Page 33 of Force Me To Obey


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As I waited to be released, I sensed him close. I sensed his cool and calculated manner, and felt the fire from his eyes even though I couldn’t see them. I expected him to speak, but he maintained the brutal silence. I suppose that is only natural for him and I should have accepted the fact that I had a reticent master. Part of his reserve was what I loved, since it was so much the opposite of me. I always thought of myself as a bubbling-over brew of emotions, visions, quirky thoughts and fantasy, with an endless supply of questions traveling through my brain cells.

Unlike so many times before when I waited for my master to act, I sensed some strong emotion beneath his quiet exterior. He seemed curiously anxious. Was this the ripple in his smooth veneer that I’d noted months before? Anxiety? Reluctance? A steamy fire of passionate lust? Was all that there? Or was it just my just imagining running away in fantasy?

My shoulders shivered for the hundredth time that day, then I felt his hand reach out—hot, firm and curiously tender. I thought I would melt into a puddle of happy feelings—joy, relief, contentedness and love. How could I love him? Why would I? He’d never given me reason to take our relationship into that unstable territory. Was he, maybe, doing that now? It surprised me how much I hoped for that.

As he carefully began to remove me from the web of rope, his hands would graze my skin as if he intended to soothe me. When he stood close, I felt a deep pulse in his crotch, body heat, cock heat and more. Once I was down to the ro

py garment, removed from the window and safely back inside the privacy of that upstairs room, there was no mistaking the affection pouring out on me. He stood behind me and kissed my back with tenderness. This wasn’t an adoring kiss, but a thank you, a gesture a master would give his property for a session fittingly carried out.

“Remember what this was about, Skye,” he whispered in my ear. “I have charge of you always. I’ll give you to whomever I choose. Whether you enjoy their treatment of you is not an issue. It arouses me to see you challenged by the things you hate. Because I know that what you hate, you really love. Your eyes open to a larger world beyond your narrow vision, and I can mold you into the woman I desire you to be, the woman you are begging to become.”

Oh, yes, that was exactly what he’d done.

“Every bit of you belongs to me, Skye, every minute, hour, day, thought and feeling.”

All true.

He turned me around in his hands so I had to face him, look him in the eye and confront the reason I’d been brought here in the first place. He stood close, inches away and held me at the shoulders as a father disciplining a naughty teenager. His voice was stern, but loving. And his eyes, less critical, less cold, but still imperative. This was essential stuff he was talking about, and a twist in our relationship, I loved but was equally scared of. I understood… he wanted more of me than just a series of hot sex scenes. I wanted that too, but never counted on it happening. I never expected him to be talking to me this way. I suddenly had the urge to push him off, it scared me so.

“If you wish to remain my property, you’ll learn to be more gracious with the choices I make for you, and you’ll end your jealousy now. Your status doesn’t entitle you to make statements regarding my behavior. I own you. You serve me. I’ll take my pleasure from whatever slut I choose, whatever woman, whatever liaison, serious or inconsequential. Don’t have a problem with that because it speaks to the essential difference between you and me. I give up my liberty to no woman, especially one as trivial are you are. This is the arrangement you agreed to. Don’t think you can change it; it’s not within your rights. Remember who you are.”

Incredible as it seems, I viewed this lecture as a sign that we were closer, more entangled than ever—and in a new, deeper and more intimate way. But I did believe that was true. In my mind, it brought me closer to him and essentially gave me more power.

That is a paradox, I know, especially since he was seizing from me any last vestige of power that I was still trying to claim.

But I understood the paradox in my gut, if not my brain. Never in the months of our arrangement had he spoken to me with such attention, such intensity, and yes, such passion. Hot passion. This was coming from his loins, not his calculating mind. I swear his cock was driving him as much as my cunt had driven me every day since that first email. And this was the difference, the change. All that Preston Lockhart was—the haughty executive with the twisted sexual inclinations, with the need to control, the need to dominant, to wreak his prurient sadistic vision on a surrendering woman—was at that moment fueled by a sensuously compelling energy I’d never sensed in him before.

I knew why he spoke to me this way. He had to come down on me hard to keep the right balance between us, because there, in the midst of his very pointed comments, there quaking beneath his seemingly unshakable stolid surface—back to that ripple of vulnerability again—I saw that vulnerability shimmering like a mirage between us. He was making these statements to remind me about the difference between master and submissive, because on one level he worried that the barrier would crumble, that I’d see where he was weak, his Achilles heel, where he was empty, where he hurt, places he was unfamiliar with, behaviors that were uncomfortable. We both had a lot at stake. He was right, I’d better not toy with him. If the important barrier between us crumbled, the fantasy would vanish as so much silliness, so much foolish game-playing… and sexual thrill would go with it.

I didn’t completely understand all this while we stood eye to eye in the upper room of that vacant, half-built house—that would take time, distance and thoughtfulness. But my conclusions were confirmed, when, to my utter astonishment, Preston kissed me. His lips moved on me with such breathless tenderness that only love could pour out from me to him. I had never been so profoundly satisfied with anything as I was with that kiss.

He kissed me more, without taking me in his arms, with one hand touching my chin lightly and his other at his side. He wouldn’t siphon off the meaning with a canned romantic clench. It was merely his lips touching mine, pulling at mine a bit, tugging as I surrendered and allowed him to lead. The kiss, and those that followed, lingered like perfectly prepared food lingers with a delicious aftertaste for hours, in sensuous reminder of the feast. This was that feeds the soul. He fed my soul with those kisses, and in the process, thoroughly frightened me.

The kisses beginning to end were very Preston. Preston perfect.

When he backed off, my head was still inclined a bit, and my lips were parted with an anxious unwillingness to sever the mood. Would he ever do that again? Though I begged him silently to return, I knew he was finished. As much as I wanted those seconds to linger, if I’d devised it myself, I couldn’t have added anything to make the moment better. Some things don’t get better being bigger or more than what they are. This was one.

The remaining ropes fell silently away as Preston stripped them from me with very little effort.

“Your clothes are downstairs. Go get dressed,” he told me quietly.

I padded down the stairs, swept up in an aura I wanted to relish forever.

“Well, now, look at you,” I heard Susan’s voice cut sarcastically through my happy musings. I looked her way, as she puffed on a half-finished cigarette, as its ash fluttered in the air and settled to the floor. Hearing her voice, my insides clenched as if someone had just socked me in the solar plexus.

“Let me see your ass,” she said.

I wasn’t sure how to answer her, but being so completely witless and submissive, I let her look at the marks she’d made on my behind. Even when she asked me to bend over so she could inspect me further, I didn’t hesitate.

“I thought I told you to get dressed, Skye,” I heard Preston as he was coming down the stairs with his gear in hand.

“Sorry, sir.” I shot up and scrambled to my pile of clothes. While I hurriedly put them on, Preston spoke to Susan.

“You have places to go?” he asked her.

“I thought we could have lunch,” she locked her arm under his and looked up a little plaintively.

“Sounds good. I have to drop Skye at the office.” He looked at me. “You ready?”

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