Own Me Wholly!

by Reese Gabriel

  "With a spanking,” I say, the word running through me like electricity. “On my bare ass."

  He nods. “Take off your skirt."

  I'm not permitted to look down or away. I must face him, unclasp the garment and push it over my hips.

  It falls to my feet; I step out, one high heel at a time.

  "Turn around for me, Caroline."

  I flip my hair and move in a circle, feminine, graceful. I'm always that way with him, because I know that's how he sees me.

  "You have a beautiful ass."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  "After your punishment, I think I might let you kneel down and pleasure my cock. Would you like that?"

  "Oh, Yes, Sir,” I sigh. The way he can shift back and forth, from crisp and professional to down and dirty never fails to bring me to the brink. I wonder if today will be one of the times he requires me to come during my spanking, my crotch helplessly humping his thigh, or if I will be forced to hold it in for later.

  "Remove your blouse."

  "Yes..."

  I stand there a moment, in nothing but my bra. I feel more naked than if I were completely bare. My nipples are pebbles, straining at the silk material, my breasts want out, they want to be seen, and they want to be played with.

  "Come to me, baby girl.” He slides his chair out and turns it.

  There are rules for this next part. I can't touch him anywhere except his lap. I have to lay myself over it; my palms and heels must be on the floor.

  There is no description for the intensity, the thrilling intimacy of this mutually agreed upon inequality. He dominates, I submit, he sentences, I give over my ass. Most importantly, he is clothed, I am not, there is no protection, my slit, my lips impress upon his muscular thigh, I feel his cock rise and press erect into my belly.

  That cock is going to own me. It already does. It's going in my ass again, just because he says and I want it because I want to be owned, I want to belong to this beautiful man in all the ways I can. I hate that there are limits; that he goes home to a wife every day, in spirit at least. I hate my aloneness ... sometimes. But then again, I know that is part of what makes it so special between us. It's a respite from everything the world demands, from all that normal life requires. No escape, the good with the bad. Always dues to pay.

  At this stage of proximity, we move into our other roles, perhaps our truest ones.

  "Have you been bad, baby girl?” he pats my bottom.

  "Yes, Daddy,” I squirm.

  "Tell Daddy about it."

  "I should have been wetter for Daddy."

  As if that were truly possible...

  "Do you know why Daddy has that rule?"

  "So baby girl and Daddy can play together?"

  "That's right, and Daddy needs baby girl to be cooperative, doesn't he?"

  "Yes, Daddy."

  "You see I have to punish you?” his finger moves over my clit.

  Oh, fuck yes.

  "Will it hurt, Daddy?"

  "A little, but we have to go through it."

  "Yes ... oh I love you, Daddy."

  His hand lands on top of me, a perfect first spank. He always knows just how to cup his hand, just how to aim for the sweet spot. He makes me sting and burn, but never hurts me.

  We count together, up to ten. I am moaning, “Daddy, Daddy please, I need to suck you..."

  "Is baby girl sorry? Does she want to be a good girl?"

  "Yes, oh, yes, Daddy.” I am the best most grateful girl in the world as he lets me down between his legs. He opens his pants, I take his cock out.

  "I love you, Daddy, I love you so much."

  "I love you, Sweetheart."

  I kiss his cock, I smother it with kisses, my eyes water up because I have waited my whole life for someone I could love unconditionally, nothing dirty, everything pure and right, it all fits together.

  I proudly swallow his member, thick and pulsing. I love to hear him make those little noises in the back of his throat; I know he's enjoying it so much, enjoying me. I drink down his come, greedily, I know he'd like to hold back a little longer, maybe fuck me even but there are times I put my foot down—or my tongue.

  Baby girl has needs ... and that doesn't always mean orgasms. Sometimes it is simply to be the object of Daddy's pleasure.

  I want to go home, but I remember I need to check the mail at the office. We're expecting an insurance settlement check for damage to the roof last hurricane season.

  Thomas went right up top with the adjustor, god, I was so scared for him. He called me mother hen. Not really, you just have a tendency to look out for people who turn your life around.

  I was so close the night I met him to heading for a drink and I'm not sure if I started again whether I would have been able to ever stop. I was so close to the edge. It's no wonder that introduction is burned into my memory.

  The world Before Thomas and After Thomas.

  The first thing I saw was his loafers, oh, he loves his shiny shoes. I had the shakes, I felt like something off the bottom of those shoes. I was at the edge of my metal folding chair, poised to split. The last thing I wanted was to engage another human in conversation. That's when he gave me that line about being in dirt and I told him I was in shit ... up to my eyeballs.

  He smiled wryly, like he'd been there himself. “You got a sponsor yet?"

  "Haven't decided to stick around."

  "We can go get some real coffee if you like."

  I sized him up. He wasn't bad looking. Maybe fifty-five, but he could pass for younger. He was trim, with a neat, close beard. He'd lost some of his dark hair, but the bare scalp in its place was tanned, healthy and kind of sexy. His eyes were blue, intense but not overpowering. He had dark slacks and a button down shirt. He was confident and poised with capable hands.

  "I don't even know you,” I pointed out.

  One thing was clear. He had a ring on his left hand.

  "That will have to change,” he said matter of factly. “Now that I'm your sponsor."

  "I told you, I haven't decided."

  "You can decide over coffee."

  The next thing I know I am leaving the basement of First Methodist heading for the nearest Starbrew's Coffee Shop in the company of a handsome older man.

  A married older man.

  "So do you do this often?” I ask as he buys me an extra large latte with a shot of espresso.

  He ushers me toward a small, secluded table in the back. “What's that?"

  "Pick up pathetic women at alcoholic meetings."

  "You don't seem pathetic to me."

  "Give it time."

  "I intend to."

  His voice had this little rasp to it, made me wet my panties. He was so sure, not cocky, just determined.

  "You're lucky this is only coffee, Mister, or I would be sorely tempted to seduce you."

  "I can't say it would break my heart."

  "Might break your wife's though."

  "What about you? Do you have anyone special?"

  "I'm between special someones at the moment. My last one wanted to consummate in the back seat of my car. Unfortunately he threw up in my hair while I was performing a little warm up fellatio. I think his name was Kevin."

  "We should find his car and return the favor,” he quipped. “Maybe eat a dozen hot dogs and ride a tilt a whirl for an hour or so first."

  I laughed so damn hard I nearly peed myself. “Oh, fuck, I needed that."

  "You should do that more often."

  "What's that? Blow people I don't know?"

  "No, laugh. It lights your whole face up."

  Shit. A compliment. Now there was a novelty. “Careful, I might get addicted to hearing nice things. I'll start following you around like a puppy dog."

  "I see you more as a kitten."

  "Helpless and annoying, you mean?"

  "Fierce, cute as hell and ready to take on the world,” he corrects. “Smart, too."

  "You really do have a comeback for everything, do
n't you?"

  "Just where you're concerned, it seems."

  He had me speechless. Falling back on bar etiquette I said, “So do we screw now?"

  "No."

  "A married man with ethics. Now there's something you don't see every day."

  "I'm not that ethical,” he retorted, knocking my socks off. “I'm going to fuck your brains out, but not until you get your self well."

  Talk about incentive.

  Never was there a more eager meeting attendant. Never did a person stick so close to a sponsor.

  There were times I wanted to know how he coped, who did he lean on? He wouldn't answer, except through jokes. And oh, could he make me laugh.

  These were the only times, though, when my laughter held something else underneath. I suppose I saw this coming. And not just for the past two weeks.

  I arrive at our building, a two-story white stucco under the cypress trees on one of the best streets in Winter Park. The other vehicles in the miniature lot are all sixty thousand apiece. One is the lawyer's who rents downstairs. There's also the investment broker's SUV and the psychologist's imported sedan. Monday I had to go around and tell them about Thomas. They were all as stunned as me at the news.

  Thomas is just one of those people, a force of nature, really, that you take for granted in life. Like the sun rising. Or the gentle breeze on your Sunday afternoon stroll.

  I walk past the psychologist's Jaguar, making a note to have the parking lines freshly painted. The car is crooked, an inch into the next spot belonging to the broker's assistant. I will hear about this as de facto building manager. Trust me; a kindergarten class displays incredible maturity in comparison to a group of spoiled professional adults.

  Thomas loves to roll his eyes at them and call them choice names, for my ears only, and never with any real venom. He's such a gentleman; he puts up with it all, their petty complaints, perpetual late rent.

  I have to stand on tiptoes to reach the row of mailboxes. It really needs to be lowered, but Thomas claims he likes the view. My ass stretched to the max.

  "I already got it."

  Shit. It's him.

  "Brian,” I wheel around. “What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you."

  "Well you found me. What do you want?"

  "A fresh start?"

  "A start? Seems like we're long finished, don't you think?"

  "I can still taste your lips, your breasts. You know how good I felt inside you,” he presses.

  I look around, my heart pittering like a little white bunny. “Someone could hear you."

  "I have nothing to hide."

  "I do."

  He nods. “You're right. I apologize. We'll go inside the office."

  "I am not going in there with you."

  With Daddy I feel like a princess, with Junior I'm just ... prey.

  "In that case, I'll go in and wait for you,” he says.

  "The door is locked."

  My own heart nearly ruptures as he shows me the keys.

  "How did you get those?"

  "From Monica. It's time I showed an interest in the family business, don't you think?"

  I stand there, in shock.

  He walks away, turns the corner. He's going in the private entrance, our special back stairs.

  I race after him. “This isn't your family business. You have nothing invested."

  Wow, Caroline. You just described yourself.

  I want to pull his hand away as he unlocks the door, but I'm loath to make a scene. The best I can do is follow him in, still protesting.

  "We looked at my father's will,” he closes the door behind us. “I stand to inherit half of this."

  "That's insane. Thomas would never give this to you."

  He eyes me. “What did you think, you were going to get it?"

  My reaction is hard and fast. He catches my wrist in mid air before I can connect with a slap.

  "Let go of me, you fucking asshole!"

  "Submissives don't touch dominants,” he says simply.

  "You're not a dominant and I'm sure as hell not submissive,” I say.

  He pushes me back, releasing me before I can kick him in the nuts.

  "I'm calling the police if you don't get out,” I threaten.

  "I have the right to be here as his son,” he says cruelly. “And unless you want me throwing you out, you had better start showing a little respect, employee."

  Something kicks in. I don't charge him, I don't run. “You said before you thought I felt guilty, but I think you do. I've been there for Thomas since the moment I met him. Where have you been?"

  "Don't you worry about me. I know how to make up for lost time. I'd say I did some of that this morning."

  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

  "I had my father's mistress, what do you think it means?"

  "You didn't have shit!” I want to throw something at him so badly, but I love each and every thing in this office. “You'll never touch my soul you little shit, never ever."

  He pulls me into his arms. I fight him, I can't break free. “This turns you on?” He hisses. “Doesn't it?"

  "No—castrating you—that would turn me on."

  "Liar.” He spins me. My backside against his crotch. One hand across my shoulders he undoes my jeans, shoves a hand down my panties rudely. “What do you call that?"

  "Fantasizing ... about your father. A real man!"

  He masturbates me. “Tell me what he does to you,” he demands.

  "None of your fucking business."

  "Does he spank you, is that it?"

  "Go to hell.” I try not to move against his hand. It's no use.

  "You really are submissive, aren't you?"

  "Only for him."

  "You don't get to choose. In fact that's the whole point.” He yanks down my pants and panties so hard I almost lose my balance. I get no say as he topples me over the couch.

  "I'm tired of your mixed messages,” he takes out his cock and pushes it into me from behind.

  "What mixed messages, you idiot?"

  "You want me to be him; you don't want me to be him. You tell me I am so much like him and then you push me away. You think he was so fucking perfect? Ask him where he was my whole life?"

  "He's sorry for that ... he's made amends."

  "In your mind,” he fucks me hard. “But who the hell are you to judge that. You're not the one he abandoned."

  I moan. “He's ... a good Daddy."

  Brian chuckles. “So that's the game, is it? You and Thomas play Daddy and daughter. How touching."

  "I hate you,” I squirm.

  "But you'll come for me, like a good sub, won't you?"

  I try to convey my protest even as the physical feelings take charge. “It's ... my body ... not my soul you're taking."

  "No fucking difference,” he growls.

  Daddy I'm so sorry, I shouldn't climax like this ... shouldn't surrender to this ... shouldn't be aroused at all...

  "Oh, god..."

  He pulls my hair, balls it up in his fist, he forces the pleasure from me, makes me ride the rail of desire, an electric line through my cunt, up and down my spine, he gives me no quarter, he sops me wet and rings me dry. But he doesn't come himself.

  I've never been fucked like that in my entire life.

  He's still rock hard, his cock dripping my juices. He pulls me up off the sofa, using my hair as a handle, my eyes water, but my pussy is still twitching ... I'm not even done coming.

  "Where do you belong, sub?"

  My cheeks are flush, too late to deny, he reads it in my eyes.

  I belong on my fucking knees getting my mouth fucked.

  He lets me down, I don't say a word; I just take him inside my mouth.

  My rebel, slut, traitor's mouth.

  He puts his hands on the side of my head. He draws my mouth deep around him, I can barely breathe. I gag, I choke, I feel deliciously, scandalously full, I'm a bad, bad girl and I can't even help i
t because a bad, bad boy is doing it all. For a moment I forget everything else, my worries, my grief ... myself.

  His voice comes to me from somewhere, I don't know where.

  "You need this, Caroline..."

  Is he right?

  He pulls his cock out from between my jaws and begins to stroke. He's larger than his father all right and he has more veins. How expertly his fingers move up and down, pleasuring himself. I am mesmerized.

  "Should I come on your face, girl?"

  I can't say yes, but I can't say no, either.

  He smiles. His semen is hot and sticky. It lands in gobs on my cheeks, on my eyebrows, my lips.

  "Leave it,” he says.

  I sit on the floor, wasted as he zips himself up and goes to the men's room down the hall.

  When he comes back it's still there, a mask of come.

  This time when he smiles at me I lower my eyes to his shoes.

  I could almost kiss them...

  "See,” he says. “You are submissive."

  "What are you going to do to me?” I whisper.

  "It's what we're going to do to each other, Caroline...” He kisses me on top of the head on the way out as he hands me a handful of paper towels for my face. “See you at the hospital."

  I crumple them in my hand. “I'm not going back,” I pout. “I'm in the way. And I sure won't go if you're there."

  He lifts my chin. “You are going. And until I see you again no playing with that pretty pussy."

  "You don't own me!” I say as he reaches the door.

  I don't even merit a reply, just a little kiss, blown patronizingly off his fingertips.

  "Fuck you,” I tell the back of the closed door.

  For all the good it's going to do me.

  CHAPTER III

  Kasey and Erin are in the room with him when I get there. They aren't being quite as strict about the two person visiting policy today. I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not. Officially they won't say anything much at all. Ninety percent of people who suffer this kind of heart attack die by now. His life hangs by a thread. He's not breathing on his own, he has a mask. He can't talk, can't eat. And he sure as hell can't help me sort out the mess with his son.

  Erin gives me a hug, which shocks the hell out of me. I feel like I barely know her, but I think she must sense the connection to Thomas through me.

  I notice she has no earphones today. Kasey gives me no chance to reply on my own as she moves right in to tell me what she knows from the doctors. “He can hear everything, Caroline, it's good for us to keep talking to him, it stimulates him."