Chapter 3
‘tow’ the line
Madame Xyla
the last session
I can’t say that it’s common for a well-behaved sub to stroll through the door begging to be punished, but who am I to judge? I’m not a monster, so I gave him exactly what he asked for and he took it like a champ.
The running faucet fills the silence as I scrub the anise oil from my hands, considering a fitting reward for my most difficult client. Just when I think I have him figured out, he throws me a curveball, I think to myself.
Whenever he steps through the door, flashing a disarming smile that could weaken even a nun’s knees, I remind myself that I am a professional.
He’ll never know that I bend the rules for him in a way I don’t for my other clients. Still, I pride myself on being a damn good domme and I’d like to keep it that way.
Mr. V often lets his thoughts get the better of him and when he’s here with me, I’m the distraction. I peer over my shoulder to find a smug grin plastered on his face as he puts his pants back on, securing his belt before resting in his preferred armchair.
He’s always dressed in a designer suit that he isn't afraid to kneel in or stain. Despite his appearance, he isn’t vain in the slightest. He’s a hard worker who’s eager to roll up his sleeves and do whatever it takes to get the job done. Like a good boy should.
He wasn’t in need of a punishment. In fact, I had a vastly different session planned for today, but none of them go the way I rehearse in my head. I went easy on him and I fight the urge to laugh at him smiling while his ass stings because he thinks that'll impress me.
While being pleased is a part of the job, submitting has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them practicing restraint and rebuilding their confidence. For someone who willingly took some spanks, he looks awfully proud of himself.
His coffee brown eyes roam my frame as I resume wiping down the leather crop I had used on him. I take him in as I toss it in the nearby laundry bin, and to give him something to look at, I remove my robe and circle his chair. Only to see his expression, because he is so fun to play with.
“Give me a color, pet.”
“Still green,” he assures in a cool tone that betrays him as he rubs his hands over his thighs.
It doesn’t fool me. He’s nervous for what’s next.
Little does he know what I have planned.
“I suppose I can reward you.”
Cassius thinks he’s so mysterious, all the while wearing his emotions on his face. He often second-guesses himself and seeks reassurance, but I’ve never seen him as insecure in the slightest. He prides himself on being a good boy who aims to please his Madame, and I can’t argue with that.
Though, if he had it his way, we’d see each other more often, but once a week is enough to satiate the cravings he arises. I established firm boundaries and set expectations from the beginning of this arrangement that he’s respected without argument.
One of them being that he isn’t allowed to touch me or himself if I haven’t given permission and it still applies long after our sessions have ended. I can tell it pains him, but he obeys without question, as he should.
Should I ever test that boundary, like I’m thinking of right now, a week should be more than enough time to recover before our next session. We’re allowed to fraternize with clients at Lilith’s, but I’ve never had the desire to before now.
Cass is always so determined to please me that he earns unique rewards. Like seeing me naked or getting to come. Some prefer to be edged the whole session and wait to relieve themselves when they return home or in the parking lot. Either way isn’t my damn business.
It’s obvious he’s jealous that I have other submissives because he tries to make sure he stands out in a way the others don’t. The competitive streak is apparent and keeps me on my toes, and he succeeds at standing out, but I won’t be telling him that.
You have to be mindful of good-looking men like him, used to women fawning at their feet. Praise must be earned and I don’t dole that out generously.
Cassius is well-aware that if he behaves, he comes, and if he doesn’t, he must work for it. I’ve toyed with him for the better part of our session that he’s well-earned the right to come, but only when I say so.
“Keep your hands behind your head,” I order, closing the distance between us.
He obeys, placing his hands behind his head as I straddle him.
I make a show of lowering myself onto him, hovering my sex over his thigh. His chest rises and falls. He’s an expressive man and I can always read his thoughts, though he prides himself on being so mysterious.
If he only knew.
I take in his knitted brows and parted lips, and anticipating his next response, I cut him off.
“We don’t usually do this, but since you’ve been so good, I’m going to use you to make myself come.”
“Oh my God,” he sighs, adjusting himself carefully as he nearly grazes my knee.
“Are you going to be good for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a nod.
I brace myself, gripping each armrest as I settle onto him, and rock against his thigh. He eyes me hungrily, muscles twitching in his arms as he resists the urge to touch. A desperate moan escapes me as I roll my hips, picking up the pace as I chase my pleasure.
“You like being used, Cass?”
“Yes—Yes, I do,” he pants.
“Fuck. You don’t mind me making a mess, do you?”
“No,” he breathes, with a quick shake of his head.
He’s tortured right now and it’s enough to make me come.
“Good,” I tease, leaning forward, dragging my nose along his neck until he groans. “You’re such a good boy for me,” I whisper in his ear.
My eyes drop to his rock-hard length straining in his pants as I grind faster, nearing my peak.
“Oh, God. I’m going to come,” I whine.
Fire ignites, licking across my frame as I selfishly take what I need. My head tosses back with a wail, the soundproof walls capture every moan and hold it dear. My body buzzes as I come down, warmed beneath his adoring gaze.
Cass is a willing spectator—a tall, firm, corded toy made for my every desire. That’s all he is at this moment and it’s beautiful to see. Pleasure and pain war with each other, etched in his features as he wills himself to obey, even now.
He licks his lips in a way that makes me imagine how he’d indulge in me. If I ever gave him the word, would he savor or devour me?
“Such a pretty fucking toy,” I praise.
He responds with a sly smirk that sends a fresh wave of heat to my dripping core.
Fuck. This man. What is he doing to me?
We all possess power. Some desire more than others and others find strength in relinquishing it. Though I crave control, I wonder what he’s like when he assumes my role. If I could let go without a fight, would he lead with confidence or shy away?
I’ve denied myself a lot of things, and may come to regret this, but now, I’ll reap the forbidden fruits of my labor. Because it’s nothing short of what I deserve.
I guide myself off his lap, eyeing the wetness staining his thigh, and I drop to my knees without another word. The urge to test him heightens as I admire him before me, leaning forward to lick up my arousal from his pants.
His dick twitches in response, validating as I clean the mess I’ve made.
“Fuuuccck. Madame, please,” he pleads, balling his large hands into fists on the armrest.
My tongue laps once more, holding eye contact as every last one of his nerves fray.
“Please, what? Would you like to come, pet?”
“Yesss,” he hisses.
Usually that would earn him an edging, but he’s held on long enough.
“Alright,” I say, sitting back on my heels. “I suppose you can come.”
“You’re sure?” he asks softly.
“I’m sure. Good boys get to come,” I assure, reaching around to unfasten my bra. His eyes widen as my full breasts free. “Right. Here,” I add, emphasizing each word as I point to my bare chest.
This should be fun.
As the words fly out of my mouth, he makes quick at loosening his belt buckle, and rises from the chair. I take a deep breath, anxious to see the Cassius Vaughn come alive.
I’ve felt him harden beneath me as I’ve straddled him, but haven’t seen him fully naked. He prefers to remain somewhat clothed during our sessions and the most he’ll let me see is him in a tank shirt and boxers.
When he does away with his pants and shirt, yanking the cotton tank over his head, I swallow. Admiring the colorful ink coating his sinewy arms, complimenting his light brown skin. A dust of freckles adorn his chest, broad shoulders and hard stomach. I’d kiss each and every one if I had the time.
Goddamn, he’s perfect. Of course he is.
He stands over me, dragging his boxers until his dick bounces free. So hard, it looks painful. He stares down, hesitation in his gaze as he awaits my next command.
“Show me what you do when you think of me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees, relief washing over him as he spits into his palm and begins stroking his length, inches from my face.
My core clenches at the sight of him pleasuring himself. The shy man I’ve come to know is long gone. Someone else stands before me. A pit of jealousy settles in my stomach, wishing I was the source of his whimpers, but my hands remain folded in my lap.
“Shit. I’m going to come,” he manages through short breaths.
I press my breasts together and lean forward, welcoming his release.
“Come for me, Cass. You’re doing so good.”
“I…love you,” he breathes, stroking himself as he paints my exposed chest with warm cum.
I can’t say I haven’t heard that before.
White ropes adorn brown skin as I swipe my index finger through the mess, locking eyes with him as he studies the act. My lips part to indulge in his taste on my tongue while he stares in awe.
I don’t wish to make him feel embarrassed at anything he says in the throes of an orgasm and hope this serves as a worthy distraction.
“Oh, God,” he whispers, brows lifting in realization.
He takes my hand to help me to my height, guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed while he flees to the en suite. The sound of running water breaks the uncomfortable silence. As he flips off the faucet, I hear him muttering to himself until he comes into view.
“Don’t do that, Cassius. Talk to me,” I remind in an attempt to redirect his anxious thoughts.
He nods, staying silent and avoiding eye contact as he places the warm washcloth in my hand, still mindful of touching me. Even in a panic, he isn’t neglectful. That’s the Cass I’m used to seeing at the end of sessions.
A sated man that’s focused on aftercare and my comfort over his own. I’ve never had a client quite like him before. He absorbs the atmosphere down to the very last second. As if he’s mentally preparing for what awaits beyond that exit door. When our time is up, that’s it, until next time.
He hands me my robe before his warm brown eyes scour the room for his belongings, settling on his pants neatly draped over the leather chair.
“Umm...it’s—” I start, cut off by his abrupt shift in demeanor.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurts, pulling his tank shirt over his head, tucking it into his pants.
As quickly as he bared himself to me, he’s back to being closed off. I can’t say that I blame him, but it was nice while it lasted.
“Cass—”
“I am so sorry, Madame. It won’t happen again,” he assures.
He’s not going to let this go.
He rushes around the room, gathering the rest of his clothes, slipping his suit jacket over his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my voice low,
Instinctively I reach to soothe him and he shakes his head in response.
“It’s not okay. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Listen, I have to go, Madame. I’m sorry,” he says before rushing out the door.
Sounds from the busy hallway filter into the space until the door clicks shut.
Either I’ve lost my touch or his car is being towed.