Choosing Her Lover

“Why would anyone want to hurt Charlotte? She’s such a nice person, at least when people aren’t having a go at her.”
He smiles at that. “Ben wanted to hurt her, didn’t he, for reasons of his own? People can have odd motives, and Charlotte has
enemies.”
“The kind of enemies that attack buildings and set them on fire? Are you going to tell me who they are?”
“Right now, no. Let’s see how this works out.” He rubs his temple, looking thoughtful again. “Kirstie, that boyfriend of yours; your
Dom, Ryan, is it?”
“What about him?”
“Are you in the habit of telling him everything?”
I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair. “We hardly know each other.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” He sits back in his seat, arms folded, his expression calculating. “You hardly know each other? It’s
pretty apparent that you’re in love with him....”
Heat rises up my chest and neck. “Why would you say that?”
His voice pitying, “Michael was right. No woman smiles at a random stranger the way you did to Ryan the other night. So, I
repeat my question. Do you tell him everything?”
“He’s never asked it of me. We met on a very casual basis and....”
“Okay, I’m not asking for all the details of your private life. It’s none of my business. Let me put it another way. You haven’t known
him long, but you trust him enough that he is your Dom? You’re wearing his collar. You have given him your Submission? Yes?”
His voice is gentle, but his gaze penetrating.
I colour up even further, nodding silently.
He continues, “Suppose we’re six months down the line and you’re deeply involved with him. If he asked you, would you tell him
everything?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, what kind of secrets are you asking me to keep?”

“I don’t know yet, Kirstie. I do need to know how much trust I can put in you, and therefore, in Ryan.... By the way, about Ryan,
has he given you the company information he was going to send to me?”
“Yes, he has. I’ve already e-mailed it to you.”
He walks over to his desk, flipping up the lid of his laptop. He taps a few keys, scrolls then looks more closely, scrolling for a
minute or two, then raising his eyebrows. “Looks good,” he comments. He chews his lip.... “Kirstie, I’d like you to contact Ryan
and ask him if he would be free for lunch tomorrow. I would like to discuss, among other things, cooling systems.”
“I’ll do that, Sir.”
As I stand and turn for the door, “Ah... one more thing, Kirstie. When you come into work tomorrow, please make sure you are
smartly dressed.”
I look down at my clothes. “You think I don’t dress smartly?”
“I think you do,” he says, “but tomorrow specifically, um.... let’s say that I’m asking you to be sure not to arrive in yesterday’s
blouse if you take my meaning.”
I blush.
Again....
Oh.... God......
Snatching at my composure, “Is there something special happening tomorrow?”
“Yes, you’ll be joining me, Ryan and Richard Haswell for lunch. Possibly also Beth Haswell....”
?!?
“.... Have you met the Haswells yet?”
“No, what are they like?”
“She’s the image of Charlotte. He’s Tall, Dark and Dominant.” He winks at me. “You’ll like him.”
*****

My phone vibes.
wud u like 2 go 2 the theatre tonite?
wud luv 2
gr8. pick u up 7 pm from urs. theatre then restaurant after?
sounds gd. c u then :-)
When was the last time I went to a theatre? Years....
Excited, I plan what I should wear.
*****
I finish work on the dot of six. Back at my apartment, a soak in a hot bath with lots of scent and bubbles, and a mental tug-o-war
over which dress to wear....
Demure and respectable, or sexy and easy to reach?
Mmmm....
I hold a variety of dresses up against myself in the mirror.
It is a theatre; haunt of the respectable middle classes....
Demure then.
I choose a dress with the neckline cut high enough to protect the reputation of a dowager duchess, and the hemline low enough
to show my knees and not much more. A tidy little cardigan and a string of pearls, slip on shoes with kitten heels, and I feel able
to take on the massed ranks of the bourgeoisie.
The door buzzes. “It’s open,” I yell, making last minute tweaks to my hair.
Ryan’s gaze is admiring as he sees me. “Beautiful,” he whispers, as he kisses me.
“Am I alright for the theatre?”

“Of course you are. Why would you not be?”
I shuffle uncertainly. “I’m not used to going places like that. I wasn’t sure if....”
“You look wonderful.” he says. “You’ll probably be the best-looking woman there.”
*****
The theatre is warm and I quickly take off my cardigan, laying it across my lap. In the low light of the auditorium, very little can be
seen against the dazzle of the stage lights and I settle to enjoy the performance, Ryan holding my hand.
After a while, I notice his hand has strayed from mine, and under the cardigan, is making its way down, then up and inside my
thigh. I glance sidelong at him, but he simply smiles, his fingers reaching to push against my legs.
“Open up.” he murmurs.
I swallow, looking around, but the sea of faces is aimed squarely at the stage.
“Are you going to do as you’re told?” he says, not looking at me at all, his attention apparently on the stage.
“Here?”
“Yes, here. Open up.”
Easing my thighs apart, despite my nerves, my pussy glows, growing loose and moist. His hand covered by my cardigan, Ryan’s
fingers glide up and in, sliding inside my panties, weaving through warm, damp curls and further.
His eyes still looking straight ahead, “Yes, gratifyingly wet there. Good girl. That’s how I want you.”
A finger advances further, probing my pussy lips, skimming my clit. Struggling to keep my gasping silent, juddering as I struggle
for self-control; in my peripheral vision, Ryan is suppressing a smile as he makes relentless spirals of my hardening nub.
His voice is low but distinct. “I’d finger-fuck you, but I think the movement would show, so for now, I’ll settle for this....”
“Ryan....”
“Shhh... You’ll disturb the rest of the audience.”
I want to wriggle, to escape/embrace this ecstatic torture....

“Sit still. How can I pleasure myself with you if you keep moving?”
The finger, slick and slippery now with my hot juices, is joined by a thumb. The two knead and rub at my bud, ratcheting up my
arousal, while uncontrollably, the tension of imminent orgasm begins to pluck at my nerves. My pelvis quivering, my whole body
a-tremble, I hover on the precipice when.... it stops.
Oh, God......
“Oh, God....” I realise I said it out loud. Staring down at my knees, “Ryan, you can’t do that to me.”
“I can,” he says, “and I will, whenever it suits me. I enjoy arousing you. But you’re not coming right now. We have a performance
to watch. I’ll allow you to come later when it pleases me to do so.”
By ‘later’ I assume that he means back at the apartment, but no. The performance, which I have barely registered, breaks up for
the end of the First Act.
“A drink and canapés?” asks Ryan, his eyes twinkling. “I ordered them in advance for us. They’ll be waiting at the bar.”
“Um, yes, lovely. I’ll.... join you in a minute.”
“Where are you going?”
“The bathroom. I.... I need to change my underwear.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t want you to change. When you’re with me, I want you wet.”
“But I’m really uncomfortable.”
“Good. I like it that you are wet and uncomfortable. It will remind you who made you that way.”
“Ryan....”
“Drinks,” he insists, “and a snack.” He takes me by the arm, steering me to the bar.

The bar is hot and crowded. Ryan stands very close to me, but leans in even closer, his voice low by my ear. “You smell
wonderful.”
“I smell of....”
“I know.” He’s not looking at me as he speaks, his eyes sweeping the room, apparently admiring the baroque decor and
architecture, but behind them, he wears the smile of the devil.
The bell rings. “Time’s up,” he says, hooking his arm through mine again, piloting me back to my seat.
Again, we take our places, and this time, he makes a show of placing the cardigan on my lap, his hand hidden once more....
....and once more the invading fingers insert themselves.
“Ryan....”
“Enjoy the performance.”
Which performance?
My clit, trapped betwixt finger and thumb once more, is massaged in tight circles between pads of flesh. Barely back down to
earth again from the First Act, I bite my lip to suppress my body’s jerking and quivering, while my pussy spasms and twitches.
Oh, Goddddd....
“Show some self-control,” mutters Ryan from the corner of his mouth, his fingers continuing their diabolic work on my quivering
nub
“Self-control?” I mutter unbelievingly. “Self-control?”
“Shhh....” he says.
I’m hot. Flushed and sweating, my skin gleams and my lips are parted as my breath quickens. Ryan is still watching me from the
corner of his eye. “You look beautiful,” he says quietly, “but you’re not going to come yet.”
And he withdraws his hand, his fingers glistening.
“Jeez, Ryan....”

“Shhh.... “His voice snaps, but he’s grinning, his teeth very white in reflected stage light.