tagBDSMBreaking My Own Rules Ch. 12

Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 12


I'm sure I went a deathly pale, as the books are so fond of saying. I still didn't know what the hell he meant, but it sounded far too ominous. I'd asked him what 'come home' meant, and he said he was my home now. How can a person be a home? It struck me as confining, but after all, that's what he was all about. Confining me, physically and psychologically. And damn, he was good at it. I peered out the windshield, trying to see where we were going, but all I saw was traffic and buildings and oblivious people hurrying about their own lives.

I took a deep breath, invoking the new Sky, all reasonableness and no drama. "I want out of this car right now," I said calmly.

He snorted in derision, not so different from his usual response to my drama queen ways. I edged forward between the front seats, gracing the driver with a polite smile. "Please pull over to the curb." His response was to glance in the rearview mirror at Dr. Tom. A firm hand fell on my shoulder, pulling me back against the seat.

"He works for me, you twat. Now sit still or I'll show you some rope play that doesn't involve fucking."

"What does he do for you?" I asked. Hell, if he was feeling talkative I'd take whatever I could get out of him, insults and all.

"Drives," he replied with obvious exasperation, and it was apparent that his talkativeness had come to an end. The driver had pushed a button to raise a heavily tinted privacy screen, cutting off even more of my view.

I examined the door panel again. I found a door handle finally and yanked uselessly at it; some kind of auto-lock, I assumed. I jabbed at the window button, which still refused to respond, then turned and looked into the back of the vehicle. There was something back there, covered by a black tarp sort of thing. I reached over the seat to have a peek and suddenly I was face down on the seat with my reaching hand twisted behind my back and Dr. Tom snarling in my ear. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew they were stormy again.

"Is this what your new friends have taught you? Led you to forget everything you ever learned about discipline? Made you think you were anything other than a submissive little mouse who needs to be told when to wipe her ass?" He twisted my arm harder until tears were springing to my eyes. I'd forgotten how strong he was as I had focused on his creepier, albeit less physically threatening aspects. But even pain wasn't going to let me forget my mission. I had come - well, blundered into - a search for answers and a solution to my Tom problem.

"That asshole at the club. The one that tried to rape me. Does he work for you, too?" Now I grant you it would have come out much more authoritatively demanding if my face wasn't shoved into the car seat. Still, I was proud of my focus and courage.

"I told you no. I never lied to you." He actually seemed as put off by the question as he had that night. Or perhaps it was just the unexpected non-sequitur.

"You never told me the truth, either," I mumbled into the fine Corinthian leather. "Let go of me."

"Are you going to sit still and behave?"

"Are you going to punish me?"

"Yes. See. I'm telling you the truth."

"You didn't tell me the truth when you said your name was Tom Harker," I pointed out, trying not to think about the imminent punishment.

He gave a soft chuckle and the pressure let up ever so slightly on my arm. "I never told you that was my name. You jumped to your own conclusions."

"But you... Uhm..." I hesitated as I ran back through my memories. I had to concede that, while he'd used that name in various ways and places, he'd never actually said it to me. Hell, I wasn't even sure if 'Tom' was the name he'd given me the first night we'd met. I'd been too busy trying to figure out which of my friends was his target. How was I supposed to know then that I had been his target all along. In exasperation, not to mention the fact that my shoulder was screaming for relief, I changed tacks.

"The police know about you," I said in my best dire warning voice.

"They know what? That I engage in kinky sex with willing partners? You surely saw much kinkier things at your buddy's club that night. In public. Not to mention what they would be able to see on digital recordings, should they pursue an inquiry. Did you know your friend enjoys rape scening?" He gave that a few seconds to bounce around in my brain. I wasn't even sure which friend he meant or frankly, what rape scening was, though I was pretty sure that it was more Dr. Tom's cup of tea than Randy or Francois. "You haven't answered my question, cherie."

"Uhm," I stalled, still stuck on the gossipy tidbit he'd dangled.

"Will you behave if I let you go?" he said, no patience intended.

"Do you promise not to hurt my friends?"

"You think you're in a position to bargain with me?" he asked with forced incredulity.

I studied the dusty seam in the leather seat, which was pretty much all I could see anyway and I didn't answer. His fingers tightened about my wrist and I could feel, if not see, the storm brewing again. Finally, I said, "I'm Sky. I'm not cherie anymore. I never was."

He scoffed. "You are who and what I say you are."

I tried to shake my head. "I'm not made of clay and I need you to stop trying to mold me into somebody else." I admit they were uncommonly brave words and my heart was beating faster and faster as the silence drug out, but then he released my arm and I sat up slowly, rubbing my shoulder. Funny how it hurt even worse after he let go. I was afraid to look at him. I clambered back to my original reason for seeking him out. "Please don't hurt my friends or family," I cajoled, acting the part of his cherie, at least on the surface. Whatever it took to pry a promise out of him, because he had, at the least, convinced me that he was honest in his own warped way. If something I'd said struck a note with him, well then let the song play on.

When he made no sound, I was forced to look up; expecting wrath, but finding, instead, that he was studying me like some science experiment that had gone wrong. His brow was furrowed, he was obviously annoyed with whatever he was seeing when he looked at me, but then he suddenly sat back in his seat.

"Be still. I need to ponder your punishment," he commanded.

For the rest of the drive, I chose to ponder options for my rescue; options like earthquakes, volcanoes, alien abduction, and most unlikely of all, a police vice squad. It turned out to be a long drive, and when the driver lowered the privacy screen so that a pair of rent-a-cops could see into the back seat, I realized we were in one of those ridiculously wealthy suburban neighborhoods; a gated and guarded community, no less. I'd been ecstatic when I'd been able to move into a building with an actual doorman, and that had been by and large because my brother had come to visit and then told my dad about the deplorable conditions where I had been living. Dad had popped for the security deposit and first and last to get me to move. So now I had a doorman and a diet of ramen noodles when the money ran out at the end of the month. That is, I used to. Now, all I had was Dr. Tom, at least to his way of thinking.

'Well, fine,' I told myself optimistically. Houses had doors and windows; even houses you couldn't see from the roadway as they sat on their secluded acreage. At least, I hoped they did. And what the hell kind of a doctor could afford a house like this? My dad was a doctor. He could afford season tickets for Green Bay, not a palatial mansion in - well - wherever we were.

The car paused at a remote-controlled gate set into heavy and high stone walls, as the two wings swung silently open. Then we ascended a short hill and curled back down, following a circular driveway until we came to rest in one of four garages. I couldn't help but notice two other black SUV's parked to the side of the circular drive. My optimism faded proportionately. Maybe this wasn't Dr. Tom's house. Maybe I didn't want to know who's it was.

The inside of the garage was immaculately clean and non-descript. I was frozen in the seat as the men got out. I heard Dr. Tom snap, "Get her out of there," in his usual exasperated tone, and my door opened, to the accompaniment of the other doors slamming shut. Then I was being tugged firmly out of the car by the creep I'd deemed 'The Hulk' who obviously did not consider me any threat to his brutish self-image. He didn't even look at me as he pulled me along from the garage into a lengthy hall that ran along the back side of the parking wing, with a generous helping of windows along the outer wall onto what one might call the 'back forty.' At any rate, I saw a couple of horses in a corral in the fading light. My optimism edged up half a notch. I knew how to ride, even bareback, thanks to a rural upbringing. Then I pictured me on a horse, bouncing along, being chased down by black SUV's. Crash and burn.

Dr. Tom was somewhere ahead of me, having made a turn into the house proper. "Are they here yet?" he called out to someone unseen. I didn't hear the reply, but there was major irritation in his voice when he snarled a response. "I know it's short notice. That's the whole point! On demand."

Somehow, that doorway at the end of the hall - which we were fast approaching - seemed like the point of no return. As opposed to being shoved into a locked car, or the security gates into the community, or the massive gate into - the word 'compound' flashed into my mind. I tried to pull free. The Hulk didn't even notice, just kept dragging me along toward that portal. Sure enough, the moment I crossed that threshold, it felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the building, to be replaced with something that fed my adrenalin and sped my heart. And then I was struggling with my own Drama Queen, who was pushing her way up through my throat, trying to claim control. I swallowed. Hard. It didn't take enormous brilliance to figure out staying calm and thinking hard was the only way I was going to get out of this. Whatever this was.

The doorway led into another hall, running at a right angle to the original hall, along the length of the main building. From what little I could see, it appeared to separate the living spaces from the utilitarian spaces like the kitchen. After a short way, we turned into a room that was like a large study; larger, in fact, than my whole apartment. Dr. Tom was in deep conversation with someone in the middle of the room. He gestured without even looking around and I was redirected toward a sectional couch. The Hulk seated me unceremoniously at one end then went to stand behind me. The message was clear. A woman and man were also seated about the couch. No one seemed to be overseeing them in the same way my Hulk was lurking, but then, neither did they seem to require such oversight. Their eyes were downcast and they appeared to be oblivious to their surroundings. I wondered if they were drugged, and my Drama Queen raised her head in alarm.

I looked around the room. The driver from our car had wandered off somewhere else. Dr. Tom was talking to someone in a suit, a discussion that took a lot of hand gestures on his part, betraying his exasperation, irritation and, just maybe, a bit of anxiety? On the far side of the room, a man and a woman stood, looking vaguely military. They had black tee-shirts and camo pants. The kind with lots of pockets. And hands clasped behind their backs. 'At ease!' I thought. The man looked confident and bored. The woman was staring at me, so I stared back. She gave a sneer that seemed to say 'gotcha' but then looked away. Woo-hoo! I won a staring contest.

Two more women were gestured into the room by the driver guy, who promptly turned on his heel and disappeared again. With very minimal direction, they made their way to our couch and settled themselves wherever they would be as far as possible from the other occupants, and especially me, it appeared. I noted that one of them was staring unabashedly - adoringly? - at Dr. Tom, until he glanced toward the couch, whence she immediately dropped her eyes. I dubbed her Lovelorn. The other newcomer was staring at the starer with what manifestly hearkened of jealously. Or maybe my Drama Queen was reading things into what I was seeing. I shushed the internal nag and studied the two women. Dr. Tom had said he had other subs, and I couldn't help but wonder if these were two of them. 'The Fan Club,' I deemed them, just to keep things straight in my head. Good lord, did I look at him that way when my clit was doing my thinking for me? The previous two occupants of what I'd come to think of as 'our' couch were stealing occasional peeks at the two camo soldiers, who seemed to scowl warningly at them in return. 'What the hell?' was all I could think.

I debated marching up to Dr. Tom and demanding to know what was going on, though I was pretty sure that The Hulk wouldn't let me even stand up, let alone stomp across the room. I was even considering giving Drama Queen free rein, when another camo dude poked his head into the room and announced, "They're here." Dr. Tom grasped the Suit by an elbow, in a much more sociable way than he had usually employed to guide me where he wanted. They exited the room and I felt The Hulk's hand clamp down on my shoulder, as if he expected me to try to follow. Not damn likely.

The two most recent arrivals to the couch watched forlornly as the good doctor left. The original two didn't seem to care. But once Dr. Tom was out of sight, all eyes were on me. "What?" I exclaimed petulantly.

"Just do what you're told," one of the Fan Club members hissed, softly, but in a no-nonsense way. I labeled her the Bitch. I took her measure. She obviously had spent a lot more time in gyms than me, but given that I went maybe once a year, just to please my brother when he was in town, that didn't mean a lot. On the other hand, both my dad and my brother had spent a lot of time 'training me up' to take care of myself, since Drama Queen loved to pick fights, with me reluctantly in tow.

"I'll do what I damn well please," I snapped back, and The Hulk's hand tightened painfully on my shoulder. "Ouch, let the fuck go!" Drama Queen spat out before I could counsel her on delicate negotiating.

The Hulk leaned over the back of the couch and whispered in my ear. "Do you know what a broken collar bone feels like? Because you're about to experience it firsthand." I shoved Drama Queen back down into her rabbit hole. And then I pouted. And tried to slouch out of The Hulk's reach. I needn't have bothered, though, because the minute he heard Dr. Tom's voice as the good doctor neared the door, The Hulk released my shoulder, after a swift but painful tightening meant to warn me, I'm sure. I just wasn't sure about what, save acting out.

When Dr. Tom reentered the room, he had the original Suit and three more in tow and was obviously trying to impress them. He ignored our little couch party and led them to a bookcase, rolling back a cabinet, not unlike a roll top desk, to reveal a wet bar. As he poured drinks for his guests, they continued their murmured conversation with occasional gestures and curious glances toward our couch. The Suits seemed full of questions and a touch of skepticism if I was any judge. The camo folks had not moved and if anything seemed to be standing even more at attention, studiously not looking at the new guests in the room, and just as studiously throwing warning glances at the two original couch occupants. My Hulk had actually backed up a step or two and assumed a similar quasi-military stance. I turned in my seat and looked at him. He scowled at me. I quickly turned back, remembering the feel of his heavy hand on my shoulder.

I studied Dr. Tom and his Suits (wasn't there, like, a jazz combo by that name?) They were directing even more attention our way. One was leaning lazily against the wet bar on his elbow and studying us with an air of indifference that I could tell was faked. He often shook his head at whatever Dr. Tom was telling him. And he seemed eerily interested in me, as opposed to the other three curvy, somewhat underdressed women on the couch. Another, older Suit seemed downright skeptical and studied us as if looking for contradictions to what Dr. Tom was saying. He, too, seemed to spend somewhat more time in critical observation of me. The third, younger Suit had definitely zeroed in on one of the other women, a blond with cleavage that even Dolly Parton would have envied - so of course I dubbed her Dolly. The original Suit, however, seemed all business, whatever that business was. Why, oh why, hadn't I taken lip reading, apart from the fact that it wasn't a normal offering in high school or college. They continued to talk in low murmurs even when they seemed to disagree on a point. And the longer I watched, the more certain I was that Dr. Tom was making the case for something. He occasionally gestured vaguely toward our couch.

That went on for some fifteen or twenty minutes, then, apparently, it was show time. Dr. Tom nodded toward the guy in camo who crooked a finger at Dolly. She eagerly stood and crossed the room to him, leading with her cleavage. Dr. Tom pulled an index card out of his suit pocket. Seriously. You know those little white cards that people would write their speech notes on, back in the dark ages? No PowerPoint for this guy. He was reading stats off the card, finally speaking loud enough that I could hear him. I just couldn't figure out what he was talking about.

"Age twenty-six; parents married; two siblings; IQ one thirty-six; PhD in Molecular Biology, occupation..."

I gaped. Cleavage and a PhD? Life just wasn't fair. It didn't make sense to me. She was standing there, making doe eyes at the Camo Guy until he scowled and she quickly looked down, color rising in her cheeks to outshine the healthy dose of blush already in residence. I mean, the guy was okay looking, in a football hero sort of way. But he should warrant cheerleaders fawning over him, not voluptuous PhD's with high altitude IQ's, working for pharmaceutical companies even I knew the name of.

Dr. Tom gave the Camo Guy some sort of shorthand communication, and he glanced over at the Grey Suit that had been staring at her so openly. The Suit nodded. Camo Guy turned to the woman in front of him. "Darling?" he said, waiting for her to look up. A chill went down my spine. Francois had said that cherie, Dr. Tom's nickname for me, meant darling. She looked up timidly, and he reached out to raise her chin the last little bit, with just a touch of his finger. Not the way Dr. Tom liked to grab my chin in his vice-like grip. "I want you to please the man in the grey suit with your mouth, just as I taught you. It would please me for you to please him."

There was definitely additional emphasis on 'please.' And I distinctly heard the threat of punishment to follow if she failed to please. He didn't need to say it out loud. He didn't need to say it, period, because she scurried to the Suit indicated and collapsed gracefully to her knees in front of him. She never looked up or even tried to meet his gaze to request permission. Never looked higher than his belt, in point of fact, which she rapidly and expertly unbuckled. In scant moments, she had his semi-hard dick free, licking her lips in anticipation. Then, she clasped her hands firmly behind her back and used her tongue to guide his bobbing dick into her mouth. I could see her cheeks hollow out as she sucked. He laced his fingers into her hair and pulled her hard onto his cock. I gagged at the sound of her gagging as her throat tried to accommodate him. It was probably fortunate that he wasn't fully engorged on that first thrust, because it was obvious that he'd be a veritable throat-full once he was. I stared like I was faced with a train wreck, wondering how impossibly long she could hold her breath. It seemed forever before he withdrew somewhat, and her nostrils flared as she desperately sucked in air. When he plunged in again, she was more ready, and I was grateful she had control of her gag response, as well as the fact I hadn't eaten all day, because I was one of those people readily inclined to gag in sympathy.

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