Midnight Caller

  Midnight Caller

  by

  NJ Cole

  A special thanks to the people who made this book possible:

  My wonderful sons—who gave up so much time to let me chase my dream. I appreciate your sacrifice. I love you!

  My friends and family who made me believe in myself.

  N. Isabelle Blanco—for encouraging me to write in the first place

  Victoria Schmitz—an amazing editor and lover of the em dash. Thanks for teaching me how to use it.

  Sally G—without whom this book would still be a pile of half edited docs. Thank you for being my “flashlight” and helping me find my way through the darkness.

  Bec Rose—for whom I write. Not even an ocean can keep us apart. Thank you for supporting me through everything. You are the best bestie. I love you more.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and events are fictional and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  NJ Cole does not claim to be an expert in BDSM. Any BDSM aspects of this story are fictional and based partly on her experiences and largely on her imagination.

  Cover art

  © Oxana Oleynichenko 123rf.com

  © Natalia Lukiyanova 123rf.com

  © NJ Cole 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, nor stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

  ISBN-13:978-1484880845

  ISBN-10:1484880846

  To my Sir—

  Thank you for giving me wings.

  "That was beautiful, butterfly."

  Those were the words the caller had used last night. Just that one statement, and then the line went dead. It had obviously been a wrong number, but still, the timing of it unnerved me.

  I'd just finished masturbating, and not one minute after I had come down from my high, the phone rang.

  Maybe it was the deep voice that spoke in only a whisper, sending chills up my spine. Maybe it was what he had said, as if he knew what I had just done. Whatever it was, it had me tossing and turning all night.

  Chapter 1

  Sir

  I’d been watching her for weeks now; stalking her, if you will. After all, she was my prey. Her body, her mind—my quarry. I knew it was just a matter of time before I would claim this woman as mine, and what’s more, she would beg me to take her.

  Though I hadn’t been looking for another woman in my life, she caught my attention anyway.

  I watched her every move—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I watched her at home, at work and, of course, I watched her at play.

  She was beautiful, with her light brown hair that cascaded in waves to the center of her back. She had an amazing body, but what had really caught my attention was her almond shaped eyes. Even from a distance, I could see tiny flecks of what looked like gold dust in her dark brown orbs. It wasn’t the color that caught my attention, nor her lashes, which were extraordinarily long and full. What caught my attention was the way she kept her eyes downcast, showing me that above all else, Rebecca Summers was a natural submissive.

  It was easy for me to observe her. Some thought I was a disgusting pervert, preying on an innocent girl like that—a predator even. They would be right. I was a predator, lethal in every way, and I wasn’t even human.

  At six foot two, with coffee colored hair and eyes that have been described as the color of root beer popsicles, I appeared harmless. My body was perfectly conditioned, but not so bulky as to alarm people. Like males of most species, I was attractive. In my case, though, I used it as a weapon to draw in unsuspecting victims.

  My vision—superior both in the daytime and at night—let me see things clearly, even at a distance. It allowed me to observe Rebecca most nights from my apartment in the building across the street. Sometimes I even listened to her from her balcony, hidden from view, though I didn’t like it when I couldn’t see her.

  She caught my attention one night while I was looking out my window. The entire western wall of her high-rise apartment was made of glass, allowing anyone to see in. She had been lying on her bed, nude, pleasuring herself. Sure, she kept the lights off so that no one could really see her, but that sense of exhibitionism had me captivated. I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

  After some research I learned a bit more about her. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that she worked at a company owned by my family. Under the guise of wanting to work there I was able to observe her more.

  I scrutinized the way she would interact with her co-workers. She always did as she was told, and although she was clearly intelligent and very competent at her job, she seemed to be content to follow her boss’ every instruction, never making waves—even when it was warranted.

  I continued to observe her and was pleased to see that this was also true in her life outside of work. She was independent and lived on her own—without a roommate—but instead of living a wild life of a single woman in her twenties, publicly, she followed all of the rules, right down to waiting for the walk signal when crossing a street. In the privacy of her apartment it was a different matter.

  Privately, she was confident, sexual and wild. I wanted nothing more than to have her at my feet. The information I’d gathered changed her from being a person of interest into the woman that I wanted to have submit to me.

  I couldn’t wait to have her...and I would. There was just one small thing to take care of first—one small blonde thing.

  Gretchen was, in theory, the perfect sub. She never made a mistake, never said no, never called ‘red.’

  It’s not that I wanted a sub to call red, but no matter what I did, Gretchen’s response was the same. She never showed nervousness or fear. She took everything I had to give and more. I had spanked her so hard I had left imprints on her ass and thighs, which, though they healed quickly, were very painful. I had fucked her once for an entire day without even a whimper. She was perfect, too perfect, and that was why I needed someone else, someone new—someone human.

  It wasn’t like I just threw Gretchen away. I’d done this before, though I had to admit, it had been a while since a human had caught my attention. Although she wasn’t my collared sub, Gretchen was as close as I had. She had been faithful to me, and as her Dom, I wanted to make sure that her needs were cared for.

  After picking her up, I brought her to a BDSM club downtown that had a separate floor used by my kind. The air inside smelled of sex, human sex. The odor of excitement mixed with fear aroused me and served to reinforce my reason for being here.

  “Off,” I commanded, nodding to the long, grey coat she wore. She peeled it off immediately, revealing a leather bra and matching thong, both adorned with silver studs.

  “On your knees.”

  She dropped instantly, as she always did.

  I removed a black leather collar from my pocket, clipped it around her neck and attached the matching leash. I didn’t usually put a collar on my submissives, as they knew that when they were in my presence they belonged to me and were to serve me always. There was nothing special about this collar. I’d used it before on several submissives. It wasn’t a symbol of a deep commitment; it was simply to signify that she was my property.

  I didn’t do relationships, and I’d given up long ago on finding my mate. I had submissives to use as I wanted, to play with, to control. The only yearning I had for a woman was to have her serve me.

  I’d never been a monogamous Dom; taking a submissive when I wanted was my prerogative. In the past when I’d had a human submissive, I’d had one of my race as well. It allowed me to find sexual release by fuc
king her after a night of flogging the human’s ass.

  I would have kept Gretchen just for that purpose, but I knew that she wanted more. I could tell that she wanted a permanent collar, and that was just something I didn’t do.

  Eventually, I figured that I’d have to replace Gretchen, but I didn’t want to think about that now. For now, I wanted to focus on tonight and making sure she was cared for. Hopefully, if all went well, we would both be on our way to getting what we wanted—Gretchen would get a Dom who was willing to collar her, and I would be free to pursue my relationship with butterfly.

  I looked down at her in her inspection pose as she waited for permission to greet me. I nodded once, and she placed herself in a prone position, almost as if she were praying. She kissed the tops of each of my shoes and sat back up, waiting for her instructions.

  “Good girl,” I said, patting her head. “Now rise, it’s time.”

  She knew what we were doing. We had talked about it earlier in the week when I told her I had wanted to end our arrangement. Tonight, I was presenting her to a new Dom. If they were both agreeable, I would be handing her over to him to care for and see to her needs.

  Nodding to the doorman, I asked, “Where’s Ian?”

  “Room six,” he replied after looking in the book.

  I headed down the hall with Gretchen trailing from the end of the leash, her eyes down as a perfect sub should.

  After knocking, I was greeted with a gruff, “Come in.”

  The door opened to reveal a man, muscular in build, with the upper half of his body in stockades. Ian had him by his hips and was thrusting hard into his ass. I recognized the man as Vincent. I’d seen him around the club on occasion, though never in a submissive role, and I had to assume Ian was training him to be a Dom.

  “Oliver,” Ian said, pulling out of Vincent and walking over to me, his dick bobbing with every step. He extended his hand.

  Shaking it, I replied, “Ian.”

  He glanced at Gretchen and then at me. “Is this her?” At my nod, he spoke again. “And you’re sure about this?”

  “Yes,” I answered, not elaborating any further.

  He turned to Gretchen. “Well, let me see you, little slut. Get in your inspection pose.”

  When she looked to me for permission, I nodded.

  She quickly took off her bra and panties and knelt on the floor—legs spread wide, chest out, head down. Ian walked around her, looking at her closely, touching her at times. He reached between her legs and pulled back a wet hand. “Such an eager little whore, aren’t you?” The question was rhetorical and Gretchen, of course, did not answer. I knew from our previous talks, however, that the possibility of finding a Dom who would permanently collar her was exactly what she was looking for.

  He brought his fingers to his lips and licked them. “She’s delicious, Oliver. Are you sure you’re willing to give her up?”

  “Yes,” I answered again, looking at Gretchen whose eyes were downcast. “Look at me,” I commanded, pleased when her eyes snapped to mine at once.

  “We’ve talked about this, about your need to be dominated. Is this what you want? Are you willing to serve Ian as well as you have served me? Speak.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, her eyes dropping back to the ground.

  Satisfied that she was willing to serve him, I turned my gaze to Ian. “She has agreed to a one week trial period to ensure compatibility. If things do not work out, she understands that she is on her own in finding a new Dom. Thank you for your willingness to help with this.” With that, I handed him the end of her leash. He took it with a nod and turned to Gretchen.

  “Alright, slut, you belong to me now. Slut will be your name until I can think of something more suitable for you. Now, I want you to position yourself under pig over there.” He pointed at Vincent. “Do you know why I named him pig?” he asked me as Gretchen quickly situated herself under Vincent.

  “Why?” I asked, moderately curious.

  “Because the first session I had with him, he squealed like a pig when I fucked his ass. Do you know how amazing it is to emasculate a man in that way? To shoot your come into his ass, or down his throat?”

  I shook my head. I’d have to take his word for it, as I had no intentions of ‘emasculating’ a man.

  “And he gives the best blowjobs. You want him to give you one? As kind of a thank you for giving me your slut.”

  “No, thanks,” I said, trying to be polite. Call me old-fashioned, and I know that’s ironic given what I like to do, but I don’t think I could ever come from a man giving me a blowjob.

  Ian had already moved to stand back behind Vincent, positioning his cock at his asshole. “Slut, I hope you are good at blowjobs, because the rest of your night is going to depend on how well you can give one.”

  Gretchen nodded.

  “You will try to make pig come, and if you do, you will be rewarded. He will try to control himself, and if he does, he will be rewarded. The person who fails will be punished. Do you understand?”

  They both nodded.

  “Good, you have until I come, slut, now get working.” He smiled at me and thrust into Vincent. “Are you sure you don’t want that blowjob?” he asked again.

  While part of me was curious as to how the contest would play out, and how Gretchen would do, I had plans for the evening. Big plans.

  “I’ve got to get going,” I said truthfully. It was getting dark, and I had somewhere I wanted to be. I set the envelope with Gretchen’s limits that Ian and I had gone over a few days before on the table near the door. With a nod to him, I turned to exit the room.

  I gave one last glance at Gretchen, who was already sucking on Vincent in earnest. Her cheeks were hollowed out and she had him in balls deep. He’d better have some serious self-control or he was definitely going to lose the challenge. After all, she was perfect, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I had made the right decision.

  No, I reassured myself, this was what I wanted. I didn’t want perfect. I needed my playthings to make mistakes. Human mistakes.

  I made it back to my apartment in plenty of time. Tonight began just like the others, but I knew it was going to end differently. Tonight I was going to make contact. Tonight, she was going to know I existed.

  I sat down on a leather chair in front of my large living room window and watched her nightly routine, cock in hand. Once she climbed into bed, I began to stroke myself slowly.

  I loved how she always fucked herself with her curtains open, giving the world a show, and tonight was no different. She was wearing just a t-shirt, no panties. Even from this distance, and through the glass, I could see how wet she already was.

  I felt myself harden as she let her legs fall apart.

  Her fingers found her swollen pussy and began rubbing slow circles, gently teasing her clit. Her head fell back and her breathing increased.

  I loved to observe her when she was like this.

  Her hips moved in time with her fingers, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before she became rougher with herself.

  As if on cue, she pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. Her dark hair cascaded down to take the place of the discarded garment, settling over her breasts and veiling her pink peaks. She brought a hand up, brushed the strands aside and tugged on her nipple.

  Her eyelids fluttered and lowered, hiding her caramel colored eyes behind thick lashes. I watched, never blinking, as she increased her pace and brought herself to orgasm. It was beautiful the way her body unfolded, feet tucked up to her ass, knees falling to the sides. I loved the way they moved up and down, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly. I began to think of her as butterfly the first time I had seen her pleasuring herself.

  She arched her back, oblivious to my spying eyes, and met her climax with a shudder. I found my own release at that moment and wondered what it would be like to feel that pleasure while coming all over her body. That could only happen if she knew I existed, and tonight sh
e would.

  You would be surprised at how easy it was to find personal information on someone when you had a small amount of information, the internet, and a bit of money.

  Her driver’s license described her as five foot five, 115 pounds with brown hair and brown eyes. That official document did her no justice. What it failed to mention was that, though not tall, her legs were long and toned, her breasts were ample for a girl her size, and her hair that was identified as “brown” had strands in it that looked like gold when the sun hit it just right.

  The document also described her as “white,” which was completely untrue. As a professional who worked in an office building, her complexion was on the paler side—more of a creamy ivory that resembled porcelain, than “white.” And, if the few photos I’d found of her on a social networking site of a trip she’d taken to Florida were any indication, her skin turned to a golden bronze if given the opportunity.

  Rebecca Ann Summers was twenty-seven-years-old. She’d attended The Chicago Institute of Design, graduated with a GPA of 3.8, and immediately began working at Voltz Games. She lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the fourteenth floor of a twenty-six story apartment building in Chicago. She was an only child, and her favorite flavor of yogurt was strawberry banana.

  Of course, I also knew her social security number, family and job history, and had access to her medical records through the personnel files at our company. Among a multitude of other things, I had her phone number, as well.

  Rebecca was unusual for a person her age because she had both a cell phone and a land line—tonight I was calling her landline. Picking up the phone, I dialed the numbers I had committed to memory. I watched as she climbed from the bed and answered the phone. Though I’d already had my number blocked, I loved that she didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.

  “Hello,” she said, still out of breath from her orgasm.

  “That was beautiful, butterfly.”

  I hung up the phone without saying any more.