Untitled (8 page)

    The trouble was, while she had latched on to him, he'd become increasingly drawn to her and the potent memory of her stunning confession. The revelation of her crush on him – it was a crush, wasn't it? – had stirred up feelings that he'd thought he'd wisely conquered. The fact that he might be infatuated with Meredith Shaw crossed his mind more than once. He couldn't help but think of Janis encouraging him to accept the girl's plaintive request.

    It had been several years since he'd been in a relationship with a submissive female in which he could freely express his dominant urges. His last submissive, Diane, was nearly his age and they had much in common outside of their kinky sexual activities. He'd probably be with her now if he'd been more forthcoming with his growing affection. But when she had the opportunity to take a teaching position in Rome five years ago, she jumped at the opportunity and he let her slip through his fingers without raising even a modest protest.

    Since then, he'd submerged much of his dominant inclinations, reserving them for the times he took charge of Janis. However, in the last couple of weeks, those darker desires had come out of hiding. He thought often of the subjugation of Miss Shaw, her training, discipline, punishment, even the sex involved, with a high degree of arousal that had become difficult to disregard. Did he
want
to disregard those urges anymore? Or the tempting young creature with the dark inviting eyes?

***

Even after his stern rebuke of her request, Meredith could not eradicate the desire for Alain Danvers from her thoughts – or her physical body. In fact, that desire took hold with even greater fervor, sending her into wicked daydreams that made her almost spontaneously orgasm at her desk. Because of her relationship with Kat Bloom, her boss had taken a great deal of interest in her. He'd interrogated her in great detail regarding her roommate's life and lifestyle. During those conversations she'd let slip a number of things about herself regarding the lifestyle – things said in passing that she didn't have to say, about her own submissive needs being different from her roommate's, scenes at the X-Club, even her last D/s relationship that had ended in disaster.

    Strangely enough, the very thing that he forbade her to speak of that night at his house was the very thing that he questioned her about.
Professional distance… keep your professional
distance, sh
e routinely told herself. But the mantra didn't work. She refused to let it. As long as she held out hope, her daydreams and musings would always trump her better judgment.

    Thus, it wasn't surprising that when Captain Danvers stuck his head out of his office door, that Meredith Shaw immediately turned his way. Even though she'd tried being discreet, she couldn't help but make herself available to him at the drop of a hat. In seeking out the man who still held her enthralled, instinct guided her as much as vigilance.

    "Come in here please, Miss Shaw."

    "Yes, sir." She popped up from her desk chair. Her heart skipped a dozen beats as she quickly made her way from her desk into Captain Danvers' office. However, the disturbing scowl on the man's face was enough to have her quaking in fear rather than desire.

    "Something's wrong, isn't it?" she asked before he could open his mouth.

    "Yes. Something's wrong with these reports." He flipped through the familiar file on his desk revealing his increasing displeasure.

    "I-I…" she looked down at the papers she so painstakingly typed two days ago, her eyes drawn to the rash of red marks – as if she were back in school – scattered liberally across the pages.

    "I don't know whether it's your temperament or your brain that is at fault here, but the situation is redundant and unacceptable."

    "I'm sorry," she held out her hand, "I'll do them over right away."

    "That won't be necessary. I'll have Mrs. Lodge correct the mistakes. In the meantime," he pulled another file in front of him and gazed down, "I've approved your transfer."

    "Transfer, sir? But I didn't request a transfer." Her hands were suddenly sweaty and her mouth parched.

    "I requested it for you." He gazed directly into her eyes.

    "But why? What did I do wrong? I really thought that I'd done exactly as you wanted…I can't imagine it being that bad. I mean, I have helped you with Kat's disappearance, haven't I? I would think that would stand for something. Oh, I really
am
sorry—" Her flustered attempts to win his forgiveness only resulted in a pair of hot tears burning in her eyes.

    "Hush," he jumped in to save her from herself. "Yes, you have been invaluable in the investigation as a witness – and otherwise," he conceded. "But, your overall job performance has not been at all satisfactory …And, in addition, Miss Shaw, if…" and here he chose his words carefully, looking directly into her sad eyes, "I say
if,
we should initiate any kind of …
personal
relationship, then to be above board, we cannot work in the same unit."

    "A personal relationship?" Those tear-filled eyes suddenly snapped open wide as saucers.

    "Yes. That is what you wanted." So very matter-of-fact. Curt. Clipped. Yes. But Alain Danvers was actually saying that there might be a chance…

    Her legs were almost too weak to hold her upright.

    Oh, why did she feel this way? she silently bemoaned. Men of authority could tied her stomach knots, while launching that little flutter in her belly that had everything to do with sex. She turned wet next – right on cue. If she'd been six years old, she would have been twisting her dress and bashfully batting her eyes.

    But being twenty-three and much more mature, she smiled, she blushed, then stumbled over the only thing that popped into her mind. "You really mean that, sir. I mean about the
personal
relationship, as in you've agreed—"

    "Close the door, Miss Shaw," he said, overtop of her excited blathering.

    Suddenly, she stood stock still, unable to move; it was taking that long to process the simple command.

    "The door, Miss Shaw." His voice rose authoritatively.

    Hum… what a dreamy feeling resulted. But she did finally turn and close the door, giggling inside, and biting her lip in an attempt to mimic the detective's grave mood.

    "I've agreed to nothing, but I admit, the proposal has drawn my interest. It has been some time since I actively participated in a Dominant/submissive relationship, and while I certainly didn't go looking for it this time, your proposal has stirred those old desires. That is all I will say about the matter now, except to mention that I am not an easy master. If you are filled with romantic notions about what might go on between us, I'd suggest you stop. What I would demand might well be nothing like you imagine.

    "You need discipline, you need punishment, and you need a short leash. That is exactly what you'd get from me. There would be a contract to sign, formally spelling out the terms of our relationship. But before we take even one meager step toward commencing, you need to think about what I've just told you. You need to be sure of what you want, what you desire. I don't need you running from me like a scared rabbit the first time I bark a command. That would do us both a great disservice."

    "Oh, I wouldn't, sir." Her excitement seemed to propel her forward far beyond what was prudent.

    "Miss Shaw! This is just what I mean. Don't go jumping into anything until you look first. That's what you can do until I see you next. Take a good, long look at what you're asking for."

    She gulped back her next leaping thought and caught her breath, before quietly asking:

    "So, what happens next, sir?"

    "That would be for me to dictate. When I've decided, you'll know. Until then, you learn your new job and behave yourself. You'll report to Sergeant Milgrew in Records."

    "Records?" Sounded like a death sentence. But accompanied by this
sort of pr
oposition from Alain Danvers…well, she didn't know what to feel.

    "Yes, sir." She started to leave and dutifully turned back, chagrinned. "Oh, maybe I should wait until you dismiss me?"

    "You're dismissed," he said while trying to hide his amusement behind his crisp manner.

    But she refused to budge. A zillion questions remained on the tip of her tongue, as her curiosity ate away at her insides. "Couldn't you just give me a little idea—?"

    "Dismissed, Miss Shaw," his voice rising again, "means that you march out that door and don't look back."

    She hung her head and turned around, but just as she was turning the knob on his office door, the Captain's voice leapt out, halting her retreat.

    "Before the end of the day, if you still want to pursue the relationship you desire, please leave a copy of your apartment key in my box, inside a sealed envelope."

    The feeling of her heart tripping over itself almost made her wilt. As it was, she practically stumbled out the door and was ever so glad she finally closed it behind her. Catching her breath took all of the next hour.

S
CENE
E
IGHT

He replaced the cage with a mattress, although the wire cubicle remained ominously in one corner of the room for her to look at with some dread. Its presence was an obvious threat, where she'd be forced to retreat should she ever disobey a command.

    The mattress had been her reward for good behavior, although the heavy shackles remained on her wrists and ankles as permanent features. Strange as it was to desire something so vile, she loved the way the shackles felt against her skin and how just lifting her limbs would turn her body raving mad with sexual desire. She would touch the metal and taste its cool hardness on her tongue, then breathe in the steely aroma, lettings its austere power take hold of her body with its enlivening force.

    There was no disguising that she desired her master now – as much as she hated his smug attitude and condescending talk. He was her whole world, the morning, midday, evening and night, the sun, the stars, and every phase of the white moon she could see from the one window in her garret retreat in the middle of the woods.

    "Where are we?" she asked, on the first day she was allowed to stand at the window and look out. She could see nothing but a dense grove of trees beyond the dusty glass.

    "You're in the middle of a great big woods."

    "I didn't mean that. I mean where… like what state, or country…?"

    "You're in the US of A. How's that?"

    She turned to him, shackles clanging. "North? South?"

    "Sorry, doll, you don't get to know that or anything else. Let it be a mystery to tease that troubled brain."

    He called her 'doll' again. She hated the word and the implication, even though that was exactly what she'd become. A doll. His toy. A manufactured sexual beauty to satisfy his hungry appetites. When she thought of how well he satisfied her sexually, she was almost content with her captivity; but when she thought about his desire to keep her trapped inside this miserable prison, a flicker of temper flared deep in her gut. When he called her 'doll' for the hundredth time, that flicker became a flame and it took all her strength to hold back the testy retort that burned on her lips.

    Yet, over the last few days, that flame had diminished in size. Sex had become almost normal – being staked to the mattress as she was, she was easy to fuck now, and she had the pleasure of his company more often. After a hard, rousing session with his talented erection, the festering misery beneath her surface calm was quieted for another few hours. But now today, her master seemed anxious, more restless than usual and suddenly, something was rising up in her as well. He kept baiting her with his silly questions. Maybe he was waiting for her to explode, so he could explode on her.

    "You like those shackles, don't you, babe?"

    "Yeah, sure I like them." While he sat on his crate drinking Coke in refreshing gulps, she sat cross-legged on the mattress with a parched throat. Even he could feel her brooding.

    "So, what's the matter, doll, huh?"

    He did it again, called her doll. And the mocking look on his face, the attitude, the male bravado – like he was so damned proud of himself for having made her his captive prize.

    Everything exploded. Rash. Sudden. Without warning. She picked on the most offensive line, coming off the mat lunging toward him, shackles clanging.

    "Don't call me doll! Don't. Don't. Don't ever again!" She came after him with her fists flying, and got as far as the chains would allow, striking out, the toe of one foot catching him on the shin, which was enough to make him pull back, stand up, and go after her. He caught her arms just below her shackled wrists, and held them out-stretched in a vice-like grip. "You fucking bastard! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" Her voice rose to a high-pitched bellow. She shook her head and stamped her feet, kicking, shackles clattering, flailing as much as she could with all her might to resist his fierce hold.