I hold my breath while he moves to my other nipple and treats it to the same fate. A thin chain hangs between the clamps, swaying with every breath.
Master Roman turns back to his desk and sets his hand on his mouse, his gaze on the monitor. For several long minutes, he seems to be working. I have no doubt he is doing just that. He intends for me to think, but I’m not sure what about.
I’m not sure if I’m being punished for something new or if he’s still disciplining me for yesterday afternoon. Or perhaps neither. It could be he simply wants to have me at his side wearing his clamps this morning.
The initial pain eases. I’ve worn these clamps many times. Daddy likes to torment my nipples. He knows that even after all this time, I’m still unnerved by not wearing a bra. I’m always aware of my breasts swaying, the hard tips brushing against my dresses. He likes to increase my discomfort by drawing my attention to my chest as often as possible.
Finally, he turns his chair to face me and leans back, his gaze penetrating me even though I’m focused on the floor.
“Look at me, Lucy.”
I lift my gaze, trying not to sway and make the clamps more obvious. My swollen little buds are already red and angry. In addition, my pussy is wet and needy. The urge to shift my weight is strong. I don’t move.
I’m fully aware that he expects me to talk to him this morning about my antics yesterday. I’m just not at all sure what I intend to say. Not even close. I’m in a quandary.
“I know you’ve been a bit lost for the last few weeks. I’ve been watching you.” He strokes his chin. His body language tells me he’s fully in control, but his tone is a bit off. Is he nervous?
I know I am. I just don’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
He shakes his head and blows out a breath, his hands coming to his thighs. “No reason to be sorry. You’re going through a transition. It’s expected. You graduated from college. I’m sure you’re feeling uncertain about how your days will be filled now that you won’t need to study all the time.”
I nod slowly, partly because I don’t want to move more than necessary with these clamps tormenting me and partly because I’m not sure how to respond. His brows are slightly furrowed. He’s distressed. I hate that I’m the cause. I love him so much. I’m being unreasonable.
“Talk to me, blossom. You know I always want you to talk to me. You can come to me with anything.”
I swallow. Can I? For some reason this feels huge. Life altering changes are going to occur in the coming weeks. I have choices to make. And I fear Master Roman is going to balk at my plans. It scares the living daylights out of me. I’m walking on a tightrope. Part of me thinks I should just be a good little girl and take whatever next step Daddy tells me to in life. Part of me wants to ask for more.
None of me wants to lose him.
Master Roman sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You have a safeword for times like this. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, Sir.” Marbles. Marbles will pull me right out of the role and permit me to speak to him as myself, not as his little girl. He chose marbles years ago, joking that he would never purchase them for me because he never wants to step on them on the floor. Jacks have never been permitted for the same reason. Jacks is the safeword we’ve assigned to the equivalent of red. I’ve never used it. Not once. Marbles is a way for me to call a timeout, a break, a way to step out of the role and discuss something. It’s my yellow.
I don’t want to use either safeword. Really I don’t. We’ve usually been able to negotiate without stepping out of the role. Nothing this big has happened to me in years, not since our one and only giant fight. And that fight had been so horrifying that neither marbles nor jacks were sufficient. I’d pretty much chosen fuck, and used it about a dozen times.
“You have two choices, blossom.” His voice is calm. He’s not mad. “Stay in the role and keep those clamps on your little titties until I’m satisfied you have shared whatever is bothering you or use your safeword. I’ll take the clamps off, wrap you in a blanket, and you can speak freely. The result is going to be the same. Which makes you more comfortable?”
I shudder, the chain swaying between my breasts, exasperating their plight. My titties, I remind myself. I’m twelve. The only times I have not been twelve in this house have been the moments when I’ve left for school and the moments when I return before changing into my at-home clothes.
I won’t break my role. I’m comfortable in it. I don’t even know how to be his equal anymore. I don’t want to be. Our arrangement is perfect for both of us. He’s caring and nurturing and doting and loving. And I crave all those things. They make me feel safe and loved.
I take a slow breath and meet his gaze. “I’m nervous about what happens next, now that I’ve gotten my degree.” That much is totally true.
He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees so that his face is more level with mine. “Nothing has to change, blossom. I’m so proud of you. I also know you’re determined and you like to work hard. I had thought you would work for me.”
“I’ve always worked for you,” I point out. I’ve worked fewer hours in recent years, but I’ve still helped him in his office.
“More,” he points out. “As much as you would like. Part time. Full time. Whatever makes you happy.”
What if what makes me happy would be working outside the house?
I bite my lower lip. I’ve thought about this. A lot. Working here for him in his home office means being his little at all times even when I’m working. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I’ve enjoyed the times when I’ve left this house to go to class the past few years. We struck a deal, and I left here every day as both his little and as a regular college student.
The agreement was perfect. A win-win for both of us. Master Roman knew there was no way in hell I would ever let anyone find out what I wore under my college clothes, which gave him an unnecessary comfort. Unnecessary because I would ever be interested in another man anyway. I’m in love with him. Head over heels. I’ve never even considered looking at any of the boys in my classes. And that’s what they are to me. Boys.
Master Roman is almost twice my age. He’s also twice the man of any college kid. I’m clear on that.
But now I’m not in college. I have a business degree. My peers have been interviewing and accepting jobs for months. I’ve watched them stress and fret. I’ve also seen the girls come and go in pencil skirts, blouses, and pumps. Their hair professional. Their nails done. Makeup perfect.
I’ve watched all this from the side, a tight ball of jealousy forming in the pit of my stomach. Part of me craves that transition to adulthood. What if I tell Master Roman that’s what I want?
I know in my heart he won’t like it. That’s why I’ve remained mute.
“Lucy…” His voice is stern. “Those clamps have to be hurting.”
They are, but it’s a pain I can endure. It’s grounding me.
He leans closer and thumbs my swollen nipples, making me moan. Until that moment, I’ve been marginally disassociating from my nudity and predicament. At his touch, my pussy throbs. I go from concerned to fully aroused in seconds.
Still cupping one breast, Daddy lowers his other hand to reach between my legs and drag his fingers through my folds. I’m so wet. And he knows it. He doesn’t linger. He has no interest in letting me get off. He was simply reassuring himself that I’m as greedy for his touch as always.
Without a word, he grips one nipple and removes the clamp.
I gasp, swaying forward, my lips parting at the sudden pain. Two seconds later, my other nipple is freed, and I whimper. The clamps were on long enough that removing them almost pushed me over the edge from the combination of pain and pleasure. He knows that, and he timed the removal of the clamps perfectly.
I wish he would pinch my abused nipples, anything to alleviate the throbbing. But he doesn’t. He sits back and watches me sway as I try to catch my breath. “I’m not sure wh
at to do with you today.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” For so many things. For not answering him. For not using my safeword. For not knowing what I want to say. For hurting him. Because I know he’s hurt by my inability to articulate my issues.
“I want you to stay in this age today. Five. Not because you’re in trouble. You’re not. But because I want you to take the time to think without any responsibilities. I want you to figure out a way to articulate whatever is going through that head of yours.”
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur. I’m both relieved and scared. I don’t mind being younger for him today. It will be challenging, but not any more than last night. I’m just not at all sure I’ll be better able to speak up later than I am right now.
Chapter 6
Master Roman
I watch my sweet girl where she sits in the corner of my office. She’s surrounded by toys, but her gaze is focused on the window, staring out at the back patio. I’m certain she’s seeing nothing, and that’s okay. I need her to think.
I’m freaking out a bit. I feel our ship tilting to one side. I love her with all my heart. Maybe I should have married her years ago. Maybe it would have bound her to me tighter.
But I didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t think it was right for her. As much as it hurts deep in my chest to watch her pulling away, I feared this day would come eventually. I’ve always done right by her. I’ll never regret putting her through college and helping her find her wings. If you love someone, set them free and all that shit.
How long could I have kept her if I hadn’t suggested she go to college and get her degree? Longer? Maybe. But maybe that would have backfired too and left her restless earlier.
I know what she needs. I can see it on her face. I’ve been watching her direction shift for weeks. Months. She’s strong. She’s got a business degree. Why wouldn’t she want to branch out?
My decision to lower her age last night was sudden. I’d died several deaths when she faced me and asked me if she could stay in her adult clothes for the party. It’s not that I mind how she dresses. I don’t. She looks fucking hot when she’s dressed for success in the real world. But it scares the hell out of me. I’m afraid I’m losing her a little more every day.
When she’s home and in her established role, she’s mine. She focuses on our dynamic beautifully. But every time she gets another taste of the outside world, a little piece of her slips away from me.
I’m greedy. I want her for myself. I want her to stay with me forever. I’m selfish that way. Hell, I’m forty-three years old to her twenty-five. I knew going into this relationship that I was taking a risk with my heart. Because I knew the first night I set eyes on her that I wanted her, that she would be mine, that she would be my little.
But she was young. Twenty-two. Her entire life was ahead of her. She couldn’t know her mind yet. I’ve watched her grow and change. Blossom, just like the nickname I use for her.
God, she’s strong. Even now, as she looks aimlessly out the window, sitting on a pink blanket on the floor, she’s focused. Her back is straight. Her legs are crossed like any five-year-old would sit. She lifts one hand absently to pull on the front of the pale blue costume dress she’s wearing. Elsa. I’d been waiting to give it to her for weeks. Today was the perfect day.
I know the material is probably itchy, especially the trim edging around the neckline. It’s made of tulle that runs down her arms. The bodice is hugging her tits, and then it flares out. In her current position, it’s a pile of poofy material all around her.
I smile as I watch her fidget with the front of the dress, squirming. I know her nipples have to be swollen from rubbing against the tulle.
Her tits have been a constant point of contention for three years, and nothing has changed. She’s never gotten over the fact that I don’t let her wear a bra. I love how she squirms because her breasts hang loose and her nipples rub against the front of whatever she’s wearing. I love that the tips are nearly always hard as rocks and therefore obvious to anyone on the days I dress her in thin material that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I love punishing her when she tries to adjust them. And she loves it too. I’ve shown no mercy. I’ve tormented those sweet nipples to no end with suction and clamps and ointments that make her even more aware of them. I know every time she wiggles and adjusts her clothes I’ll find her panties wet.
I lean back in my chair, wondering how long she might fiddle with the tulle that’s abrading her tits before she realizes what she’s done. It doesn’t take long. Suddenly, she flattens her hand on her chest, gasps, and jerks her gaze to me.
I’m staring at her, smiling.
Her face turns red as she realizes her offense.
I say nothing. I’ll punish her later. Mercilessly. In our bed.
Right now, I need to talk to her. If she won’t talk to me, I’m going to make a few suggestions. I’m desperate to keep a spark in her life. Perhaps if I add something new, she’ll feel a sense of purpose.
“I want you to come to the club with me.”
She gasps, staring at me. Her face is so adorably red. She’s never lost that innocence. That blush. The same thing that’s currently making her look at me with wide eyes.
I stand slowly and saunter toward her, stalking her. My fingertips are in my pockets. I circle her and lean casually against the window, between her and the world. “We need something new to focus on. I know you’ve always been reluctant to come out to other people besides my close friends and staff, but it’s time for you to give it a try.”
“Sir—”
I shake my head. “Just listen to me first. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves in one night. I’m going to take you when Surrender is closed so you can get used to the various apparatus.”
“I’ve been there before, you know. Five times. I know what’s inside.”
She’s right. Surrender is where I first set eyes on her. She came five Fridays in a row three years ago to explore her submissiveness. Not openly, of course. She wanted to know for herself. Inside.
I spotted her the first night she came, all timid and nervous and fidgeting. She took my breath away. I followed her that night from a distance, watching how she reacted to every scene while my dick grew harder and harder. I pegged her as a little immediately. Or maybe it was wishful thinking.
I definitely should have handled things differently. I’m fucking lucky she didn’t leave my ass when she found out how I manipulated her life to get her to move in with me and become the best little she could be.
I’d also kept information about her brother from her. Daven. He’d reached out to her in a letter, and I stupidly didn’t say anything. Instead, I had him investigated to make sure he was legit. This also backfired and blew up in my face when she found out.
Now I’m fighting for my life all over again.
I narrow my gaze at her. She knows better than to talk back to me.
She shudders, and I recognize the moment I’ve put her in her place without a word.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she utters softly, her shoulders falling a few inches.
“Have I ever asked you to do anything you couldn’t handle?”
“No, Sir,” she whispers, lowering her face to her lap. She picks up the hem of her dress and runs her fingers along the silk.
“You’ve left this house dozens of times as my little. You never have any issue going to Claudia’s house or to visit Julius, Beck, and Levi. The club should be no different. No one will be there. It’s time for you to let go of some of your control. I think you’ll find if you gradually put yourself out there, the world is far more accepting than you think.”
She slouches further. “Yes, Sir.”
Good. It’s a start. At least she’s not arguing with me. Half the battle this morning is to make sure she’s not so far gone from me already that she will stop obeying my commands.
I should be relieved. I’m not. I’m nervous as fuck.
Maybe I should take
her over my knee, spank her bottom, and let her orgasm. Or, maybe I should make her kneel in front of me under my desk and suck me off slowly, her legs spread wide, giving her no relief of her own.
“Sir.” The voice coming from the doorway is Evelyn’s, my cook. “Lucy’s lunch is almost ready.”
“Thank you, Evelyn. She’ll be there in a few minutes. Would you please cut her food up in small pieces and pour her a glass of milk?”
“Of course.” Evelyn slips back down the hallway, but I keep my gaze on Lucy, watching her flinch. She hates milk with a passion. I’ve insisted she drink it with breakfast every morning, but I rarely make her drink it at lunch or dinner. This will be her third meal in a row in which I force her least favorite beverage on her.
I’m grasping at air here, and I know it. Latching on to anything I can to regain control, to reestablish our dynamic by enforcing new rules. I need to know how it’s affecting her. So, I reach out a hand. “Come.”
She tips her head back, sets her smaller palm in mine, and lets me pull her to standing. Instead of letting her head for the kitchen, I lead her toward my desk. I take a seat, grab her by the waist, and set her in front of me on the desktop.
She squirms nervously.
“Clasp your hands behind you, blossom,” I instruct in a calm, commanding voice.
She does so immediately, pulling her shoulders back in the manner she’s been taught. It’s second nature to her now.
I set my hands on her thighs and press them wide.
She shivers. Perfection. Mine. My little girl.
I move my hands to her waist and run them up over her breasts, sliding my thumbs roughing across her nipples.
She arches, her bottom lip coming between her teeth.
“Are your titties sore? Is the tulle too itchy?”
“No, Sir.” She shakes her head. She knows better than to tell me yes. She learned that lesson a long time ago. The day she spent two hours standing naked in the playroom attached to my office with her sweet titties pressed against the wall. The timeout alone wasn’t out of the ordinary. The nudity wasn’t either. Nor was the length of the timeout. What made that day different was the sandpaper I forced her to hold against the wall, using only her breasts.
Leaving Roman (Surrender Book 3) Page 5
