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“No, that’s not true,” I immediately objected.
He turned toward me. “Oh, cut the nonsense, Alex. There’s a conniving little cunt in you who wants to control this drama. If you learned nothing else the past few days you should have realized that.”
I looked at him with lips pursed, and eyes glaring a bit. “Well, maybe I go for control – but that’s really not what I want.”
“I’m sure we could argue this for days, but regardless, I’m handing the reigns off to you.”
What? I was dumbfounded, and waited for him to explain himself, but he didn’t.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your show. You tell me what you want, no mystery, no wondering, these are your fantasies, you’re the master.”
That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, I thought, totally baffled now. Instead of staying to clarify his intentions, he walked away and I was left alone with my future in my hands, feeling entirely unsure of what to do.
I swam for days without direction…remembering the strap on my ass, clamps on my nipples, wild orgies, cocks everywhere, pussy in my face…heat, heat flaming my flanks…arrows shooting through my pussy…my body lost to sexual lust…completely lost, no thought, no thought at all, out of control. No! No! No! I didn’t want to be in control! Damn him!
At night my dreams held me captive, one after another, the darker Alexandra in me fed pictures of perversions to my anxious mind. Over and over again, the startling images fueled my inner fire. My true desires kept knocking at the door of my mind, with me determined to keep that door firmly shut. My efforts were wasted. The desires seeped in all around me, and I knew that I needed to make them real. Time to make my ‘make believe’ happen again.
I awakened in a cold sweat from the most savage and real of my dreams. I couldn’t contain the lust any longer. It was late, past midnight, but despite the time, I bolted from bed and threw
on a t-shirt long enough to cover my ass – the barest minimum of appropriateness necessary in this debauched household. I tore down the stairs in search of Reggie, feeling quite sure that he had not gone to bed. As I expected, he was in his office at his desk, busily occupied with whatever mundane affairs his sheaf of papers symbolized.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” he looked up from his work, not at all surprised to see me.
I sighed, screwing up my courage, and entered. In the next ten minutes I told him everything.
Chapter Twenty-two
The evening began not unlike other nights when I was treated to Reggie’s mastery. This night, he seemed particularly on, as if he’d made an extra effort. He was as exquisitely dressed as I’d ever seen him, dark trousers, dress shirt, jacket, no tie. As usual his elegant style suggested the breeding and culture of a most meticulous master. And, if it were possible, his demeanor was cooler and more arrogant than I’d ever witnessed. As was also usual, his brilliant wit and charm held everyone around him captivated. His eyes sparked a little more darkly than I recall, and there was something behind his smile I’d not seen before. I couldn’t exactly define the difference, not intellectually, but there was clearly something in his confidence and intensity that had me all charged up. Perhaps just knowing that I was part of his plans for the evening made me so excited and on edge. It might well be a rough night, but I embraced the thought of that as well.
His instructions were clear, and I wore exactly what he laid out for me – a skimpy black corset dress made of glove-soft leather. It hooked in front and laced in back, and drew my breasts together, pushing them out the top so that they nearly popped free. When he came to my room to view the results – he was taking no chances this night – he took one look at me and not satisfied with what he saw, he redid the laces himself. He yanked on them hard until I could barely draw a breath.
“I can’t breathe!” I finally objected.
He didn’t see it my way. “You’re breathing now, aren’t you?”
“Barely.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry, the leather will eventually give a little.”
I had my doubts. As it was, I feared that as much as he’d pushed my flesh to the top of the corset, my nipples might be popping out any moment.
Other than the remarkable exposure of my chest and a back slit that stopped just before the bottom of my rear, the dress was plain, no ornamentation and nothing the least bit feminine about its design. It was a slut’s dress – and that was how he saw me.
I was not invited to dinner, so I waited in my room for his command to bring me to the living room where whatever theater he had in mind would begin. If he was true to his word, this scene would be something plucked from my late night confessions in the den, and could have been any one of a number of possibilities. I mulled it over, but only became more nervous as my mind spun. Trying to clear my head of its wasted imaginings, I turned on the TV and ended up watching some odd reality cooking show – absorbing enough to keep my fear in check.
In a rare move, he texted me when it was time to go downstairs, short and sweet: Twenty seconds, now. The clock was ticking and I flew out of the room and down the stairs, stopping just before I entered, collecting myself in the remaining seconds. Regardless of what fantasy he chose to enact, my role was clear to me. I would not play the sniveling, groveling slave who’d whimper and roll over like a puppy. I’d be the arrogant bitch, here to be tamed by my master. I needed a man strong enough to master me, to take me down, to assure that I would submit – so that I could find the kind of out of control bliss I longed for. A slave, never! Made to submit, yes. The very idea of being that unleashed and free had me anxious, even a bit nauseous with desire as I moved into the room.
“Alexandra.” His voice was flinty and cool. “Tell my guests who you are and why you’re here.”
“I’m told I am an arrogant bitch,” I replied, trying not to sound too bitchy. “I’m here to prove to you that I’m capable of submitting to your command.”
“But there is no humility in your behavior,” he noted.
“My apologies, sir.”
