Page 2 of Bind Me, Sir

“So, why work?” my pilot and friend, Brock Charran asked through the noise-cancelling headphones.

Eyes closed and head tipped back against the leather seat of the twin engine turbine helicopter he called Betsy, I didn’t have to think in order to answer his question. “I have nothing better to do.”

He snorted a laugh. “Spend a month on that goddamn yacht you bought last year. Travel the fucking world—see it all.”

“Been there, done that,” I repeated his signature line. The man had travelled the world, explored where most sane men wouldn’t venture, returning home with frost bite and skin chapped by wind and sun alike.

“Get yourself a wife and kids—that’ll keep you busy,” he said.

“As it would you,” I retorted, the beginnings of a rare smirk tilting my lips.

“Not the life for me,” he muttered.

I couldn’t agree more. I enjoyed my work as one of the CEO’s of our cybersecurity firm, but even more, I enjoyed my freedom, my privacy. I’d tried my luck with women in the past, but every damn one had aspirations of their own—beyond submitting to me.

Fame and fortune drew selfish women, and I’d had my fill of those looking for monetary benefits and social status. While thoughts of a woman truly needing me intrigued the hell out of me, I’d learned no such woman existed.

A bachelor’s life for me, made even easier by my father selling off the family estate across the pond. No more need for heirs to inherit what had been in our family for hundreds of years.

He and my mother had retired to Greece, leaving me free to make my own life in the way I saw fit. When Adam had come to me with plans to start up a new company, I had jumped at the chance to invest and help oversee it.

The third CEO of JAG would also be in attendance at Adam’s estate, and I looked forward to a debauched-filled weekend like the ones we’d enjoyed while in college together. Adam had since married the woman intended for his own father, a blonde beauty who worshiped the ground he walked on, one who also enjoyed being on display if her Sir requested.

As usual, though, Adam would have contracted a couple other women for the weekend, submissives hired only after thorough background and medical checks, along with a contract of limits and non-disclosure agreements.

My cock took interest, swelling in my trousers at the thought of binding a woman to Adam’s altar and relieving the stress that had compounded since the last time I’d played in their church almost three months earlier.

While I allowed women to submit to me, I never filled willing holes no matter their tightness or honeyed cream dripping from their pussies. The last thing I needed was an unplanned pregnancy, the ticket even those carefully scanned before scening might hope for.

“Be there in ten, Jordan,” Brock said, pulling my head off the seat.

The sun set to my left, casting a glow over the green trees below and smearing pink among the billowing clouds above.

Adam’s estate appeared on the horizon, a large meadow amidst the forest, the sprawling stone and timber mansion set at its center, the old church nestled against the western woods.

One of the staff hurried out to retrieve my bag as we landed, and with a quick salute, Brock lifted off to head back home to Boston.

Once the wind from the blades faded, I eyed the church, my cock once more stirring at finding light glowing from the tall, frosted windows. It appeared as though they had started without me.

“Mrs. Hummel has your room ready, sir,” the help said, drawing my focus once more.

“Take my bag,” I said, turning for the church. “I’ll be along shortly.”

I strode across the manicured lawn to the pebbled path beyond, my footfalls eating at the distance between me and sure release. My shoes scuffed the three stairs leading to the old oak door, and I knocked a quick three raps, letting those inside know who was about to enter.

Keying in the five-digit code from memory heightened my pulse. A click, and I pushed the door inward, revealing the small church’s dim interior. As always, the scent of roses and sex wafted over me as I stepped over the stone threshold and shut the door quietly behind me.

Lily Rose Laurent lay bent over the altar that had been moved to the room’s center, her ankles and wrists bound, holding her face down and spread eagle over its cushioned top. Red handprints marked the pale skin of her ass and thighs, and her arousal glistened in the light of the dozens of candles burning around the room.

Adam, her husband, stood before her, naked and sweating, his cock shoved down her throat. He nodded in greeting before focusing on his wife’s mouth once more.

Garret sat on one of the two cushioned benches along the wall and nodded his own greeting, but turned away quickly, more interested in watching Lily suck off our best friend than pleasantries. Not that I could blame him.

I’d never had my length down Lily’s throat—Adam didn’t share—but I imagined every inch of my own cock disappearing down her throat as his did. Every goddamn inch, until her nose rested against his groin.

He crooned his delight, his praise for taking all of him, his sweet little sub, his love, his wife.

My cock pressed against the zipper of my trousers, and I adjusted my length while sitting on the bench across the room from Garrett, my attention on the gorgeous display of a true D/s relationship. Something I secretly longed for but knew would never be a part of my future.

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