Page 24 of The Dominator

Fuck, but it was building. I didn’t understand it. I went from pushing him away to digging my nails into his chest as I pushed. But then I felt my body clench around him involuntarily as he kept the rhythm going, pushing inside of me, kissing me, rubbing at my center. He slapped my ass again and then squeezed it, his angle making him hit that sensitive place inside me again, making me go off like a cannon. I screamed as the orgasm gripped me and twisted me up in knots. Now I was digging my nails into his back and pulling him to me.

He groaned my name and then it was over. I’d uncoiled like a spring and now I was boneless. We were both covered with sweat, my ass was probably covered in welts, my knees raw and bleeding from the carpet, his chest and back probably covered in claw marks.

He abruptly grabbed me by the chin and declared, “I’m gonna fucking marry you!”

He kissed me hard, closed-mouthed, but possessively, and then lifted me up, still straddling him and gently put me on the bed. I winced in pain as soon as my bottom touched the sheets.

“Turn over,” he told me. “Stay there.”

I rolled over onto my stomach, filled with despair, silently crying, tears streaming down my face, onto the bed. I saw a light go on and realized he’d gone to the bathroom. He came back and slathered some cream all over my sore bottom. Then he moved away and I heard the water running in the bathroom.

He climbed into bed beside me, leaned over, and ran his fingers through my hair gently, then pulled my torso on top of his body. I tried to pull away, but he gripped me tighter, “Uh-uh,” he warned. Tears burned in my eyes and I went limp and just let him pull me close.

What the heck? I came harder than I’d ever come and it happened the second he slapped me that final time. What kind of twisted, hellish rabbit hole was he dragging me into? He refused to let me go despite that I tried to worm away, so I silently cried myself to sleep on top of him, dripping tears all over his probably scratched up chest. And all the while he said nothing, just lay still, stroking my hair. I could feel that he loved every single minute of it. Sick bastard.

As I started to drift off to sleep, I heard him say, “I’ll take good care of you, baby. You’re doing good. So good.”

What on earth was I in for with this man?

I stared down at her face while she slept diagonally across my chest, no blankets on as her bare ass had been covered in cream. She was so fucking perfect. The fight was something I’d wanted, needed, and she gave it to me. But, it infuriated me when I’d found her dry unlike last night.

The way she responded after that couldn’t have been more amazing. She was already giving me everything I craved, and I knew that I could easily take her down the roads I wanted to travel down. I could take her there, get what I needed, and then comfort and care for her afterwards. But, what I was doing niggled at me. And that meant I was losing control. And I had to slow down, so I didn’t break her too far.

The crying herself to sleep on top of me was the fucking cherry on the top. I’d never wanted that before. When I was done, I was done. But with her, I wanted to hold her afterwards, feel her tears hit my chest, whisper comforting words into her ear. I could break her down and then care for her after, and the feeling when she went soft in my arms and fell asleep...

Yeah, I’d made her cry but because she was mine, I’d comfort her afterwards. It was a beautiful thing. A twisted but beautiful thing. She was right, I was a sick fuck.

I’d been with plenty of women who’d let me tie them up, who’d loved when I slapped or whipped them, but they’d never affected me like this. The BDSM club I’d joined a few years back made it so that I always got just what I wanted without having to look too far. I’d go in, give a look, maybe have a drink with a woman, sometimes two women. Sometimes I’d just lift my chin at a woman and it was enough for her to know. I’d walk out and leave, someone would follow, I’d get what I wanted, and it’d be over. They were usually way too fucking eager so sometimes, depending on what I was in the mood for, I had to fuck with their heads and make them afraid… see the fear to get me hard.

Some were so seasoned at the lifestyle that it just wasn’t a challenge for me because there was no fear, only anticipation. I enjoyed the cat and mouse game, but it had to feel real. Sometimes I had to go what some might call a little too far to get the result I wanted and then when it was over, I never wanted to go back for seconds.

Until now, I guess I never knew what I really needed. This girl, this gift to me that was sound asleep on top of me was so responsive. She was the perfect amount of defiant and afraid at the same time. And she was mine. All mine.

I’d give her everything. She’d want for nothing. I’d give her everything she wanted and I’d avenge her with anyone who’d ever crossed her, including her sorry excuse for a father. I’d never wanted to give a woman so much before. I’d never wanted to take so much from her at the same time. I wanted her to give me everything she had, every emotion.

I went to sleep filled with emotions I’d never had before. Possessiveness, need, and fear. Fear of what, I didn’t know.

* * *

In the middle of the night I woke up to a scream. I bolted upright. She was thrashing beside me, in the throes of some nightmare, probably a nightmare about me.

I grabbed her. “Athena!”

She half woke up, confused. I pulled her against me and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

She was stiff in my arms, trembling, having trouble shaking whatever she’d dreamt about. She tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let her go. I cooed in her ear, stroked her back, and kissed her over and over. When she finally stopped fighting, but cried herself back to sleep on me I lay awake in deep in thought for a long time, a strange emotion swelling in my chest. Finally, she went completely soft and I heard her breathing even out, so I closed my eyes.

I made her stay. She didn’t want me. Suddenly I wanted to be the source of the comfort, the one she reached for, not the source of nightmares. I slept like shit.

* * *

I woke up with her laying on top of me, her head on my chest and her leg draped over my thigh. I gingerly got out of bed before she woke. I saw her backside was still pink, still covered in my fingerprints and I caught sight of one of her knees and it was all scraped-looking, I guess from when I dragged her back to me across the carpet. I felt a strange pull in me. I didn’t want to see her eyes open. I couldn’t explain why, but I just didn’t wanna see sadness in them and suspected that’s exactly what I’d see. I was gone before she was awake. I’d grabbed my gym bag, a garment bag that had a dry-cleaned suit in it and tossed a clean pair of jeans and pair of dress shoes into the bag, then headed out.

* * *

I called the house at around 10:30.

“What’s she doing?” I asked Sarah. I was waiting at one of our coffee shops for someone and that someone was late. Not impressed. I glanced at my watch and tapped my foot impatiently.

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