Own Me Wholly! Page 9

  "In a different world, baby girl..."

  "Pick one,” I grinned one night, pointing to the stars as we dined together on the patio of the finest Italian restaurant in Orlando.

  "There.” His finger angles perfectly steady, pointing to a certain star. He calls it by name, I don't remember what he said, I was just watching his finger.

  Thinking naughty things about it being in my pussy.

  "Will you fly me?"

  "Yes, baby girl. Soon as the rocket is out of the shop."

  The rocket never did get through its repairs. Though he took me in his private plane a couple of times.

  There's no way to describe seeing things from the air when you're being piloted by a man like that. Your life in hands like his ... all man, powerful enough to be gentle. Oh, fuck, has he ever shown me what that looks like.

  "Take off your clothes,” he turned to me once, hundreds of feet in the air.

  "Are you fucking serious?"

  He was fucking serious.

  I stripped it all off. Socks, sneakers, t-shirt, shorts. I thought we would crash, the way he had to keep leaning over to help me. Every time he did the plane would take a small nosedive.

  "Keep your eye on the road!"

  "There is no road."

  "Well keep your eye on something."

  He ran his hand over my mound, making me moan. “I am."

  "That's not your eye, Mister."

  "I'm practicing in case I go blind. Your pussy is like Braille, you know."

  "I can just imagine what it's saying to you."

  "It's shocking, really."

  "It always did have a mind of its own."

  I end up climaxing over an orange grove. What is it with orange groves and us?

  I lick his fingers clean and beg to suck him. “Please, Daddy,” I say in my most irresistible voice. “Let your baby girl get a treat?"

  Damn if he didn't unzip. I had to start and stop a bunch of times. I could get my head in, but there wasn't much maneuvering room. Daddy never gives up, though and in the end I got my treat.

  Yummy.

  The rest of the flight he just played with me, buck naked in an airplane, running his hands over my body. That's what's so amazing. Thomas can just turn any occasion into sex. And not just the act but also the whole sensuality of being. He was born to be nude, born to fondle women.

  "How often do you think about sex?” I asked him once, intending to tease.

  "Constantly,” he said.

  He wasn't joking.

  I think maybe the best thing he's done for me is make me not feel so alone in being the little sex fiend I am.

  "You're a bigger slut than me,” I am always telling him.

  "Everyone's a slut, or should be. We're sexual animals, Caroline, it's society that tells us we shouldn't be. They shove us in a box, I think it just drives some people into awful dark places."

  We've seen dark places, both of us. My childhood was for shit and so was his. Brian thinks his Daddy wasn't there? He has no idea what Thomas had to overcome, no model, no hope of success. Written off at such a terribly young age, only to fight like hell and win all the things society values. And then what? You look inside, and you're still empty. So you try and fill the space—there's your beast.

  The alcohol. Thank god Thomas figured it out. He made his choice. Call his life now an addiction—but I think it's fucking good. I think he and I are good.

  Don't I?

  I don't have guilt. Brian's full of shit.

  So why am I leaning against the shower wall, rubbing my legs together, getting off on smelling like piss, on being treated like shit?

  Don't ask why, angel. What turns us on comes from somewhere too deep for explanations ... just surrender, find the joy...

  A shiver passes through me.

  Something very inexplicable.

  That was not my own thought.

  Someone talked through me.

  No, someone passed through me...

  Like a spirit on the move.

  A soul, leaving a body?

  I scream for Brian.

  He comes bounding in, bouncing the doorknob against the wall. “What on Earth?"

  "Thomas...” I say as he turns on the lights. “He's..."

  "He's fine,” Brian completes the sentence. “I just called. No change."

  "That's hardly fine,” I snap.

  "It's a hell of a lot better than anybody expected. Christ, you're a worrier."

  "I'm a realist,” I correct.

  "Okay, realist,” he grumbles. “Time to get cleaned up."

  He gets the keys to the handcuffs and releases my wrists.

  There isn't any talking. He rubs my wrists. Taking off his clothes he gets in the shower with me and turns on the water, shielding my body until the water is warm. He lets me stand still while he soaps up my body, getting down on one knee to clean me off. He is very gentle, washing my hair, telling me to put my head back so he can rinse it squeaky clean. He even uses conditioner.

  I am tingling all over, but he's just begun. Kneeling down on one leg, he starts to work on my pussy. “You are going to come for me, slave."

  I brace myself on my shoulders. “No, Master..."

  I feel too wrung out, but he won't take the no for an answer. He goes straight for my clitoris, his hands are on my ass holding me in place. I am helpless, I have to take the pleasure in the same way I had to take the pain and all the rest of it.

  I am reminded of Thomas, but there's a subtle difference. He has that sharper edge, I can tell it's turning him on to have me so completely at his mercy, submitting to pleasure.

  Who am I to deny? I come for him, like a good, obedient little slut.

  He turns the water off and helps me out of the shower. “Hands over your head,” he orders.

  I am not allowed to interfere as he towel dries my body. Very delicately, tantalizing my flesh. I am embarrassed because he cannot dry my pussy. He laughs, taking full credit.

  Finally he dries my hair. I have to hold my hands together behind my back. My breasts are pointed sharply towards him. He does not touch them which makes them ache all the more.

  "Good girl,” he praises although I have done nothing. “I want you to go and kneel by the desk. There's food there, but you must not touch it."

  I walk out of the bathroom, feeling like a zombie. I put my finger on the collar on my neck, wet and stiff.

  What is he doing to me?

  The smell of food brings me out of my fog. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. Forgetting his orders I sniff it out, intent on rapid fry consumption. I salivate at the sight.

  Two white bags, with burgers and fries.

  I grab the fry bag and start munching. He finds me sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "Put down the bag,” he says, his voice deadly calm. “Slave Caroline."

  I talk with a full mouth. “We can play again after."

  His voice gets my attention. “Now girl, or I will whip you until your ass is bright as that ketchup."

  Arousal grips my empty stomach. “Brian,” I wheedle. “Please."

  "Now,” he points.

  My breathing is quick, my nipples throb. I imagine him squeezing them, I fantasize about him locking me away somewhere, feeding me scraps of food, for all eternity.

  I drop the bag and then I drop myself, sliding to the floor. I crawl past him to the desk and kneel up beside it.

  His eyes stay on me, level, appraising.

  He waits until I remember posture. My pussy burns like he's whipped it as I spread my legs. He wants them wide. And wider still. At the same time, I offer him up my breasts—to tease, to play with. To fondle. To hurt.

  "See Caroline,” he smiles. “I have already begun to train you."

  I flush red. Disgraced ... and craving.

  "Does that make you feel more like a man?” I challenge.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact."

  "Figures."

  "And how does it make you feel? Being tre
ated like a dog?"

  "Like crap, how do you think?"

  "Your pussy tells a different story."

  I snap shut my glistening, dripping lips.

  "Bad girl! Thighs open!"

  I jolt in shock. My legs come back apart in sheer reflex.

  "Good girl,” he praises.

  I surge with the animal heat. The man is more than sadistic; he's turning demonic.

  And I am helping to create the monster.

  Now I have to watch him as he takes out one of the burgers and starts to eat. Two or three bites into it he sips a soda and eats some fries. Then he takes up the burger again.

  I glare. Ready to fight again. “Where the fuck is mine?"

  "That's not very polite,” he chides. “Swearing at Master."

  "I'm hungry,” I manage. “I want a burger."

  "Better, but in all fairness pets and slaves beg for food."

  He will have to work harder to get anything more out of me. “Never mind. I'm not that hungry."

  The trouble is I am. The smell of cooked meat is reminding me I haven't eaten since I don't know when. Last night, I think ... at the diner. Out of the corner of my eye I see Brian's guitar case. What if I hold it hostage in exchange for a burger?

  "Swallow your pride, girl,” he says with a full mouth. “You're obviously starving."

  Is this not the most obnoxious man on the face of the Earth?

  "May I have something to eat, oh most noble highness of the universe,” I smile sweetly.

  "Not what I had in mind,” he shakes his head. “I think you better try again. You're going to need your strength for the next session."

  "What session?” I feel the spasms in my pussy starting in. Is this another form of training?

  "The stimulation session. Time for you and the new vibrator to get good and friendly,” he grinned.

  "I don't like the sounds of that, Brian."

  "Why not? You bragged to me in the hospital what a slut you are."

  "I meant sex with you, not a toy."

  "You'll take what I give you, babe."

  "I'm not your babe."

  "You'll take what I give, slave."

  I watch him unwrap one of the other burgers from the foil. Why does it have to smell so fucking good? “Want some?” he holds it up.

  My stomach roils. “Brain, please, you know I do."

  "Then beg."

  "Fine, I'm begging."

  "Doesn't look like it."

  I move a little closer. “Please, Sir?"

  "Paws up,” he coaches. “Tongue out."

  My body is tingling all over. I do it; I demean myself just like the dog he wants me to be.

  "Good girl.” He tears off a piece of the burger and holds it out for me to take from his fingers.

  Bastard.

  I would really like to bite him, but we both know I won't.

  My breathing is shallow. Something is coming over ... it's like the feeling of being pissed on, but more so. I know what I have to do, I know it's beneath me and I shouldn't, but I will anyway. Approaching, meekly, I take the food. I use my mouth, my teeth.

  I swallow it right down. “Good girl,” he praises.

  He holds up another.

  I eat it.

  I look up at him, whimpering for more. Piece by piece, he feeds me, petting me in between, soothing me, making me actually enjoy this at some visceral level. The total simplicity, cunt wetting and satisfying of being provided for by a man strong enough to keep me on my knees.

  Is it just the unknown element here, the novelty factor or has Brian really given the S and M game a permanent new twist for me?

  One thing is sure, Thomas and I are going to have a hell of a laugh over this when he gets better.

  I watch Brian take out a package of French fries. My French fries.

  There is no question how I will respond when he holds one up. “Here, girl."

  I arch my back and lift up my lips, gently biting down on the crisp, golden potato.

  He pats my head.

  "Want another, girl?"

  I nod ... I don't dare speak, I am afraid even to breathe, I am so close to a fucking climax.

  He deigns to give me another. I swallow it down. God, I'm still famished. The package disappears in a blur. He stops several times, making me lick his fingers. I suck at them, hungrily desperately. The symbolism is clear.

  He tells me to thank him after all the fries are finally gone along with the burger.

  "Thank you,” I rasp.

  "Not like that. On your belly. At my feet."

  He wants me down on the carpet. This is the most degrading thing yet and I am going to do it. I have to. We've come too far. I have to know where he will take this, I have to see how it turns out.

  I get down on the floor and present myself at his toes. “Thank you..."

  He pushes his foot into my face. “Not like that,” he repeats.

  I suck his toes, one at a time.

  Thank you...

  "Enough.” He snaps his fingers. I get back on my knees.

  How did I know to do that exact thing?

  I must be operating on some kind of autopilot. Lord, my body is a furnace, I am so warm. Sweat covers me in a glistening sheen.

  He strokes my cheek. “Are you ready?"

  I nod yes, caught up in his energy, but it's a bluff; how could I possible be ready for what I have never experienced?

  "On the bed, on your back, ankles apart, wrists over your head. Spread them wide."

  I bite at my lower lip.

  It doesn't take a genius to know how vulnerable a position that is.

  It also doesn't take one to know that I am going into this position because I am Caroline, most stubborn sub in the world.

  The reality of all of this should scare me, but it makes me oddly peaceful, docile. “Master, may I have a little drink first?” I ask softly.

  He puts a straw to my lips, mildly surprised, I think at how eager and polite I have become. I swallow the icy cola. He doesn't hurry me.

  "Thank you, Master.” I feel his eyes hot on me as I move. I'm aroused, knowing he's turned on, knowing he wants to do things to me.

  As if he hasn't done enough already.

  I make a calculation of the number of hours off and on we have been at it today, starting with my apartment. Brian really is insatiable, I marvel. With Thomas there are long breaks in between sex, times of friendship, business, shooting the breeze over tea and coffee.

  He gives me the companionship of an older man and I know he likes to have a younger woman lust after him. I am so glad to make Thomas happy, but this is good, too.

  I hear Thomas in my ear. Just say how it makes you feel.

  Honestly? It makes me feel good as a woman to know I can be this wanted by an attractive younger man.

  Too bad he's a sex maniac.

  Then again, I've been accused of that, too.

  People in the Alcoholic community hear my story and often direct me to sex addict groups. Part of Thomas’ theory about addictions—the people who live for meetings live for nothing else and sex is a threat.

  I lay down on the bed, still wondering exactly what he has in mind. I push out my limbs like a snow angel; I bare my pussy. Again.

  Brian grasps my ankle, encircles it in a Velcro cuff.

  I pull it a little bit.

  It's secured. He does the same to the other ankle. That's when I realize he's put the restraints down, under the mattress. While I was in the bathroom, presumably.

  He has to partially climb on top of me to secure my wrists. A different kind of hunger overcomes me. I arch my back, reaching for him.

  I gasp as his teeth clamp lightly on my nose.

  I lay flat again in a hurry.

  He laughs lightly. I get a lump in my throat.

  Oh, that's Thomas ... sheer, child-like delight.

  Was he like this when he was younger? A bad boy, untempered by wisdom, by the hard knocks of life?

  I've never wi
shed to know Thomas in his youth, not like I do now. Brian has got me so curious, I am re-thinking everything.

  He goes to get the vibrator. He has the vinyl tape we bought, too.

  Skillfully, diabolically, he wraps the tape around my right thigh, attaching the vibrator to my body. Naturally he positions the top between my legs.

  He pushes it snug against my clit, checks it for looseness.

  It's good. He turns the thing on, putting me into auto fuck position.

  "We'll start on low,” he informs me.

  Some we...

  The little machine buzzes breezily. I shift into it, trying to make peace. It is there, taped in, it's going to have its way with me, but there's no reason it can't be a pleasant thing, right?

  We will see.

  Brian heads away from the bed. A wave of dread overcomes me and a loneliness I haven't felt since childhood. It's so fast and so unexpected I am literally shocked. But I can't ignore it. “Please don't leave me, Master.” There is no pretense of pride here, no attempt to cover just how completely I have been dominated and dependent.

  "I'll do anything, I'm a slut, begging ... I can't be alone. Don't even go out to smoke, Sir..."

  "Hush,” he whispers, running his hand up my leg. “I'm not going anywhere. See?” he holds up his guitar case. “I thought maybe I would play you a song or two."

  He sits down on the bed, cross-legged, next to my hip. I see his cock is hard under his jeans, pretty much his normal state, at least around me.

  The first of the orgasms hits me as he positions the guitar, lightly strumming. The sound goes through me, I am ever so much more taut than his strings.

  "I wrote this song this morning."

  I clench my fists, unclench, my hips lift.

  "Chestnut hair, green eyes, born to fight with sighs..."

  The first orgasm moves right into the second, I strive to listen. God, my tits are so swollen; I need nipple sucking, pinching.

  "Travels in a mystery, Caroline's surprise..."

  I moan ... Brian ... tell me ... you didn't ... write ... about ... me.

  "Silky hair, for fingers twirled, curves that see the light..."

  "Wrestling with the dawn and slinking into night..."

  A fucking song! He wrote me a fucking song!

  I'll show him fighting Caroline.

  But Caroline can't do very much at the moment. She's splayed open, pinned like a butterfly in someone's collection.