Calm Submissive State

A/N:

Many thanks to my beta RedSkyAtNight, who in addition to all her other wonderful attributes apparently has a strong stomach.

And my apologies to César Millán for the title, but I couldn't resist.

It fell to Amber to look after Sirius Black, and she was not especially happy about it.

It wasn’t the man himself, she thought, as she showed him into the candlelit bedroom. He was nice enough, and quite good-looking. And really, if you came down to it, there was just that one little sentence on his card that put you off.

He reached for her and drew her to him, sliding his hands down her back to her buttocks and kissing her neck.

“It’ll be all right this time,” he said. “I’ve got it under control, I swear.”

She knew this was not true. He said it every single time, and yet when the moment came, he invariably lost control. And to tell the truth, that didn’t bother her either. It was kind of exciting, really, and certainly not as objectionable as many of the things that clients wanted her to do.

She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest and down his flat belly. “You know I don’t mind, sweetheart,” she murmured softly.

And truly, she didn’t—especially since he had long ago agreed to a whole list of conditions, which were also written out on the card: No blowjobs. No kissing on the mouth. No scratching. No biting. Plus that one other proviso that she had added after the first time they were together: one condition that was an absolute deal-breaker for her.

She was wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, because that’s how he liked his women to dress; and nothing underneath, because that was also how he liked them.

She unbuckled his trousers and slipped her hand down into them. He never wore underwear either—at least not when he came here—and she took his cock in her hand and squeezed it gently.

“Yes,” he said, and pushed her T-shirt up over her breasts, leaning down to kiss them. His tongue flicked lightly over her nipple, and she sighed and leaned into him.

She couldn’t say that she minded this, either.

He undressed quickly. He always did this—took a brief time-out to get his kit off—and she waited until he was finished before slowly unzipping her jeans and sliding them down over her hips, then stepping out of them, watching his eyes widen in appreciation.

He reached a hand between her legs, pushing one finger into the cleft between her lips, and she groaned aloud.

“You like that?” he said, as he always did.

“Oh, babe, yes,” she replied, as she always did.

It was the truth, too: she did like it: this was absolutely not the part she didn’t like. His finger flicked across her clit, and she moved against his hand, warming up, hungry for more. “Touch me,” she said, and took hold of his cock again, stroking along the underside of it with her thumb.

He pushed her down on the bed and spread her legs apart, dipping his face between her thighs and sucking her clit into his mouth. She arched up against him and heard his breathing coarsen, felt an exquisite tickling as he moaned against her tender flesh. He was rubbing his cock rhythmically against her leg as he tasted her, and she thought, here it comes.

He gave a sudden loud groan, and there was a crackling in the air as he changed: one second he was there between her legs, the tangled curtain of his hair obscuring his face as he licked her—and in the next the man was gone, and in his place a large black dog lapping hungrily at her.

And oh, Christ have mercy, she thought, this was not the bad part either, no, dear god, no: no man on earth had a tongue like that, Jesus and all the angels. It must be six inches long, and quick, the surface a little rough; it felt unbelievably good, nuzzling into her cunt, the nose cold and wet against her pubis and the warm, wet tongue licking, and licking, and licking.

He lifted his head and began to growl low in his throat, and she turned obediently over and got onto all fours and presented her arse to him.

He was on her in a flash, his forelegs clasped around her and his hips pumping rapidly as he penetrated her over and over again. And she never minded this either, getting fucked hard and fast this way, so different from anyone else. “Come on, fuck me, make me come,” she gasped, and he did, growling and pounding into her like no man she had ever had, and it was good, oh god, it was so good to feel his hot come flooding into her as he thrust against her, and she gave a hoarse cry and her legs trembled underneath her.

Then he was finished; she felt him relax against her, his breath warm against her neck.

And then came the part she did hate.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes stuck together like a rusty nut and bolt, with his full weight on her until she thought her legs would collapse, and she would go absolutely out of her mind with boredom and discomfort.

Which was why she had insisted that he agree, in writing, to let her keep a stack of magazines and a bottle of nail varnish by the head of the bed.