Reese Gabriel - Own Me Wholly!

Brian heads away from the bed. A wave of dread overcomes me and a loneliness I haven't felt since childhood. It's so fast and so unexpected I am literally shocked. But I can't ignore it. “Please don't leave me, Master.” There is no pretense of pride here, no attempt to cover just how completely I have been dominated and dependent.

"I'll do anything, I'm a slut, begging … I can't be alone. Don't even go out to smoke, Sir…"

"Hush,” he whispers, running his hand up my leg. “I'm not going anywhere. See?” he holds up his guitar case. “I thought maybe I would play you a song or two."

He sits down on the bed, cross-legged, next to my hip. I see his cock is hard under his jeans, pretty much his normal state, at least around me.

The first of the orgasms hits me as he positions the guitar, lightly strumming. The sound goes through me, I am ever so much more taut than his strings.

"I wrote this song this morning."

I clench my fists, unclench, my hips lift.

"Chestnut hair, green eyes, born to fight with sighs…"

The first orgasm moves right into the second, I strive to listen. God, my tits are so swollen; I need nipple sucking, pinching.

"Travels in a mystery, Caroline's surprise…"

I moan … Brian … tell me … you didn't … write … about … me.

"Silky hair, for fingers twirled, curves that see the light…"

"Wrestling with the dawn and slinking into night…"

A fucking song! He wrote me a fucking song!

I'll show him fighting Caroline.

But Caroline can't do very much at the moment. She's splayed open, pinned like a butterfly in someone's collection.

I make another futile attempt to snap the Velcro, straining until my muscles give in, exhausted. Brian keeps doing his thing.

Shit, I think, I don't want to hear about me, I don't want to be immortalized and all that crap.

It's a pretty good song too; he has talent. There's a beat, a melody.

"Caroline, don't sleep no more, Caroline wake up, Caroline come out to play, Caroline today…"

I'm awake all right.

"Caroline today…"

We've hit the chorus.

He smiles at me now, his eyes all aglow. I can't believe it. Is this the same guy who pissed on me and made me fucking like it?

"Looking forward, looking back, won't you give her ass a smack. Pretty Caroline in chains, guess her secret, Caroline needs pain…"

Deviant frigging prick. I stick out my tongue.

He turns up the vibrator; I throw back my head. “Brian, no…"

"You can take it,” he assures me.

The song goes on. More flattering stuff about my body and my looks and then back to the chorus. Caroline needs pain.

Caroline needs pain.

I can't stop coming.

I'm getting hysterical. “Please … Brian … stop…"

Haven't heard that line in a while, have we?

He tickles my toes. It feels like needles pushing into my soft flesh. I scream. Brian starts another song.

"Just one more and we'll turn it off."

He starts up with Bye, Bye Miss American Pie.

"Brian that has like a hundred fucking verses!"

"But it was written in Saratoga,” he points out. “By Don MacLean. At Lena's."

"I know who fucking wrote and it was at the Tin and Lint not Lena's."

"Really?” he stops.

I fall off yet another cliff, down into a sea of liquid black glass. These climaxes aren't satisfying; they're only winding me up.

"Don't stop, fucking play, just get it over with!"

"From the top…"

"Arrggghhh!"

I feel like a vampire, strapped down, out of my coffin at dawn, my nerves curdling for blood, my system starving, my insides boiling.

This is cruel, shadow sex.

"Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry…"

What I wouldn't give for an honest to goodness cock, or two or three.

Rape by an army of Cossacks might be preferable to mechanical deflowering, again and again, that pathetic little buzz, ripping me apart, so deceptively gentle. I need a man's hands, squeezing, I need attention, I need a body on me, at me, I need to be put down, oh, god, with all the sex today and all the heavy BDSM I am just one thirsty little cunt, craving.

He's singing about the father son and holy ghost, taking the last train to the coast … I just want him to fuck me like the devil.

"Brian, Master, fucking use me … I surrender, do you hear me? I surrender to you!"

He stops playing. He sets the guitar down, not saying a word.

The tape comes off and the vibrator is removed. I inhale in expectation, my belly sucked in, I'm so wet, I've soaked the bed under my ass, my nipples are still vibrating, pussy still twitching, the little needles everywhere.

He moves like a panther, all sinew and muscle, my own personal jaguar, ready to spring and I am terrified of what more power he might have to unleash but I have gone too far, been pushed too far and there isn't any turning back, I have surrendered and if I am not conquered … no, if I am not occupied at this very instant, I do not know what will be left of me, if there is anything even now, anything apart from his breathing, from the predation in his eyes, the hardness, the graceful, powerful … catness.

Tiger, tiger, burning bright….

William Blake.

He falls down on me so hard, pounces more like. I am robbed of breath; every inch of me is … his.

He takes my earlobe in his mouth. “Caroline … needs pain."

The orgasm is his confirmation. I do not have it; it has me. It is shame and desire and confession all rolled into one. I might spend a lifetime denying, but this can never be taken back.

Strange, but I feel him staying out of the way. Never has a man so completely imposed his form, the restrictions of bondage, prolonged sensory assault, testosterone bombardment, and yet he lets me endure … enjoy? … this moment alone.

I wish I could describe that dark ocean I am on, no stars, no moon, only crack of lightning, silent thunder, silver flashing over water, a ship, the prow breaking waves into endless night. There will never be sun here and this is a good thing, never another inhabitant … or will there be?

The mystery of solitude.

He is still biting my ear. Or is it my breast?

Thomas … Thomas couldn't do this, he doesn't have it in him, or rather he won't go to the place of his darkest beast. He stays in another part of the jungle. At least with me.

It dawns on me. Alcoholics hide, or think they need to.

Brian, he's built without that fear. Something else drives him. He's born to pursue. To chase. He's chased Thomas down, now he's chasing me.

And he very nearly fucking has me in a lot of ways.

Would he know what to do with me? Outside the bedroom and shower that is?

I hold perfectly, perfectly still as Brian comes inside me.

He's used me so hard today and this is the culmination. What an imagination he's got. His cock is the thickest, hardest yet. I can feel it through the rubber.

Thank god he remembered one.

I am having to trust him so much. I don't have a brain in my head right now; I haven't since the heart attack.

Everybody, a lot of people have been looking at me to be so strong, the tough employee and friend, level headed Caroline, but that is Thomas’ creature, none of these people knew me before, they don't know the real me, inside, still just the lost little girl.

Thomas’ baby girl.

They should think of me as a five year old lost up and down the aisles of a store, parent misplaced, or maybe up at the service desk, sitting prettily on the counter as the blue haired lady clerk describes me over the intercom.

"Chestnut hair, green eyes, born to fight with sighs. Pretty Caroline in chains, guess her secret … Caroline needs pain."

A car passes by outside, head lights rush in, the world, rushes in, and with it reality.