The Romantic Dominant (17 page)

“You have got to be kidding me,” Zander replied, bewildered at the shortsightedness of the police.

“Nope, and it was on the drive home that he threatened to hurt my nephew, Nicholas, if I ever tried to get away again. He’s only five, and Connor said it would look like an accident, and if Nicholas wasn’t killed he’d be very badly injured. I didn’t quite believe him, but I couldn’t take the chance,” she finished.

“Holy crap,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You can’t go to the police,” she repeated. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a recording, but this is so much to process.”

“We have to think about your friend,” Gabriela reminded him. “Do you know where she works?”

“At a dentist’s office. It was a Dr. Tennison in mid-city.”

“Let’s call her there. You can talk to her safely.”

“Brilliant,” he exclaimed. “I’ll have that number in my call log, but it might be faster to just look him up online.”

Together they hurried back to his study, he pulled up a chair for her, then sitting down he powered up the computer to search out the dentist.

“You evil monster,” Gabriela hissed as Connor’s image flashed on the screen.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him.

He googled the dentist, found him immediately, and picking up his phone he dialed the number.

“Dr. Tennison’s office, how may I help you.”

The voice on the end of the telephone was older, and definitely not Abigail.

“I’m trying to reach your receptionist, Abigail Miller,” he said casually.

“She no longer works here,” came the curt reply.

“Really? I’m a friend of hers. She didn’t mention anything about changing jobs,” he remarked, hoping to extricate some information.

“If you’re a friend of hers, when you talk to her you might want to tell her that texting in a resignation with no notice does not make for a good reference,” the woman declared tersely.

“Thank you, I will. Sorry to have bothered you,” he replied politely.

“What?” Gabriela asked.

“She texted in her resignation, effective immediately,” he frowned, hanging up the phone.

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes,” Zander sighed. “Oh, dear.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, staring at him intently.

“I need to think about this. I’m going to take my shower. Why don’t you finish what you had planned before you saw Connor’s photo? I’ll call and make your appointment with the salon, then we can take off and talk about this as we’re driving.”

“Okay,” she agreed, then paused. “Zander, I just had a thought.”

“What’s that?”

“He has cameras all over the house, but he goes to work every day. I figured out the monitors must be in his office.”

“You’re right, and I wonder if he keeps recordings,” Zander replied.

“I’ll just bet he does, recordings of his favorite moments,” she agreed.

“His office. That’s the place to start,” he nodded, “and I’m already getting some ideas.”

“You are? Tell me.”

“I will, but after I get myself together. Do me a favor, while you’re doing your thing on the computer write down the address of Connor’s office for me,” and impulsively he leaned across and kissed her. “Don’t you worry, we’re going to get him,” he promised. “You can count on it.”

Rising from his desk he made his way back to the bedroom, and dropping his robe, stepped into the shower for the second time that morning.

Connor Matthews,
he silently vowed,
you have victimized a woman for the last time.

A
bigail had woken up with a massive headache, but after finding some aspirin in the medicine cabinet and placing a cold washcloth across her forehead it had slowly passed. She’d wanted a long, relaxing bath, but discovered she only had a shower, and though she’d been disappointed, the water splashing over her had brightened her up and she’d set about writing the letter of apology.

He had taken her watch and there was no clock in the bedroom, but by the time she finished she guessed it was the middle of the afternoon. She was starving, and ended up drinking glasses of water to help curb the hunger.

Some time later, staring out the darkly glazed windows, she guessed it was early evening. Sighing, she sat on the edge of the bed and dropped her head in her hands.

I had no idea having a Master would be like this. I just have to be strong and try really hard to make him happy. It’ll be wonderful not having to go to that boring job every day. I can’t wait to go out to dinner with him, and the parties he talked about.

The promise of a new way of life perked her up, and when she heard the sound of a car she rushed to the window. It overlooked the driveway at the side of the house and to her joy she saw the Porsche pulling into the garage. While searching through the bathroom drawers she had found a comb, and running to fetch it, she ran it through her hair, wiped her face with the washcloth and sat anxiously on the bed to wait.

I wish I had my clothes. I wonder what he did with them. I want to get out of this nightgown.

The sound of his footsteps in the hall broke into her thoughts, and when she heard the key turning in the lock her heart jumped. The door slowly opened and he stepped inside.

“Master,” she cried, running across to hug him. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve written the letter, and I’ve thought about things all day, and I know I can be better now that I understand what you want.”

“I’m very happy to hear it,” he replied.
So satisfying to come home and find a needy slut-slave waiting for me. A far cry from that Brazilian Bitch.
“Go and kneel by the bed.”

Stepping back into the hallway he reached for the suitcase and garment bag he’d brought with him.

“I did something for you today,” he declared, dropping the suitcase and throwing the garment bag on the bed. “I stopped by your place and picked up some clothes for you, and your makeup and cosmetics. I want you to look good for me.”

“Thank you, Master,” she smiled.
A change of clothes, and my face stuff. YAY.

“In the garment bag is a brand new maid’s outfit. I want you to wear while you’re taking care of the house. It will help your mindset, and it’s very sexy, which will be pleasing to me. While you are here, underwear is not permitted, but when you leave to run my errands it is mandatory. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Every day when I return I will spank you, and how hard will depend on how well you’ve carried out your chores. The maid’s outfit is very short, and when you bend over your backside will be perfectly accessible.”

Abigail’s mind was racing. What he was describing was so much more than she’d anticipated, but the sexy outfit sounded like fun.

“You’re to put on the uniform right away and come down to get your spanking before you start making dinner. I’m sure you must be hungry.”

“Very, Master,” she nodded vehemently.

“You may have something after your spanking and before you start preparing my meal.”

“Yes, Master, thank you.”

“Bring me the letter you wrote.”

“Yes, Master.”

Standing up, she turned to the desk, picked up the folded piece of paper, and eyes downcast she walked it over to him.

“I’m very pleased with your behavior tonight. It appears your confinement has done you the world of good. If you keep up this demure, obedient attitude you will be rewarded.”

“Thank you, Master,” she murmured. Connor could hear the relief in her voice and inwardly smiled; she was putty. “You have ten minutes to change, and I’ll see you in the dining room.”

Her eyes still downcast, Abigail saw his feet turn and walk out, then the door closed and he was gone.

Wow. He is so strict. I guess it’s good. I guess it’s how it’s supposed to be.

Unzipping the garment bag she found a black maid’s outfit, complete with a white frilly apron and petticoat, and even the small cap for her head, and as he had described it was very short. Unlocking the suitcase she discovered her clothes had been neatly packed, her cosmetics separated and placed in plastic bags, and three pairs of shoes; black high heels, tennis shoes and a pair of casual flats. Abigail owned many pairs of shoes, but assumed they’d return for more of her things as she settled in.

Quickly slipping out of her nightie she pulled on the outfit, finding it a bit tight, then carefully placed the cap in her hair and applied some makeup.

This is really sexy,
she thought, staring at her reflection.
I’m going to enjoy serving him dressed like this.

In the dining room Connor had read her letter; it was exactly what he’d wanted, full of apologies for her shortcomings and very grateful that he wanted her in his house.

Her letter contributed to his already buoyant mood. As he was leaving his office he’d had a call about a potentially huge contract. Things were definitely turning in a positive direction, and as he heard Abigail’s footsteps coming down the stairs he smiled in lustful anticipation.

Connor’s sexual stirrings happened under only two circumstances; when the slut-slave in question was bent over, punished bottom exposed, and she was telling him he was her Master and admitting that she was a gold-digging slut, or when she was crying piteously, abjectly miserable and begging for mercy, but as he waited for Abigail’s grand entrance he could feel himself prematurely coming to life.

“Oh, this is very good,” he mumbled, unzipping his trousers, grabbing his cock and licking his lips in delight.

The clipping sound of her high heels on his hardwood floor told him she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and looking up he saw her moving towards him.

You are so incredibly stupid, you really are slut-slave perfection.

“Over the table and spread your legs,” he directed.

Butterflies fluttering, she nervously walked across the room and laid herself across the flame mahogany table. To Connor’s delight it wasn’t easy for her to keep her legs apart in the high-heels, and as he’d expected, bent over as she was, the maid’s skirt offered no coverage; her bottom was completely bare, inviting his attention.

Removing his belt he wrapped the buckle end around his hand, and without a word or a moment’s hesitation he lashed it across her exposed backside. She gasped and wriggled, and when the leather thrashed a second time she wailed. The third strike stunned her, and she lifted her head, and throwing her hands behind her she grasped her striped, stinging seat, just as he knew she would.

“I am your Master, and you must show me what a slut you are?” he snarled. “Spread those cheeks for me. Spread them and tell me what a gold-digging slut you are.”

“Oooh, Master,” she wailed, humiliation washing over her. “I’m a gold-digging slut.”

“Spread them!” he barked.

His cock was already swollen and stiff, a miracle for it to have surged to attention so quickly.

“I’m a gold-digging slut,” she repeated.

“If you don’t do as your told l’ll whip your ass and lock you back in that room.”

“Oooh, Master,” she sobbed.

Gritting her teeth she pulled her cheeks apart, wishing the table would magically break in two and the floor would swallow her up.

“I’m a gold-digging slut, showing myself proves it. You are my Master and your gold-digging slut,” she wailed, hoping it would be enough to bring the horrendous scene to an end.

It was.

His cock exploded with a force he’d not felt in years, the spasms shuddering through his loins as he roared his hot, powerful pleasure, his hand vigorously rubbing, milking every last delicious second.

Breathless he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes to enjoy the warm tingling that permeated his being, and when he finally opened them he saw she’d not moved from her lewd position.

His flaccid member was still in his hand, its cream dribbling across his fingers, and he broke into a broad grin; he was King Of His Castle once again, the Supreme Commander, and the slut-slave would lick his hand clean and wash his cock with her tongue to show her undying devotion.

“Drop your hands and kneel before me,” he said gruffly.

His voice was as cold and hard as the mahogany wood upon which she rested her face, and she felt its icy claws travel up the length of her spine, wrap themselves around her neck and squeeze. From deep within her, the old soul that lived quietly in her heart, surfacing when Abigail read palms or was in desperate need of wisdom, began to whisper.

What are you doing Abigail? This man is not a caring, loving, Dominant, he’s a cruel, hateful psychopathic vampire. He’ll consume you if you stay here. Be brave Abigail, be brave and be smart.

Sniffling, finding her voice, terrified but determined, Abigail rose slowly and turned to face him.

“Connor, I don’t want to stay here.”

Her voice was so low and so soft he thought he may have misheard.

“What did you just say?”

“I, uh, don’t want…”

Hastily zipping up his trousers he strode forward, and in a swift, deft maneuver, threw her over his shoulder, deciding to take her to the garden shed; the cage may be gone but the shed was still lockable.

Abigail, seized by panic, began kicking and screaming, causing such a racket he realized he couldn’t risk carrying her across the backyard and the bedroom would have to do, and turning, he began to head towards the stairs.

Be brave and be smart…

Though filled with fright, the whispered words echoed through her panic and she stopped the protest, forcing her body to fall completely limp.

Damn, did she just break or has she fainted on me? Oh, I’d loved to be served dinner by a terrified, broken slut-slave. The food tastes so much better when the hand serving is also shaking.

“Do you have something to say to me?” he growled, hoping she’d answer.

“Yes, Master,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

“If I put you down will you behave?”

“Absolutely, Master,” she promised.

He pulled her from his shoulder and stood her in front of him, then yanked her head back with a fistful of hair. To his great delight she looked pale and petrified.