by Sykes, Julia
Considering the amount of time I had spent staring at him in wonder, capturing the perfection of Master’s face was more difficult than I had anticipated. All of his features were accurately formed, but expressing his powerful, intoxicating aura was more elusive. Even if I were an artistic savant, I would have been incapable of depicting that intangible quality about him that I found so rapturously enticing.
I set him aside for a while, focusing instead on myself. I thought of the woman I saw when I looked in the mirror. She was thin, scarred; she was somehow lacking the completion of spirit that was evident in my drawing of Lydia standing at the edge of Lake Michigan.
But that damaged woman belonged to Master. And that made her far more beautiful than Lydia would ever be.
Contented with the image I had produced of myself, I returned to perfecting Master’s visage. I hadn’t come close to succeeding when his voice cut into my reverie.
“So, what are you working on, Lydia?” He asked.
Nervous apprehension threatened to grip me as he approached. I took a deep breath, shoving it back. I was determined to see my task through.
“Something that makes me happy,” I said definitively, looking him squarely in the eye.
His curious frown deepened to a scowl when his gaze fell on my work. In my sketch, Master’s lips were crushed to mine, his hand tangled in my hair as he held me to him. The lines of his face were harsh and hungry as he claimed me. My eyes were closed, my expression beatific in my blissful submission.
“What is this, girl?” His voice was low and dangerous, holding a rough, threatening edge.
But rather than being intimidated, I was emboldened by his reaction. My fierce Master was back, and I thrilled at the sight of him, even if he was disapproving.
“Something that I want, Master,” I told him, my voice clear and steady.
His brows drew together, his eyes sparking as he turned his glare on me.
I didn’t flinch; I met his stare, lifting my chin in a silent challenge. His lips twisted into a fearsome snarl as his dominant side took over, unable to permit my flagrant defiance. His movements were harsh in his ferocity, lacking the fluidity of purpose that usually imbued his careful control. This was a different sort of power. I had tapped into the wild, untamed side of him that acted on his most primal urges.
My sharp gasp was one of delight when his hand fisted in my hair at the nape of my neck. The small pain as he sharply maneuvered my body off of the barstool was exquisite. The direction of his harsh guidance changed abruptly, pulling downward so that my head dropped back. But the pressure didn’t relent, and I was forced to my knees before him.
“What have I told you about this, girl?” He demanded roughly. “That won’t happen again.”
He gave another sharp tug on my hair, reinforcing his control with the zing of pain that tingled across my scalp. My lips parted, and a low moan was released from deep within me. Heat pulsed to life between my thighs as I stared up at him, relishing his power over me. This was what I had craved so fiercely: for Master to fully stake his claim, to allow me to slake his need. A defined bulge appeared at his groin as his rapidly hardening cock strained against the material of his pants. I longed for him to remove that barrier between us, and my fingers itched to caress him. My mouth watered at the idea of tasting him.
Abruptly, he stepped back from me with a curse, releasing my hair. I whined at the sudden distance between us, and I reached for him.
“Stay,” he commanded sharply.
His order connected with something deep within me, and a desire that had been perverted and tainted blossomed back to life.
I groaned as I finally realized what the almost painful pulsing between my legs meant: lust. Automatically, I settled back onto my heels, parting my thighs and twining my fingers together behind my back. For the first time I could remember, the action wasn’t driven by fear of abuse or a desire to please; this was for me. This was what I wanted.
An answering lust flared in Master’s eyes as he admired my position. He was clearly affected by the sight of me on my knees before him, inviting him to take control of my body. Begging him to do so.
His fists clenched at his sides as he visibly restrained himself.
“Fuck!” He barked out. His silver glare was resentful, pained. “What am I supposed to do with you, girl?” His tone was roughened with frustration, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to answer his question. “I should turn you over my knee for this.”
I sucked in a breath, but the flames that licked my skin were borne of desire, not fear. I craved the contact he threatened me with.
His eyes glinted at my reaction. Then his brows drew together, and he took another step back from me, a growl easing its way up his throat. The sound made me shiver delightedly.
“Stay here,” he ground out. “Don’t move until I give you permission to do so.”
He began to turn from me, and disappointment lanced through me.
“Master, please -”
He paused, and his glower made my words instantly die in my throat. “If I hear one word out of your mouth that isn’t ‘Yes, Master,’ I’ll leave you here all afternoon,” he threatened.
I swallowed hard, staving off the tears that stung at the corners of my eyes. He had devised the worst possible punishment for me: denying me his presence.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered meekly, dropping my eyes.
I watched his boots as he quickly retreated from me. The bang of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberated throughout the apartment.
I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed silently down my cheeks. I hated his distance, his anger.
But did I regret what I had done?
No. I didn’t think I did. I had forced him to acknowledge that his desire for me was just as fierce as mine was for him. And I had come to a shocking realization about myself as well. All this time, I had thought I wanted to give Master my body so I could please him. If I just pleased him enough, then he would never let go of me. I still craved for him to stake a permanent claim; I feared one day the FBI might find Lydia’s family and force me to leave him.
But even more fiercely, I wanted him to take me because my body burned for him to do so. I had thought that Bastard had robbed me of my capacity for lust. His torment had been so cruel that I had forgotten what lust was. Master had reawakened that within me. It was another gift he had given me.
Even if I didn’t want to return to Lydia’s life before she had been abducted and broken, I found I did want to possess some of the characteristics that made her uniquely her. Master had been right: we both loved art and cooking; we were Cubs fanatics; we preferred action films to insipid romances; our personal style was flirty and feminine. And we both harbored dark, unfulfilled sexual desires. I wouldn’t access her memories, but these qualities, these wants and yearnings, resonated with me. I embraced them, accepting them as a part of me.
I was the version of Lydia that belonged to Master. And I wasn’t going to deny my needs any longer.
My cheeks were dry by the time Master returned to me. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he took in my calm demeanor. All of the furious tension had left him, and I wondered what he had been doing in his room that had siphoned it off. A decidedly wicked conclusion flashed across my mind, and I flushed at the idea of Master stroking himself as he thought of me.
He bent and clasped his hands around my waist, helping me stand. He steadied me as I bent my knees slightly and wiggled my toes, easing my stiff muscles. When he was satisfied that my discomfiture had abated, he lifted me up in his arms and carried me to the sofa. To my surprise, he situated my body beside his, placing my head on his thighs. He kept one hand curled around my hip while his other tenderly stroked my hair. I sighed happily, closing my eyes as I melted against him.
Despite his anger, Master was comforting me after my punishment. There had been a consequence for my defiant behavior, but it hadn’t damaged our relationship. If anything, I felt closer t
o him than I had in days. He had fully accepted his role as my Master, had re-committed himself to taking care of me. My daring action had brought about a good outcome, even if Master hadn’t kissed me again.
He held me long into the afternoon, and although his touch was tender rather than demanding, the insistent throbbing in my loins didn’t abate. My need was keen to the point of being painful, my newly re-discovered lust tormenting me. But I didn’t dare push Master further that day. As much as I relished his control, I didn’t want him to exert that control by leaving me alone again.
When I found myself in the solitude of the shower later that day, I surrendered to instinct.
Master fully commanded all of my thoughts, and memories of our more intimate encounters played through my mind on a loop: Master’s cock jerking beneath my cheek as I rested my head in his lap; the feel of his hardness beneath my fingers as I tentatively stroked him through his sweatpants; the heady beauty of his scorching kiss; the wild gleam in his eyes as he forced me to my knees before him.
I whimpered as my clit pulsed relentlessly. My mind flicked to Master sating himself in the privacy of his bedroom, bringing himself to completion with wicked thoughts of what he might do to my body. It occurred to me that I could do the same for myself.
Tentatively, I brushed two fingers over my hardened bud. A small, sharp cry escaped me as pleasure shot through my body. I had forgotten about this part of myself, about the bliss that certain parts of my body could give me. I explored my erogenous zones, old patterns of touching myself clicking back into place with each area I aroused. My fingers found the wet heat inside of me, gathering it up as I stroked myself. I trailed the wetness up to my clit, rubbing in steady, practiced circles. My nipples throbbed, begging for attention. Air was sucked into my lungs on a delighted gasp as I pinched them, sending answering lines of pleasure sizzling down to my clit.
Twining the silvery chain of the necklace that Master had given me around my hand, I closed my eyes and thought of him. I imagined that it was his fingers that were pinching me, stroking me. He would watch me with those hypnotic eyes, a twisted, pleased smile on his lips as he manipulated my body, wringing pleasure from me as he desired. His mouth would come down on mine, taking possession of my bliss as I moaned into him. He would drink in my ecstatic scream as I came completely undone.
My cry of pleasure echoed through the bathroom, the acoustics magnifying the lustful sound. I leaned back against the cool tiles, panting. The warm spray of the water pinging against my skin made me shudder as it continued to stimulate my sensitized flesh.
Concern flashed across my mind as I wondered if Master had heard me. I hastily shook it away. I hoped he had heard. I wanted him to realize what he had awoken within me, how I had so desperately needed release after the intensity of what had passed between us that day.
A sly, slightly devious smile played across my lips. I was manipulating Master. The beast within him wouldn’t like that.
“I should turn you over my knee for this.”
My lower lip caught between my teeth at the thought. Again, the idea tapped into deeply-buried desires that I thought had been extinguished completely by perverted abuse. Master would help me reclaim that part of myself, just as he had helped me rebuild who I truly was. My pussy pulsed back to life at the thought of him bringing me perfect pleasure as he possessed me completely.
I hoped that my next punishment would be more interesting than waiting on my knees.
Chapter 13
Master’s disapproving frown let me know that he had heard my cry of pleasure. Was he angry with me for touching myself or was he displeased because he hadn’t been the one to touch me? I sincerely hoped it was the latter.
But other than his disgruntled expression, he gave no indication that he was aware of my actions. In fact, he spoke little that evening, and his taciturnity continued into the following day. Mercifully, he kept me close, but some of the discomfited tension had returned to his muscles. I wanted so desperately to ease it. I couldn’t bear it if he retreated from me again, not after I had come so close to goading him into touching me.
For the first time ever, I allowed my own wants to supersede Master’s wishes. At one time, I had found thoughts of manipulating him into changing his rules to be disturbing. Now I went about formulating such schemes with willful determination. I didn’t want to anger or disappoint him, but I couldn’t allow him to continue denying what we both wanted.
I can’t allow him?
I was shocked at the idea that I would demand anything of Master. But although I was utterly devoted to him, I wouldn’t back down on this. Once, I might have feared that my deliberate disobedience would cause him to reject me. Now I was certain he couldn’t release me any more than I could willingly leave him. And that bond would only be further strengthened once we had joined in the most intimate way possible.
Master was in the shower, giving me a rare moment of privacy in the apartment. I usually dreaded the loss of his presence, but now I was grateful of the opportunity it presented me.
My fingers stilled when they touched the doorknob to his bedroom. Master had forbidden me to enter his private space. But if I wanted to prevent him from drifting away from me, then I needed to learn everything about him that I could. Steeling myself, I turned the knob and pushed open the door, darting across the threshold before I could talk myself out of carrying out my plan.
My eyes roved over the room, greedily drinking in the secrets of the place Master had forbidden me to enter. Unlike the stark, sparse living room, this space pulsed with a definitive emotive aura. If the rest of the apartment reflected Master’s cool control, his bedroom housed his primal essence.
A king size, four-poster bed crafted of wrought iron commanded most of the space. It had a severe beauty to it, the elegantly curling lines of dark metal rendered harsher by their inherent rigidity. An image of lying atop the black sheets with Master, our naked bodies entwined, flitted across my mind.
I tore my eyes from the bed. I didn’t have much time, and I needed to explore as much of the room as possible before Master emerged from the bathroom. I estimated I had about ten more minutes. There were two large chests of drawers crafted in polished ebony that sat flush with the red-painted wall across from the bed. I hastily opened the top drawer on one of them.
My lips pursed in a small frown.
Socks.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but it hadn’t been anything so ordinary. Shaking off my disappointment, I rapidly inspected the rest of the drawers, making my way down from top to bottom. All I found were Master’s clothes. And while I loved the unique scent that infused them, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before.
When I moved to the second dresser, I jerked the top drawer open almost irritably. At the sight of its contents, I froze. While the other drawers had been unremarkable, this one was jarringly exceptional.
No. Not exceptional. Terrifying.
Instruments that I associated with torture were carefully, lovingly, arranged in a horrifically perfect pattern. The precision with which they were laid out might have been almost artistic if the materials hadn’t been so disturbing. Amongst the array were a leather cat o’ nine tails, a cane, and – most upsetting of all – a coiled black bullwhip.
I stumbled away from the drawer in horror, reeling backwards until my knees hit the edge of the bed. They folded, and I sank down on the mattress. I had contemplated punishments that Master might mete out, had even excitedly anticipated the administration of a spanking to enforce his control. But I had never imagined he would own such cruel implements.
Memories of torture inflicted by those instruments assailed my mind, making my body go weak as tremors wracked me. I caught myself on my palms before I could fall back on the mattress. As I did so, my fingers brushed against something cold and hard, a tactile sensation that I recognized all too well. I was touching a heavy link in a chain. Perversely compelled to examine the full horror of it, I grasped
the metal in my shaking hand, lifting it. The steel clanked against the iron bedframe as the length of chain came free from where it had been hidden. Attached to the end was a padded leather cuff.
My stomach churned, and I flung the chain away from me, my palm suddenly burning as though the metal had been sitting in a forge fire. I braced my head between my knees, fighting the urge to be sick. How could Master possess such things? He was kind, caring; nothing at all like the Bastard who had gloried in my agony.
Nothing at all like him.
That Bastard hadn’t wanted to take care of me. He had wanted to break me. He had taken pleasure from my pain and found joy in violating my unwilling body.
My fingers found the reassuring coolness of the tourmaline gem that hung around my neck. Master had only ever tried to ensure my well-being. His rules and commands were all meant for my own benefit, not his own pleasure. I thought of his proud smiles, his words of praise as I reclaimed myself little by little. He had found his pleasure in helping me, in guiding me. As a true Master should.
A true Master.
I had wanted a Master, once. After years of secretly yearning, I had boldly pursued my desires.
My gaze fell back on the chain that was pooled on the bed beside me. Hesitantly, I brushed my fingertips over it. Once, this sight would have made lust stir within me.
“You want to be beaten, whore. I’ve seen how much you enjoy it. This is your fantasy. That’s why I chose you.”
I flinched at the memory of that Bastard’s hated voice, the sick light in his eyes. He had taken me precisely because I had once enjoyed BDSM.
BDSM. Bondage and Discipline; Domination and Submission; Sadism and Masochism.
I had only just begun to explore that world that I had secretly longed to experience when he had abducted me. He turned my desires against me, twisting them and tainting them. One by one, he had robbed me of all of the dark pleasures I had once craved, chipping away at the foundations of my very self as he destroyed them.
