As Mark held the mirror, Emily positioned herself until she could see the brand. Two small overlapping ovals, identical to
the clasps at her wrists and ankles. Emily stared in fascination until Mark removed the mirror and sat down beside her.
"Well, what do you think?"
"It's amazing. It's as if someone drew it there. It's so perfect."
"Yes," Mark smiled happily. "Pretty good for a first attempt, if I say so myself." How odd, the two of them sitting there, calmly discussing the brand he had burned into her ass, while she had been tied down to his kitchen table in his country home, far from the world, divorced from reality. This once famous woman, and this unknown, strange man had spent the last five months together in complete solitude.
As far as the world knew, she was dead—another mysterious disappearance in these tragic and uncertain times.
As far as the world knew, or those who cared, Mark was malingering at home with some possibly fatal disease, disabled but still capable of producing superior software applications that ensured he could retire comfortably in a few short years, living off the royalties of his genius.
Could he really hope to keep her here forever? If she wanted to, couldn't she escape? When he was asleep? Or when he was immersed in his work, lost in his cyber-world?
Indeed, did he want to keep her forever? Wouldn't he tire of this same woman? Of only her company?
No. That he could answer. He would never tire of those violet eyes with their thick fringe of lash. He would never tire of that soft, supple skin, those full perfect breasts, those dusty rose nipples, that perfect pussy that molded so tightly around his hard cock. He would never tire of that quirky
smile, or those long lean legs and slender ankles. He would never tire of her increasingly graceful submission. Of whipping that perfect flesh until she cried. Of using that perfect body until she came.
But she. What about her? Would she tire of him? Had she ever even grown fond of him? He didn't dare even imagine stronger language. The language of love. Why should she love him? He had ripped her from the life she knew—the fame and fortune of being a movie star. He had forced her to bend to his will. He had raped her, sodomized her, kept her in chains.
Did it matter that he had done it with passion, with love? Did it matter that every moment of his life he was consumed by her, by thoughts of her, by a need for her that was overpowering?
He claimed that he loved her, but had he ever given her a chance to respond in kind? He demanded her submission. He took what he wanted of her. But had he ever given her a choice?
Yet how could he? If he gave her a choice, she would surely choose that which would take her from him. And then he would have nothing. No reason for continuing. The computer programming was a sidekick, something to do. It wasn't his essence. She was his essence.
That brought him back to the issue of love. He could possess her body forever. He could keep her here, bind her tighter, whip her harder, subjugate her more completely. But could he ever hope to win her heart? The one freedom a person has, that no one can take, is the freedom to say no.
She might bend to his will, do everything he asked, but her heart could always say no to him.
And for some reason that thought had become intolerable to him.
Mark got up from the bed. He went into the closet and came back with a long blue silk dress. Going to the bureau, he opened the drawer that contained the lace and silk under garments he sometimes liked Emily to wear. He removed a simple pair of white lace panties and a soft white bra that clasped in the front. He also got a pair of matching blue slippers from the closet.
"Here. Put these things on and meet me in the living room when you're ready." He turned and left the room.
Emily sat on the bed for a moment, wondering what was happening. He almost never had her dress and when he did, it was in something a high-class prostitute would wear— complete with garters, sheer stockings, stiletto heels and something form fitting and low-cut. But he had just handed her something she might wear to go to lunch with a friend, or to go shopping.
She fingered the fine fabric of the dress for a moment. It was well cut and simply designed. She liked it. She secured the bra, which fit perfectly, gently cradling her breasts. As she pulled the silky panties up, the heavy golden hoop nestled between the fabric and her pussy lips. She liked the feel of it, hidden in her panties, the metal warming against her flesh. She pulled the dress over her head and stepped into the soft leather shoes.
He hadn't said anything about makeup or going to the bathroom so she obediently went into the living room, hoping he would like what he saw. Mark looked up from the couch and smiled at her. But his eyes were troubled. He was biting his lower lip. She would have guessed he was nervous, if such a thing were possible.
She started to kneel on the floor at his feet as was her custom in this house. To her surprise he gestured for her to sit on the couch next to him. It was all so peculiar. The street clothes, the use of the furniture—as if she were a "regular person" and not his slave, his prisoner.
"Emily. I have to talk to you. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I can't go on like this anymore."
Emily sat still, looking at him expectantly. She didn't ask any questions. He had not asked her for a response and she was not so foolish, even in light of this untoward behavior of his, to assume she had liberties not expressly offered.
"I don't know how to start this. I don't know what to say."
Mark looked at her, his eyes almost pleading. What did he want from her? He looked away, out the window. The sun was up, shining on the tenuous spring that seemed to have seized the valley this week. It seemed appropriate, that he make this offer when springtime had just arrived. That he offer a rebirth when the world was young and fresh. Of course, that rebirth might be accompanied by death, but then, nature was rarely gentle.
"Emily. I love you. When I kidnapped you, when I stole you away, it was my intention to keep you my prisoner forever. But it has become harder and harder to maintain the
jail, my darling. I find that I'm no longer satisfied with your servitude under duress. It is no longer enough to accept your submission, when I know it is not freely given.
Emily sat silently, her bearing awkward and stiff on the couch. She found she would rather be on the floor, kneeling, secure in her position, in the knowledge of her status. Mark smiled at her, but his eyes were dark and watchful. He started to speak, faltered, and then began again.
"I need more. I need a reciprocal love. And I know that isn't something that can be demanded, that can be claimed. I have come to a decision that has been developing inside of me for quite a while now. I haven't had the courage to bring it up until now. I think maybe it was the way you responded to the branding. You couldn't have feigned such a sincere response, even a great actress like you.
"What I mean is, I think you have developed an understanding of the life—of this lifestyle of master and slave, of Dominant and submissive. But you have only experienced it through force. Through bondage and enslavement, without choice, without free will.
"It should be enough for me. I thought it was enough for me. But not anymore. I can't do it." He stopped speaking, as if the words he had to say were too difficult to express. He stared morosely out the window, lapsing into silence. Emily sat still, her hands in her lap, her face expressionless.
But that was just a defense. She had learned over the months to assume this mask of noncommittal deference. It seemed to keep her out of trouble. At the moment, she wasn't at all sure how to respond to what he was saying. She
wasn't sure
what
he was saying, to be honest. As she sat, replaying in her head what she had heard, she realized with a dawning horror that he was going to kill her. What else could it be? He said he could no longer tolerate the situation. But what options were there? He couldn't possibly set her free and risk her turning him in to the authorities. He would have no choice.
It was enough for me. But not anymore. I can't do
it.
He must be saying he was tired of her. And if that were the case, he would have to kill her. She was as good as dead.
As she realized this, a small cry escaped her lips. She fell to the floor at his feet and wrapped her arms around his legs.
"Please! Please, please, please! I don't want to die! I'll be better! I'll take whatever you do to me. I'll learn to serve you better! Please, oh God, please don't kill me!"
"Kill you!" Mark stared down at her, shocked. "Kill you?
How could I ever do that? You are my lifeblood. You are everything to me. To kill you would be to kill myself."
Emily knelt back on her haunches, relief flooding her features. She still was confused, and not a little afraid.
Apparently she had misunderstood him. What was this about?
"Emily. I'm going to let you go. I know there's the risk you will turn me in to the police. But even if you do, they won't find me. I won't be here. I know how to disappear. And anyway, I don't care about that. What I'm saying, my beloved darling, is I can claim your body, and I can keep you forever, but I can't make you love me. I can't make your heart feel something it won't. And I don't want you anymore, without that."
Emily was dumbfounded. Did he mean it? Or was this another test. A trick, for which swift punishment would be her fate if she accepted the false promise of freedom. Mark saw the emotions flickering across her face and realized that she didn't trust him. And why should she? He had never earned that trust.
Doggedly he went on. "Here's my plan. I know I can't just thrust you back into the world, as you are now. I'm going to help you 'decompress' as it were. I'm going to allow you time to 'get back to normal'. From this moment, you no longer belong to me. You will sleep in the guest bedroom. You will have your clothing. I will not beat you, or use you sexually.
You will not submit to me. You will be here as my guest. You will eat with me at the table. You will take back your body and your private functions. You will decide what you wear and how you spend your day, as long as it is in this house. At the end of the week, I'll take you away from here.
"I can't drop you off in the city, for obvious reasons, but I'll give you money and leave you somewhere where you will be able to get yourself home. It's over, Emily. It's done.
You're free." He stopped speaking, his words choked off by a sob. He fled from the room, deeply embarrassed that she had witnessed the tears he had sworn to control. She was alone.
Emily sat looking down at her hands, still folded demurely in her lap. Free? To go away from here? In one week, just like that? Part of her didn't believe him. This had to be some elaborate ruse, another dangerous cruel game.
But the tears, that stricken look on his face. Was he serious? Would he really set her free? She could return to her family and her fans. She could reclaim her life!
And Mark. What would become of him? She would never see him again, of that she was certain. He couldn't risk that.
She continued to look down at her hands, and her eyes rested on the iron bracelets still binding her symbolically to him. She heard his footsteps and looked up. Mark had returned. All trace of tears were gone and his mouth was set in a grim line.
It was as if he had read her mind, for his eyes also rested on those bracelets.
Fumbling in his pocket, Mark took out a strangely shaped little key. "Hold out your wrists." As she did so, he inserted the key into the small opening at the clasp on her wrist cuff.
After a few twists the mechanism sprang free and the two ovals parted. He repeated the procedure on the other wrist.
Then, kneeling before his slave, he did the same with each ankle cuff.
Emily's hands were on each opposing wrist, massaging the now-naked flesh. She felt overwhelmed and confused. "Stand up and take off your panties." Emily did so, realizing what he intended to do. She almost protested. She found to her own surprise that she didn't want him to remove the gold jewelry that hung so provocatively from her cunt. She wanted it to stay. But she didn't dare say no. Even though he claimed to have given her back that right, she found she was incapable of refusing. Perhaps that would come in time. This was all so new, so uncertain.
If Mark was aware of her discomfiture, he gave no sign.
Gently, using a special jeweler's pliers, he sprung the lock on the small oval of gold that hung so prettily from her pussy.
For the first time in one hundred-fifty days, Emily was free of all shackles.
She slept fitfully the first night. A part of her expected to be awakened by a blow or a sting of the lash, or a stiff cock thrusting at her lips or her pussy. A part of her did not believe his protestations of true love or his desire for her love to be returned. That part of her expected the trick, and the
retribution that would all be a part of this long and elaborate game.
But it was morning, and he hadn't come to her. She sat up and slid her feet over the edge of the bed, letting them rest on the soft throw rug. It was warm enough now that she didn't need a robe but she liked the idea that she
could
use one if she wished. So she reached over to where she had placed the silk kimono robe on the end of the bed, and wrapped it around her body, enjoying the feel of the soft silk on her skin.