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"You mean, of all the other likely subs, why did I choose you?"

exactly."

"Your spirit. I like to tame wild things."

"You think I'm wild?"

    "Wild enough to rebel against your father, against his money, his way of life. Damn! You even shed your name and chose your own."

    "You know about my family?"

    "Of course, who doesn't? Sally Proctor.
The
Sally Proctor, and now she's mine."

    Today, he seemed almost normal, his restless energy gone. Today she could talk and he wouldn't call her uppity. She never did know what offended him so much that he had to 'take her down a peg,' forcing her to suffer in the woods.

    "So do you always choose women you have to tame?"

    "Only ones who think they're subs. I give them a taste of their desire and see what happens."

    "A taste? You call this a taste?" She rose up, flabbergasted. "This whole set-up?"

    "Hey, doll, you remember what I said about being uppity. You're being uppity now."

    "Sorry, sir," she answered with a demure smirk, and then sunk back down.

    "Well, you're forgiven." He turned on the mattress and gently ran his fingers through her hair. "Long as you make love to me like you mean it."

    She heard that phrase… make love… and wondered if it were possible to make love to a man who held her life within his grasp. Who shackled her, punished her, humiliated her as he kept her captive. Could she make love while being forced to do it?

    But it didn't matter what she wondered; he wouldn't let her fail him.

    She started with her lips, turning herself enough so she could rise up above his reclining body – dragging her shackles as she did – and kiss him across his chest, his arms, his neck, where she nuzzled in, feeling his warmth and smelling the sweet sensuous aromas of his body. She moved downward carefully, using shackled hands and an attentive mouth, drawing in his pheromones while feeling her own arousal spike again. They'd just fucked a half hour before…but she was still horny; she was always horny, as he'd trained her to be. By the time her kisses crossed his belly and moved down to the fuzz of hair at his crotch, his cock was beginning to pulse in a regular beat as it grew in size. She didn't even have to touch it to see that it would soon be erect. But she did touch it carefully, with tentative fingers at first, then her lips and mouth went over the head and her tongue worked its way 'lovingly' around the rim. This was making love, was it not?

    She began to suck, easily at first, then after gently teasing the crown and shaft, she sucked more aggressively, drawing the thick meat deeper every time her head bobbed down toward his fragrant crotch. Just sucking him sent waves of delightful pleasure through her body, and obviously had its effect on him. He writhed like a bound maiden against the mattress.

    
What a fun thought!

    She imagined herself more powerful than she was, unshackled and mastering him, flipping roles as she bewitched him with her powerful witchery. Was that even possible? He almost looked surrendered now, vanquished, powerless to do anything but her bidding. A strange paradox this was: that she could serve and conquer him both, at the same time, he'd conquered her but was often forced to serve her basic needs.

    Her mind was boggled as it danced around these thoughts, even though the truth remained clear to her…

    She was still shackled, still the bound maid who had just been severely reprimanded for being too uppity. Tossing off her silly musings, she got down to business again with her mouth moving deeper now between his parted thighs, taking his testes inside her mouth and laving each one with great care before moving on. He shuddered deeply, moaning with cresendoing arousal, then finally clutched her by the hair – it had grown enough now to make a decent handle – and forcibly reminded her who was in charge.

    She had no doubt of her slavish position and her slavish need, which drew her deeper into his body and crotch, until she passed his testicles, lifting them gently away and working her tongue first on his glans and then toward his tight asshole.

    "Work it, doll," he seethed, now grasping her hair in his fist so tightly that she thought he'd rip it from her scalp.

    Abandoning her objections, she worked toward his pleasure, ignoring her own, thrusting her tongue against the fragrant crevice and prodding deep.

    "God, you fucking slut!" he groaned.

    Suddenly, he jerked her up by the hair and kissed her lips.

    One brusque move and he'd rolled her over on to her back, chains rattling, while his cock plunged deep again and her pussy responded, fiercely grabbing on to the tumescent organ. Her whimpering cries rose up loudly, joining his wild refrain of curses.

"Damn, you're a hot fuck!" he declared. The fucking was over by the time she heard that exclamation.

    Had they 'made love', she wondered as they fell into a languorous heap, or was this just another fuck among many?

S
CENE
E
LEVEN

He used the key.

    Meredith looked up from the latest Margaret Atwood and immediately thrust it between the cushions of the sofa. She took off her glasses and slipped them into the case, her nerves suddenly on edge. He was actually entering her apartment with no warning. Just dropping by like he said he would.

    She heard his feet in the hallway against the hardwood, then watched as his imposing figure emerged in the doorway of her apartment. He gazed around, sizing things up in a brief but thorough inspection; the same sort of scrutiny he gave to a fresh crime scene before he plunged in for a more exhaustive inspection.

    "Very nice, Miss Shaw," he finally said. "You like it here?"

    "Yes, sir. I wish it were larger, but …" she stopped the rush of nervous words on her own this time. He'd said that she had to talk less, think more.

    "But?" he prompted her.

    "It's all I can afford. Especially…well, with Kat gone."

    "Yes. I remember when I was young."

    "Oh, but I bet you were successful even then."

    He smiled. "You'd be surprised by the struggles I had."

    She weakly smiled, realizing how strange this seemed to have her boss inside her home, taking charge of
her
private space with just the commanding look in his stern eyes. More strange than that was truly
wanting
his presence that far inside her life, wanting all he stood for – sex and domination, discipline, control, punishment – and love. In the end, their pairing would come down to love; she believed that even if the idea of love had not yet crossed his mind. She believed that by being his submissive and surrendering to the desires they shared, in the end he'd be overwhelmed by his love for her.

    Even now, she was so in love with his dominant persona that her thoughts were constantly plagued by the charm and mystery he exuded. It didn't matter that she hardly knew the man. Although she was wise enough to know that there might be some difference between the real Alain Danvers and her image of who he was, her obsession and the horny feelings that resulted were so strong that she was forced to play this out. She'd been impetuous but determined when she first broached the subject of her submission with him, and now look at what she created! In her humble estimation she was the luckiest woman alive.

    "So, it's just this room?"

    "And the bedroom over there," she pointed to the door on the far wall. "Kat and I used to share it, when she was here."

    He gave the bedroom a quick inspection, then returned to her, frowning. "I can't say I expected anything different."

    
What did he mean by that?

    She stared around, realizing only then what her master saw. The piled laundry, the mess of papers on the small eating table, and in one corner her stabs at a new painting, that wasn't working out too well. Then there was the stack of mail on the counter, which he quickly thumbed through, while she stared at him, wincing.

    "It's a mess, isn't it?" she spoke before he could comment.

    "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I suppose that includes your finances?" he nodded at the stack of unpaid bills.

"Maybe…" she cautiously answered.

"Maybe? Or
yes, it is, sir
."

"Yes, it is, sir. I've never been good at stuff like that."

"'Stuff like that' is your responsibility, Miss Shaw."

She blushed. "I suppose it is."

"And maybe why you need a dominant man…?"

"Maybe so, sir."

    He ruminated on the scene for a few minutes longer, stopping to observe the painting she previously mentioned. Then he turned decisively.

    "Well, the mess ends tonight."

    Her eyes widened.

    "You have bills still owing?"

"Yes, sir."

    "And enough money to pay them?" She shrugged.

    "Answer the question when I speak to you."

    "No, sir, I don't think so. But I really don't know for certain. Since Kat's been gone, I haven't known where to begin…"

    He mulled that thought. "All right then, after I leave tonight, Miss Shaw, you'll prepare a ledger of your accounts, what's owed and how much money you have. Bring it to the station tomorrow and we'll discuss how to turn this around. Is that understood?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "And when you're done with the ledger, you'll clean this place top to bottom, every square inch. Floors, walls, furniture. You'll pick up the trash, wash the dishes and your sheets. I want it done right. You can expect me to drop by to see what you've done."

    "When am I supposed to sleep?"

    "When you get the job done. I really don't care if you sleep or not."

    Her entire body trembled with a combination of excitement and fright.

    "And… then…you'll come by… while I'm gone?"

    "Is there a problem with that?"

    "Oh, no, sir." She shook her head.

    He briefly smiled. "Now, get up."

    Nobody had ever spoken to her this way, but then no one had ever taken a long look at her failing life and seen it for its sorry state, or bothered to invest a moment's time in seeing her fractured world put right. It had never dawned on her that Alain Danvers, her Dom, would go this far deep into her life with his control. After a moment of stunned silence, she moved to her feet, feeling childlike but oddly loved. Of course, she couldn't expect him to really love her, not yet, but the control felt so much like love that she would do anything,
anything
to please him. Such was the cause of the curious titillation that swept her now.

    Looking down into her dewy eyes, he said, "I'm not going to be nice."

    "I expect not, sir."

    "And you may despise me by the time the night's done." So firm. So sure. So completely in control. Her heart shuddered; the ache in her loins cut deep. Sharp spasms of desperate longing had already begun.

    "Oh, I don't think I could despise you, sir."

    He raised his eyebrows disputing her claim, then grabbed her upper arm and shoved her toward the kitchen table that he cleared with a broad sweep of his arm, sending the mess on top to the floor. Before she could take stock of her vulnerable position, he'd lowered her fuchsia pink pajama pants and yanked them to the floor.

    The first smack of his hand created such a vibrant sting that she could feel her body resist. And though she instinctively tried to twist away, he wasn't deterred, but forcefully braced her against the table. His powerful hand came down repeatedly striking the center of her ass cheeks, until both were burning and she was dancing on tiptoe in response to the terrible pain.

    "Please, sir… I…"

    "Hush!" He spanked her harder, through every gasping breath and wincing grimace and futile attempt to wrench herself from his steely grip. When he finally stopped, he backed away and went searching through her apartment, finally finding what he needed in the kitchen and returning to where she was still pinned by his command.

    If she thought his hand delivered a shocking punishment, she was further stunned to feel the level of angry pain leap up ten-fold as the wooden spoon he'd found covered the same stinging territory.

    "NO, NONONO, PLEASE!" Her horrified cries rose up unchecked until she was practically screaming.