Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 03

"It's swollen," he said by way of explanation. "Keep that there." I complied, again because the alternative would certainly be less pleasant. He went back into the outer room. This time when he returned he had my bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. I gratefully took both then laid back on the pillow.

"See. I'm being good."

"For once," he replied. Jeez, what did that mean? He moved across the room and settled in the chair, looking for all the world like he had no intention of rising again until morning.

"Don't you have someone to punish?" I muttered.

"Not tonight, unless you're planning on giving me any more lip."

I fell silent, but I couldn't stay that way for long. After all, this was the most talkative he'd ever been and I had questions I wanted answered. "Why did you do it?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he replied quietly.

"Why did you put that app on my phone?"

"Keep that ice on your face." He was quiet for a moment, and I thought he wasn't going to answer my question, but then he spoke again. "When I saw you in that bar, that first night, you looked like a victim."

"What?"

"Ice," he said sternly. "I picked you out as my victim. I'm a predator. It's what I do."

"You mean like a serial killer?" I stared at him with wide eyes. He rolled his.

"More like a serial fucker. For me, control is a part of arousal. One might even say a necessary part; the greater the control, the greater the arousal, the more satisfying the climax. I saw in you someone who would be easy to control."

"Oh," I said softly. "So the app was to control me?" I couldn't quite make sense of that.

"No. After spending time with you, I realized you were exactly as I suspected. For you, being controlled is a part of arousal. You would defy me so that I would exert even more control."

"I wasn't trying to defy you," I protested. "Your rules are too hard to follow."

He chuckled. "Not for others. Your body betrays your rational mind."

"That doesn't make sense. If I want to be controlled, why would I defy you?"

"You're an addict. You want more and more. You're the perfect submissive."

"No I'm not," I snapped. "And I still don't understand how the app fits in. I didn't even realize it was there."

"Because it was easy for me to recognize you as a victim, waiting for someone like me to come along and prey on you. If it was easy for me, it would be easy for other predators, too. I found myself wanting to protect you from them. Or maybe just to keep you all to myself." He shrugged. "I kept track of when you were someplace where you were vulnerable."

I scoffed. "Like a Chinese restaurant?"

He leaned forward in the chair. "Predators have to feed. I was hungry and you are a most satisfying meal."

A chill ran through me at his words. There was no emotion in his voice, like he had come to accept himself as some kind of monster a long time ago. "So all that talk about making me a strong, bold woman..."

He shrugged again and sat back. "Sometimes you have to hit bottom before you realize that you've been falling. You can't become something else until you see yourself for what you are right now. I'm more than happy to take you all the way to the bottom. It's what I live for. Ice! On your face. Now!"

And just like that, I did it. "So obedient," that obnoxious inner voice said.

He reached up on the wall behind him and hit the light switch. The room plunged into darkness. End of conversation, apparently.

Sometime during the night, I awoke to find him nestling a new ice pack against my cheek. When I started to ask him a question, though, he gave me the "hush" command. I was too sleepy to argue. By morning, he was gone. Apparently, he decided I wasn't on my death bed any more. I moped around the apartment all day on Sunday. My bruised cheek was already starting to turn various colors. I found and deleted the tattletale app on my cell phone. I debated changing my number, too, but it seemed like such a hassle. I removed the ropes he had tied to the corners of my bed, but then I tossed them in my closet instead of throwing them away. I'm still not sure why.

On Monday, I called in sick. Even the best makeup job wasn't going to cover the bruise and I sure as hell didn't want to have to talk about it to anyone. By Wednesday, I was out of food. I did what I could with makeup and dug out an old pair of sunglasses with oversized lenses. I hit the green grocer across the street, the little butcher shop down the block and then the convenience store for everything else. My arms were loaded when I got back to my apartment building and my stomach was growling. I trudged up the steps hoping the doorman was at his post so I wouldn't have to wrestle with the heavy door. He was, and there must have been another tenant behind me, because I was vaguely aware that he continued to hold the door after I was through. By some miracle, the elevator was waiting for me. I was trying to see around the bulky bag cradled in my arm to make sure I hit the right floor button when a hand reached over and pushed it for me.

"Thank you," I started to say, turning to see which neighbor was riding up with me. It was him. "How did you get in?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Your doorman must have assumed we were together. In fact, he seemed rather annoyed that I wasn't helping you with your bags."

"Why are you here?"

He looked at me and licked his lips. "I'm hungry."

I shook my head. "I told you. It's just too intense for me." He took one of the bags from me. "Stop it, you're not coming in."

"You haven't been to work all week."

"Jesus, you're still stalking me?"

"I suspect you haven't returned any of your friends calls, either."

I stomped off the elevator and dropped a bag on the floor to fish my keys out of my purse. He followed and stood patiently behind me. As soon as I had the door open, I spun around and planted my palm against his chest. "No means no. I don't consent anymore. I thought about what you said and I'm not going to be your love-sick obedient little slave anymore."

"Sub," he corrected calmly. "Slave is different. And you haven't changed. Otherwise, you would have gone to work and held your head high. You would have answered your friends' calls and dared them to question your actions."

"How do you know I didn't," I said with a toss of my head.

"I spoke with them."

"What?" I screamed then cringed hoping none of my neighbors was home. He didn't fail to notice and a smile touched his lips.

He started forward and I realized there was no way I had the strength to hold him back. "You need me," he said quietly. "You can't change without me. If you don't change, you will continue to be the victim, the preyed upon. And most of the predators out there are not so... chivalrous as I am." Slowly, but inexorably he was pressing his way over the threshold of my door and I was retreating helplessly before him. When he was fully inside my apartment, he smiled broadly. "You should have slammed the door in my face. Why didn't you?"

My hand dropped from his chest and I turned away to put my bags in the kitchen. A moment later, he was there with the rest of the bags. "Because you're not strong enough?" he continued. "Because there was no place to run away and hide? Because you want me to control you? Because you're already wet just thinking about what I might do to you this time?"

"Stop it." I tried to sound forceful, but it just came out pleading.

"You are wet. I can smell it. Enhanced predatory senses." He tapped his nose.

He had me trapped behind the kitchen bar, not physically restraining me, but to get past him would require a whole lot of bodily contact in that tiny space, and damn it, he was right about the wetness. Much more of his closeness, and I was sure it would show right through my jeans. He put his hands behind his back, moving closer, leaning down to bring his mouth next to my ear, his breath falling on my neck. "We can help each other, cherie."

I shook my head, my eyes squeezed tight shut. "Don't," I whispered. It sounded like begging. It was begging.

"Your lips say don't, but your pussy says 'fill me.' Which should I listen to, hmmm? I think your pussy is more honest, don't you? Look at me." He reached out with just a finger and tilted my chin up. His lips brushed mine, so softly, I thought at first it had been my imagination. Then again, at the corner, just the lower lip, the tip of my nose. I kept my eyes shut. If I couldn't see it, then it wasn't real. His lips brushed my eyelids, then my mouth again. And so help me, I stretched up to increase the contact, but he pulled away. I'm sure he was smiling, but I refused to open my eyes. I couldn't be held responsible if I couldn't see what was happening. What I was giving in to.

I trembled. I was lost and he knew it. Still he tormented me with the feather light brush of his lips. My jaw, my ear, my forehead, always moving quickly away if I tried to increase the contact. His lips were at my ear again, and he whispered, "Say 'Please, Sir.'" I heard a soft sob, and realized it had come from me. His lips brushed down the column of my neck, down past my collarbone, following the line of my sternum. When he reached the neck of my t-shirt, he continued down, lips to fabric. I wanted to tear off my shirt so I could feel those lips on my skin again. The layer of fabric between lips and flesh may as well have been a wall. Then I felt the gentle touch on my nipple, through shirt and bra. It was barely perceptible yet as agonizing as a nip of teeth would have been. Now I was positive that he was smiling when his mouth returned to my ear and whispered, "Say 'Please, Sir,'" yet again.

I don't remember doing it, but at some point I had backed up against the wall between counter and kitchen bar. My hands were flat against it. He reached for the hem of my shirt. I could feel his fingers brushing against my skin, just above the top of my jeans. He pulled upward ever so slowly. My belly was exposed to him, then my bra, until he reached my armpits and could go no further. Yet again, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Say 'Please, Sir.'"

God help me, I raised my hands above my head and I whispered back, "Please, Sir."

My tee shirt was whipped off and flung aside in one swift movement. Then he went to work on my bra by sucking and biting at my nipples through the fabric. I arched my back, obviously begging for more but he gave me no choice. Either I took matters into my own hands and removed my bra, or I begged him to do it with a 'Please, Sir.' He was making me not just consent to, but actually beg for everything he did to me. And yet, knowing that gave no steel to my spine. I thrust my breasts toward him and said, "Please, Sir." I actually heard a soft chuckle then as he freed my breasts from confinement in record time. He spent time with each breast, sucking the nipple to hardness, then flicking with his powerful tongue and finally nipping and pulling until I was gasping from the combination of pain and pleasure. When I was sure I could stand no more, he suddenly knelt and began sucking at the crotch of my jeans, drawing my juices through the cotton and spreading my wetness even further.

I thought I would go out of my mind. The faint stimulation of my clit was even more torturous than hard rubbing would have been. Like a mirage of water in the desert, I craved the contact of his tongue, but it was always just out of reach. Desperate, I unbuttoned my jeans and tried to shove them down, but his hands caught my wrists. "Ask," he commanded.

"Please, Sir," I whined, writhing against the wall, and instantly he yanked my jeans down about my ankles, but then his tongue was torturing me through the fabric of my panties. He sucked at the moisture and teased my outer lips with his tongue, but my clit was raging with unmet need. I couldn't spread my legs to give him better access, because of the jeans around my ankles. I was sure that was his intent. I was almost sobbing when I begged with another, "Please, Sir."

This time, his actions were slow and meticulous. He drew my panties down with painfully slow precision, and his tongue didn't return until they were wrapped about my ankles. I was gasping for air like a fish out of water by the time his tongue slid between my pussy lips and found my clit. Once there, it teased for only a moment before he pulled back.

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

I heard myself saying, "Yes, yes! Please, Sir."

"Is this what you need?" he continued.

"Yes, oh, God, yes! Please, Sir, please." I couldn't believe the desperation in my voice.

"Do I know what you want, what you need?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. You're the only one who knows. Please, Sir. Help me!"

"Will you ever deny me again?"

"No, never," I screamed. "Please," I wailed.

Suddenly I was on my back on the floor. My jeans were still tangled about my ankles, but he had spread my knees wide and his tongue was working my clit in ways I had never conceived. I screamed as I came, but he simply bore down even more ferociously and I thought I would die for sure as wave after wave of orgasm struck. It seemed as if his tongue left my clit in the same instant that his cock plunged deep into my pussy. I think I screamed again, or maybe I was still hearing the echoes of earlier. His weight on top of me, pushing my knees down even closer to the floor was almost unbearable. Apparently, it wasn't working for him either, because he pulled out almost as suddenly as he'd entered me.

"Hands and knees, now!" he commanded. When I didn't move fast enough, he yanked one knee over to the other one and smacked my ass hard. I yelled some obscenity and wondered if I was going to have any voice left by tomorrow. But I was moving and it only took one more swat for me to be in a position that satisfied him. He plunged inside again, then lifted me bodily to adjust my position even as he was balls deep in my pussy. I was pushing back against him with all my strength even though he couldn't possibly have been deeper. Then he was stroking, almost angrily, and I was pushing back, needing more, like there was some part of me that he wasn't reaching. Then suddenly, both of his thumbs were in my ass, his fingers gripping my cheeks so tightly I knew there would be bruises. And I was whole. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out, or perhaps it was beyond human hearing. It seemed that he would never end, and that my orgasm couldn't end until his began. Somehow, impossibly, he pumped faster and faster, his balls beating my oversensitive clit into submission just as the force of his personality was beating my weak will into submission. And in that moment, I didn't care.

I awoke much later that afternoon, naked on my bed. There was a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water on my nightstand. I gulped them gratefully.