Sybil Disobedience

Sybil Disobedience

A Taboo Wishes Story

By Brynn Paulin

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Sybil Disobedience
Copyright © 2012 Brynn Paulin
Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Juli Simonson
Cover art by Les Byerley,
www.les3photo8.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-468-0

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: February 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

To Mr. Inspiration

Prologue

Kellon Marecek stared at Sybil, his girlfriend and sub, in disbelief as she stood just inside the front door of his apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.

“…So, I think it’s best if we end things here,” she was saying.

He held up a hand to stop her. “Why?”

“You know why. What have I been telling you? What have I been telling you for weeks?” she retorted.

She looked down at the floor, and her fingers tightened on her upper arms, gouging in and reminding him that this was difficult on her. It would be difficult for any sub—basically telling off her Dom. But then, she was relieving him of that duty, wasn’t she?

“I need more than you’re giving me,” she said finally. “I can’t force you to—” She drove a hand through her short, spiky hair. “God, I sound like a complete ungrateful masochist when I say this. I need you to spank me. I need that pain and the promise of that discipline, and you won’t give that to me. You refuse because of your past. I understand. I get that. But it doesn’t change my needs.”

“Sybil—”

“No. We’ve hashed this over and over,” she interrupted, tossing up her hand again. “It’s over, Kellon.” She turned and reached for the doorknob.

“Sybil!” he tried again, grabbing her arm. “I command you to stop.”

She tensed beneath his hand. Slowly, her head turned, and the pitying look in her eyes cut him dead. Stunned, he let his arm drop and backed a few feet away. She was out the door before the finality of the situation finished careening through him. Red-hot anger followed as her car started and tore recklessly down the street.

Raging, he stormed through the house, his hands fisted and his entire body vibrating with the need to punch something, to scream his fury. What could he do? Tell her how wrong she was and sound like a grasping fool? His fingers turned white on the doorframe of his bedroom, his vision dimming at the sight of Sybil’s present draped over the corner of his bed.

Her gift for their one-year anniversary.

His concession to both their needs.

His silent proclamation that he’d come to terms with his past.

A flogger.

Grabbing it, he flung it across the room, spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t over at all.

Chapter One

“Sybil.”

Sybil Anderson stiffened at the sound of the deep, authoritative voice, instinctively responding to the man who’d once commanded her—until she’d broken up with him three months ago.

Kellon Marecek. Even without looking at him, a quiver assailed her middle, and moisture lubricated her pussy. If she glanced up, she knew she’d see his mouthwatering, wide shoulders and slim hips clad in black. The polo-style shirt would be stretched over his thickly muscled arms and chest. It would be slightly loose over his flat belly and would be tucked neatly into his utility pants that fastened over the generous bulge of his flaccid cock—a cock that was made for such pleasure. And his face, his dark hair would curl over his brow and point her attention to his turbulent, condemning, blue eyes.

Yeah, that’s what she’d see. Steeling herself, she refused to so much as peek at him.

“Kellon,” she returned in the same tone then turned to walk off. It sucked that they worked at the same place,
The Dungeon
, her as a costuming consultant and him as the head of security. It seemed as if she ran into him all the time—more so now than when she’d belonged to him. She didn’t pretend that it was her imagination. He was stalking her. And that ramped up her arousal for him.

Not good. She wasn’t going back to being his sub—not to a halfway Dom who refused to get rough with her when she needed it. And she frequently needed it. Naughty was her middle name.

He tied her down, gagged her, commanded her, but could she get even a nipple clamp or a spanking? No. Considering he acted like such a big, tough security guy, he was by far the gentlest lover Syb had ever encountered—and she could have accepted that if not for the somewhat twisted up psyche inside her that demanded the full-on kink of pain for pleasure.

She needed his hand clapping down on her ass.

He
needed
it, too, whether he admitted it or not.

Syb sensed it just vibrating there beneath his skin, and she hungered for it, like a famine victim needing meat.

“Don’t,” he commanded, catching her arm and drawing her back to him. She glared up at him, ignoring his perfect, angular bone structure, sexy scruff, midnight hair and blue eyes—all the things that made her wet and begging whenever she looked at him.

Hardening her gaze and hiding her need, she glared at him. “Kellon, I have work to do. It might be okay for you to wander around, but I have appointments all day.”

“Until when?”

She wrenched her arm away. “That’s not your business.”

“You will always be my business,” he growled, his faint Southern accent becoming more pronounced as his anger crept up on them.

“No,” she retorted. “I’m not. I think I’ve made that pretty clear.”

His fingers clenched, and she imagined them around her arm. His jaw locked, and she saw fury in his eyes before he shielded it from her. She suspected he had a lot to say about this situation, but they both knew this wasn’t the time or the place. The time was a year ago, and the place wasn’t her workshop in front of surveillance cameras. If she had her way, they’d never discuss this again because she’d heard all of it for months. His tune never changed.

If only he’d bend her over her desk, yank down her panties and paddle her. She pressed her thighs together as she imagined him fucking her, right there, cameras or no, his hand smacking down on her ass as he plunged in and out of her body.

Trembling, she took a shaky breath. Good lord, she needed to find a new guy! She had to stop fantasizing about Kellon behaving the way
she
demanded. It wasn’t up to her. She was a sub, and she couldn’t force him. That was the main reason she’d stepped away. More and more, she’d found herself trying to top him from the bottom, trying to get their relationship to go the way
she
wanted it, instead of the way he dictated it. Their differences of wills had been a disease eating at the union. It would have destroyed them both.

They desired different things from a D/s relationship, and that was the crux of the problem. She couldn’t change him and what he needed; she couldn’t change what she needed. The only option had been to step away, to attempt to remain friends and forget being lovers, but Kellon tenaciously fought that.

“We need to talk after work tonight,” he told her.

“Can’t,” she replied. “I have a date.”

His fingers caught her chin, biting into her skin as he forced her to look at him. She almost groaned at the false promise in the grip.

“Who?” he demanded.

“My new Master.”

“You do not have a new Master,” he growled and another aroused tremble rolled through her.

“I do,” she insisted. “You know what I want. He’s willing to give that to me. My ass still feels so…
good
.”

It was a lie, and she instantly regretted it when pain and disbelief filled his face at her betrayal. He hid it quickly. “Who is it? You haven’t been with anyone.”

“He’s not from
The Dungeon
.”

Kellon stared into her eyes, and she fought to defiantly meet his gaze. His face darkened with anger, a nerve pulsing near the corner of his eye. He jerked his hand away, and she stumbled backward a few steps.

“I don’t believe you,” he informed her. He breathed harshly as his emotions got the better of him—a rarity, and she knew it. “I
will
see you this evening, and you had best be truthful with me then. I have had
enough
of this.”

He spun away, and stormed off, slamming the door to her work area as he departed. Reverberating silence and pain and, yes, desire surrounded her. Seeing him every day was like flaying off strips of her skin, bit by bit. It cut into her creativity, sleep and her every waking thought. Soon, there’d be nothing of her left to fight him.

Perhaps, it was time to leave
The Dungeon
and find other work. She loved costuming subs for their fantasies with their Masters, but maybe she should investigate opening the lingerie and more shop she’d considered from time to time. Hell, she could even look into working at one of the local theaters. Anywhere, but here.

Echoing, hollow agony ached within her. Part of her wanted to capitulate and be with Kellon, but he deserved a girl who wanted his brand of domination. Syb wanted both more and less.

Before he’d taken her life by storm, she’d experimented a lot, and she knew what she wanted. She’d always laughed and said, “Once you go smack, you never go back”. And then she’d hooked up with Kellon. It underlined her mantra. She’d thought she’d be okay. She had her perfect man. So what if he wouldn’t engage in the same kink she wanted? It hadn’t taken long to learn the truth. They were too different. More and more she’d grown dissatisfied. She loved him, and she refused to keep trying to change him. It wasn’t right. He was who he was. And sadly, she was who she was, too. It broke her heart, but she’d had to cut him loose, whether he’d wanted that or not. Neither of them could be fulfilled when they wanted different things.

She didn’t want to be “smacked around”, but she did like the spanking part of submission, the pain of a well-placed clamp or a perfectly timed pinch. Kellon refused to go down that road. As time had worn on, she’d become convinced that perhaps she was holding him back from the right sub—someone who’d appreciated his brand of discipline.

And that was the thing… The more he’d sensed she wanted something else, something of increased intensity, the harsher he’d gotten. There was a fine line between Dom and asshole, and Kellon had been crossing consistently over that line.

It wasn’t him. Even Kellon had agreed with that assessment.

Her hand fisted a dress hanging on a rack near her desk. Her head bowed. Kellon still considered himself her Dom, even when she claimed he wasn’t, even when she professed to have a new one. He’d gnaw at that like a rabid dog and ferret of the truth in nothing flat. She’d have to present proof and make him believe.