Chapter Eight

Am I Your Master?

 

Curtis rubbed the back of her legs and shoulders as she slowly unwound from the intensity of the scene. She thought she might start snoring. He’d taken so much out of her that it seemed there was nothing left.

“Do you need anything?” Sweet and gentle, his words lulled her even further.

“No. Just you.”

He complied, turning back the sheets that had been rolled off the foot of the bed while they played. He curled up around her side while Melody continued to rest her head on her crossed arms. She wouldn’t be able to roll over soon, not without pain, but lying this way, the warmth tingling in her ass and legs was soothing.

Curtis’ breath curled in her ear and she did drift off, but not before he said, “I work in the morning. Fix yourself whatever you like for breakfast. You don’t have to hurry off.”

Her nose wrinkled at the thought of waking alone in someone else’s house. She’d spent a number of nights in this one, but only a few mornings. Too tired to argue, she sighed, which turned into a yawn, and then fell asleep.

She woke briefly when Curtis left her. He moved silently through the room so only the shifting of bed and crack of light from the door gave him away. Unwilling to abandon sleep yet, she closed her eyes again.

When she finally did get up, she was surprised to find his phone on the bedside table. Didn’t he need it? She could call the hospital and ask, but worried he’d be upset with her if she did.

Stretching, she arched her back and heard a few pops along her spine. Sagging into her feet again, she hunched a bit, relief washing over her. Then she straightened and wandered into the kitchen without grabbing a sheet or towel or clothes. After all, there wasn’t anyone here and unlikely anyone would crouch outside the basement windows. There she opened the fridge and found eggs and bacon as well as yogurt. She opted for the last and searched cupboards until she found some rolled oats to throw on top.

Spoon in mouth, she wandered around the small apartment. She’d never taken a really good look at it before. Whenever she came, she was put to work or tied up almost immediately. She ran her finger over the top of the television and shook out her hand to get rid of dust. In the bathroom, she found a ring in the tub she’d never used and noticed grey patches in the corner as well as cobwebs along the vanity lights.

Curtis’ place was actually worse off than her own. She’d never been a neat freak, and learning his schedule, she wasn’t surprised his apartment didn’t get cleaned regularly. It did get cleaned. The kitchen counters were almost always spotless and the sink and vanity were wiped down. It was the less obvious that got skipped.

Finished with her yogurt, she cleaned the tub and bathroom floor. After that, she filled the tub and took a bath, washing off the new sweat resulting from her use of elbow grease, and the old sweat from the work out Curtis had given her the night before.

He’d told her to take her time, and she did, cleaning a little, then watching TV or playing a game on her phone. When her stomach grumbled around noon, she stopped in the middle of fixing a sandwich to look through the freezer. She could make something for supper. Surely Curtis, who never came home to anyone, would appreciate a hot meal waiting for him.

While her casserole baked, Melody curled up on the bed and took a nap, relishing her day off and using it to pamper her Dom.

From the time she picked up Fifty Shades of Grey, she’d known that she would enjoy being submissive. She loved doing things for others, took pride in someone else’s appreciation for her little touches. It was why she made such a good administrative assistant. She’d worked with Terry O’Neil long enough to be able to fetch things for him before he asked. She hoped one day to be as receptive to Curtis.

Her dreams were filled with rewards for her efforts and a few light punishments, just to sweeten the rewards.

The buzzing of the stove woke her and she rose to turn the heat off. The clock read six, but she didn’t know when to expect Curtis. The dish would stay warm in the oven as it cooled. Spotting his toolbox, she decided to sort and clean it again.

It was still very well organized from the last time she’d done this chore, but that didn’t matter. It was a pleasure to handle the items, a larger number of which were intimately familiar. She didn’t set aside a tonight pile. Curtis would choose those.

She jumped in surprise at the click of the door opening. Her gasp drew Curtis’ attention and he spotted her.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone home.”

Melody shrugged and put the toy she was cleaning back in the box and closed it up. “I found enough here to keep me busy.”

Curtis sniffed and his eyes narrowed. “You cooked?”

“Yes.” A blast of warm air hit her as she opened the oven and removed the casserole. It was a little dry, but looked fine. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” His tone didn’t match the word. He was distracted by something other than food.

“Good. May I serve you?” she asked, her fingers twirling around her waist, twisting the hem of her shirt.

“Uh, yeah.” He shook his head and tried again. “Yes, thank you.”

Melody’s cheeks grew warm and she fetched a plate and spatula to dish up a portion. She set it and cutlery on the table where Curtis had taken a seat. She stood at his side while he tasted it. It smelled like her mother’s and she imagined it tasted as good.

Curtis blew hot air into his hand, juggling the food in his mouth. Melody scampered away and returned with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He chugged down a large swallow and set his fork down. Turning toward her, he asked, “Aren’t you going to have some?”

“I can wait. Do you need anything else?”

He broke eye contact, looking down at his plate. “No, Little Song. This is enough.”

She remained by his side while he ate.

“Sorry, I’m not used to…I’ve never had someone do this for me. I’ve only…Thank you,” he said.

***

 

His nose appreciated the hot plate set before him, but Curtis chewed mechanically and often washed it down with water. He paid no attention to the food, trying to solve the puzzle Melody posed.

He had friends with slaves and other 24-7 power exchange relationships, in fact, the couple upstairs was in one, but he’d never considered one himself. He should send her away but couldn’t bring himself to do it while he was eating her cooking.

That was when the particular frustrations of his day chose to overwhelm him. He usually used this time to take an hour-long shower, washing away as much as he could until the end of his string of shifts. If today were Wednesday instead of Sunday, he would take control back, pin the girl where he wanted, and use that soft curvy body to set him straight.

Why shouldn’t he do that? She was willing. The way she balanced on the balls of her feet and wrung her hands betrayed her anticipation.

His inner peace, utterly shattered, coalesced in a need for power, a need for the outcome to be the one he wanted, not the one circumstance and human biology dictated. Not the one where time restricted and confined him and his patient.

Melody must have sensed his change of mind set because she leaned forward as he set his fork down.

“Remove your clothes and leave them in the bedroom.”

She whirled away to do as he told. Finally able to enjoy the meal, he noticed the creamy yellow sauce, how firm the carrots were, and the zest that he expected came from turmeric. At least, he thought the yellow came from turmeric.

Melody returned before he swallowed that bite and stood at his side, holding her breath.

“Go to the toolbox and take the wand”

She swayed and he thought he could smell her getting wetter. The large head of his hitachi had proven to yield violent, ear-splitting results. The cord dangled from her hand when she came back with it.

“Plug it in there and take a seat.”

She did as instructed and pulled the chair out to sit across from him, rubbing her thighs against one another. His own arousal was still low and slow. Now wasn’t the time for him and his response—he wanted control of hers.

“Not like that. Straddle the chair facing me.” A scrape resulted from her obedience and she was quickly sitting again, knees splayed by the wooden back and seat. She held the wand out to him, but he didn’t take it.

Pushing back his chair, he rose to refill his plate. “Thank you, Little Song, this is tasty. Similar to butter chicken but softer somehow.”

“It’s my mom’s recipe. It is chicken.”

Curtis nodded and sat again.

“Did you want?” She held the toy out to him again.

He made no move to take it, dipping his fork into the creamy mélange on his plate. “Turn it on low and hold it to your pussy.”

Melody licked her lips and buzzing filled the air. Her squeal when she put it in place vibrated in his chest like the toy, low and rumbling.

“Anything else?” she asked, her voice strained.

“No. You can come as much and as loud as you like, but keep that wand there until I’ve finished eating.”

Her eyes widened as he took a small forkful and slowly raised it to his mouth. He fought a grin while he chewed, relishing her dread and pleasure, an exquisite combination.

He wasn’t halfway through the plate when her first orgasm made ideal dinner music. She shifted and squirmed on the chair, the muscles of her inner thighs forming clear cords where she pulled her knees tight to the chair, closing her legs as much as she could.

He only got a few more bites before she screamed again, this time dropping the wand.

Curtis reached out to grab it before it fell and flicked the switch to high before pushing it hard into her crotch.

Her screams changed pitch and increased in volume. He watched a puddle form on the wooden seat. “No, no. Too much.” She shuddered as she pleaded with him.

“I’m not finished yet.”

“Please, low, please.”

He grinned though she couldn’t see it with her eyes squinted shut. “Only if you keep it there.”

She almost blubbered as she took the wand back and switched it down. He could tell she had moved the head off her clit, but he gave her a short reprieve. There were only a few bites left when his hand brushed hers, moving the wand back into place.

Melody dropped the toy again, resulting in him finishing the meal one-handed. “You are going to regret making me do this for you.”

Melody gave no indication that she had heard. Her knuckles had turned white and her legs trembled. The puddle on the chair grew. Curtis’ scrubs began to tent, allowing himself to take pleasure in hers.

Fork clattering against the plate, he put his hand on her pelvis and pulled up, exposing more of her clit to the toy. She thrashed, her head nearly colliding with his own. In a violent shudder, she stilled and Curtis turned the toy off and took it away.

Melody’s chest heaved as she caught her breath. She shivered periodically as she came down. Curtis put his plate in the sink while she recovered, making his way to the toolbox. He returned with ropes and tied them to the legs on the far side of the table.

“Up you come.” He took hold of her waist and got her on her feet enough to kick the chair out of the way, into the next room. Standing behind her, he held her hips to the table with his own, preventing her collapse. The ropes waiting on the table secured her wrists, stretching her torso out. Her toes touched the floor, but she was pulled out enough to prevent her putting her feet flat.

“Sir?”

He paused, surprised by her voice. Not that it was rough and raspy from her screams, but that she was speaking at all. This was not the time to question him. He had a goal and he wasn’t planning to stop before he reached it. “Silence, Little Song.” He smacked his hand on her ass and slid his fingers down her drenched slit, pressing into her pussy, adding a second finger and then a third. She was still tight. It would be fun to open her, later.

Choosing his studded paddle, he circled around the table. Melody tried to follow him, but couldn't lift her head far. "You can count and you can scream. Any other words will make it worse." Punctuating his sentence, he swung the paddle down, leaving a beautiful waffle pattern of red and blue on her left ass cheek.

Melody's scream sent an echoing one down his spine. It was the scream of the tortured, the dying, the savable and the lost, the screams he heard every day. It loosed a little of what he normally kept tightly bound. She sobbed and Curtis ran his hand over her hair, smoothing it down her back.

"Shh, Little Song. Let it pass."

"Wo-wo-wo...one."

His chest ballooned with his inhalation, taking in her strength, her courage, her honesty. It was the same that kept him bottled up so much of the time. He took the paddle and landed another blow, this time on the right.

"Oh, fu—" She bit off the curse, and he let it pass. Her sobbing increased, taking him another step closer to letting his own pain go.

This time he didn't soothe her. His hand ran over her hot ass, admiring his work. He really did love this one.

"Two," she finally managed to say. "Yellow." Her safe word was curls, but he took the warning. Too much and this would all end. He took his paddle and dropped it in the toolbox, picking up the lube.

"How many times have you come tonight? Little Song? Ah-ah, don't answer. Enough that it is certainly my turn?"

"Yes, sir."

He paused in the process of dropping his pants. Relief, as he expected, was in her tone, but what he hadn't bet on was desire, longing.

"Hmm. Maybe you need to wait a little longer."

Her whimper was unmistakable.

"Maybe we should move here." Squirting lube on his middle finger, he circled her puckered anus, spreading the oil.

The whimpering turned into a keen. Her cheek was pressed to the table, so he could see her eyes squeezed shut. They’d only used his slenderest plugs, but he pressed his finger to the center of her hole, holding it there.

He slid his free hand into the gap left under her breast. The fleshy globes were squashed, tissue spilling out the side. He worked his fingers under, reaching her nipple and rolling it between his fingers while the one on her ass applied steady, even pressure, not moving.

She moved, of course, and just as he'd expected she would. Her thighs tightened rubbing against one another, and as she relaxed, her ass did as well, letting him slip in up to the first knuckle.

"Sir?" Melody whispered. Her wide eyes conveyed a mix of intrigue and apprehension.

"Silence." He kicked his pants, only half on his hips, to the floor, careful not to dislodge his finger.

His cock was rock hard, but not dripping as it often did when he played. No, he had no driving need to relieve himself, just the desire to control how often and how hard Melody orgasmed. Her pussy was still slick from the extended use of the vibrator, although she'd tightened up again now that he probed her ass. It wasn't difficult to get himself in place, bending his knees to squat low enough.

She gave a yelp and rose on her toes. This had the added benefit of sinking his finger in further. But why had she jumped? As he adjusted himself at the entrance of her pussy, he saw the waffle bruises and put it together. Foolish of him to forget that. Well, that would make this a little more awkward for her, but all the more rewarding when she climaxed.

Extending his legs, he lifted her ass up, his finger gaining a little more purchase. She screeched this time, and Curtis could feel the heat coming from her skin, from the marks he'd made.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Melody. I haven't done that much, have I?"

"No, sir." She most often sucked him off, or he shot his load onto her. Although she'd told him how inexperienced she was, it took him a few scenes to feel comfortable doing this bareback.

"And you want that, don't you?"

"Y-yes, sir."

He sunk down and then rammed his hips into her, his balls swinging and his finger moving in time. Melody grunted and he heard her nails scratching on the wood of the table.

"You want more?"

"Yes, sir." The words were choppy. She began panting, swirling her hips to try and take more of him in. The heat in her skin hadn't lessened, but the heat in her pussy had only gone up. He bent and thrust again, three times. The table legs groaned as he pushed the table over the linoleum. It was terrible for the furniture, but he didn't give a fuck. Well, actually, he gave a great and mighty fuck, but to the woman beneath him, not the stupid table. He slowed slightly, finger-fucking her ass more.

"You going to come, Little Song?"

"Yes, please, sir."

"Then let's have that." He pulled out and stepped back.

"But... I don't..." He smacked her waffle bruise and she bit off what she'd been saying. "Yes, sir, yes, yes, sir, sir!" As he'd hoped, she'd been wound up far enough that she couldn't stop the pleasure, even when it came from a source she didn't expect. A stationary plug helped her accept his finger in her ass, but it didn’t fuck her like this. "Oh God." She dropped her feet as far as she could and put her cheek to the table top again. Her breaths weren't panting, but deep. A glaze filmed over her eyes and he knew she was spent. His finger popped free and she shivered.

"Hold on just a little longer, Melody." Squatting to get himself in place again, he took smooth steady strokes, the slick walls of her pussy closing around him, holding him, drawing on him. He hadn't been needing when he dropped his pants, but it was quickly apparent that he needed very much now.

Melody was still at first, sometimes wincing when his hips met hers. Soon her ass wiggled again. "Oh, yeah, yeah, fuck me, sir, fuck me."

He leaned down over her, kissing her back while short quick fucks kept his him deep inside her, building, throbbing.

"Oh God, come, come, coming with you." She squealed when his load escaped him, his need and hers tied. It was the perfect end, exactly what he needed at the end of the shift he'd had.

Reaching to her wrists, he pulled the knots and released them, stepping back. Melody pushed herself up, holding a hand to her head and swaying. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bed. Her arms circled his neck and she nuzzled his ear. "That was incredible, sir."

"Curtis." He set her on the bed and hovered over her, his nose touching hers. "We aren't in the scene anymore. We can be Curtis and Melody now."

She yawned and shook her head slowly. "Nope. You'll always be my master." She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.

He'd planned on climbing into the bed beside her, but her words troubled him. He wasn't a master. He wasn't looking to control her all the time. Watching her sleep, he wondered what his next step should be.

Eventually, he did slip under the covers with Little Song. He'd have to pay a friend a visit, that was all.