PRISONERS OF LOVE
Warning: This first EPOV contains an act that potentially has a high squick factor. If you want to skip it, start with the first 'she' POV instead.
“Mmm, good morning, sweet princess. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you for letting me share your bed last night.”
I open the cuff around her wrist and examine her carefully for chafing or abrasions. These cuffs are quite reliable that way, and I’m pleased to find her free and clear of damage. Especially with her business trip tomorrow, the last thing she needs is a suspicious mark where everyone can see it.
“I want you to go into your room and take a quick shower without messing up my great blow-dry from last night, slip on a sexy thong, and wait for me in front of the couch, sitting back on your heels. You have ten minutes. And no sneaking onto the computer,” I add sternly.
God, I’m an emo bastard this weekend, I observe objectively, returning the cuffs to the drawer and stepping over to the toilet to relieve myself. The combination of my parents’ visit and Isabella’s impending departure have me tangled up in knots. I’m not used to this, and I don’t like it.
I know it’s coloring the tone I’ve selected for today, and that’s okay, as long as I keep the mood in check. The shower washes over me; I play the scene through my head. Isabella is going to be on a tight leash today, literally and figuratively. I crave her physical closeness, so that’s a given. And with a long break until our next scene, I need to have her best today. And she’ll need mine. No mamby pamby Master for my princess.
While in the shower, I carefully address every nook and cranny, lathering and shaving until I’m in tip-top condition. My little love slave is going to be working hard this morning…starting with taking care of this stiffie in my hands. I don’t even bother putting on clothes before walking out into the family room with her collar.
“Nice choice,” I praise her, taking in her royal blue lace thong and pulling her long, loose hair between my fingers.
I bend over and buckle the collar around her neck and immediately step in front of her mouth and tap on her chin. She takes me in and sucks me right down and I grip the sides of her head while she works me over with her mouth. It’s good, but I need more.
“Rest your head back on the couch,” I command, stepping closer and placing a knee beside her ear. Holding my cock out of the way, I lower myself onto her face and close my eyes as she rolls my sac in her mouth.
After a few minutes, this, too, fails to meet today’s needs. It’s time. I step away from her and palm my balls, preparing to straddle her mouth one more time.
“Use your tongue, Isabella,” I demand, twisting my hand in her hair with enough force that she knows this isn’t optional. I lower myself slowly, giving her a chance to prepare, but basically giving her no other choice but to obey.
I feel a tentative tickle along the ridge. “Is that your best effort, princess? I think you can do better for your Master.” I leave her to find her own comfort level, or rather, her own discomfort level, understanding she won’t be punished no matter what she chooses. As I’d anticipated, her desire to please me wins out over whatever was holding her back, and I feel the satisfying slosh of her tongue across my entrance.
I reward her with a low moan. “That’s it, sweetheart. Master likes that very much.”
Once again, she sweeps along my sensitive opening, less timid this time. And again, I let her know how much I like it with a loud groan.
She echoes my noise with a matching moan and the tip of her tongue finds its way inside me.
“Oh, Jesus, Isabella. That feels amazing.”
Her enthusiasm picks up and before long, she’s making as much noise as I am. I move off her so she can take my cock properly inside her mouth. Holding her hair firmly, I direct her up and down the length of me.
Fucking hell, she’s perfect, rolling my balls between her fingers and working me with her lips and her throat. When she raises her eyes demurely to mine with her lips practically against my body, I completely let go. She swallows down every drop and presses soft kisses all over my balls and shaft, finally coming to rest with her cheek against my thigh and her arms wrapped around my knee.
I pet her gently and praise her liberally. “You’ve made your Master extremely pleased already this morning, princess. I can’t think of a better way to start your morning as my sex slave.”
This is not how I wrote it. My own imagination was woefully inadequate compared to Master’s, and why would that ever surprise me? After all, my fantasy story A Day In The Life was only just that—a selective collection of details I’d put together from reading erotica or coming upon suggestive photos or letting my own kinky mind wander into the realm of 24/7 servitude; whereas Master has lived it, created it, and let’s face it—perfected it.
Where I wrote a girl whose Master largely ignored her except for random needs sprinkled throughout a long day, my real life man never let me get more than four inches from his side.
Four inches of chain link between the large clip binding the black velvet ribbon bracelet to my wrist and the spot where Master’s thumb and forefinger gripped the lead.
Same as last night in bed, except this time, Master could’ve let go at any point, but he never did. Not when he went to put on his jeans; not when he needed something to eat (which was quite often, not surprisingly); not when either of us needed the bathroom; just not at all for four hours.
When we weren’t actively going at it, I was either perched at his feet, ready to serve his needs, or walking right next to him. And my very favorite part of the morning was when he let me rest my head in his lap while he watched some pre-playoff football talk show, stroking his fingers through my hair the entire time. Even after last night’s sugar scrub, shampoo, and massage, that sweet gesture –the constancy of his affection—moved me in a way that surprised me yet again.
I wouldn’t say the morning was a picnic; I slaved for him but good. Master took me every which way, and in between, when he needed some recovery time, he made me “entertain him.” This fluctuated among lap dancing, masturbating for him, rubbing his feet, and playing chess.
That last one was quite a shocker to me as well. Master is an excellent chess player and it’s all I can do to plot out three moves ahead. Honestly, I think he just wanted the satisfaction of seeing my king bowing down to his in resignation. Oh, Master. You know I’d bow down to you any old day of the week, don’t you?
Here we were at the end of a long, long week—visits with both sets of parents and the launch of Master’s project at work—and me about to leave for three nights, and it feels like once the scene wraps up, our intimate bond will be temporarily broken and reality will come rushing in like water from the high side of the dam. And that has to be why Master has me arranged on his lap now, with my cheek pressed to his chest, holding me still by that short chain, while tracing a finger of his other hand down my cheek and back toward my ear in an incessant loop. His lips are on my hair, and I can feel the tug-of-war inside him, the tender, loving affection versus the fierce not letting go. I ache for him, and I feel it, too.
As much as I tell myself it’s foolish, it’s only a few days and I’m sure we’ll stay in close contact, I can’t chase away the blues.
When he says, “I love you, Isabella,” I start to cry like a goddamn baby, and he rocks me in his arms and says, “Fuck, baby, I know. I know.”
I bounce my knees, jostling her gently but effectively. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. It’s time to talk.”
She yawns and forces open one eye. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she lies, causing me to chuckle.
I run my hand underneath the furry blanket and find her calf, knee, then thigh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I am feeling pretty wiped out,” she admits. Then the germ of an idea spreads in her busy head, and I see it written all over her face as she breaks into a wide smile. “I think I’m too sleepy to talk.”
I shake my head. “Nice try, sweetheart. Now if you need a wake-up call, I am definitely your man.”
Diving in with both hands, I tickle her all over her nearly naked body until she’s gasping for air and begging me to stop. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” she giggles helplessly.
“Are you going to be a good little processor?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Okay then. Hardest moment of the scene?”
It doesn’t take a genius to predict her answer. This morning’s rim j—
“The shower last night.”
She grips the blanket more snugly against her body and I rub my hands up and down her arms to warm her, though I suspect she’s looking for security more than heat.
“Well, when you said Master was going to have a day of pampering…I was pretty damn excited.”
The fact that she blushes, still, never fails to fill me with pleasure.
“And giving you that massage, and …all the rest…was really satisfying. Even though you made me just use my hands, you big meanie!”
“I already know what you can do with the other parts, and I had a feeling you’d default to something familiar if left to your own devices.”
“Devices!” She chuckles. “Is that what they’re called now?”
“So…you were satisfied. And then?”
“And then, your pampering turned into my pampering, and I have to admit to feeling a stab of disappointment at first.”
The obvious doesn’t need to be stated; we both know how much she enjoyed her turn.
“Receiving is challenging for you.”
She stares back at me as if she’s looking in the mirror and seeing someone unfamiliar—herself. “I guess it feels selfish and anti-submissive.”
“Well shame on your Master for not making sure you know how much pleasure it gives him to dote on you.”
I tighten my grip on her body and she folds herself into a tidy package for me to cradle.
“You’re mine to take care of, in every way, and you shouldn’t be surprised to learn that making you happy is my number one concern.”
She nuzzles her nose into my neck and hums. “Come with me to Seattle?”
“Do you think anyone would notice the extra appendage?” I raise her hand by the short chain I’ve been holding all morning, and haven’t let go, even though the scene is long over.
“Nah. You’re kind of a fly-under-the-radar type.”
My chuckle turns into a half-snort and soon the two of us are lost in laughter.
“Yeah, not so much, I guess,” she finally concludes.
I look up from my packing when I hear a knock at the open door. I just smile and shake my head and he enters sheepishly, plopping himself indelicately on the other bed and folding his hands on top of his stomach.
“Getting hungry?” I ask, figuring this was his subtle way of hinting.
I stop my folding and look over at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.
“Something’s wrong. I’m starved and you’re not hungry.”
He pushes onto his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“I think some sweet potato fries would cheer me up.”
“Clarke’s?” I smile, already imagining the juicy turkey burger between my hands.
We might as well be cuffed together on the walk over. Edward’s not letting me getting any farther away than the few inches Master allowed. I turn my head and catch his profile—pensive, distracted, and gloomy. Not Edwardly at all.
“Hey.” I squeeze his fingers with mine through our gloves.
“Hmm?” He looks over, quickly adjusting his expression so I don’t see the sad.
“You don’t have to hide, you know. I’m miserable, too.”
We walk a few more steps, the occasional slosh of car tires passing us by and the blare of a horn the only soundtrack.
Suddenly he starts speaking. “Do you realize we have not spent one night apart since Christmas? That the biggest chunk of time we’ve been separated is the length of a work day?”
I nod in agreement and add, “And half of those days, we somehow managed to meet up at lunch.”
He stops walking and turns to face me on the sidewalk. He seems bewildered by the words leaving his own mouth. “I am really not used to this. I have never had this kind of relationship before, not even for three days, let alone three weeks. And I am standing here feeling like a colossal pussy because…shit, Isabella. I am going to miss the crap out of you.”
“Damn, you have a way with words,” I tell him, bringing a smile to his face right before I cover it with my lips. We stand there on the stupid cold sidewalk kissing each other until I feel him smile again against my cheek.
“What?” I ask, noticing the glint in his eye.
“I’m hungry now.”
“Come on, you colossal pussy. Let’s go get you some dinner.”
Great puffs of white steam escape his mouth when he bursts into laughter, and it’s the best thing I’ve heard since the end of our scene. He threads his arm past my elbow and grasps my hand, and we’re locked in tight for the rest of our walk.
I help arrange her coat on the rack at the end of our booth before pulling mine off and setting it on top, loving the imagery of my coat smothering hers.
You are such a sap, Edward Cullen.
Whatever, dude, I counter, surrendering fully to my inner pussy and sliding into the booth on Isabella’s side. She looks up with a start, but smiles brightly as I continue to scoot in until our legs are touching and I trap her ankle between mine. Neither of us needs to consult the menu, and before long, we’ve got two burgers and two mounds of fries on the table in front of us. I have to say, no matter what life throws at me, it’s always better with sweet potato fries.
Isabella tilts her head every few minutes to watch me, and I know she’s checking on my emotional state. I’m already feeling worlds better simply by having admitted that I’m going to miss her. She smiles around the ketchup-dipped fry as she holds it up to her lips.
“I have a question, but I’m not sure I’m allowed to ask,” she says.
“You can always ask. I just might not answer.”
“Okay. Do you have some kind of plan for our time apart?”
“Me, ME? Or me, Master?”
She shrugs. “Either of you, I guess.”
“Baby, you can rest assured, Master always has a plan.” And that is no lie. I have a plan for our separation, I have a plan for our reunion, and I have a plan for our next weekend scene after that. Isabella is one inspiring lady, and I’ve been flooded with ideas since meeting her. I could hardly stop it if I tried, not that I could ever see wanting to stop.
She seems pleased to hear that. “And Edward?”
The cocky smirk is wiped from my face. Fact is, Edward has no freaking clue how to handle this part.
“Sure,” I answer, sensing she needs to hear a confident answer from me.
“You’re doing it again.” Her eyes narrow and she sets down her burger.
“You’re pretending like you have it all figured out. You know, you’re not really supposed to, right? That’s kind of the fun of it.”
“Floundering aimlessly is fun?”
“Yes, Edward. It’s called ‘being in love.’”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “It is. That’s what makes it so sweet.”
I slide four fries through the mound of ketchup on my plate and ponder that theory while I savor the delicious combination of salty, sweet, and crunchy. “Hmm, so you like the terror, the being out of control? I suppose that makes good sense."
She leans in, resting her head against my arm. “Only because I know you’re buckled in next to me on this roller coaster ride.”
“Hunh,” I continue pondering. “Maybe that explains why this part is usually so hard for me.”
She tips her eyes up to my face, smiles softly, and twists my earlier words to her, “Letting go is challenging for you.”
I swoop in and cover her lips with mine, tasting the remnants of grilled onions and charred meat. She seems caught off guard but not at all unhappy about it, willingly surrendering to my kisses.
After I’ve had my fill—for now—she adds, “Shame on your girlfriend for not letting you know how happy it makes her to be there to support you, for a change.”
“Thank you,” I answer simply.
“So you’re not telling me any of these plans, then?”
I smile over at her, linked hands swinging gently between us as we hike back through the wintry evening air. Large white flakes of snow fall sporadically around us, lighting up the soft night sky before melting on contact with our coats or the pavement.
“Why would I reveal classified information just because we’ll be in separate cities?”
“Separate time zones!”
“Yeah, thanks for reminding me. But no. I can give you your journal topic, though, in case you want to write on the plane tomorrow.”
“If I don’t have my co-workers or some random airplane creeper over my shoulder,” she answers. “So what’s my assignment?”
“I’d like to see you explore how it felt to have your vision taken away for an extended period of time.”
She slips away momentarily, anxiety clouding her face.
“Hey.” I squeeze her fingers and I fill her field of vision. “Do that later. This is my time.”
“Honestly, Edward,” she shakes her head, chuckling. “It’s all your time now.”
“You say that like it could possibly be a bad thing.”
“Speaking of your time, what are you going to be doing while I’m away?”
“Hmm. Let’s see, there’s work. Aaaand, yeah. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten.”
“What about getting the boys together for a night out?”
“There’s no more Monday night football.”
“So that’s it? You can’t be together?”
She laughs at my horrified expression. “Don’t you have any video games to play? Don’t boys like to do that kind of thing together?’
“Uh…yeah. Boys! Not men.”
“Okay, well then, what about…going to a movie or something?”
The doorman opens the heavy glass entry to our building and we walk through into the dry heat of the lobby. “Isabella, I don’t need to be entertained every second.”
“I just thought…sorry.”
“Hey,” I grasp her arm, “don’t be. It’s sweet of you to worry about me, but I think I can manage bachelorhood for three nights.”
“I just don’t want you to get lonely.”
“Honey, there isn’t anybody but you who can stop me from being lonely. All the rest is just distraction.”
I brush my fingers through the hair matted down onto his forehead. Edward absolutely refuses to wear a hat, no matter the weather. As a result, his ears and nose are reddish and human. It’s so easy to forget that he is not actually a superhero, but a real flesh and blood man who actually can be hurt.
“Ugh, I have to pack,” I say with great regret, pushing his wet hair off his face and cupping his cold ears in my hands.
His voice is resigned. “Onward ho,” he answers and guides me to the elevator.
I’ve always hated packing. It’s not just the actual work involved in deciding, gathering, ironing, and consolidating; but above all, it’s the anxiety that gets me every time. Despite the fact I keep an organized spreadsheet with every possible need, I never fail to have at least three of those heart-stopping “OHMYGODIFORGOT…X, Y, or Z” moments post-packing.
By the time Domenic picks us up the next morning, I’ve already had two such moments in the elevator. When I startle once more in the back seat of the Town Car, Edward patiently asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’ve got ‘em,” I answer, reassuring both of us I’ve packed every conceivable power cord for every piece of electronic equipment.
He places his hand over my knee and rubs gently, directing his gaze away, out the window, leaving me alone with my thoughts but letting me know he’s here, as ever.
I cover his hand with mine and thank him. “I know I’m a basket case when I travel. Sorry if I’m making you nuts.”
“No, I’m… Okay, fine, you are making me a little crazy. Look, you have everything. You’re prepared. And if worse comes to worst, you call me and I’ll fix it. I’m afraid you’re going to make yourself sick with all that anxiety floating around. It’s not good for you.”
“I know. Old habits die hard.” Honestly, it’s not as if I want to be like this.
He tops our hand pile with his other hand and looks me directly in the eyes. “You got this, Isabella.”
I try a change of topic. “So don’t you have your first training group this week?”
“Yes,” he answers, smiling. “Tomorrow.”
“What’s the topic?”
“Unlocking the mysteries of Excel in Twelve Easy Lessons.”
“Mmm, sounds like a real barn-burner.”
He nods proudly. “And after work tonight, I’m going over to Riley’s.”
“Really? Mr. Bachelor needs friends after all?” I find this development highly amusing.
He shrugs. “Riley called to thank me for brunch and when I told him you were abandoning me—”
“Oh, I’m abandoning you?” I chuckle.
“Yes. Anyway, he and Sean insisted on feeding me.”
“Well, good. I can’t have you languishing while I’m gone.”
He slaps his nonexistent gut and laughs. “I don’t think you have to worry. Sean’s cooking, and apparently he knows his way around the kitchen.”
“Lucky Riley. He probably got better than vegetarian chili from his galley slave.”
Edward sweeps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side. “Nothing better than vegetarian chili or you as a galley slave, sweetheart.”
Domenic pulls to the curb in front of Swan Enterprises and we can see his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Sir, will you be requiring a ride home after work this evening?”
“No, thank you, Domenic. I’m going to hoof it until Isabella comes back home to me.”
“Very well. Have a pleasant few days then.”
“You too, Domenic. And drive safely- precious cargo.”
Edward leans in for a last kiss that feels like heaven and death. Domenic comes around and pulls open Edward’s door, discreetly averting his eyes as our little goodbye kiss becomes a protracted make-out session.
“Knock ‘em dead,” he whispers into my ear, before dropping one last kiss on my throat and slinking out of the car.
I watch Edward’s back through the tinted window as he walks toward the building alone. He doesn’t turn back until he makes it to the revolving door. Then, almost as if he’s heard a voice calling to him from the car, he spins and waves before the building swallows him.
As we pull away from the curb, I begin composing my journal entry in my head, and before the rest of the team arrives at JFK, I’ve got the entire thing typed and posted.
BLIND/Journal Entry Seven
January 16, 2012
Master's assignment: How did it feel to be blindfolded?
Where Master’s collar symbolizes ownership and devotion, the blindfold says power and control. The blindfold demands obedience and trust on a visceral level. I believe you said it best, Master, when you promised that you would “be my eyes” for the night. I had the very vivid image of literally sharing your eyes while my own vision was denied me, and looking at the world through Master-colored glasses is indeed eye-opening!
As much as I wish it weren’t the case, my initial response to the blindfold is still panic, and I hope that will fade as you continue to give me every good reason to put my trust in you. Scarier BY FAR than not knowing what you will DO to me is not being able to deduce your responses to my behaviors.
Am I pleasing you? I only know what you want me to know. Every hum, gasp, and moan are treasures that tell me I’ve served you well, and each fills the void left by my lack of vision. But the opposite side of the coin is equally powerful—your silence, your lack of sensory input, your absence from my side—these still terrify me, Master. My neediness feels selfish; I’m ashamed to admit to my internal demands for your attention. But there it is.
“Sink into it,” you counsel, and I do. By taking my sight, you’ve relieved me of some large measure of responsibility. You don’t ask me to see for myself; you require me to feel. My sense of touch feels electrified, and hearing, taste and smell all come alive. In many ways, it’s that same freedom that comes with turning the lights off. Not only is there obscurity, but there’s a bit of magic that fills the air. Where the eyes are blinded, the imagination takes over and all things are possible. And here’s where I blush, Master, because those things we did—things that I did—would simply not have been as easy for me in the light. And I’m so grateful you set the stage so I could bring you that particular pleasure without the inhibition of my eyes.
So blindness remains a challenge, but I promise you, Master, it’s a challenge I will strive to overcome.
Ever in awe of you, Master,