Mr. Kyle Gorgeous. Fitting. I didn't know whether to crawl for the clamps or get up and go for them. Well, he wasn't much of a dom. I got up and walked, and he didn't correct me. I came back and placed them in his hands. They weren't the most stringent pair I had, but he'd never know. I liked the more painful ones, but I didn't know if he knew how long it was safe to leave them on.

I knelt down again, but he pulled me back up.

"I want you to look at my face while I put them on you. Look right at me."

Again I felt the ghostly friend. I didn't think Kyle had the imagination to come up with this on his own. He closed the clamps, one and then the other, on my hard, puckered nipples. The ache bloomed, then commuted into a rush of wetness between my legs. I gasped, staring at him. His blue eyes looked dark earlier, but now they were light and wide. He watched as if trying to gauge what I was thinking. I don't know if he knew I was daydreaming about his friend.

"Do you like that?" he asked, tugging on the little beads that hung down from the silver clamps.

"Yes, Kyle. I like it a lot."

"Shake your titties, push them together for me."

I did. The hungry way he was looking at me really turned me on. He might not be a dom, but he was sexy. He put his hand between my legs, probing me roughly, and again the submissive inside me exulted. My mouth opened in a moan, and I let his fingers penetrate me as deeply as he wished. I was so wet, my pussy squelched against his fingers.

"You do like it, don't you? You horny little slut."

I stood still and let him take me with his hand. The pressure building in my belly was shooting up to my breasts, snaking down between my thighs. My legs trembled from the pleasure, so I thought I might fall if he didn't support me. Each time his agile fingertip stroked over the little nub, my hips bucked forward in a plea. He tugged on the clamps again, and I gasped.

"I want you to come," he said.

Thank God. I closed my eyes as he tugged and worked my clit with those talented fingers. Did I say he was gorgeous? His fingers were his best feature by far. I put my hands on his shoulders and moaned, thrusting my hips forward. I clung to him and let the rhythm of his fingers drive me higher. My body drew up tight and then convulsed in release.

"Yes, yes!" I mashed my head into his chest and almost closed my teeth on his golden skin. He held me up with strong hands as I rode out the waves of satisfaction. When I came back to my senses, I looked up into his eyes. He was still watching me in that intense way.

"That was cool," he said.

I let out my breath in a rush. "Yes, it was."

His hand was still clamped over my pussy. He looked down at his hard cock with a smirk. "But I'm not quite finished with you yet."

"I sensed that." I smiled.

His hand left my pussy to grasp my upper arm. He pulled me to the sofa and bent me over it.

It wasn't the harem room, but I was finally about to get fucked. I watched over my shoulder as he rolled on a condom. He positioned his dick against my slit and pushed in to the hilt. I went up on my toes and moaned, then twitched my ass back against him. He began to fuck me. I panted and gripped the cushion. The head of his cock pummeled in and out, rubbing over my g-spot. My hips jerked as delicious sensation gathered into a teeming knot at my center.

"Oh...oh..." I couldn't form words. The only sounds in my world were my incoherent exclamations and his urgent grunts. Warm pleasure suffused my entire body. My nipples tingled with a needful ache.

"Spread your legs." I did, and he practically lifted me from the floor with the force of his thrusts. I felt like his creature, his object. I loved the way he was using me. I imagined I existed only to slake his lust. His hands clenched and unclenched on my hips as he pulled me back on his dick. Just as I was about to come, though, he withdrew. He ignored my wail of protest and put his hands on my shoulders. He pulled me from the couch and forced me to the floor on all fours. He knelt behind me and bent over my quivering back. I could feel his sweat-slickened abs against my skin as he whispered in my ear.

"Nell, can I fuck your ass?"

For two thousand dollars? Yes. I moaned and twitched my hips back against him. My pussy juice eased the way, but I still flinched when he worked the head in. I breathed through the pain and clenched my sphincter around him. I waited for him to suggest lube and gritted my teeth when he pressed on without it. The ache was acute but at the same time thrilled me to the core. I reached back to clutch at his thighs.

"Okay?" he asked.

I made a sound of assent and dropped my shoulders forward. He took it for the capitulation it was and slid his thick tool in to the hilt.

God, it had been far too long since I'd had a cock in my ass. I'd forgotten that terrifying, intoxicating feeling of being impaled. The pain of entry turned into unfolding pleasure that spread from my ass to my pussy and up to my nipples straining in the clamps. I tried hard not to start begging and talking dirty. You're a submissive. Let him fuck you.

And he fucked me, slow and deep. He reached under me to flick at the nipple clamps, creating sparks of fire that resonated in my pelvis. Then came a series of quick thrusts that made me clench and moan, scrabble for purchase on the rough carpet. It was the surrender that mattered during anal, letting go and accepting my basest desires. I could barely remember my name, or his for that matter. He reached around and stroked my pussy while his cock stretched my tight hole. I felt his fingers delve into my wet slit and then search for my clit. He pinched it. I felt something inside me unfurl and go wild.

I cried out and came like a madwoman, jerking back hard against his hips. While I shuddered and shook through my climax, I felt his dick pulse in my ass. Mr. Kyle Gorgeous Talented Fingers rocked in me another moment and then finally went still. It was a long time before I became aware of the scratchy carpet under my skin.

He pulled away from me and found his way to my bathroom. I heard water running, a flush of the toilet. When he returned I was still exactly as he'd left me, cheek to the carpet with my ass in the air. When no directions were forthcoming, I righted myself and turned. He was looking at me with that same look from the club, studying, assessing.

"Thank you," he said finally. "Um, should I take those off?" he asked, indicating the nipple clamps.

"Okay." He did, almost gingerly. I drew in a halting breath as the blood flowed back to my nipples.

"Does that hurt? When they come off?"

"A little."

"But you like that, huh? Being hurt?"

It was a simplification, but since I figured I'd never see him again, I gave him the simple answer. "Yes."

He walked over to pick up his clothes. As he pulled his shirt on, I squelched the urge to rip it back off again. Farewell, hottest abs ever, I thought, then I realized he was talking to me.

"You're a hot fuck. I thought you would be. I really enjoyed that a lot."

"I did too." It wasn't exactly a BDSM scene, but it had been hot in its own way. A little tentative perhaps. If someone who fucked you in three holes one after the other could be called tentative.

"I think you're a really good sub. I mean, aren't you? You try hard at it. You like it for real."

I nodded. Now that he was obviously leaving, I started to feel wistful. I knew he wasn't going to be my new master or anything, but he had been fun. And he was as gorgeous as ever, even sweaty and fucked-out as he was.

"Can I get you some water?" I offered. "A beer?"

He looked at his watch. "You know what? It's late. I've got to be going. Thanks, though."

I watched him buckle his belt, lace up his shoes, straighten his collar, all business now. I thought about asking him if it was worth the two thousand bucks, but I didn't want to hear him say no, or hear him say yes while his body language clearly said no. He was no better dom now than he was when he'd arrived, but I got the clear feeling he didn't really care about that. I don't know if he'd gotten what he paid the two thousand bucks for, but if he hadn't, he didn't blame me, I supposed.

So why did I feel so guilty? Or did I feel sad? Or did I just feel ashamed?

I'd just sold myself for two thousand dollars. And why? Because I had an itch to scratch.

And this gorgeous guy walking out my door?

I guess he'd just had an itch too.

Chapter Two.

The Job *

The next day, though, a whole lot more got scratched than my itch. Joel met me at the door when I arrived at Eden.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Did you meet that guy after work yesterday?"

"Joel!"

"Mistress Amelia got in my face about it. If you did-"

"What did you tell her?"

"You dug him. I knew it!"

"What did you tell her, Joel? Tell me!"

"I didn't tell her anything. But somebody told her. She's spitting mad. She wants to talk to you."

"Holy shit. What do I do?"

"Lie. Or you won't fucking have a job."

I slunk down the hall toward Mistress's office. There was no point making her any more mad by avoiding her. But who would have ratted on me like that? Joel insisted it wasn't him, and I believed him. He was a friend. It had to be somebody making stuff up. Unless someone had been outside my apartment last night and actually spied on me to see if he arrived, and who would have been petty and vindictive enough to do that?

The door was ajar, so I peeked in carefully. Crap. Mistress Amelia was flushed with anger. I entered silently and closed the door behind me and decided on Joel's suggested plan of action. Lie.

"Joel said you wanted to talk to me-"

"If I were you, girl, I would address me as 'Mistress' and I would do it from my knees. Go out and come in again, and know this time that your job is on the line."

Shit. I left and closed the door and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. Mistress and I had a complicated relationship. She hated me because she knew I wasn't crazy about subbing for dommes-that is, female dominants. I just didn't go for pussy the way I went for cock.

She thought I wasn't a good, dedicated professional because I wasn't into women, but she didn't have much choice in keeping me around. Good subs were hard to find and keep, and the demand for us was constant, so I didn't believe for a second she would fire me. Still, I opened the door with my eyes cast down, dropped to my knees, and murmured quietly, "You wished to speak to me, Mistress?"

"I want to ask you one question, submissive. Did you meet a client last night at your apartment?"

"No. I don't know who told you that. I can't imagine why someone would be telling lies about me."

Mistress Amelia came to stand behind me. I half expected her to press a revolver against the back of my skull and pull the trigger, she was that mad. Instead she slammed the door and put her foot on the top of my back. I flinched, but I leaned forward until my face was against the floor. "Stay, you little slut," she ordered.

I watched her feet walk back around her desk and heard her sit. I could hear her fingers tap tap tap on her computer for what must have been ten minutes or more. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "I'll ask you once again. Did you meet a client last night at your apartment?"

"No," I said with less conviction.

"The correct answer is 'yes, Mistress,'" she snapped with restrained fury. "I know you did, because the client called and told me you sold yourself to him last night for two thousand dollars, and went on to detail everything you put out for that sum."

I sat up in shock, which was stupid because it gave me away, but I was dumbfounded. That was his kink? Having what wasn't allowed and then ruining that person's life?

"For the last time, you little slut, did you meet a client last night at your apartment?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said, bowing again to the floor, not that it would save me now.

She was quiet a long time. Finally she sighed heavily. "You make a good living here. You have a faithful clientele, and you have been mentored and trained by the best masters and mistresses in L.A. All we ask in return is that you follow the rules and not fraternize with paying clients outside the club."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I'm afraid this is grounds for dismissal. You not only fraternized with a client of the club, you sold yourself to him like a common whore."

"I'm sorry, Mistress," I said to the carpet. My nose was starting to itch.

She paused. "How sorry are you?"

Stupid, horny bitch. Ugly, puffed-up, over-the-hill dominatrix. It was easy for her to judge. I didn't make as much money in a year as she made in a week owning this club. She'd always wanted me, and now she thought she was going to get me by threatening to take away my job. Ugh. There was no way I was going to submit to that spiteful, nasty domme.

"How sorry are you?" she repeated, walking to stand over me. "Are you willing to submit to punishment from me in exchange for keeping your job?"

"What kind of punishment?" I asked her fat, leather-encased ankles. I left the Mistress off.

"The cane, you impossibly impertinent slut. To begin with." She landed a stroke of the cane across my ass. I screamed in outrage and sat up.

"The cane is on my 'no' list, Mistress Amelia!" Jesus, I didn't do canes. My ass was on fire from the one stroke she'd landed. No way was I submitting to a caning from her. It would probably kill me.

"Do you want your job or not?"

"The cane is on my 'no' list!"

"Letting a customer fuck your mouth, ass, and cunt for money is on my 'no' list, slut, and you did it anyway!"

"I... It was a weak moment, Mistress. You saw him. I swear, I won't do it again."

"Do excuses like that work with your other doms?"

You're not my domme, I wanted to remind her. You're just my boss.

She tapped the cane against the wall impatiently. "So let me get this straight. You can play the submissive whore with this client, but you're too good to submit to punishment from me. I see how it is, you uppity slut. I always knew you weren't a true submissive, and since I don't own you, I can't punish you as I see fit. But I can fire you. And I do. Get out of my sight. Leave Eden now."

I stood up slowly, in tears. Cast out of Eden. It hurt. I had no intention of being caned and put through the sexual wringer to save my job, but it hurt to be told to go. It hurt to be told I wasn't a true submissive, because I was afraid, deep down inside, that she was right.

"But my clients..."

"Your clients will live without your services. I can no longer in good faith offer you to them, now that I see you are in actuality a slut and whore and not even, truly, a submissive. Out."