Liberated by the Pen Ch. 03

"You think I'm that simpleminded not to have secured my release Gabe? I disclosed your misdeeds to everybody. It's only a matter of time before someone notices my absence and liberates me from your tyrannical insanity. That's what this is Gabe, insanity. Foolishly repeating the mistakes of the past to achieve your desired outcome is reprehensible. It's illogical."

My head cocked sideways as I listened to the deceptions that she so generously uttered in desperation. "Amelia, we both know there's no truth to that. You informed one person, a detective who hadn't even the respect to believe your assertions. Do you think he came to question me with any sincerity or earnestness beyond some insufficient cursory queries? Do you honestly believe he surveilled the mansion?" I lied with a convincing air of conviction. "You hadn't even confided to Adam about anything beyond your desires. You remained understandably silent about us because you weren't prepared to disclose what happened and the truths that your captivity unearthed. You were protecting yourself. I understand that. You admitted it earlier that your brunch today was to share with Adam about our intimacies. Your lying isn't becoming. It's punishable."

"I won't surrender to you again Gabe. I'm finished. You may be a Dominant and I may be a submissive. But you're not my Dominant and I'm not your submissive."

She pummelled my chest ineffectually before slapping me crisply across the cheek. Her palm print scorched white against my flesh in its intensity. I gripped her wrists in reaction, preventing her other hand from striking further violence upon me. Her eyes flashed with defiance and for a brief instance, the urge of yanking her across my lap to discipline the obstinacy from her overtook me before I collected my anger and suppressed my rage. Discipline would have to be meted out as an afterthought.

I flexed my jaw attempting to dull the sting away before proceeding. My fingers still disproportionately tight on her wrist maintaining her violence in abeyance. "As I mentioned earlier, I realized that I need a gentler approach with you. It would give me no greater pleasure than to pull you across my lap and discipline you for your insubordination. You know I'm not a fan of violence little one. You and I also know that you're more intelligent than that to resort to ineffectual gestures of aggression. I'm not going to discipline you this time Amelia. Next time you injure me, you will be punished. Consider this your only warning."

I released her wrists from my grasp. She allowed them to fall into her lap, looking resigned after the chiding. She refused to meet my gaze, her downcast eyes still smarting from the scolding.

"Little one, our conversation at my office was revelatory. I love you and I now know with certainty that you love me. You would not have fucked me with such enthused abandon if you didn't have affection for me. I would never intentionally hurt the one I love."

I gathered the dress that pooled on the floor and gently shook it out, unfurling it and slipping it back onto Amelia's compliant body, zipping it back up, and smoothing the material. I placed her phone before her.

"Contact Adam and tell him you're cancelling brunch with him." My arms crossed over my chest as I loomed over her kneeling form. "I'm sure you'll be interested in hearing what I have to say."

She lifted her head then. Her enlarged eyes met mine with confusion at the sudden tenderness I exhibited. She was anticipating being disciplined. She was ill-prepared for discussion. She remained paralyzed on her knees, by the uncertainty that was swirling around her, distorting her perception of the monster she had characterized me to be, and her reality with the person I was now, mixed with the memories of our past interactions. Her mind refused to heed to the simplest of my requests. My patience though tested, remained. I knew she would eventually yield.

She was beautiful, even like this, kneeling before me. The rose of her cheeks still reflecting the arousal of moments ago. Incapacitated by indecision, she traced her fingers on the wood grain of her apartment's parquet floor. Her eyes scanned to mine and then tracked around her apartment surveying for indications of where she was, of what options existed. Her shoulders shrugged forwards with resignation as she reached for her phone and begrudgingly texted Adam and handed her device over for inspection. I puzzled over why she didn't issue out a distress signal to her beau or even attempt to alert the authorities. The first time she had been held under my keep she had fought so valiantly, physically, and mentally exerting herself to exhaustion struggling to escape my possession. Now, she so easily believed that she had little choice in the matter.

"You always have choice Amelia. You always have free will. I hoped you would have learned that by now," I reassured her, even if it didn't seem to her as if she did. I suspected that not even the illusion of choice would have provided a potent enough motivation to compel her to action. My Amelia was ever formidable, but surprisingly naïve.

Adam responded immediately and I typed a message on Amelia's behalf stating that they would speak about it later, reassuring him that nothing was amiss, and that Amelia would reschedule for brunch at a more appropriate instance.

My hand extended in invitation to Amelia to accompany me on her sofa. She needn't be shackled to my will. It was crucial that Amelia hear the purpose of my visit with her faculties intact, and her logic unencumbered. She brushed my hand away with restrained indignance and propped herself up before she hesitantly settled in the far corner of the sofa, glancing at me leerily.

"You're not going to restrain me with the sofa straps, right?" Amelia's fingers cautiously circled her wrists as if her actions could pre-emptively prevent their enslavement.

"No little one. The straps aren't a consideration this time. In fact, they're an impossibility." It pained me that my girl looked at me with such apprehension and caution. There was no impetus in me to hurt her. I reached for her hand, my thumb tracing the pad of flesh, before enlacing my fingers with hers. "I want you to listen to me carefully with an open heart Amelia. Do you remember that evening when we lay in bed, our masks slipped, and you told me you'd stop running. I confessed to you that I'd stop pursuing you. We need to be honest with ourselves little one, or at least you deserve to receive my honesty."

Amelia nodded, allowing me to continue my confession, my penitence now more difficult to communicate as she sat across from me, her presence a surprising deterrent to truthfulness.

"That moment has perpetually haunted me because of its authenticity. It revealed a window into your soul. Notwithstanding the obstacles you faced, despite what you had suffered and tolerated at my hand, you had developed feelings for me. It was unavoidable upon contemplation. I was your Dom, commanding you to pleasure and unrealized passion nightly. I knew your body. I could readily predict how it would respond to my sexual ministrations before you understood the way your mind engaged with your kinks. That was to be expected. But beneath your words, there was something breathlessly intense and genuine about what you disclosed; it revealed a depth of affection for me that wasn't a platitude to actuate your release, though it may have reluctantly left your lips."

My hand reached across and cupped her cheek. "I know you love me, Amelia. You know I love you." The heat of her flesh pressed gently against my palm. I saw the tear slip from her eye before she had an opportunity to suppress it. I recognized the maelstrom of emotions she was attempting to deny, the wrongness of our relationship given its inception, the deceitfulness of its foundation, and the despicableness of my actions.

It was on Amelia's sofa that I laid bare my soul. I confessed to her of how the suffocating restrictions of my parents had stifled my sexual awakening and how their efforts to enforce an ethical sense of self that veered away from my dominant tendencies rooted in kinky sex created a particular sensitivity to the suppression and denial of sexual wants in myself and others. It was why I insisted upon confidence and courage and pride in sexual yearnings. It was why I was compelled, if not obsessed, to introduce her to a world of her fantasies that she was too terrified to participate in. It was difficult to tolerate seeing someone so obviously destined to revel in the sexual pleasures of submission, instead abandon her fate. The suffocating weight of an externally imposed abstention was forgivable. Her willing embrace of self-denial was not. I couldn't fathom the rationalizations that underscored her single-handed campaign to disincentivize her own desires. It was why I was induced into action, for her betterment, rather than witness her suffer in the darkness of her design.

She appeared intrigued by my admission of my latex doll fantasy, and the significance of the comic book and what it meant. Its impact on my sexual soul was as similarly important as how her comic of Yuki had been so seminal in fomenting and satisfying her sexual appetites. My fantasy of finding a woman to share my life in consenting debasement informed much of my action. I had hoped it would be my Amelia, my Lolita, my little one. I attempted to effectively convey to Amelia how the vulnerability of being challenged in my sexual desires triggered an anger in me, that day in the den, and then again in the office when she came to confront me. But it had also caused introspection.

"It doesn't excuse what I've done to you little one. I fully concede the vileness that prompted your abduction. But I hope you can understand that malice never underscored my intentions. I was always endeavoring to undertake what I thought was right by you based on my own understandings of, perceptions about, and interactions with kink, regardless of how patronizing those activities seemed. We're kin in the sense that like you, I've also had a difficult past, a past that was never permitted to flourish or even be acknowledged, despite the objective absence of shame surrounding our actions. My parents to this day would not accept what we do. The contempt would drip from their disgusted faces if they knew that I liked to tie up women and fuck them senseless with any myriad of toys shoved up their orifices. My mother would be personally affronted and sit me down for yet another scolding."

"Is that why you think I'm resilient, because of your own tribulations with confronting your sexuality?" Amelia's voice was so tender in its inquiry.

I couldn't interpret the intentionality behind her statement. But then she offered me an encouraging smile. I nodded. She did understand me and us. Our eyes met and long moments passed as she absorbed the import of my words, mulling their significance about me, about her, and of our relationship. In an instant, sincerity transformed to scorn. The derision that was written across her face was scorching in its condemnation. She laughed hysterically at me then, a mocking tone of censure that cut through the stillness of the room with its glacial disdain.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she screeched at me. "Poor privileged Gabriel Magnussen, with his upper middle-class parents not letting him masturbate to his latex suit in the safety of his room, feels affronted by the restrictions imposed by his academic mother, and feels slighted because you couldn't be who you wanted to be until your millions allowed you privacy to fuck whoever you wanted?"

The shrillness of her invectives stunned me. The level of mutual understanding I thought was generated from sharing the significance of my intensely personal history with her was all for naught.

"Are you implying that your sexual hardships should be mitigating factors for your wretchedness? What about my fucking life Gabe? My fucking life? Do you think I've had it easy? You don't see me abducting you and making you my boytoy because of my experiences in the foster system. Who the fuck does that? You don't get a say in how I live my life. If I want to ignore my sexual fantasies for the rest of my life, that's my prerogative. Not yours."

She stood up then, pacing across the room, her hands wiping her face with long, deliberate strokes before she braced herself against the windowsill. "I'd fucking reach for a knife and stab you now if I knew they weren't all props."

She stood by the window, her figure silhouetted by the intensity of the sun's illumination. A disfigured shadow cast against the room's side wall, and I walked towards her, enveloping my arms around her from behind. Our silhouettes projected jagged shadow puppets against the wall's whiteness. I softly turned her head to face me.

"Little one," I began tentatively as I stroked her hair, my words careful in their execution, "I thought you would enjoy the fantasy of being kidnapped. I had proposed it on multiple occasions. Don't you remember the numerous nights we played online in which abduction was a pivotal part of your fantasy. I thought I was providing that to you Amelia. I imprisoned you out of love, not selfishness, though my retention of you was bred of the latter. Your capture wasn't meant to be malicious. It was meant to be a short respite for us, a week or two at maximum where we would connect with one another in mutual gratification. I wanted to provide you with the experience of your abduction in a safe capacity. But you were so stubborn, as was I."

I knew that my explanation of Amelia's own culpability in her abduction, and her incessant confessions of her desire, combined with her refusal to extend beyond her cloistered sense of security was challenging for her to admit, if not insurmountable to transcend and accept. I told her of the service I thought I was providing her, of opening her world when night after night I witnessed her sequester herself from life due to her panic. My eyes beseeched hers with a look of imploration, and an expression of intense love, searching her soul for permission to continue and a promise for forgiveness.

Instead, her eyes narrowed in response, and she abruptly yanked herself from my arms. "You fucking kidnapped me Gabe because you thought you were doing me a favour, some sort of sexual public service? Think about what you've confessed to me."

She took a few steps back. Her body seethed with a rage that reverberated from her tightly clenched fists, up to her parted lips that exhaled with a particular vehemence. Her hand reached back, randomly grabbing for a potential weapon. She gripped the pair of scissors from her desk and swung them wildly at me, managing to slash my upturned palm in self defense. I turned my hand around, watching the blood drip from the small, superficial gash on my opened palm. My eyes lifted to see her flaring nostrils, a feral ferocity of hatred that was no longer rooted in fear, but loathing. The opened blades were poised for another downwards strike.

She mockingly laughed at me then again, tarnishing the sacredness of my confession. I was as much a victim as she was. I fell prey to her manipulations, a casualty to her misconceptions. She led me on, pretending to be my submissive online, playing the part of being mine without seeking the emotional entanglement that inevitably occurs. She manipulated my emotions as much if not more, than I had hers. She was more selfish than I ever was, seizing what she wanted without consideration for how her actions would affect anyone. Her lack of regard for anyone except her own pleasure was galling, using me for what she wanted. I may have abducted her to better her life, but she refused to take responsibility for her own complicity in prompting me to action. The metallic tang of blood coated my tastebuds as my gritted teeth inadvertently bit the inside of my cheek in simmering rage.

Before she could strike, I twirled her around with such abruptness, squeezing her wrist as she dropped the scissors in shock. Her body floundered forwards from my hold as I forced her onto her knees, pinning her wrists to the small of her back while I searched for something to restrain her. I finally lashed her wrists together with my leather belt, cinching her tight. Walking around, I gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet my narrowed ones.

"I warned you Amelia about your violent outbursts." I yanked the belt with a vicious tightness, and she winced with a strangled groan as the leather dug into her wrists.

I left her on her knees, bent slightly forward, arms bound behind her back as I tended to my wound in the bathroom. With each stinging wipe of the disinfectant, my anger swelled exponentially. I marched back to her waiting form, my tongue prepared in retort.

"Do you fucking think you're an innocent party in this Amelia? Sir this and Sir that. Being mine with a selfish callousness without regard to my emotions? Forwarding me photos and videos of you in various states of undress and sexual debasement every goddamn day. Greedily seeking your own pleasure at the cost of mine? We fucking played together online every goddamn night Amelia. Did you really assume cloaking your face from me but baring your cunt, your ass, your breasts would absolve you from responsibility? Hungering to be dominated so desperately but being too cowardly to say you were mine, even though you and I both realized the reality of our interactions? You weren't sending videos of you fucking your own ass to other Doms. Do you know why? Because you were fucking mine and you knew it."

My rage welled up then. I was always contrite in service of my actions, yet Amelia never once recognized her own involvement in our relationship. My fists tightly clasped together, my fingers pulling my knuckles inwards. My lips pursed in a thin line. My breaths, deep, raggedly disjointed in their accelerated hitches. The audacity she displayed at her own complicity, refusing to acknowledge what a tease she was.

I bent down, whispering, my breath scorched the back of her ear. "Do you remember Amelia what you said to me? 'The fantasy of abduction is so sexy Sir,'" I derisively chimed in a singsong voice, imitating her previous words to me. "'Would you hole me up underground somewhere until I surrendered? Do you think you'd even be able to force me to be yours Sir?'" I allowed her own words to form resonance in her ears. "'I love the powerlessness of it all,'" I assailed her with my parroting words, mocking her own desires. "There's nothing honourable in me Amelia? Where's your honour?"

The scrutiny of my eyes met hers. Rather than the savage defiance that bore into me moments earlier, I instead witnessed something I'd never seen before, a sense of contrition, regret even that penetrated through her defenses. The tears clinging precariously to her cheek traced the curve of her chin before dripping down to settle in a sliding line beneath the top hem of her cleavage.

Now was the opportune time, when the fortress of her defences was weakening, where she could begin to envision our path and accompany me in forging ahead. I scooped her up in my arms, carrying her to her bed, placing her gently on her back. The heat of my body warm against her prone form, as my chest pressed against hers. Propped on my forearms, my fingers swept the errant strands of hair, tucking them away from her face. My thumb gently contoured the graceful swell of her cheekbones. I studied her with an uncomfortable intensity before my lips found hers, hungry to consume the newfound feelings she was experiencing. She evaded the feathery soft touch of my lips initially until she ceded to my mouth and its breath of possession. Her tongue tangoed in a dance, winding insistently with mine, probing, unearthing, inspecting in its tension. Our kiss, suctioning and hungry in its vigour.