Page 20 of Wanted
“If you need to get up in the night to get a drink or visit the bathroom, you may. I want you to sleep, so you may not watch television. If you want to masturbate, you may. Morning comes early in this house, you’ll want to be well-rested.” He touched her again, his hand settling briefly on her head once he was done. “Good night, Anna. I know you don’t agree, but you did well tonight.”
He left, switching out the light on his way out the door. He left the door cracked and then he was gone.
She lay between crisp cool sheets, every inch of her awakened and wanting, rejected and denied.
She’d done well?
Was this another test, would he come back? Maybe he was giving her time to get used to the idea of servicing him. How many times had he said he wasn’t her dom, after all?
Was this her punishment for failing the last test?
Rolling onto her side, Pony curled into a ball, but though this would have been the time for it, the tears didn’t come.
A few minutes later, the light in the hall winked off and she heard the soft bump of another door closing. She stared through the darkness in her new room, her body more alive than she could remember it ever having been, but he didn’t come back. He’d gone to bed.
Disappointment cut like a razor.
Welcome to her new life.
* * *
Marcus
Marcus lay on his back in bed, staring through the darkness at a ceiling he couldn’t see. One door down the hall, Pony was lying in bed, her little nipples tight as beads, that slow flush of unmistakable arousal staining her cheeks. Though he’d given her permission, she wasn’t masturbating. He hadn’t really expected it. Orgasm control was one of those things a lot of doms enjoyed doing to their subs. When done right, it was a fantastic and pleasurable experience for two people in a committed relationship. Few thought about what would happen later on, when the relationship failed and suddenly the sub lost access to the command she’d trained herself to obey so completely that she could no longer disobey it, no matter how much she wanted to.
Pony didn’t want to, but he’d seen just how much she’d liked being touched as he’d consoled her.
Consoled. He felt like an ass. He hadn’t meant to turn her on... at first. He’d deliberately left the vacuum running so she wouldn’t suspect he was creeping down the hall to check on her. When she’d broke down, he couldn’t stop himself.
She’d been alone and unhappy for so long. Comfort, that’s what he’d told himself he was doing. But then, he’d seen how she’d responded—the quickening of her breaths, the slight arching of her back as she’d tried to prevent him from feeling the tiny points of her nipples brushing against him.
How long had it been since she’d had the pleasure of gentle human contact? He’d given it to her, telling himself with every soft caress of his hands that he was doing this only to be kind.
He wasn’t kind. It had been a long time since last he’d touched anyone too, though he had only himself to blame for that. The consequence of it came rushing over him halfway through the second slow stroke of his hands moving down her back. It would have been so, so easy for him not just to touch her face, but to tilt her mouth up and he knew she wouldn’t have resisted if he’d kissed her. She might even have wanted it. That she might not want it, but might do it anyway just so she could serve him was the only thing that kept him from crossing that line.
She’d felt good in his arms, though. She’d felt better than good; she flicked every one of his triggers—vulnerable, so he could be strong, submissive, so he could take charge.
He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about her as if they were at a club and she were begging for a scene. This was a job.
Oh, who was he kidding? He hadn’t deprogramed anyone in years, and it showed. Everything he’d done with her so far he’d done wrong. He knew better than this. He knew better than to get emotionally involved with the person he was trying to help. He had to stay hard. He had to stay objective. Few people could imagine the daily hell of living under the cultish leadership of another. Ethen O’Dowell wasn’t a religious or government-defying extremist, but he absolutely qualified as a monster for the level of control that he’d exerted over his ‘menagerie.’
Was she masturbating yet?
Marcus turned his head. On the table by his bedside, the baby monitor relayed quiet proof that she wasn’t. She might not know how anymore. He couldn’t exactly show her, but regaining control over her own sexuality would have to be part of her program. She needed to be able to live again, on her own. She needed to be strong enough not to fall victim to the next asshole wannabe ‘dom’ she met once she passed the court’s requirements and he no longer needed to worry that she’d end up in a hospital psyche ward.
Step one: She had to be able to take care of herself.
Step two: She had to be able to make decisions. He’d worry about smart decisions later, right now, he’d be happy just to see her break free of Ethen’s programing enough to make any kind of decision on her own.
There were other steps, lots of little landmarks that he knew in his head, if she could just reach them, would mean she’d stand a better chance of never becoming another person’s mindless victim again.
But she was so damaged, and it had been so long since he’d done this kind of work. She might be better off with someone who was fresh. Someone still in the business, who’d maybe studied psychology and who had a degree to help him unravel the mental roadblocks that Ethen had successfully erected inside his ‘pony.’
There might even be someone out there who could do all that and who was kink-friendly.
Someone with two legs and who wasn’t every bit as damaged as Anna was, albeit in different ways.
He’d made so many mistakes with her tonight. He’d give up her care in a heartbeat if only he could think of someone capable of taking over for him and who he’d trust not to make the damage worse.
