“We’ll have our coffee and dessert in a half hour or so,” he told Jean-Pierre, averting his head slightly so Cleo wouldn’t see his wink. “We need a little time to digest.”
“Of course, Mr. Hartford,” Jean-Pierre said smoothly, not missing a beat.
Once they were alone again, Jack said, “You may remove your hands from behind you and place them in your lap.”
Cleo brought her arms around and hugged herself for a moment, covering her bare breasts with her arms.
“In your lap,” he reminded her.
Once she’d dropped her hands, he said, “Now, I want you to spread your legs and pleasure yourself while I watch. Try not to make too much noise, as we don’t want to disturb the other guests. Don’t come without permission, and don’t ask. I’ll inform you if and when that is permitted.”
She stared at him, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening. He stared back, silently daring her to refuse. They engaged in a silent battle of wills, which he was determined to win.
Do it, he silently urged, not wanting her to fail. Obey me.
As if receiving the telepathic message, she closed her mouth, something like acceptance, or at least a lessening of resistance, moving over her face. She shifted on her chair. Jack bent down, lifting the hem of the tablecloth so he could see the lower half of her body. As he watched, she flipped her dress up and placed her right hand between her spread legs.
“Good girl,” he murmured, power and lust nearly lifting him out of his seat. “Keep your eyes open and on my face. Take yourself right to the edge while I watch.”
~*~
Cleo’s cunt throbbed. Her labia were swollen and slippery to the touch. She could smell her own arousal, which blended with fear in a potent combination that heightened her sense of submissive helplessness.
She was very proud of herself for having submitted on faith to Master Jack’s commands, despite her own misgivings. She was coming to understand this wasn’t just an ordinary restaurant. As he’d fed her, she’d begun to notice more detail about other patrons sitting nearby. The woman to her left wore what was very clearly a slave collar, complete with a padlock dangling at her throat. Her breasts were unfettered beneath a form-fitting vest. Her partner wore a black leather jacket festooned with chains. While it wasn’t necessarily fetishwear, they certainly would have been at home in any BDSM club in those outfits.
Another nearby woman wore matching bracelets that could have just been leather and chain jewelry, but looked suspiciously like wrist cuffs. And, while those two guys serving them had gawped at her with barely disguised eagerness, they hadn’t seemed at all perturbed at her blatant partial nudity in a public place, as if this was something that happened all the time.
Yet, for all her agitation, Cleo couldn’t deny the dark, intense arousal Master Jack’s calculated mind-fuck had engendered. It was a side of the man she hadn’t directly experienced before.
When the three of them—Master Jack, Annette and Cleo—had scened at the club, the experience had always been physically intense. But his emotional connection had been with his wife, as it should be.
When Master Jack had eventually returned to the club after Annette’s death, their scenes had been, if anything, more intense for Cleo, as she’d been his sole focus. But, the moment the scene ended, he’d be on to the next girl, leaving Cleo to moon over him from afar, like some kind of love-struck, idiot teenager.
She couldn’t deny things felt different this time around. During the two club scenes she’d shared with him in New York, the connection had been immediate and, if anything, even more intense than in the past. All her careful work with her therapist had come unraveled with his first command, which was bloody infuriating. If only he’d let her be, she could have held her resolve.
This play auction business had thrown a definite wrench in her determination to remain strong. He was changing the rules in a way that left her completely off-balance and confused—and so turned on she could barely think straight.
He brought a lush sensuality to everything he did. The way he’d placed the food lightly on her tongue while looking into her very soul with those deep brown eyes had turned her on far more than she’d anticipated. And, exhibitionist that she was, once she started to understand she was in no real danger, she’d almost enjoyed the stares from nearby tables.
Now Master Jack had raised the stakes yet again. To be commanded to masturbate right at the table, with half the place still watching her every move, was to be yet another test of her obedience.
He was watching her, his eyes hooded, a cruel, sexy half-smile curving his sensual mouth. He had one hand in his lap, and she wondered if he was massaging himself through his trousers as he stared at her.