Natural Submission: Book 1 of the Submission Series (4 page)

Much to her dismay he did not look like a toad. What might have been good looks were lost in a deep frown of disapproval, a mini tree having formed between his brows. In some part of her thawing brain she decided that maybe if she just kept talking she could swallow her rising fear, keeping whatever happened next at bay
(yeah, good luck with that Francine)
.

"No one calls themselves
a letter
. What's your
name
? You know mine- Keith?" K let a moment pass, while he looked down at her, staying in control. For the moment she was wrapped in the blanket, helpless. He had deliberately chosen not to make his restraints any more intrusive. He didn't want to freak her out - at least until he had to. Thinking of what she’d done, all kinds of strict creative discipline scenarios came to mind about running from her Dom, but he could be patient. Ultimately, there was nowhere for her to go and considering what she’d been through she had every reason to be a frightful, skittish student, he could take his time.

He would let her rest and then they could take it from there as he taught her her boundaries. With the wide streak of rebellion surfacing already and obviously so ingrained in her nature he was sure she’d fall right into the next trap he had planned. He looked at her with his hard dark eyes, realizing suddenly that she was in fact lucky he was not a cruel man considering her circumstances - very lucky.

Of course while he was not cruel he would only be pushed so far. He could imagine far greater uses for her mouth then sassing him. Gently he set her down briefly leaving the room and ducking briefly down the hall to the second bedroom. Slowly she began to unravel herself fromt the blanket, only to find her ankle tethered to the damn table! Frantically she tried to use her fingers to try to pry his knot lose, but he must have been a sailor in a former life. The knot was by no means cutting off her circulation. She had not even realized it was there until he got up, but it was she was definitely not going anywhere. She was
stuck - goddammit!
So much for making another break for it, even if it was an unsuccessful break. She felt tears prick her eyes just as he returned all too soon.

He squatted down next to her but still kept his head above hers, looming over her, “Francine, you can’t go home right now.” he tried to gently explain, in a formal authoritative voice. More than anything that voice scared her. it was a voice that seemed so sure of success, it was accompanied by a level gaze with dark mahogany eyes. It was the kind of voice that communicated that there was a race that he had already won and that he was simply waiting for her to catch up. He seemed so sure that she would see things his way, that he already had the answers, saw the whole picture, he only had to find the right way to communicate the situation to her. Never had she seen someone exude such a strong steely will, or be so sure of themselves.

In another situation, she realized it would be comforting. But the situation she was in, it put her at ease and terrified her at the same time. “That “cop” that pulled you over,” he continued in that same patient tone, “he was dirty, but he was a real cop. If he sees your name come up again in the system too soon he’ll know something is up and he’ll come after both of us.”

“No, you're lying!” She responded still shivering but forcing the words out as steady as she could. She heard herself shouting and tried to collect herself, to match his calm demeanor, but it was hard considering her grim circumstance. “I know what you did, you
paid
for me! Like a common whore!” Her voice cracked on the last, tears threatening again as she realized what her role was here, and what would do anything to avoid.” The truth of her accusation hit home and was reflected in his dark eyes, she knows she struck a chord with him and worse yet she realized he’s thought about it. Sex with her.

There must be some mistake, either that or he’s a real pervert. No ne like him had ever wanted someone like her - not ever. She would have understood immediately if he was old and squat and disgusting, but he was none of those things, so something else must be going on here, something she just couldn’t figure out. She didn’t want to think yet why he hadn’t taken her yet and worse yet what would happen after he was finally through with her. Her accusation still hung in the air between them and suddenly she realized - he didn't look proud of what he’d done. He looked resigned, crestfallen, not gleeful with victory at all - and for the first time, it amazed her, made her feel the teeniest bit bad... she quickly suppressed the feeling and continued to plow away.

“You just want a - a
submissive
in your bed, that’s what they said you’d want a “
submissive”.
That’s why I’m here.”

“Is it Francine?
Is
that why you’re here? Have you ever had submissive sex?” She clammed up. “Have you ever been curious about submissive sex?” He saw a flash come across her eyes, they wanted to reveal something, a part of her soul, and then
crack!
She’d slapped him across the face. She had a mean right arm too his Francine,
well played.
He couldn’t remember when he'd felt such a sting across the jaw.

Okay, the discussion was over. He looked at her, his eyes glazed over for a moment before he regained control. She was fiery and defiant, beautiful in her anger. She was allowed to loose it, but he wouldn't. The thought calmed him as he watched her, touched by her struggle. The fact is he does enjoy a submissive woman in his bed, and if circumstances were different he’d be doing everything in his power to launch an all out seduction. What she’s said was the truth, but not the truth. It’s was lie, but with the truth,
shit,
did he even know what the truth was anymore? He does like his women submissive, but not broken. Even before his dreaded experience with The Organization he knew the difference. Thinking of The Organization and all that was at stake he collected himself mentally - silently gathering the ruptured pieces in his mind. He must, and would stay the course- for both of them. From behind his back he pulled out his “trump card”; he retrieved earlier from the bedroom, palming it.

Francine’s eyes widened when she saw the thin strip of leather with the blinking light in his hand.
What was he about now?
Oh no, she felt hot panic take hold of her again, her underarms prickling with the stress, he wasn’t coming near her with that! Futilely she tried to squirm away, as he grabbed her gently, but firmly, he was strong, so strong as held her close and fastened a hateful little collar about her neck.

“What’s that!” She asked the note of panic crept into her voice at the sound of a click. To her hears that click was as loud as a gunshot.

“It’s a collar Francine.” Oh no! no! Her mind is in a swarm, she realized she was losing her sense of balance, she’d gone back - back there, the
iron
collar, their evil control, everything she had been dreading.
Please
- she’s was clouded in the past, tethered, terrified and her heart rate sped up. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath; dimly she heard a beeping and realized that he had taken her in his arms. It helped to bring her back. When she was there in the dark there were no arms, no one to hold her, to whisper to her. She felt the tears on her cheeks and dimly she realized she was being pulled from the darkness. He pulled the blanket back around her. She hadn’t realized that it was a heated blanket, he’d untethered her from the table, and was once again wrapped in his arms. He’d even rubbed medicated Vaseline into her chapped lips crooning to her “It's OK, little one, I've got you.” That voice, it was so deep, soothing, not oily and evil like the others. She realized that in spite of all of the reasons she had to descend further into her own mental chaos it’s calming her, “You're mine now,” he said “That’s all that matters and I'd never damage what's mine, I promise Francine. I promise, shhh. It's to help me keep you safe.”

The slavers had warned her she might be collared. That was one of the things
he
had cruelly whispered about (the horrible greasy man in the suit). Cruel collars used to choke or to shock or simply to mark as a slave... But what did the light mean? She looked up at him, her eyes clearer now, focused, but wary. “Why the light? What does it do?” He held up - a device, with a blue dot on it in a velvet sea of black.

“It’s a tracking device Francine, that’s it. I promise you. I’m not going to keep you tied up all the time. You're not an animal and I can’t take the chance of not being able to find you in the dark in these woods, so... there you are. I was going to put it on you after we had a talk, but I had no idea you’d have the strength to run the first day. You’re in pretty decent shape.” Francine thought about the couple of times a week she spent walking or doing some kind of casual work out at the campus gym when she wasn't chatting with her friends between machines. The exercise while casual must have netted her some kind of payout - go figure. “We will discuss this more tomorrow, after you’ve eaten and rested.”

The collar
she thought. That’s why the easily unlocked door and no basement. He wasn't as stupid as she’d thought. Humph - she was figuring out a lot of things wasn't she? Slowly she trembled, her situation seemed to overwhelm her again and she heard herself begging, the tears really welling up now, “K, please take it off, please...”

“No Francine, I’m sorry,” and he realized that he truly was.

“But I can’t take the chance. I’m going forgive your running off today because it’s the first time, but I really can’t condone you running from me, it’s dangerous and I won't tolerate it.” With that he released her leaving her on the floor.

Then he said without looking back as she felt her hand rise to her neck, "Don't bother trying to take the collar off, only I can do that. When you're ready come to breakfast, I’ll be in the kitchen, it’s getting cold”.

The Very Next Day

The next day came, and not surprisingly Francine ate very little, and spoke very little to K. She did spend quite a bit of time fingering the collar and it’s little lock as she tried to figure out it’s secrets, but to no avail. Mercifully during the night he had laid down next to her, but left her alone. When she awoke the next morning breakfast was cooking again and she quietly came in and sat down meekly across from him. The mood was somber.

After a quiet meal both of them saying very little he calmly addressed the situation. ”OK, so here’s the deal Francine. What you did yesterday, running, it was unbelievably foolish and dangerous and cannot happen again.” France remembered the day before trembling in the electric blanket he had wrapped her in before the fireplace, struggling to get warm. The temperature outside and gone from crisp to downright unbelievably cruel and unforgiving. She had never been exposed to the elements in such a way before and her limbs and turned numb and heavy from the cold in an incredibly short span of time. Her lips had completely absorbed the medicated ointment that K had applied to them almost immediately. She’d never been so cold in her life.

“It’s typically below freezing up here, even in the middle of the day and leaving without proper clothing and a plan is suicide.”

She looked away. knowing that at least
that
was the truth. But what about the rest of it? If she were to believe his story this man was the only thing so far that stood between her and possible re-capture. “What about the rest of it?” He looked at her a question in his eyes. “The cop? The one that pulled me over?” She felt herself clinch up thinking of how she had gone from feeling safe to realizing that she was in real trouble. It had all happened so fast.

“Yeah, like I told you yesterday, he’s still out there Francine. Still keeping a lookout for the interests of the people that took you. Until we can figure something out, you have to stay off the radar.” Off the radar? That meant here - with
him?
This was a fate almost too unbelievable to accept and Francine was not sure she could. She looked at him from across the table realizing again that he really could have hurt her by now - that didn’t mean he wouldn't, but again, he had not had he?

He reminded her a bit of a few of the men she’d gone to school with who had served in the military and were using their GI bill to complete classes. There was something so calm, so collected about him with his mahogany eyes and big firm hands. For some reason her instincts told her she could trust K, but then she’d thought she could trust that cop too. No, she’d not had any time with that cop, only minutes, but she’d already spent more time around this man.

Immediately her shift of focus angered her and again she worried that she was weakening. Shouldn’t she be spending every single moment working out an escape plan? If only he were a little bit more like her captors told her he would be. They had described somebody who would be so much more - heartless. She smoothed her hair with a nervous palm.

K watched her, grinding over the things he had said in her mind. Her eyes were clever, her mind quick. He wondered what she liked to use in her hair. It was clean, but her nervous motions were making it into a halo around her head, not usually the look women liked. Everything about her was clean, fresh. He wanted to stroke her smooth skin, sooth away her hurt, take her in his arms, but he remembered that slap. His angel had a good swing on her, that was for sure.

He was looking at her, everything about him continued patience while she worked over what he had said in her mind. If K was telling the truth, she realized they just might have to have almost a
symbiotic
relationship.
That cop could come after both of us.