I lean in, catch the zipper with my front teeth, and manage to get it pulled down.
He chuckles as he eyes me endearingly.
“Now, remove me from my pants with no hands and you can have it.”
I want him in my mouth and I pull at the sides of his briefs with my teeth.
“You better not bite me; I will spank your ass with my bare hands and we both know how badly that hurts.”
Faced with the dilemma of getting a spanking, I change my strategy.
I begin working at his belt and get it loose with my teeth.
I then take my shoulder and push in on one side of his waist band, pulling the hook of his pants loose with my teeth on the other side, causing them to drop to the floor.
I smile up at him as if I have obtained a victory and he cocks an eyebrow and states, “You are not there yet, little girl.”
I work his briefs from side to side with my teeth, pulling them down on his thighs. I can see the amusement on his face as I take his hardened cock into my mouth and begin humming as I suck on it.
“Such an ingenuitive little slave should be rewarded. Now take your finger and rub yourself while you suck my cock. Oh, and by the way, don’t come.”
I groan as if in agony.
“Oh girl, you do know how to turn me on,” he moans.
I can feel his grip tightening on my scalp as a warm stream hits the back of my throat with his release.
I try to move my hand almost in a frenzy to clean him up and he growls, “Don’t you move that hand; keep rubbing that clit. That’s it, and don’t you dare come until I’m cleaned up.”
By now I am whimpering and frantically trying to get him cleaned up before I come. I hear the words, “Come, slave!”
My body explodes and I lurch up towards him as he watches me, still holding the fistful of hair while he peers down at me.
With my body spent, he gently laid my head back down on his shoe and I finish where I began, kissing the foot of the Master I love…
I lick my lips as I look up and view Trent stroking his cock as he stares at me. He nods towards the floor and, without a word, I drop to my knees and my story comes to life as we act out what I just read.
Chapter Six
Kansas
I look at a man who trusts no one and I ask him to do something he is incapable of—trust me.
“I need to call her back and see why she is so persistently calling me. Something is wrong. She is in prison, Trent, and she could be in danger.”
“Trust you?”
“Yes, Trent, trust me. I’m here because I want to be here.”
He flinches as my hand runs over his face. I trace over the scar I feel only serves to make him even sexier than he already is.
“She mentioned his name, Trent.”
“Which only shows me he is willing to use your clients in order to get to you.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“I think he’s a fucking quack.”
“Then that is all the more reason I need to call her back and see what is going on.”
I watch as he reluctantly pulls my phone from his back pocket and hands it to me, but not without threatening me first.
“I’ve become attached to you, Kansas. That attachment comes with inevitable dangers. Whether you realize it or not, you belong to me. I will not tolerate disloyalty in any form.”
“You’re talking to a girl who is in love with your obsession of me. Do you honestly believe I’m going to do anything to jeopardize losing that? Not to mention the sex is great.” I smile and bat my lids, trying to lighten his mood and assure him I have no intentions of going anywhere. His face is an immovable concrete mask which reveals nothing.
I go through the chain of command to get my client on the phone and keep it on speaker.
“Some crazy doctor came up in here yesterday and told me if I would let him do a study on me of why I don’t bond with my children, he would help to get me released early. At first I got offended and then I thought, why the fuck not? I mean really what do I care if he thinks I don’t love my kids? If it gets me out of here early, then he can believe whatever he wants to believe.”
I listen because I don’t know what to say. I also don’t know if this guy is just trying to write a book and make his mark in his line of work, or if he really is dangerous. Just how far will he go to prove his study of RAD is legitimate? I talk to my client a couple more minutes and get off the phone. I’m going to have to process this before I can come to any conclusions. I’m going to have to talk to the one person I do trust—the Executioner.
I look up at him as I hand him my phone back without reservations. “What do you think? Is this guy dangerous?”
“That mother fucker is no danger to you,” he hisses.
The look on his face clearly lets me know that it isn’t me in danger, it’s the good doctor.
“All we need is that twerp’s signature and you don’t need it because you can quit your job and embrace your new one.”
“And what job would that be?”
“Writing me bedtime stories, of course.”
“Oh, so you have it all figured out that I’m quitting my job and letting you take care of me? I don’t think I’m giving that kind of power to any man.”
“You don’t have a choice because I’m taking it. Now get started on my bedtime story.”
Chapter Seven
Dr. Winslow
I have no choice. They have boxed me in and forced me to extremes. I have been left with no one to study for my research. I don’t know why I didn’t see this clearly before now; any whore will work for my research. They are all the same—women—whores who use their beauty and sexual magnetism to get what they want. It doesn’t matter if they are some hooker off the street or a woman of high standing and breeding like my mother. She had no problem shipping me off to boarding school so she could fuck her many lovers, uninterrupted and right under my father’s unsuspecting nose. They are all the same—worthless whores.
I need to find a woman I can keep. The reason Kansas had worked so well for my study was because she wasn’t the typical personality of a client who suffers with RAD. She has risen above her traumatic childhood and become a professional and successful woman in spite of it. I need someone who has no family or friends, someone who won’t be missed when they’re taken. They won’t be a challenge or threat because of lack of family and friends. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I need to abduct someone to do this research. Kansas got away because she had a choice. I need a subject I can remove that choice from. It’s too bad I can’t use that bitch in prison. Nobody would miss that whore but, since she’s in the system, there’s a paper trail on her a mile long. Of course, whoever I choose, I will have to kill her when I’m finished. I can’t very well take a chance on someone going to the police once I have completed my research. Appearances in my line of work are of the utmost importance and no one will take my study seriously if they know how and with whom I’ve conducted it. Yes…it’s for the greater good of mankind that I do this research. Somehow, some way, I have to put a stop to what these women are doing to society.
I convince myself that this is a necessary evil and I have no foresight to see that I am on a journey I tried to force others on. I am willing to kill in order to make my point. I am unknowingly, unwittingly boarding the crazy train…
I quickly get up out of my office chair and make my way out the door. I feel renewed because I am now a man with purpose. This is the best Idea I could have come up with because there will be no one to share in the glory of my studies. I will go down in history as the true genius I am. I just need to get a few things prepared and I’ll be ready for my first real interview.
Chapter Eight
Executioner
I am already becoming accustomed to Kansas being here. For a man who has spent so much time and energy disconnecting from society, this is polar opposite behavior for me. It boils down to one thing: we meet a need in each other. I need
to track, abduct, dominate, and ultimately take a woman, and she needs to be taken. I am a born predator and she is born prey.
I insist she continue to write because I know there is something there. It doesn’t matter that she is writing something as menial as what I have come to term bedtime stories. The continuation of her fingers tapping the keys of a computer will ensure she is honing her craft. I want her to be the best she can be and I will make sure she does it under my watchful eye. I have no intention of letting her out of my sight; she is being held here. Like I said, we meet a need in one another.
There is also the matter of her being in grave danger, but I’m not telling her that. She has only to do what I mandate and I will take care of any other issues. To put it simply, Kansas is mine; she just doesn’t know it yet.
My attention is drawn away as I listen to the counseling session going on with Dr. Winslow. He has no idea that I bugged his office. I still have the issue of him signing off on my medical documents but I’m more concerned with how far this crazy fuck will go to complete the research he is so dead set on. I remember him telling me once that there is a thin line between crazy and sane and I’m fully aware that the good Doc has crossed that line.
I push the thoughts out of my mind and begin listening to the session he is presently engaged in.
Doctor Winslow
I eye the cookie cutter suburban housewife seated on my couch telling me that she is just not happy. I shake off the intrusive thought of smacking her face and jarring her back into reality. There are people who would give anything to have the pampered life her husband has given her. The poor guy probably works sixteen hours a day to give her everything she needs and it still isn’t good enough. She’s a typical fucking whore, using some guy to get ahead and then whining that he still isn’t doing enough to make her happy.
I’m relieved to hear the timer go off and I inform her I will see her next week for our weekly session. I’m so tired of seeing these people come into my office when they aren’t in need of a psychiatrist. What they need is a counselor and it offends me that my profession isn’t taken more seriously. This is a prime example of why my research needs to be done—so I will attain the respect I deserve.
I didn’t spend thirteen years in school, at the top of my class, to counsel disgruntled housewives. I’m a fucking genius and I don’t care what I have to do to get the respect I deserve, I’m going to do it.
After all, it is for the greater good. At least, that’s what I continue to tell myself. Perhaps the patient I called this morning will be more promising for what I have planned. I released her when I took Kansas on as research. All it will take to draw her back in is a lie. She was desperate for closure with her negligent mother and me waving the prospect of giving it to her is certain to draw her right back into my research.
Chapter Nine
Kansas
As odd as it is to be here in a mansion where I was first brought against my will, I have adjusted quite well. I am amazed with the fact I am happier than I have ever been. I can only attribute it to the fact that I am doing what I love.
I find it silly that he has chosen to command me to specifically write bedtime stories. Why didn’t he just tell me to write a book or a story? I’m certain there is a reason for it. Everything that Trent does has a reason behind it. Perhaps he feels that writing vignettes is an easier feat than trying to take on the task of writing a whole book. I have to admit, it is easier for the mere fact that vignettes don’t necessarily have all of the elements of even a short story. With no beginning and no necessary conflicts, they just are… kind of like my relationship with Trent. It just is.
I find myself thinking of him throughout the day because I never know when he will make his presence known. There is no system with Trent and it makes it impossible to figure him out. The one thing that is for certain is he doesn’t tolerate disobedience and, with that thought in mind, I begin to peck away on my computer.
I have even gone so far as to name my series, ‘Suited slave.’ It’s a collection of stories about a woman who is an alpha female executive during the day and a slave to her Master by night. It addresses the age old question of why a woman who is a leader in the workforce would choose to be a follower to her man behind closed doors.
Suited slave
The kneel…
If you were to view my Master out in public you would see a white collar business man; he is a lawyer. From the moment I laid eyes on him in his office, I knew there was something very different about him. He looks like the typical, harmless executive, but the intensity which brews beneath his surface is something that cannot be hidden. Starting with our very first meeting, he commanded my submission, as he still does to this day.
I remember looking into the chocolate brown eyes peering over his glasses at me and being unable to hold his gaze. That same magnetism grips me today as powerfully as it did that first day in his office. His voice pulls me from my daydream as he stares down at me and speaks. Though his tone is low, it holds the power to intimidate me nonetheless.
“Even when you kneel before me, you are so full of passion.”
He leans down, taking my chin in his fingers and rubbing one finger beneath my jaw line as he speaks to me, “So very spirited. Yes, little one… many Doms do not wish to have a spirited sub such as you.”
He squeezes and the twinge of pain causes me to whimper.
“But then there are those Doms who crave a sub exactly like you. A passionate sub takes the mundane out of life. She adds zest and fire to the monotony of everyday living. You vacillate from passion to fear as if you are as wild as a mustang. What is it that you fear, little one? You fear connection, you fear separation. Such a contradiction of terms you are, my little slave.”
I listen intently as my Master speaks; he knows his slave very well and all he is saying is truth.
My mind ponders the thought that Master is the only man I have not subconsciously run off due to my inability to bond. I have a very hard time maintaining any kind of relationship with the opposite sex, with anyone really. I simply don’t connect with people on any level. Men either love me or they hate me, and there is no middle ground with them. My Type A personality is a force to be reckoned with.
Master is right; I truly am a contradiction in terms…
Kansas
I eye the story in front of me, thinking about what I have just written. Unknowingly I have done exactly what Trent mandated; I have inserted a piece of me in the essence of the story line. All of those therapy sessions that never accomplished anything and here is Trent, achieving what a licensed psychiatrist couldn’t. I was learning more about myself through writing than I had ever learned in therapy.
As dominant as Trent is, he isn’t threatened by my success. He is actually pushing me towards accomplishing something good with my talent. It dawns on me that I would love to write full time. How is it that this man can see things in me that I am not aware of? I can’t help but wonder if it is going to be hard to go back to my mundane life of paperwork after this month with Trent is up. I also can’t help but wonder if he is going to let me go…
Executioner
My cock hardens as I watch her bite her bottom lip while she types. I forbid her to wear clothes and I wonder if her pussy gets wet when she writes those nasty little bedtime stories. It isn’t only the aspect of the sex in her stories that excites me, it’s her obedience. I get off on making her obey me, I get off on taking her whenever I feel like it, and I feel like it right now.
I stand, pushing the chair out of my way with so much aggression that it rolls from the plastic sheeting it sits on to protect the carpet.
My strides are long and they hold purpose as I make my way down the hall and into her room. She looks up at me, sees me entering this early in the day, and the fear in her eyes feeds the predator in me.
I stalk across the room and grab her by the throat, growling like some primitive Neanderthal.
“Get your fucking ass lai
d across that desk.”
She’s trembling as she moves things over like she is scared I am going to clear the desk with just a swipe of my hand. I kick her legs apart with my boot and bend down to look at her pussy. It’s wet—wet and ready for me to take and use.
I lean in, lapping up her juices and sucking at her little, swollen clit. Her legs are shaking. I know she’s already close to coming and I haven’t even worked her over yet. I bring her right to the edge of ecstasy and stop.
My voice threatens her with orgasm denial and I thrust my cock into her. I give her one full, long stroke that plunges deep in her depths and then I pull all the way out.
“Have you earned my cock?” I watch as she fists her hands open and closed in frustration.
“I wrote; I have done everything you asked of me.”
I spread her sweet, little pussy open and I’m glad for the testing that we have already taken care of during her stay here. Being rich means having my own on-call doctor who is willing to make house calls.
“I don’t give a fuck, well, actually I do. You better fucking obey me. Even when you do, Vixen, your orgasms still belong to me.”
I’m pumping just the head of my cock into her entrance and she is begging me for more.
“That’s it, baby girl, beg the man who took you against your will for his cock. Do you want me to set you free after your thirty days are up? Do you want to go back to your mundane office job?”
“No, please stop teasing me. I need to be fucked, Trent.”
I wrap my fist in her hair and jerk her head back. “What did I tell you to call me?”
“Executioner.”
“Take that cock, girl.” Slowly, I enter balls deep into a place that feels like home to me.
“Oh that is good, girl, so damn good.” She makes my life complete. She makes my fucked up normal. My fingers slip to the front of her spread legs and find the spot that will take her over the top. When she hits that pinnacle, she takes me with her, milking me of my seed. When that happens, the results are twofold: pleasure, and success in marking my property as mine. She doesn’t know it yet but I will never let her go…
The Executioner Page 5
