1. Chapter One —Carlotta #2
In one fluid motion, Sir pulls away my leggings and soaked underwear, discarding them God knows where. He pushes his hand between my thighs before I can even spread my legs for him in want, thick fingers trailing up and down my sodden flesh, dipping into my core.
But no sooner am I gasping, tipping my hips up to meet his touch, does he pull his fingers away, leaving me cold and empty.
“Mm,” Sir groans, smacking his lips lewdly so I can picture exactly what’s he’s doing—licking the taste of me from his fingers. “Sweet as always. Shame the same can’t be said for your fucking bratty mouth. Now, give me your hands.”
A strip of satin, the same cool material as my eye mask, is wound around my awaiting wrists, binding them together. I feel Sir test the tightness by wiggling his thumb between the satin and my flesh, giving it a quick tug to check its durability.
“Color?” he asks, voice pitched low. For as long as Sir and I have been seeing each other, we’ve always followed a traffic light system to check in.
Green for yes,
Amber for unsure.
Red for fuck no.
“Green,” I reply, licking my lips in anticipation of what’s to come next.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he croons, rewarding me with a pinch of my nipple. “Can you move further up the bed for me, Red?”
It takes a little bit of maneuvering, mainly on Sir’s side, seeing as how I’m bound and sightless, but he positions me where he wants me; flat on my back, my head hanging from the edge.
My pussy pulses, slick coating my inner thighs, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. When Sir isn’t happy with my behavior because I’ve been acting up, or he wants to shut me up, he—
The sound of his trousers being unbuttoned and shoved down his thighs, echoes through my ears.
“Open your mouth, Red. Let me fuck this bratty throat of yours raw.”
Shivering, I part my lips on a moan, lashes fluttering beneath my mask when the first few inches of his cock hit my tongue.
He tastes of something clean and infinitely masculine, with just a hint of salt, the length of him sitting heavier and heavier in my mouth with each push of his hips.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I focus on opening my throat, moaning and gargling around him to stave off my gag reflex and allow Sir to sink even deeper into my mouth.
“That’s it,” he praises, swiping his thumb over my full cheeks. “Just a little further. I know you can take it, Red. Just a little more.”
I might not have seen his cock, but I know there’s nothing little about him. Still, I appreciate his praise and reassurance.
Beneath my mask, my eyes begin to water, but I don’t shake my head in my stop signal.
I focus on breathing in and out of my nose, relishing in the way Sir groans when he finally hits the back of my throat.
“Red…” he grits out, dragging his hips back only to push back inside. “Christ. Wish you could see how pretty you look… mouth stuffed full of my cock.”
Swallowing around him, I contract my throat, once, twice, grinning at the feel of his hand cupping my jaw, thumb tracing over my lips which are stretched wide.
“So pretty, Red.”
I squirm, squeezing my legs together to quell the ache in my core. It’s impossible to reach down and touch my clit what with the way my hands are bound, which I think is exactly what Sir is going for.
He squeezes my jaw in warning when he spots me. “Hold still. Or I’ll make you wait even longer to get yours.”
God, how I wish he could see the way I narrow my eyes beneath the cover of my mask.
The sounds of my choked moans and gurgles ricochet across the four padded walls as Sir picks up his pace.
I feel him wrap a fist around my unbound hair, tugging on the strands to keep me from being pushed down the length of bed from the force of his thrusts.
I happily take every inch of him that he offers, sucking greedily. I can’t get enough, which is why I keep coming back and back each week, sometimes multiple times a week, to get my fix.
A fix which, so far, I’ve only found Sir is able to satiate.
My past ex-boyfriends and I could never find a common interest in the bedroom. They we’re either too vanilla for my tastes, or unable to step up to the plate and deliver the praise, punishment, and aftercare my brain and body so desperately crave.
After my fifth failed situationship, I decided to try a different route.
I’d heard from acquaintances of mine about online apps where you could match with people based on the information about yourself that you input into the database, but I wasn’t so sure.
Still, after one drunken evening, I found myself creating a profile, the wine running through the veins giving the courage I had lacked before.
I matched with a couple of men, but it was the gold star sitting beside Sinning Angel’s masked profile picture, which verified him as a member of the club Nameless, which really caught my attention.
My thumbs flew over the touch keyboard of my phone, hitting send of my internet search to see what on earth this club Nameless was all about.
I spent days in between work, falling down a seemingly never-ending rabbit hole of reading about Nameless —a BDSM club catering to every sexual fantasy, need, and wish possible.
I trawled through anonymous reviews from members and staff alike, mapping the place to see how far it was from my apartment and deep diving into how I could apply for a membership.
The application process was lengthy—a five page questionnaire, two forms of ID, a recent negative STI screen test and a signature to agree that, should my application be accepted and become a member, I would remain Nameless—before I could even step a heeled foot in the building.
Still filling my mouth, Sir pinches both of my nipples, sending an electric shock of ecstasy down to my pussy and I thank my lucky stars that he’s the man I was matched with. He can read the cues of my body like a book, knowing exactly what I need and how hard or soft.
We don’t talk much outside of our meetings at Nameless, but I’ve gathered bits of pieces of information from him.
I might not be able to see him, but I know he’s tall and lean; I can feel it in the way he towers above me, with a deliciously masculine voice that has me shivering every time I hear him say my name.
He told me himself that he’s a businessman in the city. Which business I’m not quite sure, but I’m guessing a wealthy, sort-after one, at that, seeing as how Sir is the only one with a bodyguard standing outside of the club doors.
He’s got to be protecting something.
“Gonna fill this fucking bratty little mouth of yours, Red.” Sir pulls out on a groan, allowing me to inhale raggedly before he slides back inside, the long vein on the underside of his cock pulsing against the flat of my tongue. “Open wide.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tight when he pushes inside more roughly than before, fucking my mouth sloppily and gripping my chin.
My alias escapes from his between his gritted teeth a second before he stills, cock thickening, stealing my breath and painting the back of my throat with the taste of his slightly salty release.
I swallow once, twice, with practiced ease, making a show of licking my lips when he finally pulls his cock out of my abused mouth.
“You taste so fucking good,” I hum, mind blissfully blank even though I haven’t gotten my release yet.
It’s as if my mind and body knows exactly how safe we are with Sir—he isn’t going to judge us or coerce us into doing something we don’t like—and is finally able to switch offline for a while, allowing him to take the reins, to take control.
I swear, he even knows my limits better than I do.
“Mm.” Sir swipes at my lips, stealing a taste for himself. “You ready to be a good girl, now?”
I nod.
“Good. Turn onto your stomach.”
I do as Sir asks, stretching my bound hands in front of me and turning my head to the side to rest my cheek on the mattress.
I strain my ears to listen for him rounding the bed, still jolting in surprise slightly when his hands make a grab for my hips, positioning me to present my ass and sodden core in the air.
Trailing his lips up one thigh and then the other, I wriggle and squirm trying to get his mouth where I need him most.
His low chuckle vibrates through my flesh, lips imprinting a pleased grin into my skin while his hands roam over the curve of my ass.
My brain struggles to keep up, synapses only half firing as I try to categorize the different sensations running rampant through my taut body.
“Such a pretty pussy,” Sir croons, using his thumbs to pull me apart. A hiss escapes me at the rush of cool oxygen kissing my sodden flesh. “I love ruining her.”
No sooner has his words left his lips, he’s sealing his mouth over me, hands clamped down on my hips to stop me from bucking away from him.
“Fuck.”
“Language, Red.”
Panting, I curl my bound hands into fists, manicured nails digging into the flesh of my palm. Ecstasy licks a flame up and down the length of my spine, but it’s not enough.
“Sir. More,” I groan into the mattress, whimpering when he purposefully circles the tip of his tongue around the bud of my clit and then backs off.
“More?”
I nod, toes curling into thin air. My body is pulled so taut already, a thin layer of sweat gathering at my temples, my lower stomach quivering, but I need—
“Little brat needs my cock?” I feel Sir pull back from where he’d been fucking me with his tongue. “Needs me to fuck the attitude out of her? Is that it?”
My eyes roll into the back of my head at the drip of his filthy words. “God. Please.”
Sir hums, smoothing the flat of his palm down my waist. “Since you asked so nicely, Red, I’ll go easy on you. But just this once. I’m not feeling very patient this evening either, too busy thinking about your tight little pussy gripping my cock.”
“You? Impatient?” I mumble, licking at my dry lips. “You’re—mhph fuck.”
Sir doesn’t give me a warning as he lines himself up as my sodden entrance and pushes inside, stealing my words, my breath, and my thoughts from me.