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Relief was already seeping in as you skipped up the stairs to his flat. Thank god this was one of your scheduled days. You would have been tempted to send him a desperate text otherwise. Your day had been so shitty, so full of blame and scorn and disappointment that it was making you question your worth in your profession. Though a decade of exceptional experience was there to prove you wrong, one error and one pissed off client was potent enough to nearly topple your self-esteem. You needed connection, release. Above all, you needed someone to value you.
A rapid knock on his door and he swung it open, a glass of whisky in hand, dressed in black with burning eyes. He was some kind of luciferian temptor and you were so grateful to have found him. He beckoned you inside and took your coat. His obnoxiously chic surroundings were bathed in dim light. This was your routine. He’d always be waiting for you in the glow, drink at the ready. It was transactional, but you liked that. No need to muddle through social niceties or feel out when the other person was ready to progress. You both knew precisely what you were there for, though you hadn’t given it a label.
You had met through a string of acquaintances when someone told him to email you for professional advice. You hadn’t been able to help him but your written banter was so friendly it carried over into texts, then into a meeting where you were nearly paralyzed by how attractive he was. Tall, lean, cocksure with dark hair and sparkling eyes - he was a checklist of everything you found attractive. It was hard to say at what point the text conversations turned dirty. He probably tried to one-up you in a playful sparring match by suddenly issuing commands. All you knew was that your hands started shaking with excitement when you realized he was a dom. You went along eagerly, elated to have found a man, and one as unbelievably handsome as him, that you could play with. The texts soon turned into sessions, the two of you giving over to the full expression of your sexual desires with a freedom you had never experienced before. He made you want him more desperately and come more relentlessly than any predecessor. He was an addiction, a cure-all that soon became a necessary realignment for your brain and body to function normally otherwise.
He snaked a broad hand up the curve of your shoulder, under your hair to your nape and rounded to stand in front of you. His eyes were full of menace but it melted away immediately once he read your face.
“Are you alright?” He asked softly.
Not a commanding opener but truth be told, this was why you adored him so much. He was intuitive, an interpreter of your moods who never failed to give you the precise cocktail of control and praise you needed. You knew you must have looked as awful as you felt.
You closed your eyes, annoyed to feel the hot sting of tears at their edges. “Please, Ben,” you pleaded. And that was all you had to say. You opened your eyes at the sound of his footsteps walking away. He moved to the coffee table in the lounge and set down his drink, then turned to you again. His face was set in that beautiful mask of control you had been longing for all day. All angled shadows and glints of light off his eyes and hair.
“Take off your dress.” He growled.
Without a moment’s hesitation you unzipped it and pulled it over your head.
“Shoes.”
You stepped out of your heels, now standing in his entryway in nothing but your bra and knickers.
“Will you do as you’re told?” He arched a brow. It wasn’t a real question, it was a signal. The official start of playtime. Nearly shivering with gratitude, you sank to your knees in a submissive pose, lowering your head until further instruction was given.
Slowly, he traipsed back to tower in front of you. You almost wept when you felt the spread of his massive hand rest gently on the top of your head. He trailed it through your hair and around to cup your chin, lifting your eyes to meet his.
“Are you a needy little thing tonight?” Set under his stern brow, his eyes lit with concern. It never ceased to amaze you how he could do that, hold multiple expressions simultaneously. He was playing his role, but his attentiveness was undeniable.
“Yes, sir.” You nodded, your voice small.
“Did you do something bad?” There he went, intuiting everything just the way you needed him to. Still holding your chin he slipped his thumb between your lips. You welcomed it into your mouth as he hooked it against your bottom teeth, letting you suckle. It was cool from the ice in his glass. You nodded and looked up at him, eyes begging for absolution.
“So you want forgiveness?” His voice was a soft rumble.
You licked the tip of his finger and pulled back. “I want to please you, sir. I want to know I did a good job.”
He released his hold. “Go get my drink.”
You started to rise to your feet.
“Did I say you could stand?” He barked and immediately you dropped back to your knees. A shiver curved your spine and broke gooseflesh across your skin as you began to crawl on all fours into the lounge. This was what you needed. Subjugation. Punishment. To be told what to do by someone you actually respected, with the reassurance that you would always be rewarded in the end. This was the realignment necessary to overcome the wretchedness of your day.
You felt his gaze burning into your backside and made sure to crawl as sensually as you could, swaying your hips until you reached the coffee table. You hadn’t realized he was following softly behind you until you picked up the glass of whisky and felt a hand on your waist. You froze, balancing on three limbs while you held the drink in the other. His fingers splayed across your bottom, kneading it as you felt him crowd over you. He was on his knees too, lying across your back and enveloping you with his heat.
“So you want to do a good job?” He murmured in your ear. He was so all-encompassing, his voice so laden with silk and dark promise that you faltered, locking your elbow. “Don’t spill.” He chuckled. Then the hand moved to trace the gusset of your underwear, already damp from his commands alone. You could hear the haughty smile in his voice as he shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers into your folds. “How about you take all of me in here?” he hummed. “You are so very good at that. Lie back and do a good job just letting me fuck you senseless.” His teeth clamped on the rim of your ear.
His touch instantly clouded your mind, your hips already gyrating to match his movements. But you knew you needed to be more than just a recipient of his attentions that night. You needed to work for your own redemption.
“Sir…” you slurred as his slender fingers began circling your clit.
“Speak up.” His other hand suddenly tugged your hair, bending your neck until you faced forward.
“I want to…I’d like it to be my actions that bring you pleasure.” You gasped.
Your hair was released but he toyed with your swollen bud for a moment longer. “I see.” With an air of nonchalance he removed his hand and stood. “Turn around and give me my whisky.” You did so, pivoting to kneel before him and offer up the glass with both hands. You felt like a supplicant, bringing offerings to a god in hopes that your soul would be cleansed.
“Excellent,” he grinned his ruinous crooked smile. “Already you are doing so well.” He lifted the glass from your hands to his lips. You breathed heavily, acutely aware of the slick mess he had caused between your thighs as you watched him down the dark liquor in one swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously in the center of his strong neck.
With a satisfied sigh he looked back at you and licked his lips. You knew it was more intentional than reflexive, but it worked to make you clench.
“How else do you want to please me?” he asked, his voice the very definition of sin.
You were completely in his thrall, completely uninhibited in sharing your true desires. “I’d like to suck your cock, sir.”
He smirked, bringing a hand to rest on your head. “Oh yes? You want this?” In one fluid motion he guided your face into the seam of his expensive trousers, thrusting his hips lightly so you could feel his stiffening cock through the fine fabric.
You nuzzled into it, your favorite plaything, practically salivating as the heat and scent of him flooded your senses. “Yes, sir.”
He continued to grind into your face, his long fingers mussing your hair. “You want to serve me on your knees and choke on my cock until I am satisfied? Until you know you’ve earned my approval because I’m coming down your throat?”
“Yes, sir, very much,” you moaned, ready to start licking him through his clothing. You had been thinking about this all day, craving the taste of Benedict, the fullness of him in your mouth and the encouraging, needy noises he would make as you proved your talent. In the morass of your awful day, all you had wanted was to be the sole focus of someone powerful who would be awed by your abilities and loud with their appreciation.
He pulled back, clearly aroused but not letting his veneer slip. His hand dropped to stroke your cheek and he held your gaze intently. “Alright. How can I refuse? You are so very good at what you do.” He leaned closer, his voice commanding but his eyes carrying that same softness that he could never disguise. “I never want you questioning that, do you understand?”
You whimpered, overcome by a swirling gale of gratitude and lust. With his incredible beauty and predilection for play that was compatible with yours, you were already lucky enough to find Benedict as a partner. You could never have expected that he would bring his kindness into your sessions as well. That he would use his incomparable knack for ferreting out your true needs and fulfill them with his words, his body, or both simultaneously. The events of the day had made you question whether fate was on your side, but looking at Benedict silenced those doubts immediately.
“Yes, sir,” you whispered, vowing to obey.
With a smile he straightened and reached for his fly.