Secret Submission (9 page)

“Kneel.”

She did so, taking again the position he had taught her. Spreading her knees and clasping her hands behind her back, she knelt with a straight back, looking forward. He leaned down and took her chin in his hands, angling her head up so that their eyes met.

“I am going to push your limits today, Sarah. Know that I will not harm you and remember you can use your
safeword
if you need it. But today I intend to teach you the meaning of the words ‘obedience’ and ‘discipline.’
 
Do you understand?”

She wasn’t sure she did. She knew what the words meant—but obviously his definitions must be a little different than hers. And he’d used her name—that meant he was extremely serious. Well, she was here to be his slave—and exploring this part of her personality was certainly exciting. She nodded, accepting his words.

“Stand.”

Rising gracefully, not teetering this time, she stood before him. She was surprised when he bent down and removed her ankle cuffs, then took her arms and removed those cuffs as well.

“Then, slave, listen carefully to my instructions. You are to take your shower, then replace your cuffs. In the kitchen you will find a note listing what you are to prepare for breakfast. I will be leaving for a while—breakfast should be on the table when I return. You are not to touch yourself in any sexual way. Do you understand, slave?”

She nodded. The instructions weren’t difficult—well, except for the last one. He kissed her lightly and left. A moment later she heard the front door close and a moment after that, the car started and pulled out.

Feeling a little strange, she took her shower, cleaning herself, but not even tempted to awaken her sex. She was distracted and couldn’t figure out how she felt about his commands.

Returning to the bedroom, the cuffs lay on the bed where he’d placed them. Thoroughly dry, she picked up one for her wrist and fit it, snapping the lock shut. While such an act certainly aroused her, it was much more satisfying when he put them on her.

Jingling her cuffs, Sarah made her way to the kitchen. The note he’d spoken of was easy to find on the otherwise empty counter.

Slave,

Cook my breakfast and have it ready on the table—hot—when I return. Cook my eggs sunny side up, the two strips of bacon should be crisp and the toast light. Use the potatoes in the refrigerator for hash browns. Set the table for one.

Master

As she set about finding the pots and pans she’d need, something inside rankled her, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. Slicing the potatoes, she stopped and picked up the note and re-read it.

There it was. “Set the table for one.” That was the phrase that bothered her. She was cooking his breakfast, but was not going to be allowed to eat with him? He was treating her as someone to be ordered about—a servant! Or a slave. Her cheeks burned as the realization hit home.

Tears stung her eyes as she donned the apron and turned on the heat under the potatoes. A frown furrowed her face as she pulled one plate out of the cupboard and set it on the counter. With a lump in her throat, she set his spot at the table, and looked wistfully at the chair she usually occupied.

This was a side of slavery she’d never even considered. Submitting to him when they had sex was easy—this was not. And it was not fun. If this was what he’d had in mind, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of it.

But she’d committed to the weekend, and if the man wanted a maid/cook/cleaning lady/slut for the weekend, well, she’d do it. But she wouldn’t be back.

 
Pushing the browning potatoes to the side of the pan, she laid the strips of bacon beside them, stepping back as they splattered a bit. The bread she set in the toaster, ready to be pushed down the moment she heard his car.

He pulled in just as she had everything ready. Pushing the lever of the toaster down, she broke the eggs into a second pan to fry up quickly. He entered and she heard him in the corridor. Should she greet him? If she left the stove, the eggs might burn. She was saved from her indecision.

“Smells good, slave. I will be served now.” He sat in his favorite spot at the table. Phillip knew he was pushing her—he could tell that anger simmered just under the surface. Appearing nonchalant, he watched her fulfill his orders, his gut wrenching as he wondered if he had pressed her too far.

Sliding the eggs onto his plate, Sarah scooped out the hash browns and laid the bacon over the top. The toast popped and with a quick swipe of the knife, she buttered the two slices and set them on the side. Carefully carrying the plate, she brought it to the table, remembering at the last minute the old rule: serve from the right; take away from the left.

“Kneel by my side, slave.” Yes, there was anger in her silence, but something else warred in her eyes. Turning so that she would remain in his field of vision, he casually watched to see if she would follow his command.

Surprised and uncertain as to why he wanted her to kneel beside him, she did so, her chest out proudly and her eyes looking along the length of the table. She might not like being treated like this, but darn it, she’d take what ever he dished out. He’d see the iron side of her yet.

“Take off the apron.” With a pull on the strings, the apron came loose and Sarah folded it neatly, setting it on the chair she normally sat in.

“You may kneel at rest, slave.”

She wasn’t sure what this command meant, but she leaned back onto her heels and let her hands rest on her thighs. When he didn’t offer any further instructions, she relaxed a little. He had opened a paper he’d brought in with him and was engrossed in reading and in eating the food she’d prepared for him.

Phillip’s eyes roamed the page, but his attention was completely on the woman kneeling at his side. He had meant what he said about the obedience this morning. Modern women were not used to being treated as servants and he suspected Sarah was no different. If things worked out between them, they each would find their spaces in the Dominant and submissive roles, but for now, he intended to push her limits and find out just what she would—and would not—take. He turned the page, eating his breakfast and pretending to read as his slave knelt silently at his side.

After a bit, Sarah’s legs started to ache from kneeling for so long. She glanced up at him without moving her head, but he was still involved in the paper and seemed to have forgotten her. Briefly she thought about saying something; this wasn’t fun and she certainly wasn’t getting aroused. Before she could, her stomach rumbled—loudly.

If he heard it, he gave no sign. But after a few moments more, Phillip set his paper down and pushed his chair back. Looking down, he complimented her. “You have been very good, slave. For that, since you are hungry, you may finish what I did not eat. Clean up and do the dishes and then come to the playroom.” He rose and left the kitchen.

She stared at his retreating back.
I may eat his leftovers? Did he really say that?
Standing, she took his plate. He’d only eaten one egg and one slice of bacon. Both pieces of toast were gone and about half the hash browns. Obviously he’d not intended to eat it all and had her prepare enough for the both of them.

But the thought of eating leftovers from his plate was abhorrent to her. What was that he’d said earlier about testing her limits? Well, here was one. She’d go hungry rather than eat someone else’s leavings. She scraped the plate into the garbage. There weren’t many dishes and she did them quickly.

Remembering the apron, she returned it to its hook before going down the corridor to what he called the ‘playroom,’ but she still thought of as the dungeon. Standing in the door, trying not to glower, Sarah waited for his next instruction.

His back was to her, yet he’d heard her enter. Without turning around, he gestured to the wall where the rings hung down. It was where she’d been fastened their very first night together.

Since he didn’t speak, she decided she wouldn’t either. Almost defiantly, she walked over to the wall, turned and faced him, absently noting that there were actually three rings evenly spaced on the board fastened to the wall above her.

He was pushing her—wanting to see how far he could push before she’d rebel. His face stern, the power in him evident, he stood before her. “Raise your arms.”

A part of her ice melted at the kind look in his eyes and she did as she was told. How could he do that do her? What was there about him that made her want to submit? He took her left hand in his, stepping closer to fasten her wrist cuff to the outside ring and she inhaled the scent of his cologne. Her eyes drooped a moment as she fought becoming aroused.

Shifting his weight, he picked up her other hand, pausing to place a kiss on her palm before raising it to fasten to the opposite outside ring. The light pressure of his soft kiss sent another gentle wave toward the center of her sex and again she fought the arousal, the feeling of vulnerability it always provoked.

His hand brushed a stray hair from her face; in spite of her anger, the ice melted a little more. “Did my slave enjoy her breakfast?” he asked quietly.

“No, Sir, I did not.” Her cheeks turned red, knowing she did not do as she was commanded. It didn’t help that her stomach rumbled at that point, giving her away.

He noted the sounds of hunger coming from her belly. His fingers played over her breasts, lightly touching them, a feather-caress only. “Why did you not?”

Her head dropped—his hand was there on her chin, pulling it back up. “Tell me why you did not enjoy your breakfast, slave.”

Sarah raised her head and lifted her chin from his fingers as her independent streak broke free. “I didn’t like the idea of eating your leftovers. I’m better than that.”

She discovered he could raise a single eyebrow. “You are my slave. You are to do as you are commanded.” His voice was stern, but he did not raise it. Phillip was actually glad to see her independence come forward.
 
A slave who willingly gave that independence to him was much more of a whole woman than a slave who came with a trainload of baggage and dependencies. Still, he was not about to back down—he needed to know if this was a hard limit for Sarah or a negotiable one.

Tears formed in her eyes. Was it such a big thing he was asking? After all, he’d been careful not to eat that egg—and the hash browns had been separated from the others. Why was she making this an issue? “I’m sorry, Sir. I just couldn’t do it,” she whispered.

He nodded and took a step back. “Understood, slave. But you must understand I will test that limitation—and together we will find what you are too ‘good’ for.” He picked up the flogger. Lightly, he dragged it over her breasts, her stomach, her mound. Her anger dissipated in his manipulation of her body and a moan escaped her lips.

“At the moment, I will neither discipline nor reward my slave for her actions this morning.” He reversed the flogger and put the handle between her unbound legs, rubbing the end in the white cream that he knew would already be there. He almost smiled when she opened herself a little wider to allow him access. “But know we are not finished with the matter.” He would take his time in breaking down her walls of propriety. In time, she would submit to him on every level, but not yet. He wanted her walls broken, not her spirit.

The handle of the flogger pushed upwards against her clit and Sarah’s eyes drooped to half-mast, longing to come at his hand. But even as she acknowledged the desire building in her, she recognized its selfishness. If she was his slave, and submitting to him, then shouldn’t she be more concerned with his welfare than her own?

Phillip leaned in, his tall frame towering over her, his lips at her ear, kissing the edge and whispering to her. “Tell me, slave. What do you desire?”

He pulled up more on the handle of the flogger, causing her to gasp and raise herself on tiptoe. Her anger departed as a misty haze on a hot summer day, replaced by an ache only he could fill. Sarah knew her answer and spoke it from her heart. “I desire to please you, Sir.”

Phillip pulled up again, forcing her onto the very tips of her toes. She moaned and his tongue flicked out to taste along the inside of her ear. “Yes, slave,” he whispered. “You desire to please me with your sex—your wantonness and lust.” He moved the handle back and forth, soaking it in her juices that flowed freely now. “But I want your desire to please to extend beyond sex—beyond the lust of your body. It is
my
desire for you to want to please me in
everything
you do.”

The handle of the flogger was driving her mad—she would have spread her legs further, but she was so far up on her toes it was impossible. He expected an answer and there was only one she could give him. “Yes, Master. I will try to do better next time.”

“Try?” He pushed the flogger upward once more so that one foot was now off the ground.

A wordless cry came from her throat. “I will do better next time, Master. I will.” Her head leaned back against the wall and he could see her discomfort reflected in her eyes. With a deft movement, he withdrew the handle, flipped the flogger over in his hand and struck her with it across the breasts.

The shock of it made her cry aloud. Again the flogger fell, making red marks that quickly faded. The blows stung, and she put her breasts out for more. She would show him that she would take whatever he gave her. She suddenly wanted to do anything he asked of her.