Leather Strokes (Devious Jonases Book 1) Read online

  Leather Strokes

  Misty Kayn

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 Misty Kayn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Sir’s gloved fingers brushed the top of my breast and lingered over the hem of my leather corset. I snuck my latex-covered hand between his legs and gripped the base of his cock. My mouth watered. This Sir was my favorite. At the Cage, a local BDSM club, he’d played all my notes each and every Friday night for the past one hundred and twenty Fridays. I counted my Fridays. Math was sexy.

  I couldn’t see him in the pitch-black room. Through the latex of my gloves, which glided perfectly over his leather pants, I felt his strong thighs. Latex and leather. We were a kinky match. What he did in real life, who he was, the kind of coffee he preferred, I didn’t know. I didn’t even care to know. We played. We went our separate ways.

  His big, hard cock, the only part of his body he allowed me to lick, twitched under my tongue. I flicked the tip and the slit, wanting to taste his precum.

  A leather-clad hand slapped my face.

  A warning.

  I chuckled.

  Hands gripping the backs of his strong thighs I scooted closer between his legs but made sure my bottom was turned up high enough for a stroke. I opened my mouth. Sir grunted an approval and gripped my head to guide my mouth where he wanted it. His large intrusion blocked my airway when he swung a flogger over my back. The leather tips caught my wet opening. I sighed in pleasure.

  My head bobbed up and down his long, hard length, then paused at the base again. I struggled for breath. Sir approved, and the sound of leather slapping over wet pussy rang in our dark room. I turned up my ass a little more and tapped his thigh, signaling my shortness of breath. With a firm grip on my hair, he pulled back a little so I could breathe and paused for a second before he slammed back into my mouth. He grunted and heaved breaths. The blessed leather landed on my ass and my pussy, making it hot, making it burn, making me crazy with want, making me sneak a hand down below and play with my clit.

  Sir shuddered.

  A mouthful of cock was a happy mouth, and I managed a few swallows for the pleasure of stroking the tip of his cock before he pried my mouth off. He rounded my kneeling body to stand on my right. Probably at the sound of my fingers working in and out of my pussy, he hmm-ed low in his chest.

  The next flog caught my fingers, and I gritted my teeth.

  Again.

  Again.

  He tapped my hand with the tip of his boot, telling me to remove it.

  I pulled my hand back to tuck it inside my corset so I could pull out my heavy breast. I pinched my nipple when he flogged me again and again, then his leather fingers probed my pussy. I pinched my nipple and exhaled at the pain.

  My pussy walls fluttered, heat gathering in my belly.

  Sir withdrew his fingers and gripped my hair. His cock sought entrance, and I opened my mouth again. Hits came in rapid succession while I fucked his cock with my mouth, eager to earn the right to come, my body hyperaware of each hard hit over my clit. Sir liked his balls cradled, liked the feeling of latex on his skin just as much as I did, so I cupped him gently while he flogged me harder. When his hits came one after another and his breathing intensified, I plastered my nose to his groin and inhaled the smell of him while hot seed traveled down my throat.

  Immediately after he came, he moved away, and I heard the flogger hit the couch. One hand cupped the back of my neck and the other landed on my pussy. I yelped. He thrust two gloved fingers inside me and pumped. When I couldn’t support myself on my hands anymore, I lowered my head to the floor and let him violate my pussy until I screamed.

  Sir took a minute after he zipped up his pants, then sat back down on the comfortable couch. I knelt between his legs and leaned my cheek on his thigh. Like a kitten, I rubbed my cheek against it. His bare hand landed softly on my cheek. My eyes widened, but I didn’t protest at the sudden change of our routine. I rested against his thigh, thinking I shouldn’t let him touch or care for me.

  Aftercare wasn’t my thing. I frequented Cage to bottom and hang out with like-minded people. Subs got the aftercare, not me. I got my kink on, so now I should be out of the room and on my way home. I should. But if I always did what I should, ten years ago, I would have married Jerome, my high school sweetheart, and ended up in a vanilla marriage.

  I knew what was good for me. I just didn’t know how to get it with my Friday Sir, so I settled for good enough. It wasn’t like I needed submission anyway. I bottomed. Yup.

  Chapter Two

  “Karina.” My boss’s baritone voice sounded over the com a second before I picked up my purse, ready to leave for the day.

  I checked my watch. Twenty minutes past five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you have the numbers for the business we acquired last week?”

  I suppressed a groan and asked, “The nail salon or the spa?” Taking my glasses back out of my purse, I put them on. I wrinkled my nose to fit them better as I sat back down and powered up my computer. Under my proper work attire, my leather corset groaned.

  At the end of the day, I’d shut off the lights. Only the afternoon sunlight peeked down the hallway toward his office. Even with dimmed lightning, whoever came behind me might catch sight of something naughty peeking under my shirt, so I straightened my back and made sure my pressed white shirt didn’t ride up behind me.

  “Karina?”

  “Yes, sir, a minute. I was just leaving.” I typed my password and found the app I needed.

  “I thought the nail salon and the spa were the same business,” he said. “Aren’t they?”

  I chuckled. Poor Mr. Jones worked seven days a week. And although I pitied his work dedication, which resulted in a lack of social life, I really wished he’d gotten someone else to fill in on Saturdays. “Actually, no, they’re not the same thing.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The nail salon is a business of its own inside the spa.” Young Mr. Terrell Jones had taken over the acquisition part of the family business after his father’s retirement and had since restructured the management so he’d deal only on a larger scale. His mother had pushed this acquisition into his hands on Wednesday. We needed to work on it ASAP, before his mother fell apart over his sister’s poor business choices. Or poor taste in men, depending on how I regarded the whole dramatic separation.

  “So it’s two businesses and not one. Who owns what?”

  “Your sister owns the spa. Her husband owns the nail salon. They have an agreement of some sort, and the lawyers are involved.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  “Your mother threatened me with bodily harm, so I said nothing.”

  “Don’t listen to her. You know how she gets.”

  I did know. I’d worked with her and for her husband before I knew my new younger boss, younger even than myself, which sometimes felt a little odd. Until he opened his mouth and demanded things not like a boy but more like…a boss. “She wanted you to think it was gonna be easy,” I said. He groaned into the phone. I shifted in my chair, thinking the noise a bit too sexy for my own good.

  “I hate lawyers,” he said.

  “So I s
hould drop out of law school?”

  “I didn’t know you were enrolled.”

  I wasn’t. “Yes, uh-huh. Friday nights. I have late classes.” I hoped he’d get a clue and tell me I didn’t have to come in next Saturday. I’d canceled several dinners and after-parties with my like-minded friends from the Cage. The occasional Saturday was turning into every Saturday.

  “Coffee and papers, Karina. One minute.”

  Oh, the stuffy jerk! I didn’t feel bad for his lack of social life anymore. I did my best to keep my boss happy, but pushing the late hours even after I’d said I didn’t like working them wouldn’t delight either of us. When I’d—sort of—protested in the past, he’d stroked my ego and said there was nobody better qualified and—okay, I admit—thrown in a bonus. The bonus would get me into that beach-view studio I’d been coveting. So putting up with the young, sexy jerk on Saturdays was worth it.

  I got relief on Fridays. The image of a faceless leather Dom who topped me on Fridays entered my head. Immediately, it put me in a better mood. I started a pot of coffee and inhaled the fresh brew while checking my attire in the mirror. I repinned a few stray hairs back into my high bun. Buttoning my shirt all the way to the top, because I’d be mortified if anyone caught a glimpse of the white corset underneath, I knocked before I entered Mr. Jones’s office.

  Terrell

  Karina snuck into my office. I swore she wore cushions on the soles of her high heels. I don’t know how she managed stealth, but I wished she would start giving classes about that sort of thing. When my mother had walked in here the other day, I thought she’d fall through the floor and crash on my brother’s head below. She hadn’t but she might’ve cracked a few wooden panels, because, right after she left, I clearly identified small dents in my new hardwood floors.

  My sister’s fourth divorce must’ve had something to do with my mom stomping into my office like a raging rainbow pony. In an effort not to gag the woman who’d raised me, I offered to take her to lunch. My mother loved spending time with me—and I with her when she didn’t rage—so we shared a pleasant lunch. I’d accepted the delicate business she’d thrust into my hands without question and passed Karina the file when I’d returned. Karina did numbers for me. Karina did everything for me. She was good with business predictions, her numbers never failed, and she’d worked with the family business while I studied in college. Karina was thirty-three to my…almost twenty-six.

  The only woman whose heels didn’t click the floors didn’t smile much either. She simply worked and worked, and I pushed her even harder. My dad had entrusted his firm to me and not to any my elder brother or sister, so someone was always riding my ass for something. I rode Karina’s because she’d weighed in with her concerns about the future of the family’s business before my dad had left it to my brother. She’d spoken with my mom one day, and Dad listened to Mom. Even when in her raging-pony mode. Karina had favored me over my brothers, and my parents favored Karina’s opinion so they acknowledged her recommendation. I thought that was nice of her, seeing as back then, she hardly even knew me.

  Did she regret it now? Likely. Did I? Not for a second. Meeting her was the best thing that had happened to me since I’d graduated college. Fuck, I was too young for her.

  Papers fluttered on my desk as Karina sat across from me, her back ramrod straight from the tight corset she hid underneath. Neat as always, she folded her hands in her lap and waited for me to speak. Bless her kinky heart, she bottomed for me without even knowing I planned to leverage her submissive tendencies on my quest for her heart.

  I leaned back in my chair and licked my bottom lip. Of course, I made the lick look nonchalant as if the air-conditioning blowing in the room made the office dry. Nothing was dry except for the bored expression on her face. But I didn’t give up. I swiped my bottom lip for the second time, but this time I imagined licking her wet pussy. Ever so slightly, her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the papers on my desk. Ah, there we go. Under the desk, I adjusted my growing erection. “The coffee?” I asked.

  “I made a fresh pot. A minute, sir.”

  “I have ten seconds.”

  “I’m on overtime,” she blurted, then gasped.

  She hadn’t meant for that to escape her mind.

  I smiled.

  My little girl hated overtime and was growing more pissy with every additional Saturday afternoon. She wouldn’t mind being called little girl. It wasn’t even her soft limit. I called her little for she was all of five foot two to my six feet, and girl since she was older than me. I liked to think of her as younger than me so our ages wouldn’t become an issue. Delusions took the form of self-motivation and worked wonders as I prepared to do the dirty with her right here in the office. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

  “I have a date.”

  Wha— Did someone just hit me with a wet rag? My smile turned into a show of teeth. My mother’s side of me might rear its head. “A date,” I repeated, channeling my calm father.

  Karina had frequented Cage, a local kink club, on Saturdays before I asked her to work on those days. I knew this because I topped her there in the pitch-black room on Fridays. At first, I didn’t know it was her at all because we had never seen each other and didn’t use our names. Once I figured out my bottom was Karina, I bided my time, unsure what to do about it. Now that I’d decided on upgrading our one night to several nights, I might be too late. Was she really dating someone now? Fuck.

  An alarm sounded on her phone. “Coffee is ready, sir. Excuse me.”

  She stomped across the floor. Ah, Ms. Calm and Collected did know how to stomp. When she returned, I was ready. As she went to set my cup on the desk, I reached for the papers.

  She jerked back.

  Coffee splashed all over her white shirt.

  “Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry.” She looked at my undamaged shirt. A drop trailed down my hand. “I’ll get that.” I gripped her wrist and turned my chair.

  She stood between my legs, soaking wet. “Take off your shirt.” I wanted to see her corset. I’d been dying to see her corset. My cock hardened at the thought.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “That’s fine. Allow me.” I worked the top button, then the next, and revealed her white leather corset with faint pink lace around her tits. I forgot where I was and who I was and that it wasn’t a Friday. My fingers brushed the top of her tit, my own fetish taking over my mind. I lingered over the hem, soaking up the feel of the leather under my thumb. “Look at me,” I ordered.

  When she lifted her gaze and flushed bright red, my hazel eyes locked with her big brown ones. I wasn’t pleased with what I saw. This wasn’t the vibe I wanted from her. Karina flushed red, not because she was hot for me but because she was embarrassed, perhaps humiliated, and not in a kinky way. For one, she didn’t know me, probably thought I was just another stuck-up vanilla suit. I opened my mouth to tell her otherwise, tell her I’d intended to have a spontaneous scene with her in the office, tell her it was me with her on Fridays, but instead I said, “I’ll get the shirt to the cleaners.”

  She nodded in acceptance. She had a date after all, and it was best if she didn’t know about me. I’d cancel our next Friday, when I really hoped to ask her out instead. Before she left, I removed her shirt then mine and buttoned it over her corset.

  I lingered at the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her apple shampoo, then sent her on her date.

  Chapter Three

  My boss had seen my corset, and the heat in his gaze, the way he’d traced the leather, caught me off guard. Did he have a fetish? Could it be? I recognized his focused look. The same one I got when seeing leathers on a man. A man could be the handsomest man on the planet, but if he wore leathers, everything about him fell out of place and the only thing left for me to view was the clothes he wore and the almost uncontrollable desire to touch them.

  The moment my boss traced the hem of my corset, I’d flushed bright red. I’d frozen and complete
ly lost it. Flushing was something I rarely ever did. I mean, I was the girl who’d seen almost every kink every which way and wanted to try it at least once.

  “Girl, are you all right?” a man’s voice drifted into my consciousness. I mumbled something in return, a little lost in my thoughts.

  As I sprawled over the St. Andrew’s cross, I realized it wouldn’t have been a big deal if the corset didn’t symbolize my growing desire for a Dominant, my way of getting through the lonely nights and days. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if I didn’t go out of my way to hide my desires, even from myself. I always thought I owned my kinks, myself, my ways, and now I was thinking I could’ve at least said something instead of standing there, blinking like an idiot.

  What the hell? Perhaps I’d lied to myself, thinking bottoming on the weekends would sate my needs when I really needed submission. I really needed a Dom and not a Top. The difference, at least for me, was in the feelings the Dom demanded and I needed to fulfill. But finding a Dom wasn’t easy, and bottoming on the weekends fulfilled my needs. Didn’t it? It did. I nodded, determined to forget about Mr. Jones and get back to my regular schedule on Monday.

  “Girl S, you better answer me,” Sam, one of the sadists who rarely topped me, said.

  “Yes, Master Sam. I’m good now.”

  Paddle in hand, Sam crossed the room and undid the wrist cuffs. “Get your ass off my cross.”

  “No, please, I need this.”

  “Why?”

  “Errr…”

  “What you need is a drink upstairs and a cab ride home. I’ll call the cab.”

  “But I need this!”

  Sam ignored me and helped me down. My knee-high boots clicked against the floor.

  I pouted.

  It didn’t work.

  “I’m sixty-three and have been around longer then you can fathom. I’ve seen needs and I’ve seen wants, and I got pretty good at judging what I need. And what I don’t need. What I don’t need is a girl who is so distracted, she’ll forget the pain, because I will hurt her far more than she wants to be hurt. And why is that, Girl S?”