The Word Master

by Jason Luke

  “Really?” I shrugged my shoulders in a gesture of dismissal. “I’ve never been a believer in clairvoyants…”

  “So, you fuck women who submit to your demands, yes?” Renata interrupted abruptly from the corner of her mouth, changing the subject with the kind of brusqueness that I was beginning to see as typical of her personality. The match flared, highlighting her wide penetrating gaze for an instant, and then she inhaled deeply and blew a plume of smoke at the ceiling.

  She waved the match in the air until it went out, and April dutifully handed her an ashtray.

  “I guess you could say that,” I conceded. “But that’s not how I would say it.”

  “Oh,” Renata arched an intrigued eyebrow like she was interrogating me. “How would you say it then?”

  I met her gaze steadily. “I treat those women who want to submit in a respectful manner that ensures we both benefit from each experience – sexually and emotionally,” I said. “Sexual domination – being a woman’s Master – is not a permission slip to be a brute or an abuser. A woman’s submission is a gift, and it’s something that must be handled carefully. It’s a fragile thing, built around trust. If you drop it even once, then the gift is shattered and can never be restored.”

  Renata narrowed her eyes. She rolled the cigarette between her fingers. “You are talking about trust,” she said. “And by that you are really saying that submissives must be respected, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said. I flashed a glance at April. She was sitting close to Renata, their shoulders touching. April had her head turned. She was watching the German girl with a rapt look of adoration lighting up her eyes.

  I looked back at Renata. “If you are interested in the lifestyle, and if you wish to learn how to treat and train April as your submissive, you need to remember the relationship you have, and ensure it always remains more important than the roles you develop,” I said. “Don’t make the mistake of ever assuming April exists to serve you outside of the time you dedicate to sex play. That would be a mistake.”

  Renata nodded. She crushed the cigarette out and shifted her weight in the beanbag so that I could see all the way up the length of her thighs. She wasn’t wearing panties.

  “But some people live these lifestyles, correct?”

  Everything she said ended with a question. Perhaps that was the German in her.

  “Yes they do,” I agreed. “But those relationships often begin with that understanding. You are talking about taking an existing, loving relationship, and altering the balance of it. All I am saying is that you should be careful how you proceed. Don’t veer so far off course that what you already have is destroyed, or broken beyond repair.”

  Renata nodded. Her gaze was cool, yet fascinated. She was intrigued in what I had to say, not interested in me. She nodded her head in thoughtful understanding for several seconds.

  “Do you like art?’ she asked at last.

  April cut in quickly, her words like the gush of a proud parent. “Renata is working on her first exhibition,” she explained. “A series of works that explore the emotion of agony.”

  I looked blank. “Is it abstract art?”

  Renata nodded her head. “Yes,” she said. As she answered, her hand absently reached across and rested high up on April’s thigh. It was a possessive thing – a reflex – but I noticed.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand abstract. I’m a simple guy.”

  Renata gave me the hint of a mocking smile. “Then tell me simply what I must do to give April the same submissive experiences she shares with you. No abstract answers,” she insisted. “Just tell me.”

  I could see Renata offending a lot of Americans. Her nature and the language she used was curt and abrupt. It was almost confronting. It was something I was accustomed to – Australians can be pretty blunt in expressing themselves – but I imagined it made her hard to like as a friend.

  “Tease her,” I said. “That would be a start. Make her want to give herself to you. You can’t just stand over her and demand submission. You need to weaken her will to resist, in the nicest possible way, and then reward her generously when she does.”

  Renata frowned in thought and then uncurled her long legs and got to her feet. She unbuttoned the shirt and stood shamelessly naked in the middle of the living room. Her pussy was shaved smooth, her breasts pert and firm. She stood still for a moment and then sauntered to the far corner of the room. She dropped into the chair and spread her legs wide.

  “Come!” she snapped her fingers at April. “Lick my pussy.” She reached down between her parted thighs and pulled the soft lips of her sex open. April crawled across the floor and dipped her head dutifully between Renata’s legs. Renata sucked in a sharp breath and looked across the room at me with a smug smile of satisfaction.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “No.” I said.

  Renata’s expression turned dark and confused in an instant. She sat upright and clamped her thighs together. April sat back, frowning.

  Renata got to her feet and her hands went to her hips. “What was wrong? She did as I told her.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but you forgot the most important part of the process – you forgot your submissive.”

  Renata looked incredulous and I got the impression she was unaccustomed to being told she was wrong. There was the petulant air of a spoiled child about the way she pursed her lips.

  “Show me,” she demanded.

  Normally at this point I would have told anyone who spoke to me like that to fuck off… and the words leaped quickly to my lips, before I caught the bewildered plea on April’s face. I choked back the words and got to my feet.

  I turned to April. “You will need to strip down to your underwear.”

  “Do it, Liebling,” Renata insisted.

  April undressed quietly, and when she was in her bra and panties I ordered her to her knees in the position we had been practicing during the sub-club sessions.

  I turned to Renata. “What you just did was no different to a guy who just wants his cock sucked,” I said. “You wanted your pleasure so you ordered April to satisfy you. That might be fine in a few months time when you have established your roles and you demonstrate that her satisfaction matters to you. But right now, it was selfish. Nothing more.”

  “But she did it!” Renata said with a theatrical flourish of her hands. “She obeyed me.”

  “Out of duty, not out of desire,” I said. “It’s like a couple that has been married for twenty years who have sex once a week. The woman rolls onto her back and the man grunts above her until he comes. The woman does that out of duty to the relationship. Desire is something else entirely.”

  Renata saw my point, but didn’t admit it. I saw the understanding in her eyes but she was too arrogant to concede her mistake.

  I went towards where April was kneeling. “Open your mouth,” I said. It was a command and April obeyed me instinctively. I stepped closer and pressed the bulge in my jeans against her face. “Feel me,” I said, softening my voice so that it was thick with passion. “Feel how hard my cock is through my jeans. Use your mouth and your hands. I want you to rub me until I’m aroused.”

  April’s hands came from behind her back and she pressed her palms against the swelling length of me. Through the thick denim I could feel the teasing exploration of her fingers. Then she pressed her mouth against my jeans and her hot breath radiated through the fabric.

  “I’m going to fuck you tonight,” I said, my voice deep and commanding. “I’m going to fill you with my cock, but I need you to be ready for me. I want you wet and mad with desire before I bend you over and take you. Do you understand?”

  April lifted her face to mine. Her eyes were enormous, glazed with desire. Her lips were parted, and she was panting softly. She nodded her head.

  “Good girl,” I purred. I dropped down to my haunches and ran my hand possessively over her breasts, cupping each one through the lace of her bra, and then reaching
down inside the waistband of her panties until the tips of my fingers were just an inch away from the bud of her clit. April sucked in a deep breath so her whole belly concaved. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and she swayed as though she were teetering on the verge of a precipice – praying she would be carried over the abyss.

  “Are you wet?” I whispered in her ear.

  She swallowed hard and then licked her lips. “Yes!” she gasped.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be a good girl?”

  “Yes!”

  I glanced over my shoulder to where Renata stood watching. Her expression was curious – not outraged or offended. She was as emotionally detached as a scientist studying an experiment.

  I got back to my feet. April’s eyes were still screwed shut. I scraped my thumbnail along the zipper of my jeans so that it made a convincing sound. “I want you to suck my cock,” I told April. “And if I’m satisfied – if you please me – I will allow you to come.”

  April lunged forward with her mouth open wide and a desperate growl of hunger in the back of her throat. When she realized it had all been a charade, her eyes flew wide. She looked up at me, and then saw Renata nearby. April blinked owlishly. She looked embarrassed and stunned by the eagerness she had revealed.

  I glanced at Renata to be sure I had made my point, and then I cupped April’s chin in the palm of my hand and stooped to kiss her fondly on the cheek. “Thanks for an interesting night,” I said. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

  The sun was rising by the time I finally made it back to my apartment.

  I crawled into bed and slept like the dead until late in the afternoon.

  Chapter 19.

  The ‘Victorian’ was an upscale restaurant at the southern end of Newbury Street. The building was old, the décor ornate and lavish. The high ceiling was molded in swirling relief patterns and heavy plush drapes hung from the walls, creating a cozy, elegant atmosphere.

  Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the light glittering into a myriad of golden shards so that the overall effect was to create an intimate sense of timelessness – of being transported back to an era of opulent luxury.

  The maître D’ and wait staff were dressed in tuxedos complete with bow ties, and there was a grand piano in a secluded corner, the music lilting around the tables like a gentle breeze. I was led to a table against a wall of the restaurant. One of the staff asked me if I would like to see the wine list. I suddenly remembered Grover telling me that Cindy was just twenty years old… and so I ordered a couple of Cokes while the waiter tried to disguise his distress.

  I glanced at my watch – it was a few minutes before 7pm. To while away the time I looked casually around at the other patrons. They were mostly elderly couples – the kind of folks you find on cruise ships. The men all wore ill-fitting suits, and ties that fashion long ago forgot. The women were grey-haired and dripping with jewelry, as though this was a rare opportunity to dress lavishly and they were going to make the most of it. I was wearing a sports jacket and my best jeans.

  I felt decidedly out of place.

  She came from behind me so that the first thing I remember was the intoxicating scent of her perfume, and then I sensed her presence close behind my chair. I didn’t turn round.

  “Hello, Jericho,” I heard a playful smile in her words, and recognized Sondra’s voice. She put her hand lightly on my shoulder and then leaned close. I felt myself stiffen. I felt the electric charge of her touch draw my nerves tight. Her lips brushed against my ear and her voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “I am so glad you decided to meet me,” she husked. “Just the sight of you has been enough to soak my panties.”

  I didn’t move. I sat staring ahead into the empty space. “I didn’t have much choice,” I said, careful to drain my tone of any emotion. “But as we agreed, after this dinner, you stop calling the radio station.”

  Sondra gasped a soft breath that sent a tingle jolting down my spine… and then stepped from behind my chair and stood across the table from where I sat.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I shot bolt upright.

  “My god!” the words were wrenched from me in utter shock as I gaped at the woman. “You’re Sondra?”

  Chapter 20.

  Nancy Collett waited with an enigmatic smile on her face while a flustered waiter hurried to the table and drew out her chair. She smiled up at the man’s face in polite dismissal, and then turned her gaze to me.

  “Hello, Jericho,” she said again, this time all pretense of the Sondra voice was gone, but what remained, like an undercurrent to her tone, was the sultry hint of sexuality that inflected her words. Her eyes were slanted, her lips slightly parted and ripe as fruit.

  She was wearing a long dress, cinched tight at the waist and cut low at the neckline so that I could see the cleft of her breasts as they pressed against the fabric. Around her throat was a thin diamond-studded choker. Her hair was different, styled straight so that it brushed the tops of her shoulders.

  “Surprised?”

  “Shocked,” I said – and I meant it. I frowned, still reeling in disbelief.

  Nancy seemed pleased by my reaction. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She set down a little glittering clutch bag on the edge of the table and leaned closer. Her gaze never left me.

  “I’m a submissive,” she said, “… or at least I was a long time ago. It’s something that has never left me – that deep compelling desire to surrender myself to the right man. When you walked into my world, I simply knew I had to have you.”

  I sat back and scraped my fingers through my hair. Suddenly all the air seemed to have been sucked from the room. I glared at Nancy, my face somehow impassive, but behind the blank expression my mind was lurching between shock and dread.

  “Why the charade?” I spat the words out. Slowly my surprise was turning into a simmering anger. I felt somehow betrayed. She had deceived me.

  Nancy detected the edge to my voice. She flinched. Her eyelids beat like a butterfly’s wings, but she remained composed, now eager to explain herself before my anger turned to outrage.

  “I’m a forty-one year old woman, Jericho. I’m not the kind of woman that normally interests a man like you – I know that,” she shrugged her shoulders and softness came into her eyes. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to compete with all the pretty young things that would be drawn to you – women like Cindy or April…”

  Her voice trailed off into a reflective silence.

  I said nothing.

  Nancy searched my face for some sign of understanding. I doubted what she saw there gave her any encouragement. She went on in a tortured torrent of words.

  “I knew I had to find a way to create an opportunity – that’s all I wanted. An opportunity for you to see the real me – the passionate submissive that has lurked, too long neglected, beneath the everyday exterior.”

  I shook my head. None of this was making sense. “But you’re a hard brutal bitch – that’s your work reputation. You’re a ball breaker with your staff. I just can’t believe that you would have a single submissive tendency in that body of yours.”

  I took a closer look at that body. It was in good shape. Nancy clearly worked out. She was slim, her figure with the kind of lean muscle tone that comes from long hours on a Stairmaster.

  I was still shaking my head. “It just seems too out of character…”

  Nancy pursed her lips. “Far from it,” she assured me. “A lot of high-powered executive men in the business world are secret submissives. They become that way because of the constant stress of their work. All day long they are the hard no-compromising bastard with an eagle-eye on the bottom line… so when they get home, they see submission as a release – a relief. For them it’s a chance to let someone else have control. That’s what I want. That’s what I need you to give me.”

  I started shaking my head slowly, hearing the words but not under
standing. Everything was a turmoil that set my instincts scrambling into utter confusion.

  “You want to submit to me? You want me to become your Master?”

  “Jericho, you make it sound like something utterly bizarre, but what I want is not uncommon. There are millions of women in the world like me,” Nancy’s words were raw and heartfelt. “Some are business executives, others work full-time jobs. Others are full-time mothers. They spend all day being someone else – shouldering the burdens of their careers, their livelihoods and their families. Eventually we become numbed. We forget the sheer simple delight of being a woman and the relief many women feel at being able to surrender to someone else. Daily life consumes us. We end up becoming who we need to be to survive, and forget to connect with who we instinctively are.”

  Nancy’s gaze was steady. She was leaning across the table, tense and earnest. Her hand fluttered on the table like a bird with a broken wing.

  “I want you to give me the chance to experience submission again,” she went on. I had the feeling she was slipping into a speech that had been carefully rehearsed. I didn’t think Nancy was the kind of woman who would argue emotionally. She would be practical. That’s what bothered me.

  I sat way back in the chair as though to give myself space. A waiter came to the table with menus clutched to his chest. He gave me a smarmy pretentious smile and laid the leather folders down on the table before us with a flourish.

  “Are madam and sir enjoying themselves?”

  Nancy looked up into the man’s face and her expression became bleak. “Go away,” she said. There was an icy frost on her lips. The waiter faltered and the blood drained away from his face. His eyes widened for an instant in shock, and then he turned on his heel and disappeared.

  “Well?” Nancy tried to reach for my hand as if to seize back my attention. “What do you think?”

  I wasn’t thinking anything. My mind was still reeling. I took a deep breath and tried to work through how I felt.