No one has done that-until Brian.
I pictured this so much differently, a romantic little scene, a piece of rope jewelry, given in a restaurant, the meaning entirely secret as it changes hands. Or an ankle bracelet, delicately attached by Master's hands to my bare flesh. The feeling so intense, He might as well be locking my pussy.
"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.