“Put it on.”

His hand was balled in my hair, his fingers interwoven with fistful of my curls as he forced me to look at myself in the mirror. It was a gorgeous statement piece in the hallway of my apartment, a metre-wide circular mirror with a walnut wood frame shaped into a curved shelf at its base. On that shelf stood a lipstick, a garnet shade entombed in a mirrored gold tube with square edges. I keep it there along with a lip balm and liner pencil; my final task before leaving the house. I never leave without a red lip, all the time the same shade: YSL Rouge Libre. It’s not that I don’t enjoy experimenting with makeup, or occasionally feel tempted to change my look, but that the razor sharp eyeliner wing and deep red lip that I perfected whilst at university all those years ago are now inherently part of my identity.

I allowed my gaze to move up from the lipstick on the shelf to meet the reflection of his eyes. They gave nothing away. His body was pressed against mine, as he spat his command into my ear. He held eye contact and tightened his grip on my hair, forcing me to wobble slightly. To my shame, hot tears prickled within me and threatened to spill out. My nostrils flared as I tried to stop my chin from wobbling and giving me away. As if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing to me, but I like to cling onto my dignity for as long as I can.

“Put. It. On.”

The deep fury was written across his face. His jaw flexed and he continued to squeeze my hair, ensuring that my scalp felt like it was on fire.

The night had started like so many others. Both of us with our own work commitments taking us into the early evening, he had invited me to meet him as he finished up drinking with his colleagues in the wine bar just along from his office. I was late, having ducked into the train station bathroom to tidy myself up, including a fresh application of lipstick from the tube I all the time keep on me. I’d been around his colleagues on several occasions but he’d never introduced me, instead leaving me standing quietly and waiting for the moment he would decide to leave, pulling me away by my elbow. I often thought what they wondered of me, and if they had any idea of the proclivities of the man they worked with every day.

“No! You’ll smudge my lips!” I laughed as he leaned in for a kiss hello. He pulled back from me. His eyebrows flashed upwards momentarily and my stomach knotted. I’d made a mistake.

I never say no to him; that’s the rule. Well, there’s a few rules. We meet once a fortnight, all the time at a place of his choosing and then he takes me back to my apartment, does whatever he likes with me, and leaves. I am to follow every instruction, ask no questions and tell no lies. I can call ‘red’ and end it at any point. I never have. I call him Sir and he calls me darling. He knows I hate that name, and he knows that I love every fucked up minute of being under his control.

He dropped my arm and pulled on his suit jacket. As all the time, he looked so put together. The tailoring of his suit accentuated his shoulders and I thought whether I’d be allowed to run my hands over them tonight.

“Right then everyone, it’s time for me to escort this young lady to her train. See you after the pitch tomorrow.” He hurried me out of the bar into the night and I had to quicken my pace to keep up with him as he walked me over to the train station. There was no train, we both knew that. Instead, he walked to the car parked all the way at the other end of the lot. He usually opened the door for me, but this time he pressed me backwards against the body of the car and held my jaw. He wasn’t trying to hide his disappointment, and I could feel the rage seethe through him as his fingers pressed into my skin.

He held me still for what felt like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. His cold glare moved from my chest, to my throat, to my eyes and I was powerless to do anything other than lower my gaze. I had fucked up. He let me go and reached into his jacket inner pocket, pulling out a pale pink pocket square. It was pristine, silk perhaps.

His body was still holding me against the car as he pressed the square into my left hand.

“Take off that lipstick.”

“Sir, I’m really sorry.” I cleared my throat, trying to convince myself of confidence I didn’t possess in that moment. I forced my eyes to meet his. “I was thoughtless. I didn’t intend to say no to you, it was just a reflex.” The wobble in my voice on those last few words made me cringe.

His lips pressed into a thin line and he brought his hand back up to my face, his thumb resting on my perfect red lips. He pressed into my skin and dragged across them. I felt the sensation of cream smearing up onto my cheek.

“You look a fucking mess, darling. Clean yourself up.” He strolled around to the driver’s side of the car, unlocked the door and got in. I heard the click of electronics starting, but he hadn’t started the ignition.

He all the time toed the line expertly, knowing my soft limits and nudging me oh-so slightly towards them. I hated negative comments about my body or appearance. He could say the dirtiest, cruellest things to me about all manner of things, but talking down my looks all the time made me bristle. I swallowed again to steady myself, took three cleansing breaths and wiped the smear of lipstick off my cheek. I wrapped the pocket square neatly around my index finger and did my best to remove the redness from my lips. They felt raw.

The drive to my apartment was fifteen minutes of silence. The car radio had started with the ignition, but he muted it immediately. He rarely punished me; there was hardly ever a should do so. I enjoy following his rules. We waited at a red light and I found the courage to look over at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He walked slightly ahead of me from the car to my front door, holding back on the doorstep to allow me to unlock. My stomach ached and my pussy was hot as I fumbled the keys. I’d barely crossed the threshold as he was on me, his hand grabbing my hair at the neck and the other clasped around my waist. I didn’t fight as he pulled me to the floor. I was no match for him, physically. He dragged me along the hallway as I desperately tried to kick my heels off as I crawled, not wanting to ruin my shoes or the floorboards. By the time he lifted me back up to stand in front of the mirror a few seconds later, my face and thighs were both wet with shame and arousal.

_____

“Go on then, put it on. You don’t want to look ridiculous, after all.”

I avoided acknowledging myself in the mirror. My hands shook as I forced myself not to rush, but the deep breaths I was trying to take had little effect on my nerves. They jangled, excited and terrified about what might happen next. A slick of balm, and then I slowly removed the lid from the liner pencil. My shaking hands betrayed me. Tracing the contour of my lips was impossible to do neatly with the adrenaline coursing through me, the pencil smudging slightly. He tutted as I hastily tidied the slip I had just made, using my fingernail to neaten the line. The lipstick tube felt wet in my hands as I let the red wash over my lips.

The moment I had replaced the tube on the shelf, he forced me back to my knees by kicking my ankles aside and pulling downwards sharply with the fist still enmeshed in my hair. I fell awkwardly, trying to soften the blow with my hands, inadvertently placing myself on all fours.

Within seconds, my pantyhose was ripped away from my body. His fingers – still icy from the winter air we’d been in – were on my pussy, toying with the folds as I winced away from the cold. This only encouraged him. There was no tenderness as he roughly moved his fingers from my clit, pushing two fingers in me without warning. I gasped, stifling the urge to ask him to stop. He wouldn’t have done so. His skin felt so dry against my wetness. He moved his other arm to my neck, gripping me beneath my chin to hold me still and he fucked me with his hand. His other fingers rested on my ass cheeks as he lazily toyed with me, warming me up for what only he knew would happen for the rest of the evening. My breaths became quiet moans as I met his rhythm and pushed back against those fingers. He adjusted his left hand, moving from my neck to my chin and hooking his thumb into my mouth. I could taste the powdery rose of my lipstick mingling with the alcohol gel he must have used on his hands at some point today. Moans turned to breathy gargles, drool beginning to pool under my tongue.

“You’re wet for me already. That’s sensible of you.”

He withdrew his fingers from my cunt and my mouth, and used my hair to guide me, still on all fours, to the living room. My knees were loud on the floor and he held my neck at an awkward angle. My cheeks burned hot as I wondered about how I must look, still dressed for work with my skirt bunched around my waist and ripped pantyhose exposing my dripping pussy. In the living room he let his grip on me fall but I held my posture, waiting for the next instruction.

“I’m going to leave the room now. When I come back, I will find you waiting for me, facing the window. You’ll be naked, kneeling, legs spread. Hair up. Hands on your head. Eyes closed.”

“Yes, Sir. How long will you be?”

He chuckled. “As long as I want to be, darling. Be ready.”

He’d left me waiting like this on many occasions. I was grateful that he rarely made me undress in front of him, which all the time felt so undignified. Funny that I was remotely concerned about dignity considering that I let him degrade me for fun, but there was something about awkwardly unzipping my clothes for an audience that made me flush with embarrassment. I moved quickly once he’d left the room, not wanting to risk not being ready for his return.

I’d got complacent once, opting to sit and scroll on my phone whilst he showered. I’d become distracted by a news story and when he returned to the room I wasn’t in the position he’d told me to be, instead lounging on the armchair. He used his belt on me; thirty-one strokes all falling in the same line across the back of my thighs. One for each year of my life, and he made count every lash aloud, thank him for correcting me and ask for the next stroke after each one. By stroke ten my eyes were watering, and not soon after my tears flowed freely. I struggled to make myself heard as I said “Twenty, Sir. Thank you. Pl… please can I have another?”, choking back the bile rising in my throat and trying to ignore the screaming-hot line on my thighs. Every stroke felt like a fresh cut. I sobbed loudly for the final few, any attempt at stoicism long-evaporated. He ran his fingers over the welt he had created and shushed me as I cried at his feet. “You’re better than this, darling. Don’t disappoint me again.” I promised that I wouldn’t, and he wiped my tears with his thumbs.

I hurried, now, letting my skirt drop to the floor as I rushed my top and bra straight over my head. The pantyhose, if you could still call it that, didn’t exactly put up a fight as I ripped what remained of it off me. And then I knelt, eyes closed, facing the window. I let my knees fall aside and my chest rise and fall, my thighs already wet with the wondered of what came next. As I moved my hands to my head to tie my hair, I wondered about dabbing at my lipstick but wondered better of it, instead quickly sweeping a finger under each eye to clear up my eyeshadow.

The door handle clicked and he was behind me again, stroking the back of my neck and tracing the top of my spine with his thumb. I let my head fall back every so slightly and moaned quietly as his touch sent electricity down my body. My pussy was throbbing now and my pulse thundered in my chest and in my ears. “Oh, you’re so good. It doesn’t come naturally to you, defiance. Obedience suits you so much better.”

He stood in front of me and loosened the buckle on his belt. He’d taken off his shirt already, and now he lowered the zipper on his trousers and allowed his hard cock to languish a few inches from my face. His cock was gorgeous, I’d all the time wondered. I only ever really saw it erect, and every time I did see it, I wanted to wrap my hands around its length. I wanted to press my body against it, to kiss it, to feel it pushing into my pussy. Instead, I waited, hands on head, for instruction. Obedience.

“You’re going to get those lips all the way here.” He pointed at the nearly shaven skin at the base of his cock, tracing a line which I was to reach. “And when you get there, you’re going to stay there.”

“May I use my hands, Sir?” I dared to look up at him, my blue eyes meet his dark gaze. He held our eye contact, the tension crackling between us.

“Yes darling girl, you may.”

I was grateful, as my shoulders were already starting to ache. I put my hands on the top of his thighs and kissed down the length of his cock. I licked gently, moving my hands to help set the rhythm I knew he preferred. Not too fast, but never stopping for a break. He didn’t like to see me trying to catch my breath when I was meant to be sucking his cock. Gradually, I worked his cock deeper into my throat, massaging him into me. My saliva thickened as I took more and more of his length, making it easier and easier to take him deeper. After another minute or so, I let my hands fall back to his thighs. I was nearly there, at the base of his cock. My nose was beginning to bump against his skin. I could hear his breathing, slow and deep, the occasional groan slipping out. He didn’t like me to see or hear his pleasure; he liked being a closed book but tonight I knew that he was proud of me.

He pushed his hands into my hair. Several of my curls had fallen loose from the tie and I could feel him collecting them between his fingers. “Look at me. Let me see those eyes.”

I paused, struggling to look upwards with so much of his cock in my mouth and throat. My eyes were watery. He liked it when I teared up. He tightened his grip and pulled my head to meet his body, my lips finally where they were meant to be. He held me there, lips making a perfect O around his cock, and I felt the panic rise up my body. It felt suffocating.

“Breathe. Use your nose.”

I gagged as I tried to collect myself, catching breaths through my nose through the fear. His grip stayed firm. I could breathe, just. One, two. In, out.

“Look. At. Me.”

Oh, god. This was so hard. There was fire in his eyes; he was angry at having to repeat a command. Hot tears ran down onto my ears as I forced myself to hold his gaze. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of me. Still struggling to stop myself from gagging any more, I couldn’t help but whimper and moan as he held me this way. They sounded even more pathetic muffled by his cock, and I could feel myself desperately, silent pleading with my eyes for him to show mercy.

“Better.”

And then he pushed his hips forward, only by a few centimetres. My throat felt ablaze. I couldn’t breathe, and the panic combined with knowing I was being such a good sub had my pussy aching, dripping. My thighs were soaked. He let out a series of small moans and sharp exhales and I felt his body jostle, warm cum sliding down my throat. I gagged again, choking out of my nose. He let me go and I fell backwards gratefully, catching desperate breaths. It was like surfacing from under water. He was still cumming and kept close to me, finishing off his final strokes against my face. I caught ragged breaths, letting his cum mixed with my saliva trail out of my mouth. I didn’t have it in me to wipe it away.

In the dim light of my living room, I took in the sight of him standing over me, still working his dick in his hand. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a smear of Rouge Libre all around his cock.

“I think we ought to clean you up, darling. Your lipstick’s a bit smudged.”