by Poppet
I nod, keeping quiet when Kenan comes walking into the lounge, handing me more painkillers and looking at my companions.
Celia stands abruptly, swaying slightly, “We're on our way now, Ken. See ya in the morning, hon. Now you take good care of this young lady or I'll put ya over my knee and spank ya like yer mamma used ta.”
He smiles at her, looking entertained, “I'd like to see you try, looks to me like you might be the one getting the spanking. If you wanted to be put over my knee sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”
She shoves his arm, giggling like a teenager, “Yer incorrigible.”
Her clique quickly get up with her, gathering their things, waving goodbye, Celia kissing his cheek and patting it, some kind of silent communication going on between them.
When they leave, the house is unnaturally quiet. Too quiet.
He comes to sit next to me, taking my hand and holding it between both of his, “How are you doing?”
“Inebriated, high on meds, and still I hurt.”
“I'm taking you to bed, you need rest and TLC.”
And just like that the asshole who's been on my case all day is replaced with mister strong and caring. He plumps the pillows, settling me, and the bedroom TV is switched on, giving me a marathon of Devious Maids while he goes off to sort 'stuff'.
Turns out sorting stuff includes ordering in Chinese, him staying on the bed with me, pulling me to curl up with him when I've eaten all I can, leaving me to fall asleep, blissfully lulled by the thumping of a determined heart under my ear and a comforting arm around me.
He's so gentle and kind, and worried, that I'm willing to just be his doll when he wakes me to get ready for Matthew, kissing me every time he faces my front, fussing and telling me it's okay, he'll give me meds, I won't feel much, he's gonna take care of me, he promises.
If he was always like this I wouldn't mind staying, but my wrist and ear still throb. He puts teething gel on them for me, numbing the pain instantly.
Now why didn't the buffoons at the salon do that?
Sadists.
I reach for his belt but he stays my hands, “You're not ready. You need time.”
I shake my head, “It's okay, I think I can sit on you, maybe give you a hand job? I owe you.”
“This isn't a game, no one's keeping score. No doubt Matt will make us do it later, save your energy Blossom.”
•
Kenan:
Pushing the bars back, their concertina effect helps my cause because I can hide them behind curtains, which I'm doing quickly, folding them away, out of his sight.
They serve a dual purpose, they lock him out and her in. She's belongs to me and until I know I can trust her it's better to be on the safe side, and should Matt spot them and ask about them that's the only reason he'll get for their purpose.
It pains me to take advice from a woman, but I'm thankful for Celia's counsel. My approach to Candy could make or break her acclimation to this environment. I must be sympathetic to her pain and coax her to trust me. If all goes well I should be able to keep her out of Matt's clutches and under me, which is her rightful place. She's young, eager to please, but society has filled her head with so many lies that it's hard to have compassion for that mode of thinking.
Her default must be to submit to me, in everything, it's up to me to train her to be a submissive, and to achieve that she requires daily supplication, to make it routine, to treat her like a toddler, spanking her when she does wrong and rewarding her when she does right.
Celia is right, she's born again, she's now my dependent and I must indoctrinate her, raising her up again as a woman who kneels to god and to me. Some would call it brainwashing, but as any military man will vouch, it's not brainwashing, it's the conditioning that could save a life. Her life belongs to me and it's up to me to now save her. With the front door locked for the first time since I moved here, it's jarring to hear someone knocking instead of just walking in.
“Coming!” I call to it, striding to the door, unlocking it to Vicar Matthew.
He strolls in, a large wooden box under his arm.
He nods, “Ken.”
I plaster a smile on, “Matthew.” I incline my head, shutting the door and leading the way to the private lounge. The one with soundproofing where my little lady is waiting, doped up to her eyeballs so she won't scream or complain. “I have the vodka on ice, it's a new one from Canada and I think you'll approve of the bottle.”
“Oh yes?” he says, walking with me, seemingly casual and relaxed.
I nod, opening the door to the private lounge with its vinyl seats for easy cleaning, the rubberized floor, and plethora of props, “It's called Frozen Ghost. It looks like a person is captured in the bottle, a mirage of spirit imprisoned in the spirit, it's fitting yes?”
He nods, laughing, “You can take the bratva out of Russia, but you can't take the bratva out of the Russian.”
Halting abruptly he looks at Candy sprawled in her chair, waiting for us wearing a full body stocking and five inch heels. I thought it was best, all things considered; the white lace of the body stocking will buffer touch against her sensitive skin. It's crotchless, her mouth is accessible, and as far as I'm concerned that's all he needs to get to tonight. Her body is mine and he's pushing his holy luck with my patience.
Most of the ones I got her are fishnet, the diamonds large, popping out nipples, the garters straps wide apart, leaving complete access to her lower torso, but this one is like the ones the ladies at the M.I. wear. It affords modesty, has long sleeves that hook around her thumb, off the shoulder which is most fetching, covering everything except her shoulders, genitals, and neck. How else am I supposed to save her from Matthew without looking like I'm cock-blocking him?
Bursting into smile, he croons boastfully, “They always look so gorgeous after purification. Now that's a woman worthy of god.”
Glancing at her dark rimmed eyes now stark against the highlights of her blond hair, the pouting lips and creamy skin, she does indeed look like she just fell off her cloud and into my lounge.
Exhaling relief unobtrusively, I stride to the bar, grabbing the vodka from the ice, coming back to the couches and pouring us generous portions. I hand Candy a tumbler half filled with clear numbing potion, hoping we've done enough to get her through tonight without tears or wails.
She smiles at me, her eyes glazed and sparkly, so big and beautiful, her nails painted to match her lips, sloping drunkenly in her chair and giving Matt and myself a perfect view of paradise.
She looks virginal in white, her fair hair suits the look, the patent platform stilettos giving her legs the sculpted effect.
Holy fuck, why can't I just have you to myself already?
Sitting down and stretching my legs, I slug my vodka, savoring the hard cold hit of perfection, clenching my teeth and asking bluntly, “So why are you here? If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to get between a man and the woman god gave him. We are supposed to come to you when we need help, not you offer it daily. Not in the first month of her being here, you shouldn't. With you constantly in her space she's getting mixed signals. I need time alone with her Matt, I need you to respect my authority and my space with my woman.”
He pushes the box across the glass table, “I am helping. This might help you train her into wrapture.”
Arching eyebrows I slam my tumbler on the table, tugging the drawer looking wooden box toward me. Examining it, I see it's padded and lined with velvet on the inside, a hole made for her face and neck. It locks.
“What is this?”
“A smotherbox. It cuts out sound, cocooning her head in the box, shutting out external stimuli. It has other uses, obviously, some use it the way you use a queening stool, and you're welcome to use it that way, sitting on it and forcing your genitals into her mouth, but with this she will be forced to focus on the sensation applied to her body, it amplifies her sense of touch.”
I look at Matthew, forcing a grin, wishin
g he'd just fuck off. This is the last thing she needs right now. “Thanks, you're a bud.” I leave it on the table, slugging back vodka, weighing the pros and cons of getting violent with Matt.
His mouth tightens, his black eyes flattening with anger, “Do it.”
I shake my head, “When we're alone, sure. As I mentioned I'm worried about her getting mixed signals. She's my possession, it's up to me to train her.”
He sits back, reclining, folding hands on his stomach, “Don't mind me, pretend I'm not here.”
Swallowing bile, I sit forward, saying firmly, “She went for purification today, this is my night to be alone with her. Sorry Matthew, no insult intended, but this night is a holy night. You know it is. It's time for me to take my bride my way, tonight it's just me and the omniscient eyes of god in my home, but rest assured if she shows any sign of corruption I'll be at your door and asking you for help.”
He sits forward too, tension evident in every nuance, “I represent god. I need to see the proof for myself.”
Stress is pumping my muscles so hard they ache, I know my veins are engorging, the ones on my arms look like I've been pumping iron, but I keep my tone civil, “Matthew, you know I'm qualified to do this without supervision. I've been your star fuck for years, I've never required correction for my methods or my execution of them. Don't overstep your official boundaries.”
He stands, glowering down at me, so I stand too, having the height advantage, deliberately standing so that I fill the room with my imposing stature. If it comes right down to it this is a fight he'll lose, not me. I'm stronger than a Boeing and faster than a fucking ninja. I also know how to make bodies disappear without a trace. He's walking a very fine line right now.
Nodding, he gives me the smug sneer of challenge, “Good luck. Mya's being inducted on Friday, I expect you both to be there, and I'll gauge Candace's progress in catechism.”
He doesn't say another word, leaving the room, his shoes squeaking on the white tiles to the front door. I trail after him, locking it behind him, hoping he didn't notice the foldaway bars.
There's a knock on it before I have the chance to move, so I open it again to Matthew, “Yes?”
“Film it. I expect proof Kenan.”
I stand there long after he's driven away, breathing in the cool night air, vexed and insulted. Before going back to Candy I spend thirty minutes with my punchbag in the gym, finish the vodka, and then set up the digital eyes, pressing record before sauntering back to her, forcing myself to relax for the show. I get paid to make this look good, but can I con a digital eye? I think I can.
Challenge accepted.
“Blossom, come here darling, let me rest your head in this box,” I call her across to me, setting it up on the floor on top of the faux fur rug.
She's so wasted she slinks off her chair, sliding onto her knees, crawling slowly to me, giggling every time her hands get stuck on her hair. I can't help it, the sight breaks my ire clean in half and I end up laughing with her. If I was a dog I'd be drooling right now. She finally reaches me, drooping, her arms wilting, resting her face in my crotch, slumping at my side to roll and stare up at me with her hair splayed across my thigh.
Cupping her face, stroking her cheekbone with my thumb, I'm watching that mouth, that perfect pretty little mouth. So fucking beautiful. You're meant to be all mine, I chose you out of thousands, just who the hell does that cocksucker think he is?
She reaches up, soft hands cradling my jaw, staring soulfully up at me. I got hard watching her crawl to me and now I'm throbbing like a war siren. We don't need this effing smotherbox, I should be able to just take her now without arsing about with distractions. This is bullshit.
Forced into it, I coax her, softly rubbing my thumb across her bottom lip, smiling at the trust in her eyes, “I need your head in the box, baby. I have a little surprise for you.”
She frowns, her eyes clouding, trying to understand the command. Grimacing because my back is to the camera and the fucker can't see my expression, I mouth, 'sorry'. Lifting her, I drape her into position, closing the box on her, securing it so that only her face peeps out of the circle at me.
Putting my hand on her face I ghost my fingers down, making her close her eyes. I know the sermon, I know what Matthew wants me to do. He's going to use this footage as a tutorial. I should be proud, but I'm not. I'm feeling territorial, unwilling to share her with the billion Biblical Porn addicts.
Stripping for the camera I pull my shirt off slowly, flexing all the right muscles, posing for deltoids, lats, abs, and popping the inguinal ligaments when I drop my jeans. If there's one thing the internet has taught me it's that chicks dig the V shape diving into jeans from these ligaments.
Happy that I've done my bit, I focus on my babe, hauling the ice bucket within reach, extracting an ice cube and positioning myself over her so the camera can see what I'm doing.
Gripping the lace in my teeth, I yank it, tearing a hole over each of her nipples, then ease the ice over each of them, and like happy soldiers they stand to pert attention.
Glancing at the camera, I regurgitate the facts, “Stimulating the nipple is erogenous.” I nick my thumb pad over the one closest to me, saying, “Every time you thumb her nipple a dart of sensation bolts from this point,” and I trail my finger all the way to her vagina, “to this point.”
I repeat it on her left side, “Likewise this side, creating a triangle of erotic stimulation. To make her wet and ready simply spend a few minutes nicking her nipples, you don't have to squeeze them, just roll them, flicking them back and forth, left and right with your thumbs, this sets her body into the on position, flipping an internal switch which is clenching her genitals and saturating her pussy with lubrication, readying her for your holy duty.”
I'm watching her, trying to keep my expression congenial, being as soft as I can without letting on that I'm being gentle. Her eyes are still closed inside the smotherbox, her chest rising and falling with exaggerated breathing. It's good to know that despite her pain issues I can still turn her on. The evidence is all there for the camera to see.
Glancing at the camera, I smile nefariously, “How do you know she wants it? How do you know she's ready? Nipple stimulation has been employed, and if you thumb them again and trail your hand down to her C spot, she'll open her legs and arc her pelvis toward your hand if she's ready. Well would you look at that. I don't mind if I do.”
Rolling so that the camera can't see a god damn thing, I take my time, sliding into her syrupy hole, making sweet slow glorious love to my little woman. Take that and suck on it you fucktarded vicar. Telling me what to do in my own home with my own woman. How do like staring at my rectum for the whole show? Yeah, that's what I think of you now brother. When I release her from the box, she giggles, crawling over me and sitting on my thighs, her little soft hand grabbing my clammy cock and working it. “My turn.”
The meds are working a dream tonight.
Without being aware of the repercussions, she turns her back to me, bending forwards, giving me the perfect view when she slides me into her, rocking, pumping full breasts into a gallop, her hair wild, the rapture of a woman in control caught for all the world to witness. By choosing backwards cowgirl it looks like she knew where the camera was and what it was for. Matthew will be impressed with her compliance, she hasn't objected once. Never underestimate the power of nipple action, maybe I've finally found her weakness. Or it could be the meds. Naaah, I've found her sweet spot. Every chick has one.
Tensing, cumming again, I smile at the camera, whooping, “Praise the lord.”
~ Chapter 12 ~
There are some things
that the lord our god has kept secret
~Deuteronomy 29:29
Candace:
After my educational girl chat yesterday I now know that in this community sex equates with appreciation and respect. I have to play my part, daily, and no matter how awful I feel I must coo and gasp, I must show gratitude and pleasure, I
must fuck him as often as I can so that he thinks I'm converted. The pain in my arm and ear wake me early, so I decide now's as good a time as any. Shunting the duvet down, I straddle him, sliding his sleep engorged penis inside me, riding him awake, him stretching his arms out lethargically, his muscles defined even in rest, smiling sleepily at me, “And good morning to you too.”
I smile, throwing my head back and really doing a number, shivering and clenching like a diva, then flopping over him with extreme exhalations. As far as guys go he's nice candy, but this isn't how I foresaw my future. I expected dancing, candlelit dinners, walks in the rain, scouring hokey pokey shops for the perfect hall vase, or making my own curtains because I can't find ones I like. I expected normal. I wanted it. I wanted a garden swing, a cosy house, a bright yellow kitchen and a yard brimming with sunflowers. What I didn't want is super expensive and elite, I didn't want a guy with an ego as big as his bank balance. I wanted someone who truly loves me, who balances me. Kenan unbalances me. He rolls us, holding my face and staring down at me, looking at me fondly. It's most disconcerting.
“How's my Blossom feeling?”
I shrug. “Been better,” I say diplomatically.
Dark lashes narrow and he really looks at me, “Sweetheart, I know you think I'm an asshat, but I'm not. I want to know, are you hurting?”
I nod, suddenly feeling horribly hormonal.
He purses his lips, extracting himself from my body and sitting up, “I'll go get your tabs.”
And buck naked he goes strolling off, coming back with water, coffee, and a hand of tablets. He has his own too, and sits with me, feeding me the pill (a morning routine now), three pain tabs, and another one I don't recognize.