Secret Submission (21 page)

“I like you like this, slave,” he told her. “Helpless. Unable to talk to me, unable to move…unable to come.” His hand continued to caress her. “My pet. To do my will; to come on my command.” He brushed a stray hair out of her face. “You can’t come at the moment, because I have not given you permission, you know that, don’t you?”

She didn’t know any such thing. What did he mean? She couldn’t come because she couldn’t get the friction she needed.

“It’s true. You have given yourself to me, submitted your will to mine, even if your conscious mind has not yet admitted it. Would you like proof?”

She nodded—and thought maybe he was thinking a little too highly of himself. Her submission was strictly voluntary. He got only as much as she was willing to give.

“You feel you cannot come, but in truth, you have not come because I have not given you permission. You are a good slave, and you wait for me to allow it. I can prove it.” He held her eyes, his hands no longer touching her. “Come, slave. Come for me now.”

Her body executed his command with a vengeance. In spite of what her mind told her, in spite of what she thought, her body acted on its own and fulfilled his order. An explosion ripped through her and she screamed into the gag. Wave after wave of tension built and released, making her body dance on the floor. Gasping for breath, breath she could not have because of the corset and gag, she gave her body to her climax, relaxing into it.

After an eternity, a moment, she slowed and her body lay still. He leaned down, his mouth next to her ear. “Come again, slave. Come because your master wishes it.”

And she did. Her body writhed with her climax and tears streamed down her face. She had never known such intensity—or such humiliation. Her body betrayed her—it was not hers any longer—it belonged to him. The orgasm passed and she lay whimpering on the floor. He leaned down to her ear again.

“Now you see your body is mine. It is my plaything and dances when I want it to. And I want it to dance again, slave. I want to see you come one more time. Come again, slave.”

And her body did. She was completely betrayed and she cried. The climax was smaller this time as her body was exhausted—as was her will. She could not fight—did not wish to. The climax ended and her body continued to shudder as she sobbed into the gag.

He smiled. She was enslaved.

* * * * *

She awoke from dreams of being captive. The dreams faded in the space of a few heartbeats, but their reality continued. She remembered her body’s betrayal and turned her face into the pillow in shame.

Only then did she realize her nudity. The bindings were gone; the corset a memory; the vibrators also gone; the belt, however, was still fixed firmly around her. She rolled over to inspect it and a chain brought her up short. Her collar was leashed to the headboard. With a bitter sigh, she fell back on the pillows and thought about what had happened.

When it came right down to it, she hadn’t minded the playing in the stores. In fact, the naughtiness of it had pushed her a long way into her arousal in the first place. She liked the feel of the corset; the binding of her body into a different shape excited her. Knowing that women had worn the things for ages past gave her a connection to them she’d never expected. They, too, had been slaves of their husbands—but her slavery was different.

Wasn’t it? Their submission to their husbands had come with the force of law; her own was voluntary—and he wasn’t even her husband. She had to smile at that. Those women would’ve been totally shocked at her behavior. And she could walk away any time she wanted. Ruefully, she pulled on her chain. Well, almost anytime. No, her servitude was in a different category than theirs had been. She ran her hands over her breasts, feeling small divots in her skin from the stays of the corset. They would fade as the day progressed, but now they reminded her of the rigidity of the garment. She would wear it again—and enjoy it.

Her hand drifted lower to finger the chastity belt. This was a garment she wasn’t sure she liked. It wasn’t so much the fact that she couldn’t touch herself as what it symbolized. It was fun at first, but the fact that it was still on her irritated her a little. And, she was surprised to discover, thrilled her a little. She weighed the two feelings as if she had a scale before her she could set them in. She was irritated because he felt he had to lord it over her; control a part of her he already controlled. And she was thrilled because he was showing her he controlled her—and could control that part of her as long as he kept the key. She grinned—okay, it didn’t make sense. Wearing it was irritating, but thrilling as well; she’d just have to accept that for now.

But then her thoughts turned darker as she finally confronted his actions in the dungeon. His actions and her reactions. There was no doubt in her mind of his absolute mastery of the situation—and of her. But how did she feel about that? And how had it changed their relationship?

Because it had. And that was the reality she had to face. There was the underlying knowledge now that she had taken an irreversible step. No matter what her conscious mind decided, no matter what she thought about a particular activity, there was always the reality that her body would submit. Always. She had crossed the line from playing at being submissive, to being a slave.

And it shamed her. If he walked in here right now and commanded her to do something, anything, she knew she would do it. No matter how demeaning, no matter how her mind rebelled, her heart and her body would submit. And he knew it.

That brought the tears back to her eyes. He knew he had broken that barrier—it was what he wanted all along. He wanted to show her the slut inside herself—the slave that wanted to serve—and he had. She had denied that part of her existed; he had known the truth and brought it out and forced her to look at it.

Phillip walked into the room to discover her tear-stained face and was surprised when her hands covered herself as he entered. She turned away from him, unable to bear the fact that he knew her deepest, darkest secret. Something was seriously wrong. Had he pushed her too far?

Concerned, he sat on the side of the bed and turned her over to face him. His thumb dried the tears on her cheek and he bent down to kiss them. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. Gently, softly, letting her know how he cared for her. Leaning on one arm, he stayed close to her, brushing her hair from her face, murmuring soft words of comfort until she could look at him. Only then did he ask the question that weighed so heavily on his heart.

“What is it, Sarah, have I hurt you?” His voice was tight. He would never forgive himself if he had damaged her in any way. In so many ways she was so strong, that he had forgotten how fragile her psyche could be.

Sniffling, she shook her head. “No, Sir. It’s just that, oh, Phillip—I cannot believe what I am, deep down inside. I mean, I’ve always known that side of me to be there, but never thought, never dreamed…I mean, I never thought I’d share it with anyone—ever. But I did, with you.” She paused to wipe her nose. “And I’m glad I did, really I am.”

Her eyes met his and Phillip saw the painful vulnerability she could no longer mask. Relief flooded his heart. With his guidance, she had peeled away all the layers of pretense that she had so carefully build up over the years and had faced the darkest parts of herself. But what made his heart sing, was that she had emerged whole and complete.

She still hiccupped and sniffled, so he gathered in his arms again, lying down beside her, his hands gently rubbing her shoulders to ease her tension.

Her breathing steadied as he caressed her; he was not some monster come to lord it over her—he was still the man she had fallen in love with. That was another reality to face. After several moments, she looked into his eyes, unsure what she would find.

The love and care she had for him reflected back at her. “I love you, Sarah,” he told her softly. And her lip trembled again. He took her into his arms and kissed her lips. “I will protect you always.”

And she knew it was true.

Chapter Eight

Exposures

The birds were singing when they awoke the next morning—the sun beaming in through the open window. Sarah sighed and stretched, no bindings held her this morning. Well, only the bindings around her heart.

Phillip, too, stretched and the two shared a look. Their coupling of the night before had been romantic and intense. He had removed her chain and the chastity belt and then made love to her as if it were their first time. All she wore was her collar and every time he looked at it, he’d grown hard and they’d made love again.

The sunlight fell on them as they gazed at each other. His hand reached out and brushed that ever-errant strand of hair from her face; she smiled at his tenderness. His fingers trailed along the curve of her cheek, down to her chin, then continued down her neck to her collar. She raised her head, giving him her vulnerability as his finger hooked the D-ring and gave a little tug.

That was all the invitation she needed to cuddle in close to him. Still basking in the afterglow of last night’s lovemaking, she ran her hands over his satiny smooth chest, absently kissing him and nuzzling her nose up under his chin. His hand stroked her dark hair and the two of them rested together, both loathe to break the spell cast by an evening of lovemaking followed by a most glorious morning.

Phillip stirred first, unlocking the slave’s collar she wore around her neck. “Come on, my lovely slave. We need to get ready for church.” He patted her rear end and slid out of the bed.

With a grin, she watched him pad across the room towards the bath. “Yes, Sir,” she assented, while snuggling under the covers again. He grinned and went to use the facilities.

Sarah basked in the warmth of the sun as the morning light fell across the bed. Was it her imagination, or did the sun actually shine brighter here than it did in her city apartment? She rolled over and closed her eyes.

Returning quietly, he whisked the covers off her in one fell swoop. “Your turn!” he announced. She shrieked and sat up, making a feeble attempt to catch the sheets before they eluded her grasp. But he was too fast for her.

“Yes, Sir,” she said again, a bit of sarcasm in her voice and a grin on her face. She made short work of her toilette and decided possession was nine-tenths, so she would take her shower first, while she was there. By the time she got back into the bedroom, the bed was made and her clothes laid out for her. He swatted her again on the rear on his way into the shower and she squealed and stuck her tongue out at him.

The clothes were the same that she’d worn to church the week before: a navy blue suit with white piping, stockings—not pantyhose—garters, and the sheer bra. She wrinkled her nose as she gazed at them. These people would think she had nothing else to wear. But then again, she hadn’t expected such an elegant gift in the first place. The designer name on the suit was evidence that this outfit had cost him a pretty penny—and she still didn’t know what he did for a living.

She was dressed and ready when he emerged from his shower. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he dressed—he favored white shirts and dark pants—they talked of small things. He finished tying his tie, and she held up his suit coat for him to slip his arms into, then stood next to him, admiring the couple she saw reflected back in the long mirror.

There remained but one small matter before they left. Silently, he took another small box off his dresser and handed it to her.

“Master, you really shouldn’t be spending so much money on me!” Mindful of the suit she was wearing, bought by his money, she opened the box. Inside was a thin leather strap. She looked at him in confusion.

“You cannot wear my collar out in public—society has not progressed that far,” he explained. “So I give you this to wear instead.” He took the box from her and removed the leather strap. “Turn around, slave,” he instructed.

She did so, lifting her hair out of his way. He placed the leather against the skin of her neck, tying it neatly in the back. The ends hung down only an inch or two and were hidden under her hair. Turning back to the mirror, she examined the choker. Nondescript, plain brown leather that wouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions. But she would know—and that was his point. She was to wear a sign of her slavery out in public.

Smiling, she slipped her arm through his and they headed out to church.

* * * * *

Phillip liked to sit about three-quarters of the way up the aisle, on the left. Acutely aware of the glances that were sent in her direction, Sarah took her seat beside him. The service began; in moments the congregation was forgotten as she lost herself in the beauty of the weekly ceremonies. Only afterward, as they greeted parishioners as the two of them made their way out did she become aware that not all the glances shot towards them were friendly ones.

He took her to a different restaurant for a more formal brunch this week. Set in buffet style, the two filled their plates and settled themselves at a cozy corner table.

“So you left some broken hearts in that church today, I see,” Sarah commented, sipping her orange juice.

He looked puzzled. “What broken hearts?”

She set the glass down. Did he really not know? “There were a few women who…well, let’s just say, I’m glad looks can’t really kill, or I’d be dead.” When he frowned, still not understanding, she put on a patient look and explained. “I think there are women in your church that had hoped to ‘catch’ you—and bringing me to church twice in two weeks has them a tad…upset.”