Purely Professional (13 page)

“So you aren’t like this with all the women?” She played the word
yearn
off his word “hinder,” and he grinned wider.

“Deliberate?” He gestured to the board.

“
Y
is worth a lot of points.” Bridget wrote down her score. “Answer my question?”

“Bossing me around, now?” He winked. He grew serious, his brow furrowing as he stared at the board, then at his letters. Finally he answered. “No, I’m not like this with other women. Usually they know what they’re doing, first of all. And…wow, this makes me sound like an ass—” he paused, “—but I don’t always care about them. They’re nice and fun, but it’s not anything more.”

“And you care about me?” Even though she raised an eyebrow, Bridget felt a little surge of happiness. What was that? She didn’t want him to care.
But it’s flattering
, said the little voice inside her.

“In a purely professional way.” Max looked up from the board. “You’re a friend. I don’t want to fuck that up.” He paused, then played
yield
off her
yearn
and drew new tiles. “Bridget, have you ever considered yourself submissive? Tell the truth.”

“You keep asking me this, but I really haven’t.”

“What about your fantasies?”

She hesitated.

“What? What is it?” Catching her hesitation, he looked up from the board.

“It’s just…” She paused and took a swig of beer. “I’ve had a lot of crushes on men in positions of power. My volleyball coach back in high school, my internship coordinator in college, a few professors…” Realizing he was grinning, she blushed, remembering he was a professor. “Right. Anyway, I never acted on any of them.”

“And yet you complain that you date weak men.” He swirled the beer around in his bottle and held it up to the light, his gaze thoughtful and distant.

“Well, I don’t want some guy to boss me around.” To hide the discomfort she suddenly felt, Bridget looked down at the board. She played
reach
off the
H
in
hinder
and fumbled as she chose four new tiles.

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” Max said smoothly, and he drank his beer. “I’ll bet you’re just afraid of what kind of woman you would be if you gave in to those urges.” He rubbed a tile between a thumb and forefinger, then set it back on his shelf. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Bridget. You responded today like a natural submissive. You liked more than just the sex. You liked all of it.”

She set down her beer and looked at him. “All right.” She tried not to sound defensive. “So what does that mean?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Max shrugged. “Maybe this afternoon, I just want to play some Scrabble with you and order a pizza. But when we’re done with all this experimenting, you’re going to have a lot to write about.”

Chapter Ten

Sated with pizza, Bridget sat down at her computer feeling content—not horny, not nervous, just happy after a pleasant afternoon and evening. They’d eaten dinner and sat on the couch, watching television and talking over a six-pack of Blue Moon. She’d learned he liked game shows and was talented at both Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. The evening was relaxing and fun, but she had another blog post to write, so she settled down at her desk. As she drew her knees up, she realized she was still wearing his clothes; his shirt smelled like his house, which brought the whole afternoon back in sharp relief.

The writing flowed more smoothly than she’d thought it would. Damn it, she couldn’t relive the day without getting horny again. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she remembered her orgasm.

“
It feels less like coming
,
and more like shattering
,
falling apart and being remade in the same instant
,
as if my body has become no longer my own
,
its responses beyond my control.
I
am his and his alone:
his toy
,
his slut
,
and I am happy to let go and have him take me where I’ve never been before.
”

It was kind of embarrassing to describe the things she’d done and said, the way he’d talked to her and how she’d
liked
it. But no matter how she came off in this excerpt, it accurately reflected the way she’d felt.

When Bridget finished, she reread it twice for content and then checked for punctuation and grammar issues before going online. With a few clicks and keystrokes, she called up the content interface and sent it off, likely to be ignored by an Internet that was completely unaware of her existence.

Or was it?

Unable to resist, Bridget opened
Sultry Submissions
to see if anyone had read her first post.

Four hundred comments greeted her.

Four
hundred
comments. Astonished, she started skimming them. Of course, a few were nasty, accusing her of degrading herself and all women, but she’d been in the position of reading harsh criticism before and she tried to ignore it. Most of the commenters, though, had been positive. Some asked her questions, others related personal stories or shared their own kink. The vast majority had submitted under pseudonyms and a few were totally anonymous, but people
liked
what she was writing
.
They were reading it and they wanted more. She usually received only a handful of emails about her traditional articles, just a few from the same email addresses all the time, her fan club. Here, in this new role, she could see that Marcy was right. This avenue had potential. For what felt like the hundredth time that week, she wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

* * *

Bridget couldn’t help feeling nervous as she walked into work Monday morning. Her Sunday had been quiet; Max had gone out of town for the day and Helen was on another date with Jessica, so she’d caught a movie alone and then spent the afternoon reading. Despite the relaxing time to herself, she felt tense as she walked past the cube farm to her office.

Marcy had left a note on her door asking for her to check in. A wave of anxiety turned her stomach, even though she knew Marcy was probably happy with her.

Bridget dropped off her purse on the desk and headed right back out of her office again, wanting to get this meeting with Marcy done and over with. How could it be bad? She had four hundred comments on her first blog post, and there had been another hundred and fifty on the most recent one when she’d checked it before leaving the house.

Marcy actually smiled and got to her feet when Bridget entered, rather than ignoring her for her computer like she usually did. “Come on in and have a seat. Shut the door behind you.”

Nonplussed, Bridget sat down opposite Marcy’s desk. Even when happy with her work, Marcy never greeted her so warmly.

Her boss began gushing right away. “Your posts have been
sensational
. We’re getting reposts all over the place.
Sultry Submissions
has gotten more hits in the last weekend than the
Sultry
Web site usually gets in a month.”

“Thank you.” Bridget was taken aback. Even though she knew she’d done well, this was more praise than she’d expected. “I’ve only done two posts.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes to get noticed.” Marcy nodded. “I don’t know what it is. We can find this sort of writing online anywhere. But this is different somehow. It’s like we’ve made erotica acceptable here.”

Bridget bristled a little. “It’s not intended to be erotica.”

“But it works both ways.” Marcy was actually gesturing, actually showing emotion. It was unnerving. “It’s an introduction to the lifestyle
and
a titillating piece of writing.”

“Thank you,” Bridget repeated, still cautious. “And…no one knows it’s me?”

“No,” Marcy said immediately, then hesitated, making Bridget’s stomach sink. “Well, we did say on the Web site that the blogger was a regular contributor to
Sultry
magazine.”

“So everyone’s going to be guessing who it is?” This wasn’t what she had signed on for. “I thought everyone was just going to think I was another freelancer.”

“We needed to legitimize it somewhat, tie it more explicitly into our main brand by making the staff connection more overt. That’s what’s making it so popular… good writing and a bit of a mystery. Bridget, we employ a staff of fifteen regular writers. There’s a lot of guessing that can happen here. Your secret is safe with me, don’t worry.” Marcy smiled in a warm way, but it still felt like she was going to unhinge her jaw like a snake, lean over and swallow Bridget whole.

Marcy was so damn smug that her brainchild—and Bridget’s personal life—was making Internet waves. How far would the woman go for continued success? She didn’t mind speaking up this time, knowing she wasn’t going to lose her job. She just brought more hits to
Sultry
than the site had seen since they first went on the web. “Is it really safe?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s going to get better ratings to reveal who I am, are you going to do it?” Bridget leaned forward and rested her hands on Marcy’s desk. “I signed the NDA, but I’d get buried in legal fees trying to enforce it, and meanwhile, my reputation is ruined.”

“Of course not.” Marcy looked appalled, eyes going wide. “Bridget, I hope you don’t think so little of this company that you really believe that’s a possibility.”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I just had to be sure. This is my life here.” Marcy’s reaction relaxed her somewhat. She felt good about standing up for herself too. How was it that after a day of “yes, sir”-ing and some amazing sex, she was
more
confident than before? Max’s confidence must be rubbing off on her. Or being submissive in one area of her life gave her license to be more assertive in other areas. Who knew?

“Keep doing what you’re doing.” Marcy paused and looked unsure for a moment. Bridget waited, wondering if she was going to say anything else.

Marcy finally sighed. “Bridget, may I ask you an
incredibly
personal question?”

Bridget felt a flush creep slowly up her neck.

“You don’t have to answer,” Marcy said quickly.

She hesitated. Knowing this woman was reading all the details of her sex life was…well, mortifying. There was no other word for it. Even if Marcy thought these were reminiscences from years ago, they were still her own personal experiences. This was the price she had to pay to be executive editor someday. “All right.”

Marcy looked down at her desk, then up at Bridget. “Was it really the way you write about it? I mean, are you exaggerating for effect? Or is it as intense as you describe?”

Bridget paused, sure she was as red as her hair. “I’m not…well, it’s…” She stammered, then stopped. “I don’t think I can talk about this. But I don’t exaggerate for effect.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” Marcy adjusted some papers on her desk, and Bridget was surprised to see her editor looking
uncomfortable.
Was she even blushing a bit? “Well, keep up the good work. I want most of your focus on this new project. Let me know if you need anything taken off your plate.”

“Thank you. But, as you said, it’s just two blog posts a week. I think I can handle it.”

As Bridget walked back to her desk, she felt at the top of her game as a writer. Putting together those blog posts and seeing the feedback had been a rush. She’d missed that gratification, the reminder that her work made a difference. So yes, she’d spoken truly: she
could
handle the workload. But could she handle Max?

* * *

Bridget stared at the phone in her hand and wondered what she was doing. Work had been uneventful after her meeting with Marcy, and she’d come home at a reasonable hour. Her house was just as she liked it: quiet and peaceful. She’d had dinner and sat down with a good book, but had been unable to focus. The house felt somehow…empty. Now she was staring at her phone, wondering whether or not to call Max.

Where did this come from? She wanted his company. Not for sex—although she wouldn’t object if it were offered—but for conversation. He made her laugh. He challenged her. He didn’t come begging her for attention when he was bored and lonely.

And she wouldn’t either. Bridget tossed the phone onto the other end of the couch and reached for the remote. If she couldn’t read, she’d watch television. As she settled into the cushions and began scrolling through the DVR, she wondered if maybe she should get a cat.

Chapter Eleven

Tuesdays were always task days for Bridget. She had to review the pitches for her department that had come in under Monday’s deadline, answer letters to the magazine, and a dozen or so other, more mindless jobs on her to-do list. At least it was a day she worked from home. After settling in with a cup of tea and fuzzy slippers, she opened up a browser window and just stared at it, mind wandering away from the prospect of work. She hadn’t heard from Max since Saturday night, and it was beginning to make her feel anxious. Plus, she’d undoubtedly need to put together another blog post, and she kept wondering what Max had in store for her. He’d mentioned escalating things. What would be next? He’d given her no clue. At last, she shook herself out of her reverie and turned back to her computer. All right, email first.

By the time Bridget finished sorting and responding to letters to the editor, it was lunchtime. While she heated a can of tomato soup on the stove, she thought back to Max. He told her he’d written some articles online as a freelancer.
That
would be some interesting reading.

Bridget carried her bowl of soup back to the computer and ran a Google search for “Erebos” and “BDSM” together. It didn’t take her long to find his articles.

She had no idea there were so many online magazines for people with different types of kink. Max had written articles in e-zines for bondage, spanking, dominance and submission, as well as for general BDSM publications.

In the middle of a particularly explicit description of spanking techniques, she was startled by the doorbell and jumped, dropping her spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter.

Bridget opened the door to find Max, grinning as if he’d been reading her mind. He wore a pair of gray slacks and a button-down green shirt that fit perfectly over the lean angles of his body, his appearance made professor formal by his matching gray silk tie. A small black gift bag swung from his pointer finger. Bridget was immediately aware of the pajama pants and T-shirt she was wearing, the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Still, his presence in her doorway inspired a flush of warmth and happiness. Where did that come from?

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Um…sure.” As she backed up to let him in, everything she’d been reading came right to the forefront of her mind, and her stomach clenched. Was this spying? Her gut felt as if she’d been doing something wrong, but had she? “I thought your summer classes started today.”

“I have a long lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He walked in and looked around, peering into the living room and office. “I haven’t seen your house in the daylight. It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“What are all these awards?” He gestured to the wall above her desk, then walked closer to inspect. “You won all these?”

“Yeah.” She perked up. “Well, they’re all in-house awards from
Sultry
. I don’t think I’ll win any National Magazine Awards anytime soon. But still, you know. Recognition.” She shrugged, admiring the way they looked up on the wall, so nicely arranged, a testament to years of hard work.

Max had wandered into the living room and was sitting on her couch. She sat beside him, still not sure what he was doing there. “What’s in the bag?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute.” He studied her face. “You look guilty. What were you doing?” He looked around, then back at her. His smile was gone, and although he didn’t look angry or mean or threatening, he had obviously assumed the role of the Dominant.

“Nothing,” she said automatically, surprised at how quickly “sir” had come to her lips, even though she hadn’t said it. Was that all it took? A few days?

“Really. What were you doing?”

“I was eating lunch.” Then she hesitated. “I…well, I was reading some of your articles.”

“Oh.” His expression revealed nothing. “Got a little curious, did we?”

“You did the same to me, remember?” She tried to reclaim the balance of power they used to have, when their conversations were normal.

“True. And I didn’t tell you not to. But you’re going to cost me all my best surprises.” Max smiled, and Bridget relaxed.

“So…you want me to stop?”

“Which ones have you read?”

“Just two. One on rope bondage, one on spanking.” She felt herself color a bit.

“I see.” He smiled. “Yeah, I want you to stop reading, at least for now. That okay?”

She blinked. “You’re asking me?”

“Sure.” He looked surprised. “It’s a favor, not an order. I like surprising you.”

“Oh. Well, okay.” It was nice to be asked. She looked to the gift bag now sitting on her coffee table. “So what’s in the bag?”

“A present for you.” He handed it to her, and she opened a little black box and pulled out the interesting figure-eight-shaped contraption inside: a pair of striped balls connected together by a strip of silicone, a looped string coming out of the bottom. They were heavier than they looked.

“Smartballs?” She read the logo, then flipped the box over for directions or a diagram, found neither. “And what do you want me to do with these?” She thought she might already know.

“Wear them, of course. I think you’ll find them stimulating.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow, jiggling the Smartballs in her hand. “Wear them?”

“For the rest of the day. I want to warm you up.” He slipped his arms around her, casually bringing her against him. “Think you can do that?”

“I suppose so.” She smiled. This would be fun. “So do you want to get together tonight?”

“I do. Come over around six and I’ll cook you dinner.”

“You’re spoiling me, you know.” This was getting better and better.

A mischievous glint twinkled in his eye. “Wear something a little sexier, please.”

Bridget laughed, pulling away to set the Smartballs on her table. “These are my hanging-around clothes. I’m hanging around. What do you want, lingerie?”

“How about a nice skirt?”

“You have a thing for skirts.”

“No, I have a thing for easy access.” He winked. “Oh, and are you free Thursday night?”

She turned the Smartballs over and over in her hand, studying them. “I go into the office on Thursdays, but I’m usually home about six-thirty. Why?”

“I’m giving a presentation at the University at eight. I want you to come.” His blue eyes sparkled, and she found herself lost in them.

“I’ll put it in the calendar.” She set the Smartballs down on the coffee table, feeling a bit confused. Why would he want her to come to a lecture?

“Are you still working? Or had you just decided to give up for the day and read my articles online?”

“I’m just taking a break.” She looked up at the clock. “I have about another hour or so of work to do.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He picked up the Smartballs and placed them in her hand. “Do you need me to put those in for you?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t want him to know how much he affected her. “I’ve got it, thanks.” She forced an eye roll.

Max leaned down to kiss her, slow and lingering, and it felt like a lover’s kiss, not like a tease, a lesson in dominance or anything professional. “I’ll see you tonight.”

After Max left, Bridget examined the Smartballs more closely, the silicone smooth under her fingers. Each sphere was a little smaller than a ping-pong ball; with the tiny silicone connector, the whole contraption was about the length of her palm, plus the looped string to pull them out. They were surprisingly cute, all black except for a little pink stripe on each side. When she shook them, she could feel a weight rolling around inside each, causing a tingle to run down her spine. This was going to be interesting.

Once upstairs in her room, she lay back on her bed, sliding her pants down around her ankles, unsurprised to find herself already wet. She slid the balls in slowly, enjoying the sensation, until they disappeared. The little string barely protruded. Then she pulled her underwear and pants back on. When she tentatively sat up, she felt pressure, but wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not until she stood.

Then yes, that was nice. Bridget had to clench her muscles a bit to keep the Smartballs from sliding out, and they vibrated slightly with each movement she made. As she walked down the hall, the motion felt…stimulating. No, not just stimulating, she realized as she started down the stairs.
Fucking incredible.
Oh, this was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Bridget’s entire body felt electric as she walked over to Max’s house that evening. The Smartballs were still jiggling around, teasing her, and she was a bundle of anxiety and sexual frustration. She rang the doorbell and shifted slightly on her heels.

Max’s usual smile faded into something like shock when he looked at her, and she felt a twinge of satisfaction. She’d paired her shortest skirt with a nearly sheer white blouse, unbuttoned down to indecent levels and, underneath it, wore the corset he’d bought her.

Max looked her up and down. “Jesus Christ, Bridget. Are you trying to kill me?” He was still dressed for work, although his top button had been unbuttoned and his tie hung loose around his neck.

Bridget smirked. “It’s payback for these stupid Smartballs. Can I come in?”

He stepped aside. “Dinner smells great,” she said as she walked past him. “What are we having?”

“Chicken.” Max was clearly still flummoxed, but by the time they sat down to dinner, he had regained equilibrium. He’d made baked chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans.

“How was your afternoon?” he asked after they’d begun to eat.

“Distracting. This is really good, by the way.” Bridget gestured to her plate with her fork. “And coming from me, that’s saying something.”

“Thanks. And I like you distracted.”

“And how was
your
day?” Bridget asked, and just like that, they were in a normal conversation, everything else forgotten.

After dinner, she helped him clean up, continuing to be aware of the Smartballs as she moved. With Max’s close proximity, she was getting progressively more distracted. When the kitchen was clean, she leaned against the counter, arms folded, waiting for something to happen. Max turned to face her and looked her up and down. “You look like you’re waiting for something.”

“I am.” Bridget’s sexy attire was making her feel powerful, reckless. “I’m waiting for you to
do
something instead of just standing around.”

The change in his face was subtle, but she noticed it. Some of the playfulness disappeared, replaced by something more dangerous. She felt her heart flutter, and her muscles clenched around the Smartballs. Max stalked over to her, his every motion predatory, and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, caging her in. A half head taller than she was, he looked down with a feral darkness in his eyes. Bridget found herself breathing shallowly, trying to stand her ground and not feel intimidated.

“It seems like someone’s feeling a bit cocky.” Max’s voice sounded low and rough. Bridget struggled for a suitable reply, but her smart-ass comments had dried up in her throat. “You want me to do something? Fine. Let’s do something.” His hand closed around her wrist, and he pulled her forward as he turned and left the kitchen. He half led, half dragged her to the couch, the same leather sofa where they’d had the conversation that started everything. He sat, taking her with him, and she fell awkwardly across his lap, facedown, catching herself on her other arm.

“Hey!” she cried in surprise.

Max grabbed her other wrist and pulled it behind her back with the first, braceleting them there. Without her hands free, she was unable to get any leverage, knowing what was coming and heart pounding against her ribs.

When Bridget felt something smooth against her wrists, she twisted her head to see him binding them together with his necktie. He pulled the fabric a bit too tight, and she winced slightly even as she felt herself growing wet.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” Max inched her skirt up. “Showing up here dressed like a slut, mouthing off. Look at these black lace panties.” He rubbed his palm over them and she jumped, nervous. He tugged her underwear down slowly, exposing her. “Do you know what happens to naughty girls, Bridget?”

Bridget licked her lips and shook her head, her body hot with arousal and shame.

“Answer me, slut,” he barked.

“No, sir, I don’t know,” she gasped, even though she had a pretty good idea.

“They get punished.”

The first crack of his hand surprised her more than it hurt, and she yelped, jumping, pulling at her bonds out of reflex. Before she could prepare, he spanked her again, harder, his hand landing more firmly.

All right, that one
hurt.
She wanted to pull away, but even more, she wanted it to continue. It was humiliating, but to her embarrassment, she was getting turned on. She remembered Max’s article she’d read over lunch, and a passage came to mind.
The submissive experiences a world of paradoxes during a spanking.
While the amount of pain may vary
,
the humiliation is constant and continuously reinforced each time s/he begins enjoying it.
When he slapped her again, low on her ass, the impact jiggled the Smartballs, and a moan escaped her lips.

Max focused on that spot, raining slap after slap down upon her ass. Bridget could feel his erection pressing into her stomach where she lay across him, and she squirmed against it, wanting that stimulation.

Her breathing was really ragged now, both from arousal and a little fear. How far would this go? Suddenly he dipped a finger down between her legs and she blushed, knowing he could feel how soaking wet she was. Despite her embarrassment, she was not beyond lifting her hips to make it easier for him to touch her.

“It seems like you’re enjoying this, you little whore,” he murmured as she squirmed against his fingers, trying to get contact right where she wanted it. Max found the string of the Smartballs and tugged, just enough to make them vibrate inside her. Bridget moaned and tipped her hips backward reflexively. At that, he delivered another hard slap, this one harder than any of the rest. Her moan turned into a bit of a yelp.