Only Consenting Adults Ch 15

[Author's note: Cassie has discovered Syn, arranged in her favourite gown on her chaise in the office of the Lost and Found. She isn't moving; there's an empty bottle of pills.

Reader discretion is advised.

Meanwhile, drinking downstairs in the club with Adam is Ashley (

I03

,

I04

). As per

CR3

, I always keep my promises.]

---

SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS

Flashes of light, fragments of pain. Whiteness, then the howl of noise like a thousand car radios turned up way too loud. Faces. Voices. A crushing pain that was stopping her from breathing, like knives stabbing into her lungs whenever she tried to snatch a breath. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

In all this, words, and a strange swirling gravitational motion, pulling towards her head and then towards her feet, and then pushing her back into, what? Soft leather? The smell of leather. Familiar. Car leather. The sound of people screaming at each other.

She screwed her eyes closed as the pain washed over her again, opening to see a gap between seats and a body through the gap. Black dress, bare legs, skin the colour of coffee, hands gripping a steering wheel. A man's grim voice from the other seat, the words: "Fuck the lights."

Hands pressed against her cheeks, the feeling of a body supporting her head. A familiar face above hers. Blonde hair, tears. Looking down her body, another woman, older, her face set in grim determination. White heat in her chest again as she tried to breathe.

Darkness.

---

Light.

Birdsong.

Soft white sheets. Syn opened her eyes.

She found herself in a room painted in ivory and cream, with a high ceiling. She turned her head and could see that the wall next to the bed was given over completely to windows in wooden frames. They were open, letting in a warm, spring breeze. The air was so clear. Syn took a tentative breath, fearing the return of the crushing pain but finding it all gone away. Her lungs filled with crisp, clean mountain air.

She sat up in bed, looking out at the view of distant, towering peaks bright with snow. There was a knock at the door and Syn turned to greet the visitor. A man walked into the room without waiting to be called.

Syn considered him for a moment. He was middle aged, well built, with short hair gone prematurely silver. He was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, casual yet understated. He entered the room like he owned it, lighting up his face with a dazzling smile that made Syn's heart melt. He crossed the floor and perched himself on the edge of her bed.

"How are you, poppet?"

For a moment, Syn couldn't speak, fighting to control the emotions roiling inside her.

"You may speak freely, I permit it."

"I... I'm well," Syn managed, cursing herself for her clumsiness.

"I'm here, like I promised. Are you happy to see me?"

"Yes. Very much," she managed, weakly.

He frowned. "Did you think I wouldn't keep my promise? That you would never see me again?"

"I... I don't know," Syn stuttered, "I began to doubt."

At this, he leaned towards her, gathering her up into his arms. She buried her face into his neck, taking in the scent of him.

"You should never have doubted me, poppet. You are the most precious thing in all of this world."

He held her for a long time and she was content to listen to his breathing, basking in the feeling of being held in his arms.

"It feels like an eternity since I last had your body against mine," he murmured. "Have you missed me?"

"More than you could possibly know."

She felt the rumble of his laughter through his chest.

"Oh, I think I really could possibly know. Being separated from you has been the hardest thing I have ever had to do."

He broke off the embrace, leaning back, running a hand through her hair.

"And how have they been treating you here? Madame Roberte tells me you've been progressing in leaps and bounds."

Syn didn't reply, not trusting herself to say the right thing.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "You must tell me what's on your mind."

"I," she stammered, "I'm, uh, I...."

He laughed again. "It's not a trick question, I promise. What do you think's going to happen if you tell me the truth?"

"I'm not permitted."

"You are now."

"Matrone hasn't permitted me."

He shook his head. "Look at you, all tied up in knots. Where has my Cynthia gone, the woman who hunted me down through the crowd?"

Syn found herself lost for words again, looking into his eyes.

"She's still there, I hope," he continued, "Just now aware of the limitations on her behaviour."

The warm smile faded. "I was very explicit about that, that you shouldn't be altered. So, tell me, how have they been treating you here? That's no longer a request."

Syn considered her options, looking for a hint in his expression but finding nothing. She knew what she wanted: her body burned for it. She also knew that asking for what she wanted would prolong her agony. At last, she formulated a response.

"I'm chaste," she replied, "For a hundred and sixty-eight days. Master Yves has helped me take control of my body, helped me not to succumb. They have been hard on me, but I have learned all my lessons."

"Almost six months without release," he mused, "The old Cynthia would not have managed it. As I recall, she needed release every day."

He reached out and cupped her breast. She permitted his touch without reacting, feeling her body secretly betray her as her nipple hardened beneath his touch. He stroked her breasts, teasing a finger around the bumps in her shirt.

"You need it so desperately, don't you?"

Syn nodded with a twinge of fear that the small admission would be enough to warrant a reprimand. The rules were now simple. He could extend her denial by an arbitrary amount of time as he saw fit, as punishment. She locked eyes with him, awaiting his verdict.

"I understand," he said, "As I said it's been hard on me too, separating from you like this. I have something to tell you."

The tone of his voice alerted her, sending a tremor of panic through her. She braced herself, letting his hand continue to fondle her breasts, roaming wherever it wished. His fingers traced down, over her thigh, sliding beneath the hem of her nightdress and up between her legs. Fingertips arranged themselves over her waxed mons. She didn't dare move, waiting for the moment of contact.

When his thumb plunged between her lips, she gasped, but he didn't smile. His face became more serious. She looked at him with a burgeoning dread, even as the exquisite thrill ran through her aching body of his thumb gliding up and down her slit.

"I had to find a substitute while you were away," he confessed, "She has been willing and entertaining, and we have built a good rapport over the last few months. I know how unfair it must feel, thinking of me with her at dinner, or in a club, while you were kept here, far away from me."

He paused, but the thumb kept stroking her, slick now with her moisture.

"In bed also," he told her, "She's been keeping me satisfied between the sheets. As I said, she's been very willing."

Syn gasped, involuntarily. He had always been clear that his needs would be met however he saw fit, and she had accepted that about him. But, she was still stunned by the admission that he had been free to enjoy the body of another woman whenever he wanted for months while she had been denied even the pleasure of bringing herself to climax.

"You look like you have a question," he observed.

"I do."

"Ask it. You know you need to."

Syn's mouth was dry. She swallowed. "Who?" she croaked, fearing his answer.

He actually smiled at her, his thumb dipping inside unexpectedly, brushing her clit and making her shiver in anticipation. Her body was betraying her, allowing itself to be brought to the edge. She waited for his answer, dreading and expecting the name he would give her.

"Jodie, of course."

Syn's eyes fluttered closed and she let out a little tortured groan. He had taken her rival to bed, the one woman Syn had been afraid of losing him to. Suddenly, the nights spent alone in her bunk, aching with need in the dark, came back to her. She had tortured herself with the scenario, of Jodie getting her hooks in while Syn was removed from the scene, making a play for the man who Syn loved passionately. Jodie's body against his in the middle of their night, moving in exquisite synchrony, had been Syn's abiding nightmare.

"I told her I was coming to visit you, do you know what she said?"

"No," Syn replied in a tiny, lost voice.

"She said she hoped you'd learned your lesson."

Syn crumbled, imagining the pretty face mouthing the words, the look of triumph in her eyes.

"She was very good about everything," he continued amiably, as if they were simply chatting, "She said that if I decided to bring you back, she would find space in our life for you. She'd let you share me. What do you think of that?"

"I...."

It was all she could say, her mind plunged into despair with his words even as her body screamed out from the attention of his thumb.

"She was very interested in your orgasm denial, and what it had done to you. She said that it sounded very useful."

So, he had discussed it with Jodie, telling the other woman everything, giving her everything she needed to keep Syn squirming under her thumb. She felt the waves of bliss from his intimate touch and the overwhelming humiliation of being bested by the woman she'd been locked in bitter contest with. Jodie always played to win.

"She had an interesting observation on that," he continued.

Syn grimaced, finding herself trying to fight back tears now, the shame of her defeat overwhelming her at last.

"She suggested an arrangement. When I brought you back home, Jodie would remain in my bed. We would find somewhere for you to sleep. She suggested a mat on the floor."

Syn gasped, picturing herself naked, huddled up on the carpet while her rival rode the body of the man Syn loved to climax, night after night.

"She said we could involve you. You'd be permitted to get me hard for her. She also suggested that you could be ordered to make her wet for me. How would you like that, poppet? Your pretty mouth at work on us both, then you could watch while we make love?"

Hot tears flooded down her cheeks.

"Do you think I would like that? Would you like to be kept in denial and used as a part of our foreplay? You could watch us fuck, but Jodie suggested that you should never be allowed to pleasure yourself."

The thumb paused.

"Open your eyes, poppet."

She complied, blinking rapidly to clear the tears from her vision.

"Would you take that life, if offered? To be our toy? To serve us both when we needed it and go without yourself? If that was what pleased me?"

Syn felt his thumb, nestled over her entrance. She looked into his eyes. She felt the burning anguish from the thought of Jodie taking control of her because it would please him to see it. She could imagine the smug, superior look on Jodie's face as she instructed Syn to pleasure her. Jodie would be merciless, humiliating her at every opportunity.

"Yes Master," she whimpered.

His thumb plunged deep inside her and Syn came, gushing over his hand as her orgasm surged through her, powered by need, denial, helplessness and a hopeless, irresistible love for the man in front of her.

He didn't move, allowing her to ride out the savage waves of her first climax in months as her vaginal walls contracted around his thumb, revealing the depths of her need, showing him how much his words had affected her, shaped her. That was the worst part of the betrayal, that her body had told him how much she wanted to be debased like that.

At last, he withdrew his hand, bringing it up to her face, showing her his gleaming fingers, bathed in her juices.

"Good girl, poppet. Now lick up your mess."

Obediently, she opened her mouth, permitting him to insert each finger, licking and sucking her moisture off each digit until he was clean.

"Are you ready to come home?" he asked, gently, "To begin your new life?"

"Yes Master," Syn replied.

The tears began to fall again, but he cupped her cheek tenderly with his hand. He lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips.

"No tears, poppet. This is a happy day, isn't it? You passed."

"I did?"

"Yes."

Syn blinked, reeling. "A test?"

"Your test. To either walk away, or to submit yourself completely. Or do you regret your choice?"

Here, at last, was his real question, the reason he had sent her here in the first place. Would she take the life he offered her, the position he gave her?

"I told you," he continued, "I laid it out. Monogamy, children, the white picket fence, remember? It's not me. You've had time to think, on your own in this place. What do you want, poppet? Where do you belong?"

"I belong to you," she said, simply.

"And I belong to you poppet. That's the truth. I satisfied myself with other women while you were here. That's also the truth. I brought Jodie into our bed to satisfy me, night after night. I enjoyed her thoroughly, that's the truth too. But what I said, about the three of us, I don't want her in our life. That was a test."

His face was grave. Syn found herself searching his eyes, seeing compassion there.

"I love you, poppet. I miss you. Do you think you're ready to come home with me? To live with me, for all the days from now on?"

"Yes," she gasped.

It was as if the floodgates were opened. Tears came, but happy tears this time. He swept her up in his arms. Syn closed her eyes, content to feel him holding her, finally, after all the months apart. She felt satisfied and at peace.

"Madame Roberte gave me a full report on your time here," he told her, "The Matrone is not an easy person to impress, but you succeeded. She told me how lucky I was to have you. I told her it wasn't luck. I told her it was my privilege to have you in my life."

She could see the honesty in his face, the admission that Syn exercised that hold over him. He meant every word he was saying.

"Let me make you happy," she told him, "Permit me to show you what I can do."

"I permit it."

Syn knew it was against the rules, the strict code of abstinence and self-denial, the focus on obedience, control, elegance, worthiness, as opposed to the base mechanics of fucking. But she was no longer striving not to give in to her carnal desires. At last, at long last, she was being called on to please her owner.

Syn disrobed, sitting cross-legged before him, naked. She looked down at herself, her firm, high breasts, her unblemished skin, feeling the long, lustrous strands of her blonde hair cascading about her bare shoulders. Her body was soft and full, perfect curves, enticing, not sculpted by hours of effort in the gym, worked on ceaselessly to maintain her figure. Her body was supple, beautiful, glowing with the energy of youth.

She felt his eyes on her, the colour rising in her cheeks to expose herself like this before him. She shifted her hips slightly, arching her back, bringing her chin up. The motion lifted her breasts, thrusting them forward to stand proud before him in a way they hadn't done for years, her body rendered young again before the man she had always loved. He reached out, cupping them in his large hands, and her body thrilled to his touch.

"Undress me," he murmured, no longer a command but an invitation.

She came towards him, tugging his polo shirt over his head, reaching down to his belt buckle, unbuttoning his jeans. He raised himself up, letting her strip him, revealing his manhood, stirring, nestled in the space between his legs. Syn's eyes were drawn to it, a familiar longing unfurling within her, a remembrance of how he felt inside. In her darkest moments in the institute, she had cried herself quietly to sleep, imagining his manhood standing before her, replaying the look on his face as, like she did now, she bent over to take him between her lips.

Syn took her time, remembering her lessons, taking care to please each part of him, worming her tongue into the sensitive ridge between his head and his shaft, sucking on him. She was rewarded with a shuddering sigh from him, and a twitch of his cock. Syn felt a little special glow, feeling the effect she was having on the man she loved.

"I've missed this," he groaned, "Such beauty, degraded...."

His words trailed off, lost in the sensations as Syn began to bob up and down on him, slowly, her lips constricting around his shaft. He felt solid, unyielding, harder than she had ever felt him, as she listened to him groan in bliss from her delicate attentions to his manhood.

She had slickened, herself, the ever-present ache now unbearable, each taste of him in her mouth an agony. Syn was teetering on the brink of her own orgasm, brought to the edge by nothing more than being permitted to suck him. She felt herself sliding, wanting to fall deep into that longed-for submissive space, giving herself completely to him. She wanted to feel his body around her and inside her, powerful, commanding her to please him. She wanted to obey.

Instead, she popped off the tip of his cock, looking up into his eyes. She could see his need for her, the confusion on his face as she broke off contact.

"I want to show you," she breathed.

"Okay," he rasped, his eyes lidded with passion.

Syn positioned herself carefully, straddling him, her entrance over the purple tip of his cock. She lowered herself down gently, surprised by how big he felt, how completely he filled her. She sank down until his root was pressed up against her clit, his entire length subsumed into her body. Syn wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

Her crotch was pressed against his, the hard nub of her clit against the base of his manhood. She didn't pull up and begin to move, instead she clenched him inside her, feeling him react as she began to milk his cock within.

Syn rolled her hips, keeping him embedded fully, using her muscles to tighten around him, working to a steady cadence. His hands settled on her buttocks, lifting her slightly so that he had a little motion to drive up into her. Syn permitted it, concentrating on clamping hard when he'd penetrated her completely, enhancing the sensation around his cock as he struggled to withdraw.

The orgasm was there, hovering on the horizon, but she ignored it, as Master Yves had taught her, focusing on the bliss of her man's rigid erection inside her. Syn denied herself effortlessly, all her focus on building her lover up to his climax through nothing more complex that clenching herself around him

"Poppet," he groaned, "New tricks. Such beautiful tricks."

Syn didn't reply, gripping him tighter inside, until he was struggling to withdraw.

"You're so tight," he hissed, "It feels like...."

Once again, he didn't finish his sentence, swept away by the glorious sensations in his cock. Syn was hovering on the edge now, teetering on the precipice after nearly half a year without his body inside her.

"Please master," she gasped, "May I cum?"

He grunted beneath her then stared deeply into her eyes.

"No," he replied, denying her cruelly.

Syn merely accepted his judgement, increasing her tempo, milking him, feeling him slide in and out, grinding her own swollen clit against him. She allowed herself to fall, giving in at last, dropping deep into that secret submissive space she craved. She felt his passion, the effect her body was having on him, and merged into it, her body becoming an extension of his, each pulse of his cock within her sending shivers of pleasure through her body.