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)
But I want to be in your dungeon. I want to be near you, loving you. I want you to love me...
“I’ll visit jewelry shops in Paris,” I promised. “I’ll go to fashion shows. I’ll keep working if you want me to work.”
“I want you to work.” He looked back at me, pinning me with his stern, blue gaze. “You can do both, be my slave and share your talents with the world. Your job,” he said, pointing his finger at me, “is to do what I think is best for you. I don’t want you to lose yourself inside me, inside my house and my life and my will. Inside my dungeon.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said dutifully, but the tears were back, because he’d just described exactly what I wanted. It was what he wanted too. He’d told me as much when he came back into my life, but he wouldn’t allow himself such selfish pleasure.
“What?” he snapped. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re angry with me. And because...”
His finger tapped on his knee. I wasn’t looking forward to the punishment later, but if I was getting it anyway, I might as well speak my mind.
“I’m crying because I think you don’t... I think you don’t really want me. You don’t want our relationship.”
I put my hands up to cover my eyes. He yanked them back down with the chain. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
“You want me to work so I’ll be able to support myself when you leave. You’re not going to stay with me.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes flashing fire. His grip tightened on the chain. “You’re mine, Chere, and I intend to keep you. But our deal was for you to maintain a creative life too, a real life with a real job.”
“I don’t want a real job. I want to belong to you—”
“You do belong to me,” he interrupted, not even allowing me to finish my plea. “Now shut the fuck up. I’m tired of your whining.” He turned over my wrists and worked the clasp to open the manacles. “You can leave at three o’clock to go home and prepare yourself. I’ll be home around six.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slipped the manacles into his pocket and tipped up my chin. “This isn’t going to be a fun night for you, starshine. When I threatened punishment, I meant punishment. I’m not happy with you.” He brushed away one of my tears. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, or that I wish you would leave. Don’t put words in my mouth or tell me what I’m going to do as far as you’re concerned, because I do what I want, and you fucking accept it. It’s very simple,” he said, pointing at his chest. “I own you. Your only job is to fucking be owned.”
Chapter Two: Punishment
I left at three, as instructed. That was really when the punishment started, because my thoughts, from that point on, were fixated on the pain I had coming to me, and the fear of what he might make me endure.
I undressed and put my clothes in the guest room, as I did every day. The guest room was the vanilla room where things like clothes and belongings were kept, because in his bedroom and his dungeon I was purely his naked, obedient slave. He said the separation was necessary, that I couldn’t be doing things like getting dressed and checking my email in his bedroom. It would make us too equal, too much like some boring, traditional couple.
God forbid we would be that.
Once I was naked, I ate a snack and drank some water. I had a long soak in the tub, preparing all the various parts of my body for use and abuse. I used to do a similar routine before I went on dates with him, when I was a high priced escort. Back then, it had been work, routine. Now it was the manic desire to please him, even when I’d displeased him.
After the bath, I got my collar from his bedside table and buckled it around my neck. It was comforting to put on the circle of soft, brown leather. It was also a reminder that I needed to trust him and stop worrying about how he was feeling and whether he would leave me. If I belonged to him, truly belonged to him, none of that mattered. His will was my will, end of story. I felt embarrassed now for my neurotic display, my tears and whining.
I definitely deserved to be punished.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d earned a punishment. He’d turned out to be a very exacting Master, with no qualms about making me cry when I broke his rules. He supplied good rough and bad rough. The quick, sexy fuck in the back room of my studio had been good rough. Punishments were bad rough, pushing me beyond boundaries, and tapping reserves of strength I didn’t know I had.