Controlled by His Voice Box Set (Erotic Romance)

by Cross, Skylar

  With my right hand, I moved the arrow in place and hit "Submit."

  Chapter 6

  “Men are dominating forces,” said the fifty-ish woman with red curly hair, a prairie dress, and no makeup. “They rule, they demand, they want. Society dictated for thousands of years that we as women are supposed to be subservient to them.”

  I was in Women's Liberation 351: From Simone de Beavoir to Miley Cyrus. Nine other students, all female, sat in a circle around Professor Mariane Sanders, celebrated feminist author of Beasts and Maidens: The Symbology of Male Domination.

  I hadn't wanted to take it, but it was the only four-credit course available that fit my psychology requirement. I was wishing I had more coffee because it was hard to keep my eyes open as she droned on.

  "And yet women seem to be at a crossroads nowadays. Progress was made by leaps and bounds and yet now again we live in a world where all the men in our lives tell us what to do."

  It had been three days since I filled out the questionnaire. Why hadn’t he called? Shit, I must not have been accepted. That’s it. But why? Why wasn’t I accepted?

  “Meghan Delaney,” said Professor Sanders looking down at the class roster, “how do you believe the modern woman is affected by men's overarching need to dominate and control?”

  Shit, why did she call on me first? I didn't even hear what she was saying before the question.

  "Um..." I said, "could you give me another example of what you mean?"

  This was one of my go-to questions whenever I caught myself daydreaming. Usually works like a charm.

  "I don't think I really need to now, do I?" said Professor Sanders. "The world all around us is replete with a plethora of powerful men who wish to impose their will on us. They tell us how we should think, how we should act, and what we should do. How do you personally believe today's woman is affected by men's overarching need to dominate and control?"

  I saw her question in my mind, lit up with a spotlight like a marquee. I flipped it up and around several times as my brain searched for an answer. While I did so, I started speaking.

  "Dominate and control?" I said.

  "Yes," she said. "That's right."

  "Hm. Dominate and control."

  "Yes, Ms. Delaney. Dominate and control. Do you understand the concept?"

  "Yes," I said, stifling a full-blown laugh. "I certainly get the concept. But I hate to be the one to break the news to you, Professor, but all the men in my life are wusses. They give me all the control and expect me to make all their decisions for them. They're like little boys. My dad, my best friend, my boyfriend... they're all big wuss boys."

  A chorus of laughter exploded around the room. One girl nodded up and down. The expression on the professor's face was strained, like she was trying to pass gas.

  "I've heard this before," she said. "This is a fallacy. This is how many young women are taught to believe by the men in their lives. It is a type of passive-aggressive control. They want you to believe that they are modern men all soft and cuddly. But deep down, they are manipulating you."

  I felt my face flush. Something was rumbling inside me. It felt like an earthquake behind my solar plexus.

  "With all due respect, Professor, you don't know my dad. He is not manipulating me. He wouldn't even know how. I'm the one who manipulates. And I'm pretty damned good at it."

  More laughter.

  "But if you want the unvarnished truth, Professor," I said, "I'm sick to death of it."

  I looked around the room. The bored, glazed-over expressions on the other girls had morphed into rapt attention. I must have hit a nerve.

  I certainly hit a live wire somewhere deep inside my own self. Words just started flowing out of my mouth all by themselves.

  "I get whatever I want whenever I want it. I snap my fingers and my team of little men do my bidding. 'Whatever you want', they say. 'You tell me, what do you want to do? We'll just do that then. Can I get that for you? Can I do that for you? Whatever you think is best is the way to go. Whatever you say. Do whatever you want to do, I'll support you. Oh, and by the way I knitted you a nice little woolen sack in fairy class today. It's for you to put my balls in when you're not using them.'"

  More laughter went around the circle.

  "I hate to say it," I said, "but I think we've done it to them. Years of women's magazine covers about how to change men into metrosexual earthy-crunchy sensitive New Age pansies. The attitudes we're taught to give them when they try to ask us out. It's no wonder we actually have them in the palm of our hands. We've made them scared to death of us. I'd like it, for once... just for fucking once... for a man to actually man up! And become a fucking real man for once in his goddamned life!"

  Another round of raucous laughter and a little "woo!" from one of the girls. I wasn't sure where all this was coming from. It was a force of its own, erupting out of me in a stream of passionate frustration. This time the professor froze up, jaw agape, just staring at me.

  "You know, Professor, I think I'd better go," I said as I packed up my things and got up. "I just guaranteed myself an F in this class anyway. Oh, and while I'm at it, the Little House on the Prairie look went out about 1890. You might want to try something new."

  I stormed out of the room.

  Oh well, so much for graduating on time. No biggie. I'll just get one of those empty tubes on graduation day and take a make-up class over the summer. Won't matter because I'll be hired by a TV station by then anyway. Better than sitting in that class another minute.

  Instead of heading home, I ducked into the T and found myself on the Red Line crossing the Longfellow Bridge into Boston. I got off at South Station and walked up Congress Street toward Post Office Square.

  We were having one of those odd warm spells we always get in January where the temperature soars up into the 50s and feels like early spring. Last week's mounds of white snow were fast becoming puddles of brown dirt. Maybe Tampa or Sacramento would be a nice change.

  I arrived at my destination, a restored 1930s Art Deco building with two sets of golden revolving doors spinning around over a green marble floor with gold engraving.

  I fell in behind a group of office workers returning from lunch and smiled at the big security guy as we walked past him toward the bank of elevators. He smiled back and didn't say anything to me. See, Professor Sanders?

  On Floor 12, I got off and was greeted by the most overdone reception area I've ever seen. Red drapes and Corinthian columns sat alongside mahogany furniture and Oriental carpets. All it needed was some men sipping scotch in dinner jackets and a few ladies of the evening in red dresses with garters to make it complete.

  "How may I help you?" said the hopelessly perfect blonde receptionist. She sat in front of a series of letters that hung in midair suspended by wires that read Banks, Hardwick, and Cone. The letters changed color every few seconds. Fancy.

  "I'd like to see Jake Ashton please," I said.

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "I'm his fiancée."

  Not sure how that word escaped my mouth but in a place like this it sounded better than girlfriend.

  Little Miss Perfect made a phone call and then hung up, looking at me with a fake sad face.

  "I'm sorry," she said while tilting her head, "he's at lunch with a senior partner. We don't expect them back until at least two. Would you like me to take a message?"

  I took a deep breath and pulled out the little purple box from my left-hand coat pocket.

  "Yes," I said, "could you give him this please?"

  Her eyes went big as she looked at the box.

  "Oh, I'm not sure if I could do that."

  "May I ask your name?"

  "It's Penelope," she said after a hesitation.

  "Penelope, we're on security cameras right now so I'm going to open this box."

  I did so and the ring gleamed in the bright lighting. I held it up so the camera, hidden in a black glass globe above us, could see it.

  "Now," I
said, "there's a record of what I'm handing you. Please make sure Mr. Ashton gets it."

  I closed the box and put it down in front of her, looked directly up at the camera and pointed at the box.

  "But--," Penelope started to say.

  "Oh and Penelope," I said. "Could you please tell him I'm sorry?"

  My eyes met hers head on and she got the message. She just smiled and said, "I will."

  "Thanks," I said and walked out.

  As I emerged into the fresh air of Post Office Square, I took a deep breath. I had been holding it but I wasn't sure for how long.

  I felt a vibration in my pocket. I reached for my iPhone, but there was nobody there. Shit, it's the prepaid phone!

  I stopped at a corner and looked at the number. It's him. I pressed Send.

  "Hello," I said.

  "You have passed the first of the three-step application process," the voice said.

  God, it was as sexy as I remember. I felt a heat rising from within. I opened my coat.

  "Okay," I said as a group of businessmen talking loudly eyed me as they walked past.

  "For step two," he said, "you need to go to an address between now and seven o'clock tonight. I'm going to give it to you now."

  "Wait. I need to get something to write with."

  "No! You will not write it down. I will say it once and you will remember it. Do as I say."

  The world vanished around me. There was only his voice and me in the entire universe.

  "Okay," I said.

  He said the address. I knew the street.

  "Remember," he said. "You must do exactly as I say. Go before seven. Open the door. Further instructions await inside. This is step two. Are you ready?"

  "Yes," I said, a tingling of excitement rushing from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. "Yes I am."

  Chapter 7

  My breathing was rapid as I stood in front of the house. It looked like almost every other one on the street, a tall pointy Victorian with a second floor porch and two sets of bay windows.

  In one bay sat three multi-sized empty blue vases. The other was bare. In the late afternoon January light I couldn't make out much else inside.

  My heart beat faster as I put my right foot on the first of the three steps that led to the stained wood door. I paused there for a second to catch my breath. And maybe to give myself one last chance to run away.

  I was somewhat assured by the fact that I left a note in my apartment for the police in case I never return.

  Kind of silly though, isn’t it? Because if the police are in my apartment it means I’ve been cut up into a million little pieces. And possibly digested.

  Maybe I’d better run now. No harm, no foul. Toss the phone in a trash can and be done with it. Never happened.

  But I was determined to excel as Applicant Number Seven. The nagging fear that I was walking into my own dismemberment was offset by something I heard in the voice of my trainer.

  Maybe it was just wishful thinking but I sensed a safety behind his words. I’ve dealt with dangerous lunatics before. None of them had this particular… what am I trying to say here?... “respect for rules” that this voice has.

  That’s why I didn’t tell Dan about any of this. He’s a huge Criminal Minds fan and would have convinced me that I’m about to walk into my own death.

  In tribute to Dan, I took out the prepaid phone and dialed 9-1-1 without hitting Send. I put it back into my pocket, hovering my thumb over the button... just in case.

  I should have been using my iPhone, but there’s no tactile feel to the touch screen. The prepaid phone had actual buttons.

  Enough! I said to myself. Are you going to do this or not?

  I had come too far to quit, so I stepped forward, took a step up, and reached for the door handle. I squeezed it and the door opened. I walked inside.

  I was in an entry hallway. To my left was a round-topped archway that led into a small empty room. To my right was a set of French doors that looked into a larger room.

  Straight ahead was a table in an otherwise empty room. All hardwood floors. No furniture except for the table. Stairs led upstairs on the left. No lamps. The only light came from outside.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Nothing.

  Shit, maybe I really should run.

  Then I noticed two objects on the table in the room directly ahead of me. I moved closer. I looked down to see a Bluetooth earpiece and a white piece of paper.

  The paper had printed – again in Times New Roman 16-point – the following words:

  Put earpiece on.

  I lifted it up and inserted it in my left ear.

  "Good girl," said the voice I was getting to know. "You're doing very well."

  Oh God, what is it about this voice that makes me melt into a puddle?

  "You've passed the second step of the application process. You followed instructions. Now it's time to move on to the third. Are you ready?"

  Again I felt the world drift away, lost in the deep richness of his words. My right thumb found the Clear button on the prepaid phone and snapped it shut.

  "Yes," I said. "I'm ready."

  "Good. Three things you need to accept before we move on. Number one, you do as I say without question. If you don't, you will immediately be dismissed from the training. You will not be able to find me nor re-apply. Is this understood?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Number two, you will address me as mentor. Is this understood?"

  "Yes."

  "Say 'yes, mentor.'"

  "Yes, mentor."

  "If you fail to address me properly, you will be punished."

  A flash hit me like a scene from a BDSM porn movie. The first punishment. Paddles. Whacks to the ass. A wave of kinetic energy danced through my body, emanating from my spine outwards. My toes curled in my shoes.

  "Yes, mentor," I said.

  "Good," he said. "Number three, your orgasms are now under my control. You may not come by anyone else but me. This includes your own self. Your next release will be at my command. Is this understood?"

  "Yes, mentor", I said.

  "Good."

  I gasped involuntarily. My toes danced in my shoes. I felt like I was floating in jelly. The last time I was so aroused was... God, I can't remember.

  "Here is your first instruction. You will keep the Bluetooth earpiece in your ear at all times. When I command you to do something, you will do it. Is this understood?"

  "Yes, mentor."

  "Now go and resume your normal life until my next command."

  I heard a click and the line went dead.

  I opened my eyes. I didn't even realize I had closed them. The empty house said nothing.

  I turned around and walked out the front door into the winter afternoon, now colder than before. But I felt like I could warm up the entire world with the heat coming off me.

  Chapter 8

  I went home and showered. It was tricky with the earpiece in. But I knew I couldn't take it out. If I missed one of his commands, my training would end.

  What is wrong with you, Meghan? Seriously, what the fuck are you doing? This is sick!

  My logical rational brain had decided to speak up, but it was no use. I was obsessed. Ever since the day I first saw the ad in the vestibule, part of me knew I was going to dive into this and ride it out.

  When I heard his voice, it only carved my sordid intention in stone.

  I had some studying to do, so after I showered I pulled out some books and got to work with my highlighter and notebook.

  When would he call? Should I always be showered and ready to go? What if he wants me to be somewhere quickly?

  I heated up some leftover Chinese food and tried to focus on my work, but I couldn't.

  I called my dad and chatted for a while. Jake called three times and I didn't pick up. I just can't right now.

  At 11:45, I was watching the television and drifting off when I heard a click in my left ear. I bolted up.


  "Applicant Number Seven," he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Yes what?"

  "Sorry. Yes, mentor."

  "Don't let that happen again."

  "Yes, mentor."

  "It is time. I want you to go into Davis Square."

  "Right now?"

  "Do not question me. You will do as I say or this is over!"

  "Yes, mentor."

  "Wear a short skirt. Don't bring a coat. You won't be outside for long and it's not that cold out."

  I caught myself about to ask why, then said, "Yes, mentor."

  "Get there as quickly as you can. You have five minutes. Await my command."

  "Yes, mentor."

  Shit, I'm not much of a skirt-wearer. But I do have a few in my back drawer. I picked a blue one and threw it on over my panties.

  I lifted up the skirt and looked at my panties, white cotton with little checks. I took them off and replaced them with a thong. God, what am I expecting?

  I grabbed my purse and ran out the door down to the street. I was in the center of Davis square in about two minutes.

  It was a Thursday night. Lots of people were out enjoying the January warmup. The bars were packed.

  The earpiece clicked to life.

  "Walk down Elm Street toward Cambridge," he said.

  "Yes, mentor", I said.

  Shit, could he see me? Is he watching from somewhere? How does he know where I am? GPS?

  I started walking. I didn't know how fast to walk. My breathing was shallow and my hands trembled.

  I walked past the vestibule with the bulletin board. I glanced at it, noticing that only one tear-off strip was left. Shit, I have competition!

  All the normal ordinary people walked by me doing normal ordinary things. Drinking. Eating. Enjoying themselves.

  And what am I doing? Following the commands of the mysterious voice of a man I've never met. If only they knew.

  Where is he? Who is he? I scanned the faces of every man I saw on the street, looking for a hint of recognition, a glance that might give him away.

  "Stop," said my mentor. I stopped. "Turn to the door on your left and open it."

  It was green and wooden with a Medieval-style handle. I squeezed it and the door opened. Shit, I’m getting good at opening strange doors, aren’t I?