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"Still trying to control the situation. " He propped his hip against one of the chairs, crossing his arms across his chest to consider her. Marguerite could not think of a response because it was obvious that was what she was trying to do. But she wasn't a submissive, damn it.
"Just like the annual physical, hmm? Have the doctor get on with it while you pretend you're anywhere else, waiting for the metal probes to finish their routine of humiliation. "
He was tossing her analogy back at her and she forced herself to remain calm, steady. "Tyler, I've read - "
"No. You haven't. Not closely enough. Pull out the requirements. I'm sure you're carrying them on you. Or have you committed it to memory?" Thinning her lips at his sardonic tone, she removed it from the pocket of her slacks and handed it over.
"Restraints, exhibitionism, interactive play with other subs and Doms and several other categories I'm supposed to inflict on you or go over with you if you ever intend to do them at The Zone. Mummification, sensory deprivation, pain, et cetera ad nauseum.
But then there's this paragraph beneath that laundry list. I'm sure you read it, reread it, hoped I wouldn't care enough to notice it. "
"Tyler - "
"Be quiet. "
She stiffened at his sharp tone. He guided her firmly to one chair, holding it out for her. When she sat, he put the paper down in front of her. "Read the last paragraph. Out loud. "
"The Master must be satisfied that the mentored Dom or Domme understands the psychological issues during submission as a part of these components. That's fine print," she muttered. She saw him press his lips together against a smile and wanted to slap him. "I know submissives as well as you do. "
"No, I don't think you do. Not from this side of it. " He uncurled her fingers from the paper, made it drop to the floor. "Let. Go. Of. Control. In order to take control, someone else has to relinquish it. Willingly. For you, being a Mistress is breathing.
Unconscious, unthinking effort. You don't think about the why of what you're doing, you just do it. Your rational brain isn't part of the process. "
"Is that an insult?"
"Not at all. " He looked surprised that she would think so. "There are many spiritual paths that spend a great deal of time teaching their acolytes to do what you do so naturally without analytical thought at all. " Analytical was not the word she'd choose for the way he was making her feel, or the thoughts that were running through her head.
He crouched, staring steadily at her, no smile now on his lips, no mercy in his gaze.
"I'll say this one more time. I will be gentle. I will be slow. But you don't have the reins.
You don't tell me what to do. You may ask anything you wish. But it will be up to me to decide to answer or grant your desire. You have responsibility for nothing this weekend except to serve my desires and submit to pleasure. Mine and your own. And first, we eat. "
With effort, she bit back a defensive retort. She had known all along he wouldn't let her make this session into a silly game in her head to establish distance. To him, Mistress Marguerite had been left outside the front door. But she didn't know herself in this role, which gave him all the advantages.
Trying to get her mind around it, she thought about herself with Marius, Brendan or any of her subs. Thought about the way they looked at her. For once, she dared the emotional risk of trying to see through their eyes and understand. What came to mind was Brendan, the way he'd looked to her when the pain had taken over his body.
Maybe a sub initially floundered in a sea of uncertainty but found his calm in the belief that the Master or Mistress was the anchor, the lifeboat. That he or she would throw out the float on which the sub could rest, giving them a calm space to focus their desire. Could she trust Tyler enough to do that in this controlled environment that felt anything but controlled? Could she trust anyone to do that? And why was something that was so simple and safe feeling so threatening?
"Marguerite. " He laid a hand on either side of her face. When she tried to look away, he held her fast. "You're stirred up right now. This is like using muscles you're not used to using, may have never used. For some subs what Brendan asked you to do, the branding, doesn't even seem close to edge play. " His touch dropped, closed over her wrists as she tried not to let the anxiety take her. The fact he'd picked up on her thoughts as easily as if they were written on the paper on the floor unnerved her. "For others, this - " his grip tightened, "is the edge. I understand that. I'm going to push you out of your comfort zone but only to teach you to trust me. Just trust me. That's what this whole weekend is about. "
If he wanted to beat her within an inch of her life or poke her with hot brands, that she could handle. She hadn't expected that Tyler's version of submission would include crawling into her mind. She should have expected it but perhaps she'd thought her status as a Mistress would have made that a forbidden road that any decent Master would have respected by not going past the roadblocks. Tyler seemed to be zeroing in on those areas she didn't feel should be involved.
But she couldn't help wondering if her subconscious had known the truth all along.
In fact, a desperate part of her suggested that she may have chosen him specifically because he had that capability. Maybe ultimately, despite her protestations and manipulations, it had been her choice to be here, doing this. " He rose. "Don't touch anything in front of you. Put your hands under your thighs and I want your knees apart, your feet tucked in around the outside of the chair legs.
Shoulder blades pulled back, touching the back of the chair so I can see the outline of your breasts against the moonlight outside. I want to feed you by hand while you stay in that pose. "
"I told you I'm not really hungry. "
"This isn't about nourishment, Marguerite. " He pulled the chair on the opposite side of the table closer to her and sat down. His knees were splayed so one pressed against the point of her hip along the side of the chair, the other against the point of her knee under the table. "And our current conversational topic has been exhausted. You'll need to ask permission if you want to choose another one. " Keeping her legs apart was making her pussy throb in response. The pressure of the crotch seam of her slacks made the reaction more acute. She was too aware of how close his hand was. With his forearm on the table, he had his fingers draped loosely over the edge, inches from her thigh.
"You can look out at the water if you wish. "
She immediately turned her head, realizing he hadn't commanded her to do it but given her the option, a direct acknowledgement of her weakness, her fear. She wanted to look at the beauty of the view primarily because she didn't want to look at his face.
He stroked her ear, tracing the shell and then his clever fingers were freeing her hair all the way from her braid, sending it rippling down her shoulder, along her jawline. His touch soothed her, eased the pressure on her scalp. She noticed the single orchid bloom in a vase on the table, the deep pink-purple of its delicate petals.
