At Shooters on the Intracoastal Waterway in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Saturday afternoon, December 21, 2013, 3:15 p.m.
Chloe Carlton and John James Temple were having beers and a late lunch on the deck at Shooters, a well-known Fort Lauderdale bar and restaurant on the Intracoastal. The wide waterway was lined with beautiful homes, condominium buildings, and waterfront bars and restaurants. It was a liquid highway for boats of all shapes and sizes that separated the mainland and the barrier islands that formed the Fort Lauderdale beach area. The sun was sparkling off the light chop on the water, and there was a brisk breeze. The dock was packed with big and small boats that had brought many of the patrons out on the glorious December afternoon.
“J.J., there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It’s a little touchy…”
“What, babe?” John Temple glanced over at her. His attention had been riveted on the big-screen television and the pregame, talking-heads sports show that was a preface to Sunday’s football game.
“Well.” She hesitated. She had thought about bringing up this subject for a while, but had not wanted to rock their boat. “Why have I met so few of your friends?” All of a sudden, his relaxed Saturday afternoon expression was gone. He looked—she didn’t know what—hesitant, wary, worried. In any event, the look on his face didn’t bode well for this discussion.
“What are you talking about? You’ve met some of my friends. That’s ridiculous.”
“I saw you give that guy who was walking toward our table a few minutes ago the ‘get lost’ look. Maybe you should hoist a distress flag over our table to warn your friends that there’s a plague aboard.”
“Now you really are being ridiculous.” He was starting to look cornered and angry.
“Are you ashamed of me, Temple? Do I not dress well enough for your fancy buddies and their society girlfriends? Do I not make enough money because I’m not a lawyer or a stockbroker?” Chloe knew she was going too far. She should have kept it to the basic question—Interrogation 101. She was wearing her heart on her sleeve, and she hated that, just hated seeming desperate or needy. These questions had bothered her for some time, but she had hesitated to voice them. She knew J.J. didn’t think she had seen his gesture. But she had, and she couldn’t let it go any longer.
“Chlo, you’re being absurd. I don’t think we need to have this conversation.”
“What happened to all of that open, honest communication that the lifestyle is supposed to be so famous for?”
“That’s not fair, baby. I guess maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself. I didn’t want to expose you to…”
“Oh, please. That is a load of crap. It didn’t seem like you wanted to keep me to yourself at that sleazy club in Pompano you took me to a few weeks ago. I thought I would need a biohazard shower after that place. Just be honest, J.J. I need to know what’s going on with you, and I can’t let it slide any longer.”
He seemed to regroup and suck it up. “Okay, Chloe. I guess the truth is that while I’m crazy about you, I can’t exactly introduce a vice cop to my lifestyle friends or take you to my regular club. The confidentiality issues…”
“Confidentiality issues? You have to be kidding. If anyone can be ‘confidential’ it’s me. Have you ever been undercover for weeks at a time on an investigation? No? I didn’t think so, Mr. High-End Real Estate Lawyer.” She knew her emotions were showing on her face and in her body language, and right now she was crushed. She embarrassed him. Didn’t that just suck the wienie? And she had sucked his plenty. This hurt like a bitch. She had been falling for him. He seemed like a nice, upstanding, stable guy with a great job, nice home, nice car, not a lot of personal baggage. So his sexual tastes were a tad kinky. She could live with that, even enjoy it. J.J. was tall and extremely good-looking with wavy, sun-streaked hair he kept in a conservative cut, gorgeous blue eyes, a great smile, and a killer body. “Fine. I can see where your head is. That’s just fine. You’re entitled to your feelings. I’m entitled to mine. My feelings right now are that I’m getting a cab and going home. Have a nice life, Temple. I hope you find a sub or girlfriend or whatever who meets your social needs.”
* * * *
John Temple didn’t know what to do as Chloe got up from the table and stalked off toward the front of the restaurant. He wanted to get up and stop her, but he also didn’t want to make a scene. He knew several people who were in the bar right now, and yes, he had warned them off. He wasn’t proud of that. He watched her fabulous butt in those snug, straight-leg jeans stalk away as she searched her huge, rust-colored leather shoulder bag for her cell phone. The black cashmere sweater and high-heeled pumps finished the look. She could have stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. What the hell was she talking about? Women.
Temple was dismayed. He hadn’t planned on having this discussion with her—probably ever. He knew it was a touchy subject, and he wanted to steer clear. He really enjoyed Chloe Carlton, but to be honest, her job as a Broward County Sheriff’s Office detective working out of the secretive Strategic Investigation Division handling narcotics and vice cases did not exactly jibe with his BDSM lifestyle. He couldn’t very well take Chloe, as beautiful as she was, into The Black Iris Club owned by his friend, Jack Dalton Brown, or introduce her to some of his friends and partners at the firm who occasionally used drugs recreationally. It didn’t seem fair, but it was a fact of life. Chloe’s job made people nervous.
John put his hand to the small of her back and guided her into the dungeon. “We’re going to use the French Room. I thought you would be more comfortable with some privacy for this first visit.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Master. Thank you.” He smiled at how easily she slipped back into the sub protocol. He hadn’t even had to remind her.
“Very good, sub. You please your Master.”
John laughed when they walked through the door of the ornate French Room, and Chloe’s eyes got as wide as saucers. Well, obviously she hadn’t seen everything. This certainly beat the hell out of that dive in Pompano. The French Room was beautiful and well equipped with the standard BDSM equipment. Each of the walls had an ornate, gilt-framed mirror to highlight the scene, as well as exquisite Louis Quinze furniture and luxurious linens. The effect was elegant and sensuous. “Put your clothes and shoes in the cabinet and assume the position.” She looked uneasy for a moment but obeyed his command. When she was done, he quickly stripped and put his clothes in the cabinet against the wall where toys and equipment were stored. One of the monitors had stowed his toy bag as well. This was a small, private club, and the excellent service was very discreet and personal.
He took out a set of wrist and ankle cuffs, a crop, a flogger, and a few other miscellaneous items, and laid them on top of the credenza near the door for effect and maybe for use later. He turned to find her in the slave position on the floor watching him. Chloe’s eyes were getting bigger by the second. “Relax, sub, and trust your Master. Put on the cuffs and rise.” He waited while she obeyed. He enjoyed watching her rise from her position on the floor. All that intense martial arts training she did for her work paid off in other arenas. She was graceful and strong.
John ran his fingers through her silky hair and turned her face up to his. He crushed his mouth to hers in a hot and wild kiss. He painted a design with his tongue down her neck to her breasts where he found the tight raspberry nipples he loved to play with. Chloe groaned in appreciation as he began to suck one nipple and pinch the other. Nipple clamps were definitely in his sub’s future, maybe even tonight. He changed sides and continued the torture. He could tell that her knees were beginning to weaken. So were his. He didn’t think he had the patience for a long session of foreplay tonight. He had been looking forward to getting Chloe to The Black Iris since they had reconnected.
John led her to the luxurious, soft, leather-covered, French-style chaise lounge. He laid down and then pulled her down on top of him. He turned her until she was facing away from him with her bent legs bracketing his thighs, and he was looking at her long, elegant back and opulent butt. He loved her butt. He helped her rise up and then angled her down onto his rock-hard and aching cock. He watched in fascination as his cock disappeared from sight into her pussy. He felt the tight, wet fist of her pussy envelope him, and he almost lost it. It was mind-blowing. He had missed this. He enjoyed all of the sex they had, but the dungeon sex was the best.
His hands cupped her ass as he guided her into a rocking rhythm. Her hot, tight pussy gloved him, and the muscles of her round butt worked his cock, squeezing him until he thought he would lose his mind. He slipped one hand around and rotated his fingers on her little pleasure button. When she became distracted by that and started to slow, he reached up and gave her bottom a sharp smack. “Keep moving, sub. Pleasure your Master.”
She gasped at the sharp sting, picked up the rhythm again, and began pounding hard and fast until the sensation of the potent and overwhelmingly powerful need burst through his body like a tornado. He came with a rush, and then he watched in fascination as the same tornado blew through her, and she collapsed over his thighs in a breathless heap. He reached up and gave her butt another sharp slap, and a second orgasm ripped through her body.
When they both started to come down, he pulled her around and into his arms. He cuddled her on his chest as he drew a light cotton blanket over both of their sweat-dampened bodies, and they rested for round two. God, she was just incredible. He never got tired of being with her, loving her, fucking her, slapping that gorgeous round bottom, or kissing those plump, rose-colored lips. Sometimes during his workday he found himself totally zoned out while he remembered what they had done the night before, and had to forcefully pull himself back to the present.
After a short nap he picked her up and walked to the bed. He sat her on the edge while he went back to the credenza for a few supplies. He looked them over and then picked up nipple clamps and a clit clip. He didn’t remember ever using these on Chloe before, so they should be a surprise for her. “Stand up, sub. I want to play with these gorgeous tits of yours.” She had seen the nipple clamps, and she looked at bit apprehensive.
“Are you safe wording, sub?”
“No, Master.” But she still looked scared. He bent down and took one of her rosy nipples into his mouth. She groaned as he firmly bit down and then pulled on the nub. It hardened further in this mouth, and then he gave his attention to the other one. When both nipples had reddened and were standing at attention he fastened the gold nipple clamps to her breasts, adjusted the pressure, and then fastened the thin chain between them. He attached a small, teardrop-shaped weight to the chain.
“Turn around and bend over the bed.” When she hesitated, he smacked her butt. “Now, sub.” She obeyed, but she didn’t look happy.
He smiled deviously. How would she react to this? He reached down and played with her clit until she was moaning and trying to rub against his hand. He smacked her ass again. “Be still, sub.” He went back to tormenting her until her clit came out of its protective sheath. He captured it and quickly attached the clit clamp.