His Obsession, Her Submission

by Chatterley, Maggie

  “If you agree to my proposal, I will have the right to use your body how it pleasures me, and you will have to trust me. Yet, I will allow you a safeword. The moment you use the safeword, I will stop and our arrangement ends, completely.

  “During our time together, I will support you financially, and you will be free to pursue your photography, providing it does not interfere with my needs. However, I promise to be fair and not make any demands that would impair your photography career, because I understand when I am finish with you, you will need your career.”

  “Finish with me?” I asked, feeling a little sick inside. Of course I was not considering his absurd proposal, I told myself, but the fact he believed he would eventually tire of me made me want to cry.

  “I imagine it will take some time to get you out of my system,” he told me, speaking very matter-of-factly, “after all, you have been my obsession since high school. I always imagined coming to you some day, when I had enough money, and making this proposal.”

  “It’s all about money? I am not a prostitute,” I told him, feeling suddenly hurt.

  “I understand that,” he told me. “But, I prefer open and honest relationships. I am not looking for some mutual relationship. Eventually, I will grow tired of you, and release you from our bargain. Of course, you are free to leave at any time, yet not free to return.

  “If you decide to use the safe word, you will leave with the personal gifts I purchased for you during our time together, and nothing else. Yet, if you stay until I am through with you, you will leave with those items, plus one million dollars. Of course, there will be a contract to sign.”

  “So basically,” I said, feeling a bit testy, “I could stay with you for five years, allowing you to use my body in any way you wanted – doing whatever depraved thing I allow, and you simply have to ask me to do something outrageous, like fuck a horse, and then I walk away, without the million dollars?”

  “So it is about the money?” He said dryly, raising his brow as if he found me amusing. “Tell me Kristy, just how many million would it take to fuck a horse?”

  It is difficult to accurately explain the anger and outrage I felt at that moment. It was as if I were on some insane emotional roller coaster and couldn’t grasp what I was feeling. A part of me, wanted to stay with him, yet that part of him, that said such ugly things, making me feel less than human, was too much to handle. I never considered myself a woman who would submit to abuse.

  Rules of acceptable behavior were no longer clear in my mind. When he took my ass the night before, it was painful yet I did not consider it abuse, and it gave me pleasure. When he made the crude comment about me fucking a horse for money – it felt like abuse. What terrified me, I had the sick feeling I might accept the abuse to stay with him, and I might someday become so addicted to how he made me feel, that I might do something as outrageous and as obscene as bestiality, should it pleasure him. I hadn’t been with him for even twenty-four hours, and already I was losing myself. It was terrifying to think what might happen to me, if I turned myself over to his power for an extended period.

  Standing up abruptly, I grabbed my purse. I knew if I hesitated I might stay. I also knew that the moment I spoke the words, it would be over. There would be no turning back, he would no longer want me.

  “My answer is no,” I shouted. “I can’t do this. I can’t allow you to do this to me.” I turned and ran from the restaurant, leaving Daniel Stoddard alone at the table.

  When I returned to the hotel, I went directly to my room to pack. The moment I entered the room I began to cry. Throwing myself on the bed I sobbed, my heart was breaking. I asked myself, how could one night with a stranger from my past affect me so?

  I didn’t hear the adjoining door open and close, and was startled when I felt him sit on the side of the bed. Never did I expect him to come after me. I wondered what he wanted.

  “Kristy,” I heard him whisper, and then he reached out and turned me over, so that I was on my back, not my belly. I turned my head away from him, I didn’t want him to see my tears, but it was too late.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I’ve come to apologize,” he said softly, as his right hand stroked my brow in an affectionate gesture. Confused, I turned and looked at him.

  “I thought if I said no, you would never see me again?”

  “I was wrong to say that in the restaurant. I don’t blame you for leaving.”

  “Really?” I rubbed the back of my hand over my eyes to dry my tears. I imagined I must look a mess.

  “It was wrong of me to expect you to trust me, at least so soon. I was rushing you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Kristy, it is true, I will push your limits, and demand obedience, but I will protect you. I take care of what is mine. If you want, I’ll include in the contract, no four legged animals.”

  “What about other men?” I asked, remembering what he said the night before. He was silent for a moment, before he answered.

  “I can’t make that promise. The only thing I can promise, is not to rush you. You always have the option of walking away. And I’ll change the stipulation – when either of us ends it, you will get one million dollars.”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked.

  “If I ask you to do something you don’t want to do, yet you do it anyway, in spite of the fact you can simply say no and walk away with a million dollars, your submission will be worth more to me. That gift is priceless.”

  “But what if I agree, and then the next day walk away?”

  “Then you walk away with a million dollars. And when you do walk away, it will be final, unlike today.”

  I really did not care about the money. It wasn’t about the money, it never was.

  “I don’t want your money,” I told him. “If you no longer want me, you owe me nothing.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I’m not sure,” I told him, and meant it. I knew in that moment I was going to turn myself over to Daniel Stoddard. I wanted to recapture the sensation of the night before, when I offered myself to him, knowing my pain would bring him pleasure. How long it would last, I did not know, but I couldn’t resist the adventure.

  * * *

  Excerpt from Maggie Chatterley’s

  Be Careful What You Wish For

  There were three basic reasons Carrie wrote erotica. First, she was good at it. If anyone was a born storyteller, she was. Second, Carrie enjoyed her job. She initially started her writing career as a reporter, yet soon discovered local politics bored her and she was too much of a daydreamer to pursue a career in hard news. She switched gears and started writing fiction. Third, her writing gave her a way to act out her secret, forbidden and politically incorrect fantasies in a safe environment, or so she thought.

  In spite of the fiction she wrote, where dangerously handsome, excessively dominate alpha males demanded total submission from the story’s heroines, Carrie considered herself a modern and liberated woman of the twenty-first century. The men she dated did their fair share around the house, would never presume to tell her what to do, and as for dominating her physically and sexually, not a chance in hell.

  Yet, Carrie loved writing about the type of man she would never date. The fact was, she didn’t believe the storybook alpha male existed. The only excessively dominate men she met in her real life were actually insecure men who abused their women to feel good about themselves, and who needed that?

  This didn’t prevent Carrie from creating her fantasy ultra-alpha male for her popular series, featuring Karen the lovely submissive and Alex the dominate master. When writing the characters, Carrie unconsciously used herself as the model for Karen. Like herself, Karen had large, blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes. She had silky, thick black hair that fell straight to the center of her back. She was not described as thin or heavy, but stood at 5’6”, with a well-proportioned figure. While she had lovely breasts, a
nd filled out a b-cup, it was her ass, and shapely legs and thighs getting the most attention. In essence, she was the ass man’s wet dream.

  Of course, she made Alex tall and buff, standing well over 6-feet tall. She never specified a nationality for the character; he might be Italian or Hispanic. He had a dark complexion, jet-black hair and dark eyes that looked into a person’s soul. He was self-assured, possessive, demanding, and always in control. He viewed his submissive as his property, and believed he had the right to use her as he wished, and her desires were not taken into account. He might treat her occasionally as his pet, yet she was primarily an object for his lust. Karen was to be used, and used frequently and harshly.

  Carrie used a pen name, for she knew her friends would be horrified at some of her stories, especially the ones featuring Alex and Karen. They would be quite shocked if they knew what Carrie allowed Alex to do to Karen, and how Karen accepted Alex’s domination, even doing things she really didn’t want to do.

  While the thought of Alex turned Carrie on, she told herself she would never, ever submit to such a man. But the truth was, she didn’t imagine there was a man quite like Alex, and if she was to encounter an ultra alpha male, he would probably be a self centered asshole. In her mind, she submitted to Alex with each story she wrote about him.

  If Carrie hadn’t driven to the city that day, or noticed the odd little spell shop, things might have turned out far differently. She might have continued to write her harmless stories and gone to bed at night dreaming of all the naughty things her imaginary Alex might do to her body. Instead, she unwittingly stepped into the dark and sensual world of her imagination.

  She had never noticed the spell shop before, nor was she into witchcraft and magic. Carrie didn’t believe in all that stuff, yet she ventured into the shop solely to get inspiration for her writing.

  “Can I help you find anything?” The woman behind the counter looked quite natural in the shop, reminding Carrie a bit of goth-gypsy, if there was such a thing.

  “No thanks. I am just looking around, cute shop.” Carrie smiled brightly.

  “Cute?” The woman behind the counter sounded insulted.

  “Well, it is all very interesting.”

  “I take it you aren’t here to purchase something for a spell.”

  Carrie laughed, yet when she noticed the salesperson’s serious expression she stopped laughing and smiled apologetically.

  “Actually,” Carrie explained, “I’m a writer and I noticed the shop, it looked so interesting. I thought I’d have a look and maybe get an inspiration for a new story.”

  “So you don’t believe in magic?” The woman asked, her tone sounding as if she thought Carrie was naive and perhaps a little stupid. Carrie just shrugged, and continued to look around.

  Carrie picked up a few books that looked interesting and took them to the salesperson to check out. After the woman silently rang up the items and placed them in a bag, she reached under the counter and pulled out a small box. She leaned across the counter and placed the box in Carrie’s hands.

  “I want to give this to you,” the woman said. “Consider it a small gift. I can’t resist the temptation to convert non-believers. Plus, its power only works on writers.”

  Carrie opened the small box, and there lying on a piece of cotton, was what appeared to be an ordinary black marble. She frowned and wondered what it was supposed to be.

  “Be very careful using it,” the woman warned, “and I hesitate giving it to you, for such powers can be dangerous in the hands of nonbelievers.”

  “I don’t understand.” Carrie asked, then put the cover back on the box and slipped the item into the shopping bag the woman had placed on the counter, holding her book purchase.

  “It takes you into the stories you create. For example, had Mark Twain had the stone in his possession and he held it in his hand and said take me to Tom Sawyer he would have found himself in Tom Sawyer’s world, and meeting his character face to face. Now, if you say take me to Tom Sawyer, nothing would happen, because you didn’t create the character of Tom Sawyer.”

  Carrie found herself giggling all the way home, appreciating the salesperson’s originality. Of course, it was just an ordinary black marble, Carrie told herself, and she imagined there were probably a dozen more little boxes shoved under the counter of the magic store, each filled with one lone marble. It was an inexpensive marketing gimmick, just the cost of one tiny box and one marble. Clever, she thought.

  She tossed the box in the corner of her home office and forgot about the black marble. Carrie came across the little box about a month later. It was late Tuesday evening, and she had just finished writing her latest story featuring the dangerous Alex and submissive Karen. As she prepared to leave her office to pour herself a glass of merlot and unwind, she spied the box. As she walked from the office and turned off the light, she grabbed it and took it with her.

  Ten minutes later Carrie was sitting on her recliner enjoying a glass of wine. She set the wine glass on the table next to the chair and picked up the small box, which she had placed there a few minutes earlier. She opened the box’s lid, removed the marble and dropped the box and lid to the floor.

  She rolled the black marble from hand to hand, thinking of what the woman in the magic shop had said.

  “I have to give it to her, this really is a cute gimmick,” she said aloud to the empty room. Impulsively, she held the marble tightly in one hand and closed her eyes.

  “Take me to…” she thought a moment of all the characters she had written, and wondered which one she would actually like to meet. She then opened her eyes and looked at her closed fist holding the marble.

  “I tell you what,” she said aloud, “If you really worked, I sure as hell wouldn’t say take me to Alex.”

  Suddenly the marble became very hot, practically burning her hand. Carrie opened her fist quickly, throwing the marble across the room, and looked down at her right palm, expecting to see a red mark.

  “What the fuck…” Carrie cursed and then the room started spinning around her. It was as if she and her chair were in the eye of a tornado, with the room spinning faster and faster around her. Everything then got very dark and still. Carrie just sat there, frozen, wondering what in the hell happened.

  Gradually, the darkness faded and the area filled with light, as if someone were turning up the dimmer switch to illuminate the room.

  Carrie was still sitting in the recliner, yet the space around her was not her den, although there was something familiar about it. The most chilling thing, she was no longer alone. Standing just two feet in front of her, was a tall dark man, with piercing black eyes. He looked exactly as she pictured her imaginary Alex, yet oddly, slightly better looking and far scarier.

  “I’ve been waiting for you Carrie. For your sake, I hope this is the last time you keep me waiting. Stand up, so I can inspect you.”

  Even his voice sounded like she imagined. Carrie looked at the palm of her hand again, where she had held the black marble, and shook her head in denial. “No, this has to be some sort of dream. Yes, I am dreaming.”

  Before she could look up again, Alex reached down and grabbed Carrie by a wrist, and pulled her abruptly to her feet.

  To read the rest of the story, purchase Maggie Chatterley’s

  Be Careful What You Wish For