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Sweet Submission
by Roxy Sloane
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Copyright 2014 Roxy Sloane
Cover Design: Louisa Maggio at LM Creations
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, placesand incidents either are products of the author’s imagination orare used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or localesor persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE: ISABELLE
TWO: CAM
THREE: ISABELLE
FOUR: CAM
FIVE: ISABELLE
SIX: CAM
SEVEN: ISABELLE
EIGHT: CAM
NINE: ISABELLE
TEN: CAM
ELEVEN: ISABELLE
TWELVE: CAM
PROLOGUE
Most women don’t know the pleasure of totalsurrender.
You’ve fantasized about it. Maybe you’veeven tried. Asked for his hands to grip you a little tighter. If hecould tie you up. Hold you down. Fuck you the way you need, hiscock driving hard and relentless, riding your wet pussy until youcan’t take it anymore.
But he always stops too soon. Eases upbefore you’re done. He’s careful, cautious. You know, deep down,he’s not for real.
He doesn’t mean it when he makes you beg forhim to fuck you, doesn’t push you to your limits and demandeverything you have to give—and more.
He doesn’t realize that domination is an actof worship. The adoration of a woman beyond all limits; thereverence to give her the pleasure she truly deserves.
You wonder, what would it be like with a manwho truly commanded you? How sweet would the release be, givingyourself up completely?
No limits. No boundaries.
His control.
“Get on your knees and open your mouth.”
This girl knows that pleasure. She’s alreadypanting, eager and wet. She falls to the floor in front of me andassumes the position.
Eyes hidden beneath a blindfold. Handsbehind her back. Breasts bared. Juicy lips wide open and ready formy cock.
I trail a riding crop over her shudderingflesh, pacing a slow circle around her. Her breasts rise and fallwith every breath, but she knows better than to beg for me now.Each second I wait makes her nipples stiffen, her thighs clench,her damp clit throb for more.
Still, I wait.
I watch her beautiful body carefully,landing quick strokes of the crop on her reddening skin. She moansand gasps at the brief impact, and I feel her pleasure like it wasmy own.
Control is my virtue. I demand everythingfrom her, and I won’t be sated until it’s mine.
“Are you ready, my sweet?” I trail theleather crop down over her breasts. She tenses, moaning as I flickone stiff nipple.
“Yes, Master,” she gasps.
“I don’t think you are.”
I stroke the crop lower, over her barestomach, down between her thighs. She parts them eagerly for me,baring her shaven pussy, glistening with slick desire.
She’s close.
“Please,” she moans.
I bring the crop down against her clit. Sheyelps in pleasure—and pain. My cock thickens to hear it. I couldclaim her mouth right now, shove my dick in deep and come in asingle stroke with her throat clenching around me. But I holdback.
This isn’t about me. It’s her. Always her.Because the woman on her knees for me may change every other night,but the focus of my discipline remains the same.
To command her fantasy, overwhelm her everysense. Take her body to the heights of ecstasy—where itbelongs.
I command her not to break her, but to paytribute to her beauty. I dominate because that’s the truest gift aman can offer: the freedom to let go, completely, without shame orregret.
“Please, Sir,” she whimpers again.
“What did I tell you about begging?” Idemand harshly.
“Not to do it, Sir,” she answersquickly.
I flick against her clit again, harder. Justthe right taste of pain to keep her back from the edge.
“Why not?” I growl.
“Because...because it won’t make adifference,” she’s sobbing with need now, her body coiled so tightshe can’t stand it. Still, she keeps her hands behind her back,knows that breaking position would end this in a heartbeat. “Youwon’t submit to me. What I want doesn’t matter here.”
“And why’s that?” I flick her nipples thistime in a light, stinging stroke.
“Because you’re in charge!” Her voice ringsout, thick with desire. “You control me. You control my body, myrelease.”
“That’s right.” I step closer, gripping herjaw and tilting her face up to me. “You belong to me. In these fourwalls, I have total control.”
Even blindfolded, I can see how much shewants me. Trembling and moaning, her cheeks flushed, her mouthopen. The most beautiful sight in the world. “Tell me what to do,Master,” she whispers. “Tell me what you want.”
I feel the craving inside me rear up, darkand determined.
She’s ready. She’s mine.
I unzip my pants, and hear her breath catchwith desperate anticipation.
“You’ve been a good girl,” I murmur,stroking her cheek. Victory surges through me, hot and fast. “Youcan have your reward.”
In one swift motion, I drag her to her feetand bend her over the bed. Pi
She moans in surrender as she comes for me,completely helpless, her cunt clenching wildly around me as herbody breaks wide open.
The sound hums through my bloodstream. Hersubmission is my drug.
I finally let go.
ONE: ISABELLE
“Where are we going? Why won’t you tellme?”
Brent doesn’t answer my questions, he justdrives the Maserati like he’s in the Indy 500. He screeches downthe dark Manhattan streets with a scowl on his face.
I grip the inside door and try to rememberhow many drinks he’s had.
“Maybe you should slow down?” I suggestsoftly. “You don’t want to get pulled over. Not after all thetrouble you’ve had this year.”
Trouble is an understatement. His fatherdied a few months ago, and left the Ashcroft fortune to a daughternobody even knew he had. Brent did everything he could to win themoney back—and nearly went to jail.
But it’s the wrong thing to say right now,when he’s wound up like this. His scowl deepens. I close my eyesand say a prayer as he hurtles through another amber light, untilfinally he pulls up to the curb with a screech.
I open my eyes. We’re in the middle ofnowhere: a sketchy street in a deserted part of town. “What is thisplace?”
Brent gives me a cruel grin. “You’ll likeit, baby, I promise.”
I slowly get out of the car. I thought wewere heading to one of his favorite nightclubs, so I dressed up: ashort metallic mini-dress, high stiletto heels. He likes to show meoff and see every head turn when we walk in the door. I sometimesfeel like I’m performing, putting on an act and pretending to besomeone I’m not, but it always makes him happy.
It’s easier when he’s happy.
Brent takes my arm and leads me to adiscreet door in the front of an old warehouse building. We stepthrough it, and my confusion grows.
Inside, there’s a luxurious lobby area. Darkvelvets, polished wood, antique chandeliers. A beautiful woman in alace dress waits behind the desk.
Brent strides over. “Brent Ashcroft,” hea
“Are you a member here?”
Brent glares back. “I’m invited.”
“Yes, of course,” she soothes him, seeingthe expression on his face. “Has your host checked in already? Ican have them fetched.”