“I did not give you permission to dress.”
“You don’t understand. That was my cell phone alarm. If I don’t start dinner soon, my mom might come looking for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. Sam was a fully adult woman, the signs of aging clear in her naked body. Her breasts were not the sagging, loose breasts of an older woman but neither could they be mistaken for the newly budded breasts of a girl. He’d expected that she lived on her own in this small studio apartment. He hated being wrong. Being wrong meant the lash, meant pain and suffering, meant barely endurable agony.
“You live with your parents?” He tried to make his voice nonjudgmental but by her stiffening spine and raised chin, had not succeeded.
“My father is dead. I’m staying with my mother to care for her. She can’t look after herself. You have a problem with that?”
Her words kindled an eager excitement within him. She was already acting as a slave. He only needed to transfer her devotion from her mother to himself and Sam would be his completely.
Reaching out, he grasped her jaw in his hand.
“You will speak to me with proper respect and call me Master.”
Her eyes dilated and she licked her lips. He felt her jaw flex as she swallowed.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“In the future, you will ask me for permission to clothe yourself or to leave my presence.”
“Yes, Master. May I go now?”
He frowned. She was following his orders but her earlier arousal was no longer evident. He’d thought she was a submissive type 3, the kind who needed to be reassured that the man dominating her was more powerful than her in all ways, who would struggle and protest only so that he could defeat her and force her to his will. Yet if that were so, she should be growing excited at the thought of a future battle of wills.
Still, that was a puzzle he could work out later. He didn’t want to cause trouble for her by keeping her longer than necessary.
“You may go. Return tonight, after all around you are in bed for the night. And bring me a dinner.”
He released her chin and she nodded briskly, her gaze falling to the floor. “Yes, Master.”
He nodded. “Go now.”
She turned and ran from the room, snatching up her purse as she passed it. The door slammed, her shoes tapped rapidly down the wooden stairs then he heard the faint crunch and rustle of her footsteps against a shifting surface. Pebbles? Shells?
He shook his head, dismissing the question as unimportant. First he needed to determine exactly when and where he was. Then he could worry about such minor details.
There was no way to tell time in the monastery, every agony stretching out for an eternity with no artificial intervals of mealtimes or sleep breaks to interrupt their lessons. He didn’t know how many years had passed since his death, but from what he’d seen in his quick glances as the mist of mastery cleared, the world had seemed little changed.
Obviously, he’d been wrong. That glowing plastic device she’d pulled from her purse was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Considerably more time had passed than he’d first suspected.
He examined the contents of the room he’d mistaken for a studio apartment. The television was recognizably a television, although smaller and lacking a wooden cabinet to protect it. The recliner was larger and operated more smoothly but otherwise seemed much as he remembered them. He had no familiarity with the sport of fishing to judge if the rods and reels along the wall were contemporary but the books and knitting supplies seemed perfectly ordinary. Even Sam’s clothing, jeans and a T-shirt, had been a common outfit for young American women in his time.
Stalking over to the television, he studied the buttons for a moment before switching it on. He was going to keep making stupid mistakes until he understood the world in which he now found himself, and mistakes were inevitably paid for in blood and pain. It was time to start learning.
* * * * *
Sam tiptoed past the den, peeking in to check on her still-sleeping mother. Letting her breath out in a relieved sigh, she hurried into the kitchen and began preparations for dinner.
Nothing too complicated. The way her arms were still trembling, she didn’t trust herself to chop vegetables without taking off a finger. And browning meat would probably end up with the meat either burned or splattered across the stove. Basic boiled pasta was about the limit of her culinary skill tonight.
She bent down to pull the four-quart pot out from the back of the cabinet where her mother kept it and her jeans tugged against her swollen pussy. Clenching the countertop above her head, she bit her lip to stifle a moan of pleasure.
Her breasts throbbed, the nipples longing to be tweaked and pulled at Giacomo’s direction. Panting softly, she rocked her hips, flexing against the taut seam of her jeans. She was still wet and needy. She could hardly wait until tonight when she could see him again. Just knowing he was in the workshop waiting for her kept her body humming in a constant state of readiness as she boiled the pasta, heated a jar of sauce and microwaved a frozen loaf of garlic bread.
The buzz of the microwave woke her mother or perhaps the cloud of garlic-butter-scented steam released when she opened the door did it. But whatever the cause, by the time Sam had everything turned out into serving bowls and on the table, her mother was already entering the kitchen.
Falling into her Good Daughter role with ease, Sam’s body high faded beneath the weight of her responsibilities as she helped her mother sit down, filled her plate and poured her water. She expertly sliced the garlic bread in thick diagonal slices, stuffing one in her mouth before setting the basket beside her mother’s plate.
“Did you have a good time reading, dear?”
Sam colored and pointed at her mouth full of garlic bread. Saved by Emily Post.
Her mother tsked. “How many times have I told you not to put the whole slice in your mouth at once? Break it into ladylike pieces first.”
Sam grunted a noise her mother took for assent.
Dodging the landmine of how Sam had spent her afternoon, her mother launched into a detailed planning session for the next day. She had an appointment with her hair stylist at 11:45 and didn’t want to be late. After her cut, color and set, they would have lunch and if she was up to it, shop for Melinda’s youngest boy’s birthday present. She preferred shopping at the Gray Goose children’s store but the cramped, crowded store would be beyond her capability now. They’d have to drive outside of town to shop at the Toys “R” Us where the store offered electric shopping carts for their patrons.
Sam dutifully nodded her agreement and the rest of the meal was spent discussing what kind of toy Toby would enjoy the most that still met with his parents’ approval.
She cleaned up, wrapping the leftovers to be reheated for Master Giacomo while her mother rambled on about Toby’s upcoming birthday and other birthday parties of her children and grandchildren.
They retired to the den where her mother watched a prime-time drama on television while Sam knitted. As her needles slid rhythmically in and out of the growing swath of fabric, she felt her pulse and breathing steadying and stabling, her normal demeanor returning. The last of the evening’s tensions drained away, released from her body and bound into her knitting.
When the show was over, Sam helped her mother upstairs. Her mother didn’t actually need any help to climb the stairs but she felt nervous about the possibility of a fall so Sam had to walk behind her, gripping the banisters tightly so she could catch her mother in the case of a misstep.
It took another hour before her mother finished getting ready for bed, changing into one of her delicate lace peignoir sets, washing up then applying her nightly regime of creams and lotions. The pile of vitamins, supplements and prescription medications was a recent and grudging addition to the routine.
Sam finished her own routine in half the time, changing into lightweight boxer shorts in a blue and yellow monkey print and a yellow tank top with a blue monke
y appliqué. For the first time, she wished she had nightwear that made her feel delicate and ladylike like her mother instead of the cool and comfortable shorts set. What would Master Giacomo think of her clothing choices?
Sam frowned. She was doing it again, defining herself by a man’s opinion. If Master Giacomo didn’t like her nightwear, would she buy something else he liked better? Would she change her hair color or style? Take on new mannerisms he found more pleasing?
She’d done all that and more for her ex-husband. She’d allowed him to transform her into his view of the perfect wife, an extension of his will in every way until there was nothing left of her. The slightest evidence of his displeasure had been enough to send her into a crushing depression for days, because if she wasn’t his ideal wife, she was nothing.
She was never going to be that person again.
It had taken a lot of hard work to recover her identity. No matter how hot the sex with Master Giacomo was, it wasn’t worth losing herself. Nothing was.
She sighed. She’d thought she was strong enough to be able to take her pleasure from their encounters without giving in to him entirely. Apparently, she wasn’t. She’d have to tell him that she was taking back her permission for him to master her, that she’d granted it by mistake during the aftermath of passion and her good sense had since reasserted itself.
Of course it would be nice if she could tell him of her resolution after they had sex. Her skin heated at the thought of the things she’d seen in the book, things Master Giacomo might order her to do. But judging from this afternoon, when she’d been so carried away just from stroking herself while he watched, if she allowed him to master her tonight, she’d lose all resistance and be unable to tell him of her decision.
No, it would be better for everyone if she never saw him again.
She threw back the sheet and spread on her bed then clicked the ceiling fan down to its lowest setting. Her fingers closed around the chain controlling the light, ready to plunge the room into darkness and crawl into bed.
Master Giacomo had asked her to bring him dinner. He’d be waiting for her.
Sam’s heart stuttered with a familiar mix of fear and desperation. He needed her. She couldn’t disappoint him.
She gnawed on her lower lip, considering. She had to bring him dinner. She’d promised him, and if she didn’t feed him, he’d starve. There were no restaurants within walking distance and she doubted her mystical visitor could drive. She certainly wouldn’t trust him with her mother’s car!
No, she had to take his dinner out to him. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. But she didn’t have to stay for any…entertainment afterward. She’d drop off his meal, explain that they weren’t having any further contact and suit actions to words by coming home and going to bed immediately. She wouldn’t have anything to do with him after that. If she refused to acknowledge him, to feed him or help him in any way, eventually he’d have to leave.
Her mind decided, she jerked off the light then sprawled on the bed in the sluggishly moving air. She’d just lay here waiting until her mother’s light went out.
Lying in bed in the darkened room, she wondered what Master Giacomo was doing. Was he preparing some decadent and sensual surprise for her, in keeping with his admonition that he was here only for her? Or had she faded out of his consciousness as soon as she was out of his sight, not thought of again until hunger roused him?
Her former husband had been an expert at telling her what she wanted to hear, to make her believe he loved and adored her. Except love wasn’t supposed to put you through the emotional wringer that he had. It had taken a long time before she understood she needed to pay attention not just to his words but to his actions as well.
Love was not demanding, demeaning or belittling. It did not make you helpless and dependent.
She’d taken far too long to figure out the truth. But she wouldn’t forget the lesson that had cost so much to learn.
Reassured that she was not falling back into bad habits, she allowed herself to rest in the darkened room, waiting for the house to become dark and quiet. Breathing deeply and slowly, she let her mind drift, remembering her first sight of Master Giacomo.
The black leather of his pants clinging to his muscled legs like a second skin. Dew from the strange mist beading his chest, begging her to capture each drop with her tongue. His expression, at first so stern, yet when he relaxed, revealing a banked heat and a hint of humor.
Her body tightened, muscles tensing deep within her as a slow pulse began to throb between her legs.
She wouldn’t submit to him. She couldn’t. But oh, if she did…if she did…
Her breath turned shallow, her breasts tightening and tingling in rhythm with the pulse between her legs. Unbidden, she recalled an image from the book.
She imagined kneeling naked before Master Giacomo, her ankles crossed behind her and her knees spread so that the cool night air whispered across her hot pussy with a teasing touch. Her wrists were bound behind her back, tilting back her head and thrusting her breasts proudly upward.
The soft silk of his cock brushed back and forth across her lips, gently coaxing them open. Her tongue touched his firm head, swirling around his slit.
Master Giacomo groaned deep in his throat and thrust both hands into her hair, gripping her skull and holding her prisoner to his strength.
Sam whimpered, suddenly aware of the complete and total vulnerability of her position.
“Open your mouth, Sam. Open wide.”
Trembling, she obeyed. Gripping her skull tightly in his strong fingers, Master Giacomo thrust his cock past her lips, filling her mouth with hot male flesh, stroking deep into the back of her throat.
Mercilessly, he tilted her head back even farther, opening her throat so that he could push farther still. His musky thatch of hair covered her nose, filling her senses with the scent of his arousal.
He pulled back, the heavy head of his cock resting just within her lips. Sam whimpered again, swallowing frantically, trying to draw him back inside her mouth.
His fingers gently massaged her scalp.“Good girl. You want this, don’t you?”
She couldn’t speak with his cock in her mouth, could only nod her head in short, emphatic arcs. Just to make sure she got her point across, she licked the head of his cock, her tongue sweeping up and down his slit.
Master Giacomo groaned, his fingers tightening briefly.
“Yes, you want this. You want me filling you hard and deep until you’re drowning in my cum. Don’t you?”
Hot tears slid out the corners of Sam’s eyes, tracking down her cheeks to her ears. Yes. God help her, yes. That’s exactly what she wanted.
To be his toy, his tool, his plaything. To give up everything in order to create one perfect moment of bliss.
She must have nodded or whimpered or otherwise indicated her agreement because suddenly he was thrusting into her mouth hard and fast, over and over again.
Sam struggled to relax her throat and take him deep, to let herself go limp and not fight him despite her body’s natural choke response. Then she felt his rhythm pounding in her blood.
She breathed in time with his thrusts, drawing musky air through her nose as he withdrew, exhaling against his skin with his grunting surge forward. Her head spun from lack of oxygen as she breathed the same moist air she’d just exhaled.
He filled her mouth and throat, and her pussy wept with loneliness. Hot and aching, it throbbed with need.
Her breasts brushed against his thighs, the hairs on his legs teasing her budded nipples. She leaned into him, crushing her breasts against his flexing muscles.
Hot fluid ran down the inside of her spread thighs and splashed against the carpeting under her knees. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed, clenching the empty air. And still his cock strained to fill her mouth and throat, swelling thicker and longer.
There was nothing but him. His cock deep in her throat, his fingers gripping her skull, his musky thatch bury
ing her nose. He groaned again, his fingers digging painfully into her scalp.
And then he was coming, hot salty fluid shooting down her throat. She swallowed over and over again, and it wasn’t enough. Cum spilled out her open mouth, dribbling hot and sticky onto her breasts. She sucked harder, desperate not to spill any more, terrified that she might displease him. With mouth and tongue she milked his limp cock, draining the last of his seed as he groaned with pleasure.
He slipped out of her mouth and she cried at the loss. Then realized she could speak now.
“Did I please you, Master? Did I do well?”
“Oh yes, my pet. You did very well.” He chuckled softly, his fingers rubbing slow circles in her hair.“And for that, you deserve a reward.”
The steel weight was suddenly in his hand. Then he dropped to one knee and pressed the ball of the weight between her legs.
The cold steel touched her hot pussy and Sam trembled with uncontrollable need.
“Please, Master! Please! Don’t torture me!”
He laughed darkly.“Not now at any rate.”
Then he thrust the weight inside her, filling her pussy the way his cock had filled her mouth. Sam gasped, her senses completely overwhelmed, and shattered.
He sat on the floor, her trembling body cradled in his lap, and murmured soothing nonsense to her. Or maybe it wasn’t nonsense, but it was Italian, so it made no sense to her. She didn’t need to know what he was saying. All she needed to know was that she was his and she had pleased him.
Her heavy eyelids drifted open, confusing her when she saw the rotating blades of her ceiling fan in the dim light filtering through her windows. She was not in the workshop with Master Giacomo. She had fallen asleep while waiting and had the most delicious dream.
Her breasts ached slightly as if she had been pinching and twisting the nipples in her sleep. And her monkey-patterned boxer shorts were unpleasantly damp. It had been one hell of a dream.
Recalling Master Giacomo’s total possession of her, her body tightened with eagerness to turn her dream to a reality. Sighing, Sam got out of bed. Silently easing her dresser drawer open, she reached for a fresh pair of shorts then changed into them.
Life Sentence Page 5
