Liberated by the Pen Ch. 04

As he caused my back to arch, he licked up my neck. "So, has Meli missed my touch? It certainly seems like she has."

I craved the solace that misguided rationalization provided, and I convinced myself that I missed Adam, desperately so. I wriggled out of Adam's hold to my knees, pulling his zipper down, hauling his cock out, as my small fingers wrapped around his lengthy manhood, and I manipulated him to hardness. My eyes cast upwards to his increasingly glassy stare with each slide of my hand.

His head only drifted backwards to the seat cushion; his eyes no longer able to sustain the heaviness of drunken pleasure as my mouth encased the bulbous head of his cock and I began fellating him. My tongue lightly danced as it swirled around his meaty head before I slid upwards to accept more of his length into my wet, willing mouth. Hands and fingers entangled in my hair as he brought me closer to his groin, forcing his cock deeper into me. I gagged before I forced my throat to relax and gurgled, permitting him full entry into my throat and he hammered into me, until he abruptly pulled out, his scrotum slapping against my chin, spittle and saliva hanging precariously to drip down and moisten my clothed chest.

"What is it you want Meli? You'll have to ask."

My mouth was still slick with drool and the taste of him permeated my senses. I only bit my lip, pondering. "I want you to remind me of who I am." I needed to personify my pleasure, to receive a resolute indication that I could derive joy from others beyond Gabe. That I wasn't ruined by him. That he was wrong; I wasn't his.

"Stand," was all Adam declared.

I obeyed, holding my position until he gestured for me to remove my clothing. Though warm, my flesh prickled instantly from Adam's inspection. He circled my body slowly, his fingertips horizontally trailing across my skin with a deliberately languid series of caresses. When his thumb and index finger rubbed my nipples, they immediately stiffened. When his fingers reached inwards into my sex, he found dampness. When his finger pushed past the ring of resistance into the tightness of my ass, I only shuffled forwards from the intrusion but held position, nonetheless.

"I recall how amazing your ass felt wrapped around my cock Meli, how tight it was as you orgasmed and spasmed around my flesh. Do you want to get fucked with my long, hard, cock?"

His erection slapped the back of my thighs. His rhetorical query didn't permit a response.

"No Meli. I think what's in order is for you to get fucked by your own hand, because it pleases me. I wish to feel how your body writhes as you bring yourself to pleasure for my enjoyment, while my finger remains in your ass, and the heat of my chest bears down on you, searing my dominance against your flesh."

His free hand swept up my chest, cupping my breasts.

"Why will you touch yourself for me Meli?"

I felt small then, suddenly shy as I stammered out a response. "Because you want me to. Because I'm submissive. Because I want to please you."

"Is that the only reason Meli?" His fingers drummed against my skin.

"Because I want to," I whispered.

I felt the curl of Adam's lips on the nape of my neck. His breath was warm. "Never forget that you always have the power Meli. Don't permit yourself to entertain otherwise."

Adam was parroting what Gabe had reminded me of earlier. It seemed such a foreign assertion when I was abducted, and the sense of powerlessness was glaringly pervasive. But the statements resonated. I did have power. I oversaw my destiny.

"Because I want to," I murmured with restrained believability. My hand drifted to between my thighs as my fingers caressed my own clitoris, cupping and clawing inwards with a frantic flurry of fingers as the thickness of Adam's finger pushed ever inwards into my ass. As my hand manipulated myself to greater heights of pleasure, another of Adam's fingers brushed against my tight hole, forcing itself to join its brethren. His two fingers felt unforgivingly full in the tightness of my anal canal, and I could only imagine what Gabe might think if he could see me now, playing with a man who wasn't him, a mere day after he insisted on my devotion.

My breathing accelerated as my body pulsed in need, and the gyration of my hips intensified, encouraged by the proximity of thinly clothed flesh titillating my back. As the pace of my fingers increased, the initial pangs of rippling desire crested to another plateau. Adam's fingers wriggled and my own doubled their pace propelling me towards the certainty of culmination.

I felt his other hand grip his own cock as he massaged his manhood in rhythm to the stuttering pulses of my own hips. The tickling sensation of pubic hair and fingertips lightly brushing against the back of my thighs enflamed my own libido, as was hearing his own deepening breaths in response to my burgeoning excitement. The warmth of his breath on my ear as he worked towards his own release stimulated my own motivations to please him.

"Not yet," Adam commanded me to resist the urge to orgasm as he hadn't yet reached the edge of his own climax. There was something intensely erotic that I was naked, and Adam was still clothed except for his exposed manhood.

My body trembled as it resisted my body's natural inclination, all the while feeling the scorching heat from his hands as he grew to swollen, pulsating fullness under his own manipulations. His hips jerked increasingly erratically against the back of my body as his breathing sped up. I felt the first spurt of his ejaculate, hot and clinging on the back of my thighs as he painted his pleasure onto my naked flesh, in streaks of translucent stickiness. As the gelatinous viscosity slid agonizingly leisurely down my leg, Adam leaned in, nuzzling against my ear.

"Come for me," was all he whispered. His voice forcefully reverberating in my ear.

And I did. His free hand gripped around my waist as I started convulsing, my sphincter squeezing his fingers painfully tight as I spasmed through the contractions of my orgasm. The groans released from my mouth in a shriek as I stumbled forward and wailed.

"Mmm, so tight Meli, the way your ass strangles my fingers as you climax. I bet your cunt is still pulsing with need."

He directed me to the sofa then, his fingers never departing the darkness of my rectum as he positioned me somewhat awkwardly on my back, legs spread for his edification. He remained silent as he battered his fingers into my ass. Words were unnecessary. His actions communicated his intent clearly. He gripped my chin tight with his other hand, preventing me from averting his gaze, and forcing me to acknowledge that I was operating under the purview of his discretion, but my consent. I had asked for a reminder of my place, and he was enforcing my chosen sense of submissiveness at the dominating hand of another.

Adam made no provisions to pressure me; he allowed me to dictate the pace of my hips, the clenching of my thighs, the squeezing of his fingers in my anal canal. I rotated my hips in syncopation with Adam's roving digits. My eyes remained on him, envisioning how erotic it would be to be his submissive. My endeavours proved unsuccessful as I couldn't emotionally and mentally summit to the next plateau of pleasure. It felt foreign and traitorous to have another man's fingers in me, to have another man's gaze bear down on me, to be painted in another man's fantasies. But a mental blockade existed, one that I could not will my body to transcend.

I squeezed my eyes momentarily and then I heard the faint echo of Gabe's voice reverberate in my ears, "I'm going to fuck you in the ass Amelia, right here, in the open. We're not going to leave until you climax...you'll enthusiastically take it up your ass." The intensity of Gabe's visage materialized before me, the quickness of his hands as he jackhammered the stack of anal beads in me, the way his semen had painted my face with its possession and scent.

Adam sensed a change in my body and redoubled his efforts, gripping my chin even more indelicately, forcing my eyes back from the faraway reverie my mind had drifted to in ecstasy. My body arched upwards as I was finally rewarded with my climax, my mind hazily visualizing the praise in Gabe's eyes as I bid his every directive. My thighs shook as my body collapsed back onto the cushions, and I finally closed my eyes in abject shame. Adam's fingers withdrew, and he snuggled against me, the litheness of his body contorting with mine in pulsing warmth.

Though I tried to conceal my mental weakness and susceptibility, my tears wet the front of Adam's shirt.

"It's okay Meli. It's perfectly acceptable to weep from the intensity of an experience you've probably deprived yourself of."

Adam thought the unexpected salinity tracing the swell of my cheeks and dripping into the reservoir of my clavicle was a product of a euphoric release. But unbeknownst to him, it was an acknowledgement of a profoundly troubling realization that what Gabe portended was accurate. I was immutably his; no other man could claim possession of another man's property, and I couldn't dislodge the miasma of Gabe's possession over my very being and body. I knew Adam's approach was intended to remind me of my willingness and volition to surrender power unto him, but it reinforced the manner that Gabe innately and expertly plied my body with pleasure, and Adam's somewhat sophomoric acquaintance with my mind.

I tried to cast off the essentialism that my body was intrinsically predisposed to be Gabe's due to characteristics that were unassailable. But I thrilled under Gabe's possession and command, that neither time nor distance not intentionality could abate. I yearned to be held captive by him, my every need met and exceeded by his intuitive touches, and his intrinsic connection with my submerged desires. Divulging my needs was unnecessary. Gabe frequently recognized my requests before I dared articulate them even to myself, whether that was accepting how humiliation at his hand enflamed my libido, or acknowledging that being on my knees in service to his cock provided pangs of pleasure that were unrivalled by others.

The thought of granting Gabe the smug satisfaction made me internally wretch with indignity.

"Thank you, Adam," I murmured. "This means something to me," I sighed softly.

I didn't see it, but I sensed his contentment. Adam stayed overnight and while I didn't slip to my knees again, he did deliberately seek the touch of my lips as his hand wound around my shoulders pulling me into the heat of his body. We didn't consecrate our reconnection that night. His kindness prevented him from succumbing to his baser instincts. He attempted to remind me who I was, without the selfishness of total bodily possession. Adam told me that night that he wanted to gift to me what I seemed to require without writing upon my body in a manner that thieved from me something that he wasn't convinced I was prepared to yield.

"You can submit for me in whatever fashion you need Meli. I don't need to sleep with you to provide for your needs. I'm here for you in whatever way you need."

I never divulged my past to Adam, or my recent trauma with Gabe, though he indirectly inquired, but never prodded that evening. Gabe's forced revelation made me query everything that had seemed sacrosanct. Adam was ever respectful of my boundaries, my capabilities, and me. The surprising altruism of Adam's actions contravened the selfishness of Gabe's tactics. Of all things Adam did for me that evening, he reminded me of my humanity, and my enduring value beyond that of a man's sexual toy, to be used, before being discarded.

However, the phantom of Gabe's dominance lingered. I drifted to sleep that evening in Adam's arms, my ear comforted by the steady syncopation of his heartbeat and the exhalations of his chest as he attempted to ward sleep at bay until he knew I had allowed dreams to claim me. His presence at the vanguard of my thoughts, pillowy and comforting to substitute the sharp edge of unease that I retained even in rest.

I listened for long moments as Adam's breathing slowed and deepened into unconsciousness. When the surety of slumber assured a captive, sympathetic audience whose judgement would remain unrendered by unconsciousness, I whispered to his chest, "I want to tell you about a man who I was involved with before you. I owe it to you as that relationship has profoundly affected who I am, how I behave, and my interactions to date. It explains so much about me."

I explained Gabe's abduction of me; my lack of mental fortitude and eventual breakdown in the ersatz apartment; my surrender to Gabe's every carnal desire and the embrace of my own; my enthusiasm at capitulating to my every sexual fantasy that I had penned while held captive that I knew would be realized regardless of how my sexual avarice was morally objectionable. The expression written across Adam's countenance never changed as I informed him of my resistance and my persistent manipulations to actuate my liberty, how I had attempted to flee, and finally feigned being fragmented or perhaps had been broken into defeat to eventually enact my release. A partner in lamentation was what I desired given the futility of reporting Gabe to the detective who hadn't brought any charges or even investigated with any conviction.

"I led him on Adam," I whispered the truth so haltingly, terrified that admitting it at a louder decibel would increase the culpability that I now guardedly acknowledged. "That's why he imprisoned me, to demonstrate to me who I was. I was complicit in it all. And I inexplicably love him. It's wrong, and contemptible. And now he's given me an untenable proposition of which choice seems only an illusion, to live under the auspices of voicelessness and servitude."

Adam never stirred through my confession. His breathing never altered. His soft exhalations never ceased. The confidentiality of my complicity was protected as was my dignity intact in his eyes. I felt the imperceptible squeeze on my arm, and for a terrifying moment, I imagined Adam had only feigned exhaustion and had heard my confession.

Adam departed the following morning ensuring that I would contact him soon. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead and held me tight. "Be safe Amelia." He peered at me with such intensity as if through the depths of my soul, as if he had been privy to the careless utterings of a heavy heart confided under duress and guilt.

I spent the following days in a peripatetic listlessness, travelling to the unforgiving darkness of my psyche while pacing aimlessly in my small abode, engendering a state of turmoil that matched the sleepless nights that bred continual uncertainty and a loathsome sense of apprehension that clung to me like an apparition, ever omnipotent but invisible. I fretted on what Gabe's next move would be. But he hadn't come to imprison me again like the spectre of kidnappings past on the fifth day as was foretold. Nor had he darkened my door by the tenth day. By the twentieth day, both his proposition and his ominous threat faded into mere words on paper that had seemingly become powerless in their potency to affect me.

I contacted the detective, nonetheless, unwilling to abandon the potentiality of Gabe's appointment with justice. He took my statement and claimed he'd investigate my allegations. When I queried whether he had even gone to question Gabe previously, he assured me he had, but hadn't been able to substantiate my prior accusations. Even in his surveillance of the mansion, nothing incriminating was unearthed. My statement, without corroboration, was insufficient in proceeding forwards.

"Ms. Wright," the detective warned, "if I were you, I'd stay away from him. Nothing good can come from maintaining contact. Forge a life for yourself, independent of him. You and Mr. Magnussen have clearly experienced a dissolution of sorts. I understand that relationships of your nature can be delicate."

The last vestiges of hope disintegrated with the detective's words. I hadn't the wherewithal to be privy to what deceptions Gabe had communicated to him, but his tale was convincingly spun that the detective conceived of my experience in captivity as a misunderstood tryst between lovers, rather than a criminal enterprise between captor and victim.

"We didn't have a relationship," was all I could muster in response.

I continued to spend time with Adam, trying to convince myself that my feelings for Gabe would recede with both distance and time, and that the hatred commandeering my logic and sanity would be placed in abeyance; my life would continue under a hard-achieved moratorium of peace. I wanted to be truthful with Adam, but I couldn't dissociate myself from the feelings of inadequacy, insincerity, and emptiness that pervaded my existence.

Adam's tongue would grace my body with a lightness in touch most evenings. "Close your eyes and just feel Amelia. Stop thinking," he would encourage me.

Every instance I played with Adam felt unexpectedly unfulfilling, hollow even. My attempts to mentally replicate the vulnerability that bred a welcomed sense of titillation and exhilaration fell inevitably short. Adam could skillfully bring me to climax, but the technicality in its execution lacked the emotional gratification I typically experienced with Gabe. The Sturm und Drang that so typified my emotions with Gabe were absent with Adam, an upheaval that lent thrilling and a sense of breathtaking that I desperately desired to recapture in my sexual scenes.

Absent of truly feeling submissive under Adam's power, I was almost mechanical when I opened my mouth widely to accept Adam's cock, my tongue laving his rod of flesh with precision rather than passion. When Adam's hands gripped my wrists before they were buckled into the shackles, my skin should have electrified with tingling anticipation, but they only wriggled in demonstration, rather than innervation. Even when I was slung over his lap and each slap of the paddle would blush my buttocks in familiar hues of pinkened pain, my tears would not be of gratification, but of havoc. I couldn't comprehend the disconnect with my body and my mind.

Adam was assertive, adept at rousing my body to heights of enjoyment. I dampened under his touch; wriggled under his gaze; begged with fervent desperation at his debasement of me; pleaded with vigour when he tied me down and ploughed into my ass.

But my lust was never lubricated with the same intensity I experienced under Gabe's hand; the feeling of exaltation that would characteristically suffuse my body under Gabe's command perpetually eluded me under Adam. I wanted to adulate the Dominant I was serving under, mentally laud him for respectfully fulfilling my needs and his own, for representing the kind of man I should be submissive to. Yet, my thoughts invariably drifted to memories of another Dom, dangerous and dark in intent, whose hold over me intensified with each day we were separated.

One evening as Adam and I watched a movie, his arm around my shoulder, my head tucked into his armpit, he softly whispered into my hair, "Life isn't about dwelling in the past, is it Meli? Isn't the purpose of our existence to always forge forwards, especially if that past harms us? Love fades. Love blossoms."

His message ever cryptic, insinuated a depth of understanding and awareness about me and my past that I was too reluctant to query him about. I wanted to tell him that I could love him, that I simply needed to cast away the shackles of my past that dragged me into unrecognizable territories of shadows and darkness. Gabe had an inexplicable hold over me.

"I don't know how to cleave from my past, Adam. I'm not convinced I want to distance myself from it, though I know the necessity of doing so. I am who I am because of my past. It's difficult to articulate without revealing unnecessary information that you don't need to know."