The Playboy’s Proposition Sample

Chapter 1

I wanted to be swept away in a grand and passionate love affair. I wanted it to wrap itself around me and raise me out of the monotony I had made of my life, of myself. I needed that perfect love to vindicate my past.

My past was an embarrassing cliche. Raised by parents who lost interest in me around the time I began to form my own opinions of the world, I sought reassurance of my worth from others. When I discovered the appeal of my youthful sexuality, I believed men could provide that worth.

It wasn’t long before I discovered how mistaken I was in that belief. By the age of eighteen, I was pregnant. I thought my boyfriend was more than gallant when he proposed marriage, and it made me love him. When I miscarried the baby not long after our wedding, I stayed with my new husband.

Not that I had much choice, really. My parents had kicked me out when they learned I was pregnant, attacking me with accusations and character affronts which assured I wouldn’t speak to them for years. I was on my own. No money, a high school diploma, and a husband who believed he would be a rock star one day.

I learned how to survive, took shitty jobs that barely kept a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. And because I needed to believe that I could have a better future, I took night classes at the local community college.

By the second year of my marriage, I learned why my husband actually married me. It hadn’t been for the sake of our baby, or to provide for us; it had been because he wanted someone to take care of him.

I remember him storming around our one-room apartment, berating me for not making enough money for him and his band to go on the road. It was all my fault, he said. All my fault because I hadn’t listened to him, hadn’t done what needed to be done.

He wanted me to give up night school and become a stripper. Better money, he said. I didn’t need school, he insisted, because he would be a star soon, and you didn’t need a college degree to be the wife of a rich rock star. All I had to do was to sacrifice for him now, and I would be repaid later.

I was actually proud of myself for telling him no, that I wanted to stay in school, that I would stay in school no matter how much he yelled at me. I told him to get a day job to make the money to go on the road. He kicked the furniture and stomped out of the apartment. I didn’t see him for a week.

I find it hard to accept, now, that I was proud of telling him no. I’m disgusted with my past self that I allowed him back into my life, let him stumble back into my bed, drunk and stinking after a week on the streets doing God knew what. I should have thrown his ass out the door.

I could say no to his demand that I become a stripper. I couldn’t say no to the marriage.

So many wasted years, supporting a man I loathed, and who loathed me in return in spite of my efforts to appease him. Not his fault, though. My fault. I knew the truth by year two of my marriage. That it took me eight more years to finally unload him … well, that was on me.

I desperately needed to shake the blame for those ten years of bad decisions and lost chances. I longed to banish the taint of my failed marriage, of failed dreams.

I was now twenty-nine years old. I had a college degree, a decent job, a place of my own, and a sense of urgency to claim a different destiny. Divorcing my husband was only the first step. I needed something more than a job and an apartment. I needed what I had never had.

A great love, a great passion. That was what I wanted. To float away in undeniable desire. Love could do that for me. And if not love, then passion alone could surely do, for now.

Two men offered me passion, Michael Weston and Gibson Reeves. Michael, tall and lean with the charm of a continental playboy. Gibson, who I still thought of as The Businessman, tall and muscular, with a handsome but inscrutable face.

Both of them, dominant males who saw something in me I hadn’t known was there. A sexual submissive, driven to be taken by their power. Me, into BDSM. Were they right about me? I didn’t know, for certain, but I wanted them to help me find out, was more than excited by the prospect of their special assistance.

Michael proposed five nights to explore my newly-discovered kink, and I had accepted. As for Gibson, I wasn’t certain what, precisely, he might have planned for me. After the fiasco of my “interview” at the Frederick Hotel, he simply said he wanted to see me again. For one night only? More than that? I didn’t know. But if things didn’t work out with Michael, it was likely I would be calling Gibson to find out exactly what he had in mind.

For now, my immediate future passion lay with Michael. And oh, how I anticipated seeing him again, although I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Michael would be making the rules.

My job would be to please him, to see if by pleasing him, I pleased myself. I did not take my job description lightly. I swore to myself that I would do my best.

We had completed our agreement to take mutual STD tests, and now were waiting for the results. The wait was excruciating. Time passed in slow motion.

I attribute this to the phenomenon of time passing normally until you decide there is something you want to do. At that point, the universe conspires to slow the rotation of the Earth, the solar system and the Milky Way itself, resulting in a few days of normal time stretching into the length of a month. Stephen Hawking has probably written something about this. If he hasn’t, he should.

I slept poorly, often awakened by sexy dreams starring Michael and sometimes Gibson.  This might not have been a bad thing if I could have stayed asleep all the way through the grand finale of my dream. But no, every time I was getting ready to orgasm, I would wake up. It was frustrating beyond belief, and possibly another result of the universe conspiring against me.

Finally, after an age, our test results came in; we were both clean. I would see Michael that night.

I received an e-mail from him telling me to be ready at 7:30 that evening. He didn’t say what we would be doing, only told me to dress casually.

At precisely 7:30, he knocked on my door.

I took a last look around my apartment. Everything was tidy, though the place wasn’t much to look at. I had lived here for over nine months, but I never seemed to find the time or inclination to decorate. There was little in the apartment beyond the basic utilitarian needs of furniture to sit on and a bed to sleep in.

When I left my ex-husband, I didn’t take many belongings with me. I wanted to leave everything behind me, and I pretty much did exactly that with the exception of some old photos, my clothes and shoes, and general necessities like toiletries. Everything else could be replaced with something new, something not contaminated by my old life.

I rented the second apartment I viewed. I would have rented the first one I looked at if I hadn’t seen a cockroach in the kitchen. My current place was clean, free of bugs, had a new paint job, and was in my price range. Sold.

It wasn’t a large place, with only one bedroom, a small bathroom, and a large open-room design that was a combination living room, dining room and kitchen. As I glanced around the living room, I noted how bland it all was. I wished I had spent some time and money on it, put something into it that would show something about me.

My heart beat quickly when I opened the door to Michael. He looked wonderful, even better than I remembered. His shiny black hair was pushed behind his ears and curled at the ends right above his shoulders. He wore a blue silky shirt and a tight pair of faded jeans. He smelled of musk and the outdoors.

He was tall and made my apartment seem smaller than normal.

He smiled at me and said hello. He held my hands and kissed me gently on the lips. I kissed him back, a little shyly, then gestured him into the room and shut the door behind him. I squirmed a bit when he looked around the room, but he made no comment on the place.

He said, “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. You look great, too.”

He frowned. “It won’t do, you know.”

“What won’t do?” I asked.

“The pants you’re wearing. They’re forbidden, I’m afraid.”

“Do you have a grudge against pants? I thought these were pretty nice ones.”

He tsk-tsked me, then said, “Right out of the gate and you’ve already broken a big rule. I was afraid, after our first time, that you might be a difficult one. You’ll have to be punished, of course.”

“That’s not fair. You never told me not to wear pants.  Anyway, you’re wearing jeans, so what’s the big deal?”

He chuckled, and said, “I’m teasing you. I just thought you looked pale, and now there’s some color in your cheeks.”

“I think you like keeping me off-footed.”

“Off-footed. I’ve never heard that one.”

“I may have just made it up.”

“Then I must be making you nervous.”

I thought, nervous maybe, but most likely, you’re making me brain dead, which is what happened to me the last time I was with you.

I changed the subject and asked, “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. Those pants actually are going to have to go, you know. From here on out, you don’t wear pants when you’re with me, unless I specifically tell you to.”

To think that I had been worried he might be critical of my apartment, when he only had eyes for my apparel. I said, a tad snippy, “Okay, I guess. I can change into a skirt if you’d like that better.”

Two minutes and he’d already annoyed me. It was difficult to stay annoyed, though, seeing the sexy way he was looking at me.

He said, “One idea I’d like you to become accustomed to is that all your holes belong to me, and I should be able to access them as easily as possible. Pants make access difficult, therefore, no pants.”

“My holes,” I said.

“Exactly. Your mouth, your pussy, your asshole. They’re all mine.”

I wondered how long it would be before I wasn’t surprised by his bluntness. It was something of a struggle to keep up.

I said, “I see. What about my nose and ears? Those have holes.”

“Those are mine, too, but I’m not likely to fuck them.”


“Your disgust doesn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of turns me on.”

“What about my breasts? They aren’t holes, so are they mine?”

“Oh no,” he said, passing a wolfish gaze over my chest. “Those are definitely mine, too.”

“Do any of my body parts still belong to me? How about my wrist? I’m kind of partial to it.”

He took me by the arm and raised my wrist for a light kiss. “Never. It’s mine. Everything is mine.”

Tingles spread up my arm from where his lips touched my skin. “Funny. I don’t remember putting myself up for sale.”

“Scandalous! You aren’t for sale. You’ve given yourself to me, and I’ve happily accepted.” He looked into my eyes. “By agreeing to be my sub, you’re allowing me to do as I please with your lovely person. Yes, I know, there are limits, and I’ll respect yours as they come up. But still, you’re all mine.”

Michael’s light blue eyes seemed to darken when he spoke of owning me. I couldn’t look away. I said, “I suppose we should talk about those limits.”

“There’ll be time for that later. Right now, I want you to take off those pants.”

“Right now? Right here?”

“Yes, right now. Take them off.”

“You’re just saying that to get me off-footed again.”

He said, “Not true. I really want you to take your pants off.”

“It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think? I mean, you just got here and all.”

“Maybe it’s a test.”

A test. Of my obedience? I had sworn to myself, going into this thing, that I would approach the situation seriously and honestly, that I wouldn’t back away from anything that wasn’t truly dire. This wasn’t dire. Far from it. In fact, his command had unloosed more than a few zippy twinges down low in my belly.

I took a deep breath and, savoring a moment of feeling super daring, slipped off my shoes and pulled off my pants, tossing the pants onto a nearby chair.

Michael approached me then reached between my legs and slipped his fingers under my panties and into my slit. His fingers were warm and electric on my flesh. Gulp.

His fingers slid easily into my folds and I realized I was already damp. I wasn’t surprised by it. I had been in a half-state of arousal ever since I told him I wanted to see him again.

Michael smiled and removed his hand. He said, “I had a certain plan in mind for us this evening. But now that I’m here, I think an adjustment might be required.”

He continued, “You say this is sudden, but to me, I feel like it’s been forever. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I met you was fuck you senseless. Besides, I don’t want to risk you breaking the rules and ruining everything again. Guess I’m going to have to fuck you right now.”

My heart gave a loud thud in my chest.

He began unbuttoning my shirt. “I seem to recall you wanting me to fuck you.”

I winced at him recalling the embarrassing way our first time together had ended. Please, I thought, don’t piss me off now. Or worse, humiliate me.

He tossed my shirt on the chair, then he turned me around and undid the fastenings on my bra. He said, “I’ve thought of that so many times since I last saw you. And I’ve regretted that I couldn’t grant your wish.”

He slipped my bra off my shoulders then sent it flying away to lie with my other clothes. He turned me back around to face him, then tugged my panties down to my knees. In a few seconds, I was standing naked before him. I shivered, but not from cold.

“I love your body,” he said. Then he removed his shirt.

I was pretty fond of his body, too, and reached out to touch his sculpted chest. He pushed my hand away.

“No, you don’t touch unless I tell you to,” he said. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then removed his jeans and underwear. “You have to earn that privilege.”

We stood there, looking at one another, naked. His cock stood out stiff and proud. My breath grew ragged, and I noticed Michael’s, too, was getting harsher.

“Tell me again,” he said, “that you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me.” And I definitely meant it.

“Call me Master,” he demanded. “Say, I want you to fuck me, please, Master.”

This was more difficult for me. Calling him Master was not something I felt wholly comfortable doing. Still, I had done my reading, and knew Master was a common honorific.

I took a deep breath and said, “I want you to fuck me, please, Master,” as smoothly as I could. It wasn’t as awkward to say as I had feared.

He said, “When we’re in private, you will address me as Master, unless I tell you otherwise.”

I nodded.

He said, “Say, yes, Master.”

I did.

He made a low sound that revealed his pleasure. He said, “Now come here and put your arms around my neck and kiss me.”

This was an easy order to obey. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me tight against his chest and returned my kiss. He tasted minty and clean, and I savored the pleasure of his tongue pushing into my mouth, the force of him claiming this particular hole. His hole, he had called it. I shivered in his arms.

His hands roamed over my back and ass while he deepened our kisses. I slipped my fingers into his hair, glad finally to get the chance to feel the texture and weight of it.

We kissed and explored some more, then his hands gripped me under my ass and he lifted me up, telling me to wrap my legs around his waist. His erection pressed against my stomach as he carried me to the sofa and sat down. I unwrapped my legs before he leaned back, leaving me straddling his lap.

He pulled my hips toward him, grinding me against his hard dick that was trapped between our bodies.

He said, “Put your hands on your head, lock your fingers together like that. Yes. Now, ask me to suck your tits. Say, please suck my tits, Master.”

I grabbed some air and managed to say, “Please, suck my … tits, Master.”

“Say it again, like you mean it.”

“Please, suck my tits, Master.”

“Gladly, sweet one,” and he leaned forward and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth.

I panted and melted into the sensations of his hot mouth on my breasts and his hands gripping my hips, pushing and pulling me against his engorged cock, and me joining in the rhythm of the grind, my wetness smoothing the ride.

Michael nibbled at my breasts and nipples. Tiny little bites, soft love bites. In between nibbles, he asked, “Do you like that?”

I moaned out a yes.

He bit down harder then said, “Yes what.”

I gasped. “Yes … Master.”

He murmured, then continued suckling and nibbling my breasts. I closed my eyes and rode him.

When he finally pulled away from me, he told me to put my hands on his shoulders for balance, then he had me rise up onto my feet into a crouched position over his lap. He held his dick and had me lower my body until the head of his cock was pressed against my opening. He told me to hold the position.

It was not an easy thing to do. I was trying to hold a low squat, my knees spread wide to either side. I had a tight grip on his shoulders, and within a minute my thigh muscles were beginning to ache from the pressure of crouching. But the worst of it was having his dick right there, teasing me. I wanted him inside me.

Michael, meanwhile, was eyeing my pussy. I could not have been more open to his view. He pinched and pulled at my labia.

My legs began to quiver. He said, “Keep holding it. I love seeing you like this. You’re all wet and slick, and ready for me, but you can’t have it, not quite yet.”

He pulled and pinched and pulled. I moaned. He smiled and licked his lips. He said, “Tell me you want my dick.”

I panted and answered, “Yes, I want your dick.”

“No,” he said.

I quickly responded, “Yes, I want your dick, please, Master.”

“How do you want it?”

“I want it inside me, Master … please.”

“No, say it filthy and raw, and real.”

I said, “Please, Master. I want your dick in my pussy.”

“Whose pussy is it? You’re forgetting what’s what.”

“Okay. Yes. Right. Please, Master, I want your dick in my hole. I mean your hole. Fuck me, Master.”

He growled and ran a thumb over my clit. I fought to hold my position with my quivering legs.

He gave me one last sharp pinch then said, “Lower yourself, Sweet. Slowly.”

I did. I felt myself stretch to take in the size of him, the hard width and length. I groaned.

He said, “Take it all. All the way. Yes, like that.”

I could feel the head of his penis pushing deeply into me, all the way down to the hilt. He filled me and then some.

“Move your hips in little circles,” he said.

I did. Mmm, so good. So good having him inside me. Then he had me rise up again, back into my former position, and he had me hold it for a few moments while he played with me, then I was allowed to lower myself back down again and circle my hips. Then up again. Hold. Then down. And circle. Up. Hold. Down. Circle.

Every time he flicked my clit I was in danger of coming. He warned me not to orgasm, ordering me to wait until he told me to come. I hadn’t expected anything different. But it was hard. It was hard to take in all these sensations, to feel the heat and pressure growing in my lower belly, and know I couldn’t release it. So hard.

He said, “I love seeing my dick slide into you. Your pussy spreading open to take it all. Tell me you want to please me.”

“I do,” I managed to say between my gasps. “I do want to please you, Master.”

“Good. Then take it all. Yes. Now switch to your knees … like that, yes. Hands back on your head. Arch your back. Perfect. Look at those tits. You have beautiful tits. Stick them out for me. Ahh, yes.”

His hands closed around my waist and he lifted me then shoved me back down hard. I gasped. Again. I made a mmph sound.

“Up and down hard,” he ordered. “I want to see those tits shake. Up and down. Hard! Fuck your master’s dick. That’s right.”

I rode him as hard as I could, needing his assistance at my waist for additional force and balance. His hips jerked under me and rose up to meet me when I pushed down onto him. His eyes watched my bouncing breasts, and my pussy, and a few times, my face.

I panted for breath while the pressure began to grow unbearable. Finally, with one of his hands, he rubbed my clit. Catching my eye, he said, “You can come now.”

I worked my hips and tightened my muscles, feeling the force of my impending orgasm begin to flow outward. Pure pleasure washed over me and I cried out, throwing back my head and shutting my eyes then …

Pain. Harsh pain on my breast. I cried out and jerked backwards, trying to yank away from the pain. I looked down. Michael was biting my right breast. His mouth was open wide, clamped down over nipple and areola. His lips were pulled back and I could see his white teeth sunk into my flesh, not breaking the skin, but pressed deep. Deep enough to hurt. To hurt badly.

I cried out, “No!” The pain blended with the pleasure of my orgasm, pleasure that hadn’t stopped just because I hurt. Pain and pleasure, both at the same time.

Michael released me, pulling back and looking sharply into my eyes. He saw my pain and smiled a wicked smile that only grew wider when I covered my aching breast with my hands. He clamped down hard on my waist, pounding me up and down on his cock. He held my gaze and fucked me.

Then he came. The last of my orgasm faded as his semen spurted into me. He groaned, and drew heavy breaths as he finished. And all the while, he never looked away from me.

I was still holding my breast, a bit in shock, I think, from what had happened. Michael pulled my hands away and when he leaned his head toward me, I pulled back, thinking he was going to bite me again. He laughed and pulled me forward, stretched out his tongue and licked my breast.

He licked me and suckled and soothed the ache away. Because of the intensity of the pain, I expected to see deep indented teeth marks on my breast, but there wasn’t much of a mark at all, just a circle of reddened flesh.

His hands skimmed over my back and down my hips. I began to calm down.

At last, I said, “I don’t understand why you did that. Why you bit me.”

He smiled and gave a little shrug. “I did it because I wanted to. Was it that terrible for you?”

“Yes, it was. It scared me.”

“Nothing wrong with a little fear, Sweet. It heightens the passion.”

“And it hurt. I don’t like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure. What kind of question is that?”

He said, “Don’t you think maybe the pleasure is greater with a bit of pain thrown in for an extra boost?”

“No, I don’t.”

He laughed. “You just came like a freight train and you’re telling me it wasn’t pleasurable … you are completely charming.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t pleasurable. I meant I don’t need pain for pleasure. Unlike you, I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t need to be in pain to get pleasure. I don’t see how you’ve gotten that idea.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that you need me to be in pain for you to get pleasure.”

“That’s ridiculous. Not true at all. Yes, your pain is something of a boost for me, but I don’t have to have it. I just want it when I want it. Don’t look like that. You can’t blame me for it. You’re spectacular when you’re in pain, did you know that? Spectacular. And fear, ahh. Your pretty brown eyes, they grow even bigger and wider when you’re afraid and in pain. Lovely. So lovely.”

He stroked a thumb down my cheek with his last words. I hardly knew what to think. He pulled me down toward him and nuzzled my neck. His breath warmed my skin when he said, “It wasn’t so bad, really, was it?”

I made a noncommittal sound.

One of his hands gently cupped the breast he had bitten. His fingers played lightly over my nipple. He said, “The pain is already gone. It was nothing after all. You were more surprised than anything else.”

I mumbled a maybe. It was hard to think when he was doing these things to my body. His kisses on my neck, one hand on my breast, the other stroking my hip. A tendril of heat curled in my belly. I wanted to know more about his need to hurt me, I had questions … I just couldn’t remember what those questions were anymore.

Michael said, “You’re already getting excited again, ready for more, aren’t you? Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s wonderful. I think you’re wonderful. I’d like to take you again, right now. Can’t you feel my cock getting hard again, already?”

Yes, oh yes I certainly could.

He said, “I swear I had plans for us this evening. If we don’t get up now, I’ll have to fuck you again. Come on. Let’s get up. We’ve got things to do.”

He lifted me off of his lap and set me down beside him on the sofa. He immediately got up and looked around my apartment.

“Where’s your shower? We’ll clean up, get dressed and be off. What do you say?”

I tried to shake myself out of the passion stupor he had put me in and said, “Okay.”

I led him back to my bathroom.

Things didn’t go quite as he planned there, either. It wasn’t a quick shower at all. Perhaps if we had showered separately … oh well. Slick and wet bodies aren’t exactly deterrents to sexual arousal. I was given free rein to explore his taut body, the planes of his flat stomach, the curve of his hard ass. I guessed I must have earned the right to touch him, and it made me happy, actually did feel like something of a reward.

He eventually pushed me against the shower wall and took me from behind, all slow and silky and sweet, his hands on my belly and breasts, mine on his tight buttocks. No pain this time. Just the pleasure. Our orgasms, like the warm water, streamed over our bodies.

So it wasn’t a quick process, the cleaning up and the drying off and the getting dressed again. He picked out a skirt for me, which he had me wear without any panties underneath, and a shirt, which he wanted me to wear without a bra under it. I felt dressed and naked all at once.

Then we were outside, in his dark blue sports car, tearing down the streets of the city, headed I didn’t know where. I didn’t much care. I laughed easily at the teasing things he said, and I enjoyed my quick heartbeats whenever he slid a hand up my thigh and under my skirt, teasing me in this other way.

I felt beautiful and free and alive … and young, younger than I had felt in years. This was youth, riding in a fast car with a powerful and handsome man who wanted me, and who I wanted in return. At least, it’s what youth should be. It was what every day should be.

He asked if I was hungry, but since I wasn’t, he said we would go straight to the mystery location he had planned for our first date, though date wasn’t really the right word for what we were doing, was it?

I half-noticed the passing buildings becoming shoddier, the neighborhoods becoming poorer. Soon, I realized we were in one of the more dangerous parts of the city. I asked Michael where we were going, but he only smiled and said I would find out soon.

He pulled into the parking lot of a garishly-lit building, all neon and flashing lights. A strip club? No. Close, though. It was an adult book store, in other words, a porn shop. And not a nice one. It was tacky and sleazy, and didn’t look altogether savory.

I said, “You know, there are a couple of places like this in better parts of town. Places where I wouldn’t be afraid of catching a disease from touching the front door.”

Michael laughed. “Those antiseptic places? There’s no fun in that.”

I frowned. “They use antiseptics for a reason, you know.”

He laughed again. “You’re perfect. Just perfect. Come on. Let’s go in.”

“I’m not going in there. It’s probably not safe.”

“Safe from what? Who do you think is in there? A bunch of gangsters?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let’s go find out.”

I eyed the place, looking around the parking lot to see if I could spot anyone coming and going. There were a handful of cars in the parking lot, but no one out walking around. “Seriously,” I said, “I don’t want to go in there.”

Michael lost his smile. “Seriously, I want you to go in there. With me. I’ll protect you. Trust me.”

I looked into his eyes. He wanted this from me. I felt that if I argued any further, I’d be somehow implying that I didn’t believe he could protect me. I didn’t want him to think that. But still. I sighed.

I said, “Okay, I’ll go in. But I’m not touching anything.”

He regained his smile. “No problem. I’ll do all the touching,” he said, and squeezed my knee before he opened his door.

I was self-conscious when he helped me out of the car, thanks to my panty-less state and the inherent difficulties of getting out of small sports cars. This was insane. Going into a place like this with no panties and no bra and who knew what kind of people inside.

True to his word, Michael held the door open for me when we reached the building. I walked inside the tawdry place and took a look around.



Chapter 2

We were in a large room, well-lit, with lots of shelves holding merchandise like books, movies, magazines and sex toys. It smelled like plastic, and paper, and unwashed men.

There was a counter near the door where a grizzled elderly man sat perched on a stool, looking bored as he watched a small television that sat near the cash register. He glanced at us momentarily then returned to watching TV. I would have thought seeing a woman in here would be a novelty for him. Apparently not.

Michael said in a low voice, “Don’t make eye contact with him or he might turn violent. You know what they say about animals like him.”

“Funny,” I said.

He chuckled, picked up a shopping basket by the door, then put his free hand on the small of my back and steered me down one of the aisles. He asked, “Have you ever been in a place like this?”

I glanced at the plastic-encased covers of the magazines we were passing. Big boobs everywhere. Really big boobs. Giant boobs. What the hell was wrong with men, anyway?

I said, “Once, when I was younger. Some friends and I went to one of the nicer adult places in the city.”

He stopped and inspected the cover of a magazine that catered to lovers of big butts. “What did you think about it?”

“We laughed a lot. I think the saleslady wanted to kick us out.”

“Probably so,” he said. “What do you think about all these magazines here? Hundreds of them. Look at all the different kinks.”

“I see. Have you got a thing for big butts? I notice you’re seriously checking out ‘Asses Aplenty’ there.”

He shrugged, “It depends. Right now, I’ve only got eyes for your cute little ass, my sweet.”

He steered me on down the aisle to a group of fetish magazines, including a range of BDSM offerings. He pulled a few off the shelf and dropped them into the shopping basket.

I didn’t get the chance to see what he had taken so I asked, “What are you buying?”

“A couple of personal favorites. They’re for you. For research, later.”

“Oh,” I answered stupidly.

“In fact,” he said as he led me out of the magazines and into the DVD section, “this whole excursion is meant to be a shopping trip just for you. How fun, right?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“I’ve never seen a woman who was unhappy to have things bought for her.”

“That’s sexist. And anyway, I’m pretty suspicious of your motives here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My motives are obvious.”

I said, “Not to me.”

Michael’s pale blue eyes sparkled. “I want to thoroughly corrupt you so I can do all sorts of filthy unspeakable things to your delectable person. I really did think that was obvious.”

Oh my. I gulped, but recovered quickly and whispered, “Keep your voice down. Please. I think that nasty perv over there heard you.”

I shot a glance at a middle-aged man standing not too far away. He appeared to be something of a derelict and I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.

Michael just shrugged then led me on past the gawking man, and into another aisle, this one full of sex toys.

Michael said, “I want you to pick out a toy that you’d like me to use on you. Go ahead, look around. Anything you’d like.”

Okay, I thought, this might be doable. I looked at a slender rod-shaped latex toy with a flat end. The label said it was a butt plug. I said, “Well, I don’t know for sure what this is for, but from the name, I’m thinking it’s not something I’d like.”

“Pity.” Michael sighed. “It’s beginner size. Let’s take it anyway, just in case.” He snatched it off the shelf and dropped it in the basket.

“Put that back,” I hissed. “I do not want my butt plugged, whatever the hell that means.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Michael said. “Keep looking.”

I surveyed the shelves, glancing right past some gargantuan-sized butt plugs, the massive double-headed dildos and the open-mouthed blow-up dolls. Oh hell no.

I didn’t comment when Michael picked up several items and dropped them into the basket. He grabbed up three dildos of different sizes and textures as well as a handheld vibrator.

I studied a very small vibrator. It was only about the length of my index finger and about twice as wide around.

I said, “I guess you could use this on me.”

Michael snorted, tossed it in the basket and said, “I was getting that anyway. Pick again.”

This was hard. I didn’t know what half of the stuff was for, and the other half, I felt pretty sure I wasn’t up to trying. I soon found myself at the rear corner of the building, rapidly running out of options to select from.

I faced the loaded shelves and felt helpless. How ridiculous, I thought. I wondered if I started giggling loudly would the old man at the counter throw me out of the place? Rescued by an attack of the giggles. Perfect.

Michael stepped behind me, set the basket on the floor beside us, and slipped his arms around my waist. I snuggled back against him.

He said, “Your brow is all furrowed up, you know. You look like you’re having to choose an implement of torture.”

I sneaked a glimpse at the nearby row of whips and handcuffs and riding crops. “Oh God. Don’t make me do that.”

He snorted. “I would never buy a torture device here. Those things over there are shoddy play toys. We have real shops for the serious tools. This place is just for fun.”

I only managed an mmm-hmm.

He squeezed me. “You’re a difficult person to understand, Nonnie Crawford. In the club last week and back in your apartment, you were different than you are right now. While I could see your inexperience, you were willing to try new things, broaden your views. And now in this place, you’re acting uptight and scared. You won’t even choose an item meant for your pleasure.”

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this,” I admitted.

“You should relax. There’s nothing scary here, not the customers, not the merchandise. Take a few deep breaths and relax.”

I breathed while he slowly ran his hands up and down my arms, a soothing touch I hadn’t realized I needed.

He said, “Look at that package there, the one with the two silver balls connected by a cord.”

I found the package. It was one of the items I had noticed but didn’t know what it was supposed to be used for, or what it might do. The balls were about an inch and a half in diameter.

Michael continued, “Those are called Ben Wa balls. They’re supposed to have originally come from China, and have been used for centuries.”

He rubbed across my belly and over my hips. He said, “The balls are hollow, with another smaller ball inside. They’re meant for pleasure. Pick up the package. Feel the weight of them.”

I did as he asked. They were heavier than I thought they would be. When I gently shook the package, I could feel the smaller balls rolling around inside the larger ones.

Michael whispered close to my ear. “Imagine your legs spread wide and me pushing those balls into you.” His fingers played with the fabric of my skirt. I could feel him lifting the material slightly.

He whispered, “I’d have to oil them up pretty heavily because they’re so big. You’d have to stretch to take them in. I can see your pussy lips widening as I push one of the balls inside you.”

His words were beginning to affect me, but not so much that I didn’t notice him slowly lifting my skirt. I nudged one of his hands, wanting him to stop.

He said, “Shh,” and ignoring my hand, lifted my skirt higher. “Close your eyes and give in to the moment, Nonnie. There’s no one back here and they couldn’t see anyway because I’m behind you. Give in, sweet. Let me show you what you’re meant to feel.”

I breathed deeply and tried to do as he asked. I wanted to feel. I wanted to be different. I wanted to be led … didn’t I? I closed my eyes.

I knew the moment Michael had pulled my skirt up enough to fully expose me, felt the open air on my skin. His fingers played over my upper thighs and teased around the edges of my pussy. His hot breath sounded in my ear.

He took the package of Ben Wa balls and dropped it into the basket on the floor, then said, “I want you to hold up your skirt for me.”

I took a shaky breath and reached for the bunched up fabric he had been holding. I fought my natural impulses to make him stop. Give in, I told myself. Do as he asks. I clenched my skirt in my fisted palms.

“Good,” he said. Then his hands found my breasts and he cupped them in his hands and squeezed them firmly. “Oh, yes. This is how I want you. So open. Everything here for me. You don’t know how much this excites me, knowing it’s hard for you and that you’re doing it anyway … for me.”

He lightly pinched my nipples under the silky fabric of my shirt. I squelched a moan. He said, “This next thing I want will be harder, but you must do it, do you understand?”

I nodded. He exhaled harshly. I quickly said, “Yes, Master, I understand.”

He kissed my ear then said, “You can drop the skirt in front, but I want you to lift your skirt up over your ass. I want your bare ass up against my jeans. Do it now. Don’t think, just do it.” And he pinched my nipples harder with those last words.

And somehow, I did it. I bared my ass right there in that store.

“Beautiful. Perfect,” he said. He slipped a hand between us and kneaded one of my ass cheeks. “You’re wonderful,” he said, and I practically purred from the praise.

I arched my back and pushed my ass harder against his groin. I tried to control my rising need while I basked in this small moment of surrender, of overcoming my feelings about this place, about what he wanted of me, about what I wanted of myself.

I let everything go while he fondled me, stroked me, pinched and aroused me.

Eventually he said in a husky voice, “Open your eyes and look back to your left.”

On autopilot, I did as he asked. I think my heart stopped beating for a moment at what I saw. It was the pervy man I had seen earlier. He was watching us, watching me. I immediately stiffened.

Michael quickly said, “Don’t think. Remember. Don’t think. Now look to your right.”

I did as he asked. Another two men were watching us, two seedy-looking men watching me with Michael.

I tried to pull down my skirt but Michael held my hands and said, “No, let them watch a few more minutes.”

I hissed, “No. I’m done here. I can’t do it.” I fought to get my skirt down.

Michael said, “You can do it. Because I want you to. Because deep down, you want to.”

“No! You told me I could say no and that you’d stop. I want you to stop, now.”

He released me. I dropped the hem of my skirt, then turned and glared at the three gawking men until they finally took my not-so-subtle hint that they’d best clear the hell out, the show was over. All the while, Michael stood there casually watching me, studying me, maybe.

I smoothed my clothes and tried to control my breathing. I said as calmly as I could, “If we’re done here, I’d like to go now.”

“As you wish,” Michael said, and picked up the basket.

We didn’t speak while he ushered me up to the front of the building. I looked straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact with the other customers. In my opinion, we couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

The old man at the counter took ages to ring up all of Michael’s items, his gnarled old hands shaking from palsy, taking multiple stabs at entering the prices into the cash register. The man didn’t look like he could fight off a small child, let alone a dangerous hooligan, and I had to admit that Michael was undoubtedly right about there not being much of a safety issue in the place.

Finally, on the third try, the old man managed to complete the sale and Michael and I headed to the car. And then we were driving away from the sordid site. I exhaled in relief.

Michael asked me if I was hungry now, but I again told him no, that I hadn’t even thought of food. He simply said okay, then didn’t speak again. All the fun and pleasure of our ride to the porn shop was gone.

I snuck the occasional glance at him while he drove. His handsome face was impassive. He didn’t appear angry, or even annoyed. In fact, he looked pleasant enough. All the same, the silence bothered me. We were going to have to talk about what happened, weren’t we?

I waited quite a long time, hoping he would open the conversation. When this didn’t happen, I debated what I might say. I wasn’t angry at Michael for what had happened. My reaction had been more panic than anything else. Did he understand that? Should I tell him?

I hated the silence. It seemed to go on forever.

I settled on asking, “Are you mad at me? For stopping it?”

Michael answered simply, “No.”

I couldn’t read anything into his tone. It was just a no and nothing else. That wasn’t telling me anything.

I said, “I just couldn’t do it. They were so … ugh. It was gross.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they were nasty. All dirty, and pervy and … gross.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “So, if they were nice-looking, clean men, then you wouldn’t have minded? You would have kept going as I asked you?”

“Well … I don’t know. No, I don’t think I would. I guess I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should think about it, Sweet. You had no problem displaying yourself at the club the other night. How many people watched me squeeze your breasts? And in the private room, all three of those people saw you completely naked. You gave me a blow job in front of them.”



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The Playboy's Proposition