Petal Ch 05

I woke up slowly. I stretched my legs and went to straighten my back, but the arm still draped over me stopped that movement. I blinked and looked around me. The room was familiar but not mine. The man behind me was warm but not my husband. I licked my lips and moved experimentally to see if I could slide out from under him.

I touched his arm lightly and he sucked in his breath. "Hello, my dear. No reason to be so gentle. I'm awake."

I closed my eyes again. He rolled onto his back and said, "Come here."

I flipped over and forced myself to open my eyes. He crooked his finger at me and I slid closer to him. He put his hand on my shoulder and tugged me down, my face on his chest and his arm around me again.

"Laundry and lunch, my dear," he said. "Do you have enough leftovers to fill you up?"

"Yes, Bach."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

A few moments passed. "Put your hand on my chest, girl. I want to feel you touch me."

"Yes, Bach."

I moved my arm up and touched his skin just under his nipple. The hair was soft and springy. He put his hand over mine and pressed it down. "I said touch me, girl."

I let my fingers slide through the hair, the warmth of his skin on my palm. I made circles on his chest, his hand still on mine. He tightened his arm around me and my breasts pressed against his side.

After a few minutes, he let go and stretched his arms above us. "Lunch, girl. Go get the leftovers on the table."

"Yes, Bach."

He got up pulled his shirt back over his head. He unclipped the cord from the bed and held it lightly in his hand, watching as I stood up. He tipped his head to one side and I took that as a direction to go ahead of him. I walked into the hallway and to the kitchen, the cord over my shoulder and Bach a few steps behind.

He held it while I got the boxes out of the refrigerator, then while I got the plates. "Do you want it warmed up?" I asked.

"No, I like cold pizza."

"Yes, Bach."

I put the food on the plates and walked to the table. He followed behind, the cord still between us. We sat and ate, his hand still holding it.

A leash. That's what it was. I was on a leash, a leash clipped to my collar. No better than a dog.

But that wasn't right either. I wasn't a dog. I was a slave. I was Bach's slave. I'd allowed myself to fall into the role, even let myself climax under his hand. I shivered, reminding me that I was still naked.

Naked, collared, and leashed.

"Something wrong, my dear?"

"No, Bach."

He narrowed his eyes and gave the leash a little tug. "I told you to never lie to me. I'll ask you again. Something wrong, my dear?"

I looked down at my plate. "I want to go home."

He laughed a little. "You are home. We've been through this. You are home, and you are mine. Say it."

"I am home, and I am yours."

"Say it again."

"I am home, and I am yours."

"One more time."

"I am home, and I am yours."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

I finished eating, forcing myself to chew and swallow. My stomach was sour and I was afraid I would vomit. He ate his pizza, occasionally jingling the leash, pulling on the collar.

When we were both done, I got up and cleared the table without a word. He stood behind me and watched as I rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher. I wiped the crumbs from the table and threw them away in the trash.

"Laundry, girl."

"Yes, Bach."

We went down the stairs back to the washer and I swore my ass stung with the memory of the lashes when we passed over the spot at the bottom of the stairs. I put the clothes in the washer automatically, set the timer, and turned it on. Only sixty minutes until the caftan would be dry.

"Back upstairs, girl."

"Yes, Bach."

I walked in front of him up the stairs, the leash rubbing on my shoulder with every step. I waited at the top and he closed the door. "Go to the bathroom in the hallway, my dear."

"Yes, Bach."

We walked and stopped in front of the bathroom. "Turn around."

I did and he reached forward, unclipping the leash. "You hadn't asked about using the bathroom. You may shut the door of course, but it doesn't lock. And you may not block it. You may have your privacy but I am always able to go in at any time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Bach."

"Use the bathroom then, girl, and come back to the living room when you're done."

"Yes, Bach."

I went in and closed the door, the sound of the latch music to my ears. I hadn't realized how full my bladder really was. I sat on the toilet and held my head in my hands.

How had this happened? How had I gone from a regular wife with a regular job and a regular wife to telling a stranger that I was his slave. To having an orgasm in front of a mirror while he rubbed and used his fingers in me. To curling up on his bed and sleeping with his arm around me. To say nothing of the nudity and the collar and the leash.

I started to cry again. All I'd done for the last two days was cry. Cry and come.

Which just made me cry harder. My shoulders shook and my face burned. Minutes passed and I got a grip on myself. I wiped my eyes with tissue and blew my nose. I turned on the cold water and splashed it up on my face. Dried off with a fluffy towel and sighed.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked all right, but it was obvious I'd been crying.

"Fuck it," I muttered. As if I should care how I looked. He had watched me cry the whole time, told me it was fine if I did.

I squared my shoulders and opened the door. I walked into the living room and went to my place on the floor next to his recliner. I knelt down and moved into the criss-crossed position and his hand immediately went onto my head. I didn't talk or react.

He'd turned the television on and was flipping through the channels. He finally settled on a movie and settled back in his chair. I didn't pay attention to what was on the screen. I let my mind wander and I found myself thinking about ways to leave.

The collar had a buckle. The leash had a clip. None of it was permanent. Even the cell phone was still able to reach emergency services. I could call them and get the police here in minutes. Hell, I could just get up and walk out the door. I couldn't picture Bach pinning me to the ground or dragging me back by the hair, kicking and screaming.

"Do you have any thoughts about dinner?"

His words broke into my fantasy of running out and making my way back to my own house, with my office and desk and books. I had almost been able to feel my favorite chair under me, a blanket wrapped around me, as I read one of my favorites, a cup of tea next to me.

"What?"

"Dinner. What are your thoughts on dinner?"

"I don't know, Bach. I'm not hungry."

He smiled and gave my hair a little tug. "That's what you said yesterday, and you managed to eat."

"Yes, Bach."

He frowned. He'd heard the flat tone of my voice. "What's wrong?"

I shrugged, not trusting my voice for what felt like the millionth time. "I just... This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what my life was supposed to be."

"And what did you want, my dear? How is your life supposed to be?"

"I don't know. Just... Maybe in my house, reading, under a blanket and listening to the rain on the roof."

"With your husband?"

"He's probably home, but that doesn't matter. It's just quiet and I'm happy."

"I see."

He pulled my head to rest on his knee. I sighed and allowed myself to take the comfort from his attention. "Dinner, my dear. What do you want?"

"I don't care."

He pulled my hair tightly and yanked my head back. "Watch your tone, girl."

"Yes, Bach."

"Tomorrow you can cook for me."

"Yes, Bach."

He loosened his grip a bit. "Go check the laundry. Fold it and bring it up."

"Yes, Bach."

He let go of my hair and I stood up, feeling my joints pop. I went to the basement, feeling his eyes on my ass as I walked away. I opened the dryer and folded the clothes as I pulled them out, stacking them in the hamper. I put the caftan on top, hoping against hope that I would be able to wear it once I was back upstairs.

I carried the hamper to the kitchen and walked to the living room. "Bach? Do you want me to put it all away?"

"Not now, my dear. Just put the hamper in the bedroom, slip on the caftan, and come back out."

"Yes, Bach."

I did what he said and came back to the spot on the floor. I started to sit and he grabbed my hand. "Wait. We still need to figure out dinner."

"I really don't have any preference, Bach. Not much of an appetite."

"Hmph. You said that yesterday and ate just fine."

"Yes, Bach."

"Would you prefer ordering out again or just having soup and sandwiches?"

"Either one is fine with me."

He squeezed, making the bones in my hand roll together. "I need an answer, girl. Now."

"Soup and sandwiches," I said, my voice a bit tighter than normal.

"Good girl. Go make some."

"Thank you, Bach."

I went into the kitchen and looked through the cabinets until I found the cans of soup. I took down a can of chicken noodle and found a small saucepan. I poured it in and turned it on low. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out some deli meats on the second shelf. I got condiments and put it all on the counter. I looked in another cupboard where I'd seen the bread and found a few ciabatta rolls. I added it to the stuff on the counter and went into the kitchen.

"Bach? What do you like on your sandwiches?"

"Mustard, salt, and pepper."

"Yes, Bach."

I went back to the kitchen and stirred the soup before putting the sandwiches together, mustard on his and mayonnaise on mine. Soon, I had it all on plates and poured the soup into bowls. I put it on the table, put the extra meat and condiments away, and closed the refrigerator.

I went into the living room and stood next to his chair. "Bach? It's ready."

"Very good."

He got up and took my hand again. He led me back into the kitchen and we sat at the table in what had become our usual seats. We ate in silence for a bit. I went back to staring at the bowl of apples.

"You can run the dishwasher when we're done," he said, breaking into my stream of non-thoughts.

"Yes, Bach."

He cupped my chin and turned my face to him. I blinked and met his eyes. "You can't do this, my dear."

"Do what, Bach?"

"You can't disappear into your own mind and forget where you are. What you are."

"Yes, Bach."

"What are you?"

I blinked again. He squeezed my chin a bit harder. "You are my slave. Say it."

"I am your slave."

"You are here to serve me. Say it."

"I'm here to serve you."

He dropped his hand and shook his head. "I'm full. When you're done, clear up and meet me in the bedroom."

"Yes, Bach."

He left and I chewed mechanically. The food was good, but I barely tasted it. I finished and, as instructed, cleaned up the kitchen. I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and soon had it running. The table and counter were pristine. Much better than my kitchen at home ever looked.

I walked into the bedroom, barely noticing the low drone from the television in the living room. He wasn't in there. I almost turned and walked back out.

"In here." His voice came from the bathroom.

I went to the door and waited. He stood in the middle of the small room, glasses on the sink, and looked at me. "Draw my bath and undress me."

"Yes, Bach."

He backed up so I could turn on the water in the tub. I put my hand under the stream until it felt like a good temperature and put the plug in. I stood up and faced him. He held out his arms and I slipped his shirt up and over. I undid his pants and slid them down, kneeling down as I helped him pull out his feet.

I stood back up and waited, hands clasped in front of my stomach and eyes watching the water. It reached a decent height and he pointed at the tub. I turned it off and waited some more.

He sighed heavily. "Take the caftan off, girl."

I did as he said in one smooth motion, still silent and staring straight ahead. I folded it and put it on the edge of the sink. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to him, our skin just short of touching. "You are my slave. Say it."

"I am your slave."

"Bathe me."

"Yes, Bach."

He held my hand tighter and lowered himself into the water. He sat with his back against the back of the tub and tugged me down to sit on the edge. "Start with my hair."

I looked around and saw a small caddy of supplies on the floor. I got it with my free hand and pulled it closer. It even held a plastic cup.

"May I have my hand back, please?"

"Yes, my dear."

He let go and I scooped up some water in the cup. I poured it gently over his head, taking care to not get it in his eyes. I focused only on his face. His eyes were closed and he looked relaxed, completely confident both in my abilities and intentions.

I set the cup down and got the shampoo. I squeezed a small bit into my hand and put it on his head. I used both hands to make a lather and massaged it into his scalp. He sighed and it sounded like pure contentment.

I rinsed it out, using the cup twice. I went back to the caddy and pulled out bar of soap. I dipped it into the water and rubbed it between my hands before gently working it into his face with my fingertips. I made my way down under his ears and under his chin, stopping at the bottom of his neck to rinse.

Water dripped gently off of him and he said, "Dry off my face, my dear, so I can see you."

I got the towel on top of the closed toilet and used the corner to carefully do as I was told. He blinked twice and smiled up at me.

"Good girl. You're doing a good job."

"Thank you, Bach."

"Continue."

I used the soap again to get a lather and began washing his chest. My hands slid over the eagle and across his skin. It was warm and soft under my palm. I reached for the cup but he stopped me, grabbing my wrist. "Use your hand, girl."

"Yes, Bach."

I did as he said and used the water to rinse off the bubbles. He sat up without letting go of my wrist and said, "My back next."

"Yes, Bach."

I used my free hand to run the bar of soap over his skin and washed him. He rubbed his thumb over my wrist in small circles, using different levels of pressure as he went. I rinsed his back and he leaned back again.

"What are you?"

"I am your slave."

"Who am I?"

"You are my Master."

"Why are you here?"

"To serve you."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

I reached for the soap and he squeezed my wrist tighter. "Look at my body, girl, and tell me what you see."

"A man."

"What else?"

"My Master."

"No, girl, not this time. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. What do you see?"

"I see a man. Just a man."

He pulled my arm and I had to drop to my knees next to the tub to accommodate the movement. He led my hand to his stomach and moved it slowly downward. I sucked in my breath and tried to make a fist.

"No, girl."

He reached up with his other hand and hooked my collar. He pulled me closer so that our faces were only inches apart. He stared into my eyes and moved his head forward, catching my lips with his.

He kissed me gently at first and I tried to turn off my mind. I didn't move away, but I didn't kiss him back either. His tongue slid over my lips and I allowed him to enter my mouth. He ran it over my teeth then pressed it against mine. I sucked in my breath as I knew my body was responding again.

I was wet. My nipples were hard. And my lips started to move with his. My hand opened and he slid it further down his stomach. The tip of his cock pressed into the side of it and I sighed. He moved my hand again and it glided down the shaft. He moved it up and down, still kissing me.

I wrapped my fingers around him and took over the stroking. He let go and used that hand to pinch and twist my nipple. I sucked in my breath and he let go of my collar. He wrapped that hand behind my head and pulled me closer to him.

I stroked him and he started to move his hips with me. My mouth was fully open and he was using his tongue to explore every last corner of my mouth. He continued to work my nipple, pulling it up and away from my body before letting go and starting over again.

My other hand seemed to move on its own, reaching out and cupping his shoulder, my fingers digging into his skin. We were fully intertwined around the tub. I stroked him faster, squeezing and releasing in response to his heavy breathing.

He shuddered and moaned into my mouth. I felt his come on my hand and I kept stroking and kissing him. I kept going until he was fully spent.

He let go of my head and kissed me a final time. He rested his forehead against mine and said, "Good girl. Very good girl."

"Thank you, Bach."

Both of us were breathing heavily. He squeezed my nipple again and moved to bite at my earlobe. "Come, girl. Come for your Master."

And I did. No genital stimulation, no real buildup, but there I was, shaking and moaning on the bathroom floor just from his words. I let go of his cock and grabbed his other shoulder, holding on as I shook. He laughed softly, his breath warm on my neck.

"Good girl. Good slave."

"Thank you, Bach."