Trading Favors: Closing The Deal free porn video

After spending a weekend with Mr. Sterling and letting him deny and fulfill me in equal kinky measure, I found the evenings after work hardest to endure. Monday night was the worst. I was rested; I didn't have plans; I had nothing to do but think.

Work was easier, but by no means easy. Mr. Sterling had infused himself into this part of my life with his promise--and delivery--of favors for the people who work in my lab. Favors I had secured through sex acts.

When our post-doctoral fellow, Tony DeLeo, gleefully told us about his new teaching appointment, I shifted between happiness for him and low, throbbing reminder of what I had done to get him this opportunity. Charlie Cotton's excitement at going to the Pasteur Institute after graduation hadn't ebbed and neither had Raj Patel's enthusiasm for working with Reginald Jax. Every time they gushed, I thought of cuffs and collars and vibrators.

It just made things that much more confusing for me.

I was in a relationship I didn't know how to define. He wasn't a friend so he couldn't be a friend with benefits. He wasn't my boyfriend; we had never even been out on a date. Simply calling him a business associate was an outright lie.

On Wednesday evening, as I stared blankly at the same scientific article I had been trying to read since Monday, my phone rang. I checked the number, didn't recognize it, and nearly didn't answer. I only did because I thought it could be someone from the lab calling.

"Hi, this is Rachel," I answered.

"Are you in need of any favors? Because I would like to see you."

I sat up straighter. It was Mr. Sterling. His voice would be unmistakable, even if his words hadn't been so pointed. My body reacted like he was standing in front of me.

"You always have Ali call me," I said softly, like he didn't already know that his personal assistant handled his communications.

"Yes. However, I'm more persuasive than she is and I sensed you may say no. Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner? Tomorrow?" I sounded like a parrot.

"You do have dinner every day, correct?" He used his teasing tone of voice.

"Yes."

"Then, tomorrow, have it with me. I would like to tweak the terms of our arrangement."

"Would you consider just telling me now?" I asked.

"No," he said in a low, seductive voice. "You're too quiet for meaningful conversation over the phone. I need to see your face when we talk."

I flushed and was glad he couldn't see it. I didn't answer right away.

"You're hesitating to say yes," he said, his voice now both knowing and sensual. "Why is that?"

Honesty slipped off of my tongue. "I have a very hard time saying no to you. I don't know what you're going to ask of me, so my instinct is to not let you ask."

"My instinct is to show up at the door to your apartment in a half hour. Would you prefer that?" Somehow he managed to sound both playful and stern.

"Yes." The word was out before I could reel it back in. "I mean no."

My face was so hot, the flush was spreading down my chest. I heard him chuckle but it didn't sound unkind. Nonetheless, I really just wanted to get off of the phone before I made more of a fool of myself.

"Please don't come over. I'll go to dinner with you tomorrow. Should I make an appointment with Ali?"

"No. I'm going to send a car to pick you up at seven. Shall I send it to the lab or your apartment?"

"My apartment, please," I whispered. The last thing I needed was one of the foundation's luxury cars showing up at the research building. Not that it would cause less of a stir in my neighborhood, but at least I wouldn't have to explain it to anyone.

"Very good, Miss Conway. It's been a pleasure talking to you. I'll see you tomorrow."

#

I left the lab early the next day. Because I wasn't meeting Mr. Sterling in his office, I opted for a silk blouse that I could button to the neck and a slim black skirt. It wasn't exactly giddy, but it was less formal than my usual business dress. I left my dark hair long and loose. At exactly seven o'clock, the driver knocked on my door.

He brought me to the same trendy restaurant that Mr. Sterling and I had eaten the previous Friday night. When I walked in, I was met by a haughty hostess. She looked me up and down, clearly found me wanting, and lifted an eyebrow at me.

"Do you have a reservation?" she asked, like if I didn't, I'd better leave.

"I'm here to meet Phillip Sterling. I'm Rachel Conway."

It was like his name was the key to any door you wanted open. Her frosty demeanor thawed and she smiled. "He's already seated. Please follow me."

This time we didn't go into the main dining room, where had toyed with me using a vibrator. Instead, she led me up a staircase to a second floor and through a closed door into a private room. Mr. Sterling stood when he saw me. He also swept me with an admiring look that brought heat to my cheeks.

He hadn't faded in my memory. The dark hair and eyes. The intense, studious gaze. Groomed from his head to his Italian leather shoes.

"Your server will be right with you," the hostess said, backing out of the room and closing the door behind her. Neither of us even looked at her.

As soon as she was gone, he stepped around the table to me. Without saying anything, he undid the top button on my blouse. The heat behind his eyes jumped into flame and he ran a finger along the edge of my collar. The collar he had put on me the last time I left him.

"Have you taken it off?" he asked.

"No," I said in a low voice.

He looked extremely pleased. He pulled out my chair and was seated across from me when the server knocked, came in, and took a drink order from him. After he left, Mr. Sterling turned to me again.

"Undo another button," he instructed. I did; my heart started to pound. My blood felt close to my skin. My blouse was open to my cleavage. "There," he said, sounding satisfied.

A low throb started. It was disturbing the way I automatically responded to him.

"You wanted to talk with me?" I said in a soft voice.

"Yes," he said. "Before you left last time, I told you that I would like a more permanent arrangement with you."

Everything from my waist down clenched. My nervousness ratcheted up. For the first time since I met Mr. Sterling, I really, really needed to find the strength to say no.

"I can't come to you every Friday," I said in a rush, my eyes fixed on the tablecloth. "I can't promise you, I'll always be available."

The table was too wide for him to reach my face and lift it like he liked to do, so, for once, I had the luxury of not having to manage eye-contact and conversation at one time.

"I've thought about it and I agree. Your work is far too unpredictable and, besides, I hate being on a schedule."

There was a moment of relief. Then, confusion. "What are you asking for, then?" I asked looking up.

He gave me a very long, appraising look. Heat seemed to come off of him in waves. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, fuzzy jewel box. He opened it and set it on the table facing me.

I just stared at the diamond ring inside. It looked antique or like a family heirloom.

"You can't be serious," I breathed.

"I'm wounded, Rachel."

My heart was in a panicky flutter. "Mr. Sterling, with all due respect, you're being impulsive. You hardly know me. I've never even called you by your first name."

"Yes. It's very Victorian of us."

The server, knocked, came in with our drinks, and looked at the ring on the table. I took my martini directly out of his hand and drank half, not even paying attention to Mr. Sterling ordering our dinner.

I don't know how he managed to eroticize marriage, but I was breathless and throbbing at the offer.

Mr. Sterling finished with the waiter and turned back to me when he was gone. "There is one caveat. You should know that with the ring comes the collar."

The thought of it brought a pleasing, clenching shiver. Still...'till death do we part with a man I didn't really know?

I took a breath. "Please know that I'm very flattered, Mr. Sterling. That you would even offer something like this is humbling, but I couldn't possibly accept."

His expression became unreadable. "Because of the collar?"

"No. Because our acquaintance is too brief."

He seemed to visibly relax. "Is there a minimum time I must wait?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"Until I know your birthday, at least."

"November fifth."

"And your age."

"Thirty-five."

"Mr. Sterling--"

"That," he interrupted, looking at the ring box, "is what I want. That is what I'm here to bargain for. Now, not later. No more of you leaving when I don't want you to go. No more worrying that someone more mainstream will earn your attention. So, how can I tempt you?"

I looked down at the table cloth, my mind a swirl of confusion. How could I even consider marriage, much less this strange alternative definition of it? Based on two sexual encounters and a handful of conversations? It was absolute foolishness and considering it made me an absolute fool.

"This damn table," he swore. He dragged his chair around it so he could sit closer to me and lifted my face so he could look at it. "Tell me what you're thinking," he instructed.

"That I'm crazy for even considering this," I finally told him in a low voice. "That you can't tempt me or bargain with me. You're going to have to convince me."

That flame behind his eyes flared. "Now, that sounds like fun."

I flushed. But I was saved from anything further when the waiter knocked and came in with the soup. Mr. Sterling didn't even acknowledge him; he just fixated on me. The waiter served the soup quickly, moving Mr. Sterling's place setting to where he now sat, and left.

"So, what do I have to convince you of?" he asked, ignoring his food. "That a permanent arrangement would be mutually satisfying?"

"No," I said flushing. "I'm already convinced of that."

He showed a hint of a small, seductive smile. "Then, what?"

"I need to know that I can have this and my job at the lab, too."

"I don't see why that needs to be an issue."

"I work late, sometimes. I go in early. Sometimes I work weekends. I bring things home to do in the evening." My eyes lowered. "I've had at least one relationship end over this in the past."

"I see," he said.

"The way we are now, I can make time for you."

"Or... you could give me the chance to compete for your evenings and weekends," he said.

The idea of him tempting me away from my work gave me a pleased throb. I was a little ashamed to be so hedonistic.

He lifted my chin. "What else makes you hesitate?"

"Our relationship is physically-based."

"And it's likely to remain very physical," he said in a teasing tone.

I flushed but he wouldn't let me look away. "That's fine for an affair. I don't know if it's enough for a marriage. I have no idea if we even share any interests."

"I thought we both admitted to emotional attachment not that long ago."

"We did."

"Well...?"

"Is it enough?"

He chuckled. "I think crushing orgasms and deep affection is the perfect formula for marriage, myself."

I smiled.

"All right. What else?" he asked.

What else? How about his insane wealth and my firm lower middle class status? How about the fact that his money funded my lab? How about my concern at knowing him for less than two months?

"There's a lot going on in that mind," he said.

"There always is."

The waiter tapped at the door, stepped into the private dining room, took one look at us, and stepped back out, closing the door behind him. While he did, Mr. Sterling contemplated me. A small smile played on his lips. We must have sat there like that a couple of minutes.

Finally, he said. "Well, in order to convince you that you'll enjoy a husband who competes for your time and that we have more than just a physical relationship, you're going to have to stay with me for a while. A week, at least, I would say. We can call it a trial period."

My mouth fell open.

"You're still adorable when you're shocked," he added.

I tried to speak a couple of times and finally managed. "I don't know."

"What don’t you know? If you need to be convinced, you must give me the chance to convince you."

The waiter knocked again and cracked the door open. "I apologize, but your entrees are ready," he said.

"That's fine," Mr. Sterling said.

They came in, placed our food, removed our untouched soup, replaced our drinks, and were gone in minutes. It gave me a second to think. Of course, Mr. Sterling had a point. There wasn't going to be much that he could say to assuage my concerns. However, a week in his company left a riot of butterflies in my stomach. And if that was the case, how could I even think about a permanent arrangement in the way he wanted?

But then, I thought about the depression the last time I left him. I thought about my attachment. I remembered how I had avoided him because I feared being used and forgotten by him.

I played with my food, not really eating. Finally, I looked up at him. "Okay. I'll come stay with you for a week."

He broke into one of his rare, boyish smiles. "Starting this Sunday evening?"

"If you like."

"Oh, Rachel. I most certainly do."

#

I pushed the code of the penthouse into the elevator and rode it up to the top floor. I walked down the short hallway with my suitcase, wondering what on earth I was doing. I rapped on his door softly; he answered in slacks and a dress shirt.

"Come in."

He took my suitcase and I followed him upstairs to the bedroom. It was a grand room with his king-sized bed and the singe bed next to it that I slept on. He laid my suitcase on the large bed and turned to me. "I have you for a week?"

"Yes."

He stepped up closer to me, his expression very pleased. "Do you need to do any work tonight?"

"No."

"What time do you have to be up in the morning?"

"Six-thirty."

He unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off. Then he held up the cuffs and lifted his eyebrows. I turned around and folded my wrists at the small of my back; his breathing grew rough and faster as he bound me. He removed my silver collar and replaced it with the leather one.

He came around and stood in front of me. "I want to spank you."

I'm sure I looked alarmed. "For what?"

"For not saying yes to me when I asked for you at dinner on Thursday."

I knew he liked corporal punishment; he told me the weekend before. I agreed to try it but now I was rethinking that promise. My anxiety jumped.

His expression was heated but gentler. "How do you stop me if you don't like something?"

"I say, 'Phillip, please stop.'."

"And if you need me to back off a little?"

"I say, 'Phillip, please slow down.'."

He gave me a long heated look and everything from the waist down clenched. "Will you try?" he asked.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Brave girl," he said, his tone fond. It sent warmth through me. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. "Lay over my lap."

I did, trembling. I was just in my bra, skirt, and panties. He pushed my skirt up to my waist and then pulled my panties down to just over my backside. His hand caressed me, slipping between my legs and finding wetness there.

He put one hand between my shoulder blades, holding me down, and swung one of his legs over my two, pinning me there, too. My backside felt on-display.

"Count for me, Rachel," he said.

There was a stinging slap. It wasn't terrible. "One," I whispered.

"Louder."

"One," I said.

He slapped me again. "Two." And again, just a little harder. "Three." And again. And again. Each one getting just a little harder. The blood flooded where he slapped, making everything hot and throbbing. He moved the blows around, sometimes catching the back of my legs and my sex, sending thrills through my whole body.

"Ten," I counted, my voice strained.

"Five more. These will be harder."

I thought about making him slow down and he waited to see if I would. But the lighter spanking left me throbbing and wanting. "Yes, Sir," I said.

The next blow certainly was bruising. My whole body clenched and released with the pain. It was a delicious sensation--and confusing. My body didn't know whether to cringe away from the punishment or reach for it.

"Eleven," I managed breathlessly.

Another hard blow. I had to take a breath before I said, "Twelve."

He caressed the spot he had just struck. "I can't tell you how I love this."

He struck me again, even harder. I moaned, surprising myself. "Thirteen."

I was going to be sore tomorrow and the thought just sent my arousal to a new level. His next blow moved my whole body. "Fourteen." There was a little sob in my voice.

He paused, caressing my skin. "One more, Beautiful?"

"Yes," I whispered.

The last blow was the hardest. "Fifteen." My whole backside was hot and throbbing in time with my sex.

Mr. Sterling pulled my panties up and my skirt down, helping me sit on the bed beside him. He had a mist of sweat on his forehead and he wore a fierce expression of want. "So, spanking?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Yes," I whispered.

He reached for my face and pulled it to him. His lips took mine, hard and demanding. I kissed him back, hearing my small, needy sounds as his demand seemed to double in intensity. He separated my bound wrists and pushed me on my back, reattaching the cuffs over my head around the slats in the headboard. He yanked me out of my skirt and panties, shedding his own clothes quickly. He pushed my bra over my head.

He reached for a condom and rolled it on. Then, his lips were on mine again as he entered me. I gasped against his mouth. His fingernails raked up my ribs and over my breasts. I moaned and arched; he answered with harder thrusts.

"I'm going to come," I whispered.

"Yes, you are," he said, going harder.

I gripped around him, the clenching pleasure seeming to go on and on. His thrusts took on a faster pace. Before long, he hardened and stiffened, clutching at my body while he came.

He lay on me a moment, slowly withdrawing. "I hope you feel how welcome you are here."

"I do," I said.

He used soft fingers on my breasts. "I'm going to feed you and bathe you and then send you to bed."

"Thank you," I said. He must have known that I was worried about getting sleep with him around.

His face was so close to mine, I could hardly focus on it. "This will work, Rachel."

"So far, so good," I breathed.

He chuckled as he released my wrists and led me out of the bedroom. I looked around at the grandness of his penthouse. It was so unlike me: the sex, the grandeur--all of it. I wondered how I could ever accept this as my new life.

#

When I woke up in the small bed, Mr. Sterling wasn't in the bedroom. It was six-thirty; I hurriedly dressed for work in jeans and a blouse. I still wore the leather collar; the silver one lay on his dresser. I thought about switching out the collar myself, but it occurred to me that he always put them on me, so I grabbed the silver one with my phone and bag and hurried down the stairs.

He was already downstairs, doing something on his computer. He closed his laptop and stood.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

"Coffee?"

"I'll get it at work." I handed him the silver collar. "Would you please?"

"Yes, I will." He unfastened the leather collar and put the silver one in its place. He tucked the leather one in his pocket. Then he looked me up and down. "Jeans? I've never seen you in jeans."

"I dress up for you," I said, flushing.

That seductive smile played on his lips. "Do you, now."

"You can't wear nice clothes in a lab. Too much bleach."

"Turn around." I flushed hotter as I did. When I was facing away from him, he said. "Stop."

He stepped up behind me and put two hands on my backside. His lips were right next to my ear. "Jeans do have their advantages," he said, squeezing my cheeks. They were still a little sore. Then he put his arms around me, held me for a moment, kissed my earlobe, and said, "Have a good day."

It was more intimate than being tied and taken. "You too," I whispered.

"Go," he said, patting my butt. "Come back to me safely."

#

Mondays were always a challenge for me if I didn't come into the lab over the weekend. The other workers had been doing experiments all weekend, so there was a stack of things to order, equipment that wasn't working correctly, and my own experiments to do. By the time I managed to get my experiments started, I knew I wouldn't make it back to Mr. Sterling's place until after seven.

It was disappointing and frustrating, which was a very new sensation. Usually, there wasn't anywhere I really wanted to be more than the lab. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, either. My purpose had been singular: scientific discovery. Now, sexual discovery was starting to rival it.

When, at seven fifteen, I hurried into the penthouse, I was already apologizing.

Mr. Sterling looked very amused. "Give me your cell phone," he instructed. I did as he said and he played with it for a moment. He handed it back to me; he had entered three phone numbers under 'Philip'. "Call me if you're going to be late," he instructed.

It had been so long since I needed to check in with anyone, I felt almost like I was in my parent's home again.

"I will," I whispered.

"Did you bring home work?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Is it important?"

"Yes."

He tutted softly. "All right, then. Tonight, I won't interfere."

There was a rush of relief. "Thank you."

"But I will do this," he said, taking off my metal collar and putting me in my leather one. He trailed a shivery finger down my neck. "There."

I spent much of the evening working on the materials and methods section for journal article Tom Bavington, the head of my lab, and I were writing. I sat in the big, leather recliner with my laptop and a pile of paperwork around me. Mr. Sterling, as good as his word, put on piano music, sat at his desk, and did something on his computer. We worked in comfortable silence until past ten o'clock.

Finally, I stood and stretched.

"Are you done?" he asked.

"Just."

"And tired, I'm sure."

I was, but the quality of his voice gave me new energy.

"You should get a shower," he said. "I think I'll join you."

He led me up the stairs undressing me along the way. The shower was as big as my whole bathroom. Gold and cream tile. Frosted glass. There were three water sprays and there was also something new.

A short shower seat was mounted to the wall. It was folded, but it looked wide enough for two people to sit side-by-side. I looked at it and then him. He had a little smile but didn't say anything.

He turned on all of the sprays and the steam rose. Carefully, he washed my hair in shampoo that smelled like vanilla.

Then he unfolded the seat and said, "Sit. I want to see you shave."

It was strange sitting in the shower. Two of the sprays hit the bench on the side. Mr. Sterling unhooked the third shower head from the wall, warm water still spilling out like a rainstorm. I lathered under my arms. When I was done, he rinsed me. My legs took longer. His erection was lazy but growing. He rinsed me off there, too.

I looked up at him, thinking I was done.

"What about there?" he asked, looking between my legs.

My lips fell open and he seemed to be fighting a smile. "I don't," I told him.

"Open your legs."

I did as he said. He soaped me and rinsed me without touching anywhere that I wanted him to. I ached and throbbed. Then, he traced a line well within border of my pubic hair. "Shave to there," he said.

Flushing, even in the humid warmth, I soaped again and did as he said. He rinsed me again. I was so wanting, and so swollen and aching. The gentle spray caught my sex and my breath came out in a shaky gasp.

He soaped his hands and lathered me again. "Shave your lips," he instructed.

I used the razor carefully, surprised at the silken skin underneath. He tested me with a finger and rinsed me again, making my breath come faster.

"Shave it again," he said in a patient voice. "I want it as smooth as my tongue."

He soaped me again and this time my hips moved with his hands. I shaved even more carefully. He sprayed me off and ran another finger over me.

"Very nice," he said, twisting the shower head so that the spray became a soft jet. "Let's make sure you're good and clean. Clasp your hands over your head." I obeyed. "Feet up on the bench."

He used the jet of water on my breasts, circling my nipple. It was the most curious and delicious sensation, like a vibrating tongue. So, when he teased the jet downward over my torso, my throb intensified. The first spray of the water on my sex and I moaned. My head fell back against the wall.

"Look at me," he instructed.

I did and he played the spray over me. It was warm. It pulsed. I wanted to close my eyes but I held his gaze instead.

"Show me you want it, Baby," he said, his erection no longer lazy.

I spread my legs as wide as I could and tilted my hips into the jet. I shook. He stepped closer, making the spray more intense. I exploded into orgasm while I watched him, yelling in a choked way, the pulsing water massaging my climax.

He dropped the shower head and pulled me to his erection. He only let go when his organ was deep between my lips. I kept my hands clasped over my head. He used my face in a way that left my sex pulsing. The only things I had to do were seal my lips and suck. I gagged when he jammed into my throat, but he pushed past it. His hand protected the back of my head against the wall. In less than a minute, he groaned and came. His fluids were thick down the back of my throat.

He withdrew and pulled me to my feet in almost one movement. He pressed me to the shower wall and kissed me, his hands traveling over my wet body. I kept my hands at my side. We stayed like that under the soft water for minutes, kissing, flesh-to-flesh.

"Clean?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Sir," I whispered, glowing with pleasure.

"Good. Now, let's get you dried off so you can go to bed."

"Thank you for this."

He lifted my chin, looking at me and shaking his head a little. He kissed me again quickly.

"Come on."

#

The following evening, I couldn't help it; I brought home work again. I was against a deadline on the article that I was working on. He frowned but nodded when I told him. He, on the other hand, brought home dinner. We sat at the little table where we often had breakfast together to eat before I started my work.

"You're thinking of something," he said to me after a lengthy silence.

"What if after a week, I can't say yes?" I asked.

Mr. Sterling's dark eyes settled on me. "It depends on the reason."

I looked around at the grandness even in the small room. "I don’t fit here," I said.

"I say you do," he told me.

I lowered my face but he lifted it, like he usually did.

"Why marriage?" I asked. "I'm already...."

"You're already what?"

"...here."

It wasn't what I was going to say and we both knew it.

He touched my silver collar and I lifted my chin, enjoying the delicious warmth that spread from my stomach down.

"Ownership is important to me," he said stroking my neck along the edge of the metal. "This says something to you and me. A wedding ring says something to everyone."

He leaned into me, our food forgotten. His lips brushed the skin of my neck so gently.

"Marriage is forever," I whispered.

"So is the offer to wear my collar." He licked long the edge of it. "I want you all the time."

"That's endorphins because we're still new to each other. They will even out in about a year."

He kissed up to my ear. "Bullshit."

"No. It's true. They build attach--"

He kissed me, cutting me off. His kiss cleared my mind of all of my objections.

When he broke away and drew back, he reiterated, "Bullshit."

I didn't say anything. His eyes traced over my face, lingering on my lips.

"Science doesn't know everything, Rachel," he said in a low, seductive way. That same buttery voice he used when he propositioned me that first time. My whole body reacted. "I won't be half started with you in a year," he added.

My heart beat a little faster. "Is that true?" I whispered.

"It is." He trailed a finger from my lips down my neck. It tingled between my legs. "It's really too bad that you brought home work tonight," he said.

"I did do that, didn't I?" For the first time I felt regret. "It will only take a couple of hours. We could after...." My voice was breathy.

Was I really begging for sex? Who was I?

His eyes twinkled. "Not tonight, Baby. I think I'd like to wait until I have your undivided attention."

I was breathless and wanting. I knew he could see it. "This is your idea of competing for my time, isn't it?" I asked. He nodded, his eyes dark and twinkling. I bit my lip, knowing how I was being manipulated. "You're going to be bad for my career, Mr. Sterling."

"That sounds promising."

I mentally went over the assays I had planned for the next day. Looking over the Journal Club. Getting prepped for lab meeting Friday morning.

"I might be a little later," I said softly, "but I'll keep my evening free tomorrow."

"Good," he replied.

#

I was a mess.

After my little conversation with Mr. Sterling, it took me four hours to do two hours' worth of work. What's worse, he knew it. Before, my distracted state was my own private affair. But, here, in his penthouse apartment, when I was lost in thought and staring over my computer, his dark eyes witnessed it. When I flushed for no apparent reason, I saw the smile playing on his lips.

Work at the lab was better. I could focus away from his face and voice and touch. But still, I had a hurried sense, a rushing wish to get my work done so I could leave. When, finally, I could go, an ache settled deep. I drove carefully, but quickly, back to Mr. Sterling's building.

My hands shook, as much with anticipation as fear. I had to punch the code for his penthouse into the elevator three times before I got it right. It sped upwards. I clasped my hands in front of me, breathing deeply.

I stepped off of the elevator and into the short hallway that led to his apartment. He stood in front of the door, leaning against it. If he had a tie on for work, it was gone and his top button unbuttoned.

"Did you bring home work tonight?" he asked.

"No," I whispered.

"Good," he said, stepping a little closer to me. "So...?"

"You wanted to tell me something about endorphins?" I asked softly.

"I did." He jerked his head up at a black half-sphere on the ceiling. "Do you see that? That's a camera."

My eyes flickered up at it and back to him.

"Take off your shirt," he told me.

I flushed, looking up at the camera for longer. "Who--"

"Don't ask questions, Rachel. Do as I tell you." His voice was stern.

I looked up one more time, then lifted my knit shirt over my head. My heart pounded and my mouth was dry.

He walked over to me and ran a finger over the swells of my breasts where they met my pink, lace bra. "Is this new?"

"Yes," I whispered.

He unbuttoned my jeans and teased the zipper down. "And this?" he asked running a finger under the lacy edge of the pink panties.

"Yes."

"Did you buy them for me?"

"Yes."

He took my wrists, one in each hand, and pressed them to the wall at my sides. He kissed me open-mouthed, his tongue a penetration. His chest pressed me to the wall. He gathered my wrists over my head in one hand so he could fondle my breasts with the other.

I ached and wanted, his touch just making it more urgent. He broke the kiss to say, "Care to come inside, Rachel?"

"Yes, please, Sir," I whispered.

His jaw set. He took my hand and pulled me inside, up the steps, and into his bedroom. The first thing that I noticed was that he had brought a sturdy wooden chair to the wall beside his king-sized bed. Also that there was a hook on an arm affixed to the same wall at a reaching-length above it. I was inexperienced but I wasn't foolish. I flushed at what he clearly intended to do.

"Face away from me and take off your jeans," he instructed.

I peeled the denim over my backside, bending at the waist to strip the jeans off. I heard his breath roughen. I took off my sneakers and socks besides, standing up after. He came up behind me, his lips on the back of my neck, his hands stroking my body.

He played with my nipples through the lacy, satiny material, pinching and chafing He pulled the cups down and rolled my hardened nipples between his fingers until I moaned. Then, he turned me around.

"Take everything off for me," he said in a low growl.

I did, leaving the bra and panties neatly on his bed. I, completely nude, and he still in his business clothes. It was somehow vulnerable and arousing at the same time. He pulled my leather collar out his pants pocket and replaced my metal one with it. Then he held up the matching leather cuffs.

"In front," he instructed.

I held my wrists in front of me. He cuffed them together, making my breath come faster, making my aching worse. Then, he led me to the wall with the hook and hung the chain of my cuffs on it, stretching me. I lifted myself on the balls of my feet, my whole body taut.

He stepped back to admire me.

"Now," he said, "endorphins." He rummaged through a drawer in his dresser and came out with what looked like two small metal clamps connected by a chain. I blinked at them, nervousness and excitement flashing through me.

"Endorphins are caused by pleasure, correct?"

"Among other things," I whispered.

"Like pain?"

My voice trembled. "That, too."

His head dipped to my breast and he roughly sucked first one nipple, and then the other, using his teeth. My hands made fists over my head.

Then, he placed the clamps on my hardened nipples. I gasped when the first clamp compressed me and moaned when the second one did. Oh, how it ached. The chain pulled them down. The pressure grew more and more noticeable as the moments passed.

He pulled on the chain a little and all of my air left me in a whoosh. He licked my nipples while he tugged and I thought I would explode with the painful pleasure. Then, he put his hands on my hips and steadied me as he turned me to face the wall. The chain between the cuffs twisted around the hook, tightening the restraint on my hands.

"One foot up here," he said, lifting my thigh and placing my foot on the chair.

As vulnerable as I felt that first time he claimed me, wrists and knees bound to the headboard of the bed, this was more so. I struggled to maintain my balance, using the chair for leverage. My clamped nipples scraped the cold wall each time I failed.

Mr. Sterling's hand cupped between my legs from behind. One finger explored, slipping over my swollen want.

"You're so wet," he said, adding a second finger to the first and stroking me in slow circles, front to back, where I was wettest, and front again. I moaned; the pain in my breasts sweetened the pleasure between my legs.

His fingers explored further back, taking the wetness with him. He stayed slow, but I still clenched. He stroked the pucker of my anus; he put the slightest pressure on the opening and it accepted the tip of his finger.

"Mr. Sterling...." The panicky plea was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

He removed his touch and I heard the rustle of his motions behind me. Undressing, perhaps. The rattle of a drawer. My sex ached; I was distractedly aware of my anus. I let my nipples brush the wall on purpose for the satisfaction of the friction.

Then his hands were on me again. Oiled. Sliding from my stomach up to my breasts, a smooth, slick thumb slipping against each nipple. The rich smell of almond oil rose from the heat of my body.

He drew back again and liquid dribbled across my lower back, dripping between my cheeks, over my backside. I tensed when he spread my backside. Instead of penetrating me, though, he sandwiched his erection between my cheeks, pressed them together, and slid up and down in the oiled flesh. Slowly I started to move and he simply pressed my hips together while I worked him in a smooth, slow motion.

"Jesus," he groaned. I thrilled at his pleasure.

Then, he released my hips and popped free. More liquid drizzled over my anus. His finger started a circular massage.

"Mr. Sterling," I gasped. "I've not... I haven't...."

"I recall," he said, pressing a finger against me and sliding inside.

"Oh!"

He worked himself in and out of me. My breathing came faster. Then the finger withdrew and something much thicker pressed against me. Wet and thick and also oiled.

"Please, Mr. Sterling...."

His bare chest pressed against my back. "Do you remember how to stop me, Rachel?"

His lips nipped at the back of my neck. It stole my breath for a moment.

"Yes, Sir."

"Would you like to?"

"Very much, Sir."

One slippery hand slid between my legs. A single finger explored. I couldn't hold back my whimper. His thick, slick erection spread me and opened me.

"Why don't you?" he asked, pulsing his way into me as he touched.

"Because...." I panted, trying to relax. "Because, I want this to be yours."

His breath was against my ear. "Oh, I like that, Baby."

The two fingers played between my legs with more purpose. I moaned, eased, and opened. Just a fraction of him felt enormous. He didn't stop there. The pressure increased in a steady, relentless way but so did his stroke between my legs.

It hurt, like the clamps on my nipples hurt. But with his other hand working my pleasure, I didn't want him to stop. Nor did he offer to. Sweat stood out on my skin. The steady push made my body yield. Finally, his pelvis pressed against me; I had taken him all.

He pulled out and pressed back into me. I moaned.

He took a handful of my hair, even while he continued to stroke me, and pulled my head back. "You're mine, Rachel," he growled in my ear. "All of you. Not just this." He thrust hard into me.

My body jolted. "Yes, Sir," I whispered.

He found a rhythm of withdraw and thrust and the pain ebbed. His fingers flew. His other hand teased my sore nipples. An orgasm that I couldn't define started to build.

I was achingly, painfully empty where I most wanted to be filled. At the same time there was a raw satisfaction, an undefined fulfilled need at being used this way. My fingernails bit into my palms.

"I'm going to come," I whispered in a shuddery breath.

He went harder, driving me. I cried out at the first peak of my orgasm.

He released one clamp from my nipple; pain and pleasure shot through me. It sent my orgasm to another level. "God!" I yelled. My eyes teared.

"Those," Mr. Sterling said through gritted teeth, releasing the second clamp from my other nipple, "are endorphins."

A flash of pain matched my first and the tears spilled. I cried out without words: a moan and a sob. My legs wobbled, but his arm around me supported me. And just as I completed the most intense orgasm of my life, he yelled and came, too.

He withdrew from me wetly. I realized, for the first time, that he hadn't worn a condom.

In second, he released the chain on my cuffs and eased me on to his bed. He kissed me gently but I know he could feel how my body still shook. He brushed away where the tears had spilled.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

My body was a glowing, warm, wonderful, used thing. I felt like I'd been through a religious revival. "You might be right," I finally said, "That study did exclude a few key lifestyle variants when it comes to endorphin production."

"Told you."

"You're right about something else, too," I said quietly, looking at him. "I enjoy the way you compete for my time. I don't resent you tempting me away from work if the answer can be no sometimes."

"So, one concern addressed?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir."

He gave me that boyish smile that I liked. "I really thought you'd stop me."

"I'm surprised myself," I replied.

He kissed me, his hand sliding over my skin. I looked down at myself, still shiny. "We're getting oil all over your bed."

He laughed and stood, offering me a hand. "Come, Rachel. I'm going to bathe you and feed you."

"Thank you, Sir."

#

The next day, I made a point to go into work early so I knew that I would have my evening free. My very pleased and satisfied body loved the idea. The work-a-holic in me was a little panicked, though.

When my cell phone rang at three-thirty, I didn't expect it to be him.

"Hi, this is Rachel."

"Hello, Rachel."

It was ridiculous how his voice affected me. "Hi," I said again.

"I'm calling because I'm forced to go out of town overnight tonight. Trust me when I say that I'm not pleased, but it's a necessity."

"Oh."

"I like that you sound disappointed."

I flushed and walked out of the lab. "Maybe I should sleep at my place."

"No. I want you at my apartment. Make yourself at home." It was a command, but it was in that low, affectionate tone that I liked.

"Yes, Sir," I whispered into the phone.

"I am sorry about this," he said.

It was strange going to his penthouse and knowing that he wouldn't be there. I looked around, trying to imagine this place as mine. As my home. It was possible when Mr. Sterling was there but not when he wasn't.

Far earlier than I usually would, I took myself upstairs to his bedroom. I stripped down to my panties--new blue lacy ones-- and crawled under the sheet on the small bed. I tried to read a scientific article but I couldn't focus.

At ten o'clock my phone rang.

"Hello."

"Good evening, Rachel."

The sound of his voice made me silly-happy. "It's strange here without you."

"Are you in bed yet?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing?"

I flushed and imaged he knew it. "Just my underwear."

"My obedient girl," he said with that fondness. "Go to the table beside my bed. There's a wand vibrator in the drawer. Get it and lay on your bed."

I did as he said, throbbing with want. "I'm on my bed," I whispered.

"Turn it on the lowest setting and use it on yourself through your panties."

I hesitated for a moment. Then I did as he said. My breath came faster.

"I can hear that," he said in my ear.

I rubbed the vibrator into myself and moaned softly.

"Are your panties wet?"

"Yes, Sir."

"All the way through?"

"Yes, Sir." My voice hitched. My orgasm started to build.

"Stop."

I practically groaned as I turned off the vibrator.

"I want you ready for me when I get there tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir."

"Sleep well, Baby."

#

I woke up alone, as I had for nearly ten years, but it felt strange. I didn't feel right until I got to the lab. There, I could occupy my mind. At least until three-thirty, when Mr. Sterling called me.

"I'm delayed. I'll be home tonight, but late."

So, I went to his penthouse again, his absence turning into an ache. The disappointment at not seeing him was almost depressing. I asked myself if it was just the sex I missed. I was forced to acknowledge that it wasn't. I missed everything about him: his smell, his voice... his presence.

I stripped to yellow lacy panties and went to my bed. It took a while, but after some tossing, I fell asleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke to Mr. Sterling's hands on me. Urging me out of the small bed and into the large one. Sliding in next to me, under the cover. He kissed my ear and pushed me on my back.

"I love that you slept like this for me. Just in these." He ran a finger under the elastic of my panties.

"What time is it?" I asked, my speech thick.

"Two." His hands traveled and though I wasn't even really awake, I responded. He played with both nipples, gently pinching at them until let out a shaky breath. "Do you think, Rachel, you could manage to keep this evening free for me?"

"Yes."

"Because I have a strong need for you."

"I'm already awake now...."

He chuckled. "Tomorrow."

"It's Saturday, but I have to work."

"When you get home then. Sleep, Baby."

It was just a moment of consciousness in the night, but I remembered his hands in the morning: kind and gentle. I remembered the fond tone in his voice. And I remembered the promise for the next night.

#

My heart stuttered when he called me the next day at three thirty. I was sure that something had come up, as it had the last two days.

"Hello, Mr. Sterling," I answered softly.

"Hello, Rachel," he said. "Does your evening still look free?"

"Yes, Sir," I whispered.

"Good. I'm wrapping up some business, but I'll be home at six."

"I'll be there ahead of you."

There was a pause like a pulse. "I want you in panties only," he said, "kneeling in the hallway when I come in."

The arousal, which had been throbbing for two days, jumped to a new level. "Yes, Sir," I whispered again.

"Good girl."

The afternoon passed so slowly it felt like two. I managed to get everything done that I needed to do. There wasn't anything that was going to keep me from leaving my evening free.

I got to the penthouse at about five thirty. After I stored my work bag next to my small bed and stripped off my clothes, I combed my hair until it was silky.

At five minutes until the hour, I slipped into the hallway and knelt in front of his door, looking at the elevator. It seemed like I was there forever. The elevator moved around on the lower floors, probably taking the later workers home. Every time it climbed my heart stopped. Every time it stopped at a lower floor, I was disappointed.

Finally, it seemed to be making the slow climb. I clasped my hands behind my back reflexively. The anticipation prickled my skin and hardened my nipples. I held my breath when it passed the last floor and didn't exhale until the door opened.

Mr. Sterling stepped off of the elevator with his suit jacket and his briefcase in his hand. His top button was undone on his shirt. He saw me and stopped. For seconds, he just looked.

"Stand," he said, his voice gruff. I did as he said, my feet tingling.

He put his things down and walked straight up to me. He took off my metal collar and replaced it with the leather one. Then he used the ring on it to drag me into a kiss-- a fierce, wanting, demanding kiss.

One of his hands went behind my head. The other slipped over my backside, cupping me. His tongue tasted me. His fingers pressed into me. It was like he wanted to eat me alive. I gasped for air when he broke the kiss; he sucked on my lip.

"I don't want to go slow," he said, his eyes hotter than I had ever seen them.

"You can do as you please."

His lips were on mine again and he fumbled for the door knob. I stumbled when it swung open but he steadied me and steered me inside. As soon as the door was closed, he pressed me against it. He opened his slacks with one hand and lifted my thigh with the other. He handed me a condom packet.

"Put it on me," he said.

For once, eagerness made me nimble. As soon as I had rolled the skin over him, he hoisted me up against the door, pushed my panties aside, and entered me. It was so sudden, I cried out. He thrust again and moved my whole body. My weight forced him deep. It was unbelievably fulfilling.

His mouth found mine again, hungry and biting. I never touched him when we had sex but this time I used his shoulders for leverage. He found an achingly slow rhythm but pounded it with bruising force. I moaned.

"For such a good girl, you make dirty noises," he purred in my ear.

A deep climax started to build. "Only with you," I gasped.

At my words, he tensed and groaned. His thrust took on an urgent quality. Before I could reach my peak, he reached his. His trembling arms held me up and his shaking legs supported us both. I watched his face, the strained pleasure and rushing relief.

He withdrew and lowered me to the floor. He stripped the condom off of his partially softened penis, fastened his pants, and hooked a finger in my collar. He pulled me up the stairs so quickly that I had to trot to keep up.

Once in his bedroom, he pulled my cuffs out of the table next to the bed and put them on me. "On the bed," he said gruffly. "On your back. Grip the headboard."

He cuffed my hands around the bars in the headboard. Then, he stripped off my panties and all of his clothes. His erection had returned to its full hardness.

He kissed up my body, mouthing at my breasts, sucking on my neck. I heard the tear of the condom. He thrust into me as hard and as abruptly as he had against the door. My back arched; his hands went under me, cupping my butt, driving deeper.

My breath came hard and I vocalized in a way that I didn't intend to.

"That's right, Baby," he said. "I want to hear you."

My moan was long and loud and throaty. My own sounds aroused me. "It's so...intense," I gasped.

"Are you going to come for me?" He went even harder. It was almost painful. The deep build started again. "Answer me, Rachel."

Without thinking, my mind somewhere between senselessness and bliss, I cried out, "Phillip!"

Everything stopped.

Both of us panting, both of us wide-eyed, we looked at one another. He withdrew from me. I couldn't have been more confused.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

Then I realized what I had done. Heat flooded my face. "Oh, no...I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean to use the safe word."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Then...?"

I looked away, tears filling my eyes because of the embarrassment. "It's also your name," I said. "I got carried away."

He turned my face back towards him. "You got carried away and called my name?" he asked, sounding fond and... pleased?

"Please, don't laugh at me."

He kissed me. "Oh, I'm not laughing." He kissed me again, deeper. "I'm definitely not laughing." His mouth covered mine. His erection, hard again, pushed into me. Smooth. Unsheathed with the condom. My sex pulsed around it, wanted it.

I felt him reach, even as he still kissed me, over our heads. My wrists fell free. He pulled them around him. He kissed me and he took me. He spread me wide and deep; that promising build finally had the chance to bloom. I clutched at his back; I moaned against his mouth.

Our kiss broke. I cried out. I pulsed and shook.

He must have felt it because he hissed, "Rachel, fuck," in my ear.

We moved desperately against one another for another minute. He bit my shoulder and it sent me into spasm. Finally, he withdrew and fell to the side of me. His fluids dripped out of me.

He pulled me by the collar nose-to-nose with him. "Marry me."

I hesitated for a moment. His dark eyes decided me. "Yes."

He broke into that boyish smile. "Are you sure?"

"No," I said. "But, yes anyway."

"Oh, Miss Conway," he said, kissing me, "we're going to have such fun, you and I."

I kissed him back, "Yes, Sir."

#

We married in a tiny ceremony; he collared me in an even smaller one.

A year later, I still got butterflies when I headed for the penthouse at the end of the day. I punched in the elevator code. I slipped my shoes off before I stepped through the front door and left them on the caddy.

I found Mr. Sterling in the office. I knelt in front of him; he kissed me long and deep.

"I'll never tire of having you greet me that way," he said. "How was your day?"

"My article is being published in Science," I told him.

"Congratulations. Then we have two things to celebrate tonight."

"Two?"

"An anniversary."

"That's not for months," I said.

"It's one year since you came to me for that week." I flushed. "A year since you tried to tell me this was all endorphins."

"I admitted I was wrong the next day."

He gave me that seductive smile. "So you don't want to celebrate?"

Oh. I bit my lip. "I do."

"What would you like to do?" I flushed and he noticed, smiling. He was forever trying to get me to talk dirty. "Tell me."

"That thing you like to do with the saw horses."

"Where I sodomize you while you're wearing the butterfly vibrator?"

I got even warmer. "You make it sound so dirty."

He laughed. "No, Baby. Somehow you manage to make it sound clean."

He held out a hand.

I took it.