Controlling Chrissy

  CONTROLLING CHRISSY

  By

  REESE GABRIEL

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-502-8

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2004 by R. Gabriel

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  Renaissance E Books

  Email comments@renebooks.com

  A Sizzler/B&D Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  The first time Chrissy saw Derek he was standing alone at the bar of Craig's Tavern. She was there with some of her girlfriends from work. They liked the place because the stock traders from the nearby exchange went there, and sometimes lawyers, too. Chrissy was an administrative assistant for a large commercial bank around the corner, as were her friends.

  They liked to look at the men and be looked at in return. If they were attractive men, the girls would try hard to be noticed so they might be picked up for a good time. Chrissy was the best looking and also the boldest. She had long brown hair, which she wore very straight down the middle of her back, large green eyes, an oval face and a body that would rank at least a nine out of ten on anyone's scale.

  The men who'd seen her naked – and there'd been a reasonable number in the six years since she'd turned eighteen – tended to like her ass best, and her flat belly. She was a petite woman, standing just five foot one inch tall in her bare feet, which gave her that sweet, compact look that was known in the vernacular as a having a 'tight little body.'

  She also had a bit of coloring, owing to an Italian grandmother. This meant her hours in the tanning booth were never wasted. As far as Chrissy's older sister was concerned, however, the productivity of the girl's entire life left something to be desired.

  At thirty, her sister already had two screaming children and the stretch marks to show for it. Their mother and father wanted the same for Chrissy, which was why she'd moved a thousand miles away to live on her own.

  "I'll only be young once, Ma," she'd argued the day she left, and that had become her mantra ever since.

  At the particular point in time when she spotted Derek Traynor, she had two sort-of boyfriends and a married bank executive she was seeing. Neither knew of the others and not even her girlfriends knew about the guy at the gym she sometimes screwed after her workouts.

  Derek stood out for a couple of reasons. First because he didn't have on a tie or anything even remotely resembling business attire. He was wearing a pearl gray turtleneck, suede jacket, black slacks and loafers. It was a look that oozed money, so much so that he didn't have to kowtow to the conventional notion of a suit.

  He was handsome, of course, brutally so, which only added to the cool, aloof image. He might well have been one of those twenty something movie stars, the kind who has gotten so big that he runs his own production company and film studio.

  The girls spent a good fifteen minutes giggling from their table across the semi-crowded, brightly lit establishment, sneaking peeks at him as he stood at the bar, sipping a clear, mixed drink, not a hair out of place, his strong, defined chin, and profiled face just a tiny bit larger than life.

  Was he waiting for his fiancée? A girlfriend? Or was it some business partner or other?

  "Well, I'm just going to go talk to him," Chrissy announced midway through her second happy hour margarita.

  The other three shrieked sotto voce and grabbed her arms, all bug eyed and girlish. No way, they all said, you can't do that. But of course she could and therefore she would.

  "I'm going to live my life," she informed them. "What are you all so afraid of anyway? He's just a man."

  "That's easy for you to say," said the slightly chubby blonde Mandy. "You're a hottie. Men fall at your feet all the time."

  "Exactly," nodded Tanya, an African American who was a little too tall and skinny.

  Chrissy gulped the rest of her margarita, shook out her long, silky hair and headed off to make trouble. She happened to look cute today, in her opinion, with her gold hoop earrings, short yellow dress and white boots. It was a little provocative for the dress code at work, but she was fucking the boss' cousin – so who was going to say anything?

  "Hi." Chrissy announced her presence, sidling right up next to him at the bar.

  Most men would consider that quite a treat, to have the instant and complete attention of a pretty, sassy girl like her, and after an entrance like this, they'd usually be putty in her hands. Derek, however, barely noticed her as he continued sipping his drink. She double-checked for a wedding ring on his finger. Finding none, she plunged on.

  "I noticed you were looking at me," she declared.

  This was a safe thing to say because men were always looking at her.

  Derek gave her the barest attention, a minimal pass over with those eyes of his: cerulean blue, deep and complicated. Fuck it, she thought, the more he's playing hard to get, the worse I want him.

  "I don't think so," he replied.

  Chrissy pouted. Was he gay or something?

  "Well I'm here now," she smiled charmingly. "If you'd like to. Notice me, I mean."

  "What I'd like," he said flatly, "is to be left alone."

  Jeezus, she was actually getting rejected. After she'd gone this far out on a limb, too. There was no way she could go back to her friends with her tail between her legs. She needed to get some reason from him, some way to save face. "I'm sorry," she said. "Obviously you're engaged or seeing somebody. She must be a very lucky person."

  "No," he took a sip of the drink, the ice clinking on the edge of the thick, beveled glass. "There's no one."

  "Oh."

  He angled his lips slightly, a motion that flared his dimples, not to mention her loins. "If you don't mind my saying, Miss…"

  "Chrissy," she supplied. "Chrissy Newland."

  "If you don't mind my saying, Miss Newland, you strike me as being an extremely insecure young lady."

  Chrissy couldn't believe her ears. Not only had he just insulted her, he'd done so with the tone and condescension of a man twice his age. Her response was quick and none too subtle. "I don't know where you were raised, buddy, but where I come from, that was just plain rude. And where do you get off calling me young lady, anyway? I bet you're not even thirty."

  He shrugged, the very picture of indifference. "Like I said, I just wanted to be left alone. You're the one who came over here in the first place."

  "Yes, I did," she agreed. "And it's a mistake I won't make again, trust me"

  She was halfway back to her friends' table when it occurred to her she had more to say. "For your information," she went back to confront him again. "I am not insecure. I know who I am, and there are lots of men who'd consider themselves pretty damned lucky to be in my company."

  "Then do us both a favor and go find one," he said.

  Chrissy hated how calm he was being. It was as if the more clever answers he had for her remarks, the more she wanted to shock him. "You think I couldn't? I could get laid just like that. Don't try and act like you don't know it's true. Maybe you're so rich you can let a fine little honey like me go by the wayside, but you're just one man. One, puny little man."

  He regarded her, his face completely unemotional, his eyes an unreadable sea, completely and dangerously alien. "The answer is maybe," he told her, continuing his oblique, martial arts style of dialogue.

  "What answer? I didn't even ask you a question."

  "Sure you did. You came over here in the first place to find out if I would permit you in my bed, and the answer is maybe. It would all depend on whether you passed the test or not."

  She gave him the contemptuous glare he deserved. This guy was either a lunatic or t
he biggest egomaniac since Saddam. "You know, maybe instead of analyzing other people you ought to get yourself a little therapy, cause you're about as delusional as they come."

  "I can back up everything I say, Miss Newland, can you?"

  "Don't call me that," she snapped.

  "It's your name."

  "I'm Chrissy."

  "I thought you didn't like to be talked down to," he reminded. "I'm trying to show respect."

  She held up her hands. "You know what, you can keep your respect and the rest of your fucking mind games, because I have had enough of them – and you."

  "After I've had you, I'll call you by your given name."

  Chrissy felt a sudden weakness in her knees. His voice was like steel wrapped in velvet, the tone steady and completely confident, as if it were already a done deal. She would be his, captive to his touch, her naked body completely open and at his disposal. What would a man like this do to a soft, attractive female, she wondered? What acts would he perform, worse still, what might he make her do?

  "In that case you might as well get used to calling me Miss Newland," Chrissy vowed, fighting to hold her ground against the rising tide of passion. "Because the day you have me is the day hell freezes over."

  He smiled in response, as if enjoying a small joke not intended for her amusement. It was the last straw.

  "Fuck you," she fumed, already heading back to the table for the second time.

  "So, what happened?" Tanya wanted to know as soon as Chrissy seated herself.

  "Yeah," said Mandy. "You didn't last five minutes. Weren't you his type?"

  Chrissy grit her teeth. The last thing she wanted right now was to be humiliated in front of these less attractive girls. She was going to have to go back up there and put up with more of his crap, there was no other way. "Actually, it went fantastic," she fibbed. "I just came back for my bag and to say goodnight."

  "Omigod," gasped Tanya, "you're going with him?"

  "All the way," Chrissy winked. "See you guys in the morning."

  With any luck they'd take off in a few minutes and she could, too. Alone. In the mean time, she'd just have to trade more barbs with Mr. Tall, Dark and Delirious.

  "Okay," said Mandy. "Just be careful. He looks a little … raw."

  "Nothing I can't handle, sweetie."

  She sauntered back to the bar. "I'm just doing this to fool my friends," she said, offering a fake smile. "I don't even like you."

  "Actually, you're here for real," he countered, as if he knew her own thoughts better than she did herself. "If you weren't, you'd have just told them I was gay and been done with it. Unfortunately, the test is going to be a lot harder now since you bailed out the first time – not to mention your use of foul language."

  "Whatever," she rolled her eyes.

  Could it be true, though? Had she been drawn to this man like a moth to flame, the most arrogantly sexy, masculine male she'd ever encountered in her life?

  He ordered her a beer, a bottled domestic.

  "I don't drink that shit," she said.

  "You really do have quite a mouth on you, don't you?" he observed.

  She blew him a kiss. "The better to tease you with, honey."

  He took a sip from the freshly delivered bottle and placed it in front of her. "Finish it."

  "Is that your little test?" She laughed.

  "No. We just need the empty bottle, that's all."

  Chrissy raised a brow. Maybe she could have some fun with this after all. There wasn't a sex game – or a man – she hadn't beaten yet, and there was no reason to think this clown could ever give her a run for her money. Okay, so he'd done some nasty things to her libido last time around. It was mumbo jumbo, that's all.

  She smiled at him wickedly, pure party girl. "Just be careful. Your little test might backfire. You could end up in over your head."

  "That's a chance we'll take," he acknowledged.

  Chrissy drowned the watery beer in three long swallows, one right after the other. "Here you go, cowboy. What's next? A breath holding contest?"

  "You are going to take this bottle," he said. "And use it to make yourself come."

  The implications hit her like a fist squeezing her heart. She was seeing herself, the smoked glass neck of the bottle pushed between her sex lips, moving in and out, in and out. "You're insane," she dismissed.

  "You'll do it in the bathroom," he ignored her protests. "You will take no more than five minutes. You will then wash the bottle and bring it back to me. We will discuss the rest of the evening from there."

  "Why would I fuck a bottle for you?" She demanded. "You think I'm that hard up for your tool? No offense, but I'm sure I've seen bigger."

  He checked his watch. "The five minutes starts now."

  She laughed, covering a whirling tide of feelings. Outrage. Shame. Curiosity. Along with a strange, dark thrill at the thought of succumbing to this man and his perverted test. "I don't care if I have five years. I'm not doing it."

  "You can fight it," he reasoned. "You can run away again. But you'll only come back. And each time the test will be more difficult than the last. Much more difficult."

  "How would you even know if I really did it or not?" she challenged. "I could lie and tell you anything."

  He regarded her, eyes fixed, his very presence putting her in her place. "Trust me," he assured her confidently. "I would know."

  It was not a tone she'd ever heard from a man before. It made her feel small, and very, very predictable. "Oh, so I suppose you know that special little look then, do you?" She ridiculed. "The look of a woman who's just fucked a bottle?"

  "No," he dissolved her sarcasm with a single breath. "But I know the look of a woman who's obeyed me."

  Chrissy leaned against the bar for support. She was breathing quickly, her tight nipples pressing against the silk of her bra. The sounds of the tavern were distant, as if out of the end of a tunnel behind her. What exactly was happening here? She wanted to throw herself into this man's arms. Or better still at his feet. What the hell had been in those margaritas, anyway?

  "You have three minutes left," he handed her the bottle. "You'll have to hurry."

  Chrissy's hand was numb as she took the bottle. I'm doing it she thought as she walked to the women's room, her boot heels clicking on the floor, I'm on my way to masturbate for a man in a public toilet. I'm about to violate myself with a foreign object for a chance to have sex.

  And I'm being timed to boot.

  "Hi Chrissy," cried Erika as Chrissy entered the women's room. "Long time no see."

  "Yea," giggled Mandy, standing beside her at the sink, fixing her lipstick. "It's been like five minutes. So are you and this guy gonna do the deed or what?"

  Fuck. Of all the times to run into her two friends again. I just have to keep focused, she thought. I have to get into one of these stalls and do what I need to do.

  Thank god, one was open.

  "I never kiss and tell," she dove behind the door, trying to hide the bottle behind her back.

  "That guy sure is dreamy, though," sighed Mandy.

  "I know," Erica agreed. "Say, Chrissy, what's his name?"

  Shit. She didn't even know it herself.

  "Um…we didn't get to that yet."

  "Who cares about his name," said Mandy. "I want to know how rich he is."

  "Is he loaded, Chrissy?" Erica wanted to know.

  "I guess." Chrissy lifted her dress. Her white silk panties were soaked clear through. Her pussy was already throbbing in anticipation. Horny, helpless and totally mindblown, she yanked down the material to her ankles and sat herself on the smooth seat.

  It felt cold on her ass. For a minute she just looked at the bottle, shaped like a cock, but harder and totally merciless. Could she really do this thing? Could she live with herself if she didn't?

  "He must be," Erica said. "Look at those clothes."

  Oh, well, here goes nothing. Chrissy whipped off her underwear and opened her boot-clad legs. "Oh, fuck
," she hissed under her breath.

  "What did you say, Chrissy?" Erica asked.

  "Nothing," she tried to keep her voice steady, her one hand holding open her labia lips, the other applying the rounded ring of glass to the outer folds of her pulsing sex, delicate flesh against ultra smooth glass. Her tiny feet pivoted on her toes now, the heels in the air turning outward as she pushed the beer bottle past the barrier then inside herself.

  "Are you okay, Chrissy?" Mandy wanted to know.

  Chrissy yielded herself an inch, then two, then three. Oh, god, this was hot, and nasty, too. She was going to come fast, but could she do it quietly? "I'm fine … really," she insisted.

  Considering I'm performing a lewd, semi-public sex act at the behest of a total stranger, she thought sardonically.

  "God, you are so lucky," crooned Erica. "I'll bet he's gonna be really good in bed."

  Chrissy clenched at the glass with her pussy muscles. In a way this was an extension of him, her body pierced at his command, her pleasure determined by his will.

  You will come, he'd told her. In five minutes. And she was doing it.

  How could he just tell her when to orgasm, though, as if she were a trained seal? She was a woman. A lady.

  Drawing a ragged breath, she pushed the bottle till it hurt, then pulled it back out, almost all the way. I need it to be on my clit, she thought, that's the way to give it up quicker.

  And that's what it was, too, giving something up, namely a climax, one that he would take from her. One look in her eyes, at her face, he'd assured her, and he would know if she'd done as she'd been told. What did sexual obedience look like in a woman exactly? Was it a matter of her expression or would it show in her body, too, in the way she stood before him and how she carried herself? And what of the depth and longevity of the effect? Would it show only for a moment what an obedient girl she'd been or might she be marked for life?

  "He's…he's a strong man," Chrissy replied to her friend, even as she imagined herself naked before him, under his inspection, her every nerve ending on heightened alert, craving command, screaming out in anticipation of what he might want her to do next. "He acts … older."

  She felt like such a slut, doing this while talking to her friends. Humping a bottle, getting off in the cheapest most whorish way possible. It was so hard not to moan, not to undulate her body in response to the sensations. She was so full. God, she looked so amazing this way, the whole neck swallowed. Two, three more times she moved it in and out.