Reese Gabriel - Own Me Wholly!

"You are one to talk."

He comes down hard, a swat to my ass. I gush.

Is he really strong enough to hold onto me? Do I want him to?

I back away, teasing, playing, testing.

One hand restrains my wrist. He lifts my hand in the air. It might as well be a steel cuff.

He moves his other hand to my pussy. We're about six inches apart. I squirm, the intensity too much on my clitoris.

"No,” he says as I try and interfere with my free hand. “Let me do what I want."

My arm drops to my side. Restrained by his will.

Pleasure courses through me; I am being dominated.

"You can't come until I say."

Oh, fuck; he was onto that again.

"Brian…” I bite my tongue, I whimper.

"Hold still."

I want to cry. I can't control this-I'm making myself so frigging helpless. I am so slick, I am drenched, he's working me, working me hard, right to the limit and holding me…

"Want to stop, Caroline?"

"No, I want more,” I gasp. “Please."

He chuckles.

And then he stops anyway.

I am left spinning, hanging.

I swallow any vestiges of pride. “Brian, I really need an orgasm…"

"We'll see.” He puts his fingers to my lips. “How the day goes."

I want to bite them off. I don't, I suckle, I can't help it, my eyes are slits, my mouth is an offertory, I want to be good, I want to earn my pleasure.

His little fuck slut.

Brian dries his fingers on my body. His touch is excruciating. “I don't know … if I can take this,” I shiver.

My chin is between his thumb and forefinger. The forefinger that has just owned my pussy. “Then end it. Say ‘dirt.’ And end it."

He's not fighting fair. I can end anything out here.

"May I get dressed?” I say instead, signaling that I will stay in slave mode.

I hang on the motions of his lips. Desperate for his next order. Got to keep moving, before I fall apart.

"You can put on your dress, not the underwear. And no shoes and stockings."

A smile wafts over my face, split second, heading north or east. What direction would heaven be anyway-if it is a real place?

"What?"

"It's something from the past,” I shake my head.

I don't want to hurt Brian. I don't want to hurt anyone.

Life did this to me. Can't blame people.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"You will."

"Your father and I came to a grove like this one time, and we got really into it, and I lost my shoe somehow. We couldn't find it for like half an hour, oh, god, it was ridiculous.” I put my hand over my mouth.

I laugh and then break down into tears.

Brian is there.

Doesn't say a word.

"I … miss … him…"

"I do, too, angel. But not like you. I didn't know him that well. I guess … I guess that makes me a little mad, a little jealous of you."

I sniffle, as he strokes my hair. “Why do you call me angel?” I ask him. “I'm anything but."

"You're my angel because you saved me."

"What do you mean?"

"When I saw you,” he says. “I knew I could touch Thomas through you. I needed that, still do."

I try and kneel down before him again.

He keeps me on my feet.

"I want to pleasure you again,” I say shyly.

"I know, angel, but you're not in charge.” It's a soft reminder, but I feel it close over me … like iron bars.

"Yes, Sir,” I say, not at all sure what that means, if the word is right or what, we don't have the history and what the hell is the context anymore? Where does play leave off, reality begin?

Is this our addiction of choice, I wonder? Being lost in the sensations of BDSM, Master slave-the power dynamic.

Thomas visited here, but he was moderate.

Moderate in everything in the end. An iron will.

Apportioned, just what each person needed from him.

"Brian, may I do something else?"

"What, angel?"

"Play,” my voice chokes. Though the tears.

He smiles, understanding. I watch him take his clothes off.

"In the dirt,” he finishes my thought.

"Yesss…"

We get dirty indeed, covered in earth, covered in heaven and covered in hell. Thomas’ children, two of them at any rate, one boy, one girl, one by blood and one by grace … his grace. He will always shine on me, god in heaven, with my apologies to the religious. God in heaven, and Brian his instrument, iron rod, cruel biter at my pride, enforcer of my boundaries which only imprison me. But we are one underneath. How long have you known that, Thomas? How long did you walk the Earth planning to bring us together? You planned everything, I think, even your own failure and pain just to show something greater in the end, my beloved higher power. Sorry if this isn't more spiritual, but I'm not cut that way, I need my gods concrete, I need my lessons on the ass, I need my rewards in the now, hot and heavy. Caroline needs pain … and love … and discipline.

And she is in charge of them.

Brian's hand is up under my black dress, between my legs as we drive back to Orlando. I'm trying so hard to keep still, to be cool, but the very fact that he is so casual is driving me wild.

And the more he ignores me, treating me like an object, already had, set aside, taken for granted, the more I need .

I keep looking at his lap, praying for an erection. I'm not allowed to touch, not allowed to initiate, he's made that clear. If sex is to happen I will know. Because he will bring it to me, give it to me.

I wish I could have an orgasm, not that it would matter much. With Brian it's like a constant buzz, the sex is right there on the surface. I am an addict all right.

Just hope we know what we're doing. Still finding dirt on me I missed when cleaning up. I have mud stains and come stains from when he came again, standing over me, all over my breasts, letting me smear in the warm, thick jets of his ejaculation. Me, on my back, sun shining through him, sky enveloping. Clouds like wisps, portending … more questions.

Where are we going? Now that the epiphany in the grove is passed … seriously, folks.

Brian takes his fingers from me. Oh, hell, I am moving too much again.

"Brian, stop…"

(Sigh)

He takes just the right amount of skin between his fingers to pinch. It's the soft flesh of my inner thigh. He makes it hurt right off, a quick burn. To maintain the intensity, he twists, right and left.

This is his new torture he's introduced since we left the grove.

The only way to make it stop I have learned is to relax my muscles, to settle my ass down, to make my pussy the passive hole it's supposed to be.

This is called cunt training. Removing my own will, pesky little impediment that it is, from the program I am affectionately dubbing Operation Playground Caroline.

In time I will run to him, offering up said pussy, ass, mouth, breasts for whatever he feels in the mood for, pleasant, unpleasant or downright humiliating.

He tells me not to sweat getting it wrong; the battle is most of the fun.

I am so relieved.

I moan … I haven't been forbidden to do that. The pain is blending with the need … to be touched.

At some point he ceases pinching.

I have been a good girl.

He hooks himself back in place. Brian's official finger rest between my thighs.

I curl my bare toes into the carpet. “Brian I need to come…"

"You can hold it until we get there."

"I can't…"

"Stop whining."

"I'm not whining…” The thing is it's impossible not to sound whiny when you are this much behind the eight ball.

His fingers go up to my mouth. I dutifully lick.

My world collapses as his hand goes ever so far away to the steering wheel.

I bite my lip.

"Leave them,” he says, barely glancing at me as I try and close my legs.