer. When she got to Sarah, her fingers slowly trailed from Sarah's left shoulder, across one shoulder blade, trickled across her spine and the other shoulder blade, and then up to the top of the other shoulder. Her touch had been electric, and it felt like her finger tips had only reluctantly left Sarah's bare skin. The blonde slowly walked on to the elevator, eventually pushing the button, staring at Sarah hungrily the whole time. Sarah had only dared look as high as her tall high-heels with the red soles, and her lovely calves.
It had been a new high in her humiliation, worse even than the trip to Petsmart. She dreaded these wicked things he dreamed up. Often she blushed just thinking about them. But he'd figured out humiliation was her 'thing', and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. He had unlocked her like a Chinese puzzle, for the world to see, and she'd deny him nothing.
Not much had happened the third time, except she'd noticed there was a camera at each end of the hallway. Figured out that why old Joe was so happy to see her each time. Did Cole know about the—
The door opened. Her heart leaped. He was barefoot, wearing faded jeans. "Hello, pet. You're looking exceptional today." Damn, his words always zipped right through her heart. From the start, he'd slipped through her walls like they didn't exist, like they were paper mache and had never really existed. She didn't understand it, but here she was, naked and kneeling in the lush hallway. His hand ran through her hair, then he pulled her head back and kissed her, a good long kiss, like he'd missed her. His scent, lovely and strong, floated through her, making her think of sex, security, and being curled up on the couch together. After the kiss, he stared at her, smiling, then kissed her again. He was wearing the black Skillet tee she'd given him. Relaxed and confident, as always.
He pointed to her pile, and she dutifully handed it to him. "I've got a couple of things I need to take care of. I'll be back." He shut the door. Incredulous, she stared at the blank door in front of her. This was new. He'd left her with nothing on this side of the door but her sneakers. What if there was a fire? She imagined running down the stairwell wearing only her sneakers. What if he keeled over from a heart attack while she was waiting? He was twice her age (she was 22), so she liked teasing him about such possibilities. She'd even made up a fake AARP card for him, for his birthday. He'd laughed about that, but her bottom wasn't laughing about it later, when he was spanking it and asking if he was spanking her hard enough for an old man (at one point it had been so tempting to ask, "When are you going to start?" but she wasn't that foolish).
The hallway was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Her mouth was Death Valley-dry, and she really could have used a cup of water. Perhaps she should ring the bell and ask for one? The naughtiness of that thought made her smile. Maybe she should crawl down to the blonde's door and ask her for one? She liked that thought, but she was nowhere near that brave. And what if the blonde had a husband or a boyfriend? What would she say to him?
He made her wait, longer than ever before, her skin moist with her nervousness, her pussy crying out for her fingers.
He's probably not even watching,
it would say to her,
just give me a quick rub.
It had been six days since she'd come. And 43 edges. Yes, she knew the exact number. She always did.
Finally the door opened. He stood there, a big, wicked smile on his face, her collar in his hand. "Pet, do you want to come inside?"
She nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Are you sure? I have something special planned for you."
Her pussy throbbed. Dumbly, she nodded again. "Yes, Sir." Why did she crave his wickedness so much? Fuck.
He crouched down, held the collar out, undone, in both of his hands. Like a well-trained sub, she moved her hair out of the way, then leaned forward on one hand and put her neck on the collar. Though she'd done it before, the impact on her was always the same, the intense feeling of giving herself to him. Strangely, it calmed her. Her worries, her anxieties were now his (and there were more than a few). She only needed to worry about pleasing him.
A door opened in the hallway. Her bare ass was still in that same hallway. He didn't move one bit quicker, still took his sweet time fastening the collar around her neck, then snapping the little lock closed. She heard the chime that meant an elevator was on the way. Who was it? Not the blonde, she would've had to walk past her. Why was her wetness dripping down her thighs?
Her collar finally done, he stepped past her, into the hallway. He said, "Hi, John," to whomever was in the hallway. So if John hadn't seen her naked ass before, he certainly saw it now.
John said, "I see you're having a good day."
"I am. You have a good one, too." He stepped past her, walked a few feet into the apartment. "Come, pet. Follow me." She knew to stay on her hands and knees.
Still recovering from the humiliation of the unseen neighbor, she crawled into the living room. What she called his apartment was really a large loft. She'd loved it the first time she'd seen it. One end was a wall completely full of books, from floor to ceiling, which made her mouth water. The other end was all glass, leading out to a big balcony and a mesmerizing view of the city. There was also a ladder up to the roof. Yes, she'd experienced both the balcony and the roof naked. No, he didn't care what the weather was like. A sub's life wasn't meant to be easy.
He sat on the coffee table, motioned for her to stand in front of him. She was suddenly self-conscious that she'd come straight from the grocery store, that she'd worked hard and was a bit sweaty. There was no doubt he could smell her sex. She tried to stand up straighter; he was constantly reminding her of her posture, and she'd walked back and forth this very floor countless times naked and with a book on her head. At the start, her ass had been quite red from the book tumbling off after only a few steps. She could now make it up and down the full length, and her posture was better.
He made her spin around in front of him, his eyes as intense as a surgeon's. "You are beautiful," he said, calmly and quietly, like it was the most obvious thing. Sometimes he made her say it, but not this time. Instead, he inspected her nails. Yes, she'd been paddled when they were not neat and perfect. Eight of her finger and toenails were painted a bright blue he liked, but her pinkies and her little toes were a pale pink. This was to remind her that she was owned. Protected. Cared for. He decided what color her nails were. How long her hair was. The panties she wore each day, and sometimes everything she wore. He decided when she touched her pussy, when she didn't, and when she came. He even decided when she'd earned a Mountain Dew. She'd always been rebellious, and yet she'd never been so calm as when she was around him. So damn happy. She didn't understand it, but she'd quit fighting it. Mostly.
His fingers ran over her mound, shaved smooth just that morning. "Good girl," he said. She beamed. He motioned her down, and she settled to her knees. He said, "As I mentioned, I have something special planned for you. Are you ready? Are you going to please me?"
She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Yes, Sir. I will please you."
"Good girl. We need to get you good and worked up." He stood up and motioned for her to climb onto the coffee table. She did, on her hands and knees, and he gently pushed her head down to the table, her ass sticking high in the air. "You are to edge seven times. You will not leave this table until you are done and I release you. You will clean your fingers after each time. You will have one hour. I have a few things to take care of, but I'll check on you from time to time. Get rubbing. Make sure they're good edges. Please me." He smacked her ass, then squeezed it.
"Yes, Sir." She reached back, between her legs, and found her clit. Seven seemed like far too many, and the bastard wouldn't even be watching.
###
The sixth and seventh were difficult. Fuck. Her poor clit was a red, swollen, unhappy mess. Oh, and tender beyond belief. Her knees were sore, her elbows too, from the hard table. At the 30 minute mark, without a word, he'd come in and spanked each cheek ten times with his hand. He explained that he just wanted her butt red. Finally, the seventh was done. Panting, she collapsed on her side, still on the hard damn table.
Eventually he came back in. "All done?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Enjoy it?"
She really wanted to call him a bastard. "No, Sir. It was...a challenge." She gave him a dirty look; those usually didn't get her spanked.
That made him smile. "Good girl." That earned her a good kiss, which suddenly made it all seem worthwhile. "Now go take a bath. Make sure you are squeaky clean, and wash your hair, too. Take your time, soak a bit. Run a razor over your legs and pussy again, just to make sure. We want you very presentable. We have guests coming."
