...And Obey
A Sex After Marriage story
By Fern Jardín
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-4657-0329-3
Copyright ©2011 by Fern Jardín
All rights reserved.
Cover artwork copyright ©2011 by Fern Jardín
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DISCLAIMER
This book contains explicit and graphic sexual content that some readers may find objectionable. This e-book is for sale to adults only. Please do not try this at home.
For the role-players in our lives
whose support and creativity
make each day a new day
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - After Hours
She stared at the dull carpet of her office floor, watching him step nearer to her feet through the open doorway. She wriggled her toes in her stockings. Her own shoes were kicked to a corner of the room. He was very close to her now. She tilted her head further forward, not daring to raise her eyes even by accident.
Her waist-length hair was pulled back into a simple braid, but it slid forward with her movement, swaying under its own weight in front of her. The braid nearly reached past the hem of the buttoned suit jacket to her skirt. She was unable to close her green eyes as his large hand wrapped around the braid. His own charcoal suit was impeccable and crisp despite a full day at the office. He pulled down slowly but firmly on her hair, drawing her to her knees. They hadn't even closed the door! It was after hours, but if anyone happened to be working late...
"Come," he commanded and walked to her desk still holding her by the hair. She crawled after him, not having much other choice. Her stockings immediately caught on the cheap, industrial-blue carpet and grew runs from the knees. He stopped her in front of her desk with a small tug on her hair. She leaned against the tug a little, keeping her head down.
"Good girl," he said, dropping her braid to pet her head briefly. She flushed with pleasure from that simple praise. His weight shifted in his shoes. One shiny black loafer dangled in front of her and she knew he was sitting on the edge of her desk. It was his desk now. He had claimed it just as he had claimed her. Small shuffling sounds emanated from above her. Was he flipping through her paperwork?
He asked "How were you today?" Not waiting for a response, he stood and walked around her desk.
"I was very good today, Master," she answered. The squeal of her leather chair gave away his new position as he slid into its deep cushion.
"Stand," and she stood facing the desk. From here, still with her eyes down, she could see that he had cleared off the center of her desk. The computer monitor was always at one corner, but he had stacked the papers and clutter to the other side, leaving the space between them empty laminate.
He whispered "Now, give me your hair." She caught the tail end of her braid deftly and held it between them, stretched taut. He didn't grab it, only repeating "Now."
She risked a glance up and saw that he was sitting back in the chair, elbows on the armrests, his hands steepled in front of him. After only a slight hesitation, she leaned forward until she lay bent in half, face down to the desk, and passed her hair to him. He grasped it and pulled hard. She gasped, inhaling fully the pine-fresh solvent used to keep her desk dust free.
"Did I give permission for you to look at me?" He growled, pulling hard enough on her braid to make her inch further up the desk.
"No, Master!" she sighed. "I'm sorry, Master!" She wrapped her hands onto the edge of the desk so she could push herself closer to him if he kept pulling. He did. She whimpered, closed her eyes, and scooted up until her feet left the floor and her shoulders and chest hung over the far edge of the desk. Her head would have been in his lap if he hadn't guided her hair up as he pulled.
"Not nearly enough," he muttered to himself. She barely heard him over the pounding heartbeat in her ears. She felt him move to her left and heard one of the desk drawers open. Her braid jerked back, pulling her head further up as he stood above her. She heard the tell-tale snick of scissors opening just before she felt cool metal against her leg.
Rather than release her braid, he pulled more, arching her back until he could reach to pull her stockings away from her thigh enough to slice through the soft material with the scissors. He slid the outside of the scissors against the back of her thigh, carefully past her knee and calf. She felt the tension in the hose disappear and struggled not to shiver, move, or even breathe until he finished with both legs.
He released her hair, allowing her to slump forward. She whimpered as she gripped the desk tightly. Unexpectedly, he swatted her bottom with the palm of his hand.
"I didn't tell you to close your eyes," he admonished. His deep voice almost sounded gentle, amused. She could just imagine a sardonic smile on his full lips. Her eyelids flew open, revealing only the empty chair in front of her. He grabbed the hem of her skirt and yanked it up over her hips roughly. She had to hold onto the desk to keep from moving with the force of his tug. A few more snips of the scissors and he peeled the ruined hose away from her.
"Hands," he said. It was all he had to say. She immediately placed her wrists one over the other at the small of her back. He set the scissors down on the desk and used the remains of the pantyhose to tie her hands.
He then said "Feet," and she bent her knees, bringing her heels up to touch her butt. He gripped her ankles in one hand, crossing them, which spread her knees apart just a bit. He pulled the hose and connected her ankles to the tied wrists, securing the knot so that she remained slightly arched from the waist down.