Dominated Heir 2 Ch. 07

if he seems a bit wishy washy, I still haven't settled on the perfect voice, but I'm getting there.

If the storming about and tossing things on the counter didn't give away his mood, the loud and rapid chopping and clanging of pans did. This wasn't part of a game he played. Something about me being upset bothered him to excess.

Was he so blind to the wrongness of his actions that he believed I should enjoy this? Maybe women like Sadie and my mom were the only sorts of women he'd been around. But he hated my mother with a passion. He plotted to ruin Thanksgiving for her and me.

Before he'd finished cooking, the other people left. No one spoke, they simply went out and didn't come back. I didn't cry anymore, but I certainly didn't plan to hide my emotions. I had over three weeks to go in this arrangement. I could make it work, but I wouldn't act like my mother to do it. I also wouldn't act like Sadie. This man didn't deserve a fake smile, and I didn't care if it kept him in a foul mood. Not to mention, these reactive moods of his seemed to improve his treatment of me.

He'd calmed to some degree by the time he placed the fragrant stirfry on plates and brought them to the table, placing one on the floor in front of where I remained in the kneeling position in my hideous dress.

It wasn't a coincidence that he cooked one of my favorite dishes of food. His father knew for certain and possibly shared too many details about my preferences.

At first, I ate in silence on the floor to his left. A fog of hostility seemed to engulf us both. Something about his response to my emotions made him easier to tolerate, even to forgive once I could move on with my life. Moreso to possibly understand his learned cluelessness about why I became upset.

I hadn't eaten much all day, and ate fairly quickly upon receiving the meal. Once I started to slow down, I glanced up to his stoic stare.

His attention shifted to his food and he continued to eat. What I wanted to ask would have been along the lines of how long have you been obsessed with me?

It didn't seem far-fetched given his reactions to me. I doubted he would ever admit to that even if it was true. He viewed women as possessions just as his father taught him to do. And the opportunity arose on which I could be his possession. Not that I ever would be his long-term prize.

"Have I been good today, Master?" I asked. That would have to do as my question.

"Moderately." He slouched a bit to relax and focus on me. "Is there a justifiable reason you question me, slave?"

Aside from wanting something other than this hideous dress to wear, I needed to get a decent night's sleep. "I have exams tomorrow and need to study and sleep somewhere comfortable."

Something demonic seemed to loom behind his gaze. More of his want to torment me surfacing, most likely.

I wouldn't let him own this decision by his rules, so I spoke before he could. "I've earned a night in the bed."

His left brow rose. "Are you demanding to sleep with me?"

"A request...Master."

Too quickly, he replied, "No."

I had to attack this from a different angle. "I can stay to the edge and not be a bother to you."

Agitation remained in his tightened jaw, but he shrugged. "Sleeping with me is a reward you haven't earned."

A fail on my part, but he hadn't replied with hostility. "Then please dismiss me so I can study and rest."

He continued to eat, but then passively lowered his hand and ran his fingers through my hair. "Study isn't necessary. You're already guaranteed to attain a degree with highest honors."

What he must have meant was that he had the university in his pocket and they would grant or refuse me whatever he wanted. I would graduate with honors, but not the highest. That would be ridiculous and unbelievable. He probably had the highest honors falsely planted into his educational record, but I didn't care for that.

"I haven't earned the highest honors granted by the university," I muttered.

His stroking fingers felt odd as they trailed the back of my neck no longer hidden by hair. "The only thing you've ever earned by your own merit is a spot near my feet." He made that claim with a coy casualness, as though it should be taken as a compliment.

I could mention how Sadie said he'd never shown interest in other women. He would have heard the conversation, anyway, but I didn't want to risk giving him a reason to tell Geralt to punish her.

"On the bed near your feet?" I asked, leaning closer to urge the pads of his fingers to continue through my hair. Such a sensation on my head felt wonderful, even if it was from him.

His fist tightened around the short hair, not quite capturing much at the nape. With the hold, he steered my head so I could do nothing but look up at him. "Your cunt still can't handle how hard I plan to fuck you. And a brutal breeding is all that will be happening when I let you sleep in my bed."

I'd handled the uncomfortable prodding of that machine for hours. He planned to force me to use it every damned day until I could withstand what Geralt had done to Sadie. And last night had been an intense encounter anyway.

It was my turn to shrug. "You haven't had interest all day."

"If you've been desperate to be fucked all day, why didn't you say so?" The fist that held my hair lifted, forcing me to my rear from my ankles. Why did he have to look at me with the sort of intensity that stirred my core? A passionate domination that promised pain and gratification. He'd made me go without his touch today aside from now.

He lifted until I had to stand up in front of him, then he grabbed the belt that tied the dress closed and yanked, easily opening it to expose my harnessed frontal area.

"Go ahead, Sweetheart," he hissed, also rising in front of me. He pushed the dress form my shoulders so it fell to the floor.

I'd seen a variety of competent and unstable personalities in this one man, but never this level of darkness. He might go feral.

"You're being a very bad little slave."

My chin tapped his approaching chest as he claimed my space.

I stepped backward so I didn't get knocked off balance.

He continued to bump against me, taking steps that forced me to slowly retreat. There was something primal about the way he peeled his shirt up and over his shoulders and tossed it to the side, never missing a beat in our tango. The perfection of his toned upper body so close was dizzying. The erection that hit my stomach--intoxicating.

My back hit the wall, but he still didn't stop. Like an asteroid, he swallowed up my entire field of vision, bracing his elbows above my shoulders as his face closed in on me.

"You need to surprise me with something I absolutely can't resist or suffer the consequences of your boldening little attitude." This new him excited me, though it also filled me with doubt in my own desire to test my newfound understanding of him.

Caged in against the wall, I had little option. I couldn't even lower to my knees--not that I wanted to be stuck in an eternal blow job session anyway. I could lower his pants, but any time he wanted, he could fuck me. This needed to be more than that.

I wrapped my arms around him, for the first time wanting the broad leanness. It was a nice feeling. One I'd actually needed to feel comforted after the miserable day.

He stiffened, as though uncertain of what such a foreign act of embrace was, but his erection pushed further up above my navel. This didn't turn him off. For the least I knew, it turned him on.

For me, it melted away every horrible moment he'd forced me to endure. It was someone to hold who was slightly more tolerable than my cheating ex. My ex would at least reciprocate the embrace, even if he didn't hold any genuine concern for me in his heart.

Air heated my cheekbone as his face tilted down. He spoke, but with animosity instead of intrigue. "What are you doing?"

"I'm hugging you." Now I needed to see if he had any euphoric reaction to such a simple act of comfort.

Only a glare awaited me. The sort that held deep-seated animosity--lethal, even. "Why are you hugging me?"

My arms drooped. The one thing that should make anyone relax seemed to agitate him. "I'm sorry for offending you."

But he still had me boxed in. I was at his mercy. And I'd already suffered too much at the machine to be broken by the erection threatening to break me in half.

I squirmed sideways in my effort to escape the awkward situation, but his arm landed in front of my face, bracing him to the wall and blocking me.

"Go study." He moved his arm from blocking me and stepped backward.

***

Crammed and uncomfortable in the cage, I lay on my stomach and studied. There were many things he could take away, but not my degree. I'd worked too hard to get this far for my grades to be altered. Giving me a boost seemed like another way he knew he could punish me.

And, tormenting in their own way, those thoughts kept recurring. He planned to alter my education to show his power no matter what. Be it to refuse me graduation or to alter my scores however he desired, he would have a victory.

Those were the realizations that raced in my mind as I attempted to study. They were what I fell asleep to with a book as my pillow, and they were what I awoke to when the screech of the cage door welcomed Sadie to wait like a little robot on the far end of the cage where the gate remained open.

They were the same haunting realizations that followed me into another miserable morning and tests, which I doubt were a success, then a similar day and afternoon. The only thing different; the Master didn't return. His voice never taunted me. He never saved me from the cruel machine. He didn't come to cook for me. Only me, Sadie and Geralt filled the apartment.

At best, the slave did keep me company and care for me while providing guidance for my behaviors. And Geralt had far less patience. Any balking on my part had her attached to the punishment post and either fucked or flogged or used the machine on her as punishment. What choice did I have but to do as required of me?

All of that over a hug? This loneliness and misery because I cried? What kind of person gets so worked up over human emotion? Only an absolutely horrible one who knew how to press my buttons to make me both crave and detest him.

17 CH a trim

Less than a month to go until this nightmare ended. But every minute felt like it slowed even more. And he'd done this on purpose. He'd made certain I couldn't look forward to the end. I still had to endure whatever he planned to do when I saw my mother for holiday. And he guaranteed that encounter would be a misery, starting with the salon.

The short woman with red hair who always serviced me and my mom with our hair was the biggest gossip I knew. And the manicurist came in second with a wagging tongue that exaggerated everything. That was why he scheduled for her to fit me in before my mom showed up for her coloring tomorrow--the original appointment that I would no longer be going to with her. They would have plenty to talk about, whether it be me wearing a collar and a hideous black dress or the fact that a human doll dressed as atrociously as me came with me and waited on the lounger that I had a clear view of in the mirror. Not to mention, the service went on the heir's tab.

There was one thing I didn't hate about this trip, though. Touch. It had been days since I felt a pleasant touch to my body. And nothing felt better than the head and hand massages. Especially given Sadie's touch involved whatever she was required to do for my training.

I felt a different sort of shame now. My mother had always let men do whatever they wanted to her in order to receive these luxuries. Aside from degrading men, the only caring touch to her was probably me or whoever serviced her at a spa or salon. But she had to have loved the degradation to stay with these men. Just as I missed the prick Master who'd ensnared me and toyed with me with humiliation tactics.

When I willed myself to look at my reflection in the mirror after she tugged the cape off, my hair was shorter than chin length. It wasn't a harsh line like Sadie's given my dark hair had a bit of wave, but it still appeared strange. I'd never had hair bobbed this short before.

"You know, I believe this is the best look on you yet," my stylist said, running her fingers through my styled locks. "I'm certain Xavier will agree." She prodded again for details, but I said nothing of the man who'd done everything in his power to give me emotional whiplash. A man who had no idea how to respond to a hug and who thought ice cream might make better the mental anguish after a day of misery he forced me to endure.

I had plenty of choice words about him, but not now. And certainly not in front of Sadie. And, when a tall figure in a black suit came into view in the reflection, my mind went blank. Not even so much as a thank you came to mind. I simply focused on Xavier's saunter into the spacious suite, quickly blocking Sadie's petite form from view.

He didn't have to say a word. Was it wrong of me to want his touch? To not hate him despite the fact that he deserved it. I wouldn't embarrass myself with absurd and inexplicable comfort.

He'd tormented me. Made me feel as though my world was crumbling all around me, then he came waltzing in at the perfect time to leave me at a loss for a single word.

He replaced the hairstylist behind me. His hand ran through my hair as he examined it. And he leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. "You look absolutely perfect, Sweetheart."

I despised him for sending me ping-ponging this way. But that touch of his had been missed--made worse by the loss of my cheating ex and no one to preoccupy the void. Everything came back in a tsunami of muddled emotions.

"Thank you," I replied. I still had too much dignity to call him Master in this setting.

He reached around to my chin and turned my face to his; dark eyes flaring with promise of punishment. "Thank you, what?"

Sadie came to mind, and defiance failed me. I would have liked to mock him with Xavier, but instead, I replied, "Master." I didn't pull from his grip even though I wanted to.

He slid a hand down the neckline of the uncomfortable dress, finding a pebbled peak that he pinched with force, bringing me to wince. "You have no fucking idea how much I've missed these."

I couldn't help the plea in my expression and my low beg. "Please." I knew I was about to cry. I could feel it.

He must have relished knowing my mother would hear all about how he'd sent me here in a hideous dress designed for shame. Everything had been calculated. I'd seen a different side to him, though. One that had proven to be human.

"Please..." I didn't want these people I knew seeing this. Let him humiliate me in front of his friends or my ex. But he didn't have to do this here. He cared if I was upset. I placed my hand over his where he'd dug into my dress in his intention to show his dominance.

His fingers tightened around my nipple painfully. Not the response I was going for. So much about this reminded me of the man who'd stood behind me at my kitchen table with a deal. A resentful man in need to win and willing to use all means necessary to do so.

My crying he'd sought to rectify in the past, but the hug or a simple touch to his hand went too far. Something about that act pushed him into a darkness I loathed. He could act as charming and insincere as he wanted, but an actual embrace pushed him to a primal hostility.

I did look up to him in hopes of something more than a lethal lack of compassion. To the dark eyes that bore downward lied with their claim that he was untouchable. He wasn't.

Nor was I, and nor was Sadie. Thus, for the next month, he was the most untouchable of us so he got to be the asshole I would pretend was untouchable.

He pulled my nipple, as though steering me to rise and then continuing to lead me to the lounger Sadie vacated. All I'd managed to do was give the salon gossips more horror to share with my mom. Then again, she didn't bother herself with an overabundance of concern for me.

He sat on the lounger. "Take off your dress and bend over my lap, slave."

Everything within me said to tell him to fuck off. That I was done. I could stay here. The manicurist and stylist had phones to call my mom. This Xavier didn't have me trapped in an apartment I couldn't escape. He may have had evidence I agreed to play as his slave. I couldn't file charges, but I could refuse to go back.

Sadie wouldn't suffer because I wouldn't be his to be trained anymore. My mom...she wouldn't have a home. She wouldn't have everything she'd always had. If I were to leave, her suffering was guaranteed. If I were to stay and refuse to obey him even for a minute, Sadie would suffer.

I loosened the tie at the waist of the dress and let the itchy fabric slide down my arms all the way to the floor. So this was what he wanted. A cold, uncaring, robotic woman. Someone who had no thought or emotion. What a miserable man he must have been.

I did smile. I smiled in the same way Sadie or my mom might do. Did I care that he was about to humiliate me? Of course I did. Would I show it? No. Not in ten thousand years, I wouldn't.

He focused on my face first, and then downward. All the way to my feet as I slid from the flats and then took the step forward and lowered onto his lap as far from his body as his knees would allow. I didn't want to feel his erection prodding my side or know his delight in his success at mastering me.

The other women in the room went about their business as though we weren't there, muttering things, but I knew they probably watched and took in every detail.

He hooked his right index finger into my collar and pulled downward, positioning me so my rear was positioned at an angle for his left hand to rain down cruelty. And it came down with a clap as powerful as thunder that rattled the world with shock.

How long did it take Sadie to learn this? To be punished without physical response? The force came so powerfully, I couldn't help but reach to the floor for purchase.

That reach had him wordlessly locating the clasps on my wrist cuffs and connecting them together and holding my wrists in his one hand as though he thought I might try to break free. Yet again his palm landed painfully on my backside. I squirmed and kicked. The machine was better than this. At least it was nothing more than numbed discomfort. But these smacks reverberated. They were the worst pain the prick had subjected me to to date.

After ten painful spankings, and my desperate whines, he ran his splayed hand over the angry skin. Only someone like him would admire the welts he'd caused. "Do you still feel like defying me, slave?"

Fat tears blurred my vision before falling to the floor. He didn't mind bringing me to tears this way. He had control over this, just like he had control over whether or not I would answer. "No..." I sucked in a breath to hinder any cry. "Master."

He rolled me so my rear was on his lap, landing my left side against his exuberant manhood that wanted to burst free of his suit pants. Now I had to wait, my back arched and bound wrists resting on the floor, me ridiculously looking up at him with wet puppy dog eyes as though I'd earned this punishment. I could admit to having earned it in my effort to find compassion from a man who couldn't bear to admit to himself that he was capable of anything other than control.

"Did that turn you on, slave?" he asked, unwilling to look me in the eye this time. But was he truly admiring my form stretched out upon his lap, or did he simply not want the connection my bleary eye contact would have required him?

He didn't shove a finger inside me to answer his question. Instead, he found my nub which was responsive to the first brush of his thumb. Now he decided he wanted to see my reaction as my muscles tightened and chest quivered.