#the ruby room

I’m never exactly sure what a night at work will be like at Mortar House but I know that it will include some degree of discomfort and occasionally a good deal of pain.  You see, Mortar House is an exclusive dungeon, and I am currently the most sought-after sub in the place.  So when I showed up on a typically quiet Tuesday night to find the place buzzing with a peculiar energy, I was only mildly surprised.  When Helena, the uber-efficient maitre d’hôtel, pulled me urgently into her salon and informed me that my schedule had been cleared due to a special request by a Very Important Person, I wasn’t concerned.

“Repeat customer?” I asked, perching on the edge of the dainty French reproduction chair in front of her desk and arranging my flouncy little sundress just so.

Helena sat opposite me, smoothing her perfect blonde chignon with both hands, something I knew was a nervous habit.  Her normally porcelain-pale complexion was a bit flushed and she’d chewed away most of her flawlessly applied matte lipstick.  Something was definitely up.  “No, and I truly can’t say any more about his identity.”

This was not uncommon either.  Most Very Important Persons did not make their patronage of dungeons known to the world but something about Helena’s inability to keep still and look me in the eye put me on high alert.

“Local?” I tried casually.  “Young or old?  Is he hot?”

Helena made an exasperated noise—again completely out of character—and whipped open an unmarked manila folder.  “No more questions, Leah.  Here are the gentleman’s preferences.”

I watched her perfect bow of a mouth shape the words as she read.  “The gentleman may choose to engage in light bondage, discipline which may include mild flogging and/or spanking with his hand or an implement of his choice, withholding and/or forcing orgasm.  Oh, and…anything else you two agree upon that does not exceed your hard limits.”

I frowned and went very still.  Helena’s voice had quavered ever so slightly on that last part.  She looked at me now, an apology and a question in her pale gray eyes.  In my year of working at Mortar House she had never uttered those words.  ‘Anything you two agree upon’ was the super secret code for sex. 

I am not a prostitute and Mortar House is not a brothel.  But when I’d been hired, there had been a clause in my employment contract about the rare possibility of a client wanting sex.  I had indicated I’d be willing, under the right circumstances and for the right price, a very high price that the average client either wouldn’t be willing to pay or couldn’t afford.

“Helena, wow.  Whoa.”   I jumped up and wandered over to the window that overlooked a little courtyard in the back of the house.  It was that time of evening when the sky was vivid with pinks and purples.  It made me think of bruises.  For some dumb reason, I’d never actually expected to have to make this decision.   I’d been tempted a few times with a few clients but of course I’d never acted on it.  It was all part of the game we got off on, emotions ran high and the desire to fuck was sometimes pretty strong.  Part of the allure was in knowing it wasn’t going to happen, no matter how much I begged for it or how much the client taunted me with threats of doing it or withholding it. 

“Of course, you can decline this particular appointment.”  Helena didn’t need to remind me.  That was standard operating procedure.  Every client was investigated and the choice of taking them on was ultimately mine.  She was downright flustered, a word I’d never thought to use in a sentence describing lovely, unshakeable Helena.

Who the hell was this guy?

I went and sat back down, where Helena hadn’t moved an inch, watching me now with a disturbingly neutral expression.  “I know you can’t tell me much but just tell me this—will I regret it?”

Helena blushed, something I had never seen or thought I would see, and uncapped a gold and black Montblanc.  “I’m quite sure you won’t,” she said, her voice a little husky.  She held my gaze then and I swore I saw a flicker of heat where before I had only ever seen cool professionalism.  She offered the pen and pushed the signature page of my mystery client’s contract at me like a dare.

I trusted Helena.  I signed it.

It was a page for my signature only; his was elsewhere, along with any other identifying information.  Total black ops shit.

“Any special requests for appearance?  Fetish gear or naughty schoolgirl?” I said with a laugh.  This whole thing had mindfuck written all over it and I had to laugh to keep from losing my nerve.

Helena didn’t laugh with me, although she seemed to relax a little now that we were back to talking business.  “Go just like that.  What do you call that look—hipster rollergirl?”

Now I laughed for real, complete with my embarrassing trademark wheeze, and was pleased and relieved to see Helena back to her usual no-nonsense self, eyeing me with mock hauteur.  “You just wish you could pull off a babydoll dress, hot pink knee socks and custom Marvel Chuck Taylors.”

“Leah, I nearly forgot.”  I paused with my hand on the crystal doorknob.  “The gentleman requests that you be blindfolded.  Put this on as soon as you go in and he’ll take care of the rest.”   

As I made my way to the second floor and the room known as the Ruby Room, I wondered who could possibly cause Helena to lose her shit so thoroughly.  Mortar House had its share of local celebrities and I knew some very interesting things about quite a few gentlemen and women high up on the food chain.  This gentleman had to be something else entirely.

I stood outside the door for a moment to compose myself.  Other than the sex—no big fucking deal, right Leah?—he didn’t want anything too strenuous.  I was no virgin, hadn’t been for quite a while, and I’d had worse than a flogger and a hand on many occasions.  Piece of cake.

The room, which was actually a suite with its own bathroom and fireplace, was done up in rich, deep red tones, hence the name, and tended to be on the dark side even on the brightest of days.  The only light on was a small Tiffany lamp next to the bed, leaving the rest of the room nearly black.  My gentleman wasn’t on the bed but could easily be in the wingback or loveseat hidden in the shadows near the hearth.

Taking a steadying breath, I tied on the black velvet blindfold and waited. 

With a blindfold, your other senses become quite acute, hypersensitive for a hint of what’s coming.  For what seemed like a long time, I leaned back against the solid oak door, body tensely still and breath shallow, listening for the smallest sound, the scuff of a shoe on the floor or the rustle of cloth.  I inhaled through my nose and there it was—the barest scent of leather and fine cologne, something clean and woodsy.

I took a step forward and heard him move somewhere in the vicinity of the fireplace.   Turning my head, I tried to lock on to the creaking sound whatever leather thing he had on was making.  “Stay there, Leah.  I wouldn’t want you breaking your neck before we even have a chance to get acquainted.”

I huffed a laugh but it took all I had to keep standing upright let alone still.  “Yes, Sir.”  He had a British accent and a voice that was pure, uncut sex.   Deep, soothing, like something out of a dream or a memory. 

I jumped when he took my hand and pulled me farther into the room.  My other hand came up for balance and landed on butter-soft leather, the sleeve of his jacket.  I wanted to touch more, see his body with my hands.  I stayed still and waited. 

“You’re a tiny thing, aren’t you?” It was true I was short but I had too much tits and ass to be called tiny.  Releasing my hand, he moved around behind me. I could feel the warmth of his body all along my back even though we weren’t touching.  I jumped again like an idiot when he touched the back of my head.  “Easy, I’m just checking the blindfold.”

He fussed around for a moment with my hair, freeing a curl from the bow I’d tied.  “Better?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Then his fingers were on my face, adjusting the blindfold, running along the ribbons that held it in place, lightly tracing my ears.  I couldn’t help it, I shuddered, my skin breaking out in goose bumps, my nipples gone painfully hard. 

“So delightfully sensitive.”  He chuckled, a very distinct sound I could swear I’d heard somewhere before but my body was ramping up fast and I was having trouble thinking straight enough to place it.

He rubbed my bare arms like he was trying to calm me or perhaps torture me, up and down slowly.  His hands were large; his palms smooth and cool on my overheated body.  Gradually I realized he’d pulled me back against him and then I tensed up all over again at the feel of him.  He was tall, probably about a foot taller than me.  I could feel his pecs flexing against my shoulders and his hard cock pressed into my back.  A little moan slipped out before I could stop it.

He made a sound in return, a kind of growl that rumbled in his chest and reverberated through my whole body.  My knees literally went weak, I felt myself going down, and he wrapped his arms around my middle and backed us up onto the bed.  Suddenly, I was on his lap, my panties embarrassingly wet.  At the rate I was going, I’d soak through his jeans.  I squirmed and was rewarded with a light smack on the hip.  “Be still.  I’m trying to decide what I want to do to you first.”

Anything you want, anything at all, I wanted to say.  I was already ready to beg and plead and not at all in the mood to play the game, all of the D/s repartee and teasing and tormenting, building up to the grand finale.  I realized I was panting and clutching at his arms which were still circling me right under my breasts.  “Sir, if I may…”

Before I knew it, I was on my belly on the bed and he was standing up nearby.  I could feel his heat looming over me.  “You may not.”  His gorgeous voice was low and dangerous.  “I told you to be still.  Be silent.”  He laid a hand on my back for a moment, pressing down, and then he was gone but not far.  I could hear the creak of leather again and then a small thump, he’d removed the jacket.  More rustling sounds, the sound of a drawer in the toy cupboard in the corner opening and closing, and then the bed dipped as he sat down.

“What is your safeword, love?” he whispered, right next to my ear.  His breath was warm and smelled sweet, like chai.

On a whim, I whispered back, “Chai, Sir.” 

“You are absolutely precious.” The funny little chuckle again that had me clutching at the duvet and wracking my brain.  The merest brush of his lips against my cheek had me struggling for coherent thought again before he straightened back up. 

“I’m going to punish your ass first.  Which should I use, my hand or this flogger?”  I felt the soft caress of what had to be a deer flogger, the tails trailing lightly over my bare thighs where my dress had ridden up.

Ah, the Dom’s favorite trick question.  Did I say what I really wanted or what I thought he wanted?  I chose a sub’s favorite safe answer.  “Whichever you prefer, Sir.” 

His laugh burst out of him then, ehehehehe.   Recollection of where I’d heard that laugh zinged through me like an electric shock.  No fucking way.   

“Leah, you disappoint me.  Ten extra strokes for that answer.  Now tell me what you want warming that plump ass.”  He punctuated this statement with a snap of the flogger to the tender crease where butt cheek meets thigh.  It didn’t hurt at all.  In fact now that I was sure I knew who my Sir was, it only made me hotter.

Another desperate sound broke from me and I couldn’t keep myself from writhing a little.  Another pop to the other side.  “I’m sorry, Sir,” I moaned.  “Please use your hand.  Just touch me, Sir.  Please…”

“Take off the frock and leave everything else on.  I’m going to start with the flogger then we’ll see.”  His hands were on my shoulders, helping me sit up so that I could wrestle the dress off.  That left me in my drenched panties, knee socks and Chucks.  I often went braless outside of work and usually changed into something at the clients’ request.  I could hear his breathing turn harsh and I knew he was staring at my bare breasts, my stiff nipples.  “Lie on your stomach, ass in the air.” 

I was bent at the waist over the side of the bed, feet on the floor, cheek pressed to the cool cotton duvet cover, fists on either side of my head grasping handfuls of fabric.  Waiting.  Wanting it more than I ever had.  God, just fucking do it.

I’m not a true masochist but there’s something to be said for a skillfully applied spanking by the right person.  Tom—I was positive it was Tom Hiddleston, who I remembered was in town filming scenes for an indie flick—peeled my panties away and let them fall down around my ankles.  Even if it really wasn’t Tom I was going to keep believing it was for maximum enjoyment. 

With one foot, he spread my feet apart an indecent width.  “You want this, don’t you?”

“So bad, Sir.  You have no idea.”

“I’ve some idea.  You’re positively gushing, you filthy girl.”  He gave a short bark of laughter and let loose.  The first lash took my breath away a little; it was quite a bit harder than those teasing pops.  The next few he alternated butt cheeks, laying it on a little harder each time.  Then he concentrated on the top of my right thigh before working his way up to the small of my back and back down the left side.  It stung but wasn’t unbearable.  Yet. 

“You need this.”  He sounded like he had his teeth clenched.

“Yes, Sir.  Please.”

He stopped suddenly and stroked a cool hand across my heated skin.  It felt so good I leaned back into it.  He took his hand away and before I could protest, brought it back down hard enough to make me cry out.  With one hand he held me still, while he walloped away with the other until the sting turned into a burn.  I was yelping with each smack and the blindfold was getting damp from the tears that had begun to leak out.  My pussy was so wet I knew it must be getting on his hand.

No sooner did I have that thought, his hand went back to stroking over my fiery ass but I couldn’t be bothered with the mess I was making because I was dying.  His long fingers played along the seam, up and down, and then lower, just barely grazing my swollen lips.  He made a hungry sound in his throat and eased a finger inside me.   “You are so bloody hot.”

Hot enough to combust at any moment.  A second finger joined the first, stroking slowly in and out and then changing to a shallow exploration that had me arching my back to chase his teasing touch.  A twist of his wrist and crook of his fingers had me rearing up.  “Sir, please!” I gasped.  I was past the point of no return now but I had to play the game right up until the very end.

Tom didn’t disappoint.  “Tell me what you want, little Leah,” he commanded in the villainous voice that had launched a thousand fangirl blogs.

I nearly lost it right then.  “I want to come for you, Sir.” 

He took his hand away but before I could wail in agony, he was beside me on the bed, lifting me, rearranging me so that I lay in his arms.  “There we are.  Now I can watch you come apart, darling.” 

 One big hand attended to my neglected breasts, squeezing and pinching until I could no longer keep from moving into his touch.  The other made its way back down to my overheated pussy.  Not knowing what else to do with my hands, I stretched them up behind me.  One I sunk into Tom’s hair, the baby-soft curls clinging to my fingers.  The other landed on a sharp cheekbone, scruffy with stubble.  Turning his head, he caught two fingers in his mouth and bit down gently. 

“Oh God.  Now please, Sir?  Please…”

He was silent one beat, two, sucking on my fingers.  “Yes,” he purred, moving my hand away from his mouth to between my legs, making me take over what he’d started.  “Show me.”

I complied as fast as I could without an ounce of shame or embarrassment.  I only wished I could see him.  Would he watch with cool detachment or smug satisfaction?  Maybe his eyes—blue, I think—would blaze with lust and unspoken promises of more deliciously evil punishments and pleasures.  That thought pushed me over the edge and I shook in his arms, crying out with each pulse of my orgasm until I was limp.  “Thank you, Sir,” I managed to pant out.

“You’re welcome.  That was lovely enough to merit a reward.”  He kissed my cheek and set me on my feet and followed me up, placing his hands on my shoulders.  “Kneel,” he ordered, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling back or giggling as I did what he said.  All I could think of was an interview I’d seen him doing where he said he was “trying to get some bitches to kneel.”  I didn’t consider myself an uber fan but I was drawn to his posh pretty self and his charming, joyful demeanor.

And now here we were, reenacting Loki’s big scene in The Avengers in a very different way, the one that had made me moan quietly right there in the theater.  I could only imagine how he looked right then, towering over me in all of his golden splendor.  There is something uncontrollably exciting about a man who looks like an angel behaving like a devil.   

“I should make you tell me what’s got you looking like the cat that ate the canary, Leah,” he said, petting my hair and running the backs of his fingers down my jaw.  “But now it’s time to claim your prize.  Unless you don’t want it?”  His voice was dark and rich as the walnut floor beneath my knees and intoxicating as a drug.

“I do, Sir.  I’m sorry.”  I slid my hands forward to find his shoes and then followed his long, long legs up, skimming lightly over the bulge in his jeans, biting back another smile as he exhaled a shaky breath.  I had to come up on my knees to get at his belt, but soon enough I had it and his jeans undone and his hot hard cock in my greedy hands.  He was uncut, adding more fuel to my Tom fire.  I pushed his jeans down and cupped his ass, pressing my face against his crotch and breathing in his scent: soap, a trace of cologne, and warm, musky man.  If someone bottled that smell, I’d wallow in it.

His fingers were in my hair again, not pulling yet, just threatening it.  Or promising it.  He was going to fuck me soon and I was wasting precious time.  More wetness trickled down my thighs at the thought and I took his cock in my mouth with a tortured groan.  With the blindfold, I didn’t have to think about anything else but the way he tasted and felt on my tongue, and whether or not he’d come in my mouth, and how I’d swallow every drop if he did.  God, the sounds he was making.  I would have given anything to see his face just then, and I made a desperate sound, sucking him harder, stroking the part of his cock I couldn’t fit in my mouth with one hand and his tight sac with the other.  I may have been on my knees but I had all the power at that moment.

It didn’t last nearly long enough. 

He stopped me with the expected and craved hair pulling, and bent over to kiss me, slow and dirty.  “I know what you want but you’ll have to work a bit harder for that,” he said, straightening again to fuck my willing mouth a few minutes more.

“Up you go,” he said, pulling away so fast I had to put my hands out to keep from falling over.  He lifted me by my upper arms, backing me up until the backs of my knees hit the bed.  I sat, impatient and trembling, as he removed my Chucks and socks, and then walked away.  He was rummaging in the toy cabinet again, for what I didn’t even want to imagine, humming cheerfully as he did so.  “Ah,” he said, and then the rustling and thumps of clothes being removed and hitting the floor.

When he touched my shoulder, I jumped and whimpered, and he laughed softly.  “Lovely Leah, are you dying for me?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered and I had never meant those words more.

The bed dipped with his weight and then he was sitting behind me, his cock nestled against my ass, his naked legs bracketing mine, crisp hairs tickling my skin.

“I know this isn’t the way things are normally done, so I’m asking you directly if you want to have sex with me.”

A delirious giggle slipped out before I could stop it.  I thought about Helena, that look on her face when she’d said I wouldn’t regret it.  “I’m sorry, Sir, but it’s a little late to be asking.”  He tsked but I plowed on.  “Yes, I want to have sex with you.  Yes, I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He chuckled again, that oddly erotic sound right in my ear.  “Impatient and impertinent, which for some reason, I find I can’t resist right now.”  I had to clench my teeth to contain my pleas but when he ran his hands down my arms and pulled them behind my back to put on the shearling-lined leather cuffs, they came spilling out.

“Sir…Sir, please—”

“Do I need to gag you as well?” he asked, voice dark and menacing again. 

I shook my head violently, pressing my lips together and fisting my hands as he checked the snugness of the cuffs and then ran something through the O rings of each one to connect them, leaving just enough play between to create tension but not pain in my shoulders. 

“Good, because I was looking forward to hearing you scream.”

He helped me onto my knees and farther onto the bed before taking his glorious body heat away again.  And then he was helping me straddle him, holding me steady with one hand and dragging his cock through my wetness with the other.  “Is this what you want, love?”

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to keep quiet.

“Oh, I don’t want your silence now.  Tell me and don’t be shy or I might not give it to you.”

“Please Sir, fill me up with your cock and fuck me.”  I raised my chin, throwing a little sass.  “Make me scream.”

Instead of answering, he gave me what I wanted, pulling me down and thrusting up until I was so full of him I thought I might cry.  “You’re going to fuck me and if you do it well enough, I may let you come again,” he said, his big hands nearly spanning my waist as he helped me keep my balance.  I began to rock and then to swivel my hips and soon he couldn’t help but move with me, pounding up into me, making my tits bounce with the impact.  It drove me crazy to not be able to see him spread out beneath me and to not be able to lean forward to touch or taste or kiss him, but I could hear him panting along with me, and I could smell the heady scent of his sweating body working under mine.

“Sir, I’m going to come again,” I gasped.  I wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

“Do it.  I’m right with you.”  He moved one hand to hold me by the cuffs and brought his other to my pussy, thumbing my clit and making me go over with a choked cry.  He joined me a few strokes later, and I could only imagine the way he looked as he moaned and bucked up into me.

He unclipped the cuffs but left them on, laid me gently on the bed, and left for what seemed like an eternity but was only a few minutes.  I was drifting, not in subspace, but buzzing from good play and great sex.  When he returned, he took me in his arms and we sat against the massive oak headboard as I drank from the bottle of water he held for me.  I felt a tug at the back of my head and the blindfold was gone.

I kept my eyes closed as he wiped my face, my neck, and my breasts with a cool cloth.  When he pressed it between my thighs, I cracked one open, then the other, watching him tend to me so carefully.  When I reached out to take the cloth from him, our eyes met and he smiled but all I could do was shake my head.  What a waste of a blindfold. 

“Should I have left it on?” he asked, that one eyebrow that seemed completely independent of the other shooting up. 

“No!” I said, taking the water and chugging the rest down.  “Sir,” I added with a laugh.

Stretching me out on my belly, he took his time smoothing soothing cream onto my tender ass and then my wrists.  He kept going, massaging me all over with those big, long-fingered hands until I was woozy and limp as a noodle.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” he said, so adorably apologetic.  I could barely muster a response but I gladly accepted his sweet parting kiss.

When he was gone, I laid there for a while, wishing I’d been able to see what we’d done.  With a sigh, I dragged myself out of the bed and got dressed slowly, pleasantly sore and with a few bruises to admire.  I’d never hear his voice again without being reduced to a trembling mess, though, and that was enough.