This is dedicated to all the thoughtful, open submissive women who taught me their pleasure on Lit Chat but also to that special sub who is now mine. -C
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Watching Punishment
A Submissive Woman's Penalty
Dean felt the kid's eyes on them the moment they came in the door. Diana glowed like there was light inside her, the beaded cocktail dress ghosted her torso and her hair all pinned up showed her neck. Just looking at her made him want to kiss her neck, to mark her to...the list got long when he thought about it and aroused him in his tux, so he kept his distance, viewing her like a masterpiece, like the Mona Lisa or the Venus de Milo, the living, breathing incarnation of his lust just there, and at his beck and call. It was her full willingness to kneel to him that suffused him and put him two gnat steps away from arousal whenever she was around. His hands tensed because he lusted for the feel of her skin. His mind undressed her and caressed her, he heard her gasps as he did what she liked, what she loved, what she longed for. Her utter satisfaction wrung him out.
He turned away from her and felt her stiffen. She'd never understand that the little flourish of rejection when she was so beautiful, so perfectly his. He turned back and looked down at her. When he bent and kissed her jawline, she fairly blossomed, lighting up like he'd put a diamond on her finger, but this was better, more erotic, more profound, he owned her and she consented to his ownership.
He felt the eyes, glowering at him and for a moment he locked his eyes with the young man, pretty, desperately handsome, every line drawn by design, the tux fitted, likely one of several that the young Tennengroend heir owned. Still, for all the tradition, for all the money, for all the power, Terrence Tennengroend looked away first, his eyes shifted and then shifted again but then flicked back to Dean's. Finding Dean's soft hazel eyes on him still, his flicked away again but his face tightened so very slightly it could have been a trick of the light, but Dean saw, so when the moment came, he wasn't surprised, disappointed but not surprised.
The cocktail party was a private affair held in a Master suite at the Marquise D'Or Grand Hotel. The Tannengroend family was in negotiations with Dean's firm and Dean had managed to gain an interview with Jorge Tannengroend, the elder patriarch of that family. The planned forty-five minute meeting had stretched to three hours and the distinguished old man had agreed to the meeting with the VP of operations but only on condition that Dean have dinner with him and meet his son afterward. Salvador was the spitting image of his father but younger, of course, angular, chiseled, with the same close cropped good hair but his was coal black and his father's was all white, snow white.
Dankins, the VP of Operations was miffed when he was "dismissed" and the two Tannengroends left with Dean. During the meal, Jorge had leaned in and said in a low voice only the three of them could possibly hear, "My good man, I am an intuitive man and there is something about you I like and like very much. I don't often feel this about a person but when I do, I listen to it and embrace it. Will you join me," he glanced at his son, "us, for a little soiree, a cocktail, or two, very formal but...." Here, he glanced at his son.
What passed between them Dean didn't know but the son nodded.
"Let's us be frank with each outer, Mr. Barringer, you have...shall we say a woman, a very special woman...whom you might like to bring to this party." The man smiled not unkindly but rather unctuously for a man of his stature.
Dean waited, not sure he was hearing what he was hearing. He felt exposed but to volunteer, to confirm what the man was suggesting was...unsettling.
At that point, Salvador had laid a hand on Dean's arm, the hand laying inconspicuously on the table.
"My father, is too circumspect by half. You own her, he means. Your submissive. Our family is...shall we say, replete with women who wear a collar or as in your case, kneel for you?"
Dean was shocked. He wanted to ask how these people knew of Diana, how they dared present this to him at all, something so private. He withdrew his hand from Salvador's touch and they understood each other. The man nodded and moved his own hand off the table. He looked at his father and arched his eyebrow. Jorge smiled, a slight nod.
"Mr. Barringer, you and I understand each other." He said. "I have a number of females who kneel to me. My son has somewhat more eclectic tastes but we are not wont to alter anyone's tastes. Bring her, I would like to see her, meet her, your female."
The way he spoke that word touched Dean with an erotic thrill. He had a flash of Diana in this powerful man's sway and the plaited thrill she'd have bound up in his thrall. It may never happen but the idea touched him and he had that familiar twinge that jolt that was his constant desire for her.
"When?" He'd asked and the agreement was made, as easy as ordering pie.
"And my good man, do collar her. She won't be alone and, if Sally is right, she'd add to the splendor of the evening."
That was how Dean and Diana came to be in this illustrious company and how she came to have a collar on her neck of silver and the silver chain as delicate as an angel's braid running from her neck to his hand when they knocked on the door of the suite and were admitted. The style of the other women, in bejeweled but unmistakable collars was to hold their own leads in their hands, in one hand while they mingled, speaking and meeting and exchanging pleasantries. Occasionally, one would sidle up to a man and he would pull her to him and kiss her, a rampant show of ownership that made her blush and turn away when he finished, often to fix her hair or replenish smeared lipstick.
Those moments were like flashes of phosphorescent light flaring and then fading, leaving a garish imprint on the corneas of all who saw it. It didn't happen often but enough to connect the floating free radicals of collared women in the room to their owners. When Diana approached, Dean thought about making some such demonstration but refrained, savoring the idea, the desire but preferring to leave her in the easy state of excitement that showed plainly on her face. He thought afterward that had been his mistake, to not mark it out clearly that she was his and his alone.
She took her cue easily from the five or six other women in the room wearing their collars and carrying the leads in one hand. Dean handed his to her and she drifted away, her silver chain held in her left hand. He circulated, nodding and speaking to the two or three people he knew, ending finally at Jorge Tannegroend's elbow listening to the man declaim about politics and finance with his casual air of lordly command. They were discussing the US national debt when there was a sudden change in the atmosphere and a slight disturbance.
Jorge raised his eyebrows, staring past Dean. Dean turned in time to see Diana toss her drink into the young man's face. Her eyes blazed. The young man reached for her wrist, the hand that held her lead. Dean moved so fast, he bumped a woman's arm and spilled her drink but he cared nothing for that. Before he arrived, however, Salvador Tannengroend was there, his hand on the young man's neck, squeezing it hard and speaking in a very soft barely audible tone that Dean just caught as he arrived at Diana's side.
"Unhand her, boy or I swear I will have you horsewhipped. She is not yours and not ours and you do not put a hand on her unless invited to do so!"
The young man hesitated then simply opened his hand. Di pulled back her wrist, rubbing it with her other hand. Dean put a hand on her elbow. The champaign glistened on the young man's face, gray splotches tainted the white collar of his shirt. His face blazed red.
"Cunt!" He swore.
"Terrence, by god, son, I warn you...apologize." Salvador's voice was low, like thunder.
Dean felt a presence at his side and glance around to find Jorge Tannengroend there.
"Sally, I told you the boy wasn't ready. Take him out of here."
"Not until he apologizes." Salvador said his eyes fixed on his son.
"Apologize? She threw a drink in my face!"
"And you called my Master an old sod, a fool and said I should kneel to you. I would never...." Diana's voice trilled in the silence. The entire room had gone silent. Dean's hand on her arm silenced her, a death grip that communicated clearly his feeling at that moment.
"Diana, words should not provoke you to such rude behavior." Dean said. "Please apologize to Mr. Tannengroend."
She looked, not at Dean but first at Jorge. She nodded, the color rising in her face.
"I have behaved badly, Sir. I apologize to you for...my actions." She reached out and touched Jorge's arm. "I am sorry. Please forgive me."
Jorge let her hand remain on his arm for a moment, a pause made too long by the silent but erotic by the stillness and his closed eyes. He opened them and turned his head to Dean.
"Mr. Barringer, please introduce me to this lovely creature." He said, his voice a smooth flow of sound that felt like an orchestral swell.
"Jorge Tennengroend, may I present Diana Cantwell, my pet." Dean spoke the last two words with a bit of a slur. Suddenly aroused, he wanted to take her right then. Salvador who still held his son by the neck, shook the young man like a wolf shakes a cub. The young man glowered, anger evident still on his face.
Diana turned to Salvador.
"I am so sorry for my rude behavior. Do forgive me." She whispered. It was artfully done because there was no telling to whom she addressed her words. Salvador shook the young man again.
"Terrence."
"Cunt!" The man said. Salvador's hand cracked against the back of his head. The boy cringed then and glowered at the entire world. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, okay? What's she doing with that old shit anyway? A hot piece like..."
Jorge turned the boy out of his father's grasp and slapped him with an open hand before he could finish the sentence.
"Take him out of here, Sally." Jorge said, his voice quivering.
The two cut a swath through the crowd to an internal door and vanished. The manikin challenge ended and the murmur of conversation rose once more.
Jorge laid his hand on Dean's arm.
"My good man, I am so sorry...."
Dean pulled his eyes away from Diana.
"No sir, she is at fault. I have insulted you and abused your hospitality. It would be better if we just go."
Jorge, graceful to a fault, merely nodded.
"As you wish."
Dean did blush then, the hot scarlet flooded his skin.
"Come, Kitty, we must leave." He reached, not for her hand but for the silver leash she held in her hand. She surrendered it, bitting her lip. Dean turned to Jorge. "I don't know what to say, I thought she was better trained than this. I apologize. Sincerely."
Jorge extended his hand. His smile was warm and comradely.
