Controlled by His Voice Box Set (Erotic Romance) (11 page)

"Your reward is that I will allow you to orgasm this week. If you're masturbating or even if you're with someone, you may call me and ask permission to come. I will grant it but only if you call and ask permission."

"Yes, mentor," I said.

"And you don't have to wear the Bluetooth earpiece all the time. If I have special instructions for you, I will call."

Shit. That's not the reward I was hoping for. But at least I'll be able to avoid the frustration that built up in me the previous week.

I felt the latch being undone. He took my right hand and eased my arm out of its prison. I moved my head up. My shoulders were stiff.

"How long was I here, mentor?" I said.

"How long did it feel?" he said.

"The last time you didn't touch me felt like it was about... an hour, mentor?" I said.

He laughed. I heard the top of the stockade fall back into place.

"The longest time was ten minutes," he said. "It's only three-thirty right now. We've only been in this room less than an hour."

Really? No fucking way.

He grabbed my arms and bound my wrists again. Then there was an odd hesitation. I sensed he was deciding something.

Then he grabbed my wrists and pulled me into him. His hot breath flowed into my left ear.

"You're a very good girl," he said in a whisper.

I melted back into him, but with brutal force he pushed me away and led me back toward the door.

I heard the heavy lock again and the sound of the metal door opening. He led me back along the same labyrinthine trail up and down stairs. Concrete became carpet then hardwood again. We stopped. The blindfold fell off.

I stood in front of a door. I recognized it. I was in the office with the big glass table where I presented him with the butt plug and had my anal orgasm. I was facing the door to the same bathroom.

He undid my wrists. We must have passed through the lounge where I had left my clothes because he had them with us and handed them to me. I took them.

"Shower up and meet me in the lounge," he said with a smile. Mr. Congenial.

I opened the door and went into the bathroom. There were the towels, soap, shampoo, and conditioner all laid out like before.

He walked off and I closed the door behind me. I fell to the floor, exhausted.

After a few minutes of just feeling the big white fuzzy round rug under me, I got myself up and stood in front of the full length mirror.

A spent girl looked back at me. But a happy one.

I turned around and saw the thin lines I knew would be there. They were all along my back and all over my ass.
God, I had actually been whipped!

I got in the shower.

"So how did you feel about that session?" he said.

We were back in the lounge and I was fully dressed. It was getting dark outside. The ocean had turned a steel gray. Dark clouds had replaced the blue sky from earlier.

"Um... good, mentor," I said.

"It's Tristan when we're not in session."

"Um... that feels strange, mentor."

He looked at me with a commanding stare.

"Okay, Tristan," I said.

God, this is weird.

He made some notes, smiling to himself several times.
What the fuck is he smiling about?

"You know," he said, "I saw something special in you but I thought it would take a lot longer to get where we are. But I think you're ready for Level 4."

The levels have numbers?

Fine. Whatever. All I cared about was how beautiful this man is. And not beautiful in a good-looking All-American football player way. That was Jake.

The kind of beautiful that is Tristan Slade is in his magnetic eyes, the same colors as the ocean surrounding the Florida Keys. I swear I can even see a coral reef in there.

Then there are the sharp features. Jake is actually more muscular than Tristan. But Tristan looks like he was cast from a material not of this earth, a distinctive chin carved from stone, high cheekbones with deep ridges that lead down to a cruel mouth, and messy brown hair that cries out for my fingers to run through it.

"What do you think?" said Tristan.

Shit, I drifted off and didn't hear what he said before that.

"Well, could you give me another example?" I said.

"Another example of what? All I said was let's meet again at 2 pm next Saturday for our next session. Are you all right, Meghan?"

Next Saturday? Really? He wants me to wait an
entire fucking week
before I get to dive into those eyes again? Or feel that hot hard cock pressing against my teeth?

And why didn't he fuck me? He could have. I so wanted him to. He could have at least come in my mouth. Are we ever going to have actual sex? Or is that just not part of
submission training?
If it isn't, then maybe
submission training
isn't for me.

What about that mad erection he had? Is he going to jerk off once I leave? Can he just shut that off? No blue balls?

Fuck, I'm getting horny again.

"Meghan, do you have a question for me?" he said.

"Um..." I said. "Yes. Why didn't you... you know..."

"Why didn't I what?"

Bastard. He's going to make me say it.

"Why didn't you fuck me?" I said.

"Meghan, you know the answer to that question. We don't have a relationship here. This is your sexual fulfillment training. You know that."

"So we're never going to?"

"Meghan, you're a great girl. But I don't get involved with my students."

Whacking my naked ass until I come isn't getting involved? Really?

"Do you still have other students?" I said.

"Yes."

I felt a pang of sadness.

"Are they doing as well as me?" I said.

"Meghan," he said, "this is not a contest. This is to help you become a more sexually fulfilled woman."

He got up. I guess training is over.
Fuck.

I picked up my purse and walked out of the lounge. I felt his presence behind me.
Is he looking at my ass that he could have just taken at any time? I hope so.

At the door, I turned and faced him.

"Oh, by the way," I said, "what is that thing called you were whacking me with? I forget."

"It's called a flogger," he said.

"Right."

He looked at his watch. While his eyes were diverted, I made my move. Catching him off guard, I sprang forward and kissed him full force on the lips.

He resisted but then grabbed my shoulders, squeezing them together. Our tongues found each other.

I melted and I swear that for just a split second he did too. His hands moved down my back as mine moved up to his neck, pressing him into me.

His knees bent a little and he swayed.

I was about to jump up and wrap my legs around his but he got hold of my wrists and squeezed them together.

Not in a nice way either.

"Owww!" I said as he twisted them.

I looked up and saw his face. He was angry. It was a fierce anger that I could see he struggled to control. He shook and stared at me like he was going to do something he would regret.

Then, as quickly as it hit him I saw it drift away and he was back to being Tristan.

"Go home," he said. "If you try anything like that again, submission training is over. Do you understand? Say 'yes, mentor.'"

"Yes, mentor."

He let go of my wrists. They hurt again as I twisted them back to normal. I picked up my purse and turned to the door.

He just kept a cruel stare going at me as I walked outside. He closed the door.

Back in my car, I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
Shit, Meghan, get fucking control of yourself! You agreed to this. You know he has two other students.

Is he fucking them? Well, not if they're his students... at least according to him.
That gave me a little sense of relief.

I glanced over at the house. I saw him standing in the window. Just staring at my car.
What the fuck? Well, two can play that game, pal
. I stared back.

As I sat there, it began to rain. We were heading back into another winter warmup. The droplets showered down onto my windshield, obscuring his figure lit by the light from inside his house. Then I saw his water-blurred shape turn and drift backward and then out of sight.

I had showered but I felt like I was a mess again. I had waterworks flowing from both ends of me. Not only were my emotions out of control...
as in I, Meghan Delaney, do not know who the goddamned fuck I am anymore...
but also my pussy was dripping again.

Fuck it.
I reached down and stroked my lips, flicking my clit. I thought about being in that stockade, with nothing but the flogger hitting my buttocks. Less than an hour ago. Each whack a universe of warped paradise.

I pretended I was getting whacked again. I could feel the sting of each one. My hips bucked. My orgasm rose.

With my left hand, I tapped the Bluetooth earpiece.

As it rang I continued to ride the edge, drawing tiny circles on the head of my clit.

I heard a click.

"Yes, Meghan," he said.

"Mentor, may I come please?" I said.

There was a long pause.

"Yes you may," he said.

"Thank you, mentor," I said.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye, mentor."

And I came, almost hitting my head on the ceiling of my car as my ass rose up and down off my seat.

Once I was done, I started my car and drove to my Dad's house.

Meredith Zycroft wore lipstick that was too red. I recognized the look she was going for... pale skin, red lips, short black hair, black blouse and pants. But her face was not cooperating. Too much pancake over the wrinkles. Her upper lip had the tell-tale lines of a chain smoker. I looked at her fingernails. Yep, nicotine stains.

We were in her office on Mass Ave, no windows, door shut, noise machine on right outside the door. We had already filled out the proper paperwork for insurance and liability.

"So what brings you to seek therapy, Meghan?" she said. Her pose was inquisitive yet welcoming. Her voice was soft. Her eyes seemed to be listening as intently as her ears.

"I'm making some odd decisions lately," I said, "and I'd like to figure out why. Your ad said you specialize in working with alternative sexual issues."

"If by alternative you mean lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgender issues, then yes."

"You also listed BDSM."

"Yes. Bondage-discipline-domination-submission-sadism-masochism. These are also within my realm of experience."

Have you ever been locked in a stockade and flogged?
I wondered.

"Oh, I see," I said. "Well, I seem to have found myself in that kind of relationship."

"What kind?" she said.

"The second. A dominant-submissive type relationship."

She just looked at me, all inviting and warm. Her eyes said
go on.

I began talking about my
submissive training
with Tristan, leaving out his name and how we got together. I described the public show (but changed some details), the great butt plug robbery, and my recent flogging incident. I told her about Jake and my reaction to his proposal.

We somehow ended up talking about my parents.
Therapists always get to the parents, don't they?

I told her about my Dad with his beer and sports, then my Mom with her preaching and morality.

Then she just looked at me with piercing eyes.

"So to repeat my question, Meghan, what brings you to seek therapy?"

"It's just that..." I said, "well, I don't... um... I want to know what the rules are."

"The rules?"

"Yes. I want to know if I'm going the right thing. What the rules are for being happy in this type of relationship. And if it's normal to even be in one."

"Normal," she said. "That's a very interesting word. What does that mean?"

"I... uh... don't have a dictionary with me but I guess accepted, traditional, understood."

"Do you want to be accepted, traditional, and understood, Meghan?"

"I... think so. I'm just confused because I was so one person and now... overnight... I've become so another person. I feel like I'm losing my identity."

"In what way?"

"Like if I continue with this odd relationship, am I ever going to be able to be a normal loving wife and mother?"

"Like your mother?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call her a normal loving wife and mother either."

"Why not?"

I felt tears welling up.

"Because she loved God more than she loved my dad. All my dad ever wanted was her and she left him. I think, anyway. I'm not sure. My dad doesn't talk much."

I was full-blown crying now. Meredith Zycroft pushed over a box of tissues. I took one. I wonder if therapists get bulk discounts on tissues.

"We have a lot to discuss, Meghan," said Meredith.

Her tone indicated our time was up. She turned to her MacBook and tapped some keys.

"How is next Wednesday at the same time?" she said.

"Fine," I said, wiping my nose.

She wrote the time and date of my next appointment on the back of one of her cards and handed it to me. I thanked her and walked through the waiting room to the exit. There were three other people there. None of them made eye contact with me.