I didn't know much about Phillip Sterling before I went to meet with the board of his charitable foundation. They had awarded Tom Bavington, the head of my lab, an enormous grant for his work in cancer research. The board requested that a representative of the lab present an overview of our work prior to the monetary award being given. Unfortunately, Tom decided to go skiing the weekend before his big presentation and broke his leg in three places.

And, oh, did I curse his name as I rode the elevator up to the twenty-third floor in the Stillet building, ten minutes ahead of our one o'clock meeting. I liked working in a lab because it meant I didn't have to be terribly social. I didn't go to conferences because I didn't like to speak publicly. This afternoon was going to require that I do both. But, there wasn't anyone else who could stand in for Tom. I was the lab manager. Anyone else in our fifteen member lab could have talked about their individual projects; I was the only one who understood the details of all the projects and where they overlapped.

So, I smoothed my skirt, took a very deep breath, and stepped off of the elevator when it stopped. Luckily, there was a reception desk. "I'm Rachel Conway," I said softly. "I'm here for Tom Bavinton, who was presenting to the board."

"They're expecting you, Miss Conway," the receptionist said. She stood, gave me a professional smile, and led me to a wooden double door.

The room would have been intimidating without the people. One wall was glass and looked out over the city. The table was glossy and heavy and far too large to have been constructed anywhere but in this room. A huge screen, already projecting the foundation logo, covered the front wall. Four people waited expectantly: a middle-aged black man in a perfectly fitted suit, an older woman with a structured chin-length bob, a silver-haired man who looked to be close to seventy, and a dark-haired man who looked to be about my age--around thirty.

"This is Miss Conway, here for Dr. Bavington," the receptionist said before giving me a cool little smile and exiting.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Conway," the silver-haired man said.

"My pleasure," I lied. I plugged in my flash drive to the computer and called up the presentation. I found the laser pointer and managed a quick glance at my audience. "Are you ready?"

"Please," said the young man, nodding at me to start.

Luckily, Tom had put the presentation together before he broke his leg. I figured that I just had to follow the slides. Unfortunately, my boss hadn't taken into consideration the scientific background of his audience.

"So, this RNA that you study isn't genetic material?" the woman asked, flipping through the proposal.

"It is, but it doesn't function that way." They seemed confused. "Do you have a whiteboard?" I asked.

Someone turned off the camera from the computer and raised the screen. There was a massive whiteboard underneath. For the next twenty minutes, I gave an impromptu class on structural RNA and RNA regulation. When I turned around, the two older men and the woman were nodding. The young man just watched me with these dark eyes. "Does that make sense?" I asked the young man.

"Perfect sense," he said.

I returned to the presentation, but it wasn't long before we had to switch off the computer and go to the white board so that I could explain the innate immune response. In another few slides, I returned to my dry-erase markers to explain molecular cloning. The presentation was only supposed to take an hour. Two and a half hours after I started, I made it to the last slide.

When I was done, I drank from a glass of water that had stopped sweating about an hour ago. "Do you have any additional questions for me?" I asked quietly in the quiet room.

They looked at each other and then back at me. "I think we have sufficient understanding of your lab now to release a five million dollar annuity for the next four years," the silver-haired man said. He looked at the young man. "Isn't that what you requested?" I tried to hide the surprise at the dollar amount. Tom hadn't mentioned what was at stake here and that was probably on purpose.

"It is," he said. His eyes were still on me. "And I'd like to offer my thanks to Miss Conway--it is 'miss' isn't it?"

"Yes."

"My thanks to Miss Conway for filling in for Dr. Bavington. I couldn't have hoped for a more comprehensive overview."

Heat came into my face, less because of his words and more because of his tone. It was admiring, serious, and intense, not unlike his gaze on me.

"Agreed," said the black man in the impeccable suit. "Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome."

I stood, closing my presentation on the computer and tucked my flash drive into my bag. I slung my bag over my shoulder. Now that I was done with what I needed to do, I just wanted to get back to my car, call Tom, and go home for a hot bath. However, before I got back to the reception desk, the young man who sat on the board had caught up with me.

He was the physical embodiment of wealth and privilege, from his perfectly trimmed dark hair to his clearly imported shoes. And he had a presence. Like a celebrity, he commanded attention. It was hard enough for me to talk to strangers, much less handsome, wealthy strangers who hold my lab's future funding in his hands. I could barely meet his eyes.

"Miss Conway," he said. "I just wanted to reiterate how pleased I am that you were able to fill in for Dr. Bavington."

"It's my pleasure, Mr...?" I said.

"Sterling. Phillip Sterling."

"You're Phillip Sterling," I said, probably a little too enthusiastically. Then, I immediately flushed at my own enthusiasm. "Tom said that you contacted him about this opportunity directly," I explained, my voice lowered. "I know he's grateful and I am too."

I couldn't read his expression. He looked at me like he was memorizing me. "I know that we've already taken up too much of your time, but I had some questions about Taj Patel's work. Specifically, pharmaceutical applications for his research."

"He had ideas about that. Would you like more information?"

"I would."

"I'll ask him to get in touch with you--"

"No." He put a hand on my shoulder. "You get in touch with me." It was a command. It knocked me off track. I blinked at him.

"Me?"

His thumb brushed my hairline under my suit collar, sending a thrill and a shiver down my neck. It felt like a message. I met his eyes and again, couldn't read his expression.

"Yes," he said, "I find your presentation style easy to follow."

"All right."

"Friday at four?" he suggested. "In my office?"

"I'm available."

"Very good, Miss Conway. I'll see you then."

#

Friday at four came fast. After the money came in from the grant, I was busy ordering and organizing, staying late at the lab every night. I spoke with Raj and he outlined a line of experiments that could lead to pharmaceutical applications. I was on the phone constantly with Tom, who was still in the hospital, now dealing with an infection. On Friday at three, I changed into a slim, navy dress in the bathroom and headed for my car. I pulled into the parking garage attached to the Stillet Building with ten minutes to spare.

The receptionist on the twenty-third floor recognized me. "Mr. Sterling is waiting for you, Miss Conway."

She stood and led me back to his office, knocking and holding the door open for me and closing it behind me. Mr. Sterling stood to greet me.

"Come in," he said, stepping around his desk. "Can I get you a drink? Wine?"

"No thank you."

He leveled a look at me. "It's Friday at four. I'm having Bourbon and I hate to drink alone." There was expectation and command in his voice; I had a physical, sexual reaction to it.

"All right. Wine?"

"Red or white?"

"White, please."

He lifted his phone and was on it for less than twenty seconds. Then, he folded his hands and looked at me. "You have information for me?"

I relaxed a little and brought out my outline of experiments. Our drinks came just as I started the presentation. I talked him through the experimental steps and the timeline involved. He asked me to explain how the different assays worked; I drew diagrams on blank sheets of paper. Someone came in and replaced my empty wine glass with a fresh one.

After more than an hour, he leaned across the table. "Tell Dr. Patel that if he gets these results, I'll put him in touch with Reginald Jax."

"You can do that?" Reginald Jax was the head of Research and Development with one of the fastest growing pharmaceuticals in the country. I know I sounded like a breathless schoolgirl, but I couldn't help it.

"I can and I will." He glanced at my untouched second glass, "You're not drinking."

"I haven't eaten and I have to drive home."

"I can offer a company car to take you home." I blinked at him. "Stay and talk with me." He nodded at my wine glass. "I'll tell you how I met Jax."

Walking out on our billionaire benefactor probably wasn't a great idea. Besides the fact that I didn't really want to, even if he did make me stupidly nervous. "I'll call a cab," I told him. "I couldn't impose on you to get me home."

"It would be no imposition."

"No, thank you," I said in a quiet but firm voice. "But I will join you for another drink if you'll tell me how you met Dr. Jax."

He launched into a story about meeting a drunk Reginald Jax in Rome during a New Year's celebration. The brilliant developer--who was not yet more than a very promising grad student--had missed his flight, checked out of his hotel, and was wandering the street celebrations with his suitcase in one hand and a drink in the other. Mr. Sterling, who was only twenty at the time, thought Jax, in his hounds-tooth suit and matching newsboy hat were hilarious and had pulled him off the street and into his posh hotel room. They had talked all night and Mr. Sterling had offered his personal jet to get Jax home. Since then, Mr. Sterling knew that he could call on Jax for any favor.

"I can't imagine it. Was he just staggering around?" I asked. Reginald Jax had perhaps the most reserved reputation of any well-known scientist.

"No," Mr. Sterling said, his eyes twinkling. "He was trying to explain molecular biology--in English--to drunk Italians. I stopped him before he started doing chalk drawings on the outside walls of the Colosseum."

I giggled--a distinctly unusual sound for me. I only had two glasses of wine in me, but I was clearly feeling it. I covered my mouth.

"Oh, dear," I said. "I think that's my cue to make this my last one."

"Is someone waiting for you at home?"

My instinct was to lie, to tell him that I was engaged or otherwise attached. But that assumed that the wealthy, handsome, powerful man across from me actually cared about my romantic availability, which was ridiculous. He only asked out of politeness.

"No," I finally said. I felt like I should expand on that but didn't know how to.

"Good." He picked up his phone. "Another round for me and Miss Conway, please."

He put the phone down, his eyes for the first time readable. They were admiring and hungry; even with wine to numb me he made me nervous.

"Why do I feel like you're getting me drunk on purpose?" I said, with more candor than usual.

His expression turned serious. "Because you're astute."

Ali came in with two more drinks and replaced our empty glasses. I looked at mine and then back to Mr. Sterling. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I have a proposition for you and I'd like for you to consider it."

Logic told me that I should just thank him for the evening and walk out. There was no good proposition that needed to be preceded by three drinks. Tipsiness made me bold and curious, though. Something I'm sure he planned.

I picked up my wine and took a sip. "Last one," I said with quiet gravity. "So, if you want to make a proposition, you should make it now."

His eyes played over my face in an appraising way. "Your lab is going to do very well with your twenty million dollar award," he said. "You'll publish and your publications will be high-impact. Your lab will expand. I have no doubt of these things."

"I believe you're right."

"However," he said, watching me, "using your research findings to further pharmaceutical advances, secure patents for future medical devices, or do anything to capitalize on financial opportunities is something your lab does not excel at." That was also true--not just of us but of most academic labs.

"I can help you with that," he continued. "My offer to connect Dr. Patel with Jax is one example of what I can deliver. I know people in every sector. Many of them owe me favors. I would be happy to use my influence, over and above the twenty million in funding, to help you capitalize on all of your opportunities."

"That's very kind of you," I said. "Why did I need to be drunk to hear that?"

He looked at me for a moment, seeming to appraise me. "Because this isn't a charitable offer." He gave me a long look. "This is a proposition for an exchange of favors."

Fear made my heart hammer. And maybe there was some excitement in there, too. I drew a deep breath. "I don't want to be presumptuous but--"

"Oh, please, be presumptuous."

"Are you asking for sexual favors?" Even with the drink and the very obvious lead-in, heat came into my face.

He looked very amused and for a moment I thought I misunderstood his intentions completely. But then, without looking away, he gave a slow nod.

"With me?"

He laughed, I assume at the disbelief in my voice. "Yes, with you."

"I think I must have somehow given you a mistaken impression of me."

He leaned forward. "No. I don't think so. You seem very wholesome."

"I am."

"And sweet."

"And somehow that translates into sexy?"

"You have no idea."

I stood. "I hope you'll believe me when I say that I'm flattered." My legs were a little shaky from the drink and from the proposition. I gathered my things into my bag. "It's late and I need to go."

He stood, too, and came around to my side of the massive piece of furniture. He took my bag out of my hands. "You don't even know what I want."

"You want sex. I know what sex is."

"Do you? Has anyone ever tied you down and brought you so close to orgasm that you begged for release, but he just wouldn't finish you off? And then, after who-knows how long, when he finally lets you come, he won't stop. He just keeps making you come, again and again and again."

I couldn't answer. Nobody had ever tied me down. No one had even offered to. I didn't think I could have more than one orgasm at a time but I had a surge of eagerness to try. The thought made my stomach turn and tighten at the same time.

"No?" he teased.

"No," I whispered, looking down.

"You know what sex is. You don't know what it could be." He lifted my chin so I had to look at him again. "I'm going to kiss you." Before I could object again, his lips were on mine, demanding and hot. I swayed back against the desk and with a little lift under my hips, found myself seated on it. He stepped between my legs, pulled me forward by the thighs, and wedged himself between my legs. My skirt was high on my legs. He ran his hands up my back, my body thrilled in spite of me. I found myself kissing him back.

Breaking the kiss was a force of will. "Please stop." My voice didn't sound like someone in distress. It was breathy and wanting.

He took a small step back. "If you begged me to take you right now, I couldn't want you more," he said.

His arousal was completely evident, which was a strange new experience for me. His expression left nothing to question. His eyes traveled the length of me and settled on my lips. My heart beat at a panicky pace.

"I really need to go, Mr. Sterling."

He backed away another step so that I could get off of the desk. I got my bag and checked for my cell phone so I could call a cab. When I finished, he still watched me.

"This is a standing offer," he said.

I didn't know what to say. Thank you hardly seemed appropriate. Finally, I managed, "I appreciate your offer to introduce Raj to Reginald Jax. I'm sure Tom will be in touch."

I left his office without looking back. I had to control myself not to run. I went to my car and sat in it while I called a cab. It wasn't until I was locked in my apartment that I started to calm down.

#

I thought about that encounter for days. There was a strange sense of pride that he thought having my body was worth a reward of substantial favors. There was arousal at the commanding way he kissed me. There was curiosity at the thought of being tied and pleasured.

I hadn't ever considered these things before. I had been very careful never to advertise myself as interested in sex. I wore low hemlines, high necklines, and clothes that didn't fit too tightly. I believed revealing clothes would undermine me professionally.

Now, I felt like a conspicuously sexual creature.

I was determined to put this encounter out of my mind. Tom would be out of the hospital soon. He could take over all the communication with the funding agency and I would take over my job as a lab manager. Things would go back to normal and I would find my equilibrium again.

Which would have happened, if Phillip Sterling's assistant hadn't contacted me the following Thursday. I was putting away orders when the phone rang. "Bavington lab," I answered.

"Miss Conway, please."

I didn't recognize the voice but my heart sped anyway. Nobody called me "Miss Conway".

"This is she," I said.

"This is Mr. Sterling's personal assistant, Ali. He asked me to contact you."

"Hello." My voice was so low, I wondered if she heard me.

"Mr. Sterling wanted you to know that there is a post-doctoral opportunity opening up at the Pasteur Institute. If you were interested in discussing it, he would be available to meet with you tomorrow at four."

My throat closed and I couldn't answer. Charlie Cotton, one of our graduate students, was set to graduate in a few months. He was looking for a post-doctoral fellowship and the Pasteur Institute was his dream. He studied French as a hobby and wanted to live in Paris. How Mr. Sterling knew any of this was beyond me.

"Miss Conway?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Thank Mr. Sterling for the information."

"Shall I put you on his calendar for tomorrow?"

Arousal surged through me and eagerness to see him. I bit my lip. "I'm afraid I'm not available," I lied, knowing full well that I was completely free.

"That's a shame," Ali said. "I'll let Mr. Sterling know."

I hung up, asked the lab aid to work on putting away the shipment of supplies, and excused myself from the lab. I went outside to where the smokers stood. I had to quell this desire to see Mr. Sterling. He didn't want a relationship; he just wanted sex. I never had casual sex. I was embarrassed that I even found this tempting, but I did.

I took a deep breath and headed back inside. I had made the right choice. This Phillip Sterling was bad news for me. I wasn't equipped to handle him. It was better if I just stayed away.

When I got back to the lab, Charlie Cotton was at his desk, working on his thesis. I went over to him.

"Hey."

"Hey, Rachel." He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

"So one of the members of the board of our new funding agency is pretty connected. He mentioned that there's possibly a post-doc coming available at the Pasteur Institute."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"That's what he said."

"Do you know which lab it is?"

I felt a pang. I didn't but I could. I probably wouldn't even have to sleep with Mr. Sterling to find out.

"I'm sorry. He didn’t mention a name."

"That's okay. I probably don't have a chance but I'll send my CV anyway. Couldn't hurt."

"Why wouldn't you have a chance? You do good work."

He smirked at me, "You're right. I do."

"You have three first author publications. You spoke at two international conferences. They'd be lucky to get you."

"Hey, thanks Rachel."

I went back to my desk and filed invoices. I couldn't concentrate. I could only think about one thing. Finally, at four thirty, I picked up the phone and dialed quickly, before I could change my mind.

"Good afternoon. Phillip Sterling's office. Ali speaking. How can I help you?"

"This is Rachel Conway. Mr. Sterling contacted me about meeting with him this Friday at four," I said.

"I remember. Has your availability changed?"

I closed my eyes. "Yes."

"Excellent. We'll see you then."

#

On Friday, with my stomach in knots and wearing another modest dress, I drove to the Stillet building to meet with Phillip Sterling. The receptionist recognized me and delivered me to Ali.

"He's waiting for you," she said.

She showed me to his office and closed the door behind me. He wasn't at his desk; he was at the conference table and he gestured for me to sit next to him. I sat, putting my bag in my lap like armor.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you," he said.

"Thank you," I said in a low voice. "It's good to see you again, too."

"Shall I talk to you about the Pasteur Institute?"

"Please."

"I have a friend there named Rene Laroux. He's a senior researcher with a weakness for American students. He owes me more than a couple of favors. I imagine Mr. Cotton would be very qualified; however, he will face other qualified competition. I can ensure his acceptance."

"I think this would be a dream come true for Charlie."

"So...?"

I lowered my eyes. "Would you please speak to Dr. Laroux?"

He lifted my face with a hand under my chin. "Of course I will." His eyes played over my face, even as he took his hand away. "I imagine you'd probably like for Charlie to get his acceptance before you... thank me."

"I would but..." He waited for me while I formulated my answer. "I'm very concerned that in the interim I'll have second thoughts. I have no intention of being dishonorable but..."

"Your nervousness is adorable."

I lowered my eyes again. "If you're a man who will keep his word, then we don't have to wait."

He lifted my face again. "You don't know that I can deliver on anything I've offered."

"You don't know that I'll actually have sex with you if you do deliver." I was in a perpetual state of blush.

He didn't take his hand from my face. "A compromise, then?"

"Like what?"

"Later, when I've delivered on my promises, I want you for a whole night. Now, I'm just aching for release."

He drew a thumb across my lips and gently pushed it between my lips. The meaning was clear. I opened my mouth and drew him in.

His breath grew harsh. "Yes, then?" he said in a low, gruff voice.

He pulled his thumb out of my mouth. I was scared and aroused.

"Yes," I whispered.

Slowly he opened and lowered his slacks. He was already very erect. I couldn't say if he was large on a global scale, but he was bigger than anyone I had been with. Not that I had a huge amount of experience.

"Leave your dress on," he said. "Just come here."

Our chairs were so close, I could just slip out of mine and down on to my knees in front of him. My breath came fast. He waited, without urging me. Finally, I put two hands on his thighs, leaned forward, and took him in my mouth.

I went up and down once, experimentally. I looked up at him and he watched with a scorching expression. I brought my hands to his organ, caressing his testicles and the skin behind it while I worked him with my mouth and tongue. He stretched my jaw, but I ignored it.

His hips flexed and his hands went into my hair, but he didn't force my motions. After about a minute of tasting and swirling my tongue over his head and handling him, he said, "Yes. Take me deeper."

I tried to relax and take even more of him. I was rewarded with a long, low moan. Hearing his pleasure thrilled me and I managed even a little more of his length, increasing my pace. It wasn't long before his hips moved under me. He gathered my wrists, restraining them against his thighs so that I could use only my mouth on him.

I was surprised to hear my own low moan when he pinned my hands. I let his hips guide my pace. When he spoke again, his voice was strained pleasure.

"I going to come. Stop if you don't want me to do it in your mouth."

I didn't slow down. I sucked a little harder and then he really vocalized. He hardened; he stilled; and then he came in my mouth, his hands tight around my wrists, his hips pushing into me. He was thick and salty and I drew on him until he was done. When he let go of my wrists, I took him out of my mouth.

His handsome face was flushed and his organ still twitched. "That was..." His eyes searched my face. "...surprising."

I was still on my knees in front of him. "Was it okay?"

He lifted his eyebrows and helped me off of the floor. "It was exquisite."

I flushed very warm. I couldn't process what I had just done. I gave a powerful man a blow job as a down payment for a favor. And I was wildly aroused.

His eyes were hot on me again, like he hadn't just orgasmed. "I'll call Rene tomorrow. I'm eager to get you back here."

"How should I--"

"When Mr. Cotton gets word that he's been accepted at the Pasteur Institute, call Ali and make a Friday afternoon appointment with me. We'll meet here and go upstairs to my penthouse."

"Very good," I said in a low voice.

He regarded me with an intense look. "I thought this would help relieve my tension, but I want you just as much as I did before you touched me." He looked me up and down. "When you do come to me for the night, what can I do to you?"

"I thought you wanted sex."

"There are many, many ways to have sex, Miss Conway." He sounded very amused.

"I need you to be more specific with me, then. What do you want?"

"Bondage?"

I searched his face almost hoping to see teasing there. He was completely serious.

"I might panic. I've never been restrained."

His expression got hotter. "Will you try?"

I hesitated. "I'll try."

"I can be domineering in bed. You should know that."

"I already assumed that." I pinched my lips, looked away, and back up again. "Mr. Sterling, I should go." 

"And, of course, I must let you."

"Thank you for helping Charlie," I said. I got my bag.

He put a hand on my arm. "Next time, you're going to come. Many times." I looked at him, not sure how to answer. Not even sure that I could. He smirked. "You're extremely endearing when you're shocked."

"I hope you continue to think so."

He looked at me a moment. "I hope to see you soon, Miss Conway."

#

Charlie heard from Rene Laroux within a week. Just three days later, at lab meeting, Charlie announced his post-doctoral fellowship. I wasn't sure if I was glad or not that this had happened so quickly. I arranged a congratulatory lunch for him. And I called Ali.

"May I please make an appointment with Mr. Sterling for this Friday afternoon?" I asked when I called.

"I'm sorry but Mr. Sterling is booked from noon to six. Could I schedule you for Monday?"

I had an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. "This is Rachel Conway. Could you tell him that I called and ask him when would be convenient for him?"

"I'll get back to you."

It was less than an hour when she called me back.

"Miss Conway, I apologize for not arranging for your meeting when we spoke last. Mr. Sterling made it clear that you should be given a priority over his current engagements. Would Friday at five work for you?"

"That would be fine."

"He'll look forward to seeing you then."

So, two days later, I slipped into a business dress at the end of the day at lab and headed over to his office. It was already a pattern in my life. I rode the elevator up and the floor receptionist took me to Ali who took me to Mr. Sterling.

He stood behind his desk and came around to me. "Mr. Sterling," I said.

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

He gestured for me to sit at the conference table where I had given him oral sex. He sat very close to me.

When Ali left, he said, "You did come back. I wondered if you would."

"I did too."

"You're staying then? I have you all night?"

I took a long, deep breath. "Yes."

He gave me a long look, like he was contemplating something. Then, he said, "There's a reason that I chose to offer you favors for sex rather than just asking you out to dinner."

"You like having power over me."

"I do."

"You like that you make me nervous."

"And you like it too. That's why you came back."

I flushed and looked away, but he pulled my face even with his by the chin. "I'm going to tell you what to do tonight and you're going to obey. If you don't, I'm going to punish you. And we're both going to have a very good time."

"Okay," I whispered.

"If you're not having a very good time at any point, you're going to say, 'Phillip, please stop'. Otherwise you will call me Mr. Sterling or Sir."

"What happens if I say 'Phillip, please stop.'?"

"Everything stops. We put on our robes, have a cup of tea, and discuss your limits." His eyes played over me. "If you're getting uncomfortable but don't want everything to stop, you're going to say, 'Phillip, please slow down'. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

His jaw clenched. He wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to me.

"This is the elevator access code to my penthouse. Go there. Take off your dress. Make yourself a drink and wait for me."

I did what he said. Ali wished me a good night. I hoped that she didn’t notice that I had called the elevator to go up rather than down to the exit. When it came, I punched in the code and rode it to the top of the building.

The elevator exited into a short hallway with one door. I tried it and it opened. The lights turned on automatically. I entered an enormous living room with curving stairs to a second floor that overlooked the room. The living room was beige and brown luxury with a magnificent view out a magnificent window. I closed the door and stepped inside.

I put down my bag on the hall table. I was aroused and so scared my hands were shaking. My heart was already trying to beat its way out of my chest.

My dress was soft jersey and I pulled it over my head, folding it and laying it next to my bag. I had the foresight to wear my one pair of matching bra and panties. They weren't much, but at least they were lacy. I went to the bar in the corner and made myself a martini, gulped half of it, and topped off my glass with gin. I went over to the window and watched the sun setting behind the buildings below. By the time I heard the door, I had a little buzz.

I turned and Phillip Sterling was already paused in the door, staring at me. "That's a picture," he said. I started to go to him but he stopped me. "Stay there," he told me. "Face the window."

I did as he told me, trembling. I could hear him moving around. He put his things down on a table. I heard the tinkle of ice in a glass. I heard him get into a drawer. I took a long drink of my martini, finishing it, and setting it aside. Nervousness continued to break through the alcohol.

His footsteps approached me from behind and I saw his ghostly reflection in the window in front of me. He pulled the ponytail out of my hair just a little roughly and pushed my hair over one shoulder. He kissed my neck, sending shivers over my skin. "I'm going to bind your wrists," he said in a low voice. He held the cuffs in front of me so that I could see them. Black leather straps, like a belt, which went around each of my wrists. They were connected by a chain with a clip in the middle. He snapped the clip and the cuffs came apart. "I can free you that fast," he said, reconnecting them.

He pulled my wrists to the small of my back, putting the cuffs on them. My instinct was to struggle. I tried to control myself but I made a little frightened sound when the second strap tightened.

"What do you say if you need me to slow down?" he asked.

"Phillip, please slow down," I breathed.

"Would you like me to?"

"Not yet."

He fastened the strap on my second wrist. "My brave girl." There was something about the praise that warmed me. It brought into sharp focus how much I wanted to please this man. How much I had always wanted to please the men that I was with and how simple Phillip Sterling was going to make that goal.

His hands roamed over me from behind. He caressed up my arms, down my back, over my backside, and then up the front of me, stopping at my breasts, which were still covered by my bra. He pulled the cups down until my breasts popped free.

"Turn around," he said gruffly. I did, keeping my eyes on the ground. "Look at me." My eyes flickered up and then down again. I was practically naked and bound. Meeting his eyes felt like an impossibility. He lifted my chin. "Look at me, Rachel."

It was the first time he had ever used my first name and it gave me a thrill.

"I'm sorry," I breathed. "I'm trying."

"I love that this is hard for you. It means I'll get to punish you sooner rather than later."

I made another frightened sound and he drew a finger over my cheek. It trailed down my neck, between my breasts, and over the midline of my torso. He stopped when he reached the lacy edge of my panties.

"Are you aroused?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," I whispered.

The heat came into his face, giving his expression a renewed intensity. He slipped his fingers into my panties and cupped me, testing me. When he felt my slickness, his eyes closed.

"Yes, you are."

He took his hand away without stimulating me too much. Still, I felt like a deflated balloon without his touch. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another piece of leather. This one was thicker and longer than the ones around my wrist but was otherwise identical. It was a black leather strap that fastened like a belt buckle.

"This is a collar," he said. "I want to put it on you while you're here. It won't restrict your breathing but I 'm going to use it to make you follow me." He showed me a metal ring that very much resembled something a leash would attach to.

It was a uniquely arousing and helpless experience to have him fasten a collar around my neck while my hands were bound. The only thing that kept me from outright panic was the belief that he would stop if I used his first name and asked him to. Then, he unhooked my bra at the back, unclipped my cuffed hands, eased the lingerie over my shoulders until it fell to the floor, and then reclipped my wrists.

"Perfect," he said in a gruff voice. He looked me up and down once. "You're shaking. Is it fear, cold, or excitement?"

"Fear and excitement, Sir," I whispered. I was so flushed and so aroused, I doubted that I could feel cold.

He dipped his fingers into his drink--some amber alcohol--and dribbled it on my breasts. Before it could travel too far, he licked it off in broad, hungry strokes, making my nipples pucker, making my skin ache with sensitivity, making me gasp. He repeated the process again, his tongue smooth but harsh on my other breast. He lifted my breasts, testing their heft, squeezing them a little roughly.

"Lovely," he finally said.

He took his drink in one hand and hooked his finger in the ring on my collar, which was under my chin, pulling me after him to the bar. Quickly, he fixed me a martini and dipped his index finger into it. "Do you want this?" he asked, taking his dripping finger out of the glass.

"Please, Sir," I said.

He held his finger out to me and I licked off the drops, watching his expression just get hotter and hotter as he reapplied his finger to the martini and offered it to me again. I felt the heat too. I didn’t know how much more teasing I could take before I simply combusted.

"If I had you for a whole weekend, I would just drive you insane tonight. I wouldn't even take off your panties until the morning, no matter how you begged me." He paused, heated amusement ruling his expression. "Have you ever begged for someone to touch you, Rachel?"

I swayed on the spot. I could imagine myself there, so needy and knowing that my need aroused him.

"No," I whispered.

He brushed my hair over my shoulder. "I wonder what favor I could tempt you with for that privilege. Forty-eight hours of complete control over your body." He lifted my glass and held it for me so that I could sip directly from it. "Any suggestions?"

"I don't think I could do this for more than an evening," I said in a low voice.

"I hope you feel very differently by the end of the night."

He laid my drink next to his drink, hooked his finger in my collar again, and pulled me after him up the steps to the second floor. He opened the second door we came to; it was a huge bedroom.

"Kneel on the bed," he told me, letting go of the collar.

I obeyed while he watched me, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie. He didn't undress though. "Move your knees wider," he said. I obeyed. "A little more." I did.

He walked over to me and grabbed a tight handful of my hair at the crown, pulling my head back, making my chest thrust out. I had no hands to defend myself. His touch traveled to intimate places: my backside, my breasts, my thighs.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Helpless," I said.

He slipped a hand into my panties again. "Not just helpless," he said, satisfaction in his voice. He touched me in a slow, torturous, languid way without letting go of the tight grip on my hair. I couldn't help but respond. My whimper was quiet, but he heard it easily enough.

"That's a sound I don't get to hear too often," he said. "A good girl wanting bad things. Isn't that what you are, Rachel?" I had an odd surge of humiliation at the way he put that and, to my embarrassment, tears filled my eyes. His hand slowed and his grip loosened. "What is it?" he asked, his tone gentler than I expected.

"Please don't shame me," I breathed, trying to keep the tears from falling.

His expression turned almost kind. "There's no need to be ashamed, Baby. It's just us." His fingers started working again. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"And you're a good girl, aren't you?"

His fingers and words worked together to help my tears dry up. "Yes, I am."

"You don't do this sort of thing. You've never even contemplated it before."

I couldn't stop the whimper in my breath. "No. Not until I met you."

"I like that very much," he said. "A good girl wanting bad things but only from me." His tempo slowed. I pressed myself into his hand without thinking and saw his smile. "Are you close, Baby?"

"Yes."

"Not yet. Not until I say you can. Understand?" His fingers found a new pace and friction.

"I'm not going to be able to stop it."

"I'll spank your ass red if you do." I made another frightened little sound. "Hush now. Keep your knees wide."

I just climbed and climbed and climbed. I didn't want to disobey him. My body wasn't my mine any more to control.

"Please," I finally whispered.

"There it is," he said, sounding deeply satisfied. "What are you begging for, Beautiful?"

"Please, stop," I whispered. "You're going to make me come."

He withdrew his hand and put the tips of his fingers on my lips. He didn't let go of my hair, keeping my head bent back. "Taste yourself," he ordered me. I touched his fingers with my tongue. They were salty and slick.

"You wanted me to finish you, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then, why did you beg me to stop?"

It felt like a trick question but I answered it anyway. "It wasn't what you wanted."

It was like my words lit a fire behind his eyes. He let go of the hair at the crown of my head and held my face, pulling it to his more gently than I expected. He kissed me like he owned me---open mouthed and invasive. Then, he physically moved me up the bed, unclipping my wrists.

"Lay down," he instructed. "Hands over your head."

I obeyed and he clipped my wrists back together around the headboard slats. It was more restrictive than being cuffed behind my back and I had to struggle to calm my breathing.

He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off carefully, hanging it over a chair. Then, he went to his dresser and rummaged through a drawer, coming up with a vibrator and two lengths of rope. My heart leapt, adding to my panic.

"First, let's get rid of these," he said, peeling my panties away. "Spread your legs," he said. I hurried to obey. Silently, he looped the rope around first my left knee and then my right one, tying both to the headboard.

I was completely immobilized and splayed. I couldn't pull my legs together and I couldn't shield myself with my hands. He surveyed me with a satisfied look and then sat down on the bed next to me again, holding the vibrator delicately.

"I'm going to give you a choice," he said, turning the toy on and circling my nipple with it. Everything in my midsection tightened. "I can make you come, but if I do, I'm not going to stop at one climax. I'm going to keep going until I'm satisfied that you can't take any more. Then, I'm going to use you for my pleasure."

He caressed the inside of my splayed thighs, drawing the vibrator down my torso slowly. "Alternately, I could just take you. But if I do, you don't have permission to come. When you do, I will punish you." He drew the vibrator lower, keeping the pressure so light it was maddening. "What would you like to do?"

I knew my role tonight. "Whatever pleases you," I whispered.

He closed his eyes like my words gave him sexual pleasure. Slowly, he rubbed the toy into my sex; my back arched without me thinking about it. I had been so close when he stopped and my body immediately returned to that level of arousal.

"This is the lowest setting on the vibrator," he said in a conversational tone, stroking me in a gentle way. It was more than enough.

"May I come?" I moaned.

"Yes, Baby. Go ahead."

I shuddered into orgasm and despite his light touch, it was sweet and intense. I bucked against the toy and he followed my motion. But then, when pleasure gave way to sensitivity, he didn't stop. My legs wanted to twitch closed, but the rope held them in place.

He tutted but didn't look angry. "So sensitive," he said.

He caressed me with the vibrator gently, noting what made me jump and avoiding it. I hadn't ever forced sensation on myself after an orgasm. After about a minute of gentle touch, he ran a finger over me. I moaned.

"That's my girl," he said. He upped the speed of the vibrator and started working me in earnest.

Suddenly, I was rising again. "Oh," I managed. It sounded half distressed and half surprised. Then, before I could even ask if it was allowed, I shot into orgasm again. It was sharp and fast. I gripped the headboard so hard my fingers ached.

This time he didn't stop at all. He continued stroking just above my most sensitive spot and I didn't react like I was oversensitive. If anything, I started having little fluttery orgasmic contractions that rose and fell. I didn't even know how to classify the sensation. He turned the speed of the vibrator down and I whimpered.

The speed was low, but the pressure was harder. It was like it reset my sex. Plus, there was something about the roughness of how he worked me that stoked me higher. He had to stroke me longer this time and with more determination, but in less than ten minutes I shivered into another climax.

I was already exhausted but he circled my sex with the toy, clearly getting me ready for another orgasm. "No," I breathed. It was out of my mouth before I had a chance to decide if it was a good idea to protest. If anything, it increased the level of intensity in his expression.

"No?" He turned up the vibration to the middle setting and I couldn't control the long, throaty groan. "That doesn't sound like no."

He used his other hand to open me, letting his fingers stray over me, spreading my wetness. I rose again, helpless against the pleasure. He sent me spinning into another climax and this time I cried out.

"There we go," he purred. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay so quiet forever."

But he still didn't stop. I strained against my binds, trying to close my legs. He ignored it, inserting the toy inside of me partway, circling it around my opening. Then he brought it back to my sex and inserted two fingers into me.

I couldn't believe that I was hovering over another climax. I didn't even think I was capable of two in a row, much less this marathon. It scared me a little what my body could be manipulated into doing. Then, with his fingers reaching inside me and the vibration tickling me, I rose into another orgasm. This one was less intense but at this point, everything felt like too much.

And still, he didn't stop. My body was a traitorous thing. It would give him as many climaxes as he wanted.

"Please. Stop," I begged.

"Oh, Baby. I like that," he said, not slowing.

"Please," I gasped.

"Use my first name and it all ends," he purred. "Otherwise, say whatever you like."

He circled and circled and circled. My vocalization got louder and louder. It wasn't even words anymore. I didn't want the orgasm but my hips moved in time with the motion. "No," I moaned as I rose yet again. "No."

The orgasm crashed over me, almost painful. It was pleasure with a hard edge. And still he didn't stop. In fact, he turned the vibrator up higher than he had before. He played around my sensitive areas and said, "Another."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Watch."

He laid the evil little device right on my most sensitive spot and held it there without moving it. With one hand, he undid his pants and let his slacks fall to the ground. He worked his boxer briefs off; his erection was as large as I recalled from taking him in my mouth. He still didn't move the vibrator but my body was so attuned to orgasm, it started to rise on its own. He smiled when my whimpers became rhythmic.

"Look at me," he ordered and when I obeyed, I exploded into another climax.

Then, when that was done, he left the device in place. Waves of pain and pleasure washed over me. It wasn't one large orgasm but a series of small tremors. I weakly pulled against my binds. I moved my legs as much as I could. Nothing mattered. My body convulsed again and again.

I was shattered. I couldn't fight what he was doing to me; I could only accept. When he used the high setting to stroke me, my voice was weak. I shuddered into something that was probably a climax, but there didn't hardly seem to be an end and a beginning to them anymore.

"You're devastated," he said, not slowing his stroke and sounding very pleased.

"One more, Baby."

He continued his play with the toy but he also leaned over my sex. I clenched anew, knowing what he planned to do and what it would likely do to my body.

"No, please don't," I said, panic finally demanding to be expressed.

"Don't what?" he asked, his breath on me. "This?" He licked me in a long, broad stroke. The sensation drove me forward yet again.

"Please, Mr. Sterling...." His tongue gave a long stroke, following the vibrator in the most tantalizing way. I was so overwhelmed, my eyes filled with tears. "Please, Sir," I begged. "Don't."

He ignored me, tongue and vibrator battling to give me pleasure. His hands pulled me open and held me wide. His strokes were determined and harsh. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop my orgasm. I yelled when the sensation hit me, a rush of blood to my head making me faint.

The vibrator turned off. I think he took off his shoes, then I heard the rip of a condom. He thrust past my tightness past any lingering resistance, and buried himself in me. The fullness felt good, but as he moved, I contracted like I hadn't stopped orgasming.

He groaned. "It's like you're massaging my cock."

He picked up his pace and I mewled at the building pressure. He didn't have mercy; he just took me harder and faster. I couldn't do anything but move with his thrusts and accept the continuing rise. When I came again, I clamped around him. He held my hips, pounding himself into me. He swiveled his hips, swore, and pressed himself into me, climaxing.

He withdrew and fell next to me on the bed, breathless himself. Even though he had come, his penis hadn't deflated all the way. He saw me looking and smiled.

"I know," he said, "but you're done."

"I'm here to please you," I said.

His heat resurfaced. "Yes, you are. And yes, you have." He gave me a long look. "However, if you're willing to try just a little bit more...."

He went to the headboard, untying my legs and letting them fall closed. I was too exhausted to do much more than straighten them. He tucked a pillow under my head and left my hands tied. Then he straddled my neck; his penis was very hard and right by my mouth.

"If you need this to stop, snap your fingers," he told me. "Do it once to show me you can."

I did. Then, he put one hand on either side of my head, positioning it. He urged my lips open with his thumbs and thrust his penis in my mouth all the way to the back of my throat. He started a rhythm, holding my head, taking my mouth. It was rough, like he liked the illusion of forcing me. But it wasn't too rough. I gagged a little but nowhere near as much as he could have made me.

It was scary and somehow hot being taken this way. I could breathe most of the time but I was aware that he was completely in charge of even this basic need. He looked down at me, his jaw clenched.

"I love how you suck me."

I drew on him a little harder and he moaned. His girth got even stiffer. "Snap your fingers if you want me to pull out," he said, his voice not well controlled. I didn't. His thrusts got more haphazard and in another half dozen strokes, he finished in my mouth. I swallowed, as I had in his office.

This time, when he fell beside me, his penis was completely deflated and he looked much calmer. He ran his hands over my breasts lazily. Then he slid his hands up my arms and unhooked the cuffs.

"Lay on your stomach," he told me.

I was so tired that I feared what he wanted next. Nonetheless, I did what he told me to. He straddled my waist and rubbed my shoulders and arms, working the muscles. I moaned at the sensation after so long bound. His hands were strong; he rubbed my jaw and my neck too. It was almost like he was thanking me, the gentle, healing way he touched my body.

Finally, after working on me until I was loose, he leaned over me and whispered, "Sleep, Baby." I couldn't have disobeyed. I drifted away. 

#

When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't believe that he let me sleep through the night. He sat in a chair, fully dressed in slacks and an expensive looking sweater, watching me. I flushed at my nudity and flushed even hotter when I remembered all I had let him do the night before.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I whispered back.

"Breakfast?"

Images rushed back to me. How I pled with him. How he collared me--the collar I still wore. How he used my mouth.

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry," I said.

"Coffee, then?"

"I should go, actually."

He frowned. "You don’t want to do that."

No, I didn't. I wanted to know more about this man. I wanted to stay, have breakfast, and laugh about stupid things over orange juice, but this wasn't the morning after a date. He didn't want breakfast and conversation from me.

"I do," I whispered.

He came over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Then, very carefully, he took off the straps from around my wrists and the collar from around my neck. It felt odd after having worn them all night. He put them on the bedside table.

"Come down when you're dressed," he said. He stood, turning to go. "We need to talk before you leave."

I dressed slowly in my bra, panties, and dress. I stepped into my heels. I looked at myself in his mirror. It was hard for me to believe what I had let myself do. It was hard for me to comprehend how much I had liked it. I didn't even want to think about what that said about me.

Finally, I exited his bedroom and took the stairs down to the living room. He came over to me, putting his hands on my arms like he wanted to hold me in place. "I know a couple of people at Medline R&D who would be very interested in some of the work that Meleah Singh in your lab is doing." I looked down. He lifted my face. "I want you to come back."

"I don't know."

He frowned again. "Didn't you enjoy yourself?"

I flushed. "I did."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't feel like myself anymore."

"This is new for you." There was understanding in his tone. It was so soothing.

"Yes."

"And you think, maybe you aren't as wholesome or sweet as you were before."

"I--"

"But you are."

"I'm grateful that you think so."

"I do. So much so that I'm already planning our next meeting. It needs to be for a whole weekend."

"Mr. Sterling--"

"I'm serious."

"I need to think about this." I snagged my bag off of the table and held it against my chest like a shield. "And right now, I need some distance."

He frowned a third time and looked at me in a way that I couldn't decipher.

"All right," he finally said.

I backed away to the door but something in his expression made me stop. "Thank you for an unforgettable night," I said.

"Likewise, Miss Conway."

I didn't look back as I left. I couldn't. I didn't trust that I would leave if I did.