Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
She shuddered. “No. But if you want to put it on me…”
“I trust you,” I said, frowning. “More than you trust me. But since you’ll be sleeping alone in here…”
She clasped her hands together in supplication. “Please, Master, please let me sleep in your room, even if I sleep on the floor.”
I held up a finger to silence her. “Where do you sleep when you’ve been naughty?”
Her face fell. “Alone. I sleep alone in here when I’ve been bad.”
The welling tears almost defeated my sense of purpose. Naughty slaves slept alone. It was one of our rules, and if I made her follow the rules, I had to follow the rules too. I’d sleep with her tomorrow, and things would be right again between us. The punishment would be over, penalty paid, behavior improved. That was the way things worked.
I fitted the custom-made chastity belt onto her hips and smoothed the metal plate between her legs before cinching it snugly in the back. I turned the key in the lock and reminded her that it would be on my bedside table if she needed it. Emergencies only, of course.
I ordered her into bed and hardened myself against her sad, puppy-dog eyes. Did I want to sleep beside her? Yes. Did I want to slide into bed with her and kiss her all night while I ran my fingers over the straps and links of her chastity belt? Fuck yes, but I only tucked her covers tightly around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“All right?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow’s a new day.”
She nodded, wiping away tears. Again, I considered lifting her up and carrying her into my room, but all that would prove was that I was weak, and she needed me to be strong. I got up and left, and returned to my own empty bed, and masturbated twice in a row when I could so easily have been inside her.
But sometimes, for a punishment to be effective, you had to punish yourself too.
Chapter Three: Submission
The housekeeper made breakfast during the week, served promptly at seven. I showed up to the table to find Price bent over his tablet, and a folded piece of paper tucked beside a chocolate truffle at my plate.
He looked up and studied me, and murmured “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I returned in a mostly steady voice.
A half hour ago I’d had his cock in my mouth, hard morning wood driving deep in my throat to remind me of my place, or more accurately, his ownership. Afterward he’d unlocked me from the chastity belt—that felt like ownership too—and told me to clean up and put on my clothes for work. Vera, the housekeeper, knew none of this. She only came by in the mornings to cook and straighten up, and make sure the kitchen was stocked with all of Price’s favorite foods.
God, I was tired today, and sore. My feelings seemed to mill on the surface and my nerves felt stripped. Vera bustled in from the kitchen bearing omelets, fruit, kefir, and a plate of lightly buttered toast.
Price thanked her while I reached for the piece of paper and unfolded it, and held it in my lap. His dark, bold handwriting had become my compass point, my map, and sometimes my life jacket when I thought I might drown.
The sound of you, a mournful wailing,
A million Sirens, a goddess crooning
In perfect, magnificent surrender
I looked up at him as Vera left, feeling shy. “Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
I thought the poetry he wrote was a thousand times better than the poetry he used to give me, written by someone else. His words were as powerful as his architecture and design, to me anyway. They were as powerful as the way he touched me and controlled me, and fucked me every night. I stole glances at him as he started to eat, wondering for the millionth time how I’d gotten here, how I’d ended up in this strange, fraught relationship.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Not very well. I missed you.”
I noted the slight purse of his lips. “I missed you too. Now it’s time to set a new goal.” He put down his fork, wiped his mouth with the napkin in his lap, and looked at me. “You have two weeks from the time we return from Paris to find your first client. I want you to try harder this time, so we don’t have to fucking do this again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“One client will lead to another client, which will lead to another client, and so on. It’s hard work, but I know you can do it. You’re strong.”
I loved when he called me strong. Somehow, he’d gotten it in his head that I was this scrappy little fighter, although I didn’t see that in myself. I was trying to see it, for him.