Liana

 

 

 

He tenses up, his hands clawing into me with such ferocity that it hurts, his cock throbbing incessantly inside me. I’m trying to hold on to him, relishing the warm sensation of his release as it coats me inside. This is the first time he didn’t make me come first, but I’m confident that he won’t leave me unsatisfied.

He doesn’t let go of me. Instead he buries his sweating face against my shoulder and wraps his arms protectively around me, squeezing me so hard it takes my breath away.

“Master,” I utter, suffocated by the sheer intensity of his embrace. “I can’t breathe.”

His grip loosens instantly, and he supports my body as my legs slowly find their way back to the tiles. He’s breathing heavily, his dark hazel eyes shimmering with a spark I haven’t seen before. The water is still running, surrounding us in a hot and comforting cloud of steam.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You look-”

“Yes, fine,” he interrupts.

It’s as if my question brought him crashing back to reality, reminding him of who he is and what he’s to do next. There was a moment during which he wasn’t the same man who brought me here, the man with the stone-cold exterior. I could feel the shift in his embrace.

“Finish getting ready,” he tells me. “I’ll be back.”

He puts some distance between us by taking a step back, rinsing himself one last time before leaving me alone in the shower. He snatches a towel on his way out of the shower, quickly wrapping it around his buff waist before shutting the bathroom door behind him after he leaves.

My eyes stay locked on the door for a few more moments before I can pull my attention away. I finish showering and then do as he asked, getting myself ready for him, as I do every single day. By the time he returns, I’m sitting on the floor of my room, entrenched in a fresh and flowery smell, my body silky smooth and slathered in lotion, my hair put up in a simple up-do, and my face masked in a subtle layer of make-up. I felt a little chilly, so I covered up the white set of lingerie I’m wearing for him with the red fur coat. I must look like a naughty version of a female Santa, but I don’t care. He has never gotten mad about me wearing the coat for some reason, even though it hides my body from him, which is something he appears to hate more than anything.

He’s dressed to the nines when he returns, wearing a navy blue suit with a matching slim tie and a crisply ironed white shirt. His hair is slicked and combed to the side, looking particularly handsome today, but he hasn‘t shaved. The stubble around his angular jaw is darker than it has been on other occasions, giving him a more mature look.

I realize too late that I’m staring at him, instead of lowering my eyes in that coy manner he wants. But he doesn’t get mad.

“Look at you, drooling all over your Master,” he says, smirking at me as he approaches. “Aren’t you a good little pet?”

I blush and lower my eyes, at once noticing that he’s carrying something with him. In his right hand, he’s carrying a canvas tote bag, which he places right in front of me.

“Why so dapper today?” I ask him, shyly reconnecting my gaze with his. “Any special occasion?”

He winks at me. “Who says I’m not wearing this to impress my pet?”

The heat in my cheeks intensifies. “Are you?”

“Maybe,” he says. “I have something for you.”

He points to the canvas bag that he placed in front of me. “Look inside.”

I nod and follow his command, curious to see what he has brought me. He has brought me things before, usually little packages that were wrapped up so beautifully that I felt bad for ripping them open. But those packages have always been smaller than this bag, and they usually contained lingerie or jewelry he wanted me to wear for him. Is this a special new outfit he ordered for me?

I begin rummaging through the bag, not sure if I can trust my eyes when I realize what it is.

“Beautiful clothes,” I say, my voice filled with wonder as I look back up at him. “For me?”

He chuckles. “Of course.”

I’m so startled, I don’t know what to say. For almost two weeks now, he has been insisting that I remain naked, or almost naked, for him at all times. He has repeatedly told me that I won’t be wearing any clothes for a while, and that I should never ask for anything, but instead comply with his wish to see as much of my naked body on display as possible every time he walks in.

Does this mean he’s letting me go?

The bag contains two outfits, a casual option with a light beige shirt with a deep waterfall neckline, a matching cardigan, and dark blue skinny jeans, and the other is a slinky cocktail dress in a very similar color to the red fur coat.

“For… when?” I ask him, unsure what to make of this. “And… where?”

“For whenever I allow you to wear it, or tell you to,” he says.

I wrinkle my eyebrows. Why can he never give me a precise answer to my questions? He must know this is all so confusing to me.

Unless this is part of that deal I should know about. The deal he made with the real Ruby Red. Is this another one of those times when he expects me to just understand because it was in the contract I supposedly signed?

“Thank you,” I say, knowing that it’s expected of me.

“I want you to wear something for me right now,” he says, gesturing toward the clothes in my lap. “The casual outfit. I want to see what your ass looks like in those tight jeans.”

I nod and get up to get dressed. It’s weird how quickly one can get accustomed to not wearing clothes. The upscale fabric of the shirt feels weird against my skin when I slip it on, so strange and unfamiliar. The strange sensation is even stronger with the jeans.

I’m surprised to find that everything fits perfectly. Then again, he has studied my body enough over the past few days to get a good idea of what size I might be.

He looks pleased when I present myself to him, the first time I’ve been fully dressed since he took me.

“Very good,” he comments. “Just one thing, though.”

He steps closer and his hands reach up to my throat, unfastening the collar that has been around my neck constantly for the past eleven days. I’m dumbfounded by his action, and equally surprised to find myself somewhat disappointed. It almost makes me feel... naked.

“Are you letting me go?” I ask, my heart heavy with fear. Now that I’m confronted with this possibility, I cannot bear the thought of leaving this house. Of leaving him. How am I supposed to just go back to my old life after all of this? How am I supposed to go on with a life that now seems to have so little to offer?

My thoughts scare me, but I cannot help it. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with him, following our twisted routine. This is my new constant. I don’t know how to go on without him, out there, by myself.

But he’s shaking his head. I’m almost relieved.

“Of course not,” he says, as if it should be obvious to me. “It’s time for a change.”

I don’t know what he’s implying with that comment, but he doesn’t give me time to ask.

“For now, I want you to come with me,” he says. “And have breakfast with me.”

He takes my hand, not leading me by the collar for the first time. We approach the door of my room, the door that leads to the corridor.

“Breakfast?” I ask, bewildered. “You mean… downstairs?”

He lets out a little chuckle as he turns around to face me.

“Yes, downstairs,” he answers, and then he opens the door for me.