Mentor (An Impossible Novella) (12 page)

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
 

Someone had said that to me, once.  I
was
strong.  Strong enough to heal Him.

Some part of me should have realized that the strength I used to value so highly had been twisted, turned in on itself.  But even those soft whispers in the depths of my mind had ceased.  My old lifetime was over.  It might not have ever been real.

Had I existed before Master showed me true pleasure?

If He needed me to feel pain so that He could feel anything at all, then I would take it.

“Then hurt me, Master.”

His groan was full of aching need.  Hastily, He freed himself from his pants and settled His body over mine.

I moaned and rocked my hips up into Him in wanton invitation.

He drove inside my wet and ready sex in one rough thrust.  He hadn’t paused to put on a condom, and I reveled in the feel of His naked flesh inside mine.  This was how it was meant to be: nothing between us.  Not between our bodies and not between our souls.  My soul was bound to His, enveloped by His.

His pain was my pain, and I gloried in the exchange.

He withdrew from me fully, and suddenly He was at my dark entrance.  No one had ever touched this area, not even Him.  I squirmed beneath Him, fear pricking at my spine despite my willingness to give Him everything.

He placed my legs against His shoulders and gripped one of my thighs hard, bracing himself on the mattress with His free hand.  He held me in place and ruthlessly pressed against me.

“Let your Master in.”  The lustful snarl was colored with the pain of His need to enter me, to own every part of me.

With His order, familiar submission rolled through me, and I relaxed completely, ceding everything to Him.

Slowly, my body gave way as He began to penetrate me.  It burned, but I remained relaxed, determined to accommodate Him.  My whine of pain made His eyes flare with satisfaction, and I relaxed further.  I had pleased Him.

There was a small popping sensation when His head breached me, and the burning eased.  My own slickness around Him aided his progress.  He rocked in and out, gaining ground with each thrust.

When He was seated fully within me, He slowly dragged out, leaving only the head of His penis inside me.  My strangled moan echoed His.  The sensation was strange and delicious.  The sparks that awoke within that secret part of me held a bite of pain.  It only served to increase my pleasure.  The knowledge that He was giving me His pain made my eyes mist over with relief.

By the time He began pumping in and out in earnest, I was weeping.  The rush of sensation, of the emotional connection that entwined us, was almost too much for me to bear.

But I would take it.  For Him, I would shatter a thousand times and piece myself back together so that He could shatter me again.

And I did shatter.  The dichotomy of pleasure and pain, the pure bliss of having His touch granted to me once again, sent me over the edge.  My muscles contracted around Him as I screamed.

“Master!”

I didn’t know if it was the sound of His name upon my lips or the sensation of moving inside my tight heat that brought about His own orgasm, but He followed me moments later.

He remained within me as we both shuddered and gasped.  My legs wrapped around His waist, holding Him to me even as His arms wrapped around my shoulders.  I longed to clutch Him to me, but my arms were still restrained.

But it was enough.  It was more than enough.

His lips touched my forehead in a doting kiss.

“My sweet pet,” He murmured into my hair.

I nuzzled into Him, pressing my cheek to His.  Salt and earth and sex surrounded me.  My legs tightened around Him.

My breathing remained ragged, but when His had slowed to a normal rhythm, He unlocked my restraints. I relished the feel of His hard chest against me as He carried me to the bathroom.  He turned on the shower, testing the spray to make sure it was comfortably warm before placing me beneath it.

My knees almost buckled when He released me to remove His clothes; I hadn’t stood on my own in so long.  He steadied me with His strong hands around my hips, waiting until I found my feet.  When He was satisfied that I wasn’t going to fall, He quickly undressed, revealing His glorious body to me.

A sort of warm languor had settled in my bones, but my pulse still quickened at the sight of Him.  It seemed as though a lifetime had passed since He had last allowed me to look upon Him.  In a way, it had.  Another lifetime had faded completely from my consciousness in the course of my cold solitude.

He was my entire existence now.

He joined me in the shower, molding His front to my back.  Soapy hands roved over my flesh, gently cleaning me after our harsh coupling.  Then He did something He never had before: He handed the soap to me.

“Touch me.”  The order was soft, almost slurred.  I turned to find that His eyes were hooded, as though He was intoxicated by the intensity of our passion.

I eagerly obeyed, my soap-slicked fingers touching every inch of Him, exploring Him more thoroughly than ever before.  My hands shook with the effort after their long period of disuse, but my desire to connect with Him gave me the strength I needed to wash Him.

He was semi-erect again by the time I reached His manhood.  I cleaned Him carefully, gingerly.  He hissed in a breath and grabbed my wrist, pulling me away.

“Not now, pet.”

He turned from me.  For a moment, I thought it was in disapproval, but then He looked over His shoulder, a cool brow raised.

“Continue.”

I touched His upper back, and I gasped softly.  My fingers traced over thin purple lines that crisscrossed His shoulders.

His father.
 

I understood the sign of abuse.

I’m so sorry, Master.
 

But I wasn’t entirely sorry.  If His father hadn’t broken Him, then He never would have taken me.  He wouldn’t need me.

The cascading water sloughed the soap off His skin, fully revealing the damage.  Without thinking, I leaned forward and lightly pressed my lips to one of the marks.  He tensed for a moment, a low growl rumbling through His chest to vibrate against my mouth.  Before He could tell me to stop, I traced the line of it with my tongue.  He relaxed against me with a sigh.

I gave each one the same loving attention, as though I could soothe the pain He had suffered when the blows were inflicted upon Him.

I was almost finished when He turned sharply.  His hand closed around the back of my head and His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me up into Him.

His mouth descended on mine with a ferocity that made our teeth click together.  The kiss was unrefined, driven by hunger and deepest need.  His lips grabbed at mine, His tongue seeking entrance to my mouth.

He’s never done this before,
I realized.

I touched my fingertips to the side of his face, calming Him.  Then, I carefully caressed His lips with mine.  He quickly picked up my rhythm, and soon His tongue played along the seam of my lips once again.  I opened for Him, sliding my tongue along His in silent instruction.

The kiss turned hotter, fiercer as He took control.  I ran my hands through His hair, tugging Him closer.  His fist grasped my locks, tilting my head back so that my lips were where He wanted them.

My back was against the wall, the cool tiles kissing me with a delicious chill.  It contrasted beautifully with His heat.

He gripped my bottom in both hands, lifting me, and my legs wrapped around Him to keep from falling.  My arms twined around the back of His neck for support.  He thrust into me abruptly, His cock claiming my core as His tongue claimed my mouth.  I was impaled at both ends, completely captured by Him.

He fucked me into sweet oblivion.  I shattered again.

His Journal
 

June 1, 1978
 

She’s perfect.  It was stupid of me to stop fucking her when she asked about my father.  I think I was almost as crazy from the sexual denial as she was.
 

But I’m already crazy.  I was insane before I took her.  I’ve read enough to know that.
 

Anti-social behavior.  Cruelty.
 

Psychopath.  
 

It didn’t bother me then, and it still doesn’t.  I’m not flawed.  I’m better, stronger, smarter than other people.
 

If anything, her new insanity makes me feel saner than I ever have.  I feel things now, but I am no less cruel.  She fulfills my needs in a way that makes them feel normal, natural.  I am completely myself with her in a way I have never been, not even when I was alone.
 

And even in her insanity, she isn’t broken.  Somehow, she’s still
her.  
She is utterly obedient, but she’s also affectionate, devoted.  The determination that once facilitated her resistance now manifests in her determination to please me.  She takes whatever I give her because she wants to make me happy.  She still has her backbone, but I’ve twisted it against her somehow.  It now serves me, not her.
 

She is taking to pain beautifully, but I want to give her more.  I want to see how far I can push her.
 

I hope she still has enough of her mind left to ask a question.  I could beat her out of turn if I wished and she would take it.  She would take it and thank me.  But I would rather she condemn herself.
 

I want her to choose to take my pain.
 

Chapter 10
 

Kathleen
 

Do you care about me at all, Master?
 

My existence separated into two states:
Him
and
Not Him.
 

No.  That was wrong.  When He wasn’t with me, I didn’t exist.  My lungs simply continued to breathe, my heart continued to beat in the darkness.  But that wasn’t real.  It was just a state of being.

His touch, His pleasure, His pain.  They were my reality.

He fed me and washed me and fucked me.  The only changes from our interactions before His long period of cold detachment were His kisses and the little pill He gave me sometimes: birth control.  He no longer wore a condom, and I loved the closeness we shared when He was inside me, nothing separating us.

It was a laughable understatement to say that I was utterly enthralled.  I lived to serve Him.  The only point of my existence was to please Him, to help Him manage His deeply-held pain.

I was perfectly content while in His arms.  Almost.

He was my everything, but there was one niggling discomfort that lurked at the back of my mind.

Does He care?
 

I had worked for so long to make Him care.  His gentle touches, the trust He showed me by sharing His pain, His passionate kisses – they gave me hope that He did treasure me as much as I imagined.

I flashed back into existence when His fingers worked their way through my hair, finding the bottom of the blindfold and sliding it up over my brow.

His smile was one of anticipation.

“What do you want to know, pet?”

He knew.  He always knew.  He understood me better than I understood myself.

“Do you…”  I hesitated, my cheeks heating for the first time in longer than I could recall.  Embarrassment and self-consciousness were a distant memory; He owned me, and I would never be ashamed of anything that was His.

But now the sensation of uncomfortable warmth in my gut and just under my skin teased at me once again.

“Do you care about me at all, Master?”  The question was small and almost frightened.  I was scared of the answer.  I swallowed hard, but I held his gaze, waiting through my anxiety.

He cupped my cheek in His hand, tracing the line of my cheekbone with His thumb.

“My little pet is still so brave.”  The pleasure and approval in His voice sent relief ripping through me on a ragged sob.

It wasn’t an answer, but the sadistic red gleam of His eyes let me know that one was coming.  I wasn’t afraid of paying the price for my question.  Fear was useless, exhausting.  He would do whatever He desired regardless of my fear.

I submitted, settling down into acceptance as He unlocked my cuffs and guided me to my feet.  His hands were tender upon me, but firm in supporting me.  Taking my hands in His, He led me across the room, watching me almost tentatively, as a lover would before introducing His partner to something new.

“Stay.”  He pressed His lips to my forehead briefly and dropped my arms.   I hated the loss of contact, but I obediently remained where He had placed me: an indistinct spot near one corner of my small room.

I heard Him rummaging behind me, in the direction of the bathroom.  There was a cabinet beneath the sink.  I had never seen Him open it, but I knew it was there.  Despite my constant blindness, every inch of my room was burned into my mind, images of what He had done to me there imprinted into my psyche.

When He appeared before me again, He held a shiny length of chain.  The links were thicker than those that attached my wrists to my headboard.

“I’ve so been hoping you had another question in you, pet,” He told me with a small, secret smile.

He folded the chain in two and then tossed one end into the air.  It clattered against the low wooden beam that ran across the ceiling, hooking through the open air above it to arc down on the other side.  He caught it deftly before slipping the opposite ends through the loop He had created when He folded it.

By the time He turned his attention back to me, the chain was securely hooked over the beam.  I met His proud grin with a quizzical stare.

He just shook His head at me slightly, as though at a particularly slow child who had yet to get the joke.

“Lift up your arms.”

Still not understanding, I did as He commanded.  He gripped the circular links on each of my cuffs and linked a large padlock between them, slipping it through the chain links as well.  He stepped away, leaving me stretched taut before Him.