'Dominated by the Librarian' (Male submission erotica) - The complete series

by Tara Jones

  He wasn’t fast enough, though. Although he was wearing what I assumed was some sort of Kevlar armour, he staggered backwards as the shots hit him in the chest repeatedly.

  Kithira was merciless. She slowly walked towards him, shooting round after round at him until he fell to the floor, coughing blood. She stepped closer, professionally placed one foot at his neck and shot him twice in the head. And then‒too my pure amazement!‒she bent down to check for his pulse.

  As if anyone could survive that!

  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to cheer or possibly vomit because of all the violence and blood I had seen. Most of all I was just shocked that I was still alive.

  Kithira checked the pulse of the other men swiftly, and then she saw me. In her eyes I read the strangest combination of feral blood thirst and pure tranquillity.

  “Is she all right?” she asked harshly as she strode forward. She hadn’t seen Eleanor yet. I was too stunned to answer at first, but for Kithira that wasn’t a valid excuse. Mercilessly she shook me violently. “Is she all right?” she screamed.

  “Yes,” I managed to say and nodded at Eleanor’s direction, “I think so.”

  “I’m fine.” I heard Eleanor answer, and Kithira instantly released me and ran over to her.

  “You’ve been shot!”

  “It’s only a graze,” Eleanor replied.

  Kithira put down her gun on the concrete floor and reached for a small first aid kit from the shoulder bag that she was carrying. She placed a compressor over the wound and swiftly started to wrap a bandage around Eleanor’s shoulder.

  None of us noticed the fifth man who‒patient like Death himself‒had been standing behind a concrete pillar, unseen by any of us.

  He came out of nowhere. Silent and deadly, he moved closer.

  I saw him first. He was less than twenty feet away and started to raise his gun, aiming directly at Eleanor, who sat on the concrete floor while Kithira squatted next to her dressing her wound.

  Time seemed to move slower. I saw Kithira reaching for her gun while Eleanor futilely tried to scramble away from him, but I think we all knew at that moment that it was too late.

  In a last, desperate attempt to prevent the unavoidable outcome, I threw myself at the man, just as he was about to fire the gun.

  I was a fraction of a second too late. The gunshot seemed to echo in the underground garage. It was instantly followed by a series of shots from Kithira. The man died in front of me in a bloody mess.

  I turned around, afraid of what I would see. My mind had already conjured up a bloodstained white dress and blank, dead eyes, but when my eyes met Eleanor’s, hers were still full of life.

  The vast relief and gratitude that washed over me when I understood that she was unharmed was indescribable.

  He missed! I remember thinking, slightly woozy.

  It’s almost like a miracle.

  It was only when my knees buckled under me and I fell to the concrete floor that seemed to move underneath me like a swirling ocean that I realized what had happened. He hadn’t really missed.

  “He’s been shot!”

  “Peter? Peter? Can you hear me?”

  “Call the ambulance!”

  Their voices and words seemed to blur together. I felt detached somehow, like what they said wasn’t at all important, although a part of me insisted that what they were saying was highly relevant.

  Doesn’t really matter, I decided drowsily.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, not knowing why I apologized.

  Pain was catching up with me, and I felt cold, so very cold, and for some bizarre reason incredibly thirsty.

  “Stay with me, don’t lose focus,” Kithira said, her voice tight.

  She rolled me over to my back and swore harshly and extensively in her native language. She pressed her hands against the wound at my chest, blood leaking through her fingers. I wanted to ask her not to, because it actually hurt quite a bit, but I was too tired.

  “It’s okay…” I told Kithira. My gaze wandered away and my eyes met Eleanor’s worried ice blue eyes, filled with tears as she lowered her phone.

  “The ambulance is coming soon,” she whispered.

  “As long as she lives,” I tried to explain, “It’s okay...”

  I wanted to say more, but the darkness at the edges of my vision closed in. The last thing I remembered was that I tried to smile at Eleanor, trying to tell her not to cry.

  And then everything went pitch black.

  ***

  * * *

  * * *

  Dominated by the Librarian

  (Male Submission)

  Part #5: Surrender to Submit

  by Tara Jones

  Later I was told I had come very close to losing my life that night.

  The bullet, which had been meant for my girlfriend Eleanor, but instead had hit me, went straight through my chest, missing the heart, brushing the major aorta, and barely missing my spine with only a quarter of an inch to spare. It did however manage to pierce and collapse one of my lungs and destroy quite a lot of tissue, as well as hitting one of the minor arteries. As a consequence, I lost a lot of blood rapidly and, according to the doctors, it was only because of Kithira’s exceptionally swift and professional first aid skills in combination with pure, dumb luck that I was alive at all.

  Kithira was Eleanor’s bodyguard. When I first met Eleanor, she was working as a librarian at the local library not far from where I lived in a suburb to London. After a failed attempt to flirt with her one late Thursday evening, Eleanor had me pinned down to the floor and taken advantage of me in the most pleasurable ways I could ever imagine.

  This had been the start of the strangest relationship I had ever been involved in.

  Eleanor was red-headed, short, and curvy. She was strikingly beautiful, and despite her innocent looks and prudent knee-length tweed skirts, was surprisingly dominant in bed, something which she was teaching me to enjoy.

  Eleanor was also‒as it turned out‒the daughter of Walter Wyndham, one of the richest people in the UK, which made her the target for kidnappers and blackmailing.

  And that’s how I, an ordinary graphic designer from London, ended up in the middle of a violent gunfight, which nearly cost me my life.

  They say that when you die, or if you get very close to dying, your entire life will pass by in front of your eyes, but that never happened to me. I didn’t remember anything from the moment I lay on the concrete floor in a pool of my own blood trying to tell Eleanor that everything would be all right, until I awoke at the recovery ward at the hospital, feeling light-headed and strangely disorientated.

  “And how are you feeling today, Mr Thompson?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied automatically.

  It’s like when your mobile phone rings in the middle of the night and someone asks ‘Were you asleep?’ Nine people out of ten will answer ‘No’, even though it’s obviously not true.

  “We’re moving you to another ward, so you will have your own room,” the chubby, middle-aged nurse said in a perky voice. She was clearly quite used to being lied to. “It’s not far, just around the corner.”

  I felt slightly nauseous as they rolled my bed along the corridors and I closed my eyes, too tired and drugged to care where they were taking me.

  The next thing I remember was waking up in a new, unfamiliar room with white walls. A small machine with a green display next to me made a quiet, but frequent digital sound, and it took me a while to realize that it was probably measuring my heart activity and that I was at a hospital.

  “Are you awake, Peter?” Christine asked and pressed my hand gently.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to find the right words in my head. “I think so.”

  I smiled at her and tried to make sense of my shattered memories. I felt oddly drowsily.

  Had there been a traffic accident?

  I remembered a penthouse apartment and Siamese cats, which didn’t make sense to me.

&
nbsp; And guns? Shootings? Surely not.

  I gave up.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Well. According to the doctors, you’ve just survived against rather tough odds.” Christine paused. “You got shot in the chest. Do you remember what happened?”

  She trailed off, leaving the last sentence as a question. My memories started to slowly come back to me, like unwilling children who doesn’t want to go home from the fair.

  “Yes. I think so,” I said and then my mind finally caught up with me, “But what are you doing here? And where’s Eleanor and Kithira? Are they all right?”

  “If you mean the red-headed woman and her friend with the Russian accent, they’re fine,” Christine said to calm me down. “They’re waiting in the corridor outside. They weren’t allowed to see you, until you’ve woken up. I’m only allowed to be here because you registered me as next of kin, when we… when we were still a couple. The hospital rang me as soon as you were admitted here.”

  “I see,” I mumbled.

  Christine was quiet for a while before she said, “So, what happened exactly? How did you manage to get yourself caught up in the middle of a terrorist act?”

  A terrorist act? I thought confused.

  That wasn’t a part of my memories.

  “I don’t know,” I said at last, “It’s all a little bit blurry, I’m afraid…”

  The last part was true. I didn’t want to remember the pain and watching other people die in front of me, even if they wanted to kill me and my girlfriend.

  I decided that some things could be left alone, at least for now.

  “Are you tired? I can leave if you want to rest,” Christine said, with a concerned expression.

  Her tenderness, in combination with the heavy drugs they were giving me, suddenly made me feel quite emotional.

  “You know…” I said, “I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  Christine’s smooth browns furrowed.

  “For what?” she asked, somewhat puzzled. “For getting shot?”

  “No,” I said slowly, “I’m sorry about before… I shouldn’t have cheated on you.”

  “Oh,” Christine said and looked away. She absentminded twirled a strand of her chestnut hair between her long, elegant fingers before she placed it behind her ear. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “No, really. I want you to know that I’m sorry that I treated you badly.”

  “Thank you,” she replied finally and kissed my cheek softly.

  And in that exact moment the door to my room opened and the chubby nurse stepped in, followed by my girlfriend and her bodyguard.

  Afterwards, I could never really decide which one of them‒Eleanor or Kithira‒looked the most eager to kill me on the spot, when they saw Christine leaning over me kissing me gently.

  As if my life isn’t complicated enough, I thought and wondered vaguely why these things always seemed to happen to me.

  Perhaps I had been a really nasty person in my former life and now I had been reborn to pay the debt? For a moment I speculated about who that could have been in that case.

  Vlad the Impaler? Or Hitler perhaps?

  I understood quite clearly what it must have looked like and I had no problem reading Eleanor’s murderous glare and tight facial expression when she saw us.

  “Ah, Mr Thompson, so you’re awake then?” the chubby nurse said cheerfully, completely missing the change of atmosphere in the room, “That’s good.”

  Briefly I speculated if the nurse was suffering from some sort of social disorder or if she was only daft, because she continued to happily chat away, oblivious to the fact that Eleanor and Christine locked gazes with each other. If this had been a Western movie, someone of them would say ‘A couple steps back, gentlemen’ and then the gun duelling would begin.

  I could almost hear Clint Eastwood whisper in the back of my head together with the theme song to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

  Eleanor still wore her destroyed white silk evening dress, although now it made her look more like an extremely violent version of Miss Havisham. The dress was covered in concrete dust, dirt, and quite a lot of dried blood.

  Most of that blood is probably mine, I pondered, but some of the bloodstains came from Eleanor, who had a large bandage across one of her shoulders, where a ricocheted bullet had grazed her skin.

  Her long red hair was a mess, which made her appearance even wilder, especially in contrast to Christine, who looked pristine, cool, and correct, like she had just stepped out from her office.

  Which probably is exactly what she has done, I thought, considering the insane hours that I knew that Christine used to work when we were a couple.

  Christine was wearing a smart grey suit, her chestnut hair was perfectly styled, and her discrete make-up flawless. She was the tallest of the women in the room and looked down on Eleanor in an almost amused way.

  “I don’t think that we have met,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m Christine.”

  “Eleanor,” Eleanor said, in an ice-cold tone, which matched her eyes, and shook her hand.

  For a second I was convinced that they would try to crush each other’s hands, but instead they competed in smiling as pleasantly as possibly at each other.

  It was quite scary, as a matter of fact.

  Kithira didn’t say anything. She only watched them silently, looking dangerous with her black hair in a tight braid, her dark clothes, and her strong and fit body, but I couldn’t help noticing that her hand twitched slightly towards her shoulder holster.

  Great, I thought with a sinking feeling. I just survived my first gun fight and now my girlfriend’s body guard is going to shoot my ex. Fantastic.

  “Nice to meet you, Eleanor,” Christine said professionally. “Well, I better go before poor Peter gets too tired,” she added and leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips in an unnecessary display of affection before I had time to protest.

  “Bye,” I said meekly.

  Her high heels seemed to echo along the corridor, as Christine left together with the chubby nurse.

  “Who was that?” Eleanor said in a perfectly neutral voice that was so completely unemotional it was nearly sterile.

  “It was Christine. She is my ex-girlfriend,” I explained making sure to pronounce ‘my ex’ very clearly. “Apparently she is listed as ‘next of kin’ in the hospital records, so they contacted her directly.”

  “I see,” Eleanor said, her voice still alarmingly calm.

  It occurred to me that my lover/it’s-kind-of-complicated/girlfriend may not have appreciated seeing a slim and long-legged brunette kissing me.

  And then the conclusion struck me with full force.

  “Are you… Are you jealous?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Of course not!” Eleanor scoffed. “Don’t be absurd, Peter.”

  “If you want to I can make sure she won’t come back,” Kithira said to Eleanor.

  The word ‘forever’ seemed to linger unspoken in the air.

  And for a moment, Eleanor seemed to think about it.

  “Wait!” I exclaimed. “You’re not going to make anyone disappear, Kithira! In any kind of way!”

  I knew from personal experience that Kithira not only looked dangerous, she was in fact absolutely lethal. I had seen her shoot down army-trained men within a point-blank distance.

  “There shall be no assassination of my former girlfriends,” I told Kithira sternly, although the firmness of my order was somewhat diminished by the fact that I was still weak after the blood loss.

  Plus I was wearing a less intimidating and incredibly ill-fitting baby-blue hospital gown, decorated with pale mint dots, that was open in the back in an undignified design.

  Kithira didn’t reply, she only looked at Eleanor and waited for her response, pretending that she hadn’t heard me.

  “Fine,” Eleanor said after a while and shrugged like she didn’t care. However, her voice had a sharp edge as she continued, “But reme
mber that you belong to me.”

  I had to smile at that. Her possessive comment made me strangely warm at heart.

  “I promise,” I said and smiled a charming, crooked smile at her.

  And if I ever cheat on her, Kithira will probably kill me, I thought to myself.

  Not that I planned to cheat on Eleanor. I was more than happy to be with her and had no intention to stray. In fact, I would even say that I was quite in love with her, although that felt all too scary to admit, even to myself.

  Still, it is nice to know that she likes me too, at least enough to be jealous, I concluded and smiled to myself.

  Sometimes it was hard to know exactly what was on Eleanor’s mind and I felt oddly unsure of her feelings for me. I knew that she preferred me in bed, that much was clear, especially now when she was training me to submit to her, which I didn’t mind.

  But does she love me? I wondered.

  I knew that I felt more for Eleanor than I had ever felt for anyone and I clearly remember the excruciating moment when I thought that she has been shot and that I had lost her.

  “We should let you rest,” Eleanor told me and interrupted my thoughts, “I can see that you’re tired.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Liar,” she said and the edges of her lips turned into a smile before she leaned forward and kissed me.

  Her kiss took me somewhat by surprise, because it was a full-blown kiss and not the kind of kiss that you give to half-dead men who are recovering from being shot in the chest. For good measure she grabbed my brown hair and pulled me closer, not caring if she hurt me. She kissed me deeply until our tongues met.

  The kiss was more than a little bit possessive and demanding in a way that I realized I didn’t mind at all, although I was rather weak and exhausted and‒to be honest‒probably quite drugged.

  Eleanor broke the kiss and withdrew, a mischievous smile played at the edges of her lips, when she noticed that she had left me quite breathless and taken by surprise.