The Executioner (8 page)

Kansas

As odd as it is to be here in a mansion where I was first brought against my will, I have adjusted quite well. I am amazed with the fact I am happier than I have ever been. I can only attribute it to the fact that I am doing what I love.

I find it silly that he has chosen to command me to specifically write bedtime stories. Why didn’t he just tell me to write a book or a story? I’m certain there is a reason for it. Everything that Trent does has a reason behind it. Perhaps he feels that writing vignettes is an easier feat than trying to take on the task of writing a whole book. I have to admit, it is easier for the mere fact that vignettes don’t necessarily have all of the elements of even a short story. With no beginning and no necessary conflicts, they just are… kind of like my relationship with Trent. It just is.

I find myself thinking of him throughout the day because I never know when he will make his presence known. There is no system with Trent and it makes it impossible to figure him out. The one thing that is for certain is he doesn’t tolerate disobedience and, with that thought in mind, I begin to peck away on my computer.

I have even gone so far as to name my series, ‘Suited slave.’ It’s a collection of stories about a woman who is an alpha female executive during the day and a slave to her Master by night. It addresses the age old question of why a woman who is a leader in the workforce would choose to be a follower to her man behind closed doors.

Suited slave

The kneel…

If you were to view my Master out in public you would see a white collar business man; he is a lawyer. From the moment I laid eyes on him in his office, I knew there was something very different about him. He looks like the typical, harmless executive, but the intensity which brews beneath his surface is something that cannot be hidden. Starting with our very first meeting, he commanded my submission, as he still does to this day.

I remember looking into the chocolate brown eyes peering over his glasses at me and being unable to hold his gaze. That same magnetism grips me today as powerfully as it did that first day in his office. His voice pulls me from my daydream as he stares down at me and speaks. Though his tone is low, it holds the power to intimidate me nonetheless.

“Even when you kneel before me, you are so full of passion.”

He leans down, taking my chin in his fingers and rubbing one finger beneath my jaw line as he speaks to me, “So very spirited. Yes, little one… many Doms do not wish to have a spirited sub such as you.”

He squeezes and the twinge of pain causes me to whimper.

“But then there are those Doms who crave a sub exactly like you. A passionate sub takes the mundane out of life. She adds zest and fire to the monotony of everyday living. You vacillate from passion to fear as if you are as wild as a mustang. What is it that you fear, little one? You fear connection, you fear separation. Such a contradiction of terms you are, my little slave.”

I listen intently as my Master speaks; he knows his slave very well and all he is saying is truth.

My mind ponders the thought that Master is the only man I have not subconsciously run off due to my inability to bond. I have a very hard time maintaining any kind of relationship with the opposite sex, with anyone really. I simply don’t connect with people on any level. Men either love me or they hate me, and there is no middle ground with them. My Type A personality is a force to be reckoned with.

Master is right; I truly am a contradiction in terms…

Kansas

I eye the story in front of me, thinking about what I have just written. Unknowingly I have done exactly what Trent mandated; I have inserted a piece of me in the essence of the story line. All of those therapy sessions that never accomplished anything and here is Trent, achieving what a licensed psychiatrist couldn’t. I was learning more about myself through writing than I had ever learned in therapy.

As dominant as Trent is, he isn’t threatened by my success. He is actually pushing me towards accomplishing something good with my talent. It dawns on me that I would love to write full time. How is it that this man can see things in me that I am not aware of? I can’t help but wonder if it is going to be hard to go back to my mundane life of paperwork after this month with Trent is up. I also can’t help but wonder if he is going to let me go…

Executioner

My cock hardens as I watch her bite her bottom lip while she types. I forbid her to wear clothes and I wonder if her pussy gets wet when she writes those nasty little bedtime stories. It isn’t only the aspect of the sex in her stories that excites me, it’s her obedience. I get off on making her obey me, I get off on taking her whenever I feel like it, and I feel like it right now.

I stand, pushing the chair out of my way with so much aggression that it rolls from the plastic sheeting it sits on to protect the carpet.

My strides are long and they hold purpose as I make my way down the hall and into her room. She looks up at me, sees me entering this early in the day, and the fear in her eyes feeds the predator in me.

I stalk across the room and grab her by the throat, growling like some primitive Neanderthal.

“Get your fucking ass laid across that desk.”

She’s trembling as she moves things over like she is scared I am going to clear the desk with just a swipe of my hand. I kick her legs apart with my boot and bend down to look at her pussy. It’s wet—wet and ready for me to take and use.

I lean in, lapping up her juices and sucking at her little, swollen clit. Her legs are shaking. I know she’s already close to coming and I haven’t even worked her over yet. I bring her right to the edge of ecstasy and stop.

My voice threatens her with orgasm denial and I thrust my cock into her. I give her one full, long stroke that plunges deep in her depths and then I pull all the way out.

“Have you earned my cock?” I watch as she fists her hands open and closed in frustration.

“I wrote; I have done everything you asked of me.”

I spread her sweet, little pussy open and I’m glad for the testing that we have already taken care of during her stay here. Being rich means having my own on-call doctor who is willing to make house calls.

“I don’t give a fuck, well, actually I do. You better fucking obey me. Even when you do, Vixen, your orgasms still belong to me.”

I’m pumping just the head of my cock into her entrance and she is begging me for more.

“That’s it, baby girl, beg the man who took you against your will for his cock. Do you want me to set you free after your thirty days are up? Do you want to go back to your mundane office job?”

“No, please stop teasing me. I need to be fucked, Trent.”

I wrap my fist in her hair and jerk her head back. “What did I tell you to call me?”

“Executioner.”

“Take that cock, girl.” Slowly, I enter balls deep into a place that feels like home to me.

“Oh that is good, girl, so damn good.” She makes my life complete. She makes my fucked up normal. My fingers slip to the front of her spread legs and find the spot that will take her over the top. When she hits that pinnacle, she takes me with her, milking me of my seed. When that happens, the results are twofold: pleasure, and success in marking my property as mine. She doesn’t know it yet but I will never let her go…

Dr. Winslow

I decide against calling my patient to come back in. I can’t take a chance on my secretary informing the police that she is presently a patient of mine if she is ever reported missing. With her being released months ago from my treatment, there will be no ties whatsoever with me now.

I wait until the next day and I park outside of her home to stalk her. I remember her telling me that she runs a lot of her errands on Mondays and, true to her word, she exits her home early and makes her way to her car.

It is a typical Monday, an aggravating, over scheduled Monday. Every time I think she has dwindled her ‘to do’ list down, she makes her way to another store or to pay another bill. I am being patient, following her at a distance so she isn’t aware she is being followed.

From store to store I go, patiently following behind her just waiting for the opportunity to strike. She is so focused on getting done, she never notices the predator that follows her every move.

By five o’ clock, I’m tired and losing my patience. She finally lets her guard down and breaks the cardinal rule of staying out of alleys.

I can only assume she made the choice to park in one in order to hit those last two boutiques which can be easily accessed by doing so.

She makes her way out to her car and opens her trunk to unload her bags. She never sees my hand slip over her face from behind. I cover her mouth to muffle her cries for help. I can feel the pulse in her neck wildly racing and I squeeze. There will be no permanent damage but unconsciousness is only seconds away. The last words that she hears are me whispering, “Well, well, we meet again,” right before I stab her in the neck with a syringe.

She awakens, groggy and disoriented. The lighting is dim and the traffic noise outside is muted, almost as if it is at a distance. She begins to get her bearings and realizes she is in a basement. I have her arms and legs spread and tied apart in a spread eagle position, but standing up on a St. Andrew’s cross. One shoe has been kicked off and her dress is bunched up around her legs.

The absolute horror she feels shows on her face when she views a hand held recorder on a tripod. The red, blinking light assures her that our sessions are being filmed. She turns her head when she hears hard soled shoes approaching. Up until this point, she hasn’t noted my presence due to her drug induced state. I purposely touch the soles of my shoes on the floor with more force, causing each step to become louder. It sounds as if thunder is clapping, but I can still hear her breathing becoming more labored due to her fear.

I lift her weary head and her mouth literally drops open. I realize then that she recognizes me despite the drugs coursing through her system. I gently stroke her hair to soothe her, assuring her with my words that I don’t want to hurt her. I softly murmur, “This isn’t about hurting you or having sex with you.” A shudder runs through her body and I chuckle, “What? Are you being shy? Now? After all that we have discussed in our sessions?”

I lean into her ear and whisper, “You belong to me now; you’re my test subject. Just think… you will go down in history. You’ll die knowing your life wasn’t in vain. Of course, I won’t be able to reveal you as my test subject but you can die with a sense of knowing you helped others with their bonding issues. You see… it really is quite simple. If you can bond with a monster who has kidnapped you and is holding you against your will, then that means others with your psychological problems can bond even under the most horrific of circumstances.”