by Jamie Knight
The door opened automatically as we approached. Of course it did. After the secret archives, nothing really surprised me anymore.
Pulling the cover of the jacuzzi tub off one-handed, Adam lowered me into the warm, mineral enriched water. My muscles relaxed all at once.
Leaving a hand on my neck and plying a tender massage that made me hum with pleasure, Adam hit a button built into the pool to turn on the jets. I couldn’t resist. I lifted myself off the tile bench built into the wall and let myself just float, imagining myself in a void, completely relaxed and centered. My mind finally went white.
I came to on the bed. The sheets had been changed and I was laying on what felt like an Egyptian cotton towel.
I felt something thick and wet on my back, recognizing the smell of aloe. Adam lovingly worked the lotion into my skin, which was almost like a Zen experience.
I expected him to go in for another round of sex, but besides his firm and lovely working of my ass with his strong hands, he didn't. I knew that aftercare, both physical and emotional, was part of S&M, but there also seemed more to it.
I got the strong sense that Adam had feelings for me like I did for him.
But I wasn’t about to ask him as I didn’t want to ruin our wonderful physical experience by bringing complicated emotions into it.
I would just have to wait and see what happened between us as more time passed.
Chapter Eleven - Adam
The rhythm of my feet was steady as I ran along, a thumping that matched that of my heart as I tried to get my adrenaline going. The view wasn’t quite the same as at the club but was still nothing to sneeze at. Thick green forest, dropped off into a vast ocean vista.
The music was the same, however. My workout playlist was set long ago, arranged alphabetically, from Annihilator to Hammerfall. There were few things better than metal to get the body moving.
Sufficiently jacked up on brain chemicals, it was to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of us. Morgan was still snoozing softly when I vacated the bed. I thought it best to let her sleep. She’d had a big night.
I’d learned to cook from my mother, a skill she had picked up as the oldest of eight kids, expected to basically be a back-up mom to the other seven. That fact went a long way to explaining why she herself had only had one kid – me – and even that one was more or less by accident. She never seemed to regret it, though.
“It seems odd, right?” I asked the camera humming in the corner of the west wall, up near the ceiling.
The producers, up to that point, honestly thought I didn’t know about them. To the contrary, though, I knew where they all were and had already removed the ones from my bedroom and the bathroom.
“Shouldn’t my pet be cooking for me? I must say, that shows a narrow mind on the subject of S&M. It’s not your fault really. Shit media ruined it for everyone. Fact is, the job of a Dom, a real Dom, not a disguised psychopath or a poser, is to take care of their submissive. Domination requires a duty of care, part of which is making sure the sub is eating properly. In fact, regular meals, often under supervision, are often a major part of power exchange relationships.”
I paused for dramatic effect, letting my paradigm shattering words really sink into the hearts and minds of the audience. Assuming it all made it into the final cut. I had no such hope for the producers. Their hearts were made of ice and their heads were largely composed of high-grade concrete.
“You may ask yourselves when a manly man such as I learned how to cook like a French gourmet chef. If so, I can only suggest you hop back into your time machines and return to the Victorian era.”
It was a little game I thought to play. The producers claimed to want “reality” but were really only interested in the juicy stuff that would thrill the audience while also confirming their preconceived notions.
So, I would go to where I knew the cameras were live and plant what I had come to think of as ‘truth bombs.’ Little bursts of damaging facts meant to pepper the regular footage, often in hope of potentially ruining an otherwise perfectly usable bit of footage. I was curious to see what kind of collage the editors would manage to cobble together in the end.
The hand-carved plate set with food, I hoisted up off the pure marble countertop and headed back to the bedroom.
“Wow,” Morgan said, sitting up with an adorable little stretch.
“Me or the food?” I teased, laying the tray on her lap.
“Both, though that tattoo is rather eye-catching,” she said, indicating ANGER.
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t like to appear without a shirt.”
“Except with me,” she grinned.
“Well, yeah,” I said, not having considered the full implications of this.
“I feel so special.”
“Sarcasm?” I asked.
Her delivery was a bit too good.
“Nope. So, what’s the story behind that? You don’t seem very angry to me.”
“I’m not, and that’s not what it means. Are you familiar with Kenneth Anger?”
“Sure, Scorpio Rising, right?” Morgan asked.
“Exactly. Well, he is somewhat infamous for having the word LUCIFER tattooed across his chest.”
“Why?”
“Long story, but it makes sense considering who he is.”
“I like stories,” Morgan said.
“Well, Anger is known for his interest in less-than-orthodox religions. Particularly stuff that got him labeled as a rebel by the religious bugaboos of his day. So, he had the name of his supposed god tattooed across his chest as a sort of label or name tag. It went into a pretty good joke later when he would say something like, ‘I know who I am; my name is tattooed across my chest.’ When it came to my own pieces, I wanted to do something as a tribute to him.”
“Why didn’t you do LUCIFER, too?” Morgan asked in all innocence.
“Fair question. I guess it seemed too derivative and literalist. There was already one of those, and I didn’t have the background to justify the joke. So, I did something consistent with myself as well as compounding Anger’s original gesture.”
“Oh, I get it. You didn’t need to put Lucifer like he did because a new Lucifer has arisen by way of his, not your, yet- earned reputation.”
“That’s about the size of it,” I said, suitably impressed.
It was interview day. The producers insisted on regular, individual updates to show how things are going. I had seen enough reality TV to know what they were actually looking for: petty bullshit drama. And if they couldn't find any that actually existed, they would find a way to make it up.
I had thought a bit about how I would handle this. My first thought was to try and predict what they were going to ask and then only give the same pat answers, giving them nothing to manipulate. But that was far too boring. Instead, I decided to wing it, answering exactly what they asked as they asked it and possibly giving more reality than they could handle.
It sounded like a submarine. I clicked the icon to end my torment, the face of Sara, the production assistant. The scumfucks didn't even have the decency to fight their own battles. They probably knew I would go easy on her.
It felt like minutes, but the numbers on the clock disagreed. It had been relatively harmless, keeping the file of set answers in my mental archive. Some say that photographic memories don't exist, and they don't. At the most only in the reductionist sense.
Rather than seeing actual photographs in my head, it was more like a short movie, replaying what actually happened in real life to the best of my recollection. I had it tested once. According to the test, I had a 92% recall.
“Okay, I think that’s about it,” Sara said, at the end of our interview. “Could you send Morgan in, please?”
Dressed in her best and wearing her collar, my sweet little pet sat down in front of the webcam. It was supposed to be private but nuts to that. After sitting her down at the counter chair, I sank into the cool leather of the couch not seven feet away.
Right near the cord for the router. If things got rough, I would literally pull the plug.
It was all pretty straightforward stuff. She was asking Morgan how it felt to be the one chosen out of so many beautiful contestants. The emphasis on ‘beautiful,’ was no doubt written by Bateman.
They also asked how she liked it so far. My heart swelled with pride at how she handled it. I was a bit surprised when she said how much she liked the process. I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked what I did to her. Not at first, but after I went wild on her at her request, reminding me that she was entirely mine.
I was still silently thrilled at the thought. I kept repeating to myself, ‘She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine!’
“Was that okay, Master?” she asked, ending the call.
Morgan yelped as I slammed her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around my waist, the office chair still spinning behind us. I had decommissioned the camera in the office wall long before, setting it up with a closed video-loop I recorded myself when I wasn’t there.
Ripping off her panties, I unzipped my pants and shoved my throbbing cock deep into her pussy, fucking her hard as she screamed into my shoulder. Turning away from the wall, I got down on my knees, laying her on the floor, my cock still deep inside her.
Putting her legs so her ankles were against my shoulders and grabbing her wrists, holding both in one big hand, I started to pound her again, pumping my monster cock into her sweet little cunt, kissing her passionately. My tongue muffled her yelps and screams of delightful pleasure and exquisite pain as she was pummeled.
Pulling out in the nick of time, I took her face in my free hand, and forced her mouth open as I stroked my load down her throat. Morgan smiled blissfully as she swallowed down my cum, licking her lips to make sure she got it all.
“More. Please, Master.”
Taking her at her word, I flipped her over onto her belly. She yelped with delight. Holding her hands behind her back, wrists crossed in the middle, I devoured her pretty little asshole, relishing her squeals of joy.
Her ass properly prepared, I mounted her, pressing the head of my cock against her, pushing slowly in. I only went in about a quarter of my total length, seeing as we didn’t have the benefit of lube. Snugly inside her, I started to move, making her feel every inch. Morgan moaned accordingly.
When I was sure I was ready, I started going harder, working up to a good solid rhythm. Morgan squirmed and moaned beneath me.
“Yes, Master! Please. Fuck my asshole!”
I started going harder, Morgan screaming out in joy. I put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, my more traditional ball-gag not available.
It didn’t take long. Morgan’s entire small frame vibrated with an orgasm just as I got ready to unleash a relentless torrent of cum into her ass, making her raise her head from the superbly carpeted floor and human contentment.
I eased out as slowly as I could, careful not to hurt her. It was usually initial penetration and withdrawal where bad things happened. Gathering Morgan into my mighty arms, I carried her toward the warm, mineral bath.
Chapter Twelve - Morgan
It was a strange bliss. The mix of pleasure was so intense it was almost pain, and there was also pain so gentle and loving it felt like pleasure. There really was little difference between them in the grand scheme.
Adam, my master, he knew all about that. He had mastered it and was sharing that knowledge with me. I felt blessed.
The whirling came on suddenly. I sat bolt upright in the bed, wondering what the hell was going on.
“It's the blinds, pet, they're on a timer,” Adam said, not opening his eyes.
“Oh.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Slipping silently from his bed like a sleepy ninja, he moved with uncommon grace to the door, clad only in a pair of fleece pants. I somehow doubted they would want to broadcast how he looked right then. The extent of his tattoos were beyond what would fit inside the minds of most people.
Then again, that was probably the point. I admittedly hadn’t known Adam Leary for very long and yet had gotten the impression that he was the sort who was very good at following the letter of the law while still smashing the spirit to smithereens.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked, coming into the kitchen after hearing what sounded like him talking to himself.
“The producers, mostly. It is a game I like to play. I doubt they'll broadcast any of the footage of me cooking. Not only because it might well be considered boring. My mad culinary skills notwithstanding. What are you doing here?”
“You never told me to stay.”
“Good girl.”
“Where did you learn how to cook?”
“At my mother's hip. It was just the two of us, so she wanted to make sure I was properly equipped for the world. She taught me to shoot, too, but it has never really come up since. I prefer negotiations to brute violence. “
He turned to look at me then. His face doing that thing where I couldn’t read his expressions at all.
“Why aren't you wearing any clothes?”
“You didn't tell me to get dressed either.”
“Clever little fox,” he said with a half-smile.
“I am learning from the best, Master.”
“Sarcasm?” my master inquired.
“Not at all.”
“Good, otherwise I might have to spank you. “
“Spank away, Master. I won't cry.”
“After breakfast.”
Serving up two plates of delicious food that tasted like he had grown it himself, Adam went over to the table, gesturing to it with his head. I obeyed my master's wish and sat down primly, waiting for him to tell me I could eat.
“Eat,” he ordered.
A little thrill ran through me as I picked up my fork. There was something really sexy about being ordered about by a dominant man, no matter how simple the activity might be.
We ate in silence, Master not telling me I was allowed to speak. His own attention set to chewing every bite exactly thirty-seven times. It was odd yet also oddly endearing at the same the same time.
I wondered who had told him he should do that, or least who that he would actually pay any attention to. His mom maybe? He didn't strike me as the mama's boy type, but you never could tell just by looking.
When we were finished, Adam collected the plates and put them in the sink, covering them with hot water. Leaving them to soak, he came back to the table, his face unreadable. I should have seen it coming.
The first touch was gentle, a tender caress down my cheek. What I hadn't noticed was his other hand going down toward the waistband of his pants.
Twisting my braid tightly around his hand, he all but impaled my mouth on his rock-hard cock. After a moment, he loosened up a bit and I moved off, coughing and gagging. Not completely heartless, or heartless at all really, my sweet master stroked my neck as I recovered.
“That was for coming into the kitchen naked. You are mine. Body and will. No one is to see you but me. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
Stroking the back of my head, Adam gently guided me back down to his magnificent cock, letting me suck him.
“Look at me, Pet.”
Look at him, I did. My gaze locked with his as I took his massive cock as far down my throat as I could without gagging. He stroked my hair as I sucked, showing more gentleness than I ever expected the kink to hold. It was abundantly clear I had been grossly misinformed.
Adam started to tense so I slowed down but I refused to stop, wanting to keep his warm, comforting cock in my mouth for as long as I possibly could. Inevitably, he came, filling my eager mouth with his sweet cum and I swallowed it all down like a good pet.
“I believe you were promised a spanking.”
“I thought you were kidding, Master.”
“I never jest about such things. Bend over.”
I was trembling with excitement. Bent over the massive table, the cool, posited wood under my naked body, I was vulnerable to anything my master wanted to do to me. I was ready. I just hoped it wouldn't hurt too badly.
The first strike echoed through the dining room. I rose up onto the balls of my feet, biting my bottom lip to keep from screaming. It hurt, but not in a bad way. I also wasn't looking forward to another like that.
Hard and sharp, he used his fingers and struck in a downward motion. My ass was still stinging when the second strike came. It was considerably lighter and in a cupped upward stroke. It felt like a relief after the first. Adam continued like this, incorporating his other hand to gently work my pussy until I came, shaking and moaning softly.
Pulling me into a standing position, Adam scooped me up into his strong arms and carried me to the bedroom, making me feel like a princess.
I had expected another event like the one I had gotten after the online interviews, but no such thing came to pass. My loving master had other things on his mind at that moment.
Dressing me in clothes that seemed surprisingly rugged, Adam himself dressed in a similar manner. He took my hand and led me out to the back door of the building and toward the tree line.
“There aren't any cameras are there, hung from branches or whatever?” I asked him.
“I haven’t seen any. I steeped the area pretty well and I didn't find any. If there were any cunningly hung so I couldn't find them, they would have been destroyed by the owls or woodpeckers.”
“There are birds?”
“I was surprised, too. Near as I could figure, the ancestors of the current generation were here before the island was formed and just kept on keeping on. Also, we aren't that far from land. They could easily fly back and forth, using the island as a sort of home base. One of the things I have in common with them.”
“You live on the island all the time?”
