RoseAnn Discovers Dominance Pt. 12

Chapter 12

"It sounds like he wants me to sell myself, like a prostitute," I said. "I can't live with him if I don't love him."

Candy lit a cigarette, breaking our rule about smoking in the apartment. "You don't love him? Seriously?"

"I don't know. I thought so, until I found out more about him. But it's too soon."

"The man wants to be your slave. He wants to worship you and support you while you're in college, and give you time to concentrate on your college classes. But you'd rather ruin your back and collapse your arches serving coffee and eggs to horny old men eight hours every day."

"It sounds so unfair, taking advantage of him like that."

She laughed. "He's begging you to come live with him, and you say you'd be taking advantage of him. That's cute."

"And what about you? You'd have to pay the full rent on this place."

She blew smoke into the air in a steady stream. "Hardly. At least two of the girls would kill to move into this apartment. It's cheap and clean and safe. Your bed will still be warm when Ellen or Lucille move in."

"Why are you smoking in here? You know it bugs me."

She smirked. "Well, I'm going to keep on smoking until you move over to your boyfriend's place. And remember this—you don't have to love him. Maybe it's enough for him that you live with him and let him take care of you. Maybe that's all he needs. Meanwhile, you have the time and money you need to get through college."

I shook my head. "Well, I'm going to sleep on it. Let's turn in now. But no smoking in the night."

"I'll stick my head out the window like I always do." She stubbed out her cigarette in the little ashtray I kept on my dresser, and got in bed with me.

Candy was asleep in minutes, but I lay awake, staring into the dark. I tried to remember the pictures in Craig's drawer, and tried to imagine the two of us doing those things. I didn't need the photos of oral sex. I'd had three volcanic orgasms in a week from Craig's tongue, and the memories still glowed vividly. But reclining in a chair, while Craig kneeled before me and kissed my feet? What if I had him give me massages? Or cook and serve my dinner? That was harder to imagine. My whole life, the most I expected was to be an ordinary housewife, sending hubby off to work and the kids off to school, while I cleaned the house and took care of the shopping. All my schooling and everything in my environment had drilled that into me. But now my life had taken a new turn—several new turns—and I was going to be a college student—in engineering, no less!—and a handsome man wanted to be my slave! Life is strange.

When I woke in the morning, I had finally relaxed, though I had yet to come to a decision. I ate breakfast with Candy before she left for work, and then lay in bed reading a movie magazine. I did some laundry and bought a bag of groceries.

But just before leaving for my three p.m. shift, I pulled my large suitcase from the closet and left it open on the bed. I took the locket from the longest neck chain I had and threaded Craig's key on it. It hung around my neck so it was concealed between my breasts.

* * *

When was someone going to invent a suitcase with wheels on it? It would be such a simple thing to do. The cab driver had been helpful, and lugged it up the long sidewalk to the door, but I had to drag it through the inner lobby door and across to the elevator. On the fifteenth floor, Craig's apartment was only two doors down from the elevator, but the carpet made the suitcase that much harder to drag. I was out of breath when I finally took the key from my neck and let myself in.

When I woke this morning, I knew this was the only sensible thing to do. I'd already paid my half of the September rent to Candy and made her promise not to re-rent my room until the end of the month. That was my fallback; I had over four weeks to change my mind. The upside was that this thing with Craig might actually work out. The downside was...well, there was no downside. Even if we didn't click, I was sure to get some more of those fabulous orgasms from his tongue in the meantime. And until the room was rented, I could always move back in with Candy.

I left the suitcase near the door, opened the curtains, and began looking around. I found the cupboards where the food and dishes were stored. Bed linens and cleaning supplies were in a small closet. In the bedroom, the bedding was still mussed where Craig had slept. I knelt down and smelled the aroma of his body, trapped in the sheets. I wondered what things would happen in this room tonight, or this week. Or this year.

Before I thought about it, I'd opened the bedside drawer. I suppose it had been on my mind from the time I began to pack. The collection was still there, and I took it out and once more spread it on the bed. This time, it was easier to tolerate. It wasn't just a pile of dirty pictures; it was a window into the most secret place in Craig's soul, for better or worse.

I leafed through the photos, but they weren't interesting. A photo of a man licking a woman wasn't very exciting when I'd already had the real thing. I picked up one of the books and began to skim through it. The book was a cheap paperback entitled The Queen Commands. The pages were loose and the paper browned with age. On the cover was a nearly naked women reclining on a throne. A naked man knelt between her legs, kissing her high on the thigh. The woman's head and arms were thrown back in a posture of ecstasy, which I now understood.

I skimmed through the pages. It was the story of a man named George, a traveling farm machinery repairman, who took a wrong turn on the back roads of Colorado, eventually stumbling into a communal farm. But it wasn't like other communes. The place was full of women, and George stared in surprise. Suddenly, two strong women dragged him from his car and took him before the leader of the commune, whom the others called Queen Samara. She explained that the commune was a closely guarded secret, and he could not be allowed to leave. In this lost corner of America, women ruled absolutely. Men did all the work, naked or clad only in loincloths, while the women sunned themselves, swam, or selected men to 'pleasure' them. The context made it clear what Queen Samara meant by 'pleasure'.

I felt that tingling again.

The Queen would choose whether he would be trained to join the other men, or be sent to be worked to death in the fields. Before she'd make a decision, George had to pass a series of demanding and painful tests. He had to withstand a cruel whipping and a night hanging by his wrists from a tree, with only his toes touching the ground, all without crying out. He had to run to exhaustion behind a horse, pulled by a rope tied to the saddle. As the final test, he had to lick the Queen's pussy until she was satisfied.

As I read, I alternated between revulsion and excitement. Some of these things, however sadistic, were turning me on. I reached under my skirt and found my crotch soaked.

As it happened, George failed one of the tests and was condemned to pull a plow for fourteen hours a day. But on the third day, the woman who was overseeing him was attacked by a mountain lion. George drove the animal away. For this, he was not only rewarded with his life, he was chosen to join the Queen's personal body slaves.

From there on, the book was a seemingly endless catalog of sexual acts, each more perverse or sadistic than the one before. I expected that George would escape at the end, but instead, when offered the opportunity to leave, he chose to stay with the Queen. He was willing to endure any pain or humiliation to be with her.

As I closed the book, I discovered I was more aroused than ever. I could see why Craig would keep pornographic books around, but why would he keep one where a man was so—what?—tamed by women? I looked at the other book, Training Your Hubby to be Your Slave. I shrugged. He'd already revealed his fantasy to me at the Italian restaurant the other day. As sexual fantasies went, I supposed it wasn't all that weird or extreme.

But what about me? My fantasies had once involved being swept off my feet by a tall, strong wild man, who would take his pleasure in my body, sometimes roughly, but still treat me with kindness and dignity. Yet, for reasons I scarcely understood, The Queen Commands had me breathless with excitement.

Craig would be at work for hours yet, and I had to go to work at three. I wouldn't see him until around ten o'clock this evening. When he arrived home, he'd see my luggage, and understand that I'd made my decision. But in the meantime, I had to deal with my needs, which I'd gone and stoked to a white heat.

There was only one thing to do. I lay down on the bed, immersed in the scent of his body, and hiked my skirt up. I stroked with my fingers, and imagined sitting on Queen Samara's throne. Craig's handsome face was half hidden in my pubic hair, and the shine of his scalp visible through his thinning hair. My hips rose and fell, and within a minute I was grunting and crying out the joy of orgasm.

When I stretched out and relaxed at last, I took off my wedding ring and set it on the bedside table. I hoped that Craig would see it and understand the message. If I lived in and shared his home, I could hardly wear another man's ring.