Page 43 of Release Me

What happened to the stale smell of the cheap, unscented detergent they use here?

I’m reminded I am no longer in Meadowlake when I open my eyes and the room around me comes into focus. I’m in the gigantic, four-poster, king-sized bed at Dick’s estate.

Oh my god.

Everything that happened yesterday comes flooding back. It wasn’t a dream.

That motherfucker tormented me until I was in complete agony.

I hate how much I loved it.

I reach in between my legs, already horny just thinking about how he teased me and tortured me with relentless orgasms and am dumbfounded when I realize I’m too tender to touch myself. Pulling the blankets back, I sit up and take in the sight of my swollen lips and clit. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been even remotely sore after any type of sexual activity, let alone in too much pain to touch myself.

This won’t fucking do.

Grunting my frustration loudly into the vast room, I kick my blankets off the rest of the way and lie there. I need... I need...something. I place my fingertip over my clit and try to rub through the pain. I’ve always been able to fuck through the pain before, why should this be any different?

But the moment I attempt to put more pressure on my sensitive nerve endings, a sharp sting speeds through my body, making me feel like a jolt of electricity went through me. And not in a good way.

Fuck. Dick.

“Ahhh!”

I lie there, stewing, for a while, unable to think of anything other than how Dick made me feel yesterday. How he’s made me feel every time we’ve been together since the first night he ordered me to make myself come in my cell in the basement of the institute.

It’s unnerving the way he knows exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. I like to have the upper hand at all times. I need to be the one in control. But when Dick took over yesterday, even through the torment, there was an additional layer of intrigue to the encounter. I’m not saying I’m ready to sign myself up for the complete Fifty Shades experience, but I’m certainly open to a more in-depth discussion about it. One where I’m not out of my mind with lust and need. One where I can fully participate, ask questions, and tell him what I will and won’t be comfortable with.

Thinking back to our encounter on the roof of Meadowlake, I remember how natural it felt being with him. It felt good. I felt wanted for the first time since Jacob. It was both similar to, yet completely different from any other random hookup I’ve ever had. Something tells me he’s never done this with any of his other patients. What is it about me? Is it because I’m easy and he’s hard up?

That doesn’t seem right. If that were the case, why wouldn’t he have fucked me yesterday? He had more than enough chances to. He’s not a bad guy, that much is for certain. I don’t see him putting me through something and calling it beneficial to me, just because he wants to get laid.

I mean, he’s fucking gorgeous for starters. He can get any girl he wants. Second, the way he took care of me after I fainted and after Finn attacked me speaks volumes. He cared for me. Made sure I was okay. Told me I’m not the person I was groomed to be growing up.

He brought Gabriella with us. If he didn’t want to help her, why would he have done that? Surely not just to try and get in my pants. He hired a tutor and nurse for her.

He’s agoodperson.

So what the fuck does he see in me?

I lie in bed for a little while longer, trying not to think about my raging lady boner that got even harder thinking about Dick. Before long, my roaming eyes land on my bedside clock.

7:36 A.M.

I have just enough time to take a cold shower before I’m due at the breakfast table.

* * *

I expected Dick to take me back to his dungeon but am surprisingly relieved when he doesn’t. Instead, after a mile-long walk along one of the trails behind his house, and another shower, he led me into his home office. It’s much nicer than his office at Meadowlake. The gray walls and black and brushed nickel furniture have a masculine touch, which is softened by the art on the walls.

The vibrantly colored flowers are both stunning and erotic, and I feel almost hypnotized by their beauty. Each one is different in shape and color, but none is more beautiful than the other.

“They’re Georgia O’Keeffe’s.”

Dick breaks the silence as I continue staring.

“They’re beautiful. Kinky, but pretty,” I answer.

“They are. You know, she painted flowers as she saw them. She didn’t paint them for the eroticism everyone else saw in them. In fact, she disagreed with many of the different interpretations of her work. She was once quoted saying how everyone hung their own associations on her flowers, or something like that. She didn’t like when others were convinced they saw her paintings the same way she did.”

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