At His Instruction(3)

“About time, Miss Willcox.”

So he was watching. My lips twitched as I pushed the door open.

Mr. Drake was sitting at the edge of his desk, waiting, his body tense, like a snake coiled and ready to strike.

“What took you so long?”

His eyes were intense, but I thought I saw a trace of humor behind them, even though his face was impassive.

“I came as soon as I could, Mr. Drake. After doing my due-diligence for my position, that is.”

He stroked his chin, eying me from head to toe. A moment passed, and I wondered if he was going to punish me. The thought made my pussy heat.

“Very well, Isabeau. You’re nothing if not thorough. Now, please. Come here, and open that box. I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

I undid the paper carefully, then folded it and set it on his desk. I noticed the approval in his eyes when I looked up. I knew he’d like that. Somehow it just didn’t feel right to rip wrapping paper in front of Mr. Drake. It was sloppy. And he doesn’t tolerate sloppiness.

I raised the lid of the box and my mouth fell open. Inside were two long, black leather gloves, covered in laces and buckles. I didn’t know what to make of them. I lifted one out, my skin humming at the feel of the supple material.

“What are these for?”

Mr. Drake’s eyes burned into mine. “They are bondage opera gloves, little temp. With them, I can restrain you in a myriad of ways. But today, I’ll use them to keep your arms bound behind your back.”

I looked back down at the glove in my hand, tracing the metal eyelets and laces with my fingertip. The thought of being bound by him made my body come alive. I licked my lips.

“Oh.”

“I told you your training would begin today, Isa. Are you still my willing slave?”

He ran a hand over my face, and I trembled at his touch. It felt like time stopped for a moment, and as I looked at him, I knew I wanted this more than anything. To be his. To please him. To let him please me, the little voice inside me said, and I smiled, knowing I was ready for whatever he had to give me.

“Yes, Sir.”

His hand knotted in my hair, and he pulled me close. The twinge of pain made me even hotter. A soft moan escaped my lips as he brought his face just inches from mine.

“You’re going to learn how to perform on your knees today, slave. I’m going to feed you my cock, inch by inch, until you learn how to take it all. Would you like that?”

He yanked my hair, tilting my head up and making me gasp.

“Yes… Sir.”

I’d been fantasizing about tasting him for days now, wondering what he would feel like stretching my lips, what he would taste like on my tongue.

His lips met mine, hot and urgent, and I opened to him, moaning into his mouth. When we broke apart, his breathing was ragged, his pupils dark and dangerous.

“On. Your. Knees.”

I did as he asked, dropping to my knees, my brain buzzing with anticipation. I noticed with a grin that the skirt he bought me had hidden side slits that made the position easy. Nice touch.

"When you come to me in here, I expect you on your knees, ready for my commands. Is that understood?"

I nodded, my own breathing harsh. "Yes, Sir."

I felt myself getting wet for him, my body eager to be used.

"Now, spread your legs apart, Isa, and put your hands behind your back."

I spread my knees wider, sitting back on my heels. I felt wanton and vulnerable like this, open and waiting. Perhaps it was wrong to like that feeling of vulnerability, but something about trusting him like this was so erotic, it banished all thoughts of propriety, my former ideas about sex forgotten.

He moved behind me and knelt down, slowly undoing the buttons of my blouse before untucking it from my skirt and sliding it off my shoulders. The cool air from the office hit my breasts, shielded only by my thin, lace bra, and my nipples tightened against the fabric.

"Hold your arms out behind you, slave."

I stretched my arms out behind my back, and sighed as I felt him tug the cool leather up over my skin. He moved slowly, sensually, tugging first one opera glove on, then the other, before running his fingers between mine, making sure the fit was tight.

"I'm going to lace you up now. You won't be able to move until I release you. Understood?"

I nodded, adrenaline coursing through me at the thought of being restrained like this. I felt the laces tug, the gloves tightening together, drawing my arms inward until they were pressed together behind my spine. It was a stretch, the feeling at once frightening and arousing. He jerked the buckles closed above the laces, the leather biting into my skin at the top of my arms, then securing my elbows and wrists, making sure I was held firmly in place.