The Romantic Dominant

by Maggie Carpenter

  CHAPTER TEN

  Immediately upon returning home Connor marched from his Porsche to the garden shed and disassembled the cage. It wasn’t difficult, he’d created it with just such an emergency in mind. If Gabriela did happen to find a cop outside his sphere of influence and drag him over to the house, she’d look like an idiot when she attempted to push open a wall that could not be moved.

  The cage broke apart into several sections, and he carried two sections at a time through the driving rain into his garage. A floor-to-ceiling white pegboard upon which his tools were organized, stood six inches out from the wall, but it was impossible to see the narrow opening when the garage door was closed.

  Cursing Gabriela as the rain poured over him, he slid the sections end-to-end behind the pegboard, the entire process taking him just under an hour. Once all the sections were secure he grabbed his nail gun and returned to the shed to secure the wall.

  His next chore was emptying Gabriela ’s room of all her clothes, not that there were many. After carefully removing the GPS trackers he hurriedly stashed her belongings into a large trash bag and threw it in his car, deciding to drop it into a Goodwill bin next time he was out.

  It was only after he’d vacuumed her floor, changed the sheets on her bed, and scrubbed her bathroom with bleach, that he felt he could breathe again.

  Walking into his bedroom he was about to take a shower when his large TV screen caught his attention. Turning, he stared at the oversized, expensive, flat screen against the wall. His favorite scenes he’d burned to discs and were kept safely in his office, but he had hours of digital recordings on his home machine.

  “Fuck you, you Brazilian Bitch. Fuck,” he exclaimed loudly.

  His sense of survival was stronger than his need to watch his favorite scenes from his past. Picking up his remote control he turned on the set and brought up the command, Delete All. His thumb hovered over the button, and taking a deep, frustrated breath, he pressed it down. Any evidence of his perverted practices was now history.

  Finally standing under a hot shower, though still enraged about having to eradicate so many decadent delights, he decided that he’d select a disc or two from his expansive collection and bring them home to watch at night. If anyone should coming busting in, it would take him two-seconds to smash them into pieces.

  Connor allowed himself to relax, confident that had effectively covered his tracks. As he soaped, shampooed and shaved, he resolved to bring Slut Abby into his house immediately. Not only did he now have a void in his life, what better way to convince a nosy cop that Gabriela was crazy than to appear to be in a loving relationship with a young hottie?

  Fuck, yeah. I’ll have that little tramp eating out of my hand in no time. She’ll say whatever I tell her to. I think she’s needs to get her ass over here right now.

  Stepping from the shower he toweled off, dressed, trotted down the steps to his study and picked up his phone.

  “Let’s see what you’ve been up to,” he grinned, dialing into her phone and checking the history.

  She’d sent a couple of boring texts but made no calls. Satisfied he was up-to-date on her activity, he dialed her number. As expected she picked up immediately, excitement in her voice.

  “Hello, Sir. If we disconnect I’ll call you right back. My cell isn’t very good at my house.”

  “Hello, Abby. Why are you home? I thought you’d still be at work.”

  “I thought it would be more convincing if I was sick two days in a row so I said I wasn’t feeling well and left early,” she giggled.

  “Aren’t you a clever little smarty pants,” he remarked.

  “I can’t hear you,” she complained. “It’s the connection here in my building.”

  “This will be quick,” he stated firmly. “We have a change of plans this evening.”

  “We do?”

  The concern that he was about to cancel was immediately evident, and he savored the girl’s insecurity like a fine wine, swishing it around his mouth, tasting all she offered, purposely pausing, making her wait, keeping her in suspense.

  “Sir? Are you still there? Shoot, maybe I lost you already.”

  This is so delicious. Maybe I should hang up, really make her sweat.

  “Hello? Can you hear me now?” she asked anxiously. “I’ve moved out on to my balcony.”

  Closing his eyes, he drank in her breathlessness.

  “Yes, I can hear you,” he whispered, almost lost in the intoxicating pull of her worry. “You need to come to my place tonight. Be here at 7:30 and plan to stay over. I’ll spank you, then you’ll cook for me, and then I’ll put you to bed.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sir,” she replied, her excitement and relief almost tangible.

  “A taxi will pick you up at 7:15.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sir.”

  “And Abby…”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “You’ll arrive in a skirt and blouse, garter belt and stockings, and no panties or bra.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Abby.”

  “I can’t wait,” she breathed.

  He ended the call then waited. If she called someone to share her exciting news his phone would alert him and he could listen in. Nothing, but her calls and texts weren’t the only way he could spy on her. A microphone installed in her phone allowed him to listen to everything going on around her, and pressing a series of numbers he made it live. He could hear her humming, the television set, then a door opening and closing, all routine and boring.

  Turning it off his mind switched back to Gabriela and he cursed her for ditching her phone. He’d tried to access it with no success, and assumed she’d tossed separately it as an extra precaution.

  Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!

  Rising from his desk he strode out to the garage, unable to fathom the Brazilian Bitch putting her nephew at risk. Had she been so stupid as to run back her sister, thinking she’d be safe there and able to protect the brat? Surely not, but it was necessary to check.

  Grabbing a clean kitchen towel on his way out, he opened the door of the Porsche and wiped down the interior. Connor couldn’t abide a mess of any kind, and finally satisfied he started up his powerful sports car and pulled out into the rain, heading across town.

  Aveena. What kind of name is Aveena? Fuck, maybe I should just take Aveena and the brat somewhere, let them writhe in misery while the Brazilian Bitch watches. What sweet revenge that would be. That would take some careful planning and a whole lot of time, but it would teach that Brazilian Bitch she made a big mistake messing with me.

  Switching on his XM Radio he tuned to a modern jazz station, turning up the volume. The streets were slick, the heavy cloud cover making the late afternoon murky and dark, but it didn’t stop him from zipping the sports car around the corners, sliding and straightening as he drove, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the dangerous maneuvers.

  Turning down the street he’d cruised many times, he found the house and pulled to the curb. One lamp was burning in the front window, but that was the only sign of life. Glancing at the neighbors he could see movement but Aveena’s home was eerily still.

  Climbing out of his car he sauntered along the side of the house. He knew how to hunt, how to spy, how to snoop, and rule number one, act as if you belong; if you skulk, you’ll be noticed.

  Walking confidently down the driveway, ignoring the rain, he turned into the backyard using the side of the house for shelter. It was private, with a high wooden fence and surrounding trees; he smiled, he was invisible. Staring across the groomed lawn the first thing he noticed was the absence of toys, though that could be explained by the weather.

  Lifting his eyes to the windows he saw no lights, just the faint glow from the lamp in the front window. Were they out? Moving across to the garage, he was able to make his way to a small window, and pulling his pen flashlight from his inside jacket pocket, he switched it on and focused the beam inside; both cars present and accounted for.
/>
  If the cars are here, where are they?

  Walking quickly to the windows at the back of the house, he shone his flashlight inside. The kitchen was spotless. No dirty dishes anywhere, no sign of cooking, no sign of life at all.

  FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! No wonder the bitch thought she could take off. They’re gone!

  Turning off his flashlight he stowed it back in his pocket and hurried down the path back to his car.

  “They’ll come back though, and I’ll be checking every week, you stupid cow,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Jumping behind the wheel, he darted back into the street and headed home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In her humble apartment, Abby was floating. The man of her dreams had swept into her life; rich, handsome, strict and sexy.

  The name-calling, though, had thrown her a bit.

  She told herself there was no such thing as perfect, and she’d read that during sex, some men liked hearing different things to turn them on, and he’d been very sweet afterwards.

  She just wished Zander had called her back. He’d made her promise to make a safe call, but he’d not responded to her messages.

  Shoot. Maybe Zander just said those things to be polite. Maybe he didn’t really mean them, she thought, running a brush through her long blond hair and applying the last of her make-up. Should I text him and tell him where I’m going or would that just make me a pest?

  Sighing, and staring at her reflection in the tall, oval, Victorian-style mirror, she was happy with her choice; red skirt, cream cotton blouse, black hose and pumps. The doorbell made her jump and her heart began to race; the taxi had arrived. Grabbing her phone and dropping it into her purse, she picked up her coat from the bed and ran to the door.

  “Evening, Miss,” the taxi driver smiled as she stepped outside.

  The rain had turned to a steady drizzle and she pulled on her coat, but the lane to the curb was slippery and she had to walk slowly. By the time she reached the car her hair was damp, and worried it would frizz she withdrew her hairbrush, running it through her long locks.

  The butterflies grew as the car moved through the slick, wet streets, and by the time it pulled in front of the imposing two-story Tudor she was almost shaking with anticipation. The porch light was on and Connor opened the door as the driver helped her from the car and escorted her up the steps to the house. Abby smiled, Connor had been watching for her.

  “Thank you,” Connor said warmly, handing the man a $20 tip.

  “Thank you, Sir,” the driver nodded, and moved quickly away.

  “You got a bit wet,” Connor remarked ushering her in.

  She moved past him into the foyer, her heels clipping on the hardwood floors.

  “As much as I like high-heels, would you please remove your shoes? You’re tracking in water and dirt.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she exclaimed, immediately kicking them off.

  “Perhaps I should have you clean the floors after dinner, make sure you learn that lesson,” he declared, looking at her intently.

  “Whatever pleases you,” she whispered.

  His strong, intimidating demeanor made her weak, and she had an unexpected, compelling desire to drop to her knees and rest her head in his lap.

  “Take off your coat and give me a hug,” he smiled, his stern manner vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

  She slipped it off and Connor took it from her hands, hanging it in the hall closet.

  “There, safely put away. Now come here.”

  Moving the few steps across to him she leaned into his body, losing herself in his arms.

  “First, I shall spank you, get your punishment out of the way.”

  “Whatever pleases you, Sir.”

  “Yes, that would please me. Hmmm, since you’re going to be cooking for me I think we’ll go straight into the kitchen.”

  Taking her hand he led her down the hallway, through the dining room and across to the center island in the large, gourmet kitchen.

  “Your house is so big,” she remarked.

  “And you will see all of it,” he promised, pulling a long piece of nylon cord from his pocket. “Wrists.”

  “What?” she asked, surprised by the request.

  “An extra six swats for the question. If I repeat it, six more.”

  He was glowering down at her, almost frighteningly austere.

  He’s a disciplinarian. He told you that, she reasoned, and immediately lifted her arms.

  With practiced skill he bound them together, turned her to face the island, and a moment later she felt the cord wrapping around her ankles. A chill shuddered across her back, but when he lifted her skirt and ran his hand over her bottom, she sighed with pleasure.

  “Bend over, arms stretched above your head, face on the granite,” he ordered.

  Leaning over she rested her cheek on the cool, hard surface, and listened to his footsteps leave the room. He was gone only a minute, and when he returned she was able to catch a glimpse of the implement he was carrying in his hand; a brown, leather strap.

  “Now then,” he announced, “six for not following my order immediately.”

  He didn’t pause or caress her, but immediately lashed the leather across her backside, landing it with a hot sting. It was followed by another and another, and though she howled at the sharp zing there was no letup between his strikes. When the sixth landed she was gasping and holding back her tears.

  “Next time I give you an order, what do you do?” he growled.

  “Obey, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she cried.

  “I’m now going to ask you a series of questions. If you give me the correct answer I will strap you once, if it’s wrong, three times. You will add them up and they will be given at the end of my interrogation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered.

  He unzipped his fly, withdrawing his flaccid penis as he stared at the punished behind. The spanking itself did nothing for him, but her anguish filled him, her anguish fed him, her anguish was all he cared about.

  Dropping his fingers between her legs, he found her wet and swollen, her soft moans giving him more clues to her psyche.

  “Who am I?” he asked, sliding his fingers inside her slit.

  “My Master,” she mewed.

  “Correct. That’s one, keep count. Do you need me?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you need my money?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she stammered, wriggling against his fingers.

  “And you’ll fuck anyone who has money, won’t you?”

  She panicked. Was she supposed to say yes, or no, or only him?

  “Don’t make me wait,” he warned. “You’ll fuck anyone who has money, won’t you? Because you’re just a slut, right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she groaned, praying it was what he wanted to hear.

  “Correct. You’ll fuck anyone,” he breathed, feeling life in his cock, “and why will you fuck anyone?”

  “Because I want their money and I’m a slut, Sir.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re a gold-digging slut,” he muttered.

  His cock was swelling in his hand, growing fast, shockingly fast.

  Oh, you’re a nasty little thing. I’m really going to enjoy having you around.

  “I can do anything I want to you, right slut?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she wailed.

  “You’re nasty little gold-digger aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir, nasty for anyone rich man who wants it,” she wailed.

  A flash of sensation surged through his cock, the unexpected orgasm splashing his hot cream down his hand, the short, violent eruption stunning him, and pulling his hand from her sex, he reached for the edge of the counter for support.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck, fuck.”

  Taking long, deep breaths he straightened up and staggered to the maid’s room.

  “Abby, Abby, Abby, you are going to be around for quite a while,” he mumbled as he washed himse
lf.

  Abby’s ass was on fire, and in spite of the unexpected, harsh strapping her thighs were squeezing together, the hot wetness alive between her legs, but she was worried, very worried. The man was tender and loving one minute, and nasty the next, and the sex…it wasn’t sex.

  You’re just getting to know him. Don’t jump to any conclusions. Don’t do anything you might regret.

  She could hear his returning footsteps and tensed, wondering what would follow.

  “How many straps do you have coming?” he asked.

  “Six, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she stammered.

  “Then six you shall receive, but after dinner, when I put you to bed.”

  “Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.”

  “Just think, Abby, if you’d not answered correctly you could have ended up owing me eighteen,” he declared, untying her ankles. “Aren’t you a clever girl?”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she replied.

  “And so wet,” he declared, rubbing his fingers against her clit. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, but only if the dinner you prepare is up to my standards.”

  Taking her by the shoulders he pulled her up and untied her wrists.

  “Drop the skirt and take off your shirt. You’re to cook and serve me in your garter belt and stockings.”

  He watched her nervously undress, then took her clothing and laid it on the island, staring at her breasts.

  “Aren’t they adorable? So full and round,” he smiled, rubbing his hands across them, lightly pinching her nipples.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, closing her eyes, relishing the attention.

  “You like me playing with your tits, don’t you, Abby?”

  “Yes, Sir, I love it,” she moaned.

  “I thought you would,” you gold-digging little slut. “Time to start dinner. I want steak, medium, broccoli and brown rice. You’ll find everything you need in that cupboard and in the refrigerator. You’ll serve me, stand next to while I eat, clean up, and then I’ll decide what you’re going to have. Any questions?”

  “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  He played with her breasts for a few more minutes and when he finally released her, he watched her red bottom as she walked to the cupboard; it was nicely striped and stinging significantly he was sure.