At His Command

Have you ever had one of those moments where something so strange and fantastic is happening to you, that you wonder if you're dreaming? One of those moments that is so surreal, so unlike anything in your ordinary life that you're positive it's a fantasy? But then you pinch yourself. The pain grounds you, and you realize it's really happening.

Your life is changing forever.

This is exactly how I felt as Mr. Drake led me into his secret dungeon and showed me what he had in store for me.

For a few minutes, he let me wander through the room, touching and exploring, asking myself which things I'd like to try. He watched from the doorway, wearing only his silk boxers, a knowing grin on his handsome face.

I picked up a pair of wrist restraints, feeling the suppleness of the leather, longing for the feel of being helpless before this powerful man. I ran my hands over the tails of a flog, then picked up a crop, wondering what it would feel like, laying into me when I was bent over, crying out beneath Mr. Drake's skillful blows.

The cross intrigued me the most, and I ran my hands over its dark surface before turning back to the man watching me closely.

"What is this thing?"

"It's called a St. Andrews cross. If we decided to play with it, I'd lash your wrists to the top two restraints, and your ankles to the bottom two, leaving you spread wide and vulnerable, unable to resist whatever I wanted to do to you."

I shivered, imagining the kind of things he might do when I was bound and na**d before him, stretched and ready.

He stepped closer, looming over me.

"Would you like that, Isabeau? Would you like to be helpless to resist while I bring you orgasm after orgasm, denying you what you really want until you are begging to be filled by my cock?"

My eyes almost rolled back in my head from his words alone.

"Yes …  Sir."

I wanted it more than anything.

"Then get some rest. Tomorrow, you're mine to do with as I please."

I groaned at his words. "But what about work?"

"Isabeau," he said, grinning down at me. "Tomorrow's Saturday."



When I woke, I noticed that my clothes were folded on the trunk on the foot of my bed , with a note sitting on top in an elegant hand.

I have business in the city to attend to, but will return as soon as I can.

Please make yourself comfortable. My house is your house while you stay.

I can't wait to see you, little temp. 

I read the note over and over again before holding it to my lips. I couldn't believe this was happening. The dream was real, and suddenly, I felt like a very naughty version of Cinderella, living with my kinky Prince Charming.

What's the first thing a princess to do? I wondered, then grinned. She'd explore the castle, of course!

I hadn't gotten a good look at my surroundings the night before, but now as I pushed the door open and padded down the hall in my bare feet, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed. Mr. Drake's home was lushly furnished with thick, soft carpets cushioning my steps, and gorgeous artwork displayed in every room. I examined one painting to see if it was a print, but brushstrokes were visible in the lamplight, as clear as day. An original. How much money did he spend on something as simple as decorating?

My one Ikea print hanging over my bed seemed down right sad in comparison. Considering that was my idea of a splurge item when I moved in said a lot about the difference between our two worlds. Suddenly, I felt very small, and very out of place.

The house was enormous, and it took me awhile to find my way down a back stairwell and into the kitchen. A stocky blonde woman looked up from behind the granite counter top and raised a sharp eyebrow at me.

"Miss, those are the stairs the staff uses. Guests use the grand staircase."

I blushed, my face feeling hotter than the noonday sun. "I …  I'm sorry. I didn't know."

In fact, I'd forgotten there was a staff. The chef nodded curtly at me, and went back to chopping vegetables. I sat down awkwardly on a stool by the counter and wondered what do to next. My stomach growled.

"May I make you something, Miss? An omelet? Or perhaps a crepe?"

I smiled at her. This was all too weird. "Please make me whatever is your favorite."

She grinned back, her icy exterior warming at my words. "Right away, Miss."

We chatted while she worked, and I soon learned that Katja had worked for Mr. Drake since he left college, leaving his father's household for his. When I finally tried the savory crepe she'd made, my eyes rolled back in my head.

"This may be the best thing I've ever had," I said, groaning.

The older woman beamed at me.

"Danke."

I attempted to pry information about my sexy and mysterious boss from her between bites, but she kept her words cheerfully vague. It seemed she didn't know much about his personal life at all. He usually sent the staff home early after they'd prepared dinner, preferring to serve his guests himself.