The Story of Mallory Ch. 07

Over the next few weeks, the intensity of Mallory and Kyle's relationship began to develop; each day she felt more compelled to submit to his every whim and desire. Even though she did not exactly feel like her life was going to parallel "O's" and Sir Stephen, where her hero would eventually fall in love with her, she still believed she would find her happily ever after.

Mallory discounted the mounting feeling of disaster, instead concentrating on the positive path they seemed to be travelling together. True, it appeared she had spent more time on the receiving end of his lectures and the sting of his belt, and she was somewhat unclear what she was going to get out of this supposed two-way relationship, when she was honest with herself, she was lonely. She knew she was a slave, from deep down in the pit of her stomach, and inside her battered and abused heart, she wanted to submit.

So, when Kyle came to her several weeks into her training and casually said, "Mal, either we are going to do this or we aren't," no excitement or love in his voice, the tone was his usual affect, just like he was ordering a Big Mac from McDonald's. "I'm done playing games. Let's get your stuff and you can move back into my house, you can move this weekend."

When the corners of Mallory's mouth started to turn up, in a smile, she started to speak in her rushed and excited tone, "Oh, Kyle, I'm so..."

However, Kyle cut her off before she could finish, "You aren't bringing all your junk back into my house, though," he announced dismissively, "you can bring your clothes. The paintings, the other garbage you have, it has to go."

The smile that had previously started to grace Mallory's lips slowed faded, "Yes, Master," she responded emptily, using the term he had demanded. She had finally learned to say the word he wanted, though she felt nothing when she said it, or wrote it for that matter.

By the following weekend, Mallory had tidily packed up the few belongings she was permitted to keep and had brought them to her Master's home, the home she used to share with him. It looked the same, in some ways; in others it was utterly different. The house was no longer "their house", it was his; the cars were his, the bank account was his, essentially anything with a financial tie was his; although she still had to continue working and contribute her paycheck.

As Mallory looked around the house, she drew in a deep breath, afraid to breathe out, she was nervous. It was her first night back at the house and Kyle had gone out, leaving her there to get settled in; she knew better than to think he might be out arranging a romantic surprise. She was right; he returned a few hours later, "I'm back, Mal," he called, poking his head in through the door from the garage, "come help me unload the truck. He had been to the hardware store and had purchased supplies because he had been remodeling the living room.

"So, I finally sold my last painting," Mallory revealed, as she helped him carry sheetrock into the garage, "you know, the Fabien Perez."

"Oh, you sold those things?" he looked at her quizzically, "I thought we would be hauling them to the dump. They were nothing but junk."

Mallory tried her best to hide her pain over having to sell her prized possessions, "I thought you'd be happy, they were actually worth a lot. Maybe we can take a weekend trip to San Francisco or something, since it's like found money."

"Really Mal?" he scowled at her, "Don't be stupid. I hate big cities, and we are in the middle of this remodel, that money will come in handy. Besides, you just took a cruise a few months ago; you won't need a vacation for at least a year."

As the realization of what she had done started to sink in, Mallory's heart started to race, she felt sick. They continued to unload the truck in silence, still if he was displeased or uncomfortable with the situation, he never said a word to her. She thought her first night was going to be memorable, although so far, she was bitterly disenchanted.

When she went to bed alone that night, she was near tears, she lie in bed with the remote control in her hand mindlessly flipping through the channels as she deliberated why she would have left her apartment and come back to him. She wanted to be a slave more than anything, she wanted a Master, she wanted to be dominated; yet she had never felt more alone than she did at that moment.

Suddenly, the light turned on and filled the room forcing her to squint for a moment as her eyes adjusted trying to take in the scene. Her Master was standing in the middle of the room looking angry; he had something in his hands, though she could not tell what it was.

"Come here now," he commanded gruffly.

Mallory moved apprehensively from between the sheets towards him, apparently not fast enough, because he called her again. "I said now!" Moving faster, she jumped at his voice, racing towards him.

"Turn the television off, take your clothes off and get on your knees," he snapped, as he started to list what he wanted her to do, "Take your hair and hold it up. Sit with your knees apart. Arch your back. No, not that way."

The commands were coming at her so fast and furiously Mallory could not keep everything straight, she was doing everything she could to be pleasing and do as he asked, though she had never experienced him like this before. "Please, Master, can I just..."

"No. No questions. You need to listen and obey," he cut her off, "Got that, slut?"

Mallory had no idea if she was allowed to answer or not; so she did her best with his instructions. She sat on her knees, thighs spread, with her hand in her hair holding it up as she cast her eyes down to the floor.

There was a noise behind her; she flinched as she felt a thick piece of leather being placed around her throat. Instinctively, her hand went up to feel it; she felt a thick metal ring in the front, although had no idea what it looked like. Afraid to move, she heard a buckling sound as he made a movement behind her, "You can let your hair down now. Your collar is on."

As she sat there, her hand to her throat, thinking about what it meant to wear a collar, Mallory wondered what it looked like, envisioning it must be incredibly sexy, she was just about to ask if she could go look at it in the mirror when she felt a sharp tug at her throat. She was pulled quickly to her feet and forced down onto the bed, face first, the collar was tugged so tightly at her neck it was choking her, she was gasping for breath.

Kyle rammed his cock into her ass, not caring she was not prepared, not ready; Mallory tried to cry out in pain, he twisted the collar tighter. "You're mine now, slut," he sneered into her ear, "that means I will fuck you whenever I want to, wherever I want to, and you can't say no to me. Got that?"

The collar slackened just enough for her to respond, however she was dumbfounded and could not respond. He fucked her ass harder. "I can't hear you, slut. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," Mallory finally choked out her response, scared of what would happen to her if she did not reply according to his expectations. Her answer must have made him happy because he tightened his grip around her neck and pounded her ass furiously. She could feel he was ready to explode; he pulled his cock out and came all over her ass.

Finally, he relaxed his hold on her throat allowing her to breathe fully for the first time since he started. He rolled off of her, "Get me a towel, Mal, I need cleaned off."

Mallory could have passed out from fatigue right there, not that she was satisfied, she was emotionally drained. However, she was relieved to be given a task she had some hope of doing properly. She headed to the bathroom, closing the door for a moment for some privacy; she wanted to see herself in the collar.

As she saw herself in the mirror, other than her very red face from lack of oxygen, she could not believe how incredibly sexy she thought the collar was. It was several inches tall and made of thick black leather with a big silver ring in the front. She instinctively slid her fingers down to touch herself, she was soaking wet; the assault on her ass had made her so wet, if only he had noticed.

Sighing deeply as she took a towel off the rack, Mallory soaked a wash cloth in hot water as well, predicting the next request. She walked back into the room, using her sexiest walk; she tried to entice her Master into wanting her. Perhaps he would be interested in her sexual desires.

"So, after I clean up, we're going to go to bed. No television, it annoys me," he started down his list of demands and began going over what would be the nightly ritual, "There is a leash attached to the bed where you'll be attached. You can't leave the bed without permission. If you need to get up, you have to ask, I want to know where you are at all times. Every night before we go to bed, you are to bring the collar to me, come to my desk nude, sitting on your knees, and finally you will be collared and allowed to go to bed. Any questions?"

As Mallory listened to her Master describe their new nightly rituals, she discovered she was incredibly excited by their new life together. She became even wetter as she crawled into bed and waited to hear the click of the leash onto the collar. For Mallory, the thought of him wanting to know where she was at all times meant he loved her, he wanted to protect her, something that had been missing from their marriage before.

The leash snapped onto her collar and Mallory settled onto her pillow, the wetness between her legs growing as she was feeling her submissiveness more than ever before. She moved closer to Kyle, he was already asleep.

Mallory spent the night tossing and turning, the collar rubbing her neck, a constant reminder she was a slave; a slave to her own submissiveness.