Emma's Master

I awoke the next morning with a start. There was no window in this small room I regarded with no small venom as my cell, so I could not tell the time of day. The only reference I had was that my internal clock seemed to be telling me to get out of bed.

When I thought about what was on the other side of that door, however, I groaned and turned around to face the wall, drawing the covers over my head.

What had been the point of all those years, I moaned, if I was so quick to submit to him every time he touched me? I buried my face in my pillow and screamed. This was unbearable. I was right back where I'd been five years ago. It was as if nothing had changed. Here I was in the same bed in the same room, wearing the same clothes, slightly sore from being fucked by the same man.

Now that I was back in this god damn house I was going to need to be stronger than ever, I thought. He was going to have to see that I wasn't the same young girl he'd known when I'd been here last. He'd have to treat me like the individual I'd become. I'd have to make him see that.

Light shafted into the room as the door opened but I didn't turn away from the wall.

"Morning Emma," It was him "Breakfast's on the table."

Something smelled wonderful. At some juncture, in addition to securing the house while Jack was gone Marshall had assumed all responsibilities regarding food and had subsequently flourished into quite the accomplished cook. It occurred to me that I had very much missed this.

I didn't move or make any sign I knew he was there.

He sighed, "I know you're awake, Emma. Is this really how you want to start the day?" The threat was evident in his voice and I stiffened.

Every part of me wanted to stay right there in bed and pretend none of this was real. Close my eyes and wake up somewhere else. Across the country, curled up around a book.

I knew he wasn't going to indulge me for much longer and, truthfully, I sensed my defiance was probably coming off more childish than strong so I threw back the covers with an angry flourish and turned around to face him.

His presence in the doorway brought back all the humiliation of the night before and I felt my eyes gleam with challenge as I stared him down.

He ignored me and walked toward the closet, tossing some articles of clothing onto the bed next to me. A skirt and white t-shirt of mine from my college days. I stared at them for a moment as I pondered that aborted future. I'd all but forgotten that girl. The girl with the bright future and Big Plans.

For the last five years my only plans had been Stay Away and now the only overpowering plan that beat against my skull at every waking moment was Get Away. Well, at least you couldn't say I was without aspiration.

He didn't seem to notice my silence and was already heading out the door, "Shower, get dressed and be in the kitchen in thirty minutes."

I grit my teeth. It annoyed me when he gave me orders I would have performed anyway. I had already planned on taking a shower. After all, I had to make sure the evidence of last night's submission was sufficiently scrubbed away.

And then, naturally, I would have gotten dressed. I didn't plan on walking around all day in my t-shirt and underwear. It was aggravating that now I would do these things and he would act like I was obeying him. I pondered spending the day half naked and dirty but I didn't think that would really prove anything to anybody.

Jack was sitting at the kitchen counter reading the paper and Marshall was setting out coffee when I entered, clean and refreshed, attempting to give off an air of regal stature.

Marshall was technically Jack's business partner of a sort. As much as criminals had those. I was not sure how this partnership had formed but it was obvious that at some point it had been decided that Jack would lead and Marshall would follow. I do not think Marshall minded though and I suppose there was the success of their relationship.

I stood at the door for a moment hoping that my domineering stance would elicit more of a reaction but Marshall had turned back to the stove and Jack just looked up briefly over his paper.

His brow furrowed slightly, "that's not what I laid out."

"No," I smiled. I had gone to the closet and decided on a green blouse instead of the shirt he had thrown at me. He was going to learn that I wasn't so easily directed.

He shrugged and looked back at the paper. I bristled that my rebellion had been so easily dismissed and walked toward the kitchen where Marshall handed me some coffee and raised his eyebrows.

When I started to settle myself on the other stool Jack lowered his paper again and looked at me.

"No," he admonished. I was confused. 
He pointed to the floor at his feet and I saw to my utter horror a cushion had been placed there. My heart stopped. NO. It was too much. I didn't belong there. Hadn't I proven that by my time away? He folded the paper over on his lap and watched me closely. My eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal.

"Do you want a spanking? Right now? In front of Marshall? Don't think I won't, Emma."

I looked toward the living room and the front door wistfully but I knew, even if it hadn't been locked that on the other side of that door was a whole neighborhood full of assholes who would just love the chance to manhandle me a little while they dragged me back here.

I looked back at Jack who was still sitting calmly, expectantly, on the kitchen stool. Marshall shot me a sympathetic look but nodded his encouragement.

I felt the tears threatening to spill but I knew it would be so much worse if he forced me up against the kitchen counter and reddened my behind again before forcing me to my knees.

He followed me with his eyes as I very slowly made my way back over to the counter and lowered myself onto the cushion with a dejected sigh. This was worse than anything he'd made me do so far.

I whimpered as my sore ass came down against my calves and he said, "Sit however's comfortable, Emma." He reached for his coffee and opened his paper again.

I dropped my head and let my hair cover my face as I let a few hot, angry tears slide down my cheeks and onto the hated cushion. No, I thought. I won't let this get to me. He wants me on my knees. Fine. I'll defy him my knees. I'll defy him from any position.

My body reacted at the sudden flashback of just how many positions he could put me in.

I shook my head, brightening at the resurgence of my resolve, I straightened my back and sipped at my coffee. A hand appeared in front of me holding a piece of melon.

"I'm not hungry," I spat out.

The hand went nowhere. I glared up at him but he was still reading the paper as if it were completely normal to be feeding a kneeling girl in his kitchen.

"I hate melon." I tried again but again my tendency to make defiance sound like petulance overrode the scalding affect I had intended.

"Emma," he said warningly and I caught all the meaning in the word. I was skating on terrifyingly thin ice and I knew it.

Fine, it was no new concession. I huffed and leaned in to take the piece of fruit and chew it resentfully as I stared daggers into a point on the counter in front of me.

Marshall came around with a plate of his own and took the other seat at the counter. He sprawled out casually over the stool and glanced down at me.

"What happened there?" He said accusingly at Jack, gesturing to my bruised cheek. It had grown slightly more pronounced in that way that bruises have before they heal.

Jack looked down at me and I drew in a breath at his seething expression. "God damn thugs that grabbed her."

I was suddenly furious. "What's the difference?" I protested. I had always hated when they talked about me as if I wasn't in the room. "You beat me. They beat me. It's all the same!" I stared up at him angrily.

He was unfazed and said evenly, "You know the difference Emma."

"Do I?"

"Yes." He turned back to his breakfast.

I glared at him a little longer. His refusal to acknowledge my small signs of insubordination was starting to annoy me more than anything else. I was reaching the end of my limited patience with this man.

When he reached down with another piece of fruit I pushed his hand away and stood up to leave.

"If you're qui--" a hand shot out and grabbed me firmly around the waist before I'd even gotten the words out.

I screamed and kicked out at him in a rage. I didn't care anymore. I was beyond fury. I had crossed into some new and unnamed emotion that lived and breathed adrenaline and had lost all quality of sense.

I was pretty sure I managed to get in at least one or two direct hits but he barely flinched. Just held my waist with both hands and looked down at me.

By the the time my throat was raw and and my knuckles felt bruised the roaring in my head had started to dull to a kind of vapid, coolness and I drew in a few breaths.

He was watching me, "are you finished?"

I slapped him. Hard.

It made a wonderful cracking sound that reverberated against the kitchen walls and I couldn't suppress my satisfied grin.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he blinked and stoically said to Marshall, "I'm just going to show Emma back to her room."

I twisted against the grip on my waist that was turning me back toward "my" room.

He pushed me down sitting on the edge of the bed, towering over me as if considering my transgression. When I looked up I was struck by his quiet masculinity. He had never been an overly large, muscled man nor was he lanky but there was such power in the sinewy curve of his shoulder, in the slant of his brow.

"I have to say I was expecting that at some point" He laughed as he ran a hand over his reddening cheek, "but I admit your aim has improved considerably."

"Not enough."

"I'm practically twice your size Emma. I'd almost be proud if I didn't have to punish you now."

I tried to control my breathing and remain calm as I clung to my resolve to remain unaffected by him. A futile effort, perhaps, but it was all I had.

"I'd prefer not to punish your ass again so soon." He gave me a wry smile and added, "besides, I think you enjoyed it far too much last time."

I flushed and glared up at him from the bed.

His face turned serious, "You have a choice, Emma. You can either bend over now and submit to whatever punishment I have in mind or I can make sure you're tied to the bed all day and do it anyway." Some choice.

I took an angry breath as I stared at him for another minute and considered the cost of further rebellion. I really didn't want to be tied down all day.

I continued to look into his eyes pointedly for as long as I could so that he knew I was doing this on protest before I slowly stood up and turned around.

I sucked in as much oxygen as I could, squared my shoulders and bent stiffly over the end of the bed.

I heard him rummaging for something in the dresser behind me and my heart beat faster with anticipation. I flinched when he rubbed his hand down my side, pausing at the locality of his brand there and said, "I am the master here Emma and you will learn to obey me or sitting comfortably is going to become a distant memory for you."

He flipped up my skirt and pulled my panties down around my ankles. "Step out of them."

I did.

I could feel the searing heat of his gaze on my bare behind and felt my body already betraying me.

"Now," he ran a hand up along my weeping slit. "I've got something that's going to make your day infinitely more interesting while I'm away."

I felt him insert a finger inside of me and pump briefly before pulling out and pushing something hard and lifeless up where his finger had been. It started to vibrate and I moaned. No. I was done coming for him. I was already giving too much away too quickly.

But he flipped my skirt back down, set me back on my feet and said, "no, sweetheart. You won't be coming right now. In fact you won't be coming for a very long time. But that little device inside you is going to make sure you know it."

I felt the gentle, pleasant buzzing stop abruptly and looked at him confused. "It's designed to keep you on edge."

"Turn around."

I did. He gathered my wrists together and tied a soft piece of cloth around them before I could protest. Bastard.

He looked at his watch. "When I get home tonight I expect a different attitude or this is going to become a daily occurrence."

I sighed as he grabbed some papers and walked out the door.

I lay back against the bed and groaned.

As promised, the infernal device inside me came alive and slowly died down every twenty minutes or so. I had never felt more at the mercy of my own arousal, my hands pulling at their binding hopelessly.

About an hour later, Marshall came in with a tray of food. Luckily, my new toy had just finished a bout of torture and was silent for the moment. I looked at him, livid, when he unbound my hands so I could eat.

He gave me a small smile and said, "I'm sorry kiddo but you know better than to push him like that."

"Push him? Push him? That's a joke. He pushed me."

He shrugged, "Maybe so, but he has the advantage of size so I would reconsider any future plans for physical retribution."
 I fell back against the pillows, "I could always just shoot him."

"Hmm, you could. But then I'd have to figure out what to do with you. And you're already too much trouble as it is," he smiled.

I turned my head to him and let out a breath. "The thing is, though, is that the last time he saw me I was barely more than a child. He thinks he can subdue me with condiments and time outs."

"Some friendly advice. You don't want to be treated like a child? Don't throw any more tantrums."

I sat up and glared at him and he laughed and held up his hands, "Hey! Hey, just one man's opinion."

I swiped a sandwich off the tray and narrowed my eyes while I chewed.

"Ah stop sulking Emma and let me show you this picture of a weird dog I just saw."

He had always been like this, so easily speaking in a way that belied the situation. As if we had not only just been discussing my enslaver who had so recently consigned me to my room like an errant second grader. It was contagious and I felt myself giving in to it.

He held his phone up in front of him. Obviously unworried that I might grab it. Who would I call? The police? They were well paid not to come here.

I cocked my head, "I don't think that's a dog, Marshall. I think that's a cat."

"No, I swear it was on a leash."

"That doesn't make it a dog."

"Hmmm," he looked back at his phone. "I did think it was weird that it didn't bark."

"Yeah, that's not the only thing that's weird."

He laughed, feigning indignation, "To the man that prepares her food, she says!"

I gasped, "So you're going to poison me? And after I just cleared up your whole dog/cat hybrid debacle. Imagine if you had shown that to someone else?"

"Too late, I already tweeted it. The cat's a dog and there's no going back."

I laughed and reflected that I had missed this easy friendship. In recent years I had sometimes managed to cultivate a friendly acquaintance but they had never developed much beyond that. It is hard to grow and keep a friendship when sometimes they call and you are face up underneath the coffee table, staring at the ceiling through the glass top and wondering could I go out today? Would that be something I could do?

They would ask if I would like to go to a new bar, perhaps. It is just around the corner. Very good reviews on Yelp. But I would not be able to see it. Would not be able to see myself opening the door. Walking to the sidewalk. Slipping in beside them at the bar and saying "so good to see you." No, I would think, I could see how others might do this but I could not see myself at it. So I would say, "not today" and hang up the phone.

When Marshall got up to leave, taking my plate and gesturing for me to put my hands back behind me so he could retie them I asked, "how can you stand him?"

Marshall looked at me seriously for a moment before he said, "how can you?"

"Not by choice." But of course there was an element of untruth in this and he knew it.

___________________

I spent the rest of my day groaning in frustration on the bed as I was worked up into a sexual frenzy by the small, fiendish invader buzzing inside me. Whenever I tried to sleep or think about something else I was crudely diverted as the object came alive again. I clutched the bedcovers in my bound hands underneath me and bucked against an unseen hand.

By the time a better part of an eternity had passed the door finally opened and I sat up as Jack stood in its stead. I was wet with perspiration and felt like a coiled spring that was being held down. I was ashamed to admit that I was actually glad to see him as I hoped it would mean the end to my torment. I hoped.

"How was your day Emma?"

"Riveting."

"Hmmm should I come back in the morning perhaps?" Fuck.

I was desperate to be released from the tyranny of my own sexuality and resented that I was so reliant on him to provide me with it.

"No, sir."

He moved toward me and untied my hands, "do you want to come, little bird?"

"Yes, sir," another vibration rocked me and I nearly fell forward.

"Show me."

I was confused but he waited patiently until I understood what he wanted.

Mortifying realization dawned on me and I thought "I can do this" as I moved my hand to the hem at my thighs and slowly lifted my skirt up to my chest. I had never been more humiliated.

"I can't tell from here Emma. You'll have to spread your knees."

I drew in a sharp breath an moved my knees apart slightly, looking at his shoes and turning crimson.

"No, wider."

I spread them wider and clenched my eyes shut, close to tears again as I breathed against the rising ache between my legs.

My face flushed as I was sure he locked onto my glistening slit and said, "Yes, you have had an interesting day, haven't you?"

His eyes felt like they were burning into me and it was all I could do not to beg him to fuck me.

"Okay Emma, go ahead. Help yourself." What?

I opened my eyes wide. "You know what I mean, Emma. I'm giving you permission to touch yourself. You do want to come don't you? Or am I misreading things?"

I couldn't. That would be far to embarrassing. I would die.

"Jack, please," I practically sobbed.

"Emma, do you want me to come back tomorrow morning? I can have Marshall bring your dinner in here as well." Oh god. Could I last all night? Would my mind be able to stand it?

For a moment I just stayed like that. Holding my skirt up and looking at him as I waged war with what pride I had left.

Finally, hesitantly, I lowered one hand to my lower lips. I held them there for a moment until the buzzing inside me became too demanding and slowly began to circle my finger over my clit.

I alternated rubbing and stroking while he looked on, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. I closed mine and tried to drive him away, tried to imagine someone else touching me. But of course I couldn't shake his formidable eyes and I imagined his mouth on me, his dick rubbing up against my thigh.

After a minute he said, "what are you thinking about Emma?"

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him. He would enjoy it too much. Of course he knew. I knew he knew. But I wouldn't admit it.

"Do you want me to revoke the privilege of touching yourself?"

I thought about lying to him. Telling him I was thinking about another man. A movie star maybe, but that would probably annoy him and I really wanted to continue what I was doing.

"You, sir." I whispered.

I could hear the smile in his voice, "and what am I doing to you Emma?"

Oh fuck, he was going to make me narrate this. But I was too far gone to go back now.