The Romantic Dominant (18 page)

“I am so sorry for throwing such a tantrum,” she whined. “I think it was being locked up for so long, and I’m so hungry. I was all emotional and everything.”

“I should lock you up again,” he growled. “If I let cook my dinner, you’ll obey me completely?”

“Absolutely, Master.”

“Go in the kitchen, eat something, then prepare my meal, steak and broccoli. While you’re cooking I’ll decide what’s to be done with you.”

“Yes, Master,” she whimpered, turning to leave.

“Wait,” he barked.

“Yes, Master?”

“Kneel in front of me, kiss my crotch and swear undying devotion.”

She shuffled around and fell in front of him, placing her lips on his zipper.

“I swear my undying devotion to you,” she whispered.

“Repeat after me,” he boomed. “You are my Lord and Master,”

“You are my Lord and Master,”

“I shall obey you, no matter the request.”

“I shall obey you, no matter the request,

“I shall live only to serve you.”

“I shall live only to serve you.”

“On your feet,” he snarled, gripping her hair and pulling her up. “You are my slut-slave. No more, no less.”

“Thank you, Master. I understand,”
and I hate you with everything in me. You’re a freak, a monster, and I will get away from you. I don’t know how or when, but I will.

“You may go,” he decreed.

Quaking with fear she entered the kitchen and plopped her sore seat on a chair trying to catch her breath. Hunger finally making her move, she opened the refrigerator and saw a container of tomato-basil soup. While it was heating in the microwave she found a loaf of bread and devoured a couple of slices to fill the empty hurt in her stomach, then stood at the island and finished the soup straight from the container.

Feeling somewhat better she prepared his meal, and a few minutes before she was about to plate the steak, he walked in and sat at the table waiting to be served. It occurred to her he either had impeccable timing, or he’d been watching her.

“Stand beside me, don’t move,” he grunted, picking up his knife and fork.

She did as directed, trying to stay calm, and every so often he would cruelly squeeze and pinch her hot backside. He clearly enjoyed her cries of pain, smirking as she reacted, so she exaggerated her sense of misery.

“I see you had the tomato soup,” he observed, glancing at the empty container on the counter.

“Yes, Master.”

“That will be enough for you tonight.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“In the refrigerator you’ll find a carton of heavy whipping cream,” he declared as she cleared the table. “Whip it until its as thick as you can make it, grab a spoon and take it to your room. Leave it on your chest of drawers, shower, change into your nightie with the top buttons undone and your tits exposed, then lay on the bed and wait for me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“One more thing. I expect this kitchen to be spotless. I’ll check before I pay you a visit, and if I find a single crumb you’ll be punished.”

“I understand, Master,”
and when I can, I will knee you in the groin so hard, you won’t be able to see straight for a month.

Connor headed up to his room to settle on his bed and watch her, contemplating the fresh cream he would soon be slathering all over her lovely mounds. He would take his time, make it last, maybe even stretch out alongside her and take a nap with a mound in his mouth.

His orgasm had been so powerful and the meal so delicious he felt like a nap, but he wanted to enjoy the evening’s entertainment first. As he sat on his bed and turned on the monitor, his mind wandered to the Brazilian Bitch. He hoped she was cowering in a hovel somewhere, afraid to show her face, constantly looking over her shoulder.

Exactly what she deserves,
he growled, but focusing his attentions back on Slut Abby, he licked his lips as she began to whip the cream.

I
n spite of the early morning shock, the day turned into a marvelous one for Gabriela. After retrieving her account passbook she cashed in a CD and canceled all her credit cards, relieved to discover nothing had been charged on them.

Her trip to the hair salon held an unexpected surprise. The hair stylist was housed in a day spa; to her delight Zander had arranged for her to have a ninety-minute massage, and as he left he handed her a cell phone.

“It’s just a burner phone until we can get you a new one, just call me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Zander, you have completely taken my breath away,” she sighed. “This is fantastic.”

“Just relax and enjoy yourself,” he smiled.

She hugged him so tightly he thought she might break his spine, but the sheer happiness on her face would have been worth every fractured vertebrae.

“I’m going to go scout,” he winked at her, and ambled from the reception area as if he’d not a care in the world.

That wasn’t true of course, Zander had a great deal on his mind; a plan was germinating to expose and capture the evil Connor Matthews, and his first stop would be Connor’s place of business.

The renovated Victorian house that served as Connor’s headquarters was maroon with cream trim, tasteful and dignified, and the black Porsche Gabriela had described was sitting in its premiere parking space by the entrance. For thirty minutes he sat and watched; cars came and went with regularity. It was a busy, successful office.

Starting his car he headed across town towards Connor’s House of Evil, and as he pulled to the curb and studied the Tudor that sat grandly back from the street, it took all his self-control not to bust down the door and whisk away poor Abigail.

The longer he sat the more his mind churned, and by the time Gabriela called he had set the plan into motion and was eager to share the details with her and hear her thoughts.

He collected her from the spa, and on the drive home stopped in at his favorite Italian restaurant to pick up some vegetarian lasagna. A short time later he was sharing his idea with her over the delicious meal and a bottle of Meritage.

“Do you think you’re up to it?” he asked tentatively. “I would certainly understand if you’re not. You’ve only been away from that house of horrors for a couple of days.”

“It’s so strange, it feels like a month,” she exclaimed, “but yes, I definitely want to, in fact I can’t wait.”

“I know what you mean,” he sighed. “It was so hard for me not break down that door and get Abigail out of there, but this has to be done absolutely right, and you don’t have to worry, Nick will make sure nothing happens to either of you.”

“Nick, the playboy. He’s such a sweet man, it’s a shame he hasn’t found the right girl?”

“I agree. I’m sure he’ll find her one of these days,” he smiled. “I have contacts on the force, but being a former detective Nick knows exactly who can be trusted.”

“You never told me how you two met?”

“I’d had some theft at one of my building sites and he was the detective in charge of the case,” Zander explained. “We hit it off immediately, and I ultimately hired him to be my Chief of Security, but I never thought I’d need him for something like this.”

“You’re sure you can get Connor out of his office?”

“Yes, absolutely. He’s probably salivating right now. Being the architect for my new condo project would be a huge boon for him. Believe me, he’ll be driving to meet me when you and Nick go in his house, and when I show up at his office and he thinks he’s screwed up, he’ll have to turn around and drive all the way back. Round trip is at least an hour.”

“I am so apprehensive about it all, but excited too,” she said. “It’s weird, everything I’m feeling.”

“I’m sure,” Zander nodded, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. “It’s all going to work out, I know it. I just hope I can talk my way into his private office and poke around.”

“If anyone can, you can,” she said reassuringly.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” he smiled, changing the subject. “Your hair is just like it used to be, and you look so much more relaxed”

Her hair, which had been long and stringy when he’d found her, was now shoulder length, full of bounce and shine, and the tension had disappeared from her face.

“You did mention something about that when you picked me up,” she grinned, “and it’s all thanks to you. I’ve had the best day in, well, forever, and may I suggest the perfect way to end it?” she asked softly.

“Of course,” he replied, staring at her, still amazed at the transformation.

“Lay in bed with me, watch some TV, cuddle, just be together.”

“I would love that,” he smiled.

They cleared away the plates, put the leftover lasagna in the refrigerator, and walked hand-in-hand down the hallway and into the bedroom.

“I’m going to wash off the day,” he remarked, “you make yourself comfortable.”

She pecked him on the cheek, and was turning to move into the guest room to change when he gently pulled her into him. Hugging her softly, he inhaled the almond fragrance of her hair, relishing the sweet yielding of her body as it molded into his.

“When all this is over, would you like to take a trip with me?” he asked, the idea unexpectedly popping into his head.

“That sounds wonderful,” she breathed. “Where to?”

“Anywhere you want, Europe, Scotland, the Far East, anywhere.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Prague,” she yawned, fatigue setting in, “but there are many choices.”

“You’re worn out, I should have realized…”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, “but I do think I need to change and get into bed.”

“Of course,” he agreed, kissing her on the forehead and releasing her.

She slipped from his arms and he ambled into his room, stripping off and stepping into the shower. As resilient as Gabriela was, she was still recovering from her ordeal and needed early nights and long periods of restful sleep.

Standing under the hot stream of water, mentally running through his plan, he said a silent prayer, asking that luck would be on his side. Through his escalating career he’d learned that the best laid plans still required a certain amount of fortuitous bounces, like the fumbled football in the closing seconds of the game.

Toweling off and walking from the bathroom, he found Gabriela already in bed waiting for him, her eyes closed, her breathing deep and even. Though the ebony sky told him night had fallen, it was relatively early and he wasn’t tired, but he turned off the lights and started a low fire, crawling gently between the sheets. She moved to nestle against him, her naked body immediately inspiring his cock to make itself known.

“Zander,” she mumbled, “I am so tired.”

“I know,” he murmured, “you need to sleep.”

Barely had he spoken the words when he felt her drift away, and staring out at the night he thanked the heavens for her safe return, and hoped the same would soon be true for Abigail.

The comfort of her soft presence allowed him to doze, and in the early hours of the morning, when her fingers slipped around his hand, and her breasts rubbed urgently against him, and her lips found his, and her quiet but eager voice whispered her need, he rolled her on to her side, sliding his quickly growing member into the warm inviting folds of her welcoming pussy,

He laid buried for a while, nuzzling her neck, his fingers searching out her pulsing clit, rubbing and circling. She moaned softly before moving against him, thrusting back, asking for more. He rode her slowly, all the while massaging her magic button, bringing them to their mutual moment without pause, until they shuddered together, the tingling euphoria washing over them, leaving them spent and fulfilled.

C
onnor woke early, and while working out on his exercise machine he replayed the tape of Slut Abby from the previous evening. She’d been bound and spread, and after applying copious dollops of whipped cream across her marvelous mounds he’d hungrily slurped it up, then stretched alongside her and sucked on her nipples for a gloriously long time.

While it was a satisfying replay, he wanted to start his day watching the recording of Slut Abby’s first night panic. There was little he found more empowering than the sight of a desperate, hysterical female. Searching out the scene he soaked up her piteous pleas, and when she began banging on the bedroom door begging to be released, he felt the power surge through his body.

“Just what I needed,” he laughed.

His exercise over, he froze the picture, relishing a particularly wretched look on her face, and was about to turn off the machine when it occurred to him that he should delete the recordings.

Fuck it. I’ll burn the discs tonight and then delete it. What a fucking pain.

Brushing off the irritation he dressed in his best Hugo Boss suit and walked the short distance down the hall to unlock Slut Abby’s door. He’d set her alarm clock and left instructions that she should be showered, dressed in the maid’s outfit, and waiting for him by 8:30 a.m. As he’d decree, she was ready and waiting, perched on the edge of her bed.

“Time to make my breakfast, and then I’ll be taking you on a small, educational tour before you start your duties.”

Stay calm, do as he says. Play the game.

“Yes, Master,” she replied quietly, and rose to her feet, following him out of the room and down the stairs.

“Two poached eggs on toast,” he ordered as they entered the kitchen, “and coffee with a splash of half and half, and two packets of sugar. Use the black mug by the coffee maker.”

Without a word she set about preparing his meal, and after watching her for a moment or two he left to collect the morning paper from the doorstep. By the time he returned she had set his place and was busy buttering the toast and watching the eggs to make sure they didn’t overcook. As she served him the coffee, he looked up at her and frowned.

“Remember, you stay next to me as I eat.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, dropping her eyes.

“The eggs should be done. Fetch them, I have a very important meeting this morning and I can’t be late.”

She scurried away, fearful of his displeasure, and carefully placed the eggs on the plate with the toast. After setting the meal in front of him she remained by his side, silent and still.