Reese Gabriel - Own Me Wholly!

"Not like Brian?"

"No…"

"Look at you blush."

"I've never felt like this. I get so worked up, he drives me wild, he's impossible, I don't think I can last a week with all he wants to do with me, but he's just so relentless, I mean he's always there, when I turn around, I hate that I need him, but I'm terrified he might not be there, too. And that doesn't cover all the power things. What he can make me do. Stuff Thomas would never have pushed on me. Brian really wants this, god, I just hope he knows what he's doing at his age."

"Thomas told me once about Brian. He was learning to ride a bicycle. Thomas got him a big boy two-wheeler with training wheels on it. He thought Brian would be happy but you know what he did?"

"What?” I'm eager, almost giddy to hear a piece of Brian's life … it's like a piece of me is about to get filled in.

"He pitched a fit. He was furious. He would not accept those training wheels."

I laugh. “That sounds like Brian."

"You know Thomas, he wouldn't fight with him. He sat him down, explained how he could get hurt and all and Brian said he wouldn't get hurt and that was that. So Thomas took off the training wheels and Brian went to work. For an entire week he was nothing but skinned knees and elbows. Vicky was beside herself. Bruises on bruises, blood, but not a tear shed. She was afraid they'd get reported to child abuse but Brian would not give up. Finally exactly seven days later, at sunrise he walked out of the house, he got on the bike and he peddled it, straight down the driveway. He didn't stop, didn't run in the house to tell his parents, he just rode all the way around the block. Then he came back, parked his bike and sat down for his cereal.

"'Sweetie, you did it,’ his mother exclaimed. He kept on eating. ‘I told you I would,’ he said and that was it."

I thank Monica and I think I get the point. Brian has his father's tenacity, though he sets his own goals. He wants something and he seizes it.

Me-Playground Caroline-I am this year's two-wheeler.

He has me but what happens when it's time to move on?

"You know,” says Monica. “Hearing about this power stuff makes me interested. Are there men whose libidos work the other way? Who like the woman to be in control?"

I grin. Yea, I could see Monica as a potential dominatrix. “Yes. Lots of them."

We give each other a hug. “I'm glad of one thing,” she says. “If you're with Brian I don't have to feel bad about taking away your income. There's a nice piece of change waiting for him in the form of a trust fund. And I'll feel better knowing you are there to keep him from blowing it all. Lord knows you kept Thomas in line fiscally."

"I'm glad you see that. That I was trying to help, I mean."

"You made a huge difference. You should know that,” she said sincerely.

I am positively soaring. I am so glad this meeting happened.

We go back out to the living room. Brian is on the couch with Kasey and Erin. They are watching some strange hip-hop comedy dance show, alternating between laughing and bopping their heads back and forth. Monica and I look at each other and shrug. We are definitely over the hill. In our time the music video channel actually played music videos.

Erin asks her mother to make popcorn and watch with them, Brian inclines his head discretely next to him.

It's a power thing between us. I'm not just sitting down. I'm obeying.

I kick off my sneakers and find my place, legs tucked under, my arm resting on his thigh. There's a hip hop show of my own going on between my thighs, thanks to the feel of the man next to me, the energy of him.

He puts his arm around me and I melt.

I belong.

Dirt, dirt, dirt…

Why oh why won't I say it?

What am I waiting for? Master's slave Caroline is in agony. It isn't even a week yet and Brian is coming up with things that would make the Marquis de Sade blush.

At the moment I am strung up on my tiptoes in what used to be my bedroom. It is our bedroom now, although I am sorely tempted to kick his ass out on the street, trust fund and all.

He likes to tell me how it's his room and his bed and his fucking everything and as long as it makes my pussy wet, I'm along for the ride.

I wish I could complain and say I felt neglected-but he is on me too much, consumed with me too much, into me too much.

Enjoying me too much.

My sweat. My pain. My whimpers as he inserts … the sharp points, the deceptively thin metal, thin as wire.

"You have a lot more of them to go, angel,” he reminds me.

"Brian … Master, I will never make it,” I say, just like I always do when a new torture is introduced.

Today's game is Let's Make Pincushions out of Caroline's Breasts.

He has these real tiny ones and he knows how to just prick the skin, no blood, only pain. And the total mind fuck because this is a sexual region and he keeps hinting about going after my nipples.

"Fine. No more."

I hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Always does.

"Unless you ask."

My body tenses in dread. I am so fucked.

You have no idea what it means to be owned … he can do this, he can make me ask for the pain, make me beg for it. “Master…"

He masturbates me. I'm trained to the point where the briefest touch makes me ready to come.

Right to the brink and then he cuts me off.

I know what's coming…

I can have his finger back at a price.

He blows hot air in my ear. His bare chest so close. He holds the needle. He touches it to my breast, doesn't prick the skin, just presses, exquisitely. Now the finger moves … oh … I can feel it right there. I can't move and reach for it, the needle will sink an inch deep. On the other hand if I hold still I won't get anything.

"Puh … puh please, Master."

The needle goes in and the finger goes in. I whimper, I cry, I moan … no fucking way I can take this again, but it will go on. Thirteen more needles. Seven in me so far. Ten are to be on each breast.

And now I have to fucking ask for them.

He does it to me again, makes my very existence hinge on what he's doing to my drenched cunt, the juices all down my inner thighs already.

I have to say it this time.

"Please … put another needle in my tit."

He caresses my nipple. “Good girl."

I want to shout out fuck you, I want to rebel, call it off, get out of jail free, he wouldn't really keep me slave in my own apartment against my will? Hasn't he had enough already? He's taken over everything. I wear what I'm told, I piss only with permission, I come when he calls, I crawl, I listen, arranging my life around looks, snapped fingers, I live, I breathe Master.

Thomas’ son.

Oh, he must be laughing in Nowhere Heaven.

"Would you like another?"

I want his finger back on my nipple. I have to have it.

Do you fucking understand?

"Please, put another needle in your cunt's breast,” I plead with him.

"Yes, slave girl."

Generous good Master, hurting me, teaching me.

At fifteen needles he plays a new game.

His lips. On mine, barely brushing, only a hint. “A kiss?"

I pull myself as far back as I can … if our chests should touch.

"Master … Master, please,” I'm crying, before it's even happened.

"A kiss."

Not a question anymore as if it ever was.

My mouth pronounces the yes and is crushed. The needles drive home even as his smooth, naked body molds to mine, crotch to crotch, penis driving into pussy. I fucking god damned explode. I am out of my skin; I am all over the room, all over my fucking life, the canvas covered…

Master comes inside me afterwards as I hang limp.

And then he puts in the other ten needles.