The Abduction Agreement (Mistress May I Book 1)

by Krieger, D. F.

  She moved her attention to my throat once more and my heartbeat quickened in response. I grabbed the lapels of her tuxedo jacket, using it as a way to ground myself. Her kisses were easy to lose myself in. As I started to tug it open, she stopped my hands.

  “No, no. You are simply to take the pleasure I offer. You are to give nothing in return this night. Do you understand?”

  “I... Yes, Mistress.” Her words confused me. What was the point of all this for her if she gained nothing from it?

  Her hands slid down the material of my dress, and stopped at the hem. She stared at me for a moment, and I knew she was judging my reaction. Waiting to see if I would call off the scene and nullify the contract. Her gaze was so guarded that it revealed everything. Delilah wanted me to play with her. The decision to buy me at the auction wasn’t made simply to save me from Bryce. She truly carried an interest in me.

  I issued a soft sigh and moved against her, letting my body express my returned interest. She said we were going to kiss and touch. No mention was made of anything that sounded frightening. And so, I gave myself up to her. Up to the moment.

  Delilah took the cue for what it was and lifted the hem of my dress. With one hand, she teasingly caressed my thighs until she reached my mons. “No panties? Naughty. I approve.”

  A flush heated my skin like a fire lit within me, but I refrained from saying anything. I let myself fall into the sensation of her as she stroked a finger across me. Her knee pressed between mine and I parted them at her behest. Mistress Delilah slid a single finger into me and I nearly came on the spot. As she drew it in and out, she rubbed her thumb side to side, stroking my clit. I panted and clutched at her shoulders as the fire within me roared to life.

  “No coming, Paige. Not until I say so.”

  She stopped moving her finger and I whimpered in frustration. We stayed like that for a few seconds, though they felt like they stretched out in eons. When she began moving again, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to control myself.

  With deft motions, she tormented me with her fingers. In erotic seduction, she kissed my throat and collarbone. As a wicked temptress, she used her other hand to tease my nipples. My legs trembled as I fought back the orgasm that rose as surely as a tidal wave. Just as my body threatened to release, she stopped and stepped back.

  “Why?” I asked, uncaring of the whine in my voice.

  “We’re going to move somewhere more comfortable.”

  Delilah guided me to a faux fur rug and gestured at it. When I sat, she gently pressed on my shoulders, urging me to lie back. I did so, though my body started to tremble more with anxiety than anticipation.

  “Shhh, little tigress. I’m not going to hurt you.” She lifted my leg and laid her lips against my ankle.

  My pussy instantly zing with desire, three-fold that of what I’d barely contained moments ago. As she kissed her way up one leg and back again, I writhed and prayed she’d give permission for me to come. Perhaps she’d forgotten the fact she’d forbidden it?

  “Mistress, can I—”

  “No,” she said, cutting me off in mid-sentence. “You may not come yet. You may want it, but you don’t need it bad enough yet.”

  Sweet agony ripped through me at her words. My muscles tightened, as if deciding against my will that my body would achieve orgasm with or without consent—from either myself or Delilah. I fought it back, which took almost all of my self-control as she pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh then nipped.

  “My God, please!” I nearly screamed.

  She pulled away from me and for a moment, I wanted to weep. What if she walked away and never granted me release? What if all this teasing and torture was nothing but a mind game. I watched her stride across the room and clenched my fists to stop myself from throwing curses at her bad enough to make a sailor blush.

  Mistress Delilah opened the wardrobe, reached in, and withdrew a vibrator. It’s vivid, neon green color did nothing to detract from the thrill at seeing it. She walked back, and I swore her steps were deliberately slower now. Even this was a form of torture, and I nearly went insane with waiting for her return.

  God help me, I loved every second of it.

  “Tell me, Paige, do you want me to use this on you?” She pushed a button and the whirring noise it emitted nearly had me lifting my hips. “Give me one good reason to give you an orgasm...”

  “Please... Please...” My gaze frantically flicked back and forth between the vibrator and her as I babbled. “I need... I’ve been a good girl. I did everything you asked today. Please, Mistress.”

  “You have been a good girl, haven’t you? Every time I pushed at you to find your limits today, you did as you were told. I’m very pleased with you.”

  She knelt beside me and the tuxedo only served to enhance the powerful woman she was. The toy slid into me easily, and I cried out and fought the orgasm so hard, I thought I would fragment into a million pieces from the effort. A high pitched wail filled my ears, and I dimly realized it came from me.

  “Come, Paige,” she said, and I shattered under the strength of the orgasm as it rolled through me. It possessed every single segment of my body, mind, and soul in a way I’d never experienced before. I bucked and screamed as my fingers dug into the rug under me, seeking purchase on something to center me. The fur only sent me spiraling higher as it tickled and caressed my sensitive fingers, thighs, arms, calves...everywhere my naked skin touched.

  When it was over, I lay gasping, staring at the ceiling in a daze. The world around me grew hazy, as if I existed in a dream-like state. I wanted to wrap myself in this sensation and never leave. A bottle of water appeared before my face, and I drank, though I didn’t feel particularly thirsty. Hands smoothed my hair away from my face, though I couldn’t find it in me to care enough to remember who they belonged to or why they were touching me so freely.

  After a time, I stirred and realized Delilah held me in her arms as if we’d been lovers sleeping. Perhaps I did sleep. I blinked up at her while the world came back, slowly but surely.

  “What was that?” I asked, and my voice slurred. I sounded either drunk or drugged. I knew I hadn’t drank any alcohol, and I was pretty sure she didn’t drug me.

  “That, my beautiful woman, was subspace through orgasm delay.”

  Chapter fourteen

  I woke the next morning and discovered Delilah sleeping beside me. Her features were lax as she rested, and a delicate, adorable snore emanated from her. I touched one of her curls, needing the contact and praying I didn’t wake her with it. As much as I craved her physical touch, right now I also needed some time to think.

  Bastet stirred on the other side of her. The cat’s yellow eyes gleamed as she stared at me in what I imagined was disdain. Or perhaps it was simply her way of urging me not to disturb her owner. I had a feeling Delilah and the cat experienced a very strong bond. I wish I could have as close of a bond with her as that.

  I frowned at the thought and immediately chastised myself. I barely even know her. One massively awesome orgasm does not equal true love.

  Using extreme caution, I gingerly removed myself from the bed and visited the bathroom. My skin remained sensitive from the night before, and I debated whether to change into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a shirt or stay in the revealing nightie. Deciding the nightie was the lesser of two evils, I padded to the kitchen for some juice. It was barely eight in the morning, and I fidgeted for a moment before pouring myself the drink.

  My mind screamed at me that I was wasting time. I needed to check my cell phone to see if anyone had called back with a potential interview or job offer. There were resumes in my car that I needed to turn in at some businesses in the next town over. My cellphone and car insurance bills would be due soon, and I needed to work so I could pull together the cash to pay them.

  What I wanted was to wake up Delilah and ask if we could enact the scene from last night again so I could achieve another powerful orgasm that left me floating in a
stupor.

  I clutched my temples and groaned as I forced my thoughts back to the truly important things. What was I thinking when I put myself up for auction? I knew I had responsibilities. Did I really think they’d just all disappear because someone bought me for a sex toy?

  At the thought of sex toys, my attention returned to the events of last night and I squirmed in my seat as a fresh wave of lust hit me. The high I’d experienced after my orgasm was unlike anything I’d ever known before. Not even alcohol ever took me there. I didn’t know exactly what happened, and last night I’d managed to pull myself together long enough to follow Delilah out to her SUV like a love-sick puppy. Once we got here, we both shed our clothes, fell into bed, and immediately went to sleep.

  Since waking up, all I knew was that I wanted that sensation again. Craved that floating, dreamy state of existence that beckoned me. The experience felt unreal as I looked back on it, and I wondered if perhaps the whole thing had truly been nothing more than a dream. Not the sex. The pleasant aches in certain places attested to the reality of that. But the state I existed in afterward...

  Subspace.

  What was it, exactly? I needed to know as surely as I needed to breathe.

  I went to pull my phone out of my pocket and froze as my fingers touched the silk material on my hip. No pockets. No phone. No way to search the world wide wise web. The full reality of my limitations hit me, and I ground my teeth as I stared at my glass.

  My car, clothes, phone...everything I owned was still at the guest house. There was no way for me to run resumes, check my messages, or job hunt. When this was over, I’d be right back where I started. Maybe worse if I’d missed interview offers. No potential employer would accept the excuse of, “Sorry I didn’t call you back about that job offer three months ago. I was busy being a sex slave. I’m completely professional when I’m not dressed in racy clothes and calling someone my Domme. Promise.”

  Despair washed over me in a sudden, life-sucking wave. Nothing is ever going to get better. I’ve worked so hard to fight for what? For selling myself like a prostitute to the highest bidder and going back to live at my baby sister’s after it’s over. A tear trickled down my cheek and I wiped it away with a sniffle.

  “What’s wrong, Paige?”

  Delilah wrapped her arms around me from behind, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to jump. My nerves jangled as I struggled with whether to tell her the truth, the partial truth, or a pretty white lie. I settled for the confiding my biggest worries first.

  “I’m worried about how I’m going to pay bills while I’m living here since I’m not working at the club right now.” I turned in my chair to face her and hoped I didn’t look a mess from the small amount of crying. As if mocking me, fresh tears tracked their way down my cheeks and I hastily swiped at them.

  She watched me with a guarded expression. Somehow, I knew it was the look she wore when her brain worked over a problem. I waited patiently for her to speak. God only knew I had no desire to talk more myself. Talking seemed to encourage the crying.

  “As your Domme, it’s my job to care for you in all ways. What bills do you have? We’ll write them down, the amounts due, and when they are due, and I’ll see that they are paid while you are here with me.”

  “I can’t ask that of you. They are my responsibility. I am an adult, y’know,” I protested.

  “That’s very true, my pet. But you are my responsibility. That means I take care of you. In this situation, that means I take care of your bills, too. It’s not so odd. Especially for a service sub,” she explained in a gentle voice.

  “I wasn’t aware service subs had bills for things like cellphones and car insurance, since you won’t let me have mine,” I grumbled. I knew I was being snarky, but the nervous helpless emotions that barraged my mind demanded I protect myself somehow. Sarcasm usually did the trick quite well.

  Without missing a beat, Delilah grinned at me, then made her way to the fridge. “Oh, many of them do. You’re just the exception.”

  “What?” I stared at her with my mouth hung open. My depression quickly turned to anger. “Why? Did you need to control me that completely?”

  She pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge then leaned against the counter and met my gaze without flinching. “It’s not my need for control that caused me to make the decision. It’s your need for control that did it.”

  “You aren’t making sense. That’s a stupid reason.”

  The smile that flitted across her lips made me want to throw something. Or scream. Maybe both. It felt like she was deliberately toying with me.

  “You and I are both aware that you have control issues. It’s probably a symptom of PTSD related to the attack on you. I’d have to look in to it to be absolutely sure. Regardless, your time with me is to teach you how to relax and enjoy giving up control. The first thing I needed to do was strip you of all your sources of power. Your independence,” she calmly explained.

  “That’s Stockholm Syndrome,” I accused and stood up so fast the stool clattered to the floor. I never saw Bastet, but I could hear her claws as she scrambled to get away from the noise and the anger.

  Delilah froze, and a hurt expression stamped itself on her features. In moments, she’d schooled it away, but I knew I’d hit a nerve. I instantly regretted the words, but my anger wouldn’t let me retract them or apologize. I stared at her, shaking with my barely contained rage and waited for her response.

  “There are a lot of differences between BDSM and Stockholm,” she said. Her words came out so quietly I had to strain to hear them. “You have a choice in all of this. You signed a contract to be a sub...even if it meant being a service sub. If this all bothers you so much, you do have a get-out clause. Someone with Stockholm is held captive against their will and often isolated to enhance dependence. They are mentally and emotionally manipulated into seeing their abuser or captor as the good guy. They are also put in dangerous situations where harm is used as a threat. Am I doing anything remotely like that?”

  Memories flashed in my mind of last night. How she’d taken me to the club and we’d socialized. The fact she never bound me last night during our scene. That she’d asked me, before we ever began, what I was and was not okay with. During all of this, she never hurt me. Never pushed me or treaded near breaking my boundaries I’d set.

  “No,” I said, then promptly burst into tears.

  Delilah appeared at my side in an instant with a roll of paper towels. I broke one off and blew my nose, then allowed her to lead me to the living room. At her urging, I sat down on a couch so cushy, I literally sank into it. Instead of making me feel better, it made me feel worse. More open to attack. I struggled up until I perched on the edge, then hunched over on myself with my arms wrapped around me. The crying didn’t seem to be abating any time soon.

  “Talk to me, Paige,” she said. “Tell me what all is going on. I can’t help if I don’t know what is wrong.”

  “I... I’m so lost,” I blubbered. “I can’t check my phone to see if I have a job offer. I can’t get in my car to go drop off resumes. I can’t pay my own bills. When this is all over, I’m going to still be stuck. I lost my job!” I ended the words with a renewed wail as the depression exchanged places with the anger that seized me earlier. My emotional ping-ponging only made me feel worse.

  Her hand rubbed my back in soothing circles as she sat beside me, quietly listening. When my confession ended, and I blew my nose again, she placed her other hand on my knee. The gesture, intimate and friendly, set off a fresh wave of tears.

  “I’m a terrible person! I shouldn’t have said that to you. I know you aren’t setting me up for Stockholm Syndrome. It’s no wonder Teresa kept cheating on me. I’m a horrible, insensitive bitch.” I pressed my palms against my face, hoping it would help hide my snotty, splotchy visage as I continued to cry.

  “You are a powerful woman who has survived a tragic event and has had a lot of bad things happen to her lately. No o
ne is going to fault you for being upset. I’m not angry with you, Paige. I’m not upset with you. I’m not even annoyed with you.” She pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “I’m grateful you are opening up to me so we can solve some of these things.”

  I peeked at her and shook my head. “It can’t be solved. Don’t you understand? I’m stuck in this rut. A whole month, and I still don’t have a real job.”

  “Shhhh.” The rubbing turned into a soft pat as she attempted to calm me. “Let’s go through this step by step. You are worried about paying the bills. I said I’d handle it. We’ll sit down later and get them in order. You are upset you can’t check your phone to see if you have any messages from potential employers. When you are calmer, we’ll call your sister and have her check your phone. Then, we’ll set it up so the phone routes calls to my phone. That way if anyone calls for you, I can hand it over and you can take the call. How does that sound.”

  I thought about her offer for a moment as my tears abated. “I’d like that,” I murmured.

  “That’s great! What else was there? Resumes, right?” At my nod, she continued. “Once a week, we’ll drive to places you want to turn in a resume at. Lots of them can be done on the internet too, though. If we get to the end of our three months together, and you still don’t have a job offer, we’ll discuss some options. No matter what, I’m not going to simply boot you out the door at the end of the contract. Do you understand me? I’m not a playtime only Domme. I take your well-being very seriously; auction contract or not.”

  We sat there in silence for a moment as I mulled over everything she proposed. All of it sounded more than reasonable, and I knew I didn’t deserve a single bit of her help. Especially after what I’d accused her of. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Apology accepted.” She offered me a smile, then said, “By the way, Teresa is a right proper idiot who never deserved you. How you two ever became lovers is beyond me.”