Submission Therapy
Author: Katie Salidas
Date: 2012-11-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Bdsm; Erotica; Short Stories
Description: Billionaire CEO of Blakely Incorporated, Natasha runs her empire with an eagle eye for every detail. She’s an obsessive, compulsive, micromanaging hard-ass, consumed by the need to control every aspect of her life and her business. But underneath that seemingly strong façade, Natasha is a swirling mess of anger, anxiety and sexual addiction. Only her therapist, Dr. Benson, knows how close she is to burning out...or exploding. He insists on a radical form of treatment – Submission Therapy – knowing that it’s her only hope. Skeptical but intrigued, Natasha agrees to attend the first session. Wha

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Submission Therapy © 2012 by Willsin Rowe & Katie Salidas

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

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Submission Therapy

By Willsin Rowe & Katie Salidas

“You really should change that painting on your wall, Derek.”

“Natasha, I’ve asked you many times to call me Dr. Benson.” He leaned over and checked his notes, then jotted something down. Probably a remark about my attitude. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it damn sure won’t be the last.

“No doubt you have, Derek.”

For a shrink, he really seemed stuck on formality, for whatever reason. Some people’s lives are just so petty. I flicked my hand toward the gauche painting in question. “I mean, it’s not calming at all. Thick daubs of acrylic that look like cellulite on the canvas. And what’s with the oranges and blues together? That’s just insane.”

Dr. Benson didn’t appear to get the joke. Simpleton. He pushed his bookish glasses up on his long narrow nose and glared. “Natasha, I’ve been seeing you for a year, now.” His tone was laced with disappointment. “And you’ve made no progress. No change.” He sat back in his vinyl chair. “None at all.”

“Yep, got it, Derek.” I blocked out his face with my watch for a second. The man could talk! I had four meetings scheduled for this afternoon.

He flipped his notebook and it closed with an unusually loud snap. “You’re still control-dependent, and we’ve made no headway with your addiction to sex either.”

I could recite this lecture word for word now. Time was money and these sessions were already costing me too much of both. Apparently with no results to show for them.

I stood and smoothed my skirt. Derek may be a psychiatrist, but he’s still a man. A straight man, judging by the way his eyes scanned my legs. Too bad for him. If he weren’t just a dull, if handsome, shrink, I might have used him for some much-needed stress relief. He could call it addiction all he liked, but for me it was head and shoulders above these damn therapy sessions.

“Well, Derek. Thanks for a wonderful year. I can’t tell you much I’ve enjoyed losing two valuable hours each week, all for nothing.”

He smiled congenially but the strain in his voice was apparent. “If you’d done the exercises as I instructed, you’d have lost six hours.”

I dug my cellphone out of my Louis Vuitton Olive Monogram Antheia Leather Hobo. “Which is why I didn’t.”

“Which is why you’ve failed at therapy and why you are failing at life.”

The deadpan delivery of those words shocked me. Taken aback, I sucked in a breath and, for a moment, considered throwing my phone straight at his stupid smiling face.

“What the fuck did you just say? Have you seen the size of my house? My portfolio of investments? And I’ve failed? If anything it’s you who’s failed, Derek. You’re supposed to cure me.”

Derek folded his arms. “Natasha, we’ve discussed this rudeness of yours.”

“I’m not being rude; I’m being efficient, getting right to the head of the matter, which is your lack of results.”

“There’s a difference between efficiency and rudeness, Natasha, and you are being—”

I dialed Simon’s number. “Bring the car around.” Then snapped my phone closed and turned to leave.

“Natasha?”

“Derek, I don’t want to appear...efficient, but I have places to be.”

He surprised me by rushing to the door and blocking my exit. I was unprepared for such animation. Standing there filling the doorframe with his arms crossed he almost appeared authoritative. In his khaki pants and black Oxford shirt, and with his blue eyes narrowed behind dark framed glasses he looked like he’d just passed Door Security 101. “So why are you still here?”

The unfamiliar steel of his voice seemed to carry a lilt of taunting. I nodded at the hallway behind him. “I’m hardly going to climb over you.”

“You know what I mean. Why haven’t you gone to yet another doctor?”

Because no-one else will take me. Because I’ve carved a sharp-tongued path through them all. No way I’d expose myself like that. Not to this nobody. He already had too much of me sitting in his notebooks. I pulled out my gold cigarette case and flipped it open. “I really don’t know.”

“Natasha, you can’t smoke in here.”

I rolled my eyes. Tiny lives with tiny rules. “Derek, my company owns this building. One of my companies, anyway.”

He produced a business card from his pocket. “This is it, Natasha. Your last chance.”

I glared at the card, but he didn’t waver. Just held it steady as I blew a stream of smoke into his face. Finally I took the thing and checked it over.

Room 112

Master Sweet

“I see your people are no better than mine. I should proof-read for you.”

Sadly, he didn’t rise to my taunting. He remained remarkably collected, delivering his deadpan statement. “Master Sweet is not a room.”

I tapped the ash from my cigarette into a potted plant by the door. “So what is it? Candy?”

“Radical therapy. I’ve tried the softly-softly, ‘tell me how that makes you feel’ method. It’s had no effect. Clearly you need a more hands-on approach.” He tapped the edge of the card in my hand. “And what you’ll find in that room will gel perfectly with your current…addictions.”

Why didn’t he just come out and say it? I fuck a lot. So what? It was just another thing that no-one else could get right for me. Though I had to admit, any therapy involving sex might be worth a try. “And how much is this radical therapy going to cost me? Time is money you know.”

“Hotel Bridgeman. One hour.”

“One hour? You’re cute, Derek, but you didn’t answer my question.” I stopped just short of pinching his cheek.

“I’m quite serious, Natasha. Time and money are irrelevant. You attend this session. Otherwise we’re done.”

My first reaction was just to turn and walk. He had no power here. Half of his flea market office furnishings were paid for by my therapy sessions.

But the sharpness in my chest stopped me. The weight of all my responsibilities made it hard to breathe. All those investments. All those companies. The stocks, the properties, the...oh, what are they called? People, that’s it. And the idea of spilling all my dirty secrets to yet another therapist - if I could find one - actually gave me a flood of desperate affection for this earnest lummox in front of me. I stared at Derek and waited for him to crumble, but he showed no sign of doing so.

“Derek, I cannot simply blow off my entire afternoon. Even without all my other meetings, there is a stack of paperwork on my desk that’s even taller than you.” The thought of all the work piling up gave me heartburn. No one in my office could be trusted to do the job right.

He shook his head. His expression finally changed into one of hangdog sadness. “That’s exactly the trouble, Natasha. You’re the tightest-wound person I’ve ever met. Socially or professionally. You’ve carved out this world view and you won’t be swayed. But I assure you that the ulcer, the angina, and the panic attacks will not be tamed by condescension or...efficiency. What you need to learn is how to let go of control and allow others to shoulder some of the responsibility.”

Fuck this little man and his microscopic life. If he wanted to call me weak, I could easily expose the same pathetic quality in him. I traced my fingers over the soft skin of my breast as I leaned forward and whispered straight into his ear. “Tightness in a woman can be quite a desirable quality, Derek.”

If my heavy breathing and display of cleavage had any effect on him, he hid it well. He just leaned against me and whispered back. “Natasha, I’m your therapist. We’ve talked about your childhood, your adolescence, and...all the things you’ve done to get where you are. Are you sure your current tightness isn’t just a reaction to all your...looseness?”

I barely registered that I’d moved, yet suddenly my palm was tingling and Derek was clutching at his cheek, his glasses laying like a crushed insect on the floor.

A ball of unreleased scream sat in the base of my throat and made it almost impossible for me to speak, but I managed to strangle out a yell. “You voyeuristic cunt! You get off on my exploits, don’t you? I bet you finish every one of our sessions with a ten-minute jerk-off!” I almost spat in his face. “Or maybe you only last five.”

Derek shook his head and rubbed at his reddened flesh. To my surprise he started chuckling. “Was it something I said?”

I closed my eyes and pushed a stray tress of black hair back behind my ear. I let a long breath seep out of me as I regained my composure. “You be sure to send me the bill for those glasses, Derek.”

“One hour. Hotel Bridgeman.” His voice faded slightly as I reached the elevator. “No excuses, Natasha.”

The limo was waiting out front with the door open. I slipped inside and fastened my seat belt. Simon closed my door and sat in front.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“Where to, ma’am?”

I finally registered the tingling sensation in my palm. I stared at it as if it held some kind of answers, even poked at it with my manicured nail in case there was a secret below the surface. The sharpness of the pain there was like a frightened breath, a sudden blotting-out of everything else.

My ulcer flared up a little, but in truth it was the least of my troubles. Anxiety attacks, momentary blackouts, and chest pains. My self-medication program of coffee, cigarettes and vodka – sometimes simultaneously – didn’t seem to be working. Even sex was losing its edge, and those pretty-boy escorts were hardly worth the time and money I spent on them. They scratched an itch but they had no substance.

“Ma’am?”

“Hotel Bridgeman.”

I flipped open my cellphone and dialed Joanna’s number. She answered on the third ring. “Ms. Blakely’s office.”

“Joanna, what took you so long? Two rings maximum, remember?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Blakely. I was just signing for a flower delivery. My fiancé–”

“I don’t care. Cancel my afternoon.”

“Um...pardon?”

I squeezed the phone as I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Nothing tipped a girl off her rocker quite like flowers. “Look, if you can’t handle it...”

“No, no problem, Ms. Blakely. I was just...surprised.” She remained professional, but I heard tears mixed with her confusion. Good. I didn’t need her thinking we were buddy-buddy friends.

“Don’t wet yourself. Just do your job.”

I disconnected the call and stared at my cell for a moment. I imagined Joanna sitting there, poking her tongue out at me through the phone. Joanna, with her upcoming wedding to that no-neck carpenter who smelled of sweat and hard work. Whose muscular hands and coarse mouth probably left grime all over Joanna’s body every night. Whose low income seemed matched only by his poor imagination. Flowers on Valentine’s Day? A dozen red roses, no doubt. I mean, who on Earth wanted that sort of stupid, empty...funny...romantic...shit? I stowed my phone and leaned my head back, watching the skyscrapers glide past. For a second, maybe two, I closed my eyes and listened to the muffled noise of the city.

The limo pulled to a stop.

“What’s wrong, Simon?”

“We’re here, ma’am.”

“Already? We only just left.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but we’ve been driving for forty minutes.”

“Forty?”

“Yes, ma’am. The traffic was against us, I’m afraid.”

“Did I...fall asleep?” I don’t sleep during the day! I barely have time for it at night.

Simon opened my door and helped me out. “Shall I wait, ma’am?”

“No. Just be ready. I’ll call when I need you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I took the stairs since it was only one floor, and was shocked at how short of breath it made me. I was puffing like someone twice my size and age by the time I reached the top. Stupid anxiety. What a useless emotion.

The thick carpet allowed me to walk in near silence, despite my three-inch heels. As I passed each room, drawing closer to 112, I felt a tingling inside me. It might have been the ulcer, but it felt more like something from a long time ago. Was it fear? Excitement? Either way, it was novel feeling.

I reached 112 and a shiver broke through. Goosebumps erupted from my neck to my knees as I fisted my hand and knocked.

The door swung open. Behind it stood a petite redhead in a sheer nightgown and department store lingerie.

I quirked up an eyebrow. Derek had implied sexual therapy, but never in any of my sessions had I mentioned being open to women. Was this part of what he meant by radical? I guessed I would soon find out.

I handed her the card that Derek gave me and started walking inside. Despite her diminutive stature, the redhead moved in front of me and blocked my path.

“You’re kidding, right? What is this, the NFL?”

“You have not been permitted to enter yet.”

“Have I been permitted to give a fuck? Because that one’s way down on my to-do list.”

“Give me your bag.”

“Go to hell.”

She held out her hand and tapped her foot. “Bag. Now.”

My hands found my hips almost of their own accord. “Do you know who you’re talking to, matchstick?”

“I know and care in equal amounts.”

I didn’t appreciate the snark in her tone. And despite my dangerous stare, her green eyes did not waver from my face. Any of my underlings would have cowered in fear, but for the second time in an hour it had no effect. I pulled my phone out and turned to leave. “I knew this was useless.” I started dialing Simon.

“No.” A voice, deep and calm, burst from the shadow-filled doorway directly across from room 112.

I froze for a moment as the owner of the voice seemed to grow from the very darkness before me. He stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, his face masked from forehead to mouth, his legs encased in black leather pants, his torso bare. He looked as if he could snap me in half with one hand. The mask he wore worried me a little. Only superheroes and criminals wore masks...and there are no superheroes. So why did he need to hide his identity? For that matter, what had I agreed to by coming here?

I backed away from him, through 112’s door until I ran into the little redhead. I guess I’d just been given permission to enter.

The guy was big. Not monstrously so, but he sure filled the doorway. “So you’re Dr. Benson’s latest hard-luck case. Natasha Blakely.” He held out his hand. “Give me your cellphone.”

“Sure. When you pry it from my cold, dead hand.”

“From what I hear, I may not have to wait long.”

His voice washed over me, calm but potent.

I folded my arms.

“Natasha, I have a strong distaste for repetition.”

“Ooh. Everyone has a fucking attitude problem today.”

He stepped forward and grabbed hold of my phone. I gripped it like it was a life preserver. The big lump of muscle brought his other hand up and squeezed my wrist, pinching at a nerve until I released my prize.

“I understand your history, so consider this your first and only warning. When you address me, you will do so with respect. I am Master Sweet.”

“Shit. I would’ve preferred candy.”

“Congratulations. You’ve just earned your first punishment.”

“Punishment? What am I, a child?”

His expression went flat, but his voice remained just as stern. “From here on out you will speak only when I say, and only with respect. Are we clear?”

Apparently this man had no clue whom he was addressing.

“Are we clear?” he snapped again.

I tried to formulate a witty enough way to tell him to fuck off, but before I opened my mouth his smoky baritone voice butted through my thoughts.

“Let there be no confusion, Natasha.” He chopped his hand toward the hallway. “Out there has ceased to matter. This suite may be small, but it is now your world. And it will remain so until I decree otherwise.”

“Now listen here, you thug–” I poked at his chest but he seized my hand. In under a second he had me turned around, my face against the wall and my hand bent up into my spine. The heat and hardness of his body pressed against my back. I tried to struggle but he twisted my hand just enough to let me know I was at his mercy.

Pinned like that, I felt utterly weak. Constricted. Like I was prey. His breath coursed over the back of my neck and my hair rose to meet it. There was a tingle inside me that was all about power. His power. It felt raw and animalistic as he wielded it, yet he clearly had it under precise control.

His voice returned, a low buzz straight into my ear. “Who you are, what you do, all you have; these mean nothing. Your doctor felt this was the last resort. You can get with the program.”

“Or...?”

“There is no alternative.”

His arrogant tone felt like a lit cigarette in my brain. The moment he released me I planned to smack that damn mask off his face. My hand still tingled from the last time I’d let it fly. Derek’s broken glasses flashed in my memory, a symbol of everything that would go wrong if I surrendered control for even a second.

But that was exactly what he’d warned me about. I couldn’t stand anyone telling me what to do. If Derek was right, eventually my chest pain would turn into a full blown heart attack. But how could I relinquish control when no-one else could do anything right? I swore I could feel my empire crumbling while I was squeezed between a wall and a hard man. Who seemed intent on crushing the air from my lungs. I needed to get this over with and get back to work.

“Fine. I’m here, so we might as well do this. Where do I start? You wanna hear how daddy wanted a son? How I used sex to jumpstart my career? How I’ll do anything to get ahead…”

“Silence.” He slipped his free hand up into my hair.

“Oh, yes. I speak only when – ow!”

The back of my head felt like a thousand hot needles as he fisted his big hand. “You’ve already used your chance.” He turned to the redhead who’d been standing obediently waiting for an order. “We clearly have much to do. Take her things and we’ll begin.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied.

Master? He released me from his grip and the weight of his body. I cast a sidelong glance at her then him. I ran a damn tight ship, but never had I made my subordinates call me master. Though the idea was appealing. If this session gave me nothing else, maybe I could at least learn how to squeeze a little more out of my plebeian staff.

“Give me that.” The redhead reached for my purse.

“Touch it and I’ll have you arrested for theft. That bag cost more than you make in a year.”

“You’ve just earned yourself a second punishment, Ms Blakely. And you will apologize to my assistant.”

The memory of his hand in my hair was strong, and the sensation of pain still licked at my scalp. I turned to the little bitch. “Sorry, okay?”

“Natasha.” Master Sweet’s heavy hands pressed down on my shoulders. “When we apologize, we show contrition.” The weight of his grip increased until it began to hurt. I shrank away from it, but he kept pressing until I landed on my knees. “Good girl. Try again.”

I looked up at the redhead. Her face was calm and aloof, like she hadn’t cared since the nineties. My instinct, as always, was to stand up, walk out and destroy some careers. The tension in my chest reminded me just why I shouldn’t. I’d spent fifteen years making myself into this, and that was a lot to fight against. I needed something; a handhold, a landmark. Some experience I could draw on to fool these two idiots into thinking I was actually sorry.

With my eyes closed I thought back nearly nine years, to when I orchestrated the takeover of the Drinkwater Media Group. Well, to their faces we called it a “merger”. That was the last time I could remember favoring honey over vinegar.

Until I could get the hell back to the office, I figured I could channel that younger, stupider version of me.

“I’m very sorry, red-headed lady.”

Her expression never wavered. “Accepted.”

Master Sweet rested his hand back in my hair. “Natasha, it’s time to begin.”

He fisted that hand again, reigniting the heat in my scalp, while his other swept down my calf and stopped at my red-black two-toned peek-a-boo toe Louboutin pumps.

“What size do you wear, Natasha?” He drew the shoes off one at a time.

“Six.”

“Yet you have size eight feet.”

“Guys exaggerate their dicks, girls shrink their feet.”

He turned his already-tight fist, pulling a sharp breath into my lungs. “That kind of language is a privilege. One you’ve not earned.”

I couldn’t speak through the tension in my body, and I couldn’t nod without risking searing pain. Thankfully Master Sweet eased his grip just enough to allow my voice back.

“Yes.”

“You will address me as Master Sweet, or simply Master.”

“Yes, simply Master.” I tensed up, ready for him to squeeze again. Instead he shocked me by pushing forward, overbalancing me until I was on hands and knees, my cheek buried in the carpet. His pelvis nudged up against my ass, and he was definitely packing something hard in there.

He took a long, deep breath in. “I do so enjoy these early stages.”

“Yes, Master,” said the toadying redhead.

He brought his free hand back down to my feet. He appeared to still be addressing his off-sider. “Look at the deep lines her shoes have carved. The rich redness of constriction.”

“Yes, Master.”

His breath seemed to falter for a moment. “It will be exquisite to see this all over her body.”

All over my body? What exactly was that supposed to mean? I should have known better. Never agree to a deal without the terms being spelled out in a contract. Business 101. “Listen, Mister Sweets. Unconventional sex therapy is one thing, but no one is putting any kind of marks on my body. Are we clear?” I threw his condescending words back at him.

“Do you understand what it means to submit?”

His callous tone caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered.

“I have underlings for that.”

“So you see submission as a form of weakness.”

“Absolutely. I bow to no one.”

“You do now. “ The finality of his words was chilling.

“I never agreed to torture. I don’t care how you package it. Radical therapy, or whatever the fuck you’re calling this shit.”

He squeezed his hand tighter and drew my head up from the floor, slamming me bodily backwards against his hard chest.

“Language, Natasha!” His tone was cold with menace. “You will submit to me. The only way you will succeed here is to reconfigure your prejudices. And you said it yourself: you’ll do anything to get ahead.”

I ground my teeth, frustrated. He was right. I had done it in the past and would do it again. Anything was fair game to get ahead. You don’t become a billionaire before you’re 30 by playing nice. Damn him for calling me on that with such hostility in his voice, though.

“Natasha, what happens here stays here. No-one will know about our sessions, and you have my guarantee that you are perfectly safe within the confines of this suite.” He eased the pressure on my hair just a little. “As for torture? Such barbarism as torture leaves a disgusting taste in my mouth. What we do in here is training. In a case like yours, though, it will be near impossible to see the divide.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. “A case like mine?”

“Your stubbornness means that training will be hard initially. The singularity of your vision means you will misinterpret much of what I say and do. I must break you down to build you up. You will learn to submit, and when you do, you’ll enjoy its many benefits. One of which is a more relaxed sense of being. Vital for someone with anxiety and stress issues.”

Despite my desire to say fuck it all and walk away, I swallowed my pride and grumbled, “Fine.”

“Rise, Natasha.”

I wobbled to my feet, guided by both my tormentors. The redhead moved in front of me and started to unbutton my blazer. Instinctively I threw my hands onto hers and squeezed.

“No...”

She looked to Master Sweet for assistance. Fearing the strength I’d already felt in his hands I released my grip.

It almost appeared he could read my mind. His voice carried no trace of anger. It was soft like that of a parent explaining something to a small child. “Natasha, in here, dressing and undressing yourself, and others, is also a privilege.” He turned to his assistant. “Chloe.”

“Yes, Master?” The eagerness in her voice made me more than a little uncomfortable.

“This slave’s clothing is wholly inappropriate to her station. Put it away until such time as she is worthy of it.”

“What? That’s Dolce & Gabbana!”

Master Sweet frowned and held up his hand like it was a blade. “You depend on possessions for status. You think they give you worth. In here, your only value comes through me. How well you serve me. You will learn this. From this moment until I decree otherwise, you are nameless.”

Chloe was quick. She peeled away my silk suit and the layers of tight nylon shapewear. Involuntarily, I let out a sigh of relief as the circulation returned to my stomach and glutes. They gently tingled like a waking limb, adding to the awkwardness of standing naked before these two unknowns. I hoped it wouldn’t show. I set my face neutral, aiming for proud, but the look on Master Sweet’s face told me I fell short.

His eyes skimmed over my body and I felt a surge of pride. I always made sure I was perfectly maintained, from my pedicured toenails to my hairless pussy. And one thing I’d always been able to count on was the lust of men. The ghost of a smile washed across his face and then disappeared. “Your hypocrisy amazes me, slave. You balk at the thought that I’d mark your body. Yet you do it to yourself in the name of fashion.”

“What marks?”

“These, here.” His hand ghosted down my torso, sending a shiver through me. “Your undergarments are so… constricting.”

I held my head high. “Yoga and Pilates only go so far. The rest takes careful packaging. I have a reputation to maintain, and looks are everything.”

“You are fit, despite your lifestyle and habits, and yours is a body I can work with.” I caught the glint of appreciation in his voice but it was short-lived. “However, your mental image and worldview leave much to be desired. In here, I decide the packaging. I determine if your looks are appropriate. Is this clear?”

“Yes,” I said bitterly.

Surprisingly, he ignored my tone. “Chloe, escort this slave to the room.”

Time for the radical therapy to start I guess. I had two choices here. I could suck it up and go through the motions, or I could fight. And it suddenly felt as if I’d been fighting all my life. Way back, jumping through hoops for the approval of people who’d never mattered and never cared. Lately, fucking over the lives of anyone I chose to. If Derek was right – and despite my behavior, I trusted the man – I had to take this seriously. I figured that, at worst, I’d feel stupid, go home, and start searching for a new shrink.

Chloe curled her hand around my wrist and rested the other in the small of my back. There was nothing sexual in it at all, but it shot a tiny charge through my belly to have a woman touch me like that. It was such a gentle intimacy, one unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even the pretty-boy gigolos, for all their girly skin and gentle touches, still had heavier hands than this.

She guided me through a doorway hidden by a velvet curtain. The room beyond was lit dimly with recessed lights. Three of the coffee-brown walls were adorned with thick blunt hooks, each holding a length of rope or chain, a set of cuffs. Masks, crops, whips. I felt a tingling in my belly that was almost the same as I’d felt in my palm after I’d slapped Derek.

The fourth wall was completely taken up by an enormous mirror. In the center of the room was a sturdy wooden chair, reminiscent of a throne but without armrests. An assortment of thick metal eyelets adorned the legs and back of it, but I sensed they were far more functional than ornamental.

Master Sweet pressed his body against my back and curled his hands around my upper arms.

“If your spirit is the equal of your body...” He ran his fingers across my shoulders and down the gully of my spine. “...then it will be a rare pleasure breaking you in.”

Despite my initial apprehension, his words and his touch sent a thrill through me.

He moved from behind me and my back suddenly felt cold. I watched his muscular form as he prowled to the chair, and admired his grace as he mounted it.

“Bind her. Bring her to me.”

Chloe appeared beside me with a length of smooth rope in her hands. My instincts cried out to run, to fight, but I bit down on them. I could see where this was heading and…and I wasn’t sure I hated it.

With practiced efficiency, Chloe had my wrists secured in under a minute. She led me over to Master Sweet and handed him the loose end of rope.

“Slave, lay across my lap.”

I couldn’t help it. I hesitated. This was so new to me. He curled the rope around his wrist and pulled steadily, with a strength I couldn’t resist. With Chloe’s help he had me prone across his lap, my bare ass angled out and vulnerable. My heartbeat sped with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. Even though there was something so degrading about being put over someone’s lap, there was a part of me that found it...invigorating. I wasn’t about to let him know I felt that way, though. I held my tongue and watched blankly as Chloe worked, binding me in place.

She took the rope and fed it through the eyelet at the base of the chair, leading it underneath and through a matching eyelet on the other side. She walked around and crouched behind me. From my angle I could only see her hands taking the rope, but I could sense her body heat on the backs of my thighs, feel her breath tickling across my ass…and everywhere else. I wondered if she was there to do more than just tie knots.

The rope’s firm grip around my right knee took me out of that reverie. I watched as Chloe fed the rope back through the loop and then around my left knee. I understood the chair’s construction much better now. Looped around it, with Master Sweet’s strong legs as a cushion, I had nowhere to go. Intriguingly, there was still enough slack in the rope that I could spread my knees apart.

“Look in the mirror.”

I raised my head and stared. I barely recognized myself. In the low light, my black hair almost blended with the room. I could see enough to know it was a mess, though.

He slipped his hand onto my ass and rested it there, soft, unmoving. The deceptively light touch sent chills rippling across my body.

“You’ve earned a spanking for your disobedience. You will watch as your punishment is delivered, and you will count the strokes.”

My breath hitched in my chest. Spanking. I hadn’t had one of those since I was a little girl. So demeaning, and yet the thought of it sent heat rushing between my thighs. There was a part of me that longed for it. In a world where I constantly had to think at least six to twelve months ahead, a consequence that was both immediate and tangible somehow felt like a luxury.

He raised his hand, cocked it like a gun. I followed the movement instinctively, admiring the pure power of it, knowing full well that its force was about to come crashing down on me.

“No. Look into your own eyes.”

I did as instructed. My mouth hung open as I tried to catch my breath, which had begun racing. I clenched my muscles and squeezed my thighs together, waiting for what came next.

The blow, when it landed, cracked like a pistol shot. For the slightest instant all I felt was the jolt through my body. My vision blurred with the impact. Then the sting bloomed on my ass and began to tingle. I watched my own mouth stretch, listened as my breath hissed in. I would not cry out.

“Count it!” he demanded.

“One.” I barely recognized my own voice straining to hold back the pain.

The second blow landed on my left cheek. I tried to curl into a ball, but was hampered by the rope and Master Sweet’s legs. My thighs rubbed together as I writhed futilely, trying to cool the hot skin of my ass.

“Two.” It came out as a squeak.

The next few swats came in quick succession. The immediate pain was a shock to my system, but the heat that came afterwards turned into an exquisite agony I hadn’t expected to feel. My whole backside throbbed and those warm pulsations ran straight to my core.

He paused to gently rub away the sting. It was such an unexpected kindness and the words came out before I could stop myself. “Thank you.”

“A tender ass like yours will require some seasoning, but you have done well so far. You have only ten strokes to go.”

Ten? My muscles clenched. I strained against the ropes.

“Fighting it will only make the pain worse. Lose yourself in the sensation. Channel that feisty determination into something useful and count the strokes.”

I did as he ordered, concentrating on the charged silence before each sharp slap of his hand, riding each razored sting like it was a wave. He wanted determination; he’d get it, in spades.

It was hard to keep my eyes open, but I stared into the mirror as much as I could. Watching the tears burst unbidden from the corners of my eyes, seeing my cheeks redden in harmony with my ass, studying my mouth as it clenched on impact then slackened to let the air flood into my lungs. By the sixth stroke I could barely count out loud. By the ninth, I was clinging to his legs for fear I’d melt through onto the floor.

“Good girl,” he said approvingly when he landed the last smack.

What would normally sound condescending instead gave me a warm glow. If this was the worst he could do then I knew I’d already won. The pain was unwelcome but not unbearable, and the aftermath left a strong and unexpected ache between my thighs.

My nose had joined in with my eyes, my face a mess of liquid. Master Sweet smoothed his heavy hands over the aching stings. “Chloe, bring me the oil. And a cloth.”

Chloe appeared in my peripheral vision and dabbed at my face with a soft towelette. A warm drizzle coated my backside. Master Sweet slowly kneaded my tender cheeks. Every nerve within me was heightened by his gentle ministrations. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped my lips, nor the hot lust developing between my thighs.

His voice was steady and smooth, betraying no sign of his physical exertion. “You’ve done well. You’ve listened and endured your first punishment. For that, you will be rewarded.”

His hand sank down between my thighs, finding me already wet. “Spread,” he ordered.

I happily complied. This was the kind of reward I could definitely enjoy.

His thick fingers, coated in oil, traced the slick folds of my pussy. I bit my lip in anticipation, but the digit remained annoyingly perched just outside of my entrance.

“You will stop waxing down here.”

Grow my bush back? I hadn’t had pubes since 2004!

“This ridiculous parody of womanhood is of no use to me. You will let nature have its way, as I will have mine.”

“Yes, Master Sweet.” Frankly, I would have agreed to anything if I thought it would get his fingers inside me. The heat from my spanking had distilled straight into my pussy.

He absently flicked my clit, causing me to gasp and buck. “Have you ever had a clip on here?”

What kind of a question was that? “No.”

“You will enjoy it.” He continued to trace my sopping lips with his thick finger. I couldn’t take much more of this teasing. I shifted my body back, desperately aiming to impale myself onto that digit, and was rewarded with a sharp slap across my already burning cheeks.

“Your body is mine, slave. You will get pleasure when and if I choose to give it to you. Taking it for yourself will earn you another punishment.”

Can’t blame a girl for trying. “Sorry.”

“Sorry who?” His hand left my ass. I quickly looked up and spotted it cocked back in the mirror, ready to strike another painful blow.

“Master,” I blurted out. “Sorry, Master Sweet.”

The hand came down softly. “You’ll learn in time. Now, let’s continue. Have you ever had anal sex?”

His hand swept slowly up my folds, coming to rest right against the rosebud of my ass. My breath jolted in my chest as he traced the tightly clenched opening. For everything, and everyone, I had done, that was one thing I hadn’t. My ass was strictly a no-fly zone. Yet here I was, with a thick, oily thumb pressing harder and harder against it, and powerless to stop it. Part of me wondered secretly if I even wanted to.

“No,” I whimpered, not caring how weak I sounded. I tensed, clenching all of my muscles in fear of what he might do.

“Relax,” he ordered. “You are mine. All of you. I will have you as I please.”

It took all the determination I had to do as he asked. Every fiber of my being had been set on high alert. But though I feared the unknown, I couldn’t ignore the small part of me that wondered about it. Master Sweet exuded such certainty and strength. Though he’d already punished me once, it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. If this was all going to work, then at some point I’d have to trust him.

Slowly, he worked the tip of his thumb in a circular motion on my puckered bud. His other hand came down between my legs, drawing a straight line through my lips to my aching clit. His hands worked in tandem, drawing out a long moan from deep down inside of me.

“You see, slave? I know what you need much better than you do.”

I tried not to squirm as he pressed inward, breaking the barrier of my back passage. I held my breath, expecting pain, but to my surprise the intrusion was quite pleasurable. I’d never have expected it, nor would I ever have allowed anyone else to do this to me. But being restrained, powerless, and at the mercy of Master Sweet, had forced me to experience this unique sensation. I still had that stubborn tiger of pride roaring within me that this was all wrong. That I was giving up too much of myself. But the pleasure I felt was, I knew, far more about the numbing of authority than it was about the thumb in my ass. I felt myself opening up emotionally to the idea of submission as I opened up physically to the man who was dominating me.

“This is why I am the Master.”

“Yes, you are,” I moaned against his leather pants as he slowly flexed that thick digit inside me.

The combination of his thumb in my ass and the other working my clit had my body buzzing. My cream dribbled down between my legs as a powerful orgasm drew close. Lost in the moment and panting as I neared the precipice, I rammed backwards against his hands, as far as the restraints would let me.

I realized it a second too late. I was in trouble.

Mater Sweet slid his thumb out. I felt abandoned, and worse, I knew another punishment was about to be delivered.

“You have been warned. This body is mine to do with as I please. You will only reach climax at my choosing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“We will make sure of that. Chloe, bring me the paddle and another cloth.”

That sent a charge of electricity through my body. I raised my head and watched Chloe in the mirror as she selected a tool that looked like a stretched spatula encased in leather, then brought it, together with a fresh towel, to Master Sweet.

He toweled the oil from my back and flanks. When I was dry again he took the paddle and pressed it to my ass. The cool surface felt heavenly for a second before my body heat infused it. He began to trace the contours of my body with the tool, sometimes lifting it and letting the wrist-strap tickle my back.

I looked at him in the mirror, fear written across my face. I dared not speak without permission, but Master Sweet clearly understood me.

“Consider everything we’ve done so far to be a warm-up. To heighten your senses and prepare your tender bottom for this...your true correction.”

No, not another spanking. And it sounded like this one would be way more serious. I’d been so close to orgasm, one more second and I’d have felt the sweet body rush of release, and I had to go and fuck it up. Perhaps there was a lesson to learn in these sessions.

Master Sweet brought the paddle up to my face and held it there. “Kiss it.” He saw my expression morph from fear to puzzlement. “Speak your question.”

“Master, why?”

“Be specific, slave.”

“Sorry, Master. Why would I kiss this object? It’s only going to hurt me.”

“Ask yourself how many kisses you’ve already spent on those who’ve wounded you.” He caressed my cheek with the paddle.

“You will learn so much from this implement. It will take you to places inside of you that you wish you could find alone. That is not an intimacy you wish to share with a stranger.”

For years now my only intimacy had been with strangers. Which further backed up Derek’s insistence that it was time for me to change. I puckered up and with my eyes squeezed shut, kissed the paddle. Surprisingly, I felt less stupid than I expected to.

“You have earned back the right of free, respectful speech. Good girl.”

It was the third time he’d said that to me. Those two little words – good girl – gave me chills on the back of my neck. I sought no praise in daily life, and that’s exactly what I got. The curious thrill it gave me made me want to hear it again. The idea that I had the power to make him say it, make him call me his good girl, simply through obedience, ignited a craving within me.

He switched the paddle back to his spanking hand and rested it against me, right where the base of my ass blended with the backs of my thighs.

“You are making progress, but you still have much to learn.”

“Yes, Master Sweet.” I resigned myself to the punishment, and even thought I might be beginning to understand it. I should have remained still. And next time, I knew I would. If only to hear him tell me I was good.

“Let us continue with that lesson. We will start with ten.”

I held my breath. He swatted the paddle against me, so swiftly that it felt like a bite. I couldn’t contain the small scream that leapt from my throat.

“Count it.”

“One,” I squeaked.

Another swat. Another squeal. “T...two.”

Swat. “Three!” Fierce determination infused my voice with an animalistic frenzy.

With every blow that landed, I felt a brand new white flower of pain against my skin. This was a much more intense punishment than my warm-up. But for all that, I somehow knew I could take it. The Master had already found parts of me I never knew I’d lost, and I sensed he had much more strength than he was using right now. Letting go of control, allowing myself to be cared for and punished by the Master was already having an effect on my stress levels.

With every blow the weight on my shoulders – the money, the investments – seemed to lighten. As if the quakes running through my body were dislodging everything, sending it into some abyss. Stroke by stroke the world shrunk. By the seventh, my entire universe consisted of the stinging red skin on my ass and thighs.

There was peacefulness to that realization. Though painful for the moment, the simplicity of life within these walls was a pleasant relief. The tightness in my chest released with the eighth stroke, and I let out a long controlled breath. A smooth, involuntary moan rode out on it. Master’s voice pressed through the nothingness in my mind.

“You are a swift learner. Perhaps I will relieve you of the final two strokes.”

I swam back into full consciousness. “No, Master. Please.” Two hours ago I would have thought he was cutting me slack. Now it felt like I was being short-changed.

“Excellent. You will indeed make a fine sub.” He delivered the final two strokes in rapid time, the second seeming almost to mount the first, to multiply the sting. I stabbed a sharp breath into my lungs and held it as long as I could, holding the scream that wanted to shoot from me. For seconds that felt like hours I squeezed against that sound, compressed it from coal to diamond, until finally it shot loose like a breathy climax.

I’d barely noticed the tears this time. Even crying felt luxurious within these walls. In the business world, tears are pitiful. Here, they were cathartic, simply because they were natural.

Wordlessly, Chloe approached and took the paddle from Master’s hand. I propped my ass a little higher, waiting for him to rub at the skin.

Instead, I felt Chloe’s presence right behind me again as she worked loose the knots that bound my knees. She helped me off Master’s lap and held me up while my legs fought to stay solid. Then she led me to stand with my face in the corner of the room.

Master’s body pressed up against my back, and I ached for his soothing hands on my traumatized ass. Instead, he drew my wrists above my head and tied the rope to an iron ring. He ran his hands down the rope until they rested over mine. There was a kindness in his voice as it curled into my ear.

“You have thirty minutes to think on this. To consider why you needed your behavior corrected. When the time has passed I will return. Further good behavior will earn further rewards.”

“Yes, Master.”

He swept his hands down the length of my arms and then pushed away from me. The heat of his hard body left me. I heard Chloe follow Master out of the room and I jumped a little as they turned off the lights.

Only the barest illumination crept in past the velvet curtain. I dared not look around. Master had not said anything either way, but I sensed his desire in this matter was for me to remain in position, as still as possible.

The vicious song of agony on my ass had eased slightly. I heard various noises outside the room. Domestic noises, cups clanging on saucers, and I felt a surge of something so ancient as to be almost unrecognizable.

Jealousy.

Chloe was serving tea to Master. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to be where Master Sweet was. My Master. Even rolling those words through my mind gave me a surge of heat in my belly.

The blood was slowly draining from my arms, but I was grateful for the support of the ring. My body was still recovering from the cocktail of adrenaline and emotion that Master’s discipline had awakened in me. My ass was craving the soothing touch of His warm hands.

I felt at a loss to explain my feelings. In what amounted to no time, I had formed an enormous, but bizarre, attachment to Master Sweet. There had been something comfortable about him from the moment I’d arrived. Though dangerous-looking with that dark mask, the tone of his voice had been comforting and familiar. Too familiar, even. He’d spoken like a parent, or a confidant. I had willingly given trust – a treasure I hoarded more tight-fistedly even than money. His Mastery was brilliant and complete. I concentrated on that for a short while as the sting in my cheeks mellowed to a throb, matching the beat of my heart.

And now I found myself here in this darkened room, alone, feeling as if I were nothing to Him. As if I had failed Him. And I had never failed at anything in my life.

But you are failing at life. Derek’s words came back to me, but this time I saw them for what they were. Truth. Maybe not the truth, but certainly a truth.

The realization hit me as hard as the paddle had.

Everything Master said had proved true. He had found the little seed of my true self. The seed I’d buried so long ago in the hope it would never see the light of day. The person I’d hidden.

My tears came in earnest now. Maybe I was channeling some childhood memory, or maybe it was just a dam bursting. But now that Master had stripped away my defenses the force of them was too much for me to contain. They coursed down my cheeks, over my lips. They hit my breasts and tickled their way down my body as if washing me clean of myself. I released all tension and simply hung from the iron ring, all my weight cutting the rope into my wrists.

The thirty minutes passed quickly. I stirred to Master’s touch on my shoulder, his breath against my neck.

“Stand tall, Natasha. You have earned back your name.”

I found my feet and pressed upwards. Chloe mopped my face with a fresh cloth as Master held my shoulders.

“Natasha. Tell me what you have learned today.”

“Master, it’s still so early. I’m unsure if...if I’ll know the right answers.”

“This is not about right and wrong, Natasha. I know what I taught you. Only you know what you’ve learned.”

I still hesitated. Everything in here seemed so black and white I found it hard to focus on semantics.

“Then tell me what you feel, Natasha. What you want.”

The fear in my heart was not from the idea of further punishment. It was the fear that I would disappoint Him. “Master, I feel... relaxed. I do not have the worries I normally carry. I feel as if you have chased away my anxiety.”

“Be wary, Natasha; it will not be completely removed by one session. You are learning well, though. In here you have no other concern than me and what I want of you. You will only deal with that world outside when I see fit to allow you out there.”

“Yes, Master.” Board meetings, AP reports, lay-off lists, budget cuts...they had their place and were by no means trivial. But life at the top sounded good until you realize you are depended upon by thousands of people. In here, in this small time, I hadn’t worried about any of that. It was such a relief.

“Is that all?” He startled me from my musing.

“I...I was going to say I feel complete, but...”

“But of course you don’t.”

“No, Master. Just...closer to it than I ever have.”

“Natasha, turn and face me.”

I kept my eyes to the floor as I obeyed.

“You may look me in the eye.”

I lifted my gaze to his throat before I realized he had removed his mask. I should have felt shocked seeing his face, but deep down I’d known who was behind the mask all along. I’d known him for so long, trusted him with all of my darkest, dirtiest secrets. In that time he had taken such abuse from me with patience and emotional mastery. It seemed only fitting that now, he would be the one to school me in those same virtues.

I wondered if removing the mask meant that he was no longer Master Sweet. If he would revert to the old Dr. Benson again. Seeing him now, bare-chested still, and with nothing hiding his expression, I wondered why I’d never really noticed him before. Not in this way. His skills at deception were even greater than my own had been.

“You are not surprised,” He said.

I smiled earnestly and shook my head, nudging loose a few stray tears. There was no need for words. He already knew so much about me, I was certain He knew how I felt at his revelation. I realized I’d been desperately hoping for this to be my truth. For Him to be my Master.

Chloe’s arms curled around my waist to take my weight, while Master untied the rope from the ring, leaving my wrists still bound. He bent and picked me up as if I were a kitten, and then carried me from the room.

Chloe opened another door and Master took me through into a room that was comparatively bright. A cast-iron bed sat in the center of the floor and Master took me to it. He sat on the bed with me draped across his lap, a gentler imitation of our positions in the training room.

Chloe secured my wrists tightly, but gave my ankles a lot more slack. She dropped the oil bottle and some cloths on the bedspread and left the room.

“Natasha, I have coveted your beauty since you first came to me.”

Master drizzled the warm oil onto the small of my back. I whimpered as he pressed his hand onto my back and spread the oil lower, easing it over the raw patches all over my bottom and thighs.

“Master?”

His fingers pressed into the thick tissue of my ass cheeks, bringing sharp tingles to my skin and sharper tingles to my wanton pussy.

“I saw through you the moment you walked into my office. The brittle pride that impaled you. The shadow you cast that you could not flee. I would have disciplined you on the spot.”

Clearly he knew what effect his hands were having on me. I risked moving my hips to grind my clit against his thigh. He ran his hands around the curves of my ass and began to work my thighs.

“Master, why did you wait so long?”

He dipped his hands down between my legs and didn’t stop me when I slid them apart.

“You know the answer, Natasha. Ask yourself why you came here today.”

Because I’d had no other option. Because I had refused all other help. “Because you told me to, Master.”

“That is an excellent answer, Natasha.”

He brought one hand back up to my ass, slowly infusing His heat into the raw sting of my skin. His other hand pressed against my clit and the jolt it sent through me almost tore my senses apart. I sucked in a breath as sharp as any I’d taken during my discipline. And I finally found the truth of this relationship: that while Master may hurt me, He would never harm me.

“Now, Natasha. You still have not answered the second part of my question.”

“Master?”

“You told me how you feel. You have not told me what you want.”

“Master, I want to feel You inside me. I want to come against You.”

He ground tiny circles against my clit and I moaned with want. “Raise yourself off me, Natasha.”

I did as I was told and Master slipped off the bed and released my bonds. For an awful moment I thought we were done. That He was sending me back to work.

“Natasha, this is new to you, and I am a fair Master. We clearly still have much work to do.”

“Master, I have displeased you?”

“Turn yourself toward me.”

I rotated on the bed until my face was level with His bulging groin. He took my hands and rubbed at the marks where the rope had bitten in.

“Natasha, you want to feel me inside you. That is what you said.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you know what I want?”

“No, Master.”

“Exactly. That must be your first thought.”

I felt my belly freeze, knowing He was right. Even with all I’d learned, I was still caught up in my own needs. I’d failed to think of Him, of His needs, just as I had done with everyone I’d ever been close to. Self-absorption was what started me on the power grab of success. I wanted to be the best, I wanted to have everything money could buy, I wanted the corner office in the tallest high-rise, I wanted to be CEO of the most prestigious companies. Two of the most despicable words there were, leaning against each other for support.

Want.

“I’m sorry, Master,” I said earnestly. He was still teaching me lessons.

He cupped my cheek and I leaned my face into His hand. “You have made great progress. I don’t expect you to know everything yet, and that was a difficult test.” He placed my hands on His waistband. “The privilege of undressing me is yours.”

I worked His pants open and slid them down. His swollen cock was fierce and musky, and I kissed the length of it reverently before drawing it deep inside my mouth. Master’s nostrils flared and His breath hissed. I knew I was earning His praise.

His cock bucked inside my mouth, trembled against my tongue. I squeezed Him, ready to take Him all the way with just this, if He so decreed.

“Natasha, stop.”

I let His length slip from my lips and looked up at Him. I hoped He could see in my eyes what I needed next. It was not my place to ask for it.

“Turn around. Leave your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.”

I obeyed as quickly as my stinging ass would let me. Master squeezed a little more oil onto my flanks and rubbed it in, finishing with His hands at my hips. His fingers dug deeply into my flesh.

The rounded end of His magnificent cock pressed against my swollen pussy. I had to fight my instinct to push back. I needed Him inside me, but knew any false move might earn me the punishment of more waiting.

Finally, blissfully, He penetrated me with His beautiful cock. He drove steadily inside me until our hips bumped. His coarse pubic hair scratched against my reddened skin and reminded me of the paddle’s bite.

I was unsure if I was permitted to cry out, but it was beyond my control. All the pretty gigolos, all the quickie solo shower sessions, none of it was a patch on this.

He drove hard into my body and I panted in desperation, needing Him to go deeper still, harder, and faster.

“More please, Master. Give me more,” I begged before realizing I was making demands again.

Rather than punish, He rewarded my desperate pleas by giving into my request. His hips were like a piston. Each wet slap of skin to skin sent pleasure shooting through every nerve of my body. My body thrummed to the beat of His pelvis. I reveled in the unbridled ecstasy, matching His rhythm with my own. Together our bodies flowed as if one.

“Natasha, you may come.”

When He said those magic words, the explosion tore through me and with a cry, my body spasmed against His groin.

A deep roar tore from His throat. He tensed, His fingers dug into the tender skin of my ass, adding spice to my already-cosmic orgasm, and I felt the warmth of His seed spilling inside me. He pumped once more before relaxing his grip.

“Thank you, Master.” There was no more arrogance in my voice. He’d given me so much more than just raw physical pleasure, and I felt it was my duty to let Him know how grateful I was.

He eased out of me and pulled me down with Him onto the bed. He snaked his arms around me and held me to His broad chest. With one gentle hand He caressed the stinging skin of my bottom.

“This soreness you feel now...it will last for several days.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Let it serve as a reminder of what you’ve learned. Think of it as my eyes watching you at work.”

“Yes, Master.”

I could barely believe how enslavement had given me such freedom. It was the diametric opposite to all that my life had held before. I’d had so much freedom that I was enslaved by it. Now, every time I gave my willing assent to one of Master’s commands, I grew just a step closer to the woman I wanted to be.

Master rolled me onto my back and leaned across me, His mouth almost touching mine. His eyes filled my vision, icy blue and calm. I simply lay still, under His protection, both physically and emotionally. He was my shield and my sword. My home.

“Master, I have read about...this kind of thing before. About men who dominate. And it always sounded...well, just plain awful. Name calling, neglect, abuse. But You...this is not like I imagined at all.”

He ran His finger across my mouth. “You must remember, Natasha. A Dom is not someone who has experienced a life of riches. He’s a man whose life is rich with experiences. Those megalomaniacs who Dom, the ones you’ve read about...they’re vicious narcissists. They’re simply bringing their work home with them. In the end, they are very much like you were before you came here. They fear the loss of power, and are blind to the old adage: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

“There is power in success. Of that there can be no doubt. You came here with a concrete definition of what success is. You measured it in dollars. Boil that down far enough, and you were already submissive. And money was your Dom.”

I rolled myself off the bed and knelt on the floor before Him. I took His hand and kissed it, then placed it atop my head.

“Not any more, Master.”

The End

ABOUT WILLSIN ROWE

Willsin Rowe falls in love with a scent, a playful expression or an act of casual intimacy more easily than with physical beauty. When confronted by any combination of those elements he is a lost cause. He has done many things over and over, done even more things only once, and half-done more things than he cares to admit. He loves to sing and doesn’t let his voice get in the way. He is intelligent but not sensible. He is passionate but fearful. He is not scruffy enough or stylish enough to be cool.

Blog: http://willsinrowe.blogspot.com.au/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/willsin.rowe

ABOUT KATIE SALIDAS

Katie Salidas is a Super Woman! Endowed with special powers and abilities, beyond those of mortal women, She can get the munchkins off to gymnastics, cheerleading, Girl Scouts, and swim lessons.  She can put hot food on the table for dinner while assisting with homework, baths, and bedtime… And, She still finds the time to keep the hubby happy (nudge nudge wink wink). She can do all of this and still have time to write.

And if you can believe all of those lies, there is some beautiful swamp land in Florida for sale…

Katie Salidas resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. Mother, wife, and author, she does try to do it all, often causing sleep deprivation and many nights passed out at the computer. Writing books is her passion, and she hopes that her passion will bring you hours of entertainment.

Blog: http://www.katiesalidas.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Salidas-Author/214780936916
Twitter: http://twitter.com/QuixoticKatie

If you enjoyed Submission Therapy, you might also enjoy:

SLOWPOKE

By Willsin Rowe & Katie Salidas

It’s Friday night, and expert business accountant Tamsin Clair is trapped in tax season hell. Snowed under with her incompetent boss’s late invoices, she dreams of a life with less stress and more meaning.

Gorgeous Aussie plant technician Barry McCracken doesn't much enjoy his Friday night workload either. But he always looks forward to his little chats with the super-hot accountant he respectfully calls “Ms. Clair”.

Barry’s broad accent and relaxed speech has most Americans believing he’s a little mentally-challenged, affectionately earning him the nickname "Slowpoke".

Tamsin knows better. Left alone in the office together, the two find they have much more in common than just crazy work hours.

But can Tamsin trust the hunky Aussie with her secret...a secret that is guaranteed to change how he feels about her?

Excerpt from SLOWPOKE.

Despite the somber moment, he grinned a little. “See, the thing is, I love accents. And being an Aussie here in America? Well, every woman I talk to is a wonderful exotic treat. Even you California girls.” He gave me a tiny wink. “But I’m a sucker for that southern lilt.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah, I know, people here have a certain view of folks from the south. But I don’t have that baggage. I’m from way further south, anyway.” He closed his eyes as if he was actually hearing the accent he loved so much. “I tell ya, I can’t get enough of it.”

The hunger in his voice made my lips quiver. All of them. Without really thinking about it, I rested my hand on his arm. “Bazz. There’s something I’d love to tell you…but I don’t know if I can…”

He looked at my hand for a moment before reality stepped in. He pulled away and started to leave. “Um, maybe I should finish the rest of the office, Ms. Clair.”

“Hey! You were calling me Tamsin.”

“Figured I should probably not.”

“Why?”

“Well…nah. I feel stupid.”

“Tell me.”

He didn’t turn back to me. “I don’t wanna cut another man’s grass.”

“I thought that’d be part of your job.”

If he caught the joke, he didn’t let on. Just turned and stared straight into my eyes. “Means no matter how hot she is, I’m not gonna try it on with a married woman.”

“Who?”

“You.”

YOU’VE REACHED

“THE END!”

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