Goddess: A Femme Domme Erotica Novel

by R. J. Castille

  Gordon himself stood in the center of the window facing the elevator. As soon as I emerged, his gaze had locked on to me and he now stood, staring at me intently. I slid the black bag off my shoulder as I crossed the floor and set it down on the floor next to the bed. I turned toward Gordon and smiled at him as I pulled the new crop from the black bag. He stood motionless, waiting for me to approach him and address his need to feel my punishing blows .

  I reached out with the tip of the crop and teased his exposed nipples, making sure to pay equal attention to both. I trailed it around his shoulder as I walked to the back side of his form, snapping my fingers and pointing down as I did so. Gordon responded by lowering himself to his knees rested on his hands. Pleased with his response, I tapped him with short flicks of the crop across his shoulders, down his back and toward his hard buttocks. I warmed his flesh sufficiently with even taps of the crop before raising my arm above my head and arching it toward his awaiting skin. My arm swung back as I followed through, the new crop light and nimble in my hand.

  After several sets of ten strikes, I allowed Gordon to regain his breath. He still had yet to ever utter the safe word in all our sessions, which had impressed me greatly. I was especially hard on him this time toward the end, pushing his pain threshold to the absolute maximum. The physical evidence of that fact was present in the form of numerous, angry-red welts erupting from his bare skin.

  Motioning for him to follow me, I walked toward the bed where I had him lean over the edge, laying the upper half of his body on the mattress while kneeling on the floor. His reddened buttocks were easily accessible and his new position would allow him to rest. I pulled the bottle of hemp-seed oil from the black bag along with the soft towel, which I laid on the bed next to his head. I opened the bottle of oil and tipped it upside-down over my hand, spilling a large amount into my palm. I closed the cap and used my other hand to warm the oil between my palms before reaching down and working it into Gordon’s tender skin.

  He flinched at my first touch, nerve endings no doubt screaming as I used long, slow, circular motions to rub the oil in deeper. Muffled moans escaped his lips as he turned his head toward the mattress, burying his face into the silk sheets. Within several minutes, Gordon’s skin was saturated with the soothing substance. His hips moved slightly each time I touched him, automatically withdrawing from my fingers.

  I began to notice dark red blotches appear on his skin where I had applied the oil. Gordon suddenly began to gasp for air, clutching the sheet tightly in his hands. He expelled several deep-chested coughs as he continued to struggle to catch his breath. My hand pulled on his shoulder to flip him over and I saw immediately that Gordon Roth was not okay. His lips were rapidly turning a strange shade of blue and his face was swelling up around his eyes and nose. Gordon’s hands found their way to his throat where he clawed at his neck in a display of clear panic.

  “Goddess, please,” Gordon wheezed between labored breaths, “help me,” his face twisted into a mask of desperation, his words coming out as a choking gurgle. He continued to grasp at his throat as if the motions of his hands would help him catch his breath. Gordon’s chest heaved up and down and I saw the same blotchy patches had appeared on his torso and were creeping up his neck. His eyes pleaded with me as he struggled to speak. “Help me, please…Leila,” the last thing he said before he collapsed, unconscious on the bed stopped me dead in my tracks.

  I stared at his motionless body in disbelief. Mr. Roth had uttered my God given name just before he fell out, which meant he knew who I really was. It was hard to fathom and I searched my memory in attempt to identify when he could have discovered it. I was always so careful not to expose my true identity. After several seconds of struggling inwardly to remember when I let my guard down, I realized that Gordon’s life hung in the balance and I needed to act quickly to keep him from expiring. I hastily removed my mask so my vision was not unnecessarily obstructed.

  Gordon Roth was obviously having an anaphylactic reaction to something he had been exposed to. The signs were all there. Inability to breath, coughing and wheezing as if he was having a sudden asthma attack, large, red hives covering nearly every surface of his body. I ran across the room and started to dig desperately through his bag he had stashed in the corner of the room. Digging through the layers of clothes he had neatly folded and placed on top of the contents of the bag, I tossed them to the side, discarding them as I continued to search. When I found what I was looking for, I pulled it triumphantly from the bag and returned to Gordon’s side.

  Knowing that a man of Gordon Roth’s position in life would definitely have the means to have an emergency epinephrine injector in his possession, I was thankful that he had actually had enough sense to carry it with him. I thumbed off the safety cap and positioned myself to the side of his leg so I could access the area I needed to administer the medication. Counting to three silently in my mind, I thrust the injector onto his outer thigh. I felt the needle spring forth from the outside of the tube and held it in place for fifteen seconds. I withdrew the device and checked to see that the needle had been deployed, indicating Gordon had received the dose contained within.

  Following the additional instructions printed on the label stuck onto the side of the injector, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. An operator on the other side answered within two rings, advising me that I had called emergency services. She further inquired as to the nature of my emergency. I stated that I had to administer a dose of epinephrine from a prescribed auto-injector and described the situation. Indicating that Gordon Roth had fallen prey to an allergic reaction and became unconscious, prompting me to use the medication. The operator thanked me for acting so quickly and informed me that emergency services were on their way. A few moments later, I could hear the sirens of an approaching vehicle draw nearer.

  When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, two uniformed paramedics emerged, pushing a long gurney into the penthouse. Stacked on top were two large bags with emergency symbols screen-printed on multiple sides. The men rushed to where I waited with Gordon, pushing me out of the way as they arrived at his side. I still held the auto-injector in my hand, prepared to deliver it to the responding EMS workers. Slightly embarrassed that the first responders had come into what some would consider questionable activities, I watched in horror as they quickly went to work on Gordon’s unmoving figure.

  The men retrieved several items from the emergency bags they had with them and moved at lightning speed to check that Gordon still had a pulse and check his vital signs. I heard one say his blood pressure was low as the other pierced the skin on his arm and attached a long, clear tube to the intravenous catheter that was now taped in place. The other end of the tube was inserted into a clear bag of fluid that was suspended from the top of a pole that was fastened to the gurney.

  Gordon looked small and insignificant as the paramedics strapped him to the gurney, tightening the belts that crossed over his body in several locations, securing him to the surface. They had placed a clear mask over his nose and mouth that was held in place by a strap of elastic, the long tubing that was inserted into the end of the mask led to a tall canister that had the word “OXYGEN” stenciled down the side. As they rushed him into the elevator and away from my presence, my heart sank. I imagined their progress when they reached the ground floor, they would wheel him out the entryway and into the back of the awaiting ambulance.

  I gathered my things together quickly, taking care to grab a few clothing items from Gordon’s duffle bag, and hurried down to the bottom floor and out to the parking lot where my car was waiting.

  Unlocking the door, I sat behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition to the on position. I reversed my car from the parking space carefully and pointed my car in the direction the emergency vehicle had gone. As I drove, a million concerns flew through my mind. When I arrived at the Emergency Room where Mr. Roth had been taken, I was quite on edge.

  As I sat in the waiting room, th
e sounds of a busy hospital surrounded me. My nose was assaulted by the strange medicinal smell that penetrated the air. I sat on a bench on the wall opposite the check-in window and waited for what seemed like an eternity for someone to come and tell me how Gordon was doing. An elderly man sat across from me, his head bobbing up and down as he drew labored breaths, fighting the sleep that repeatedly took him over.

  I went over in my mind what I would say once Gordon was conscious again. Given the evening’s events, I had numerous hurdles to overcome and I definitely owed Gordon an explanation, or two.

  -33-

  The hospital room was dark and cold. Gordon lay in one of two beds against the wall, his body looked frail under the soft glow of florescent lighting. A clear tube was wrapped around his face and behind his ears, the center placed directly under his nose, offering a continuous flow of fresh oxygen. Next to his head, a large machine with several screens displaying different numbers as the cuff on his arm periodically squeezed and checked his blood pressure. Another screen showed a line that danced continuously across the monitor, creating a visible depiction of his heart rate. Each time the line bounced upward in time with the beat of his heart, a sharp beep came out of the speaker.

  Gordon lay still, his head elevated slightly and various tubes draped across his body. I could see several marks on his arms, an indication that they had drawn blood samples for further testing. As I stood across from him, staring at his resting face, his eyes fluttered open before closing again. This was repeated several times before he managed to keep them open. He strained to see me, squinting his eyes shut and reopening them again.

  I approached him slowly, moving to the side of his bed. Gordon followed my movement with his eyes, tilting his head to the side as I leaned in closer to him. I planted it small kiss on the top of his head and stroked his hand with mine. He attempted to smile in response, raising one side of his mouth in a half-grin.

  Pulling one of the visitor chairs from the wall closer to the side of the bed, I lowered myself onto the seat, returning my hand to his. For some time, we sat in silence, lost in each other’s eyes. His face no longer took on that familiar hardened look. Dark eyes reflected a softer side of Gordon Roth I had not experienced. He sighed audibly when I squeezed his hand in mine.

  I was struggling to find the words to express myself. So many things needed to be said, and I definitely did not know where to start.

  “I guess the jig is up,” I attempted to interject some humor into an otherwise stressful situation. He smiled in response, reaching up and patting me weakly on the top of my head. “I would ask you how you knew and how long you have known, but that I suppose that is senseless at this point.” Just as I was starting to loosen up and felt the words coming to mind that I could offer up in explanation and comfort, two men walked into the room.

  Both gentlemen stood side by side, the starched collars of their button down shirts fastened around colorful silk ties. The wool suits they wore were not of the same caliber I had seen Mr. Roth wear on many occasions, but it framed their forms well, making their shoulders appear wide and strong. The shorter man approached us while the other, a tall, dark-haired man hung back, silently observing us. He stuck out his hand in greeting toward me and introduced both himself and the other visitor.

  “Ms. King I presume,” his hand folded over mine and shook it firmly, pumping our hands up and down twice before relinquishing my slender fingers. “I am Detective Mills and this is my partner, Detective Larson,” he thrust his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the other officer. I stared at him, confused about the purpose of their presence. As if he had read my mind, Detective Larson chimed in .

  “The hospital contacted us, they indicated that the emergency responders who answered your call reported that your situation was possibly suspicious and may need further investigation,” his deep voice was too loud in the small space, “Mr. Roth here has suffered a severe allergic reaction triggered by exposure to almonds. They have done some tests and discovered that the source of the almonds is the oil that you apparently used to massage him earlier this evening,” Detective Larson eyed me suspiciously as he finished speaking.

  “What my esteemed partner is trying to say Ms. King, is that we need to ask you and Mr. Roth a few questions,” Detective Mills’ eyes twinkled at me as he pulled a small pad of paper and pen from the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. He pressed the end of the pen with his thumb, the point emerging from the opposite end of the cylinder, poised over the paper and ready to take note of what was said.

  A barrage of questions came next. I was insulted and irritated as each detective took turns asking a series of inquiries. It was becoming clearer to them as I answered that I was unaware of any extraordinary circumstance surrounding Gordon’s accidental poisoning. When the honed in on the massage oil I had used, I had a terrible thought.

  Although I kept insisting that it was hemp-seed oil, I always used that kind to soothe the skin after I engaged my partner in a scene, the back of my mind was shouting one name. Matthew! The thought echoed through my mind and I realized that, unfortunately, my overactive imagination may be right this time around.

  I offered the two detectives further explanation to include the gift I had received from my other lover, Matthew. They eyed me curiously as they wrote down his information. Name, address and telephone number. That is all I could offer. Detective Mills nodded his head as he scribbled down the new possible source of foul play. He flipped his note pad closed and handed me a white business card. His name was printed on the front underneath the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department logo prominent in the center of the card.

  “Thank you for your time Ms. King,” he nodded once in Gordon’s direction, “Mr. Roth. If you think of anything else, or if you hear from Matthew at any time, please contact me immediately.” I placed the card in my pocket and nodded in agreement as he turned to walk away. Begrudgingly, his partner, Detective Larson turned to follow him, sparing me one more dubious glance as they exited the room.

  Gordon looked at me after they left, a look of betrayal evident on his face. I was unsure how to react initially so I remained silent until he reached up and ran his hand down the curve of my face. I reached up and grasped his hand in mine and held it in place, relishing his touch. Nearly on the edge of tears, I mentally prepared myself to give him more shocking news.

  -34-

  I began by explaining my relationship with Matthew. I felt I owed him that much. Gordon looked at me, a flat affect frozen on his face, devoid of emotion. It was my intention to spill the beans on everything and hope that he would not run screaming to the hills, leaving me behind and never looking back. He listened as I wove a tale of my conflicted emotions with regards to our relationship and how that had proven to be the hardest part to contain over the last several months.

  Gordon appeared slightly pleased as I professed my new found feelings for him, emphasizing that I tried to stop myself from falling for him, but found it impossible as I was continuously drawn to him, like magnetic pull that kept returning me to him. He smiled as I described how difficult it had been to keep my secrets from him during our recent visits and how it had hurt me deeply to see him with the mystery blonde he admittedly had invited to the office with the sole purpose of invoking my wrath. It had occurred to me that my jealousy I felt as I watched them walk across the foyer in the executive suite was the by-product of my affection for him. I wanted him to myself and I did not share well.

  After I professed most of my secrets, Gordon also disclosed to me that he was the one who had sent me the secret gifts following the day he had realized that I was actually his Goddess. He had decided to keep up the façade and see how long he could milk our sessions before it drove him insane and he was forced to reveal that he had gained that knowledge. There had been days where it was quite difficult, especially when I was giving him the cold shoulder. Following his confessions, he verbalized his love for me. I was glad to know the feeling was m
utual, because what came next would undoubtedly test that love.

  I took a deep breath and prepared to tell him the additional caveat. Squeezing his hand hard, I briefly closed my eyes before opening them again and met his gaze, my blue eyes locking onto his. I opened my mouth to speak several times, losing my nerve after each time, before finally closing my eyes and avoiding his penetrating stare .

  “There is one more thing,” I said quietly. I opened my eyes and looked at him. A look of concern was plastered on his sharp features, his jaw clenched as he tried to anticipate what came next. I breathed in deeply and continued, “I am pregnant Gordon,” there, I said it. His jaw dropped as I struggled to keep talking. “And, unfortunately, I cannot exclude Matthew from being the possible father.” The look on his face left me breathless. He appeared as though I had slapped him across the face with my words. Hurt and disappointment behind his dark eyes.

  For an eternity, I was suspended in time, waiting for him to respond. It seemed like he was arguing with himself on how to respond. I waited patiently for him to say something, hoping it would not be as bad as I thought it would be. When Gordon finally spoke, his eyes met mine and he lowered his gaze, his brows furrowed together in the center of his forehead as he chose his words carefully.

  “I would say that news does not change the way I feel about you Leila, but I would be lying. While my undying love will continue, it will not be easy for me to accept another man’s child. If the baby is indeed mine, I will not shirk my responsibility. I will take on my responsibility. On the other hand, should the baby turn out to be his, it may put too much strain on our relationship.