by Abby Gordon
Take your shower, drying your hair if you choose. There are no clothes for you. I want to see every inch of you. When you are ready, come into the playroom where I will be waiting for you. Stay silent as you enter. Come sit on the stool next to my chair.
I will then give you your next lesson in being my submissive.
Master
Serena hugged the note to her chest. It might not go down in history as one of the top letters of love or lust, but it told her so many things about him. That he wanted her, but was more concerned about her. That he wanted to see her nude. A dark, delicious thrill shot up and down her spine—he considered her his prisoner, even if just until Sunday night. His prisoner.
"Serena Marie, you better hope your mother never finds out about this,” she told herself, climbing out of bed. “She'd probably have a heart attack or refuse to acknowledge you as her daughter.” Going to the open door where she could see a tile floor, she could just picture her mother's face. She didn't know whether to laugh or wince. She loved her mother dearly, but they had grown up in very different generations and lived in very different, if co-existing, worlds.
The enormity of what she had done, had committed to, struck her. She accepted it with all its implications. If her family ever found out, she could never go home. At work, she would be forced to resign. What little social life she had, mostly volunteering at the hospice, would also be over. Serena accepted all of it. For him. Because of him.
Her body wasn't hers anymore. As he'd said in the elevator, she was his. Completely. Whatever he wanted to do with her, she would allow. She would trust him to protect her outside the sexual domination he had over her. She had to.
"Oh, my Lord,” she breathed, catching sight of her reflection.
Her usually creamy skin was rosy from rough caresses. Her lips were puffy from his kisses and her pale green eyes glowed with sexual satisfaction. Turning around, she saw the faint prints of the paddle on her ass. Examining her wrists and ankles, she was relieved to see that the cuffs hadn't left any marks that wouldn't fade. The cushioned socks she wore for her workouts left deeper impressions.
The bathroom was supplied with products she had read about in high society magazines, and she couldn't wait to try them all. Luxuriating in the hot water that beat down on her aching muscles, she washed, shampooed, and took advantage of the shaving gel and razor. She'd shaved that morning, but the idea of Master touching stubble wasn't to be contemplated. After drying off, she rubbed rich lotion all over her body before using the blow dryer's diffuser on her hair. Wishing desperately for some cosmetics, she smoothed out her brows and pinched her cheeks to put some color in them. Lifting her chin, she headed for the playroom door.
Keith sat quietly at the window, watching the sunset. So far, he was extremely satisfied with the way things were going. He knew she had debated reaching for his mask. Her eyes were more expressive than he remembered them being in the office. Or was he just now paying attention? He shook his head. How much he'd missed with her! Time lost. Or was it thanks to. Grant's reminder that he needed to think things through thoroughly. Behind the mask, he frowned slightly. He'd never realized how much of his life had been on auto-pilot. He'd think through business deals as if he was playing a chess match. His personal life had been very different. Which was how, he admitted, Charlotte and so many others had been able to fool him.
He heard the bedroom door open and her soft footsteps as she approached him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sit on the leather footstool to his right and shift to get comfortable. After a moment, she was still, waiting for him to speak.
He reached to his left and wheeled the table around before him. He could see her nose twitch at the smells. She probably was starving, he smiled. She'd had little time to eat this morning and he'd exhausted her when she'd arrived. However, he first opened and poured the wine. Removing one dish cover, he cut the steak.
Selecting a delicate pink piece, he turned toward her and held it just before her lips. She sent him a questioning look. Clearly, whatever she'd been expecting, he had unsettled her. Good. He nodded, indicating she should take it. As he'd expected, she lifted a hand. He promptly returned it to the plate.
Her hand froze in mid-air.
With a dramatic sigh, Keith rose and went to the chest. Serena's eyes widened as she watched him open the second of four drawers.
"Come here,” he said quietly. “And turn around."
Obediently, she went to him, turning when he motioned her to. He cuffed her wrists and then fastened them behind her back.
"You seem to like being bad,” he told her.
"No,” she whispered, shaking her head.
"And telling me no,” he added.
She winced.
"What did I do?"
"You think you're too good to take food from my hand,” he replied, moving to stand in front of her. Lifting her chin with a hard grip, he shook his head. “You are my submissive, Serena. When we are in these three rooms, you are dependent on me for everything. I tell you what to do and when. I give you drink and food. You do only what I tell you to and nothing if I haven't instructed you. Is that clear?"
Wishing he had told her that hours ago, she nodded.
"Yes, Master,” she added hastily.
Not fast enough as his lips firmed in the shadow of the hood. The next thing she knew, he hauled her across the room to the spanking bench. Instead of being strapped to it, he placed her over the padded surface and secured her ankles to a bar with four straps and several hooks. Her wrists were freed and pulled to her front. She could barely breathe as she watched him fasten her to two hooks.
"Master?"
Not a word. In silence, he returned to the chest. A low cry came from her as she saw the leather strap in his hand. As she stared, he closed that drawer and opened the top one. She gasped and stared as he glanced at her. When she saw the ball gag in his other hand, she froze. Confined as she was, she shook her head. No way, no how.
"Sherlock,” she whispered, praying he would honor it.
He froze.
"Excuse me?” he frowned behind the hood. “What did you say?"
"Sherlock,” she repeated, voice trembling. “I will not let you use that on me. And no more gags in my mouth. I'm not a horse or a rabid dog.” She looked at him, stunned dismay filling her green eyes with tears. “You said you weren't looking for a sex slave and you don't do sadomasochism.” He didn't move. Biting her lower lip, she looked back at the floor. “What I read about in that book is the reason I'm here. I wanted to be with a man like the Dominant described on page eight. Not...” she swallowed back the tears that clogged her throat. “Not the cruel master described on page seven."
"Refresh my memory of the description on page eight."
With her memory, and as many times as she had read it, she was able to recite it nearly word for word. In the silence that followed, she didn't move. She strained to see his eyes beyond the mask. They were in shadow, so she couldn't tell if he was angry or not. All she could do was pray he would keep his word even if he didn't like it.
Dropping both strap and gag, he strode across the floor and released her. She felt her mouth open in shock. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to the chair. Sitting down, he held her trembling body to his chest.
"Serena, talk to me. Why did you use your safe word? You were on the bench this morning and didn't have a problem with it. Why did—"
"You're not using that thing on me,” she insisted, fists clenching his black shirt. “You will not hit me with that thing."
For a long moment, he didn't speak. One hand firmly held her head against his shoulder. Shifting slightly, she kept her eyes firmly on the length of leather snaking on the floor as if it would suddenly move on its own.
"Oh, baby,” he whispered, leaning back in the chair and cradling her against his chest. “It's all right,” he soothed her hair back off her face. “Would you believe that damn strap isn't even mine? A friend left it here months
ago.” He stroked her hair. “If you don't want the strap, then I'll keep to the paddle or my hand."
"Why are you so focused on discipline and punishing me?” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist.
"Because during the week, we're not going to be able to spend time like this,” he admitted. “Because I want to cram everything in so you won't forget me during the week."
She lifted her head and stared at him. During the week. She hadn't thought about that. During the week, he wouldn't be able to tie her to the bed and play with her the way he had, or spank her before making her suck his cock. Even if he came to her apartment, they wouldn't have more than a couple hours together.
"I understand wanting to cram everything in.,” she replied, finally relaxing against him. “I'm afraid you'll forget about me. I'm so scared I'll do something wrong and you'll decide I would be a horrible submissive. Like what I just did,” she sighed.
"No,” he said firmly, lifting her chin. “Serena, that is why a submissive has a safe word. Even a slave has the right to a safe word to end whatever is happening. We hadn't talked about punishment and I went too far."
"But you stepped back when I said my safe word, right?"
"Yes, but what if I..."
"No,” she shook her head. She tried to hide her exasperation and amusement. Was it her lot in life to be around men with perfection fixations? “You're as human as the rest of us, Master,” she smiled. “And even if you started to lose control, you got it back."
"How can you say that?” he wondered. “How can you trust me after this?"
"You honored my safe word.” For Serena, it was a no-brainer. “You didn't get mad at me for using it. You stopped everything and made sure I was safe. You took care of me.” Her hand rested on his jaw. “You put my needs first.” She could sense the tension beneath the mask. Feeling the clenched muscles, she began to understand the pressure and responsibility he put on himself as a master. Wonder and warmth filled her heart. He truly was putting her needs first. “How could I not trust you after this? Master, you took care of me."
Slowly, he nodded.
"Maybe now would be a good time to outline what you can and cannot handle,” he said quietly. He heard her stomach rumble and chuckled at her blush. “While we eat, of course."
He picked up the piece of meat that had started the trouble and pressed it to her lips. They parted and he let it tumble in. He fed her more pieces, then skewered some baked potato on the fork. At her answers to his questions, he dipped it into the sour cream and bacon pieces. She savored the bite as he ate. Handing her one of the wine glasses, he took the other and slowly relaxed.
"You've said you don't want to do threesomes with another man. I've no desire to have another woman with us. Straps are out for you. What about the gag alone?” he wondered. “You didn't object to that before."
"The gag's all right,” she said slowly. “But you gave me a hand signal asking if I was ready."
"Then before I put another gag on you, we'll work out yes and no signals,” he nodded. “Anything else?"
"This is all new to me,” she reminded him, sipping her wine. “Just let me know what you're planning, to an extent, and I'll use the words you gave me if something feels wrong."
"Sounds like a plan,” he smiled. “You like the wine?"
"Yes,” she smiled. “It's much better than what we had last night. Although, to be honest, by the second glass, none of us cared.” The smile disappeared. “Master?"
"Yes?"
"Why do men feel the need to deceive women the way Paul did Claire? I mean..."
"I'm not sure I can answer objectively,” he shook his head. “Not until you know who I am.” She looked at him expectantly. “No, Serena,” he shook his head again. “You've got to admit that part of the fascination for you is that you know me one way and this way."
"But I don't know who you are,” she added. “Claire's situation is different. Very different. Paul seduced her with the intent of getting her to join him and his partner! He got her to fall in love with him under false pretenses!"
"Had she ever met this partner? Did she like this man? What did she see them doing to make her think something is going on?"
"Think something is going on?” Serena latched onto the last part like a terrier on a bone. “She saw them!"
"She saw them having sex?” he pressed. “Are you certain that is what happened? “She actually saw them one-on-one having sex? What did she say?"
Serena frowned, nibbling on her lower lip. She reviewed what she knew and her shoulders slumped.
"Debbie told me what Claire told her,” she finally admitted.
"Debbie,” he repeated slowly, as if trying to recall who Debbie was. He seized on the chance to change the subject. “Mmm, the short brown-haired woman in Programming whose skirts are barely legal?"
"What are you doing looking at her skirts?” Serena frowned.
He chuckled behind the mask.
"Jealous, sweetheart?” He shook his head. “Don't be. Every man in the building looks at her skirts and that's exactly what she wants them to do. Problem is, no man sees anything but the skirts. Oh, and her blouses,” he added. “Didn't she have on a low-cut, practically see-through blouse yesterday?"
"Excuse me?” she frowned. “What's wrong with her blouses?"
"Nothing if you're a streetwalker,” he drawled, putting more steak in his mouth. “Don't look at me with that furious expression. I'm being honest with you. Let me guess, she complains that no one takes any of her ideas seriously and they keep sending her out for coffee and doughnuts because she's a woman, right?"
"They don't take her seriously,” Serena defended her friend vigorously. “They're stealing her ideas and passing them off as their own, and no one believed her when she lodged a complaint!"
"She lodged a complaint?” he frowned.
"Three,” Serena nodded. “Two for sexual harassment and one for her ideas. HR didn't do anything."
Holy shit! Keith froze. What the hell was HR thinking? And remembered that the HR head was a prudish fifty-something woman who had probably shredded everything Debbie had given her the second the younger woman walked out of her office. Hester would consider Debbie had received her just desserts, or that Debbie really wanted the attention and was making the rest of it up. Debbie had only been at a few meetings, but she seemed very knowledgeable and answered questions more readily than the men, including Duncan, the VP of her department.
"Who has she talked to? Did she talk to the Programming VP?"
Serena rolled her eyes.
"He's the one who made the first pass at her. He said if she wanted the promotion that Steve ended up getting, then she'd have to go to this conference and share a room with him."
"Shit,” he whispered. “Has she talked to..."
"Who else can she talk to?"
"Your boss?
Serena stared at him with such shock in her eyes that for a second Keith wondered how she saw him. Did she see him as an ogre who would tolerate sexual harassment and the theft of intellectual property? His entire company was built on ideas! If he ignored these accusations, then his company was worthless.
"You don't think he would listen?"
"I...Keith's always so busy talking with VPs and CEOs around the world,” she replied. “I mean..."
He had to choose his words carefully.
"I think you owe it to your boss to tell him what his Programming VP did to one of his people.” The next part came easier. “You certainly owe it to your friend to do what you can to protect her."
She kept nibbling her lower lip.
"You really think I should tell him?"
"Maybe not you, but Debbie. You set it up, but she needs to tell him."
"She's scared to death of Keith."
"She's what?"
Keith wasn't sure how many more revelations he could take. First, he was a terrible judge of women. Second, he had misjudged his VPs as vividly demonstrated by Mark. N
ow this. Why would a programmer be afraid of him?
"Has he threatened her? Hurt her? Insulted her?"
"No, not that I know of."
"Then why would she be afraid of your boss?"
"Because she's barely twenty-three, a junior programmer, and he's the CEO of the most innovative programming company in the world. She's...” Serena sighed. “Maybe intimidated would be a better word."
He considered that. Intimidating was much better. With competitors, it was a much better word. Debbie wasn't a competitor. She was his employee. While obviously the relationship was much different than what he was trying to form with Serena, it was still a relationship in which he was supposed to look out for those under him. It was his company. He'd been so busy focusing on the numbers that he'd lost sight of the people.
"Then go in with her,” he suggested. “Not to tell her story though."
"More for moral support?” she frowned.
"Are you afraid of him?” he asked bluntly.
"Not anymore,” she replied, sipping the wine. “He's tough, hard-working, and one of the most ethical people I've ever met."
Keith soaked in the words. That was what he liked to hear! But it sounded like she was holding something back.
"I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere."
"He is a little intimidating,” she told him. “He's brilliant in ways I can't even begin to understand.” She shook her head. “I've worked for him nearly two years and just found out that he's fluent in Japanese. A couple days ago he had a conference call with a client in Tokyo. I've been listening to language tapes for a few months. When Mr. Lee came on, I tried to say hello in Japanese. Mr. Lee laughed and said he appreciated the effort, but I'd called him a cat. Keith took over and the two of them talked so fast I lost track of the conversation.” She sighed. “I don't think he has any idea of how intimidating he is."
"Well,” he floundered a little bit. “He is the boss. I guess intimidating comes with the territory. You need to tell him what's going on."
"Not all at once,” she shook her heard. “I'm not sure he could handle it all."
