He slowed with a shudder, a long, satisfied male sigh. She was worked up, highly aroused, but she wanted to stay that way. She wanted him to fuck her, but she also wanted to be like this, too, in a state of constant eager readiness for him. In some vague part of her mind, she realized she was hovering on the edge of a different type of subspace, everything gone except this, and she hadn’t even climaxed. He’d taken her there another way, with the extreme punishment, followed by the demand of servicing him, two things she hadn’t even realized how much she wanted and needed until she did them.
“Bring me a warm washcloth.”
She rose on shaking legs, went into the bathroom and ran the water. She glanced up at the mirror as she waited on it, and saw two things. Her face, alive and vibrant, enraptured. His expression in the background, watching her with a possessive . . . contentment. She’d sated him physically for the moment, so what she was seeing was his satisfaction at knowing his sub belonged fully to him. It matched her fierce need to be possessed by him and him alone.
She came back to him, knelt. He took the cloth from her and cleaned himself as she watched with desire beating in her chest, pulsing between her legs.
He rose, tucked himself back into his clothes, rethreaded his belt and touched her head. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
He bent, tipping up her chin to give her lips a quick brush, and then he was moving away down the hall. She listened to his footsteps, the sound of him in her house, and felt . . . balanced.
Dressing was a little difficult since she was having some coordination problems, but by the time she managed to put on jeans and a suitable shirt, clean up her face, she was at least not fumbling her moisturizer. She clipped her hair back on her neck with a silver barrette, sure he wasn’t in the mood to wait for her to style it. He’d said she was beautiful to him, and she was going to believe it. Though she did add a touch of concealer and eye makeup.
She followed her nose to the kitchen, where he was scrambling eggs and working on toast. “I would have made you breakfast,” she said.
“Did I tell you to make me breakfast, Athena?”
“No sir.” She thought of the formal contract that some Masters and subs wrote to clarify rules and structure. He simply led, guiding her with questions and insight, and ferreted out her desires through her responses, crafting that contract between them as they went along. She expected it was a skill from his training, thinking on his feet, mapping out a strategy, and she liked it very much. As nebulous and unspecific as she’d been about what she was seeking from the beginning, it was actually what worked best for her.
Perhaps it was part of what had drawn her to him, seeing those qualities demonstrated in his interactions with Willow or Sally. She thought about their volatile discussion over his continuing to take subs, and the warm memory of how that had been resolved. He was committed to her, and her to him. “May I help in any way?”
“Set the table. And you can wash out the frying pan. Not my favorite thing.”
She suppressed a smile at that, and caught the twinkle in his eye when he saw it. She set the table and scrubbed the pan as he transferred their breakfast to plates and brought them to the table. He held her chair for her, scooting her up to her plate before he took the seat next to her.
Companionable silence reigned for a while as they ate. He commented about the hedge garden they could see out the window, asked about whether her wooden birdfeeders had been custom made. He liked carpentry, working with his hands, and that led to her asking him about his projects. She found out that, before Eddie’s, he’d lived in one of NOLA’s rougher neighborhoods, and had made flower boxes for the families there. He’d also helped with community beautification projects, like setting up a playground on an empty lot.
Impulsively, she reached out, closing her fingers around his resting on the table. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed it, squeezed. “Better today?” he asked, gaze searching her face.
“Much.”
“No embarrassment.” It was a mandate, not a question, and she smiled a little at that.
“Surprisingly, a lot less than I expected.”
“Good.” He gave her an appraising look. “Go to the living room. I have a bag there, on the coffee table. There’s a bottle in it. Bring it back to me.”
Curious, she obeyed. It appeared to be some type of ointment, handmade, because there was no labeling on it. When she put it in his hand, he gestured. “Turn away from me, drop your jeans and panties to your knees.”
He was direct and calm about such orders, whereas they sent things careening in a hundred different directions inside her, like the thrill of a sudden jump of the car over a hump in the road. As she complied, she heard him unscrew the top, then squirt some of the liquid onto his hands. He must have rubbed it into his palms before he began to massage it into her tender flesh, because it was warm when it touched her.
“You’ll put this on twice a day, morning and evening, as long as I decide to give you your daily punishment. Remember, I expect my submissive to care for herself. I like touching her soft skin.”
Since she liked that, too, it seemed a mutually beneficial task. “It also keeps the nerve endings sensitive,” he added. “I want you to feel that punishment, Athena, until I’m sure you’ve learned the lesson.”
She thought of that spanking, shuddered inside at the idea of going through it a countless number of times before he was satisfied. She knew there’d be nothing she could consciously do to convince him; he would be guided by that damnable intuition of his to know when it finally clicked, and she couldn’t really argue with it. It was hard to undo over twenty years of behavior, and she’d already proven, several times now, that it could ambush her, push her back into that cell, as he called it. He intended to seal off that room, and his punishment would be the mortar that did it.
A behavior modification proposal like that brought a dichotomy of anxiety and relief. She was also highly aware of his hands, kneading her buttocks, slipping intimately between them to finger her rim. Then he slid his touch lower and his other arm banded around her waist, bringing her down into a sitting position on his lap. The position allowed him to push his fingers between her labia, his thumb sliding over her clit.
“Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours, Master.”
“Are you going to play with it when I’m not around?”
“Only if you tell me to.”
He chuckled against her ear, a dangerous sound. “Wishful thinking, girl. Denying you makes you work harder to please me. When I finally tell you to come, you gush against my cock and mouth harder than when you aren’t denied. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Master. Ahh . . .” She moaned as he pushed his fingers in deeper, rubbed his thumb over her.
“Push your jeans and panties off and spread your legs wider, drape them over my knees. Lay your head back on my shoulder so your spine’s arched.”
He withdrew his hand to let her remove the clothes but kept his strong arm around her waist, seeming to enjoy the wriggling it took her to obey the command. She dropped her head back on his shoulder, looking at the play of sunlight across her ceiling, filtered through the window. Her legs were spread wide, her knees hooked over his thighs, and she cried out as he pushed his hand between her ass and his groin, coming up between her legs to bury his fingers inside her cunt once more. They were hooked at just the right angle to drive her crazy. She was moaning in no time, rocking against his touch, bouncing a little, as much as the position permitted.
“There she is, my hot and shameless girl. Push up your shirt and bra so I can see your nipples, how tight they are.”
She fumbled to obey, tugging on the underwire cups to get them over her breasts. When the garment was resting above them, beneath her chin, the restrictive feel of the band made her think of the breast bondage he’d done on her. His hot breath caressed the right breast because of w
here he had his jaw resting on her shoulder. The nipple beaded further, winning an approving hum from him. It was indescribably erotic, sprawled on his knees like this, her lower half naked, him masturbating her in front of her west-side gardens, in her kitchen.
“Master . . . I’m so close . . . please.”
“Beg me pretty, and I might let you.”
“Please, Master. I’ll do anything. Please let me come. I’m yours . . . I’ll do anything for you . . . I want you to own all of me, every moment . . . every day . . .”
Maybe he hadn’t intended her to go that far, but once she started, she couldn’t stop the flood of words. His arrival last night, refusing to let her hide anymore, then the shower and curling around her while she slept. Even the spanking and this torment now, it summoned the words from her, gushing forth the same way the orgasm bearing down on her now would. Irrefutable, undeniable.
“I’m yours . . . please, Master.”
“Music to my ears,” he growled. “Your cunt is sucking on my hand. You are my sweet slave, Athena. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Master. I’m your slave. Always.” In this moment she truly was, everything emotional and physical surrendered to his will.
“Then come for me. Show me your obedience.”
She came so hard she almost blacked out, her vocal chords straining in one long yearning shriek. His fingers worked her throughout, his arm banded around her waist holding fast, no matter her involuntary struggles. She didn’t come down until spots were scattered across her vision like a Dalmatian’s coat, and she was clinging to his arm, panting.
“There you are, dear girl. There you are. Shh . . .” He was rocking her like a baby, and she turned her face into his, pressing against his temple. She loved him. Yes, she’d been through too much, had loved another man too long, to be ready to say it aloud yet, but with her body, her clutch of her hands, she knew she was telling him.
She loved him.
He held her until the world evened out again, then he shifted her, held her steady while she stepped back into her jeans and underwear. He adjusted her bra and shirt himself, indulging the typical male desire to fondle her thoroughly first. He made her kneel between his feet, her hands placed on his knees.
“So here’s the deal,” he said. “This week, I’m going to see you once a day. You wear a skirt every day, no panties. You keep the brush with you, because you won’t know when or where I’ll show up. When I do, I’ll take us to a private place of my choosing. Once we’re there, you’ll lift your skirt and bend over. I’ll give you your punishment. Each night, I’m going to call you at bedtime. I’ve left that butterfly vibrator I gave you in your nightstand drawer. You’ll use it from the time I call you until I hang up, but you will not come. After five days of that, we’re going to go to Release together. You will be going as my sub. My slave. On that day, I’ll tell you what I want you to wear, how to prepare yourself. Understand?”
“I won’t . . . see you otherwise before then?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice, even as the rest of her quaked at the itinerary he’d laid out. He touched her face.
“We’ll see. I want your mind in a certain place, Athena. This will get it there.”
“But I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you.” He gave her a disparaging look. “A slave’s punishment can sometimes be just as hard on the Master, remember? So don’t pull this shit again.”
He sobered then, putting his hands over hers. “I think that therapist was right, and what happened at Release unlocked the things you’ve kept tamped down since Roy’s passing. With your staff not due back until Monday, if I hadn’t come to find you, you might have passed out from dehydration, fallen down the stairs; really hurt yourself.”
Color rose in her face. With her head much clearer, the logic was impossible to deny. She’d been irresponsible. What if something terrible like that had happened, and Lynn or Beth had been the one to find her on Monday? How could she do that to them? Or to Dale?
He tightened his hands on hers. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s done. Don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s my job.”
The wry curl to his mouth made her feel a little better, but when she gave him a helpless look of apology, he shook his head, touched her face. “You feel things much deeper than you realize. You’ve held so much inside for so long, when you let it out, it can take you by surprise like that. You scared me, Athena,” he admitted. “It pissed me off, how pale and shaky you were. I wanted to say to hell with it, bundle you up and make you live at my place where I can watch you all the time. It’s the good and bad thing about the kind of Master I am. You’re right. I am overbearing and overprotective. I’m not going to let up on this until I’m sure you won’t put yourself back there again. That you’ll trust me enough to turn to me when you need me.”
She understood that, but . . . “I liked waking up with you.” She didn’t want to be deprived of that for five whole days.
“It was pretty great for me, too.” He ran his knuckle over her cheek, tapped her chin once with it. “Trust that I know what I’m doing, all right?”
She wanted to trust him for always. It was just never as easy as it sounded. She was already feeling nauseous about going back to Release on Friday.
—
She’d fantasized about being under a Master’s full control, but as a practical woman, she realized such a thing was likely best left as a fantasy, the demands of her life being what they were. Over the next five days, Dale proved he was capable of coming pretty damn close to the fantasy, making it her reality in a way that had her mind going in lots of different directions.
She was self-conscious about wearing no panties to the office that first day. It made her feel naked, particularly wearing a skirt. For the first two hours of the morning, she had to force herself to focus, since she found herself listening for his voice every five minutes. At nine-thirty, she gave herself a firm chastising and then redoubled her efforts on the presentation she was preparing, moving from that to a review of their CEO’s progress report for the latest quarter. At ten o’clock her phone vibrated on her desk. Picking it up, she saw his text.
Meet me in the basement, maintenance corridor. You’ll be gone ten minutes.
She shouldn’t be surprised he already knew the layout of her building. Had he anticipated his SEAL training coming in handy for something like this? She suppressed a nervous snicker at the thought. He’d chosen a specific time block that wouldn’t interfere with her ten thirty meeting, but it was close enough to it that when she faced her board she’d likely still be throbbing in multiple ways. Her Master was thoughtful and diabolical.
She picked up her purse, since it contained the brush, and left the office at the quick march in her heels. As she breezed past Ellen’s desk, she told her she had a short errand to run and she’d be right back. Her admin’s bemused reaction wasn’t surprising, since Athena was probably flushed as a fall apple.
At this time of morning, the maintenance crew was dispersed through the building, only the dispatcher on the underground level, and his office was at the end of the hall. Dale was waiting at the entrance to the hallway. He nodded to her, unsmiling. At his gesture, she preceded him, quivering a little when he put his hand to her lower back. He stopped her at the fourth door on the hallway and opened it with his other hand, keeping her in the shelter of his body.
It was one of the generator rooms, soundproof so the rumbling noise wouldn’t impact other activities in the maintenance offices. He let go of her arm and locked the door behind them, sliding a device over the lock that appeared as if it would keep a key from turning the latch from the outside. Then he turned to face her and gave her a silent, expectant look. No greeting, nothing but that uncompromising stare and the crossed arms over his broad chest.
Putting the purse on top of a piece of humming equipment, she removed the brush, handed
it to him. Her gaze lowered as he took it from her fingers, her breath shortening as she unzipped the skirt. She let it slide down to her ankles. He guided her to a steel pole, made her grasp it with both hands. Sliding his arm around her, he pressed his palm to her abdomen, and pulled her out further, so she was bent over, holding on to the pole, her hip pressed into his upper thigh and hip bone.
“Open up.”
She spread her legs before she realized he was talking about the yellow rubber ball he was holding, the one he’d taken from her desk that first time he’d visited. She turned rosy at her mistake, but before she could close her legs, he cupped her there. Her pussy was already so wet, two of his fingertips slid into her quivering tissues.
“Good girl. My slave should always make herself accessible to her Master’s cock, wherever he wants to put it. Now, open your mouth.”
The ball gag was put in place, stretching her lips as before, and then he proceeded. He gave her every bit as fierce a spanking with the brush as he had before, such that she was soon squealing against the gag, her fingers biting into the pipe. When he was done and she was breathless, blinking back the tears, he nudged her to an upright position. While he had her continue to hold the pole, he made her step back into her skirt and aligned it properly on her hips, zipping the side zipper. After he straightened her blouse over it, he curved that arm around her waist, pressing her back against him. Leaning into his strength, she watched as he produced a wet wipe packet from his pocket. He cleaned the dirt from the pole off each of her hands, his touch as gentle and careful as it had been brutal.
He pressed his lips to her temple. “Day one, girl. I’ll call you tonight. You sit as much as possible. I want you to suffer. Bad as you scared me, consider yourself lucky I didn’t send you one of those wooden school chairs to sit on all week, instead of that cushy office chair you put your pretty ass into each day.”
He opened the door and checked the corridor before escorting her back to the entrance of the hallway. He left her there with a nod, a press of her arm beneath his firm hand. Clutching her purse, she stared after him, striding across her lobby. The scattering of women all gave him a second look. Though most of the men passing through her lobby wore suits and ties, Dale didn’t need any such fabrication of power. It emanated off the fit man in his dark jeans and T-shirt and commanded attention, likely inspiring all sorts of female fantasies. She tried not to begrudge them that, since he was actually part of her reality. But good heavens, the man had an arm.
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