by T. Evans
“Of course, Sir.” Anita stepped around him to go back to working on lunch.
Marshall sat at the table in silence, knowing that the young woman was in a very awkward place. It was obvious that she wanted to know what was going to happen next, but that the terms of her Submission to him did not allow her to broach such subjects while she was collared. Complete obedience and compliance were the expectation he’d communicated to her, and that he’d reinforced when she’d stepped out of line.
It was after Anita had served him and he had taken his first sip of wine that he spoke.
“Even if you hadn’t been fired before coming up to the rooftop, you would have agreed to resign your position with my company as a prerequisite to spending this weekend with me.”
“I did, Sir.”
“It is not in my nature at all to put someone through extreme financial hardship just so I can use them for a weekend. One of the tasks I’ve set Katrine to is going through your performance reviews and project history with the company and sending this information to one of our resume experts. She has also pre-paid for top-level placement assistance with a local firm. I have a lot of connections in this city, you realize. I do not doubt you will be employed in an equivalent or superior position to the one you held in my company very quickly. In addition, I have authorized you a severance package of four weeks full salary and benefits. It would have been nice to see you grow and excel within Marshall Capital, but also highly inappropriate, considering,” he said, gesturing toward the collar she was wearing.
“Of course, Sir. I know I am not to thank you for anything you do to me while I am in Submission to you. Is it appropriate to thank you for your generosity in helping secure my financial future?”
“It is, Miss Rhodes.”
“Thank you for everything you are doing to help me land on my feet, Mr. Marshall.”
“You are most welcome. Katrine has given me a summary of her review of your personnel file. I wish that your leaving my company would have come under much more voluntary circumstances. That is all I wish to say on that matter.”
“Yes, Sir.”
They finished the meal in silence. Anita got up and automatically cleared the table while Marshall went to his Throne to drink the last of his wine. Before he sat down, he closed the door to The Playground. He was certain he could feel the change in Anita’s posture when he reset the locking mechanism.
“Shall I take this, Sir?” Anita asked, touching the rim of his empty wine glass.
“Please, then come kneel down beside me.” When she returned to him, he put his hand on her shoulder. “In sum, your service to me this weekend was exemplary. I was not expecting anything as wondrous.”
“I am happy I was able to please you, Sir.”
“Yes. You seem to find a great deal of meaning in the role.”
“I do, Sir. I had not realized how deep it ran before now.”
“There is a garment bag in the coat closet. It has the clothing you wore here on Friday and the dress and accessories from last night. I hope you will find another occasion for the dress. You elevated it from mere fabric to art.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Come. Kneel tall for me.”
Anita moved around so she was in front of him, and immediately put her hands behind her head. Marshall was glad he didn’t have to tell her to take up the position so he could remove the collar. She seemed to know what was coming next, which spared him having to say it. He unbuckled the collar, and it took everything he had to not deflate in front of her as he took it off and set it on the table beside him. It hurt him to not say anything further about it. He’d wasted enough time on playmates and dalliances that weren’t truly serious about being his Submissive. Every other woman he’d offered it to, had loved the play and the sex and the benefits that came from serving a billionaire. He had decided he was no longer going to offer it up. He was only going to give his ongoing service as a Dominant to the one who wanted it enough to give herself up to him willingly, voluntarily, fully of her own accord. He had no idea how to communicate that to Anita.
“Am I released from Submission to you, Sir?”
“You are, Miss Rhodes. I consider your punishment for trespassing to be finished as well.”
“Since I’m no longer in Submission and not employed by you, please call me Anita,” she said. “Excuse me,” she said, and walked very quickly to the bathroom.
Marshall took the opportunity to go to his bedroom and look out the windows. The air in the living room had become so heavy. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of The Retreat, actually. As soon as Anita was gone.
“Mr. Marshall?” she said.
“Please, Anita. Call me Kenneth.”
“Kenneth. Um. Is there anything else?”
“No. My driver is waiting for you downstairs. Katrine has already set up a phone call for tomorrow with our resume writers to review their draft with you, and with the placement service, probably on Tuesday. There will be an envelope in the car with all of the information you need.”
“Thank you.” She held her hand out. Marshall shook it. The questions he was unable to ask hung thickly on his tongue. He was sure Anita could tell there was more, but she never asked him. “Thank you for both the help and the weekend. I’ll never forget this.”
“Thank you. You honored me greatly with your service.”
“Goodbye, Kenneth.”
“Anita,” was all he was able to get out.
She picked up the key from the kitchen table, took the garment bag from the coat closet, and let herself out.
Marshall took his phone out of the kitchen drawer and turned it on. “Ellie. Dial Katrine.” A moment later, he heard his assistant answer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall.”
“Hello,” he said, failing his attempt to keep any emotion from his voice.
“Oh, my,” Katrine said. “You had her leave without discussing what comes next, didn’t you?”
Chapter Nine
Anita stepped into her apartment and flipped the light switch. Nothing.
It was cold inside. She went to the refrigerator and opened the door. The light didn’t come on. She dug a flashlight out of a drawer and went to the circuit breaker in the hallway. None of the breakers were tripped.
Somewhere in the back of her memory, she remembered that October was the last month of the year it was legal for the power company to cut off a customer for non-payment of bills. She had hoped to skate through to November before her debt hit the critical threshold, but hadn’t made it.
Coming home to a cold, dark apartment after Marshall had ended a mind-blowingly happy weekend by just sending her away was the absolute last thing she needed. She took off the fancy outfit his dominatrix aide had snuck into the apartment, kicking it into a corner. Literally kicking the shoes turned out to be a terrible idea, with her feet still bruised and sore from when Marshall had caned them the day before.
She considered opening the door and just throwing the garment bag out into the hallway, for whomever might want the clothes inside. The only thing that stopped her was that she had the nicest skirt and blouse she’d bought for herself inside of it, and didn’t feel like digging those out before throwing Marshall’s stuff away.
She dug a couple candles out of a kitchen drawer to light up the bathroom. As soon as she walked in, she threw a towel over the mirror, so she wouldn’t have to see her reflection, all the marks he’d put on it over the weekend. It was bad enough that every time she looked down at her naked body, she could see the welts and bruises. It was worse that she could still feel where he’d touched her, hit her, pinched and clamped her. Penetrated her.
Anita turned the water almost to scalding and filled the tub. She took easily three times as long as usual to settle in, due to all of the places on her skin that loudly protested contact with the hot water. It was going to take her body days to recover from two days under his hand. She feared it was going to take her emotion
s even longer. She’d never opened herself up so quickly and so completely to anyone before, and Marshall had unflinchingly walked right on in and acted as if he owned her. Because she’d given that to him.
As the hot water worked out the muscle soreness in her body, she kept on turning over in her head whether she should take the envelope that had been in the car and just burn it. On one hand, she did not want any further help from him. He always made such a big show of only employing the best and brightest, of insisting that every person in the corporate structure treat their subordinates with respect. Yet she had spent years in that very company with a horrid bitch of a manager who had sabotaged her career and undermined her confidence and self-esteem. Then he offered to spend a playful weekend of spankings and sex with her in exchange for her giving up the job she’d already lost. Sure, he probably thought his offer of assistance in finding a new job was genuine and generous. But at what point did trading her body for a good job with one of his contacts cross the line into her essentially prostituting herself to him?
Sitting in her bathtub in an apartment that was getting darker as the sun sank to the horizon, that was going to be unbearably cold overnight, Anita felt she’d finally hit the absolute rock bottom. There was nowhere farther down for her to go, so why not just throw Marshall’s “help” to the wind and strike out on her own? Maybe go back home to her mother with her tail between her legs and live there long enough to get her feet under her and then make another go at being employed and independent?
When she could no longer stand to be in the water, Anita drained the tub and dried off. She raided her dresser for long underwear and sweats, put extra blankets on her bed and curled up. Sleep eluded her, though. She thought about reading, but she just about burned all her candles down in the bath and didn’t want to use up the flashlight batteries.
Her hand drifted down between her legs. She was still sore from how hard and how many times Marshall had taken her, but she decided to try using a light touch on herself. It didn’t work. She could get herself warmed up, but no matter how persistent she was, her body simply refused to start the buildup. It stayed in a perpetual state of non-productive arousal.
She gave up on fingers alone and dug out her vibrator. As soon as she held it in her hand, though, it reminded her of the one he’d used on her, and she was immediately turned off. A little more searching through her drawers, and she found another one. A simple wand that mercifully still had a little bit of battery power left. That, some lube to help with the fact she’d already rubbed herself somewhat raw, and she gave it another go. She started getting some results but could tell her body wasn’t going to get there before the vibe died. A sudden inspiration hit her, and she started reciting colors to herself. “Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo…”
As soon as she started moving down the spectrum, she felt something really start to happen, and was so very excited as the final word slipped past her lips, “Violet.”
And her body shut down. From approaching orgasm to nothing, numbness, in the space of two syllables. She screamed, horrified at the idea that in just two days, Marshall just might have reprogrammed her body to only come on a specific word, from him.
Anita threw the vibrator across the room and buried her head in her pillows so the neighbors wouldn’t hear rage crying.
The cold woke her up late the next morning. She looked at her watch. She was scheduled to call Marshall’s resume people in ten minutes. She searched her apartment for her phone, only to find that it had died overnight. And the power was out in her apartment, so she couldn’t charge it.
“Fuck it,” she said, sure it was a sign from the universe that she should just walk away from Marshall entirely. Reject his help and go find her own way in the world. But before she realized exactly what she was doing, she had dressed and was walking to the café two blocks down. A muffin and coffee would just be a couple bucks, which she should still have on her last credit card. She paid up, found a table next to an electrical outlet, and was only five minutes late for her call. As soon as she heard the voice on the other end of the line say, “Marshall Capital,” her heart tore itself in two different directions. One part of it wanted to scream, throw the phone through a window, and run. The other was just terribly sad and broken at hearing his name, spoken by somebody in the building he owned, just a few floors below that apartment where she’d spent the weekend with him. Fortunately, Anita had learned early how to shift her focus from her feelings to a task and had what was actually a very productive review of her resume.
“We’ll forward this to Seven Rivers Professional Services for you, if that’s alright, Miss Rhodes.”
Those last two words undid her: Miss Rhodes. “Please. Thank you for your help.” She hung up the phone and barely made it to the bathroom before the tears started.
After spending the day at the cafe poring over her budget to see if she could pay up enough with her Friday paycheck to get the power turned back on then, not get any farther behind on her rent, and actually buy food, she went back home. She had bought batteries on the way home, and gave herself another go with both vibrators, to no effect. Reciting the spectrum would get her started, but she was completely incapable of pushing herself over at ‘Violet’, no matter how many times she tried or how loud or quiet she said it, or how much she tried to mimic the sound of his voice.
Each time, she got a little bit closer, but she was also at the limit of how much her body could take. By morning, she was sore enough that just walking hurt. At least the pain in her feet was almost gone, she thought, as she made her way to Seven Rivers to speak with one of their employment consultants.
The meeting, like the resume review the day before, went very well. She felt she’d really presented herself well, and the job openings they discussed with her looked fascinating. And some of them paid twice what she’d been making at Marshall. She left the office with a spring in her step, but by the time she got out of the building, her heart had fallen.
In her head, she knew that there was a good chance she’d be employed in a much better job than she’d had. With some thought, she figured she could get herself stable again within three months, comfortable in six if she only managed one of the jobs on the low end of the scale. But what would that get her, really?
A move up to a nicer apartment in a year, maybe get a car again, buy a nicer vibrator to deprogram her orgasms from Marshall’s voice, maybe find another guy to fuck. Maybe the new guy would even tie her up and collar her and make her call him Sir. But he wouldn’t actually be Marshall. Marshall had unlocked something in her so quickly, and she found herself slipping into the patterns of submitting to him so naturally, she couldn’t imagine giving herself up to any other man the way she had to him.
On the bus back to her apartment, Anita looked around at the city. She was overwhelmed. Seven Rivers showed her several jobs they were submitting her for, and they seemed confident she’d end up being able to pick the one she wanted. Which would lead her to being able to choose a neighborhood to move into. Then she’d pick out a car from all of the options available to her. She would be able to go to the store and not have to go to the bargain rack for clothes, she could go to the regular racks, and any one of a dozen stores. She was standing on the brink of a future where she could break free of the misery of financial hardship and just live.
But she didn’t want all that freedom. Yes, she wanted to be secure and feel safe and comfortable. She was dying to get into a job that would challenge her and reward her for stepping up to the challenge. Anita had always loved learning things, and the idea of taking what she already knew how to do and figuring out how to apply it to new problems lit a fire in her that hadn’t been lit in a long time.
Anita was well on her way to being the mistress of her own fate.
“Ma’am?”
“Huh?” Anita looked up.
“Your stop, Ma’am,” the bus driver said.
“Right. Thank you. Again,” she said, recognizing
him as the same one that had broken her out of her reverie less than a week earlier. Stepping off the bus, Anita realized she had really hated hearing the driver call her, Ma’am. She had naturally fallen into calling Paragould Ma’am, because a part of her recognized the woman as a Dominant before Marshall had told her about it.
“I don’t want to be a mistress to myself. I want Marshall to be my Master…” She shook her head, wondering if she was losing it, talking to herself while unlocking the door to her apartment.
‘Sir gave us a wonderful cage,’ the little voice inside of herself said.
“Sir threw us out of that cage.”
‘We walked out of that cage instead of staying in it.’
“Sir sent us away. And why I am calling him ‘Sir’ again! Arrgh!” Anita growled, as she stepped into her cold apartment and shut the door behind her.
‘Sir marked us. Sir claimed us in action if not in words.’
Anita shook her head to clear it. The internal conversation was truly ridiculous. Still, she touched the small of her back. He’d cut his initials into her back, left a mark that would persist for several days, She wondered whether he’d done it because he did intend on putting a lasting claim on her, or if it was a premeditated cruelty, a reminder that would stick with her that she’d been tried and found wanting, or that he’d only ever intended on using her for a weekend and discarding her.
There was food in her cabinets that needed neither refrigeration nor cooking, but none of it sounded really appetizing. Anita fumbled through her pantry and just let herself autopilot through lunch. As she ate it, barely registering the taste of the food as it passed her lips, she remembered the meals she’d prepared for Sir in his kitchen, and the dinner they’d had out. Not only was it top quality fare, but the meals had been shared between them. Almost all of them she’d had a hand in preparing and serving to him. He’d always shown appreciation for that. Even when he’d needed to be stern with her, there was always at least a gesture or a nod of his head to thank her every time she put something on his plate or refilled his glass.
