Submission Revealed (14 page)

She shivered and he pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, tucking it carefully around her body. “I love you, Sarah-my-slave,” he murmured, holding her again.

Her reply, softly whispered into the darkness, drifted up as she curled into the warmth of his arms. “I love you too, Phillip-my-Master.”

Gently kissing her forehead, he knelt by her side, cradling her, gently rocking her to blissful sleep, his soul resting with a peacefulness he had not known for a very long time.

Chapter Seven

Marks

Rolling over and stretching, Sarah’s mind woke as slowly as her body. Sighing as the last remnant of sleep faded away, she opened her eyes and focused on Phillip’s bedroom, frowning as she tried to remember how she had gotten there. The memory of being stretched on some sort of vertical rack and played with like the toy she was flashed through her, waking her completely.

Her head snapped to the pillow beside her. Phillip lay on his side, propped up on one arm, watching her, dark circles showing under his eyes.

“Good morning, slave. How do you feel?”

A wicked grin crossed her face. “Naughty.” She breathed deep. “And alive.”

“Glad to hear it. You went sailing pretty high last night.”

“I don’t even have the words to describe it. To be used like that, shared with so many other people? And I couldn’t even see their faces so I didn’t know who they were or even whether they were men or women. And being on display and then being
used
? And fisted! Oh, my glory, Master, it was more than wonderful, more than incredible! Even better than fantastic!”

Phillip laughed, his rich baritone filling the room. “So you had a good time, then?”

Sarah giggled. “It was okay.”

“I watched you all night long.”

She turned on her side to face him. “What do you mean?”

“You were pretty out of it by the time we finished with you last night. Do you remember me bringing you home?”

Sarah considered a moment, then shook her head. “I remember you putting the mask back on me and that it was cold and wet and I didn’t really want it back on. And I have a vague memory of climbing into bed.”

“You didn’t so much climb as collapse. And the mask was wet from your own sweat, so you can’t complain there.”

“Do you mean you didn’t get any sleep? That you watched over me all night long?”

Phillip rolled onto his back. “Yep.”

A slow smile crept over her face. No one had ever done that before. Not even her husband when she’d been really sick that one time. He’d said he would but then had fallen asleep not long after his usual bedtime. But Phillip had stayed awake. The dark circles made sense now.

“Did you get to come last night?” She still couldn’t ask that question without feeling just a little embarrassed at saying the word “come”.

He yawned. “No. But that was all right. The night was for you.”

“Then if last night was mine, this morning is yours.” She pushed off the sheet that covered them both and slid down so she was mouth-level with his cock. Even unexcited, his size was impressive. And once she was done, she knew he’d reach his full length—long and powerful.

Moving so she crouched between his legs, she kissed the tender flesh between his hip and his thigh, letting her hair brush against his cock with its soft caress. He responded, shifting so he could better enjoy her ministrations. His cock stirred.

She felt the movement against her cheek and turned to kiss the shaft. A chaste kiss that only hinted of what was to come. Lifting her head, she let her hair tumble over and around his cock as he grew harder.

Knowing he was tired, she decided not to tease too much this morning. Opening her lips wide, she bent down and took all of him into her warmth. Her tongue flicked over his shaft and around the tip, leaving no spot untouched. She loved how he grew in her mouth, filling her and forcing her to retreat.

But she wouldn’t surrender. Keeping the velvety soft tip in her mouth, she only paused before plunging down over the ridge and covering him again. Using her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base she could no longer reach with her throat at this angle and started a slow, methodical pumping. Phillip settled deeper into the bed and she had to fight away the smile.

He was so good to her, taking her into places her fantasies had gone for years but her mind had told her were something to be ashamed of at best, dirty at worst. He had taught her to accept those fantasies for what they were—expressions of deeply held desires that held no shame, that weren’t dirty, but simple sexual needs shared by millions of people.

Fully hard now, she admired the beauty of his cock as she picked up the pace. Lines of purple traced intricate designs under his skin where the blood raised the veins along the ridge. The whiteness of his skin turned to burgundy at the end where the pre-cum formed in the cloven tip. Slipping her tongue along the underside, she scooped up that cum, loving his salty taste.

Moving faster now, she kept her lips tight against his hardness as his body moved in tandem with her hand. Over the ridge and back again, she gave him no choice but to come in her mouth.

With an explosion of warmth, his cum spurted out, quiet moans of pleasure filling the room. Bent over as she was, she found it difficult to swallow his gift, yet she managed to get most of it. Slowing her movements, she glanced up, hoping for his approval.

“Thank you, slave.”

She beamed. “I’ll be right back.” Since she hadn’t swallowed all his cum, his cock gleamed in the morning light. So did her hand. Being careful not to get any on the sheets, she climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up. Wetting a cloth with warm water, she returned to do the same for him. He didn’t move as she cleaned him, his wonderful cock already shrinking back to a more comfortable size.

“There you go, Master. All washed and ready to go.” She stood by the side of the bed, the cloth in her hand. “Master?”

A gentle snore was all the answer she got.

Standing in the shower a few minutes later, Sarah rubbed the washcloth over her body, washing away all traces of her recent activities. When she scrubbed her breasts however, she frowned and looked down. Three red stripes lay across the top, marking her. Gently rubbing with the cloth, she experimented with how they felt. Sore but not painful, she decided. No, not even sore, more like an already fading two-day-old bruise.

With a start, she realized what had struck her last night. She’d seen pictures on the web of a woman’s ass that looked much the same as her breasts did now. Those marks had been made by a thin cane. That meant someone had caned her breasts last night. Flushing as she remembered the stinging blows against her lightly bound breasts, she washed her pussy again, fully aware that the thought had aroused her. She didn’t know if Phillip’s hand had wielded the instrument that left these lines or if someone else had, but both ideas excited her.

Someone had caned her last night. She giggled as she turned off the water. What a little slut she was becoming. Such a far cry from the prim and proper innocent she’d been just a few short months ago.

Drying and combing out her hair, she glanced at the clock and froze in momentary panic. Every Sunday morning since spending her weekends with Phillip, he had taken her to his church for their Sunday service. If the two of them were going to go this Sunday, they needed to leave within the hour.

Phillip, however, hadn’t slept at all the night before for watching over her. She felt gloriously alive today, with the energy of a dynamo. Last night’s activities had energized her and she felt she could take on the world.

So should she wake him or let him sleep? Where was the slavery line here?

The digital number on the bathroom clock rearranged itself, marking the change of a full minute. Sarah turned away. Being a slave was supposed to simplify her life, not complicate it. By turning over most of the decisions to Phillip, she had thought she’d have no worries left in life. She would be content to simply sail along at his side, bringing her own opinions into the discussion, of course, but never having to make the final, harder choices.

And yet here she was, faced with whether she should wake him for church or not and she was frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights. For crying out loud, this wasn’t even an earth-shattering decision. Leaving the bath, she went in to look at the man she loved more than anything as he lay sleeping, his hair tousled, the trace of his beard just shadowing his chin.

Another minute passed as she watched him breathe, the sheet silently rising and falling in an even, regular pattern. “Silly,” she muttered to herself as she turned on her heel and left the room. “Stand here long enough and the decision’s taken out of your hands. The clock will run down and then there won’t be enough time to get to church.”

Okay. She was deciding. He needed sleep. If he didn’t like that decision, too bad. He might choose to discipline her for making the wrong one. Well, so be it. At least she’d know for the next time. This time around, she was letting him sleep. So there.

A few items lay in the bottom of one last box she had brought with her from her apartment. The others they had dealt with yesterday, putting away and tucking things here and there as she moved, bit by bit, into his life. If she didn’t like the location of his cottage so much and all the privacy, combined with the easy distance to the nearest mall sprawl, she probably would have suggested getting rid of both their places and building something together.

But wasn’t that what they were doing? She lifted a frame out of the box and took it to the mantel. This was her favorite picture of her parents. Just an old black-and-white picture with a wide white edge, it showed a young couple entwined in each other’s arms and smiling broadly at the camera. The woman held her hand up in such a way as to show off her new engagement ring. Sarah’d had the picture framed when she had moved far from home so she would never forget the wonderful models they were.

What would they think of her becoming Phillip’s slave? Sarah snorted as she put the photo on the mantel and stepped back. Her father never quite got out of the late Fifties, early Sixties husband-as-breadwinner philosophy. He had taken care of his family because that was what men did. They worked hard, played hard and protected their own. In that, he and Phillip were very much alike.

And yet, she doubted she had ever met men so different in so many ways. Her dad tended to be gregarious, making friends easily and quickly. He also tended to anger quickly but let go of it just as fast. She never worried when her dad blew up at something, knowing he would let off his steam and be done with it. “No grudges, no punches” he always said.

And her mom? Sarah remembered seeing a copy of
The Feminine Mystique
when she was little and thinking it said,
The Feminine Mysteries
. For years she had thought it was an adult version of a Nancy Drew detective novel. Only later did she realize the importance of that seminal work. Her mom had never worked out of the house until the kids were all in college. And then she’d only gotten a job because she had been bored sitting at home all day. Many times her mother had told her, “I am
not
going to sit in this house and shrivel into some old lady. I’ve got a lot of living to do yet!” So her mom had gotten a job as a cashier in the local supermarket and loved it. Everyone in the neighborhood passed through there and she had managed to get the latest gossip on everyone.

Yeah, her parents made quite the pair. And would they understand her relationship with Phillip? In some aspects, yes, they already did. Her father approved of the fact that Phillip would keep her in comfort and the romantic in her mother loved the fact that Sarah had found true love not once but twice in her life.

Several other pictures remained in the bottom of the box and she took them around the house, setting them in different places. Breaking down the cardboard box so it lay flat, she stacked it with the others for recycling and went to check on Phillip, her stomach growling.

She felt odd walking around the house without her cuffs on. When had they become so much a part of her? Phillip kept them in the top drawer of his bureau but going digging around in there without permission felt…funny. Like she would be invading his privacy. She felt the same way about the dungeon. He had never forbidden her to go in there without him but she would never think of doing such a thing.

He rolled over onto his back when she pulled the blanket up to cover him and she stood a moment, looking her fill. Even at rest, the smooth muscles of his chest caught her eye, the strong lines leading her eye like an artist’s paintbrush to a focal point much lower on his body.

She didn’t get more than a glimpse at his cock, however, before he rolled over again, this time opening one eye, then two as his hand groped for the sheet Sarah still held. He looked in the general direction of the clock but his eyes didn’t seem to focus on it.

“What time is it?”

“I’m afraid we missed church, Sir. It’s a little after eleven.”

Yawning, Phillip stretched, giving Sarah a good, long look at those muscles in action. She loved the way they slid under the surface of his skin, hiding his strength until he was ready to use it.

“You didn’t wake me.”

“Nope. I didn’t wake you.” Kneeling beside the bed, she took her familiar submissive stance, knees slightly spread, hands clasped behind her back, chin out straight. “You needed the sleep, Sir. After watching over me all night long? Punish me if you will but I stand…erm…kneel by my decision.”