Be Careful What You Wish For (23 page)

In time she lost track of who she was, who she had been. Thoughts burst like bubbles in her head, allowing only raw, aching, throbbing emotion to seep in and through her, reaching and fulfilling that aching need deep down inside her soul.

 

Much later it was Dream Catcher and Shadow who took her down, caressing her gently, and carried her between them to her Chamber. They lay beside her on the bed, cradling her to them, cuddling close so that when she woke she would know them and feel reassured that they were there for her; for always, finally living the dream, committing themselves to her in controlling love.

Finally she was at that place where she had always yearned to be; free to be the person she had always wanted to be, held lovingly in the hands of her true Masters.

And in a room not so far away Grand Master knew he wanted her for his own.

 

A whirl of activity followed in the aftermath of the Ceremony. Dream Catcher's time was taken up with preparing for his trip to the mainland. He talked on the telephone for hours at a time, behind closed doors, restricting access to information. And when he did emerge from his study it was to spend time with Pandora or with Grand Master and his other guests.

Grand Master and a couple of others had stayed on. It seemed they were to help Richard with a helicopter trip from the island to the mainland on their way back. They were just waiting until Richard was ready and preparations done. But that only doubled his work, Shadow grumbled to himself irritably. He'd been asking Richard for some time to bring staff in for special occasions, but his suggestion had fallen on deaf ears. Now Richard had admonished him about being careless with everyday tasks, which meant he was overloaded with jobs and still more besides.

It hadn't been this way in all the years of their relationship, and Shadow didn't understand what was happening now. He'd become a pressure cooker ready to explode, resentment was growing, and it even alarmed him at just how malicious he felt towards the man he had been proud to call his colleague and friend.

He also had an unnerving suspicion he was being ousted. Nothing had been said directly, but everything about Richard's manner reinforced this fear, and his instincts had rarely been wrong.

This was his home, or at least it had been for a good many years. They had enjoyed a lavish lifestyle together, had a plethora of friends both home and abroad, and then Richard had brought their long-held dream into reality by bringing Pandora to the island. But it was he who had moulded and shaped and taught her what she knew, and now the man he had thought of as his friend was about to snatch it all away.

He had already been instructed that, in Richard's absence, he was expected to look after Pandora but to leave her alone. These were his express instructions, told him in a stern and forthright manner. It wasn't something which could be negotiated. The good times were over, that was for sure. Was he really expected to leave and to create a life elsewhere?

He was being abandoned, rejected, dumped, a tool that had outgrown its usefulness, and it simply wasn't good enough. It wasn't going to happen and he wasn't going to being treated this way. He had to find a way to take control, and he was running out of time.

He'd been in a similar position before, years ago, when his wife Sheila was threatening to disclose his activities. It was she and Beth who had first wanted to explore their darker fantasies, but even so she knew, from the first night they'd slept together, she knew the way he was when she unexpectedly discovered his secret. Caught in the throes of sexual torment he had spanked her bottom. She appeared to enjoy it, and later, when he used a paddle on her, much to his delight she orgasmed. And then when he pressed a crop into her hand, urgently needing to feel the same, it both shocked and excited her. They led a kinky lifestyle which became more and more outlandish. She'd been willing to experiment, to be led. They had involved Richard and Beth in visits to country playhouses, and only later did she rebel. Perhaps she had reached her own limits and felt intimidated. Perhaps she was frightened because his needs were growing, becoming more and more bizarre, pushing the barriers, wanting to experience beyond.

Whatever the reason, it all reached a head one evening. He had heard about knife and needle play. The idea of it excited him, especially as he could fantasise about it during his work as a surgeon. But Sheila freaked at the suggestion, especially as he suggested it when she was restrained and hooded. She had used the safeword, and following an evening of frustration she blurted out that she would go public if he didn't back off. It began to go downhill from that point on. It was never the same between them.

He knew she had gone to see Beth. He didn't know why they were in the car together, but did he care? How fortunate then that she had met the drunken driver whilst driving at speed, and later he'd been able to tell Richard that they were going to view another country playhouse with a newly constructed dungeon.

He laughed at the sheer madness of it all.

Already a plan was forming, spurred on by the rapid turn of events. He'd always been at his best under pressure. Richard was moving ahead at speed, and seemed willing to cut him out of his life altogether. So be it! He was asking for what would follow. He had only himself to blame.

 

It was a Thursday morning when finally Richard and his guests took their baggage to the helicopter. He'd allowed Pandora to see him off, and together with Shadow she stood like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. Tears meandered down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched into balls at her side, and she was shaking. It was easy to see the rapport between them, but then again, over past few days she had also spent time with Grand Master. And he too, it seemed, had his own agenda. Even Richard was taken off guard when he saw the way he held her, whispering into her ear. He had been too busy to notice the number of hours they'd spent cosseted in her rooms, and the keen interest Grand Master had taken in her since the Ceremony.

‘How long will he be gone?' The words fell between sobs from her lips as she stood beside Shadow. He smiled knowingly.

‘Oh, Dream Catcher has much more pressing matters to think about than you and I. He has a lot on his mind right now. He'll be away awhile.'

A fresh outburst of crying was drowned by the noise of the helicopter rising from the ground. He placed an arm around her shoulders to appease both Grand Master and Dream Catcher, who were watching them from the hovering aircraft, but inwardly he knew his feelings even towards her had changed. Events had made it so. It surprised him how, in such a short time, everything had turned topsy-turvy. Not so long ago he had felt on top of the world.

‘Go and amuse yourself in your rooms. I have things to do.'

With those few words he left her, knowing she was disappointed, needing him for comfort and strength. She would feel the absence of Dream Catcher keenly. She would crave company he just couldn't give. He didn't want to, at least not yet awhile. His urge would rise eventually, aching to be satisfied, and then he was going to have some fun.

 

 

It hung on a whisper.

Eyes tight shut; hoping, needing, aching, craving, but not knowing! That is what held her. It focused both her body and her mind.

The blackness excited, aroused, strengthened, but then scared her, clearing all patterns of thought, concentrating only on what might be, what might come, and from where...

Pain, pleasure, or pleasure, pain; she didn't know what to expect first or what might follow after. And despite her reservations something held her, like the graphic details in a book which tore the heart and repulsed and sickened in the reading of it, yet at the same time gripped and held the imagination, baiting, making the reader squirm and yet hold right on in there until the bitter end.

When finally it came the attack was so violent, so savage it shocked her beyond reason, gripping tight her senses, leaving them reeling, completely overwhelmed. Yet in truth she was aroused beyond measure, excited far beyond any point in her life.

And that worried her deeply.

At first he stroked, caressed, fondled, kissed. It made her cry with the sheer gentleness and softness of his touch. She was being lulled into a false sense of security and, snuggling in, she laid her head on his shoulder feeling protected, warm, seeking that place of solace and peace in his embrace. He'd handled her with care, knowing she was special, needing to feel wanted, loved, missing Richard so very much. She was so vulnerable, so needy, so hurt. She didn't really know what she wanted at all. Yet hidden deep within the surface in a place she didn't yet know, there was a very real part of her that sought pain, and with it the release that came after.

And he knew. He knew by the way she reacted. He pulled and twisted, squeezing nipples hard. She didn't pull away or scream or try to stop his advances. She didn't slap him or brazenly argue the toss as another might have done, for she accepted she had no choice. Her back arched, her neck stretched taut, her body accepting and so open... there for the taking.

A moan slipped from her lips, caught somewhere in the space between them. Eyes closed, lips parted, and like floodgates opening, her legs automatically separated to receive him. He couldn't disappoint. Not now. Not for one so willing. She was almost leading him on, almost taking control. It was her need. Always it was her stupid aching pathetic need that led her into such a situation as this, leaving her vulnerable, totally unable to say ‘no', to stop it even had she wanted to.

Did that make submission a weakness? Or was it a strength; a strength because she was able to give so completely where others held back, keeping a part of themselves secret?

In some remote part of her she remembered the question posed by Grand Master. But whatever the answer the need betrayed her, it was always the way, leaving her begging, aching for him to take her, for her to be saved from herself.

He plunged one, two, three fingers into the juices flowing from her cunt. So wet, so achingly needy. Her clit was already swollen, the pulse pumped against his hand; take me... take me... take me it sang, in words that had become their song.

Her body was speaking to him. They both knew it. He had her right there in the palm of his hand. She was his. He could do whatever he pleased. She would obey without question.

But then suddenly he withdrew. She recoiled, hurt by his rejection, stunned and confused he wasn't going to take things further. He could read her mind so well. Her thoughts crisscrossed like balls of different coloured wools. Wasn't she good enough? Was there something wrong... with her, not with him? Why was he pulling away? Why did he not take what she was offering, that which already belonged to him?

A silent scream trembled its way to the surface. Her body was shaking, out of control. She wanted so desperately to be held, to be special, to feel woman, to be loved, just to know she could be loved for who and what she was.

Unwilling to break the connection, believing somehow she was reading the message wrong, she again laid her head trustingly on his shoulder. She sneaked a hand down his trousers to explore the bulge, unzipping, clasping, holding firm, pumping up and down, up and down, her head moving, mouth open, tongue reaching to lick the tip of his cock, to slide it willingly into her... accepting... wanting... needing to give... to please...

He cut her off mid-flow. She tried to regain access but he zipped it away, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back to his shoulder. Again that lost look of an abandoned child needing desperately to be nurtured, shaped, moulded - to be taken in love. She deserved so much better, better than he could give, and yet...

She didn't know. She didn't understand. A part of her past was in her now. She'd brought it with her; the pain alongside the pleasure she craved so much. Pain was also a vital part of her need. Someone such as he offered the right combination. He could use it wisely and well. He knew her better than she did herself. He understood. He had the experience also, the same awful abusive past, and because he knew and understood and shared the experience he could take and make her rise, like a beautiful phoenix from the ashes of that past, teaching her how to let go, to be free, to become reborn. Richard couldn't do that for her. Only he had the wisdom of years, because it was something he had to do for himself; to learn to take control. Some people called him a bastard. Others knew him as a switch. He understood it as surviving, clawing back what had been taken from him.

He left her then and her thoughts played havoc, teasing, taunting, just as he hoped they would. Sometimes the abstinence of action was far better than anything he could do himself.

He returned in the early hours of the morning and her mood was very different. Now she was a blank canvas waiting to be spread with a vibrant blend of colours to bring out the sensuous emotions caught in the tangled web of her mind.

Hands on her neck he pulled her to him, kissing her on that place which spiralled tingles down her spine. Her full red lips parted, opened, widened, gasping at the pleasure just that small act always brought. He penetrated with his tongue, clutching handfuls of hair to drag her head back, holding her against him. She was pliable, writhing, aching with need; the kind of need which went too deep for self-pleasure, needing another to coax it, drawing it from that place where it had lain hidden for too long... out of reach, out of touch... waiting on the one who knew.