The Alexandra Series (22 page)

The ordeal was over and I’d survived. I drew some satisfaction from that, and from knowing that I’d made amends with Reggie – as much as that was possible. A dreamless sleep awaited me.

Chapter Twenty-one

Waiting. Waiting for
what next
was more painful than the strapping. In the art of making a woman suffer in wait, Reggie was as great a master as he was of executing his nasty schemes. Hours piling on hours were painful to an extreme. Waiting by the pool and in the library, eating in the kitchen, walking in the garden, playing with myself in my bed, waiting was the ultimate torture. Days passed when we might have exchanged no more than a word or two. Some days I didn’t see him at all.

Nearly a week passed before he finally appeared – quite out of the blue and to my great surprise, announcing himself as I walked through the garden. “Alex.”

I stopped abruptly feeling his eyes bore into me from behind.

“Let me see you.”

I knew what he meant by the remark. No need to turn around, I bent over and raised my skirt to show off my wounded backside. There remained a few places on my bottom where the strap had dug into my flesh enough that red welts and small bruises were still visible on my skin. The rest of my skin was clear without a trace of the rough abuse – except for one spot on my right side where the end of the strap hit and dug especially deep. The mark was small, but dark and deep.

He reached out to trace one of the wounds with a finger. “Gus did good work.”

I shuddered deeply from that simple touch, pent-up, needy, grasping at a desire that continued to elude me.
Did he have any idea what this simple moment was doing to my sexual arousal?

“You could easily take another strapping.” I flinched hearing him say this.
A warning or just playing with my mind?
“Had it been me, it would have been more severe,” he informed me. When I stood upright, he moved closer and began to massage my buttocks with the palm of his hand, and not at all gently, as if he wanted to bring back the pain. I started to object but stopped abruptly.

“Yes, you’d better stop,” he snapped sharply, “I recall something about your being done with defying me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember how this feels, and know that it’ll happen again.”

Why again?

“Someday, my dear, you’ll flaunt your wounds rather than be embarrassed by them.”

I could feel my body heat rise as he spoke. And when his breath tickled the back of my neck I shuddered again.

At last he stepped back, motioning me to one of the stone benches in the garden. “Sit.”

I sat, anticipation burning within. I wanted so badly to begin again and end the wait.

He strolled about in front of me as if he were trying to decide what to say, although he’d already had that figured out. “You want control,” he declared at last, as he looked off over the garden hedge to the valley below.

“No, that’s not true,” I immediately objected.

He turned toward me. “Oh, cut the nonsense, Alex. There’s a conniving little cunt in you who wants to control this drama. If you learned nothing else the past few days you should have realized that.”

I looked at him with lips pursed, and eyes glaring a bit. “Well, maybe I go for control – but that’s really not what I want.”

“I’m sure we could argue this for days, but regardless, I’m handing the reigns off to you.”

What? I was dumbfounded, and waited for him to explain himself, but he didn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s your show. You tell me what you want, no mystery, no wondering, these are your fantasies, you’re the master.”

That’s not the way it’s supposed to be,
I thought, totally baffled now. Instead of staying to clarify his intentions, he walked away and I was left alone with my future in my hands, feeling entirely unsure of what to do.

I swam for days without direction…
remembering the strap on my ass, clamps on my nipples, wild orgies, cocks everywhere, pussy in my face…heat, heat flaming my flanks…arrows shooting through my pussy…my body lost to sexual lust…completely lost, no thought, no thought at all, out of control.
No! No! No! I didn’t want to be in control! Damn him!

At night my dreams held me captive, one after another, the darker Alexandra in me fed pictures of perversions to my anxious mind. Over and over again, the startling images fueled my inner fire. My true desires kept knocking at the door of my mind, with me determined to keep that door firmly shut. My efforts were wasted. The desires seeped in all around me, and I knew that I needed to make them real. Time to make my ‘make believe’ happen again.

I awakened in a cold sweat from the most savage and real of my dreams. I couldn’t contain the lust any longer. It was late, past midnight, but despite the time, I bolted from bed and threw on a t-shirt long enough to cover my ass – the barest minimum of appropriateness necessary in this debauched household. I tore down the stairs in search of Reggie, feeling quite sure that he had not gone to bed. As I expected, he was in his office at his desk, busily occupied with whatever mundane affairs his sheaf of papers symbolized.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” he looked up from his work, not at all surprised to see me.

I sighed, screwing up my courage, and entered. In the next ten minutes I told him everything.

Chapter Twenty-two

The evening began not unlike other nights when I was treated to Reggie’s mastery. This night, he seemed particularly
on
, as if he’d made an extra effort. He was as exquisitely dressed as I’d ever seen him, dark trousers, dress shirt, jacket, no tie. As usual his elegant style suggested the breeding and culture of a most meticulous master. And, if it were possible, his demeanor was cooler and more arrogant than I’d ever witnessed. As was also usual, his brilliant wit and charm held everyone around him captivated. His eyes sparked a little more darkly than I recall, and there was something behind his smile I’d not seen before. I couldn’t exactly define the difference, not intellectually, but there was clearly something in his confidence and intensity that had me all charged up. Perhaps just knowing that I was part of his plans for the evening made me so excited and on edge. It might well be a rough night, but I embraced the thought of that as well.

His instructions were clear, and I wore exactly what he laid out for me – a skimpy black corset dress made of glove-soft leather. It hooked in front and laced in back, and drew my breasts together, pushing them out the top so that they nearly popped free. When he came to my room to view the results – he was taking no chances this night – he took one look at me and not satisfied with what he saw, he redid the laces himself. He yanked on them hard until I could barely draw a breath.

“I can’t breathe!” I finally objected.

He didn’t see it my way. “You’re breathing now, aren’t you?”

“Barely.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, the leather will eventually give a little.”

I had my doubts. As it was, I feared that as much as he’d pushed my flesh to the top of the corset, my nipples might be popping out any moment.

Other than the remarkable exposure of my chest and a back slit that stopped just before the bottom of my rear, the dress was plain, no ornamentation and nothing the least bit feminine about its design. It was a slut’s dress – and that was how he saw me.

I was not invited to dinner, so I waited in my room for his command to bring me to the living room where whatever theater he had in mind would begin. If he was true to his word, this scene would be something plucked from my late night confessions in the den, and could have been any one of a number of possibilities. I mulled it over, but only became more nervous as my mind spun. Trying to clear my head of its wasted imaginings, I turned on the TV and ended up watching some odd reality cooking show – absorbing enough to keep my fear in check.

In a rare move, he texted me when it was time to go downstairs, short and sweet:
Twenty seconds, now.
The clock was ticking and I flew out of the room and down the stairs, stopping just before I entered, collecting myself in the remaining seconds. Regardless of what fantasy he chose to enact, my role was clear to me. I would
not
play the sniveling, groveling slave who’d whimper and roll over like a puppy. I’d be the arrogant bitch, here to be tamed by my master. I needed a man strong enough to master me, to take me down, to assure that I would submit – so that I could find the kind of out of control bliss I longed for.
A slave, never! Made to submit, yes.
The very idea of being that unleashed and free had me anxious, even a bit nauseous with desire as I moved into the room.

“Alexandra.” His voice was flinty and cool. “Tell my guests who you are and why you’re here.”

“I’m told I am an arrogant bitch,” I replied, trying not to sound too bitchy. “I’m here to prove to you that I’m capable of submitting to your command.”

“But there is no humility in your behavior,” he noted.

“My apologies, sir.”

“I don’t need your apologies. I need your surrender. First, you need to earn the respect of these people. To them and to me, you are nothing.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, sir.”

I waited as he paced around the room, furtively following his movements with my eyes. I grew more anxious by the moment – certainly part of his plan. “We’re going to return to one of your favorite fantasies, one you wrote about it in your journal in such rich detail. You love to dance, to turn men on as you do. Am I wrong?”

“No, no sir,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“You even gave us an example of that a couple weeks ago – although that effort was fraught with anguish, as if I were tormenting you. How about you try again, and get real with it.” His face was positively evil as he gave the command, “Dance slut, make us want you.”

This time, there was no music to inspire me, nothing but the eyes and the electricity in the air. I tried to let that feeling get inside me, and so I began to sway my hips. At first, my movements seemed unnatural, a bit too forced and mechanical to be erotic at all. Even worse, I made the mistake of catching Reggie’s eye – the cold, critical stare and the judgment behind it. I was failing in his eyes and was certain that any minute I would be hearing some vindictive comment meant to humiliate me further. I dug in, determined not to let that happen. As if my determination was all I needed, I suddenly heard the sexy music from
The Tropics
playing inside my head. I imagined myself in that smoky bar, with the glaring pink and green neon flamingo blinking behind me. The tension in my body began to melt and my dancing became more instinctive, less mechanical. I was there in the bar again, the center of my body, my crotch, like a magnet for their eyes. I could sense them looking and as long as I didn’t have to look at the surrounding company of perverts I could maintain that dreamy state and perform. The more I danced, the more daring I became. I played the slut, the tramp, the role that Reggie demanded of me. I cupped my breasts in my hands, pushing my tits higher in the dress until both nipples popped out of the bodice. I pinched them to make them grow erect, and when that was not enough to please me, I dampened them with my fingers and blew on them to chill the pinkish-purple flesh. I fondled myself before their eyes, raised my skirt and squeezed my ass. Then there was music, real music coming from Reggie’s speakers, raw, sexy, reggae syncopation and the beat of tribal drums. My head was swimming, my body oozing lust. I could have entertained them all night like this and loved it – a far cry from my previous attempt.

But above the music and the roar inside my head, came Reggie voice, “Cuff her!” I felt the voice inside my crotch, high between my legs and could have come if he’d only reached up under my skirt and played.

Two men descended on me with wrist and ankle cuffs, and I danced between them as they buckled the cuffs in place.

“On your knees,” I heard that distinctive voice again and dropped to the carpet, to my hand and knees, my body still swaying lewdly. By then, the leather dress was bunched up at the middle leaving my breasts dangling beneath me and my ass entirely naked. “Crawl to Elliot, and remove his cock,” the next instructions.

I found Elliot’s prick already hard; and though I wanted to suck it as soon as I pulled it from his pants, I waited for Reggie’s command before I took it into my mouth. As soon as my lips greeted the swollen head, I heard Elliot speak, “Fuck it, slut,” as he grabbed my head and pushed himself down my throat. I wanted to gag and had to forcefully stop that natural reflex. At least for a few moments he probed me deeply, and I was thankful when he finally backed off a bit and allowed my tongue, and lips and teeth to pleasure him. I ran my tongue around the rim, then down the shaft, then sucked him hard, using my hand and mouth, taking him totally inside, then out again, again and again until I could feel his body starting to tense with the climax on him. Just as he was about to ejaculate, he abruptly pulled out, held my head firmly in one hand and shot his load on my face, letting it splatter everywhere he aimed, until his milky cum ran down my chin and neck and between my breasts. I could feel it tickling me, sticky and thick. The aroma of it rose up around me like a cloud.