Silence for Sir

By Amelia Chambers

Copyright ©2025

I left the crisp night air to enter the heat of the crowded art gallery, packed with the expected urban elite. Lithe women in fashionable, understated black mingled with men in suits and thickly rimmed glasses. I lingered on the edge of them, buzzing with the excitement of being invited.

            Of course, we were all invited. Openings like this were for select collectors, press and influencers. I was none of those things. I was a guest of the artist.

            When I received the standard embossed invitation, it came with a handwritten note from Damon.

            Wear something colorful. I’m tired of black. Make sure there’s nothing underneath it.

            That dominant insistence over my appearance was a favorite of our games. Whenever we played it, I knew toe-curling pleasure would follow. So, I’d poured myself into a crimson dress that skimmed the curves of my bare breasts and ass. Dressing in it had felt like foreplay, a small act of subservience that left me buzzing with need for him.

            When I finally found Damon the in the crowd, I caught his eye and turned to show off the expanse of bare skin exposed by the backless design of my dress. I peeked over my shoulder to see a small smile before he turned away.

            Now that my obedience was known, I felt free to make my way around the gallery. It was dimly lit, save for the spotlights placed on each of Damon’s large portraits. Each photograph was shot in black and white, all of women in various states of undress.

            When I lingered on the image of a curvaceous woman trussed up in thick sailing rope, I felt him behind me. We barely touched, just the hem of his suit coat skimming the back of my arm. It was enough to make my heart race.

            “Hello, pet,” Damon whispered into the shell of my ear. My suddenly hard nipples betrayed the shiver his voice sent through me.

            “Hello, sir,” I replied quietly and kept my eyes on the portrait in front of me, playing my role as just another art enthusiast.

            “Are you enjoying the show?”

            “Immensely,” I replied honestly. “This one is my favorite.” I nodded to the photograph we both faced.

            “I thought it might be,” he said with a smirk. Then, all playfulness suddenly gone, he continued as the picture of professionalism, “Thank you for coming tonight. I hope you enjoy the rest of the pieces.”

            Then he walked away, back into the pulse of the crowd. My heart dropped with fear that I’d somehow misplayed our game. Before panic could fully set in, I felt my phone buzz in the envelope clutch tucked under my arm. A text from him.

You will meet me in the storeroom. When I arrive, you are not to make a noise, no matter what happens. Is that understood?

I quickly typed on a wave on relief, yes, sir.

Electricity buzzed in my veins as I discreetly poked around the vast white space and found the gallery’s storeroom. It was dark, except for the light seeping in from around the door frame that barely illuminating metal shelves and large plywood crates.

I placed my purse on an empty shelf and waited. The anticipation worked like an aphrodisiac. By the time Damon finally entered, I was aching with need.

“Ah, there’s my good girl,” he purred. “I’m so happy to see that you followed directions.”

In reply, I reached for him in the darkness, bringing him close, eager for direction that would bring us even closer.

Damon answered with a long, lingering kiss and guided me back until I was pressed up against one of the metal shelves.

Then his lips danced down the length of my body, stopping at my chest. With the slip of a single strap, one of my breasts was briefly exposed before being enveloped into Damon’s wanting mouth. He rolled my nipple with his tongue, sucking hard enough for me to stifle a moan. His eyes looked into mine, aware that I’d almost broken his rule.

“Shh,” he reminded before lowering himself to his knees and raising the hem of my dress. He let out an appreciative moan at seeing me without panties.

“It makes me so happy when you follow my instructions, pet. I’m going to reward you for being good.” Then he picked up my foot, still in a stiletto, and put it on his shoulder. He placed small, gentle kisses up my leg until he reached my pussy and began to circle my clit in lavish, hungry strokes.

My head tipped back in ecstasy, and I put my clenched fist between my teeth, sinking into my flesh to keep from crying out.

Damon’s tongue kept pace as the ache of my impending orgasm creep up my torso. The pressure within me increased at Damon’s tongue’s steady rhythm until pleasure ricocheted through me. My knees gave out, but strong hands held me up.

Still reeling from my undoing, I felt myself turned around and my dress lifted over my head. Then Damon bent me over. My forearms rested on the shelf positioned just above my knees.

The whir of Damon’s undone belt and the hiss of his zipper were the only sounds accompanying to my panting breath.

Then I felt the pressure of Damon at my entrance. He’d ensured that I was wet enough to receive him, but his size meant that he still had to start slow. His head pushed into me, then inch by inch he used small thrusts to open me to his girth, all building to the exquisite crescendo of Damon sliding his entire length into me. Knowing I could take more, he picked up his pace, gripping my hip bones for leverage as he fucked me harder and harder.

The shelf supporting me knocked against the wall with the force of him, daring me to join in the noise by crying out in pleasure, but I refused. I devoted myself to his rule, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the moans that desperately needed out. Soon, the coppery taste of my own blood coated my tongue. I exalted in it, a token of my obedience.

The bite blended with the strain of my pussy around Damon, the sting in my palms from where I gripped the shelf and the ache of another impending orgasm. I was lost in the mix of feelings, adrift in the bliss that only this man could bring.

A few powerful strokes later and Damon emptied himself on my ass. I stayed bent over, awaiting instruction and relishing the slow drip of his cum down my skin.

“Clean yourself up and come back to the gallery,” he said as he dressed. “Do not speak to me. Have one glass of champagne then go home to our apartment. I’ll come play with you when I’m done here.” Then he entered my field of vision, crouched down and turned my face to his, gently kissing me. “You were such a good girl.”

I only smiled in reply.

About Amelia Chambers:

Amelia Chambers is a fiction writer based in the Pacific Northwest. Her stories are intended to be sensuous escapes into worlds of fantasy. She very much hopes you enjoy the journey.