His Little Tart (16 page)

“Well. You’re forgiven, then.” Constance giggled. “If I even get to forgive a big bad dom.”

“We need forgiveness all too often. We’re only human. And being on top doesn’t make us right, even if it does sometimes settle an argument. Now then. I saw the blue lace too, love. And I want to see more. And skin. Reach your hands up, toward the ceiling.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled both shirts off her at once.

“Not bad,” he said, eyes widening as he looked at her in her lingerie and jeans.

“You have good taste. You might get to keep that on for a while.”

“Might?”

He grinned.

She shivered. “Yes, Sir.”

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Sindra van Yssel

He ripped the button above her zipper open and then pulled it down. Then he took that little step forward she’d been waiting for and pressed her back against the fridge. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing her belly. He’d made a beeline for her as soon as he’d gotten there and hadn’t so much as glanced at anyone else.

Unless Alex greeting him at the door half naked had made him hard. Well, what man wouldn’t respond to that? Maybe she couldn’t take all the credit.

“You’re thinking again,” Aidan said with a smile. “I can see those wheels chugging away. I like brainy women, but think your way through this.” He yanked her jeans down hard to get them over her hips and then pulled them off the rest of the way.

“Matching panties. And stockings. You really didn’t go halfway, did you? But if you ever put a pair of jeans over suspenders and stockings again, I’m going to paddle you until I’m sure you’ll never do it again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now then, those panties are pretty, but they are in the way.” He hooked the waistband of them, and the oven beeped.

“Um, need to put the tarts in, Sir.”

“I need to put something in a tart, so we’re even.”

Constance laughed and wiggled her ass at him as she loaded the oven up with the little pies. Her panties were damp, and she wondered if he could see that. She sort of hoped he could, even though it was embarrassing. The idea turned her on even more.

“I have the feeling that you’re a very proper girl most of the time, little tart. But right now, you’re a very horny little slut, aren’t you?”

She blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Very.” As she was closing the oven door, he slid a finger between her legs from behind, rubbing her pussy through her panties. Yes, he could definitely tell how wet she was. He grabbed her around the waist just as she got the idea of squirming away.

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But that hadn’t been her first instinct. She’d wanted to grind against his finger until she came.

“The subs don’t have their cupcakes yet,” she protested, since he obviously wasn’t letting her go.

“And I haven’t fucked you yet tonight. Which do you think is more important?”

She wasn’t sure she had an answer to that question. The pressure building up in her core was too distracting. She couldn’t think straight. And she was embarrassingly wet. Her clit felt huge, and when his finger rubbed the silky fabric against it, she thought she was about to scream. She bit her lip to hold back.

She felt his hot breath ruffle the little hairs on the back of her neck as he leaned over her. Apparently sure she wasn’t going to move, he let go of her waist and slid his hand up her stomach to cup her breasts. As his warm tongue licked its way to her ear, he teased first one and then the other nipple until they were hard and elongated.

“Sir,” she whispered.

He bumped her ass, which let her know he was rock hard. She wanted that cock inside her, now. She didn’t care who walked in, as long as he would drive himself deep into her pussy and pound her until she screamed.

“Ready to serve cupcakes, my little tart?”

“Sir?” She asked. He couldn’t make her do that now. Everyone would be able to see how turned on she was. The darkness of her wet panties. Her stiff nipples, jutting against the thin, half-transparent lace of her bra. And she didn’t want to stop. “Can I come first?”

“Oh, honey,” he murmured. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come. Just as I’ve been dreaming of coming inside you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. But you will not come tonight until you know for certain that you are mine.”

“Yours?” What did he mean by that? His for the evening? His girlfriend?

“Mine. All mine. My little tart, and no one else’s.”

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Sindra van Yssel

He couldn’t want her that much. They were hot words, but she couldn’t let herself believe them. She was good at making things in the kitchen, but she wasn’t sexy. In fact, cupcakes and tarts were all she felt she was really good at. She’d sure made a mess of the business.

She’d started to turn, hoping to taste his lips, but now she looked away again. She didn’t want him to see the sadness in her eyes. She wasn’t going to think about the business. Why did it have to come up now in her head, right when he told her he wanted her? Not that what he said was exactly the same as I love you, but it was primal and powerful, and she wanted to surrender to it. She closed her eyes tightly and resolved to shut out the outside world.

He turned her to face him. “Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” she said. “Yes, I’m yours.”

She didn’t know whether his expression meant he was angry or amused, but at last he softly said, “Do you have any idea what a contradiction those two statements are? You’ll have to decide which of those you really mean. But for now, you serve cupcakes because you’re definitely not ready to come yet.”

Damn.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But she wasn’t going to beg him, even though it was tempting. “Fine,” she retorted and turned and took a plate in each hand.

I keep doing that, and I’m going to push him away.
But the idea of letting him know how vulnerable she was, either with her business or her heart, scared the hell out of her.

If he knew, he could take advantage of her. And the worst part of it was that was exactly what she wanted because then he’d be in control, and she could give it up.

Maybe it’s myself I need to be scared of.

He followed her as she walked out to living room. She knew he had a great view of her ass in the thong, and she didn’t mind that one bit. What everyone else could see bothered her more, but she didn’t want to show it. She tried her best to walk as if she served cupcakes in lingerie all the time.

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The dominants had all eaten theirs, but Alex’s was sitting on a little table near where Dylan sat.

“He’s a quick finisher, eh?” asked Sue with a grin. It took Constance a moment to realize Sue meant Aidan. Constance wanted to protest, but instead she felt the heat rising in her cheeks and her tongue felt too dry to talk. Did everyone think they were having sex in the kitchen? Well, they almost were.

She had been uncertain who she was going to serve first, but she decided she didn’t want to walk over to Sue yet so she handed the cupcakes to Laera, who was cuddled up with Bruce on the couch, and Sam, who was kneeling and facing her master.

Laera and Sam each smiled and thanked her, and Laera gave her a wink that put her more at ease. But she was steaming over Sue’s comment. Aidan had said nothing in response, nor could he without seeming defensive. And yet it was none of her business if he was a “quick finisher” or not. In fact, the idea of him taking his pleasure from her as fast as he could had its own appeal. He’d shown he could see to her needs first, when he wanted to. What would it be like to really be his and to have him use her like that?

And why did she even want that?

Because I trust him to take care of me too. Because I already know he’s not a selfish lout but a skilled and caring lover.

“Can you wait for your cupcake, Cliff?” she asked.

“Ask my Mistress,” said the muscular sub.

“Sue? Because my dom hasn’t come yet, and I’d really like to get him off.” There.

Take that. Constance couldn’t believe she’d been so forthright, but at least that put the lie to her earlier comment.

Sue chuckled. “Cliff can wait all evening. In fact, I usually make him wait a long, long time.” She grinned evilly. “But Master Dylan won’t let Alex eat until the others subs have been served, and I think Laera and Sam are holding back in solidarity. Of course, they could have helped themselves, but you two sounded busy.” She turned to

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Aidan and said, “I apologize for my earlier comment, Master Aidan. It was uncalled for and none of my business in any case.” She sighed. “I think I spend too much of my time as a ball-busting domme sometimes.”

Aidan nodded. “Apology accepted, Mistress Sue.” He turned to Constance and smiled. “And the offer has been noted, but I decide when I come. And when you come.

Understood?”

Did he have to say that in front of everyone? “Yes, Sir.”

“Get Cliff his cupcake. If the subs don’t get a chance to eat it before the tarts are ready, they’re going to all die of sugar shock having to eat both one right after the other.”

That seemed unlikely. The tarts would need to cool first, anyway, to be served at the perfect level of warmth without risking people burning their tongues on the strawberry-rhubarb filling. But she hurried back to the kitchen. Only then did she realize she’d failed to give Aidan a cupcake. She grabbed two plates and brought him one first. Then she went and handed the other to Cliff.

AIDAN WATCHED CONSTANCE’S shapely ass as she bent over to serve the big male submissive. He noticed Cliff taking a peek down Constance’s cleavage and felt a surge of jealousy, but Sue quickly grabbed Cliff’s chin and turned it away. He’d pay for that indiscretion later, Aidan had no doubt, and enjoy every minute of his punishment.

Sue rarely missed an excuse to give her subs what they wanted. He wondered if any of them realized how much their Mistress was serving them, rather than they her. No wonder Sue was off her game. Maybe if she was who she pretended to be, she’d be happy with her stable of subs, but as it was, she was probably driving herself crazy trying to keep them all satisfied.

That, however, was not his problem. He only wanted one sub: Constance.

He’d been doing a lot of thinking while he’d been flying around. Too much, perhaps. It had cost him valuable sleep. But globe-trotting wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

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Cutting deals wasn’t, either. More and more they seemed the same. And adding a few extra bucks to his bank account mattered less and less. He had enough money to do anything he wanted to. Dying with the most money couldn’t be what life was about.

He’d told himself time and again that he barely knew Constance, that he’d just had a few hours with her really. He’d tried to figure out what the attraction was. Nice, big, rounded ass? There were other women like that in the world. Submissive? Yes, she definitely was, but he’d been with dozens of submissive women. Sharp tongue? He suspected that perversely attracted him too, but still, not exactly unique. Inexperienced?

He’d never thought of that as a big plus, although it did mean that he could train her, perhaps. Ha. He wasn’t even sure Constance was trainable, but it would be fun to try and see where their struggle got them.

He knew he wasn’t in it for the cupcakes, although as he bit into his, he realized his memories of them hadn’t done her justice. But like a cupcake, it wasn’t all about the sugar or the flour or whatever else went into them. Somehow the ingredients, mixed precisely, baked at the right temperature, with the right balance of icing, made perfection.

And the mixture of traits that was Constance was perfect for him.

Now he had to convince her that he was perfect for her as well.

Right now she looked lost, and every bit of her inexperience was showing. She didn’t know what to do. Three of the five subs in the room were kneeling at their dominant’s feet, and she glanced at all of them, but something held her back. He didn’t think it was that she wasn’t submissive enough to kneel in front of him. She would if he ordered it. But she was an independent, self-sufficient businesswoman, and it probably seemed incongruous to her. Medieval, even.

“Come here, Constance.”

She walked toward him. Her knees flexed, and then she looked at him, uncertain.

For a moment, he thought she might say something smart-assed, but she didn’t do that either.

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He didn’t want her at his feet. Sometime, maybe, but right now that was too far away. He took her hand and lifted it, gently spinning her a half-turn as if they were dancing, and then he pulled her to him. He ignored his own aching cock as it pressed up against her back. It wasn’t going to get satisfied for a while.

He cupped her breast through the silk and lace and slipped his other hand inside her panties.

“Everyone can see,” she whispered.

“That’s my decision,” he told her. He’d happily take her back to the kitchen, but he wanted to claim her, to let her know that she was his anywhere and everywhere.

She moaned as his finger slipped along her clit, still moist from before. When he teased her nipples to hard buds, she rocked against him.

“Mine,” he told her.

She didn’t answer.

He ignored the rest of the room. This wasn’t about the audience, although it pleased him to let her know the presence of the others wouldn’t stop him. This was about her. He stroked and pinched, dipping his finger into her sopping pussy and glorying in the way her peaks turned rigid under his thumb. Her breathing grew ragged. He could feel her pulse speed up as he kissed her neck. Little noises of pleasure, almost squeaks, came from her mouth. She was, he knew, very close.