Controlled by His Voice Box Set (Erotic Romance)

by Cross, Skylar

  We sat at one of the tables with umbrellas outside Mad Joe's Coffeehouse. The hot August sun beat down all around, the air stagnant and still. I wish we had sat inside in the air conditioning.

  "Wow, this is hot," I said.

  "Get used to it if you're going to be living in Flagstaff, Arizona."

  I took a sip of my iced latte.

  "Actually, no" I said. "Flagstaff is more like New Hampshire. Lots of evergreens and it snows in the winter."

  "Well, what do I know?" Dan said. "Fuck Meg, who am I going to have coffee and long complicated discussions about life with?"

  "Dan, once you start your residency you won't have time for coffee. You'll be saving lives twenty-four seven and fucking hot little nurses in supply closets."

  "More like sleeping in supply closets, probably."

  "Plus, there's always Skype."

  "Not the same."

  "And you've got Nikki."

  He looked down and a sad frown crossed his face. Uh-oh.

  "No, I don't," he said. "We broke up."

  I reached over and put my hand on his.

  "No, it's okay," he said. "We're going to stay friends."

  "Yeah no, that never works out."

  "Well, we're going to try."

  "What happened?"

  "It was like I said. We hit an impasse. If there's one message I learned from my dad, it's be true to yourself. I love Nikki. But if I stayed with her, I think it might have been out of a misplaced sense of setting society's wrongs right."

  "Okay, you lost me. What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "I was hell bent and determined not to let the fact that Nikki can't have her own kids bother me. But if I stayed with her and never have my own kids like I want, a part of me would be filled with regret and always resent her."

  I did Meredith's head-tilt nod.

  "Truth is everything," he said. "If I can't be truthful to myself and to her, then our relationship would always be tarnished. Life is not all black and white. There are many shades of gray in the middle."

  "Please don't say shades of gray."

  Dan laughed.

  "I felt like if I broke up with her I would be a bad person," he said. "But if I stayed with her, I would have been worse. I would have been lying to myself. Kind of like you said you were doing with Jake. Same thing."

  "Now I see what you mean," I said. "Yeah."

  "Even though I love her and am going to miss the hell out of her."

  We sat in silence for a few seconds. A gaggle of high-school juniors with their parents drifted by, led by a good-looking kid explaining the multicultural vibe of Davis Square. I remember being in that group a lifetime ago.

  "So when do you move to Flagstaff?" said Dan.

  "August 28th," I said. "I gotta finish this summer class and get the diploma that wasn't in my tube on Graduation Day. Once I get there I'll live in a Homewood Suites by Hilton until I find a place. My job starts on September 2nd. I'm going to be doing overnight weather reports. You gotta start somewhere, right?"

  "In two years you'll be back here doing the evening newscast. I can feel it. Heard from Tristan?" he said.

  I looked down.

  "No," I said.

  "Sorry," he said. "Well, I gotta go. I need to be at work at ten."

  "Okay."

  We both got up and put our empty cups and napkins in the trash can.

  "Love you, Meg," he said as he hugged me.

  "Love you, Dan."

  He headed toward the T and I drifted toward campus.

  My path led me past the vestibule.

  Yes, the damned vestibule. I had purposely avoided it for months.

  But today I stopped and looked.

  Guitar Lessons by Rick was apparently doing well. He had designed a better ad and several tear-off strips were gone. A new summer sublet was on the left.

  There in the middle was a real estate ad. It was a glossy piece with six Boston properties. Two were luxury condominiums in the Back Bay. Three were suburban properties. But the sixth one made my heart skip a beat. It was an aerial overview of a mansion built onto a rocky strip of rock with a private cove nearby.

  My eyes welled up.

  Did Tristan put this here? Is this a message?

  I tore it off the vestibule wall, ripping a corner in the process. Didn't matter. The part I needed was in the lower right.

  Along with a lavish description of the property it read OPEN HOUSE SUNDAY AUGUST 10 FROM 12-3. PRESENTED BY AGENT/BROKER SALLY JANE PETERS.

  Is this an invitation?

  Doesn't matter. I'm not going. I scrunched up the ad and threw it in a nearby trash barrel.

  I nearly made it back to my apartment before I turned around, walked all the way back to the trash barrel, and plucked out the ad.

  Chapter 7

  There it was. The circular driveway I had come to know so well. It looked strange without snow. There had always been snow when I was here.

  But today a variety of flowers bloomed, waving in the hot August sun. The breeze off the ocean was mildly refreshing. My street in Somerville had felt like a furnace on high when I left it.

  Fuck, what am I doing here?

  At his house.

  But he's gone.

  At least that's what Agent/Broker Sally Jane Peters told me on the phone. Probably off to other adventures with other submissive trainees, I suppose.

  Or is he?

  Did he put that real estate listing in the vestibule?

  I've played that question over and over in my head. The real estate agency is exclusively for the ultra-wealthy so I can't imagine that they would bother taping up an ad in a vestibule on a street frequented mostly by college kids.

  But on the other hand, my university has a lot of engineers and doctors from wealthy families who might be the perfect target market for that ad.

  Doesn't matter.

  I'm closing this chapter of my life, packing my bags and moving to Flagstaff. Not crazy about the idea of going there, but jobs are harder to find than I thought. So much for my pretty face and cute butt getting me the pick of what I wanted.

  So why am I here?

  It's been months since it ended with Tristan. I dated a couple of guys. Nothing spectacular.

  Then I met up with Jake and we decided to remain friends. I'm so happy about that. He's working for a firm in a little square building nestled between two taller ones.

  "You went from Banks, Hardwick, and Cone to Firm-In-A-Box," I said over a sandwich at the Parish Cafe.

  "Very funny, weathergirl", Jake said while munching on a french fry and giving me the finger.

  "It's kind of like going from Blue Ginger to McDonald's. Are you going to have a drive-thru window? No, it's too small. You could have a drive—by window."

  "Shut up, Veronica Corningstone."

  "Kshhh. Ashton, Smith, and... psst, what's your name? Oh, right... Jones. Can I take your order? Yeah, I'd like a divorce, two will and testaments, and a living trust. You want fries with that? Yeah, and Super Size Me!"

  "You know, I heard that sarcasm is illegal in Flagstaff, Arizona. I give you two days before you end up in jail. No... make that two hours!"

  The fact that we could banter like this again made me want to leap for joy. When I saw Jake fading from view in the snow that day, I thought I'd never see him again.

  So again, what am I doing here at Tristan's house?

  All totaled, I only spent a few hours here. Why such a magnetic pull to this place?

  There were several other cars in the circular driveway. A set of multi-colored balloons drifted in the breeze, tied to a post.

  Driving in, I noticed several signs along the main road that read OPEN HOUSE THIS WAY with big red arrows pointing down the narrow street that led to the mansion.

  I took a deep breath and got out of my car. The heat hit me with a slap. I wore a white cotton dress but it still felt like too much in this heat. Or maybe it was just this house that made me want to be naked whenev
er I'm in it or near it.

  As I walked, I tried to carry myself as if I had the money to even think about buying this place. A pair of Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses graced my eyes. Maybe that will do the trick.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the front window. Nope. I look like a regular girl trying to look rich by wearing Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses.

  When I reached the big oak door, which was propped open, I flashed back to the days I stood freezing to death out here waiting... waiting for a man to be able to share something of himself with me... a man who never could.

  Inside the door was a table set up with muffins, donuts, coffee, and lemonade. A plump red-headed woman in her fifties greeted me. She wore the brightest blue suit I had ever seen.

  "Hello," she said. "My name is Sally Jane Peters."

  "Hello, Sally Jane Peters," I said in the haughtiest tone I could muster, "I'm Meghan Delaney. Nice to meet you. We spoke on the phone." I thought about asking her if her suit came with batteries but thought better of it.

  "Feel free to take a look around."

  She turned her attention away from me and walked over to a rich-looking couple admiring the view from the lounge where I once ate a hot girl's pussy.

  I'm willing to bet Sally Jane Peters never ate a hot girl's pussy in that room.

  But she was getting close with the wife. They seemed annoyed. The forty-ish woman wore an expensive white summer dress that made mine look like... well, exactly what it is, a bargain-rack special.

  The fifty-ish gray-haired man was tall and thin but with a sophisticated air. He wore a white sport coat, a blue shirt, and light gray trousers with black shoes. As Sally Jane Peters babbled on about the house, he stole a look at me and smiled.

  If he weren't married and if we weren't standing in Tristan's lounge, I probably would have smiled back. But I moved on.

  Odd. Since Tristan I find many older men attractive now. That's new for me. Not that Tristan is old. But boys like Jake was when I first met him no longer appeal to me. They're... boys.

  I drifted into the kitchen. The ceiling fans were humming even though the central air was on. I pulled out and sat on one of the countertop barstools, the same one on which I ate dinner a thousand years ago. The stools were the only furniture left in the room. Even the warming oven was gone.

  There had been nothing but blackness and snow outside the window that night. Now there was a picture-postcard scene of seagulls flying over reddish seaweed-covered rocks in the hot summer sun.

  I felt tears welling in my eyes again.

  Shit, I knew this was a bad idea. Totally pointless. But I love this house. I could never afford it, but I had to say goodbye.

  I opened my purse, took out a tissue, and dabbed my eyes. I put the sunglasses back on.

  I got up, replaced the barstool, and found my way to the back of the house. There was the passageway that led to the fitness room encased in glass on three sides. It seemed so naked with all the equipment gone.

  I walked to the center of the hardwood floor. God, I could still feel him pummeling me right here on this gorgeous spot. In me. Making me come uncontrollably.

  Will any man ever be able to do that to me again? I sincerely doubt it. That kind of raw and ferocious passion is rare. I never thought it was even possible until Tristan.

  I felt a rush of heat flow downward.

  Oh, no. No, Meghan, no. Get out of this house now before you start fingering yourself. No need to scare the hoity-toities.

  As I turned to head back to my car, I noticed a line in the wall along the short passageway that led to the fitness room. I moved closer to it and put my finger on it. It ran all the way to the ceiling. Then I backed up and found another one about four feet away, both running floor to ceiling. Almost invisible.

  Shit, it's a hidden door, isn't it?

  Oh my god! This is the passage to the stockade room! Holy fuck, I've found it.

  I felt a thrill running up and down my legs. Adrenaline fed my curiosity and made my heart beat faster.

  I stuck my head around the corner and listened. I heard voices coming this way. Shit.

  I pressed on the door. Nothing.

  I pressed harder on it. Nothing. The voices were coming. I heard Sally Jane Peters saying, "Wait until you see the sunset lounge right over here."

  One more time.

  I put all of my weight into the door. It clicked and sprung open toward me an inch. I got my fingers into it on the side.

  "Ow!" I said as a nail broke.

  Shit, why did I do that?

  I got my fingers into the crease and pulled. The door was heavy and only opened about a foot and a half.

  But that was enough.

  I sneaked through it and pulled it shut with a handle on the other side.

  "Wow!", I heard a man's voice say on the other side of the door. "This is a great spot to put some fitness equipment."

  "Don't be ridiculous, George" said the voice of a woman. "This is no place for fitness equipment. This room screams wicker furniture and tall houseplants."

  I giggled to myself as I wondered where the fuck I am.

  I stood on a stone floor. To my right the wall was solid rock. The only light came from above, shining down onto a set of jagged stairs that twisted up and to the right.

  I should probably just wait until the people have left the fitness room and sneak back out. That would be the prudent thing to do.

  But I'm pretty sure you know by now that I'm not very prudent.

  I ascended the stone steps and found myself in a passageway cut right into the rock. The ceiling was glass.

  Wow, whoever built this made it so it was hidden in the rock. The only way to see the skylight from above would be from the sky.

  Although it was a hot summer day, it was cold and damp here. The sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks all around was distant but loud.

  I looked at my watch. 12:45. The Open House runs until 3 so I have a little time.

  But why, Meghan? Why find the room? What's the point?

  I don't have an answer, but something inside tells me it's here. The answer is here, in that room.

  The answer to what? What's the question?

  Just shut up and keep going, Meghan.

  I reach the end of the passage and find an old iron door. I pull the handle and it opens. I walk through and close it behind me.

  Now another set of steps leads down into darkness. Serious darkness.

  Oh, Meghan, just go home. This is silly. What do you think you're going to find here? What if you trip and fall? Who will hear your screams? Do you really want to die here?

  My heart beat out of my chest. The notion that I might die here all alone is fearful and yet exhilarating. Just like when I was locked in the stockade. The sense of knowing I was putting myself in real danger made everything so much more intense.

  I took off my shoes and leaned on the wall to steady myself as I went down. The steps were icy cold on my bare feet. I remember feeling them underneath my naked feet before. Only last time I was bound and guided by my mentor.

  Mentor, where are you?

  I closed my eyes. It was too dark to see anyway. I pretended he was behind me. I felt the burn of the rope on my wrists, the gentle but firm prod of his hands guiding me down the steps. I imagined his breath on my neck, his manly scent of musk and pine. I could almost feel his arm brushing my back as we reached the bottom.

  As if I knew when to stop, I did. I opened my eyes. Blackness. But I reached my hand out and knew what I would find.

  A heavy metal door. I found the handle and pulled it. It took all of my weight to pull it open just a little.

  I squeezed past it and into more blackness.

  My heart stopped and I gasped.

  What if this isn't the same room? What if I'm on the edge of an underground cliff or something?

  I knew the chances were slim, but I felt along the wall anyway, just looking for some sign that this indeed was the room in
which I was once flogged and commanded to orgasm.

  My hands made out squares of concrete in the wall. Bricks. Yes, this is the room.

  There has to be a light switch somewhere. I know there are at least two in here, the dim red and blue spotlights that highlighted the stockade.

  I felt along the wall on both sides of the door. Nothing. No switch.

  Hmmm. Maybe I should just get out of here.

  But I've come this far. I want to find out if it's still in here. I don't know why. I just know that I need to touch it if it's here, to feel the wood. To sense again a taste of the sweet helplessness I felt that day in a different lifetime.

  I let go of the wall. I hear my heart beating in my ears. Not hard to do because here in this room is nothing but pure silence.

  I take a step forward into the darkness, my right hand stretched out in front of me.

  Nothing but empty space.

  I step forward again.

  Nothing.

  Now I truly am getting scared. I must be in the middle of the room by now. But I'm not sure.

  Then I touch it.

  Yes, that's it.

  The stockade.

  I feel the old wood, running my hands all along the top.

  Ah, my old friend. How I've longed to be with thee again.

  I take another step closer. As I run my hands around it, I feel the holes for the head and the hands.

  But the top part that secures a person in the device isn't there. It must have been removed. Maybe this is the last item to be taken out of the house and it needs to be dismantled.

  Whatever.

  I lean forward and put my head gingerly in the hole. Then I put my wrists in their proper places.

  Oh, God!

  The sensations rush back to me. I remember him here. Right here in this room. With me. Flogging me. Licking me.

  Oh Tristan, where are you? Why couldn't you have let me in? We would have made such magic together.

  I close my eyes and imagine the sensation as before, blindfolded and earplugged.

  Not knowing what was to come next... a complete lack of control. I loved it. No man had ever brought me there.

  My pussy gushed.

  Oh, what the hell. I've masturbated in this house so many times I may as well give it one final shot. And what better place than right here in this delightful hidden chamber?