Bougeotte Ch 04

My heart was broken- I, was broken. And stunned. I was in as much disbelief as anyone else could be. How could I feel so upset losing a man whom I had never met, never heard his voice, never touched or felt his flesh on mine? You could say that we had only emailed and chatted online, but that wouldn't even come close to what transpired between us.

I opened my soul to him...my guts... desires, and needs. He brought me to a height of arousal that I had never experienced before...ever. He gave me tasks which I obeyed to the letter. I sent him pictures of myself in various clothes, adorned with what he desired. He asked me to confess very intimate sexual experiences of mine that I had never shared with anyone else, and I did.

All willingly of course. He never forced me, threatened me, tied me up (although that would be fun) - I couldn't do his tasks fast enough. I had no one to blame for the misery I felt, but myself. I didn't blame him at all.

"Jen, let's go out for a drink tonight. Come on- I need one too, me and hubby are fighting and I need to get out," Ronnie offered.

"Sure, yes, I would love that!" I said, so relieved that I could see her, tonight of all nights.

I arrived at her house, and she was almost done primping. "Don't you want to wear something more slutty?" Ronnie asked. I had to laugh, and felt like we were back in college, right before heading to a club to pick up.

I poured my heart out to her over shots of tequila. She was the only one I had confided in about Michael, and totally understood my dilemma.

"Jen, the very thing that frustrates you about him is the very thing that attracted you in the first place. His confidence, elusiveness... He will never be able to satisfy you. If you want this dom/sub relationship, then go local. Find it close to you and explore it."

I knew she was right, I wanted and needed more than what Michael could give me. But I couldn't really conceive of a real life affair with someone new. It seemed sordid and vile to me. And where would that leave me in the end?

"And what if Michael ever came to New York and asked to meet me?" I asked her.

"I'd drive you," she said without missing a beat.

The next few days, the tears became less and less. I never tried to contact him again and deleted my profile on the chat site- it was too painful for me to see him. I explored the web for BDSM sites to learn more about what had happened and to try to fill the empty hole inside me. After awhile though, the chat site beckoned me again. It had been harmless fun and there was some pleasure in it. One day I had logged on, and Michael was online in the chat room. My heart was racing! I wondered what he thought of me now. Did he care? Or could he care less? I could have logged off, went to another room, but I steeled myself to stay, for obvious reasons.

"Hi Petite," he called out immediately.

Ohhh....my God! What was I going to do? I sat there motionless, except for my hands, unable to keep my fingers quiet. Well, I didn't want to be rude and ignore him; it's only common courtesy to say hello. Maybe he is just being friendly.

"Hi." I said cautiously.

"You look great." he said.

"Thank you."

"Private chat?" he asked.

I was silent.

"You're tempted, I know." he added.

I gasped, unable to believe how confident he was, after all this time! But my heart was beating like a drum; my face on fire. Nothing had changed. He still made me weak...I wanted him now just as much as before.

"Do it." he demanded. "Now."

"Why should I?" I asked.

"If you don't, you'll never find out." he replied, dangling the carrot in front of me.

Unbelievable the way he could get me....! He was playing with me, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying making me squirm.

The voice inside pleaded, "Don't- don't do it! Don't give in to him!"

My body defied it, as I helplessly watched my fingers click on his name to chat.

"Hello." I said, trying to keep myself devoid of emotion.

"Private room- Michael. Password- Yours." he said, demanding that I make a private room. Whenever we had gone into a private room where only he could see me, he was the one who chose the name and password, usually referencing what was going on at the time. The names that he had chosen now were not lost on me one bit. I could not bring myself to disobey.

We started chatting privately...I was very feeling very reserved; cold. He was relaxed and in control. After a few pleasantries, he asked if I wanted to play. Play?? As though nothing had ever happened?!

"No, I can't." I said.

"Why not?"

"Because....!" I shot back, my anger going from low simmer to a boiling frenzy,"I can't just start taking my clothes off for you?! I haven't talked to you in months! There are plenty of naked women on here that you can watch!"

"They're dull."

"You released me," I reminded him.

"And now I'm back." he said smugly.

I couldn't help but nervously smile, feeling both astounded by his confidence and direct approach as well as feeling completely intoxicated, which was slowly melting my icy interior.

"You seem so cold..." I pouted, starting to turn into a little girl, trying to illicit some affection from him.

"I only give you what you need. Admit it...You need a firm hand."

"I do, but I like when you're sweet as well."

"Should I lick your pussy and lovingly bring you to orgasm?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"With everything that happened...you left....Did you even miss chatting with me?!" I scoffed.

"Of course. Do you know what kind of passion it takes? How much emotional energy you expel with that kind of intensity?" he countered.

"Yes, I understand... It was very intense....and likely to implode." I said in agreement, my anger deflating.

"Exactly. I'm a Dom and we have to make decisions. That's the decision I made."

"Well, I have been chatting to other Doms, too."

"I'm glad you found something to amuse yourself with," he chuckled, not the least bit threatened. Did I really think I could make him jealous?

"It helps me...to be able to deal with you. I'm not as connected to you as I once was." The funny thing about that statement is that I actually believed it for a second.

"That may be true.....unless you submit to me."

I paused... I didn't want to say yes, but I didn't want to say no either. I didn't like it this way.

"Unless you can't handle it." he added.

The knife went in deeply then- Michael totally unruffled by the whole situation, and willing to toss me aside again without a thought.

"I can handle it just..Fine!" I retorted back to him, almost sounding like an indignant three year old.

"Take off your blouse." he commanded.

And so I did. I was his again.

For another few weeks, he toyed with me, until he tired of it. The emails started to dwindle and the writing was not just on the wall, it came over and smacked me in the face. I felt used, not all the time, but enough. I couldn't reclaim what we had before, and couldn't swallow this new arrangement. I finally confronted him about it.

"Why didn't you answer my email?" I asked him, hating that I actually had to ask that question. If you have to ask, it's already pretty obvious, but I guess I just wanted to hear him say it to my face.

"Because I sat on it too long and then it didn't feel right." he said.

"I don't understand you- you are so erratic."

"I am. It's just the way I'm wired. I live in the moment." he explained.

"Well, it's hard for me to deal with, never knowing if you are going to write."

"Maybe I shouldn't contact you again," he offered casually. It was just so easy for him.

"Can you understand what I mean?" I asked, feeling totally ridiculous that I had started this conversation.

"Of course."

I knew this was heading in one direction, and it wasn't where I wanted to go, but I had no choice. "I wish you every good thing," I said.

"Likewise. I think you'll do well. Good-bye."

I paused, knowing full well once I typed those three letters, it was over.

"Bye."

Click. He was gone. Once again.

The only good thing about getting hurt multiple times is the callus that blankets your heart softens the blow. No tears this time. And in the back of my head, I knew that it had been over before, and he had come back. There was comfort in knowing that.

I continued chatting with other Doms, researching sites, what I liked, didn't like, and now I wasn't afraid to say it. Months had gone by and I was evolving, but still not settled. My thoughts would often go back to Michael, and I re-read our stories, sometimes relieving it and yet, as the months went on, it seemed unreal to me. Did all of that really happen? Did I actually buy lingerie and pose myself; take pictures and send them to a stranger? It still didn't fit...I still didn't fit, in where I was supposed to be.

I started to write my feelings down, exactly what I felt in my gut. A constant hunger...an ache....a wanting....a craving....

The beginning of a new story-mine. At the very least it would be cathartic. But how was I going to publish our stories without Michael's consent? Hmmm, this created a problem. It had been months since we had been in contact. Would he even answer me after all this time?

I wrote him an email, short and sweet, asking him for his permission. I really had no ulterior motives at this point, and was not trying to drop my handkerchief in front of him. Was I curious? Of course, but I had no expectations. A week went by with no response. Okay, that's fine, I thought. At least I have my answer.

But then- it came.

A message from him sitting there, staring at me, and waiting to be opened.

"Hello Jen,

Of course I have no problem with you publishing them minus any details of course...

I always enjoyed our exchanges -- you were a worthy and inventive respondent.

I'd love to rekindle our writing relationship -- feel free to step into my office, appropriately dressed of course, any time you like... I feel we both might enjoy something a little more relaxed..."

I had to admit it; I was elated that Michael wanted to write with me again. But, the wall was up and I was determined to have it remain that way. I foolishly thought that I could handle a more relaxed correspondence...no tasking, no pictures- just writing. I loved writing with him, his dominance, creativity, and eloquence. Could I really say no?

"Thank you, Michael. If I ever do decide to publish them, you will be the first to know. What a lovely invitation..."Knock-knock."

I rise from my desk, walk over to the heavy oak door to my office.

An unexpected visitor...

I turn the smooth brass knob with my right hand, open the door and find... what, I wonder have you chosen to wear?

**

Wearing a stunning, red silk dress, v-neckline, brown leather belt, with knee high black suede high-heeled boots...I am dressed to kill.

The last few months quiet, I am hungry for some inspiration...this should do nicely.

Michael.

Yearning to quell this craving, I decide to see him.

The heavy door opens. Looking inquisitive at first, he then smiles and welcomes me inside.

I walk in, and hear the door close behind, the click of the lock follows.

** The smooth, shiny chrome mechanism is operated with a small, jagged key. The noise you hear is the meeting of two expertly cast pieces of metal locking together, snapping shut. Escape is impossible.

So, you've returned. Changed I feel. More confident, but tense, craving. I can smell your perfume and beneath it the scent of anticipation.

You're dressed to kill. Or are you dressed to be killed? I wonder. Predator or prey?

I let my eyes run over your body. The way the silk clings to your curves, caressing them then springing away. So much energy, fire, barely contained by the brown leather at your waist.

I walk round you, taking in every detail. I wonder if you're wearing anything underneath. I let my eyes meet yours. Defiant?

But I knew you'd return...

How do you feel?

**

Although feeling fight or flight, of which, with that door locked, there will be no flight, I remain steadfast in my resolve.

My head cocked to one side, right hand on hip, "Yes, I've returned....After all, how could I refuse such a lovely invitation? You've missed me, haven't you?" more of a statement than a question.

I return your gaze, and drink you in from head to toe.

That hair....sets my teeth on edge. I begin to imagine running my fingers through those chocolate brown curls, and tearing at it as I.....slightly shaking my head, I come back to the moment.

Deliberately, I drift away from you, and casually stroll around to your desk. I suggestively trace my fingers across the smooth top of the magnificent oak bed, delaying the hot fuck I came for...

Underneath my dress, a red, satin push-up bra with matching crotchless panties awaits you...feeding that precious insatiable fetish of yours....you see, I secretly still want to please you. Defiant, no.

Needing correction, yes.

**

"So you've come to seduce me? How pleasing. But you can't just expect to walk in here and get what you want."

Despite myself, you can see I'm hard under the thin material of my suit trousers. It's clear I want you, my eyes betray my passionate desire. But I'm in control... just.

"It's time to see what you've learnt." I indicate a chair, sleek, black leather and chrome, no arms but with a number of chrome loops running down the back. Ornamentation?

You sit, as ordered, brushing my hand with the red silk of the dress as you pass me. From my desk I take two pairs of chrome handcuffs. Taking each wrist, I cuff you too the chair. You realise, at the touch there are small spikes on the inside of the cuff around each wrist. Just sharp enough to dig in if you move against the restraints. Something for you to concentrate on.

Back to my desk, I take a red ball gag and fasten it around your neck. Roughly I kiss you, touching those divine lips, tasting you for the first time in too long. Then the gag is in and the strap tightened....

With a strip of red satin I blindfold you.

How do you feel?

**

Besides wet? A few things....Enslaved, physically yes. Very telling that you felt I needed so many restraints....the blindfold especially surprised me; I thought you would love to watch the windows- straight to my heart. The point in time when you watch my emotional resignation to your will. Ahh, but maybe you'll surprise me.

Oh yes, I did notice your desire. With the ball gag on, it makes it doubly hard not to salivate just thinking about that delicious prize.

The only thing I can move is my legs, which though trembling, are tensed for what's to come.

Now, can we talk about that kiss? It's probably good that you did pull away so quickly....I would have lost it otherwise.

***

I step back to look at my slave, seeing your legs trembling. It's good that you're tense and nervous for what's to come.

I love to see that...

There will be plenty of time to look into your eyes later. For now I'm going to play with you, exploit the profound uncertainty that blindness delivers.

You cannot be sure what's happening to you and you cannot ask as the gag renders you dumb. How delicious. Listen...

I take my shoes off so you cannot hear me moving around you. You hear me unlock the door. Open it, close it.

Have I left? Did I let someone in? Are you alone or on show? Did I switch places with someone? You hear the sound of a blind being pulled up. Was it at the window or was it the internal blind that covers the glass wall of my office? Am I sharing you, subjugated?

You feel a hand stroke your neck, tracing the line of your dress. How beautifully it meets your flesh. My hand or another's?

You hear the click of a camera from across the room. The hand guides your head to face the origin of the noise. You feel the cool shock of metal against your skin, then the snip of a scissor blade. The dress goes limp as its cut open down the middle...

More clicks, with each snip. Surely there must be another at the camera.

How do you feel?

**

There is no denying it; the benign milieu of the office has turned.

Unlike the superficial sting I feel on my wrists, the sheer magnitude of my vulnerability cuts deep.

The blindness.... the most cumbersome restraint.

My remaining senses heightened, the ticking-- the clock and of my heart, are the only sounds I can hear.

The internal conversation begins, trying to soothe me. "Relax...this is exactly what you came for, isn't it. To be completely overwhelmed?"

A hand strokes the tender flesh of my neck. I try desperately not to make a sound. The faint scent of cologne surrounds me, Versace?

I believe it's you touching me, caressing me...you wouldn't give up that pleasure to another, the delicious satisfaction of feeling my body tremble, the pulse of my heart racing...to feel the deep ache I have for you, so palpable.

My dress falls leaving me almost completely exposed.

I can't control it any longer....and hear the sound of a faint whimper, my own.

Maybe he does mean to kill me?

**

Bright light, harsh, blinding, as the blindfold is removed, you glance down at your ruined dress, a jagged red scrap of satin, twisted and mangled by the sharp scissors...

The next thing you see is a camera, digital SLR, mounted on a tripod. It clicks, but there's nobody there..

The window is open, sun streams in, lighting you to perfection, in your eyes. I hold the remote control for the camera in front of your eyes, click off a couple of frames...

How beautiful you look. The ball gag, pulled tight, adds a certain something to your expression, perhaps a forced attitude of submission....

A phone rings. You watch as I walk over to my desk, pick up the handset and begin a conversation. From what I say, it's not immediately clear what I'm talking about, but the topic is decidedly un-professional...

I walk over to you. You hear me ask the caller what they're wearing. The response is inaudible, but I smile. As I listen to the phone, I start to touch you.. My fingers stroke your neck, down your chest, over your skin, trace your breasts through your bra, over your abdomen.

Your pussy is framed by your crotchless panties. You feel my fingers enter you, as I look into your eyes, listening to the phone... You're warm to the touch, glossy and wet. I wonder when you last fucked anyone, whether you're up to what I'm going to do to you..

I rub your g spot hard as I say "gotta go" to the phone, hang up and drop the handset...

Can you handle it?

**

The blindfold is removed, and as my eyes adjust, I hear the click of the camera...on tripod. The ruse revealed, my body relaxes....until the phone rings. I gaze down at what's left of my dress, so pretty, the color...like the color of that nail polish I saw at Sephora..What was the name of it..? Oh yes, Brunette on the Internet...love those cute little names! I will pick up the polish, and then make dinner..hmm, what should I make, the salmon or steak? The salmon, definitely..with that Thai dipping sauce...Oh wait, where was I? The office, that's right...my mind must have drifted off...

It does that when it gets bored.

I guess he is off the phone now...should I finish this? I mean, he seems distracted, and my time is extremely valuable to me.

I casually meet his gaze....one eyebrow raised in a question.

**

I meet your gaze with a cool, calm expression and remove my fingers.

I was mistaken. It is clearly not pleasure you need right now, it is something else. Something much darker...

Very well, you have provoked me. I wonder if you're ready for what that entails? Such concerns however are irrelevant. I think it's time for you to face the consequences of your actions...