Petal Ch 03

For my first Patron - Bachlum

The mattress was sticky and not very comfortable. Not having a pillow was also making it hard to sleep. As I'd expected, the laughing kept popping up in the scattered dreams, waking me up. I just kept my eyes closed and tried to pretend I wasn't there. That I wasn't naked on an air mattress with a collar that pulled at my neck every time I moved.

Finally, I dozed off and actually slept. I had curled up into a ball. I stopped moving and fighting the collar. I just laid there and took deep breaths. I even felt warm.

"Ten minutes, my dear, then breakfast."

I opened my eyes, Bach's voice in my ear. He left the room before I could answer and I looked around from my spot on the floor. I was warm because I had a blanket over me. I'd wrapped it around myself like a burrito. I unrolled an arm and rubbed my face. I looked and saw that the hook wasn't on my collar anymore.

I got up and used the bathroom. I pulled the caftan over my head and folded the blanket, setting it at the top of the mattress like a pillow. I straightened the sheets and blankets on the bed, getting out any wrinkles and making sure everything was even. Normally, my bed was never made unless I changed the sheets.

I walked into the living room and he smiled at me from his chair. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Not really if I'm honest. Thank you for the blanket, though."

"You can have a pillow tonight, too. You didn't ask for anything so I wasn't sure if you'd want it."

"Thank you, Bach. I do want them."

"Then you'll have them. Whatever you need. I want you to be comfortable."

He stood up and held out his hand. I crossed the room and let him take mine. He squeezed it and gave it a little tug. "Let's see what we have for breakfast."

I followed him into the kitchen, all too aware that his hand seemed to fit nicely in mine. The warmth from his palm was comforting. His rough skin felt good against mine.

I thought about pulling away, but I didn't. I knew he would only grip harder, and maybe grab the hook in the collar. I just followed him and watched as he opened the refrigerator.

"I like scrambled eggs. Make me some. And some toast."

"Yes, Bach."

He let go of my hand and I got the eggs, milk, and butter. He watched as I put them on the counter and started looking for the pan. He sat down and leaned back comfortably in his chair. I found the cabinet with the pans and then the toaster and bread.

I cooked quickly, not looking at him but feeling his eyes on my back. Once it was ready, I put it on a plate and brought it to the table. I set it down and he smiled. "Very good. It looks delicious. But where is yours?"

"Mine?"

"Did you think you would starve?"

"No, Bach, I guess I didn't think much about it at all."

"Clearly. Go make some for yourself and join me."

"Yes, Bach."

I turned and made myself breakfast. He was already eating but still had plenty left on his plate when I sat with him. We ate in silence, the only sound coming from the clinking of forks on the china. When we were done, he pushed his plate toward me and I stacked it on top of mine. I carried it all to the sink and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher.

"Very good. Now, let's go downstairs so I can show you the laundry room."

"Yes, Bach."

He got up and held out his hand again. I took it and followed him to the cellar door. He opened it and turned on a light, illuminating a set of carpet-covered stairs and, as promised, a sturdy-looking bannister. We went down and he stopped in front of the washer and dryer.

"Obviously, this is the laundry room. There is an ironing board behind that cupboard door, a small clothesline, some laundry pegs, and detergent in the other cupboard."

"Yes, Bach."

"I don't have many fancy clothes, but some do need special care. Make sure you're checking the tags."

"Yes, Bach."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

"Come over here."

He led me to a closed door and put his finger under my chin, tipping my head up to look at him directly in the eyes. "This is my office. I will spend time in here on most days. This is the one room I don't want you to clean. If I choose to bring you in, that's fine, but otherwise, you may not enter it. Understand?"

"Yes, Bach."

He ran his thumb over my chin and I shivered. "Do you have any questions so far?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Just remember, I always want you to ask if you have a question. Just be careful of your tone and phrasing."

"Yes, Bach."

"Good girl."

I opened my mouth to thank him and his thumb immediately switched to my bottom lip. He ran the pad over my skin slowly and I shivered again. "Thank you, Bach," I said.

"Let's go to the living room. There's a game I want to watch."

"Yes, Bach."

He dropped his hand and led me back upstairs. He went to his recliner and sat down. He let go of my hand and looked at the spot on the floor next to him. I lowered myself onto one knee. "Bach?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Should I kneel or sit?"

He smiled and put his hand on my head. "Up to you today. I want you to be comfortable."

"Yes, Bach."

I sat down, criss-crossing my legs and lifting the edges of the caftan out of the way. He kept his hand on my head and turned on the television. He flipped through some channels before settling on a soccer game being played in Europe. He pushed out his footrest and leaned back, clearly settling into his comfortable position.

I watched but didn't really pay attention to the game. He was still stroking my head from time to time. It felt strangely comforting. After a while, he tugged my hair gently and tilted my head back to look at him.

"I know you like coffee. Go make a pot and bring us each a cup. I take mine black."

"Yes, Bach."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

He let go of my hair and I stood up. He caught my hand as I was about to leave. "I think six cups will be a perfect size pot."

"Yes, Bach."

"Go on then."

I walked away and he kept his hand around mine, letting mine slide through his. I went into the kitchen and looked around until I found the coffee in the cabinet next to the cups. Convenient.

I put water in the pot and scooped the coffee into the filter. I turned on the coffee maker and sat at the table. I listened to the television from the other room and to the coffee dripping into the carafe. I looked at the back door, noticing the deadbolt and chain lock. I could almost feel them under my fingers, how easy it would be to get out of there.

The coffee gurgled as the last of the water went through the grounds. I sighed and got up. I went back to the cupboard and got our mugs. I opened the refrigerator, looking for milk or cream. I was happy to see a bottle of my favorite mocha creamer hiding behind a pitcher of iced tea. I took it out and checked the date. It was still good and even still sealed.

I opened it and poured some into my mug. I put the bottle back and poured the coffee. I turned off the coffeemaker and took one last long look at the door. I sighed again and picked up the mugs. I carried them into the living room. He smiled at me and reached out for his cup.

I gave it to him and he nodded to the loveseat. "Let's sit over there so we don't spill."

"Yes, Bach."

We sat and put our mugs on the end tables. Only inches separated us. It felt like some sort of rippling, warm tension that brought goosebumps to my arms. I tried to sit perfectly still. He watched the television but glanced at me every so often.

Another commercial came on and he grabbed my hand. He held it firmly but didn't squeeze. I just concentrated on breathing regularly. He ran his thumb over the back of my fingers.

"Look at me."

I looked at him. His eyes moved over my face then down to the edge of the caftan and my cleavage. He met my gaze again and smiled. "Go get me a cup of ice."

"Ice?"

"Yes. Now."

"Yes, Bach."

He squeezed my hand briefly and watched me get up and go back to the kitchen. I opened the cupboard to reveal the glasses and got a short one. I went to the freezer and put some ice cubes from a tray and filled the glass. I put the tray back and returned to the love seat, holding it out.

"Thank you, my dear. Now, sit down and slide down the caftan. Show me your breasts."

My face burned again. I sat and put my hand on my shoulder, fingers holding the light material. He watched me and raised his eyebrows. "Now."

"Yes, Bach."

I slid the fabric down and pulled my arm out. I tried to keep my breathing regular but couldn't hold back the small sob. I did the same to the other side and sat there with the caftan gathered around my waist, my torso fully exposed.

"That's a good girl."

"Thank you, Bach." My voice was quivering and my throat was tight. I looked at my coffee, seeing the steam rising from the top. I could imagine grabbing it and throwing it into this man's face. I could almost hear his scream.

"Look at me."

I did, still almost able to feel the mug in my hands. He held my gaze and swirled the glass in his hand, making the ice cubes clink together. He looked me up and down, his eyes hungry.

"Play with your nipples for me."

"Yes, Bach."

I blinked hard and managed to keep the tears inside. I touched my nipples with my index fingers and felt them grow erect. I moved my fingers up and down and stared straight ahead, focusing on the television.

He put his fingers under my chin and turned my head to face him. "I said play with them. Pinch and twist them for me."

"Yes, Bach."

I squeezed them and rolled them through my fingers and thumbs. He held up the glass and shook it back and forth. "Get two ice cubes."

"Yes, Bach."

I let go of my nipples and got the ice. He let go of my chin and pulled back just enough to get a better view. "Rub the ice on your nipples. Get them nice and hard for me."

"Yes, Bach."

I did what he said. I gasped when the cold first touched my skin. The ice melted just enough to send drops down my stomach. I could feel my nipples tighten and wanted to stop, but of course I didn't. He watched me and smiled.

"Good girl. Put the ice back."

"Thank you, Bach."

I put the ice in the glass and he put it on the side table next to his coffee mug. "Hands behind your head, my dear. And stay nice and still for me."

I shivered, and it wasn't from the ice. I laced my fingers together behind my head and took deep breaths. I watched as he extended his arms and his fingers touched the top of my breasts. He stared into my eyes as he made small circles on my skin, moving closer and closer to my nipples.

His fingers brushed against them and I gasped. He caught them between his index fingers and thumbs, rolling them gently back and forth.

"Please, stop," I said. "Please, Bach?"

He smiled again and pinched them harder. He pulled them out from my body and I shuddered. "Please?"

Instead of answering, he cupped my breasts with his palms, leaned forward and sucked one of them into his mouth. He twirled his tongue around and nipped at it with his teeth. My breathing sped up and a tear rolled down my face. He switched sides, repeating the movements.

I could feel my body react. I was getting wet and part of me wanted to hold his head to me. I imagined what it would feel like to have his mouth on the rest of my body. I tried to shake the image of me on the edge of his bed again with him between my legs, but tasting me instead of shaving me.

I quivered and he laughed softly against my skin. He let go and ran his thumbs over the rock-hard nubs. He looked at me again and said, "You liked that, didn't you my dear?"

"Yes, Bach."

"Good girl. Drink your coffee. We don't want it to get cold."

"Thank you, Bach."

He sat up straight and picked up his mug. He took a sip and looked at me again. He watched me get my own coffee and settle back onto the loveseat, smiling again with a smug look. "You didn't cover your breasts. Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."