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She slid from his lap obediently, ready to follow his command and retrieve his strudel like the good little girl she was becoming, but she did not immediately move to fulfill his command once on the floor. Instead, she pressed her temple to his knee, eyes closed, and continued to try and regain control of her breathing. In the past he would have grown angry with a slave that failed to comply with an order in a speedy manner. He would have stood and put her over the table to paint her bottom red for daring to think she could take her time. Instead, a smile came to his lips and he gently stroked her sweat head. Her face leaned harder to his knee, her shoulders hunched and face turned upward. She was a beautiful sight. Magnificent. Obedient and submissive, vulnerable and collared, nestled securely on the floor between his feet.

“I gave an order, slave,” he reminded her gently. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise, sleep in her eyes. She crawled over to the table, not because she wished to degrade herself for him, he knew that much, but because she was so tired. She retrieved the strudel and walked back on her knees. She settled back between his feet and held up the plate. He chuckled softly and smoothed out his tie, gazing at her a few moments, admiring her beauty.

“No, no,” he scolded kindly. He patted his lap. He then cooed, “Good girls sit on their Master’s lap.”

Her lips twitched into a smile and she crawled up hesitantly, almost shyly, and presented the strudel. He lifted his eyebrows.

“Do you expect me to eat that myself?” he asked her. She shook her head and reached for the fork. He stopped her. He took the fork and reached behind him to drop it on a side table. “With your fingers,” he instructed. She bit her lip as he pinched a part of the strudel and brought it to his lips. He closed his lips around her thumb and pointer finger, enjoying the feel of her fragile digits in his mouth as much as he did the tasty dessert. He decided against the murmur of appreciation he considered giving her. The apprehension desire for approval was far more delicious than any sweet morsel could ever be. He took hold of her hand as he took her fingers from between his lips. He chewed and swallowed before placing her thumb back into his lips. He sucked on it slowly before adding he second finger. She waited anxiously, lips parted and eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Delicious,” he told her and she smiled proudly. She pinched off another piece and brought it to his lips. He could not imagine a more perfect scenario for himself. Promotion. Significant raise to his already impressive salary. A sweet, young, beautiful woman, naked in his lap, feeding him dessert with her hands, available for any desire he might have.

“Has your IQ been tested?” she asked softly, but as she looked back up, her gaze on her fingers as he took them into his mouth, there was a curious glimmer in her eyes.

“It has,” he answered. There was no reason he needed it done. He simply needed to know. A number. A mark of his intelligence. Hard, solid proof that he was better than the average man. Something no one, no woman, could ever dispute.

“I bet it’s really high,” she said, looking down at the strudel. She blushed at him when she looked up, a shy smile on her lips. “What is it?”

His lips twitched and he placed a hand on her hip, gently stroking the smooth skin, eyes slowly moving over her body, admiring what was his.

“145,” he said and looked up to her face. She frowned.

“Isn’t that like, genius level?” she asked.

“There are certainly people with higher IQ’s… but yes,” he answered. She looked down at the strudel and broke off another piece for him.

“I really am lucky,” she said. Her eyes were down and her voice was soft. He felt a tingling in his chest, almost giddiness. It was not said for his benefit. It was for her own. He looked down to the strudel, saw half of it was gone, and reached down. He pinched off a piece and it brought it to her mouth. For a moment, she seemed surprised, and then opened her mouth happily.

“I told you,” he reminded her. “I could be a gentle master or a cruel master.” She sucked on his fingers and his lips parted, eyes heating, as he watched her. “It is entirely up to you. It always has been.”

He pinched off another piece and fed her silently. She reached up to take hold of his hand. She kept his finger in her mouth and sucked gently. Slowly he pulled his finger from her mouth.

“I want to make you happy,” she told him, taking his hand and curling his fingers. She pressed his knuckles to her cheek and closed her eyes.

“Oh?” he asked. She nodded against his hand. He said with some amusement, “I don’t recall that being in my five tenants.”

“Anyone can do those,” she answered, eyes fluttering open again. “Doesn’t matter what girl you have, she can do that. Not every girl can make you happy.”

He stared at her a moment, blinking thoughtfully.

“This is what I want to do,” he said murmured, taking the last bit of strudel and bringing it to her mouth. “I want you to go into the kitchen and make sure that everything is off. I want you to get the bottle of wine and two glasses. And I want to go upstairs.”

“Two glasses?” she asked with soft hopefulness. He smiled.

“Two,” he answered. She took hold of his tie, running her hand down it and smoothing it against his chest with a smile.

He patted her hip gently.

“Go on.”

She slid off his lap and collected the dinner plate, the strudel plate, the discarded fork and his wine glass. He followed her lazily into the kitchen, examining the fading stripe on her thigh. As she picked up the kitchen a bit, he crouched before the wine cabinet. He considered the bottles thoughtfully. He grabbed a merlot and stood. He leaned against the cabinet and looked over the kitchen. She’d done a marvelous job of cleaning up as she cooked. She just had the strudel pan to put into the sink when he looked. She filled it with water and then paused to turn to him.

“Leave it for morning,” he dismissed. She nodded and grabbed the Meursault-charmes and the two glasses. With a jerk of the head he motioned for her to walk ahead of him and she obeyed with a smile. As she walked past him he followed behind her, hand on her bottom, squeezing one round globe firmly. He removed his hand and slapped her bottom firmly. “Faster.”

She hurried up the top of the stairs and then looked side to side with a frown.

“To the right,” he murmured. “Third door.”

She moved down and glanced at him as her hand wrapped around the handle. He gave her permission to enter with a nod. He looked at the bed as he stepped inside and was warmed by the thought that he wouldn’t need to sleep alone ever again. He could fall asleep, nestled in her warm, loving arms whenever he wished. She walked across the floor without picking up her feet, enjoying the feel of the soft carpet beneath her feet.

She put the glasses and bottle down on his nightstand and then turned to await an order. He smiled softly at her as he put the merlot down on the dresser.

“Here is another house rule,” he instructed. “When not in the basement, unless otherwise stipulated, your movement is not restricted.”

“Can you explain that?” she asked as he pulled out his top drawer.

“Well, certainly, you can’t just walk out of the room right now or go jump in the shower without permission. But if you wanted to lay down on the bed, walk over to look at the movies, sit down in a chair, things along those lines, you may,” he told her. He retrieved a blank white shirt from his dresser.

“May I go clean myself off?” she asked. He turned and she motioned downward. “My thighs are… sticky.” She blushed.

“You may,” he gave permission and she disappeared into the bathroom. He pulled at his tie and tossed it onto the dresser. By the time she returned from the bathroom, he was down to his slacks and undershirt. He smiled as he changed into a pair of sweatpants. She crawled up onto the bed, settling into place in a cross legged position and waited for him. He walked over to the night stand and poured two glasses of wine.

“Did you like the wine?”

“I did,” she answered, a little smile on her face as she waited for his glass. He held out his white shirt to her.

“You can put this on.”

She put the shirt on happily and then took the glass from him. He picked up his own glass and laid down on the bed, lifted upward by his pillows, and lifted the remote to turn on the TV. She sat cross-legged beside him still, sipping the wine and waiting.

“Are you enjoying yourself, pet?” he asked. She nodded with a tiny smile on her lips. “Good.”

He handed her the remote.

“Pick a movie.”

She took the remote, hardly able to contain her smile, and looked to the TV on the wall. He said nothing when she went straight to American films and began to search through the available titles.

“What kind of movies do you like?” she asked.

“I don’t watch movies enough to really know,” he answered. He stroked his knuckles gently over a bare thigh, enjoying the softness of her. “I spend most of my time working.”

“Or with me,” she mumbled, looking over the titles.

“The timing was not ideal,” he admitted. “Purchasing a new slave, unbroken, right as I was attempting to secure a promotion.”

She turned to look at him curiously.

“Have you bought girls that were already trained?”

“Once – bad idea,” he replied. “You have to reteach them. It is difficult because they’ve been trained to think one way, then you ask them to do something entirely different. It’s as unfair to them as it is frustrating for me.”

“Is that when men get tired and want to re-sell their slave?” she asked with a little mumble. He smiled. She had done her very best to appear disinterested.

“Jessica,” he said, holding the wine glass against his chest. She looked over at him. It was when he said her name that he found her to be most genuine. It was the surest way he knew to gauge her level of submission, but he had to use it sparingly or it would lose its effect. The look that came upon her when he used her name had his loins burning again already. “I have no plans to sell you.”

“I don’t think I’d survive it,” she said, turning those big brown eyes up to him. He looked at her a long time and then nodded. He reached out and touched her arm before shaking his head.

“You don’t have anything to worry about.”

She took hold of his hand and squeezed gently before looking back to the TV. He watched her take another sip of wine. He would have to be mindful of how she reacted to alcohol. It had the potential to turn her more submissive and affectionate, or wayward and aggressive. He did not want her to get herself into trouble. Perhaps it could serve as a test to see how deeply her current obedience and submission was eternalized, but he did not think the test was entirely fair.

Gently, he stroked her knuckles with his thumbs, feeling utterly content as he watched her pick a movie. He was tired, but he could already feel himself stirring for her again.

“Are scary movies OK?” she asked him. He glanced to the TV to examine the titles she was looking through.

“I don’t care,” he answered, taking a sip of wine and then resting the glass against his chest. He smiled softly and closed his eyes briefly. His eyes opened when he heard a movie start. He considered teasing her and asking if he had given her permission to make a purchase, but he doubted she would take it as the playful teasing he intended it to be. She was still far too skittish for playfulness in that manner.

“I’m so happy,” she smiled, scooting back against the pillows. She looked down at him and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes glimmered with amusement, looking to the wine glass and finding it nearly empty. Any other slave he would have been angry with. Wine was not a drink he thought should be used for the sole purpose of intoxication. The amount of money he spent on that bottle and she was drinking it like it was cheap beer. But the feel of her hand in his hair silenced him and he couldn’t find even an ounce of annoyance within him.

“That makes me happy,” he answered. Her nails scratched his scalp gently. She looked back to the TV and took another sip of wine. She settled in to watch the movie beside him, but her hand remained on him. It moved to his neck, gently scratching the warm skin.

He found himself paying only limited attention to the movie. Instead, he focused on the feel of her hands on him, her presence beside him, his beautiful home, his promotion…

“That’s not how you play,” he heard her murmur. He looked up to find a bunch of twenty-somethings sitting around a table in a cabin in the middle of the woods with a multitude of alcohol around them.

“And how do you play?” he asked, though he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. He slide his hand up the back of her shirt, stroking her bare, lower back lazily.

“You ask a question and they have to answer honestly or drink. At least, that’s how we played. You don’t ask a question and then guess whether or not the answer was a lie and then drink. It’s too involved. Especially for a drinking game.”

“You played this often?” he asked and she blushed. She shrugged.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It was an easy game to play at parties where you didn’t know a lot of people.”

“Hmm,” he mused. His ran a hand up her spine, gazing at what was visible of her bottom as the shirt lifted up and the lowered his hand again. “Let’s play.”

“What?” she asked, eyes filling with anxiety.

“Let’s play.”

“That seems like a really good way to get myself into trouble,” she protested weakly. He picked up the wine bottle from the night stand and refilled her glass. His needed only a little bit added. He made it a rule not to get drunk with slaves. It was not even because it was undignified for a slave to see her Master drunk, but because it had an element of danger in it. If he got angry, if he took something too far… he needed to have a clear head.

“If I don’t want to answer I simply won’t. If I don’t want to drink I won’t. You won’t be punished for any question you ask. The most you’ll get is a warning you’re on thin ice.”

She looked hesitant but then took a sip of wine.

“You go first,” he said.

“Ok… um…” she took another sip “Are you religious?”

He paused and looked to his wine glass, considering.

“No… I was baptized, confirmed, grew up Catholic, but I haven’t gone to Mass in some time. I believe in... something… but the rules,” he made a face and coupled is shrug with a shake of the head.

“I’m Catholic,” she offered.

“I know,” he answered. She frowned.

“How?”

“I know a great deal about you, Jessica,” he replied. “Jessica Allen, twenty-three years old, Middletown, Delaware. Went to Catholic girl’s school up through middle school. You attended Middlebrook High School, then Boston University, where you scored top marks. Major in history and minor in German, though you lied about your proficiency to get into Salzburg, where you studied philosophy for a semester. On June 1st, you left Salzburg after breakfast with friends, stopped for three days in Vienna, travelled up to Germany, where you then circled down through the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and then Hungary. Went missing in Budapest on August 17th.”

Her lips parted.

“The internet, Jessica, and a great deal of money, provide a person with a wealth of information.”

“Oh.”

“And your favorite color is purple and you like gin and tonics,” he added with a smile. “That you told me.”

“Well, are there any questions left to ask?” she joked.

“Do you like to read?” he asked. She nodded.

“I do… historical fiction mainly.”

“I’ll buy you some books,” he said and reached up to touch her cheek. Her gaze was somewhat glassy, but he so loved the look in her eyes. She looked away at a loud crash from the TV. A woman, quite scantily clad, was a top a man in a chair, having knocked something off the desk, they continued their antics, loudly. He looked away, uninterested. He ran his knuckles down the side of her arm. She looked away from the television. She examined him a moment and then looked back to watch the movie, sipping at the wine contentedly.

He watched with contented disinterest until the attack on the young twenty-somethings began. One of the killers, having killed almost everyone else, chased a young girl through the woods. He felt his blood heat as he watched, and when the pretty heroine was grabbed by the hair and thrown to the ground he felt his cock beginning to harden. He brought a hand to the front of his sweatpants as the killer crouched over the girl on the screen.

There was nothing sexual about what was happening on screen. But he felt his passions becoming enflamed once more. It wasn’t the violence that did it. It wasn’t that the man on the screen only wished to kill her. It was the power. The vulnerability of a captured woman that could do nothing.

Jessica turned her head again and watched his hand a moment. He did not want it to scare her. To a casual observer, it looked very much like he was masturbating to the strangulation of a young woman.

“Was it the chase?” she whispered. He looked at her, closing a hand around his erection from over his sweatpants. She rested her wine glass against a pillow. It was empty.

“The chase,” he replied. “The power.” He felt the need to clarify to her, “It’s not the murder.”

She looked to the screen. Another young woman was being chased, screaming and crying in fear. His eyes fluttered closed a moment. He felt movement on the bed and his eyes opened. She was crawling to the edge of the bed. He looked at her, eyes narrowing.

“Come suck my cock,” he ordered, voice low. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. He stared at her. His ears buzzed a moment.

“What did you say to me?” he asked. She slid off the bed, standing on her feet. She glanced to the door. He leaned forward, eyes burning.

“No,” she said again. She stared at him. He stared at her. Neither blinked. They reacted at once. She bolted for the door and he was in hot pursuit, heart pounding, blood hot and cock rock hard.


 

The door was unlocked. She managed to get out and into the hallway, but he was close behind. Her heart pounded and she was almost excited. She had seen the look in his eyes. It wasn’t anger. If he wanted her to stop he’d tell her so. He was silent behind her. She almost tripped going down the stairs, but managed to round the corner. She was hurrying down the hall and let out a cry as he was suddenly in from her. A giggle erupted from her as she turned to flee the other way.

She got into the living room where he once again cut her off. She bit her bottom lip. Her heart leapt when he made a move to pursue again, but it was a fake. She giggled softly, backing up slowly. She ran before him, hurrying down the hall again and let out another cry as he nearly closed his hand around her shirt.

 She soon found herself in the kitchen. She paused to catch her breath, heart pounding. The island separated her from her master. He stopped himself against the island, eyes burning as they pinned on her.

“You cornered yourself,” he said hotly. She looked from side to side, eyes alert. “Naughty girl,” he said lowly. His eyes burned. “You manage to stay away from me,” he said, taking out his phone from his pocket and setting a timer, “for five minutes.” He put the phone back into his pocket. “And you get to sleep with me tonight. I get you first, and I’ll show you what happens to little girls that run.”

She nodded and waited for him to make the first move. He moved from side to side, looking almost maniacal, but his lips were curved upward and she felt a rush of pride and excitement that she gave him reason to enjoy himself so much. She bit her bottom lip and jerked to the side. He moved to intercept her and she paused, halting. He waited, smirking at her as she thought of which direction to go. He played with a few moments longer before letting her escape. He pursued her quickly, but she could not help but feel that he was simply playing with her. He knew his own house well, and more than once she thought he could have grabbed her if he wanted.

A cry of delightful dread raced through her as he nearly caught her in the hallway and it was simple adrenaline that sent her rushing up the stairs and back to his bedroom. She got all the way down the hall and as she spotted the bed she felt her mind racing. If she got to the other side, he would either crawl over the top to get to her or he would come around the side. Either way she might have her escape.

But just as she was about to jump up onto the bed his hand closed around her upper arm. He yanked her back hard and she went colliding with the floor with a violent thud. He let out a breath as he stalked over to her, movements lazily and confident. She gazed up at him, suddenly frightened by what he might plan to do. Her head buzzed but she suddenly felt sober, amazed at the game she had tried to play with him.

“Master,” she breathed and he lowered himself down to one knee. He shook his head slowly.

“Nein,” he whispered back. He pushed hard on her shoulder and she went falling back onto the floor. He bent down, bit the top of her shirt, and then ripped it through with a violent yank. A cry escaped her as the fabric was torn from her body. He tossed it away and bent over her.

“Fight me,” he breathed. She frowned.

“What?” she asked.

“Fight me,” he said again. His hand went to her throat, squeezing tightly. Instinct took hold and she reached for his wrist. Immediately his hand loosened. She did as he commanding. With all her force she tried to push him off of her but it was like trying to move a brick wall. His muscles flexed and his eyes burned, his lips curved upward ever so slightly. He looked utterly maniacal. He kept a hand on her throat as she struggled.

She threw up a hand and caught his chest, pushing at him with all her might. She had not fought him like this since the first time they had been together. Only she dare not try the easy kick to the groin or an attempt at his face. He released her neck just long enough to place a bruising grip to her thighs and yank her closer. A cry of surprise left her as her back was dragged along the carpet, her pussy pressed to his erection beneath his sweatpants. She tried to turn and squirm away, he let her, and he grabbed her legs again, yanking her back hard.

He retrieved his erection as she squirmed and in an instant he was inside of her. He chuckled as he felt her dampness. He put his weight on her arms, holding her down as he thrust into her.  He fucked her hard but she continued to fight. It only seemed to arouse him further. She got a hand to hair and pulled. At first she feared she had gone to far, that it was not allowed in their little game, but he growled and flipped her over, entering her wet pussy from behind and lowered his body atop of hers.

 His arm wrapped around her, hand holding her throat, and pressed his mouth to her ear. He licked her skin, bit on her earlobe, and whispered terrible, vile things in her ear as he fucked her. Words spilled from her lips in turn. How she loved the way he violated her. She loved the way he raped her. How she loved being his whore. His little girl.

By the time he finished, he was leaning against the bed, seated on the floor, and his cock was down her throat, shooting the evidence of his pleasure down her throat. She swallowed as he commanded, but she had little choice in the matter. Once done, she collapsed at his fit, taking hold of the side of his sweat pants with a tight grip.

“Come here, baby,” he ordered. She crawled closer and he scooped her into his arm. Once again she settled comfortable in his lap. Again he stroked her sweaty hair. He caressed her tired, trembling body. “Such a good girl,” he cooed. “My good girl.”

She turned her face toward him and he kissed her mouth. She leaned against him and rested her face against his shoulder. She leaned closer, pressing her lips to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed. She reached up and ran a hand through his own sweaty locks.

“What can I do?” she whispered. “To service you?”

“Oh, schatzi,” he breathed. “I am spent.”

She nodded and kissed his neck again. She moved herself, straddling his lap and leaning forward so she could sag against him, arms around him. She kissed his neck some more before murmuring against his hot skin, “Master?”

“Mhmm?” he asked.

“Can I still sleep with you tonight?” she asked, keeping her voice small. His hands moved up her back. She reminded him, “I’ve been good.”

He chuckled softly.

“Oh, schatzi,” he said. “You are still far too willful.”

She looked up, ready to dissolve into a pit of pathetic remorse. Anything to keep him from turning on her again. But she paused when she found him gazing down at her tenderly.

“Audacious and spoiled. I should not indulge you,” he said, but the moment he reached up to touch her cheek she knew she would be in his bed that night. It brought her far more joy that it should have but she did not even try to fight it.

“Can I have some more wine?” she asked, playing with the bottom hem of his shirt shyly. She looked back up. His gaze was difficult to read. Both aroused, amused, scolding, and affectionate.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he said, hands moving to cup her bottom.

“We can start another one,” she offered. “And have more wine.”

He chuckled and she smiled, leaning against him, almost flirtatious. He smacked her bottom.

“Up.”

She scurried up onto the bed, settled down and smiled as he refilled their glasses. He handed her a glass and then settled down on the bed. She did not even care about the dampness of her thighs. He settled down and she leaned against him. Head to his chest, his arm around her, he flicked through the channels and she happily sipped on the wine.

“What do you want to watch?” he asked. She hummed disinterestedly. Timidly she moved her foot toward his. She threaded her feet between his.

“I don’t care,” she answered.

“No?” he asked. “Something scary?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

The movie he picked was in German and genuinely frightening. She spilled wine on him one, the jump scare sending a rush of terror through her limbs. She patted his chest when she realized the movie was to be a good one and told him, “turn off the lights.”

“Far too much…” was his murmur and he moved over to turn the lamp off. The main light he shut off with a remote. When she finished her wine she asked for no more and leaned against him. He took her glass from her and put it on the nightstand. As the movie ended and the next TV screen popped back up, he gently turned her chin toward him.

He kissed her softly, but the kiss soon deepened. Once more, as he had before, he seemed perfectly content simply kissing her. She let his tongue into her mouth, and when he seemed to desire it, put her tongue into his. She continued to kiss him leisurely, allowing herself to enjoy the keep of his lips against hers. She only wished he had a bit more stubble on his face.

“You worship me, baby?” he whispered against her mouth. She nodded and he resumed his kiss. He kissed her more deeply and lowered her down to the pillows. She wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“Master?”

“Hmm?” he asked, a hand resting on her hip.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she whispered regretfully. He paused and pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, grabbing his shirt when he moved to get off her.

“Shh,” he whispered. “No fear.”

He got off the bed and put on the lamp.

“Go on,” he said and she scurried from the bed. When she glanced at the clock she was surprised to see it was just past eleven. She cleaned her inner thighs after relieving herself and looked up in surprise when her master entered.

“Come brush your teeth,” he ordered. He opened the mirror and retrieved a toothbrush. She smiled as she took it from him. When she finished, she asked him where he might want it and he took it from her. Her smiled widened when he put it beside his. “On the bed now, under the covers.”

She moved passed him but he remained to finish his own nightly ritual. When he exited the bathroom, he came to the bed and slipped underneath the covers. He called her closer and she slid across the cool sheets and into his arms. She fell asleep to the soft kisses he pressed to her lips, and the soft murmurs of ownership, control, and possession he whispered against her ear.