But in the end, he had her because he’d taken her. He’d stolen her and held her in chains and fear. Yes, it was true there had been a shift over the past month—her submission seemed genuine, her passion authentic. But was that enough?
He had ripped her from the life she knew—the fame and fortune of being a movie star. He had forced her to submit. He had taken her against her will and kept her in chains. Did it matter that he had done it with passion, with love? Did it matter that every moment of his life he was consumed by her, by thoughts of her, by a need for her that was overpowering?
He claimed that he loved her, but had he ever given her a chance to respond in kind? He demanded her submission. He took what he wanted of her. But had he ever given her a choice?
Yet how could he? If he gave her a choice—if he opened the door and said stay or go, she would surely choose that which would take her from him. And then he would have nothing. No reason for continuing. She was his essence, and without her, he would dissolve, disappear without a trace.
That brought him back to the issue of love. He could possess her body forever. He could keep her here, bind her tighter, whip her harder, subjugate her more completely. But could he ever hope to win her heart? No matter how obediently she behaved, he could never compel her to love him.
All at once, though he’d known it on some level from the moment he’d first hatched the insane idea to abduct her, the realization she could never love him freely had become intolerable to him.
“Sir?” Alana’s sexy, husky voice recalled him back to the moment. “Is everything okay, Mark?”
Mark.
God, he loved it when she used his name, which she so rarely did.
He regarded her for a long moment. Was the concern in her voice and her expression genuine, or just born out of fear?
“Not really,” he admitted.
Her face crumpled. “Oh, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. Did I—”
“No, no,” he said abruptly. “It’s nothing you did.”
All at once, he knew what he had to do. He had known it all along, hadn’t he?
Before he lost his resolve, he got up from the bed and went into the closet. He selected a silky blue dress he knew would look beautiful on her sexy curves, and a pair of leather shoes with a low heel. Going to the bureau, he opened the drawer that contained the lace and silk undergarments he sometimes had her wear. He removed a pair of white lace panties and a matching bra that clasped in the front.
He lay them on the bed.
She looked from the clothing to him, her unspoken question on her face.
“You may shower and dress on your own,” he said without further explanation. “Put on these things and present yourself to me when you’re ready.” He turned and left the room.
~*~
Alana sat up and reached for the pretty dress. She fingered the silky fabric as she tried to figure out what was going on. The dress was something she would have worn in the before time. It was well tailored, the design simple but elegant. Usually when he chose an outfit, it was in something a high-class prostitute would wear, complete with garters, sheer stockings, stiletto heels and corset. Bra and panties? Never.
She climbed out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to use the toilet and wash up. She moved quickly, not wishing to make her Master wait any longer than necessary. She was wildly curious about whatever new game he had devised for her, and only hoped it was something she could handle with reasonable grace and courage.
Back in the bedroom, she put on the bra, which fit perfectly. As she pulled the silky panties up, the heavy golden hoop nestled against her. She liked the feel of it, hidden in her panties, the metal warming against her flesh. She pulled the dress over her head and stepped into the shoes.
She left the bedroom and walked down the hall, past the study, which she could see was empty, and into the living room.
Mark was sitting on the couch staring out the window, a brooding look on his face that made her stomach lurch unpleasantly. As she approached, she racked her brains, trying to think what she might have done to displease him.
She started to kneel on the floor at his feet, but to her surprise, he gestured toward the cushion beside him. “Here, sit here next to me.”
It was all so peculiar. The clothing and shoes, the use of the furniture, as if she were a regular person and not his slave, his possession.
“Alana, we need to talk. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” He looked, she realized with a small shock, nervous. He bit his lip and twisted his hands in his lap before finally speaking again. “I don’t know how to begin. I don’t know what to say.” Mark looked at her, his eyes almost pleading.
What did he want from her? Was this some kind of terrible new game? What were the rules? Would she be able to learn them quickly enough to avoid punishment?
He looked away again, out the window. Finally, he turned back to her. “Alana. I love you.” He blew out a breath. “When I stole you away—when I abducted you—it was my intention to keep you forever, no matter what it took. I’ve held you here against your will, and that didn’t use to matter to me. Just having you here was enough.”
What the hell was he saying? Was it no longer enough? Alana sat still, trying to keep the sudden fear from showing on her face. Was this it, then? Was he going to kill her at last?
No, don’t be crazy, she admonished herself. He loves you. She willed herself to be calm as she waited for him to continue.
He took a breath. “I find I no longer want to be your jailer, Alana. I’m no longer satisfied with your servitude under duress. It is no longer enough to accept your submission, when I know it’s not freely given.”
Alana had begun to tremble, and she impulsively dropped from the couch to the floor and wrapped her arms around her Master’s knees. “Please, I don’t know what I did, Sir, but please give me another chance!” she begged. “Don’t kill me, Sir. Please, I’ll do better, I promise. Whatever you want—whatever you need, Sir—I’ll do it.” She burst into tears.
Strong arms lifted her up. “No, no, Alana, no!” he said, his tone urgent. “I don’t want to kill you. Christ, I’d rather kill myself than take the light that is you out of the world.” His voice cracked.
With her head buried against his chest, she couldn’t see his face, but it sounded as if he were crying. Which was impossible. Mark was always in control—always.
She looked up at him, shocked to see a tear rolling down his cheek. Impulsively, she reached up and wiped it away, as he had done for her so many times before.
“I’m sorry, Alana. I’m not expressing myself well. You’re wonderful. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve learned to submit with real grace and obedience, and you’re everything a man could want in a woman.” He sighed. “But it’s not enough. Because of what I’ve done, because I’ve taken you by force, I can never really know if your submission is fueled solely by fear. I didn’t use to care. I told myself it didn’t matter—that I had to have you, no matter the terms. But I can’t keep pretending. It isn’t working anymore. I need more. I need a reciprocal love.”
Still confused and desperate to figure out the rules to this strange, dangerous new game, Alana again tried to assure him of her obedience, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips.
“Listen to me. I’ve come to a decision that has been a long time in coming. I’m not sure what finally got me to this point. I think maybe it was the way you responded to the branding. You couldn’t have feigned such a sincere response, even a great actress like you.”
He touched her cheek, his eyes so sad. “What I mean is, I think you have developed an understanding of the life, of this lifestyle of Master and slave, of Dominant and submissive. But you’ve only experienced it through force. Through bondage, conditioning and enslavement, without choice, without free will. It should be enough for me. I thought it was enough for me. But not anymore. I can’t do it.” His voice cracked again and he stopped speaking.
Alana sat frozen. She s
till didn’t understand what he was saying, though she tried to cling to his claim that he didn’t want to kill her. Then her blood turned to ice in her veins. He didn’t want to kill her, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t possibly set her free and risk her turning him in to the authorities. He would have no choice.
It was enough for me. But not anymore. I can’t do it.
He must be saying he was tired of her. And if that were the case, he would have to kill her, and possibly himself as well. She was as good as dead.
She began to cry softly, her face hidden in her hands.
“Alana, please don’t cry.” He pulled her again into his arm. “Why are you shaking?”
“I don’t want to die, Sir. Please, Mark. Give me another chance.”
He held her at arms length and stared into her eyes. “Stop that,” he ordered. “I am not going to kill you. I’m going to let you go.”
She was so startled by his words that she stopped crying, her mouth falling open. “What?”
“That’s right,” he said emphatically. “I know there’s the risk you’ll turn me in to the police, and who could blame you? But even if you do, they won’t find me. I won’t be here. I know how to disappear. And anyway, I don’t care about that. What I’m saying, my beloved darling, is I can claim your body, and I can keep you forever, but I can’t make you love me. I can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. And I don’t want you anymore, without that.”
Alana was dumbfounded. Did he mean it? Or was this another test, a sadistic trick?
Mark was watching her. Whatever he saw in her face seemed to cause him pain, but doggedly he went on. “Here’s my plan. I know I can’t just thrust you back into the world, as you are now. I’m going to help you decompress. I’m going to allow you time to ‘get back to normal’.” He put air quotes around the words with his fingers. “From this moment, you no longer belong to me. You will sleep in the guest bedroom. You will have your clothing. You will no longer submit to me or be subject to control or punishment. You will be here as my guest. You will eat with me at the table. You will take back your body. You will decide what you wear and how you spend your day, as long as it’s in this house.”
Was this real? Was it really happening? Alana knew she should be whooping with joy, but she only felt numb.
“At the end of the week,” he continued, “assuming you’ve made good progress, I’ll take you away from here. I can’t drop you off in the city, for obvious reasons, but I’ll give you money and leave you somewhere where you’ll be able to get yourself home.” His voice cracked, and he choked out the rest of the words. “It’s over, Alana. It’s done. You’re free.”
He stood abruptly and, without another glance at her, fled from the room.
Alana sat on the couch staring down at her hands. She fingered the iron bracelets at her wrists, still not entirely sure this wasn’t just another elaborate ruse, another dangerous, cruel game.
But the tears, that stricken look on his face. Was he serious? Would he really set her free? She thought of her family, who had to believe she was dead at this point. What would it be like to return to them, to reclaim her life, her career?
And Mark. What would become of him? She would never see him again, of that she was certain. He couldn’t risk that. He would vanish, or be caught. Then there would be the trial, and certain jail for him—a life sentence, he now the one behind bars…
At the sound of footsteps, she looked up. Mark entered the room, his mouth set in a grim line. He held a small key in his hand. “Hold out your wrists,” he directed.
As she did so, he inserted the key into the small opening at the clasp on the bracelet on her right wrist. The mechanism sprang free and the two ovals parted. He repeated the procedure on the other wrist. Then, kneeling before his slave, he did the same with each ankle cuff.
Alana touched the skin at her wrists, which felt naked and strange.
“Stand up and take off your panties.”
Alana rose to her feet and lifted her dress. As she tugged down the underwear, he pulled a tiny pair of jeweler’s pliers from his jeans pocket, and she understood what he was going to do. She almost protested. She found to her own surprise that she didn’t want him to remove the gold hoop. She wanted to keep it. It was hers.
But she didn’t dare say no. Even though he claimed to have given her back that right, she found she was incapable of refusing. Perhaps that would come in time. This was all so new, so uncertain.
If Mark was aware of her discomfiture, he gave no sign. Crouching in front of her, he sprung the lock on the small oval of gold that hung so prettily from her pussy. “There,” he said, looking up at her. “You’re free.”
Alana lay sprawled diagonally in the bed, no chains, no cuffs, no Mark. It was strange, though not unpleasant to sleep in the guest bedroom by herself. As she came fully awake, she stroked her bare wrists, feeling the absence of the iron that had been a constant.
She had slept fitfully, a part of her waiting to be awakened by a blow, or a sting of the lash, or a stiff cock thrusting at her lips or invading her cunt or ass. On some level, she was still waiting for the game to be up, and for the retribution that would surely follow.
But it was morning, and he hadn’t come to her. She could smell coffee brewing. She sat up and slid her feet over the edge of the bed, letting them rest on the soft throw rug. It was warm enough now that she didn’t need a robe, but she liked the idea that she could use one if she wished. So she reached over to where she had placed the robe on the end of the bed, and wrapped it around her body, enjoying the feel of the soft silk on her skin.
After washing up in her own bathroom, she ventured out into the living room. She could hear Mark moving about in the kitchen, and the tantalizing smell of frying bacon assailed her.
“Good morning,” Mark called out to her.
“Good morning, Sir,” she replied as she came into the kitchen. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to greet him first. She had been trained for too long in the art of silence.
“Have a seat at the table. I’m just making some scrambled eggs.”
Alana smiled uncertainly. Her kneeling cushion by his chair was gone. She’d been next to the table, on it, under it. She had never actually sat down at it. She slid awkwardly onto the chair, feeling faintly ridiculous, like an imposter.
Mark hovered around her, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon, pouring her coffee, stirring in the sugar and cream he knew she liked. Alana sat staring at the food.
Mark soon came and sat across from her, his own plate piled high. He took a swallow of coffee and reached for the salt. “Eat while it’s hot. Aren’t you hungry?” His tone was jovial, if a little forced.
After a moment he said quietly, “What is it, Alana? What’s the matter?”
Alana, who had been staring down at her plate, lifted her head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I haven’t even used a fork for so long. I’m just not used to this. I’m-I’m afraid,” she admitted.
Mark furrowed his brow. “Afraid of what? The food’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking. Look, I’m eating it.” He shoveled in a large bite of eggs into his mouth.
She didn’t dare articulate her fear. That he was setting her up. That he would punish her the minute she dared to use a fork and eat like an equal, instead of kneeling at his feet, her mouth open like a baby, waiting for his offering.
Mark studied her for a while longer, comprehension dawning on his face. “You don’t trust me,” he said slowly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me not to betray you. To go back on the deal that you are free this week, free to do whatever you like, except leave. You think I’m setting you up so I can punish you, cage you, make you suffer for your trust.”
His voice sounded sad. When she didn’t deny it, he said, “I’m sorry you can’t trust me. I can’t even blame you. But the deal stands. I’m going to help you take back yourself.” He pointed toward her plate. “Eat. If you still require it, you have my pe
rmission to eat. Use the fork. Use the knife and spoon. Eat until you are satisfied. Take your time.” He said it gently. His eyes were still sad but his expression was kind.
Alana relaxed a little, and then hesitantly picked up the fork.
She ate a small bite of the eggs. Nothing happened. She dared a sip of the coffee and still Mark calmly ate his own food. She took another bite of egg and then picked up a piece of crisp bacon. The food was delicious. The freedom was strange but not unpleasant. She ate the rest of her meal, casting sidelong glances at Mark as she did so.
Whatever game he was playing, she hoped she would learn the rules fast.
Normally after breakfast, Mark would groom his slave girl. She would sit obediently on the bathroom counter while he carefully shaved her underarms, her legs, and finally her pussy. Usually afterwards, he would make her come, or fuck her right there on the counter.
Today, after breakfast Mark went into his study. “I have a little work to do,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind cleaning up?”
Alana was glad for something to do, and she happily cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then she found herself at a loss. Should she groom herself? He had said he wasn’t going to use her sexually any more, so what was the point? Unless it was another test?
Not sure what to do, Alana chose a murder mystery from one of the shelves in the living room. With her new freedom, Mark had given her full reign of the house, including the use of the TV and his vast library of books, both fiction and nonfiction.
A window had been cracked in the living room, a pleasant, cool breeze wafting into the room. She could push that window all the way open. She could climb out right now and run down the road. Of course, he might realize she was missing before she got away, but that was unlikely. He rarely came out of his study in less than an hour. That would give her enough time to escape.
Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies Page 43
