Own Me Wholly! Page 7

  "We'll see..."

  His smile is devilish and quite appreciative. On they way out he stops to take off his belt, which he has yet to buckle. He tosses it on the bed.

  "What's that for?” I ask although I am afraid I already know.

  "That's your future, baby,” he growls. “How much, how hard I give it to you tonight depends on your behavior from this moment on. But mark my words, you'll submit to it. And soon."

  "I'll flush it down the fucking toilet!” I blurt.

  He closes the door behind him.

  Could a belt really fit down a toilet?

  I look down at my clothed body. I have a certain amount of time to strip to my underwear, to present myself in a posture of sexual subjugation. After that ... it's up to him.

  How much, how hard he gives it to me.

  I am going to be hit with a belt, I think, and worst of all it's up to me. I can say dirt, and it's all over. Otherwise, then I am the sick puppy, the masochist.

  I will admit, belts on men turn me on. Symbols of power, testosterone.

  The first time I felt Thomas's belt he was wearing it. His waist was pressed against mine. The buckle was digging into my bare belly, but it was all right, I felt centered, grounded. I needed the pain. I was wearing a halter top and sweat pants. We were outside a convenience store just across from my apartment. I had been on the program all of three days. I called him from a payphone because my cell had been cut off.

  "I'm going to buy wine. Three ninety-nine a bottle. You'll never make it here in time, so don't fucking bother."

  "Where are you?” He never flinched, he was so perfectly calm.

  "University and Dean. I told you, don't fucking bother."

  He pulled up as I was leaving the store.

  "What did you fucking fly?"

  "Throw the bottle away, Caroline."

  "Go to hell."

  "Do it, Caroline, or I will."

  I hesitated and he took it from me, tossed it right in the bright green and blue trash barrel.

  "Fuck! I'm out four and change."

  He pushed a bill in my pocket. “Let's go."

  "I'm not going. I'm buying more wine."

  "No."

  It was the first time a man ever said no to me like that—not drunk or pissy or half cocked. Just ... solid ... like it wasn't going to happen. I was not going to buy wine.

  I freaked. “You're not my father."

  "I should be, because you're acting like a child."

  I was all set to go back in. That's when he pulled me close and I felt his belt, the smell of his cologne, the safe, secure, very, very masculine world he inhabited. “It's time to let go, Caroline."

  His whisper was so god damn fierce, so incredibly overpowering. It was everything all rolled into one, sex, caring ... love.

  I'd known him three days...

  You can bet you're ass I wanted to test him.

  But there was no holding up to that kind of power.

  Powerful enough to be gentle ... let me show you what that looks like.

  "It's time to stop running; you're safe, baby girl. You're safe with me. I promise; nothing will ever happen to you."

  I broke down in his arms. I sobbed, I shivered, and I apologized for every fucking thing under the sun all the way back to my second birthday when I supposedly knocked over my cake.

  "Is everything all right, Miss?” a concerned elderly gentleman wanted to know.

  I nodded, sniffling.

  I'll never forget how Thomas responded. “We are alcoholics,” he said. “I am her sponsor."

  The way he said it let me own it and not be ashamed. That combination of utter humility and complete confidence, it made me open myself. It broke down the walls.

  "Thomas, take me home?"

  I had walked so he took me in his car. I asked him inside, with so much shyness it hurt. He didn't even want to—not because he didn't desire me, he very much did, but because he was afraid for me if I should get attached to an older man.

  He didn't think it was fair. To bog me down with an older man, a married one at that. So many times I tried to tell him he only ever lifted me up.

  Now one thing I've been told I'm good at is oral sex, and that was the first thing on my mind once we were safely behind locked doors in my apartment.

  "Thomas?” my hands lightly touched his chest, my breath against his shoulder. “May I ... please you?"

  "No ... I am not here for that. Just to make sure you get to sleep."

  "Please? I need to give you something for all you've done. You've wasted I don't know how many hours on me already, buying me coffee, taking me to stupid movies and now, tonight, you finally get some peace and quiet and look at me, I pull this stunt."

  "It's not a stunt. You reached out for help when you needed it, I'm so proud of you."

  "Thomas,” my voice cracked. “Do I have to beg? I need to suck your cock. I need to kneel for you. I need to center ... on your manhood."

  He smiled. If it's possible for a man to take a blowjob to indulge a woman, he did. Not that he didn't enjoy it. My kissing, murmuring lips all over him. “Thank you, thank you ... you saved me."

  "Not me,” he was careful to say stroking my hair. “You must find your higher power."

  "I know.” What I didn't tell him is that he was it, like it or not. He was as high as I was going to get. And was that so bad? Thomas never steered me wrong, he's got so much integrity and honor, and he would see himself torn apart before he would ever do anything to hurt me.

  My breath catches.

  He did tear himself apart, didn't he?

  "Well, well,” says Brian, interrupting my little reverie. “I see the brat can behave after all."

  I look up at him, jeans, no shirt, and no shoes. Somehow I have gotten down onto my knees. My jeans are off and my shirt, too.

  Holy shit, I have followed orders...

  "Slaves generally spread their knees a bit wider, though, and arch their back."

  "I'm not your slave."

  "As long as you're in this room you are."

  "And you're a prick. In the room and out."

  This smile is a new one. It goes right to my crotch. “You know how much I'm going to enjoy beating you?"

  He's giving me butterflies and fucking with my head, too. I'm sure it's intentional. “How would you feel about a blow job instead?"

  "I'd love one—but not until your ass is hamburger."

  "Have I told you how much I don't want this?"

  "Once or twice?"

  "And you don't give a fuck, do you?"

  "Not really."

  "Can I tell you I'm scared?"

  "You should be."

  "Not very reassuring, are you?"

  "Do you want me to be?"

  "I want you to get this over with, that's what I want."

  He purses his lips. “Bring me the belt."

  My heart slams in my chest. Such an ordinary thing, a man's belt, suddenly transformed, imbued with so much power. I don't really know what this thing can do, outside of pictures on the Internet. I've masturbated to some. No one knows that, not even Thomas.

  "My father hasn't taught you much, has he?"

  A flash of anger rises as I stand there, holding out the leather strip for him, so gingerly retrieved. “What's your problem? I got it for you. Here it is."

  He tells me to bring it like a proper slave girl.

  I say no fucking way and he slaps me. It makes me hot. It makes my pussy clench. I feel the warmth on my cheek.

  Brian throws the belt back on the bed.

  Down I go to my knees. I crawl on all fours, head down. Each brush with the cheap carpeting sends jolts through me of crazy need. If this were Daddy I would just tell him I need sex and we'd stop everything. But Brian isn't his father. And I'm sure being punished for ever comparing them, aren't I?

  I remain on my knees, sliding my breasts across the mattress far enough to reach the cursed belt. This time I clench it in my teeth. Like a
proper slave girl.

  "You look good like that, Caroline.” His praise humiliates me further as I return to him, little more than a dog sent to fetch.

  Bastard ... doesn't he know I'm a kitten?

  "Drop it at my feet. And don't move."

  My hair is in front of my face; I can't see anything but carpet fibers, the belt and Brian's bare feet. I've never been so focused on a man's will in my life.

  He pets me with his hand. “I'm going to break you,” he says in a tone so soothing.

  My head is really fucked with now...

  "You know the irony? It's my father who opened this side of me. The sadist. He told me all about his interests and like I told you, I was freaked at first. It wasn't disgust though; it was something else. He was touching on feelings I already had. I never told him I liked this stuff at all. I guess I was ashamed because I don't have his gentle ways. I like it rougher. I like girls who need it rougher. I wonder if he knew that? I wonder if he told me all he did for my sake, not his?"

  The answer is yes, that's how Thomas is, but I'm not going to tell him that. Not while he is humiliating me, petting me in my underwear as some kind of bizarre foreplay for whipping.

  "Get on your belly, Caroline.” His breath is quicker, tighter. “I want to see you at my feet. Completely."

  I lower my body to the floor. I'm breathing more quickly, too. Okay, so this does feel like foreplay ... I must be as messed up as him.

  "You have a nice body,” he assesses my prostrate ass. “You keep it up well for my father."

  His every word burns me more, makes me feel the slut. My nipples are rock hard, caught inside the bra. My panties are so wet I am sure I will stain the carpet.

  "You can kiss my feet if you like."

  If I like...

  The motherfucker, what choice does he think I have?

  I tell myself I do it to appease him, to make my beating go easier, but the truth is ... I need it.

  He knows me, I think, and I hate that.

  "A girl like you shouldn't be free. A girl like you should belong,” he says as I press my lips, once, twice and then a third time.

  There is anger in his words, but it's not directed at me. I feel such a security right now, such a sense of being in place, the woman, servile, object, the man, accepting, even as his mind continues to dwell on loftier things.

  Screwed up, right? I mean what kind of self-esteem building is this? After the first time Thomas and I made love and I thanked him for like the fiftieth time he marched me into the bathroom of his bachelor pad as he called it—the condo where he lived while away from Monica and the girls.

  "Stop putting all this energy on me, put it on this woman here,” he showed me my own reflection. Go on,” he held my shoulders from behind. “Tell her you love her. You love that little girl who's been hurt so bad."

  I couldn't do it, honest to god, he had to keep at me and at me, I got so furious, I called him all kinds of names but he wouldn't relent until finally I broke apart. The admission came out in tears ... what was wrong with me, crying over such a silly exercise?

  "It isn't silly,” said Thomas. “It's the most important thing you'll do. Without this the rest of your time on the planet will be a tragic waste."

  How's that for food for thought?

  He ordered me to do it every day, morning and night, looking into the mirror, talking to the little girl.

  "Yes, Daddy,” I whispered. It was the first time I called him that.

  I blink, enough times to get back to the present. What a time traveler I am lately.

  Brian is the one I am dealing with. Brian and his little power trip.

  Our little power trip.

  "Ready to kick this up a notch, Caroline?” he lets the end of the belt dangle, along my back. I arch my spine, I release a moan. Any hope of hiding my complicity in this is gone. Still, I have to keep resisting, he has to keep raising the stakes, making me have to resist—that's the game.

  "No, I am not."

  Sure enough he squats down and goes to work. His hand taps my ass, treating it as the piece of meat it technically is, until I end this. “You are being a disobedient slave girl. I think you need to learn your place."

  His hand caresses my neck. I close my eyes. “I think I'd like to see you kiss my foot. How about you."

  "You're a sadistic prick,” I pant. “You know that?"

  "Put your lips on my shoe, Caroline."

  "No."

  He takes my panties and rips them apart in his hand, leaving nothing between his wrath and my naked flesh. “Last chance,” he says.

  "I said no...” I'm morbidly curious, I want to skate that edge.

  I see him double the belt out of the corner of my eye, his arm raises with practiced ease and I feel this bizarre jealousy because it's obvious he's done this before, a lot, and I don't want to think of Thomas’ son beating other asses and degrading other girls. Not when he's with me.

  I tell myself it's just my vanity; at least I hope it is.

  The belt lands with a crack and all of a sudden the romance of corporal punishment is gone. This hurts ... a lot.

  The safety word ... is it time?

  Thomas always had one with me, though it was not really a big thing.

  Ours varied from day to day, all kinds of silly things, inside jokes. I never used it, though, not once. We simply never made it to the edge—there was always so much room to explore within our boundaries. The only problem was he never had enough time, enough energy.

  "Brian,” I say. “Di—” The syllable hangs in the air.

  "Caroline? What are you trying to say? Are you using the word?"

  I'm testing him, making sure he won't do anything if he even thinks I might use the word. I can see he is holding back, respecting. I decide to throw myself to the wolves.

  "No, I am telling you I'm not kissing your fucking foot, that's all!"

  Brian goes to work; five hard lashes that leave me twitching. I writhe in agony as he beats me, I try so hard to get up but he holds me down, his other hand on the small of my back. I have nowhere to go, I am trapped.

  "I can do this all day,” he takes a break. “How about you?"

  He's made his point. I put my lips to his foot. His boot is dusty. I hate that he's making me play the game this way—making me humiliate myself to get any more sex. On the other hand, I am getting so hot...

  "Satisfied?” I spit.

  "Lick it."

  Me and my big mouth ... can never leave well enough alone.

  He can't leave well enough alone either, bending over and pushing two fingers down into my freely available pussy from behind.

  Pleasure courses through me, mixed with dirty shame. Licking the rug has now become a sexual act, albeit a decidedly kinky one.

  Brian yanks the panties out from underneath me as I kneel back up. He sniffs them, audibly. “Fresh and wet. Guess we haven't hit your limits yet,” he dabs at my pussy, sopping the material further, then turns me over onto my back, my ass pressing into the carpet, the contact making me moan.

  "Open wide,” he orders.

  I whimper as he makes me take my underwear for a gag. I'm scandalized at how aroused I am. This shouldn't be. I shouldn't have agreed, I shouldn't have wanted ... and I most certainly shouldn't need more of it.

  "Can you spit them out?” he wants to make sure before he continues. “To say the word."

  I nod, almost angry. I don't want to be reminded this is all fake. I just want to be dominated and controlled.

  "Crawl to the bed, then, slut. Get on all fours."

  Is he going to use me? I can't ask, I can't discuss, can't resist. Not part of this menu. I wonder if I'll get sick of it any time soon. I get up on the mattress, facing the headboard.

  I wait, I anticipate, I yearn. Reduced to one great big fucking cavity. Or is that one big cavity for fucking?

  "You better be good, cunt."

  The words, so bitter and mean and demeaning go right through me.
/>   "I have high standards."

  This is so weird, I think. Men used to do me this way and it was only ever to bring me down to their piss poor level. But this isn't like that. I'm in charge, or least I have the veto power. And Thomas is the one who made me strong enough to play like this. In uncharted territory. With his own son.

  "You don't hold back on me, understand? I want the fuck of my life. Or your night will get unpleasant in a hurry,” he says huskily, sounding like the biggest psycho from any movie I have ever seen.

  I offer up my cunt. I drop to my elbows, drooling from my saturated, ripped and soiled panties. I offer up my body, my whipped ass.

  I'd say yes, Master, but I can't say anything at all.

  He slams himself to the hilt, immediately condemning me for my wet and open state. “That was pathetically easy. You really are a whore. Let's see how you take it up the ass, instead."

  I stiffen. This isn't in the plans, not that we have any.

  Thomas hasn't even been there.

  "Don't shake your head no at me, Caroline. No isn't in your new vocabulary, is it?"

  "Is it?” He repeats, massaging my clit.

  Ffffuck.

  I moan. Cunt in heat. I move against his finger, obsequious, servile.

  "No coming. Not just yet.” He denies me.

  My cunt becomes a source of lubricant and nothing more as he scoops out what he needs for the narrower channel.

  Spit out the panties, Caroline. Call this off...

  I'm in over my head ... I'm in this bizarre place ... if I didn't feel Thomas’ presence in all this I would freak. Even so I am on the sharpest of edges.

  If only I didn't seem to like it there ... in this roller coaster kind of way.

  Brian is naked behind me, he is hard all over, his erection is already pressing into place. Time, I need more time...

  Then he does this most peculiar thing. He puts his hand on the back of my neck. “You're not alone..."

  I swear it's just a sadistic ploy, to keep softening me up for more pain, to keep me from ending his fun.

  His touch has its desired effect. I relax, I open.

  Before I can close again, I am invaded. It is slow, sweet and dream-like, born of the darkly sensuous recesses of the mind, where the little animals run free.

  "That's it,” he whispers. “Take it like the good little ass slut you are."