MASTERED: (The Novel) (5 page)

 
Awaiting
her return, James refilled his tumbler before sliding open a closet door. He
searched past the boxes of obsolete paperwork and old tax documents that all
but obscured the one item he sought. Delighted to locate the ancient,
long-forgotten ironing board, he freed it from years of confinement.

He vaguely heard Missy as she rummaged through
drawers and cupboards in her search for the perfect kitchen utensil. The
utensil which, in short order, would be the instrument of her castigation.

Again, he felt his long-denied cock stir in his
jeans, head damp and sticky from pre-cum. It had been leaking since well before
she arrived.

His raging hard-on was especially cumbersome as
he bent down to rest the narrow end of the ironing board against the sofa
cushions. Leaving the wider end on the floor, he created a lovely forty-five
degree angle. Task completed, he rose just as Missy re-entered the room.

Again he was struck by her considerable beauty.
He marveled at the innate submissiveness which she unwittingly displayed with
every step.

It always amazed him to hear tales from
submissive women who would swear that nobody ever suspected their true nature.
At least, not until that one fateful day on which they happen to meet their
Dominant equivalent. The Yang to their yin, Top to their bottom, Lead to their
follow.
The one man that would see through their carefully
crafted defenses and straight to the heart of the matter.

Straight
to the heart of the true submissive!

To the undiscerning eye, it is the Dominant who
has absolute control. To the non-indoctrinated, it is the ‘poor’, naive
submissive who is nothing more than a mistreated prisoner. Very much like
Angeline's parents, who found it easier to believe this misguided notion than
the
truth.
The truth was that wild horses could not
have dragged their daughter from his side!

While there are toxic relationships in every
'lifestyle', it is generally accepted that submissive women are of above
average intelligence and accomplishment. They are by no means the lesser partner
in the relationship, but a full and contributing half
.
In their
own submissive way and from their proper submissive place, of course.

A Dominant without his submissive is as bereft
as a submissive without her Master. The critical distinction is that he is
better equipped to cope in a society where dominance is a sought after
attribute. It sat right up there with assertiveness and leadership, in fact.

Submissiveness, on the other hand, is certainly
not a trait sought out by society or in the workplace. It is mistakenly likened
to passivity and meekness; a common misconception.

Undoubtedly, James's natural personality traits
impacted his career in a positive manner. He was rapidly propelled from sales
floor to corner executive office in just under fourteen years; an unprecedented
feat in the dog-eat-dog world of sales and marketing. His meteoric rise was
attested to by numerous plaques, awards, vacations - and bonuses.
Bonuses substantial enough to leave him financially free.

Easily, he was able to indulge the passing whims
of both himself and Angeline. He took small comfort in knowing that she wanted
for nothing; right up until the day she died.

Turning his attention back to the present, he
drank in the vision before him. Disheveled and delectable were only two
delicious words that sprang to mind. Crooking his index finger at Missy, she
understood immediately.
 
Moving
compliantly forward, she halted directly before him.

Seeking approval, she offered forth a slotted
spatula between two fingers.
 
She held it
as she would a repulsive insect about to bite her.

And bite
her it would.
James smiled at the
analogy and at Missy as he removed the tool from her quivering hand. He then
made quite the production of testing its flexibility.
 
She watched entranced, somewhere between
shock and resigned disbelief. “This will work splendidly. Well done little
one!” Again, her eyes lit up at his words of praise. Had she feathers, she
would be preening!

The light in her eyes flickered unsteadily when
he directed her to straddle the ironing board. He knew she was still processing
the abrupt instruction when he raised his voice, becoming decidedly less
ambiguous. “Get that sweet ass spread wide across that ironing board, and do
not make me repeat myself a third time!”

She all but scampered over to where the ironing
board awaited, clearly perplexed as to precisely what was expected. She looked
imploringly over her shoulder at him, uncertainty shimmering in her lovely
eyes.

Always the gentleman, he set his glass on the
desk, took her hand, and assisted her to her knees. Before she could
instinctively pull away in protest, he reached beneath her shirt and expertly
unclasped her bra. James politely yet pointedly requested that she remove it
immediately. “I never want you to insult me by wearing one of those in my
presence again.”

Swinging the offending article of underclothing
contemptuously from one finger, he reached down to insolently maul her now
loosed tits. They bounced and quivered unrestrained just beneath the thin top,
nipples as hard as bullets.

He did not even try to mask the undisguised
satisfaction on his face. Instead he said; “Look up at me, little one, I did
not ask you to lower your eyes.” There was no denying the pleasure he received
from witnessing the burning indignity clouding her hazel pools as she raised
them to meet his.

James felt the blood surge in his veins
.
What
is it about a woman on her knees obeying my every desire?

Whatever it was, it stirred his heart, ignited
his imagination, and aroused his cock. He paused in order to bask in the
long-overdue pleasure of the moment. The sights and sounds were equally
mouth-watering.

Finally, James helped her to lay belly down on
the board. Missy’s head was on an incline towards the sofa, her arms and legs
wrapped tightly around. Exceedingly concerned for her comfort, James carefully
arranged her tits to hang freely over each side of the narrowed end.

Perusing his handiwork, he contemplated the
lovely picture he had created. He decided this would make the perfect first
image for a very ‘special’ family album. James was once a big photo buff.

Reluctantly, he decided to set aside that
tempting indulgence for another day. The day she willingly returned to him. In
the meantime, there was plenty to keep him occupied.

Humming softly, he bent down to lift her skirt,
exposing the rounded cheeks of her bottom. The little panties had long ago
given up any attempt at containing the liquid evidence of her need. There was
naught to be done as it leaked profusely, oozing thickly down her thighs.

“You are a nasty little whore, aren't you? Just
look at this sloppy cunt!” Considering that the ironing board greatly inhibited
her ability to draw breath, the gasp of shock which emitted from her was truly
impressive!

He used one hand and very little effort to tear
the sopping panties from her body. The other hand was pressed firmly and
deliberately between her shoulder blades. She began to wriggle self-consciously
under his flagrant scrutiny, as he knew she would.

When all was again calm, other than the sound of
her ragged breath; James picked up the spatula and began to hum…

For all intents and purposes, her cerebral
acuity by that point wasn't worth the gray matter it was imprinted upon! Missy
clung half naked and humiliated to the ironing board, awaiting the punishment
she agreed she deserved. One thing was crystal clear; she
was
a nasty
little whore and deep down had
always
been a nasty little whore.
Exactly as James said!

Growing up, she would overhear the other girls
speaking in hushed tones of their most intimate fantasies. Making sweet love to
a handsome stranger on the banks of the Seine, or being swept breathlessly off
their feet by the sexiest movie star in La-La-Land were common themes.

Hers, in contrast, were anything but common. Her
nasty fantasies consisted of being bound and gagged and ravished and used. They
entailed discipline and rituals and rules and obedience. First and foremost,
however, they were suffused with love. In them, she felt cherished and
protected and adored.
Now, how
could that possibly be wrong?

Submissive…

'Whore' seemed to be a compliment of the highest
order in his world. When James used the socially abhorrent word to describe
her, it warmed her heart as any endearment might.
More so, in
fact.
She always knew that she was atypical at best. Where he was
concerned, the darker description fit her perfectly.

Here she lay, apprehensively awaiting the
dreaded first blow. Yet her juices continued to leak unremittingly from a
shamefully engorged pussy, and down already drenched, spread thighs.

Whore!

The thought of his eyes penetrating that most intimate
of places, bearing witness to the accuracy of his words, scorched her face with
utter mortification. In addition, it caused her pussy to ooze all the more.

Whore!

She was deep within herself, succumbing dreamily
to the mental, emotional, and physical stimuli that she no longer resisted or
questioned. When the first blow was finally administered, she screamed and
almost tumbled to the floor. The tender, virgin flesh of her left butt cheek
was on fire, the muscles quivering and contracting instinctively from the
insult.

One arm also flew from the ironing board, hand
pressed against the floor in a perilous struggle for balance. She would never
be able to endure twelve more strokes on that already throbbing cheek and then
thirteen on the other.
Never!

Yet, instead of angrily and indignantly putting
an end to the preposterous state of affairs, she hastily yanked the offending
appendage from the floor to once again embrace the board as mandated. Instead
of putting an end to it, Missy hoped desperately that James hadn’t noticed the
momentary gaffe.

But, of course, he had. The humming came to an
abrupt halt. She watched as his boot-clad feet passed within her line of
vision. They made a sharp about-face before he sank into the sofa with a long,
heavy sigh. One boot began to tap methodically.

Obviously, he was disappointed in her.
Instantly, any thoughts regarding the throbbing pain just inflicted upon her
person were forgotten. Missy was forced to acknowledge that her singular
concern at that moment was his happiness. Specifically, she desired that he be
happy with her; his whore!

James used the spatula to lift her chin from the
ironing board. This enabled her to see the disappointment clearly reflected in
his eyes, and she was devastated. “I expected more from you, little one.” He
spoke so softly, she had to strain to hear. “It is not my wish to punish you;
it is simply my duty as your caring Master. Anything less would leave me
derelict in my duties and you a confused little slut with no idea of what's
expected. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Without waiting for a response, he went on.
“Now, my dear, I think it only appropriate that you present me your loveliest
smile and thank me for being ever-so-attentive to your needs.”

Thank him? Smile pretty?
Surely he was joking!
As the seconds ticked inexorably by, she quickly
realized that he was not. Missy struggled to meet his expectant gaze as she
arranged her swollen lips into a distorted facsimile of a smile. She eventually
managed to squeak out a “Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir.”

“Good girl!” He clapped his hands together,
obviously delighted with her ability to catch on. “Now, please arch your back
and raise that pretty ass as high as it will go for me. That's it.” James
pushed further still. “Higher please. I want to see it eagerly begging for the
punishment it so richly deserves. Making
himself
exceedingly clear, he concluded; “I do
not
want to see it pulling away from me - for any reason!”

With that out of the way, he bent to lovingly
press his lips against her perspiring forehead before returning to his scenic
position at her rear. Missy could only imagine the spectacle she presented. Her
back was arched exaggeratedly and her butt was waving lewdly in mid-air,
offering an enthusiastic target for his attention.

She did not have long to wait. Almost
immediately he delivered four stinging blows spread equally across both cheeks.
Literally unable to draw breath, Missy remained determinedly in place.

Rainbow colored lights exploded behind her eyes
as five more blows rained down in quick succession. She did not flinch. After
four more strokes she was gasping for air and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Wild-eyed, she braced herself for more.

They never came to pass.

She would later remember being lifted from the
ironing board as if she weighed nothing. Her quivering body felt as though it
was floating in his arms. Her ruptured mind drifted along in the warm glow of
sub-space.

Eventually, she found herself curled safely in
James's lap, his arms encircling her tenderly. She laid her head against his
shoulder in exhaustion and utter contentment.

Missy inhaled the comforting scent of him, idly
wondering if the tremors she was experiencing would ever pass.

She hoped not…

Chapter 15

James pressed his snifter of cognac to her lips
and made her drink. She gagged slightly on the strong liquor. He felt her body
spasm gently in his lap and tightened his arms around her protectively. When
she managed to swallow, Missy laid her head sweetly against his chest. A huge
yawn encompassed what seemed her entire body. She shuddered, snuggling closer
against him.

A fulfilled smile played upon his lips.
Concurrently, a deep frown knitted his brow. The strong feelings this waif of a
girl triggered within him were nothing short of extraordinary. They demanded a
level of intimacy and personal responsibility that would be daunting to most
men. James, however, relished the opportunity.

Yes, he could have concluded her discipline as
originally designated. He could easily have administered the remaining thirteen
strokes. There was no doubt that
he
would have enjoyed each and every one. But a Master worthy of the title
recognizes when enough is enough before it becomes too much. And, Missy had had
enough.

Deep in thought, James buried his face in her
now-disheveled hair. He contentedly inhaled the fragrant mix of shampoo, sweat,
desire, and turmoil that emanated from her. Her naked, freshly-spanked bottom
rested squarely against the full length of his still-turgid cock. The scorching
heat emanating from her easily penetrated the thick fabric of his jeans.

His mind drifted to the delectable sight of that
lovely porcelain ass raised high and straining before him. Thirteen strokes
later, it was a stunning shade of crimson punctuated by pale stripes left by
the well-placed slots of the spatula.

She moaned and stirred against him. His cock
twitched, insinuating itself more comfortably between her buttocks. He wondered
how much control one man could reasonably be expected to exercise. James knew
he was very near his limit.

“It's time to get you home, little one. You have
a big decision to make and a short time in which to make it.” When she lifted
her chin to gaze quizzically into his eyes, he explained. “The time has come to
decide whether you have the courage to change your life forever. To accept who
and what you have always been, and to live the life you were born to live.”

“Once that decision is made it shall be your
last. Once that decision is made, there will be no turning back; for either of
us.” With those portentous words, he pushed her gently from his lap and onto
the floor in front of him.

Pleased, James noted the dark, sticky spot on
his jeans. Missy's unmistakable need still leaked from her unprotected body. He
scooped it onto two fingers and dramatically lifted them to his nose. Inhaling
the intoxicating scent of sweet submission, he unhurriedly licked the sticky
digits clean, as a child might lick cookie batter from a spoon. Not for an
instant did his eyes stray from hers!

James instructed her to tuck her knees beneath
her, and to lean gracefully back. As her heels dug into still-smarting cheeks,
he was rewarded with a heartfelt moan. Bending down in order to enhance her
understanding, he spread her knees apart as far as they were able to go.

 
Exposing
her obscenely for his viewing pleasure, James did exactly that. He lingered,
fully appreciating that which was splayed before him.

Straightening up, he spoke directly into
mortified eyes. “I know this to be your proper place, little one; on your knees
at my feet. You are the woman I have long sought to complete me. The beautiful
and intelligent submissive whore whom I feared did not exist.”

“You feel it as deeply as I. If you know I speak
the truth, know also that your future will be devoid of secrets and privacy. I
will know all; the woman, the person, the whore. I will be fluent in your fears
and your dreams. I will have full knowledge of every hope, every limit, and
every fantasy. I shall gorge on your love, your obedience, and your service.
And I shall delight in your noble surrender!”

James leaned down to tenderly stroke her
upturned face. “In return, my lovely, you will know a sense of accomplishment
unlike anything you ever imagined. You shall be rich in contentment, cherished
and protected.”

“You will love and
be
loved as you’ve never known before…

Chapter 16

Missy leaned hard against him as he straightened
her clothing as if she were a child. James took her hand and helped her to her
unsteady feet, where she tried and failed to maintain her own weight.

He told her she would not be allowed to drive in
this condition. He would call a taxi. He would also see to it that her car was
returned to her. She was not to worry; he would take care of everything.

She hung on his every word. At this moment, her
entire world was reduced to him;
his
voice,
his
eyes,
his
hands. Vaguely, it occurred to her that she might at least
attempt an independent thought. Ironically, Missy couldn’t think of a single
reason to do so. Even if she could, she lacked the necessary inclination.

She realized that she needed to use the
restroom.
Badly.
She barely managed to croak out even
that urgent request. James took her hand and led her down the same hallway she
traversed earlier in her search of the perfect spanking utensil. Her little
hand tucked innocently within his fit perfectly. It felt as though it was
always meant to be there.

Missy could not account for the improbable
feeling of absolute safety she experienced in his presence. He might be leading
her directly to hell, and she was willingly, no -
blissfully
following. There was really no sane reason to believe
that he wasn’t.

Or hadn't already...

Attaining the bathroom, James gallantly flipped
on the light. He did not release her hand. In fact, the more she attempted to
extricate it, the tighter he squeezed.
How
does he expect me to shut the door?
Her efforts halted as realization
slowly dawned. She understood his unspoken intentions all
too
clearly. Paralyzed, Missy gaped
in slack-jawed horror.

A lascivious grin spread across his chiseled
features. The smile was almost, but not quite as troublesome as the ominous
words which followed. “Devoid of secrets and privacy, little one; did you
forget so soon?”

The pressure to her imprisoned hand increased
yet again. It was enough to re-engage the Speech Center of her brain, which had
stalled in disbelief. She responded almost inaudibly but without further
prompting. “No, Sir.
Of course not Sir.”

And there they stood. Moments ticked by in
charged silence. The placid serenity which encompassed James was almost as
distressing to Missy as her lewd and imminent future. He made no attempt
whatsoever to disguise his obvious enjoyment.

She was convinced that James could see past the
discomfiture of her features to the desperate calculations pulsing through her
brain.
What were the odds that she could make it home without wetting
herself?