Chapter One

My phone woke me, vibrating noisily on my bedside table.

I answered it sleepily. “Hello?”

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he said, sounding far too chipper for this early. I hated that pet name—I wasn’t fat, or orange. “I will be with you in about thirty minutes.”

I glanced at the clock—10:05 a.m. I could’ve sworn I set an alarm for nine. Shit. “Oh, good. I’m almost ready.”

“I’m almost ready… what?”

He tried so hard to be dominant. I really wanted some dominance, but it was so difficult to find true, natural dominance. It didn’t matter what their profile said, every man I tried was an insecure, ego-driven ‘top’: talked the talk, incapable of walking the walk.

“I’m almost ready, sir.” He couldn’t see me roll my eyes.

“I have a surprise for you today. I think you’ll like it.”

Did that require a response? “Great.” I didn’t think my lack of enthusiasm made it across the line—or, if it did, he was too unperceptive to realize.

“Don’t forget to wear that short little dress I like.” He still sounded too happy for this early in the morning.

“Yeah, sure.”

His tone changed, but it was still too light for the dominance I craved. “Would someone like a spanking?”

Yes, actually. But not from you. “Yeah, sure, sir.”

“Good, pumpkin. See you soon.”

The line went dead.

I sighed. It had been four weeks, and I didn’t know why I still had Nathan in my life. I guess I was desperate. At least he tried. Occasionally, he’d do something right, and I’d get really turned on. I think those times were an accident. Then he’d say something pathetic, like ‘Am I doing this right?’ or ‘Communication is really key’ or ‘Do you remember our safe word?’.

I wanted someone who could get inside my head, not just my body.

Besides, ‘Nathan’. I’d never met someone called ‘Nathan’ that wasn’t a complete loser. That should’ve been a warning, right there.

I pushed back the duvet and stretched. Thirty minutes. Time for a shower.

A quick glance around my room showed I wasn’t as ready as I’d allude to. Time for a shower and five minutes tidying up.

I rose, naked, and padded into the ensuite, turning on the shower to warm while I sat on the toilet and tried to remember if I’d washed that short summer dress he liked. I didn’t think I had. I also couldn’t really see the point of wearing it; he’d have it off me within forty-five seconds of walking in the door.

In the shower, I checked if I was still smooth. Mostly. I spent a few minutes with my razor—more for me than for him. I just hated stubble.

The clock read 10:14 while I dried myself. Blow-dried my hair, did my teeth. 10:28.

I glanced around my room again. I knew the kitchen and lounge were tidy. The nice thing about a two-bedroom apartment was that it was easy to keep clean. He never went in the second bedroom—that was my home office.

I picked up yesterday’s clothes from the floor and threw them in the hamper, then considered making a coffee. Couldn’t be assed.

Ten-thirty. He’d be here in five.

I put the door on the latch and got back into bed. That would save a minute or two. Perhaps he’d leave sooner, and I could go online and maybe even find a replacement. I smiled at the thought of looking for a new dom with the cum of the old one still inside me.

Twenty minutes later he knocked on the door.

“S’open,” I called out, and snuggled back under the duvet.

He came in, closing the door behind him. Hopefully he took it off the latch, but it probably didn’t matter as I never had visitors anyway.

“Where are you, pumpkin?”

“Bedroom.”

I heard him in the doorway to my room. I didn’t turn over; just lay under the duvet, facing away. “This is not how I told you to greet me.” He seemed annoyed by that. Good. I liked it when he got fired up. The sex was generally better.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Sorry, sir.” Riveting conversation.

“Come out here,” he said, in what was probably the most dominant tone I’d ever heard him use.

I turned over, glancing at him, and I admit I was a little puzzled. What had gotten into him today?

“Why don’t you come here?” I replied, coquettishly.

“Come here, now.” He pointed to a spot before his feet.

“Geez, okay, okay.”

I slipped from the bed, reluctantly, not sure anymore whether I wanted to sulk or play. He took some steps backward into the entrance hall, still pointing to a patch of floor just before his feet.

He seemed tense and angry; a side of him I hadn’t seen before. Usually he was keen to please me, to play the role I wanted him to play—badly, but still. At least he tried.

I walked out of my bedroom to where he indicated and stood before him, completely nude, my hands on my hips.

He leaned forward and hissed at me, “Kneel! Like I showed you!”

There was something strange going on here, but… I slipped to a kneel before him, my hands on my thighs.

“Good girl,” he said, visibly relaxing. He smiled at me. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

“What is it?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Well, you know how you’re always telling me you’d like a threesome?”

Oh, shit. And I wasn’t ‘always telling him’. I might’ve mentioned it once. Maybe twice. “That was a fantasy.”

“And to be dominated by a strange man?”

This was getting worse. Also, it was turning me on. “Another fantasy…”

“Well, I’m going to make your fantasies a reality today.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine. He understood that fantasies were fantasies, and most of them should forever remain that way, right? “Nathan, what have you done?”

“Yes, good,” he said as if I’d expressed my thanks. ”I invited some friends over.”

Wait, what? It took me a moment to find my voice. “You did what?”

“They’re outside.”

“But I’m not dressed!”

“Why would you be? You’re my slave girl.” He gave a small shrug, then smirked at me. “This was how they wanted you presented, anyway.”

I gaped at him. “You invited strange men to come to my house and told them I’d be naked?”

“You’ll enjoy it, pumpkin. You’ll see.” His voice took on a wheedling note as he tried to convince me.

Okay, I admit part of me was curious. But I was fucking angry. And scared. There was no way this was happening.

“No way, Nathan. I never agreed to this. You need to leave.” I said it in reflex. I should’ve stood up, exerted my presence—it never took much to control Nathan—but everything had happened so fast. He’d blindsided me, and I wasn’t even fully awake. Far too much for this soon on a Saturday morning.

He looked taken aback by my response. “It’s too late, they’re here. You have to do this now.”

Suddenly I was suspicious. “How do you know these men? Can you trust them? How many are coming?”

“Shh, pumpkin, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“How many are coming?” I asked again, insisting.

“Two.”

“That’s not a threesome, it’s a goddamn foursome!” I spat, glaring at him. To be fair, in my fantasies I’d have totally been up for that too, but that wasn’t the point. There’s a world of difference between fantasy and reality—and for a very, very good reason.

“Oh, I don’t think they’d want me to join in. I might get to watch.”

This was getting weirder by the moment.

“This is not fucking ha…”

I was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Don’t let them in!” I said.

And, at the same time, Nathan called out, “It’s open!”

Oh, fuck.

Two men walked into my apartment.

I watched them, kneeling naked on the floor of my own hallway, as they entered like the place was theirs. I suppose I should’ve got up. Should’ve run back into my room. At least I should’ve covered myself. But I did none of these things. I just knelt, stunned, as the small sanctuary I called my apartment was so casually violated.

The first guy who came in was big. Easily six feet, a lot of muscles. Black guy; shaven head, short beard. Quite attractive, in a don’t-fuck-with-me kind of way. I watched him glance around my small apartment, eyes skipping over me, checking the rooms, the hallway, a single glance into each space.

I was swiftly revising my opinion. He was dangerous. Attractive, in a do-as-I’ll-say-or-I’ll-kill-you kind of way.

I felt a shiver run down my spine, and suddenly kneeling felt like the safer option, after all.

The big man walked past me, putting his arm around Nathan’s shoulders, and steered him off into the living room. I got the impression Nathan was trying to resist a little. It didn’t seem to make any difference: Nathan ended up going where the other man wanted Nathan to be going.

I realized he hadn’t said a word, or even particularly looked at me, kneeling, naked, on the carpet.

Now I was alone with the second man.

He entered slowly, taking a brief look about himself before his eyes settled on me. He was smartly dressed: expensive, designer jeans; nice jacket; black shirt. Expensive shoes—stylish, yet understated. You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes.

He closed the door without looking, his eyes on me. I heard the latch click off and the deadbolt slide across.

He had pale-blue eyes and dark hair. Quite attractive. Far more so than Nathan. More so than the black guy, although this one was white.

He looked like a real bastard, though. There was something hard about him. Like he didn’t take any shit. Like he rarely smiled. Dammit, why was I always attracted to bastards?

“You must be Emma,” he said quietly, in a rich, rosy, cultured tone with a hint of an exotic accent. Spanish? Italian? Four little words and a voice I already knew I wanted to record so I could play it back every evening.

“Yes, sir.” I was too scared to say anything else. I didn’t know who these men were, but I’d been ambushed. I was naked, in my own home, on my knees, and they were here with me. I was so vulnerable. A little politeness had to be a good idea.

I wondered how much I could trust Nathan and his judgment. Was I about to have the time of my life, or was I in very, very deep shit?

“My name is Maxwell. It’s very nice to finally meet you.” The more he spoke, the more his accent came through, and the more his voice sounded intelligent, well-educated, and at complete odds with his hard-ass looks. Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess.

He casually leaned against the door jamb and watched me. The hallway wasn’t very big. I was practically kneeling at his feet.

He was waiting for me to say something. “Thank you, sir.” My voice was quiet. I suddenly realized the door to the lounge was closed and I couldn’t hear Nathan. Or the other guy. We were very much alone.

“Stand up, please, Emma. I would like to have a look at you.” It was a polite request, but a request that carried more authority than the entirety of everything Nathan had ever said to me.

I had the opportunity to object. I had the opportunity to say no, to say ‘get out’.

It was now.

I didn’t take it.

Instead, I stood up slowly, aware of my nakedness, not sure what to do with my hands. I didn’t think he would be happy with me covering myself—and, anyway, he’d already seen everything.

“I—”

“Turn around, please,” Maxwell said, cutting across me, his voice calm, but adamant. Like he already knew I’d obey.

Again I felt the weight of his command. It pulled low in my stomach.

But I’d had too much practice with Nathan. I wasn’t used to following orders—except when I wanted to. I didn’t want to. I was too scared, too angry. It was my fucking house. Fuck this guy.

“No. Who the hell are you?”

Maxwell smiled, a slow smile, as though he was enjoying something. Enjoying me. “I have already told you my name. I’m a… connoisseur, I suppose you could say.” A connoisseur of what, exactly? Brandy? Fucking strange answer. I watched as he pushed himself off the door jamb and took a step closer, halving the gap between us, his eyes still on mine, and I had to fight not to take step backwards. “Now, I would like you to please turn around.”

He’d spoken softly, but there was so much in his tone. ‘I won’t ask again,’ echoed around the hall. He hadn’t said it; he hadn’t needed to.

I looked into his eyes, and I saw the dominance within him, the power, the authority. This was a man who was used to being obeyed.

Be careful what you wish for, I thought. Yes, I had wanted a dominant man. I was no longer sure I wanted one with this much dominance.

I swallowed, nervously, and slowly, I turned around.

“Thank you,” he said, graciously, no mockery or irony in his tone, as though I’d done him a favor.

I completed my turn, facing him again.

“You are very beautiful, Emma. So much better in person than the pictures on your profile,” he sounded so genuine. It could’ve been creepy, and maybe it should’ve been, but it didn’t sound that way to me. It sounded like he was pleased with me.

I liked it. So help me, but I liked it.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, lowering my eyes. So Nathan had shared my profile with him. I supposed that made sense. A few no-face nudes; mostly artistic. Enough to whet the appetite, nothing more. He’d seen more in the last two minutes than he had there. The real me, naked, exposed, within arm’s reach.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Maxwell asked.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your boyfriend owes me a lot of money.”

What a surprise.

“Nathan? He’s not my boyfriend.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, no, I don’t suppose he is. Still… he offered you to me.”

“So I’m your whore for the day? He’s pimping me out?” I couldn’t help the venom in my tone. Fuck Nathan.

Again the smile, though this time it did reach his eyes. They sparkled. “Something like that.”

“And if I say no?”

He shrugged. “Then we leave, I suppose. Nathan will still owe me a lot of money, plus I won’t be very pleased that he’s wasted my time.”

“And if I say yes?” I wanted to say yes. Fuck it, but I wanted to say yes. I was aroused just standing next to this man.

Maxwell raised his hand, slowly, and I let him. He took my chin in his fingers, tilting my head slightly with his hold on me. “Then Nathan will owe me less money.”

“I’m not a whore,” I said, feeling the strength of his hand in his firm touch.

“Every woman is a whore; it’s only the currency that varies. But please don’t think I’m misogynistic— every man is a whore, too.” He tugged on my chin, watching my face as he tilted it from side to side, inspecting me. “Every one of us sells ourselves for what we want.”

He brushed the ball of his thumb across my lips, parting them.

“I haven’t said yes,” I whispered.

“I think you will.”

Dammit. He was right.

~*~

Ferrari Snow Day

Richard Bacula

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