You Can Always Say No Pt 03

Kimbley thought she wouldn't sleep that night.

More fool her. After an embarrassed explanation with Mrs Wilson (seventy years old, who looked strangely knowing when she opened the door a crack to explain that she was alright) a long, hot shower, a hurried takeaway meal (did the delivery guy give her strange looks? Could he tell, or did her house still stink of sex?) she lay down on the bed, mind-a-whirl, and promptly collapsed into the slumber of the sexually sated.

She dreamed strange dreams. None of them were as intense as her real life, for all that they tried.

She woke to her alarm clock feeling far, far too good for a woman who was on the verge of losing control of her life. It might have been the mind-shattering (at least, ear-shattering) orgasm last night but there was a strange sense that the feeling of anticipation, the clinging, invisible web of eagerness, was still there. She wondered if it was, if he'd done something to her last night, made some sort of mark or brand on her mind and soul that meant she'd be easier to control, unable to

want

to escape his control.

After some effort she forced herself to be worried about it. She was utterly exposed, was slowly surrendering control of herself, of her life, of her very sense of self, to someone she barely knew. He could call her up and push her, make her do things, make her give up her secrets, get her to hand over her property to him, sign away her life, whore herself for him, become his pet, his prisoner-

-Oh God-

...She probably shouldn't masturbate while contemplating worst-case scenarios.

The feeling of anticipation faded eventually; apparently even the strange, unknowable powers of Sir-

Josh

couldn't survive the morning rush commute. Even so work was a bit of a daze. She was aware of making small talk with Sam, brushing off her co-worker's worried questions; of Greg hovering like a ugly threat in the background. She ploughed through her work on autopilot, hands and lower brain traversing the tedious, boring terrain of emails and excel spreadsheets while her mind chased itself, marking out a furrowed circle in her brain as she wondered-

What was she going to do?

What did he really want?

How could she protect herself?

What was he going to do to her next?

God, last night was

incredible

, wasn't it?

Sam was worried about her. She tried to explain, in the simplest, broadest terms, what had happened to her and failed badly, but her Sam at least managed to get that she was frightened.

"Come out tonight," said the blonde woman. "Come out for drinks, okay? Maybe just have a normal night out with me?"

"I'm not sure," Kimberley said. "I might just want-"

She heard the ping. She looked down. She read the message.

Josh: I want you to come to my house tonight.

"Yes," she whispered.

"What?" She turned up and looked at Sam's pretty face and was suddenly, intensely desperate for some fixed point of normality on which to steady herself.

"Yes," she said. "Let's go out for drinks, okay?"

"Thanks."

***

"Thank you," Kimberley said.

"Honey, you keep thanking me. You don't need to."

Kimberley sat back. "Okay."

Samantha grinned, white teeth past red lips, with a pink drink in her hand. "But you can get the next round, okay?"

That got a laugh from Kimberley as she sat back. "This week has been crazy as all hell."

"Yeah." Samantha sat back. "You looked like to needed a save."

"I did."

"Who from, anyway? Greg? This new guy?"

Kimberley closed her eyes and remembered the way the pleasure had bloomed inside of her. "Myself, I think?"

Sam stared at her for a heartbeat.

Then she burst into laughter, drink swaying dangerously in her hand. "Wow, you really picked the wrong girl to try and save you, didn't you?"

"I'm serious." Kimberley took a sip of the drink in her hand- Sam had ordered it, something with a dirty name and an overreliance on sugar- and looked around at the cocktail bar she'd been dragged to. "Hey, you ever..."

"Ever?"

Kimberley leant forward. "Ever found something out about yourself that really, really scared you?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"You know I wanted to grow up and become a nun?"

Kimberley made a little snorting motion that meant that some of that sweet drink ended up going into her lung. When she finished coughing, Sam said, "I'm being serious right now. I had it all planned, you know. Prayed myself to sleep every night, the whole shebang."

"What happened?"

"Something just...happened, during college." Sam chuckled. "All of a sudden I noticed boys and girls in a way I didn't in high school. Got real horny, real fast. The funny thing is how much I absolutely hated it. Thought it was all

dirty

, that I just wasn't being pure enough. Wasn't being hard enough on myself."

"What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I just...I want to say that I came to terms with it, realised that I didn't have to be so damn pure, that it wasn't who I was. That I decided to become a bold, assertive woman, all that crap. Only...that wasn't how it happened."

"So what did happen?"

"I gave up, I guess. Gave in. Went from praying every night to touching myself, from avoiding boys to being the wild one at the frat parties- and guess what? It turned out not to be so bad. I still keep a lot of the stuff I liked, I try to be a good person, you know? But the rest...turns out that sometimes giving in isn't the worst thing in the world."

The two of them stared off into space for a while. Then Kimberley said, "This new guy, he likes to boss me around."

"Yeah?"

"I want to let him."

"Is he a jerk?"

"I...I don't think so." Kimberley thought of Greg. She thought of James. "No."

"Okay." Sam shrugged. "Then let him. Within reason. Keep a part of yourself for yourself, Kim. Be his sexy little sub- some of the time."

"Some of the time?"

"Yeah, like, when it's fun and sexy. Just make sure he understands limits, he respects your boundaries."

"I'm not sure I

want

boundaries when I'm with him."

"Nah. A girl's got to have boundaries." Sam sipped her drink. "That's what separates the queens from the simps." She caught Kimberley's expression. "Sorry."

"I am a simp. I was, anyway." She thought of James.

"Oh honey," said Sam, "we all are. At least the once. That's how we learn."

***

She got home late. She took out her phone.

Josh: Are you alright?

That was it. No repeat of his order. No demands, no threats. Not even a simple repeat. Just...that.

Did he wonder if the only reason she'd not answer was because something might have happened to her? Was he just worried, after all she'd told him?

Was he sitting there, secure in the knowledge that it was only a matter of time, that she'd weaken and say yes?

She shivered and bit her lip. She wanted to say yes. She was

desperate

too. But she understood, on a bone-deep level, that once she said yes...

She'd never be able to say no again, never want to say no again, never

conceive

of saying no again.

Too much. Too much too soon, too many ugly crowded memories of misused trust and abuse of power.

She put the phone away and took a deep sigh.

***

The phone rang. She picked up and answered without thinking.

"

Open the door

."

Phone in hand, she walked over to the door of her studio apartment. Undid the deadbolt, the locks that were meant to make her so secure and safe. Her body was tense and taunt and eager.

He was waiting on the other side, eyes glittering with a dark amusement. "You thought you could escape?"

"No," she breathed. "No. I was just waiting."

He chuckled and stepped inside. He looked around the apartment, eyes cold and judging. "You made me come for you."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll have to remember to punish you for that."

"Yes, sir."

He turned back and looked at her, and she was suddenly, achingly uncomfortable of her long shirt, her tousled hair, her sleep-deprived eyes. Why hadn't she prepared herself? She should have known that he'd come to claim her-

"

Strip

."

Her body moved before her mind could even process the words, pleasure swirling inside as she cast off her shirt, her panties. No subtle performance, no strip tease; they were past the coyness, the sweet words and the pretences, weren't they? She knew what he wanted and he knew how eager, how pathetically eager, she was to give it to him.

No more lies about being a boyfriend, a lover. He was her

master

.

Just as she craved.

She was wet, so wet, her pussy hot and sopping and ready as she stood, her hands by her sides. The world felt hazy, indistinct; as though she had a fever, as though she was in a dream. She stood before him, her small breasts thrush out, her hands by her sides, her legs slightly open and her eyes half-lidded.

"

Kneel

."

She dropped to her knees as fast as she could. She leant forward, anticipating his next order.

"

Take it out

."

Eager fingers pulled open his belt buckle, unzipped her pants; she pulled his penis out, already half hard, half ready to claim her. She licked her lips and shivered; the world shivered with her, walls and ceiling and floor becoming an empty, featureless void. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the task ahead of her and the desire filling her up, emptying her out, until Kimberley was gone and there was nothing else but hot need.

"

Stop

."

She froze in place, the need to obey straining against the desire she felt, the two pulling and pushing inside of her.

"Once you do this, it will be over. Once you do this, I will control you. Utterly. You'll be mine. Everything you are, everything you were. Everything you will be. It doesn't matter if I never let you out of my sight. It doesn't matter if I never see you again. You will belong to me. My property. My slave."

She knelt, head bowed, while the worlds sunk into her body, her mind, her soul.

"Do you understand?"

A short, sharp nod.

"

Suck it

."

She dove into the task, lips shamelessly wrapping around his cock, and the pleasure made her more submissive made it more pleasurable made her more submissive made it more pleasurable and her core, her cunt, her whole body was aflame and the pleasure built and built as she milked him with her mouth and she looked up at his eyes and she worshiped what she saw and she was tipping over she was cumming she was cumming she was

cumming

and-

She woke with a groan in the dark, body shuddering, bedsheets twisted around her like ropes.

She lay there until the afterglow faded. Then she cried, feeling cold and afraid and alone.

***

Days passed and she managed to avoid answering.

She didn't have the strength to delete the app. She decided to take the coward's way out; ghosting. Not what he deserved if she was wrong about him, but she felt that desperate times called for cowardly measures. She didn't receive any further texts; no more queries, no more commands. She briefly mentioned to Samantha that she'd not be seeing him again.

That night was Friday night. She decided to spend the night in, cooking herself a nice meal and binging on Netflix with a beer. That proved to be a mistake; halfway through the horror anthology she wasn't watching she nearly decided to call him- just to let him know she was alright, just to explain herself- and had to hide the phone from herself for the rest of the night.

She spent Saturday morning in bed, tossing and turning. In the end she got up and pushed herself, cleaning the flat and working on personal projects that she'd promised herself for months that she'd complete. She managed to exhaust herself enough that Saturday night passed in a blur. It was going great but then she had another dream that night, something involving hot, delicious pain and she woke up horny and terrified all over again.

Salvation came in the form of a text from Samantha on Sunday morning- did she want to meet up for brunch? She'd never considered herself the sort of girl to do brunch with a friend- had always wanted to do brunch, had wanted to be the sort of girl who'd get a text from a friend (and Samantha was a friend now, wasn't she?) and just go out, have fun. And have fun she did- she ate delicate little pancakes with cream and fruit and sipped coffee and listened to wild stories from the blonde libertine about her life. She talked a little about James and talking about it with Sam- coupled with a little distance, a little time- didn't make what had happen feel so bad. So Sunday was nice.

On Monday Greg went and ruined it all.

***

She came into work and she was beginning to feel okay, to feel good about it all; to feel like maybe she'd made the right call. She'd missed out on something great and grand but something terrifying as well; a wave that could just as easily dash her against the rocks than carry her away to distant lands. The sort of adventure with no safeties, no protection; the sort of adventure that could end in bleached bones in the sun.

She wondered afterwards what it was that set Greg off so much; that she looked calm? That she looked at peace? Because when he came into the office, when he cast his eyes on her, there was so much hate there; raw and total and animal-stinking thick - that she stopped dead.

"Come to my office," he breathed and she hesitated, prey instincts going haywire in her head. He grabbed her arm and hauled her, bodily

hauled

her, into that cramped, stinking cave of his. He slammed the door so hard that she shrieked. He turned around, utterly heedless of the thin wooden barrier shielding them from the world.

"What did you do?" he asked. "What did you do?"

"I didn't-"

The world

snapped

at her and she stumbled back, another shriek escaping her lips.

He slapped me

, she thought distantly and her first instinct was confusion. "What did you do?" He asked again. "Who did you talk to?"

"I didn't-" He was already ignoring her. "Shit," he muttered, body moving, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Shit, shit shit." He growled. "Make this go away."

"What go away?"

"You stupid cunt. Cunt. Cunt." Spittle peppered her face. "I want the investigation to go away. I want HR to get off my case. Who did you talk to?"

"I didn't talk to anyone," she said even as she began to understand.

One ugly, beefy hand reached out and grabbed her, pulled her down onto her knees and the strange thought came again-

not like this, he's not commanding, he's a petulant, whining child, he doesn't

deserve

this

- and then his hands were fumbling at his belt. "I own you," he muttered. "I own you."

She looked up at his angry, piggy little face, at his stinking cock, and then-

-laughed.

She laughed so hard she couldn't stop. The difference between Sir, between what she'd seen, what she knew waited for her and this sad pathetic man...

She laughed even as he screamed, even as he kicked her, even as Samantha burst through the door with the police on the phone; she laughed as she picked herself up and kicked the screaming, worthless, useless idiot right in the balls.

She marched out of the office and the building and, she presumed, her job. She hugged Sam thanks, hard enough that the girl complained. She promised her eternal friendship and drinks on her in the near future.

Then she opened her app.

***

"Hello? Josh?"

"Hi. Do you...?"

"I'm sorry."

"I understand."

"I just..."

"When I say I understand, I

understand.

I've had this sort of power for a few years and...well. It still scares me, despite it all. "

"What happened? Why can you...?"

"I honestly don't know." He sounded sincere. "One day I just pushed my power into the voice...and it happened."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah. It doesn't work on everyone. Mostly women, I think because...well. You're probably the most extreme example that I've seen."

"How many others?"

"At first? Plenty. A lot. I went overboard...but I didn't really like it, in the end."

"Why?"

"Wasn't my think. A big harem, the fast lifestyle...just...tried it. Felt empty in the end. Felt like it wasn't giving me what I wanted. I had some...bad stuff happened."

"Bad stuff?"

"One girl got obsessed, went a bit nuts. Couldn't function without me ordering her around. Another hated me for it, as much as she loved me. What I do...it overwhelms you. But it can't be everything. Can't be the only bond I have with someone any more than sex can sustain a relationship forever."

"Why the app?"

He chuckled. "I wanted to be honest. Sounds dumb but...I was thinking. I could use my powers, get a girl to do something that she regretted, but...why? Why not find someone who knew what she was getting into, who wanted it from the start? Why not make it clear from the get-go what I was?"

"Really?"

"Hey, it's the twenty-twenties. Kink-shaming is out. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

Her turn to laugh. "I only swiped left because I was curious."

"And now?"

Silence. She worked up the courage to speak. "Do it."

"I want you to be the one-"

"I want you to do it."

"You can always say no."

"Yes." She smiled, staring at the street around her as she murmured, "And I want you to do something about that, okay?"

"Come to my house at eight sharp tonight."

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll text you the details."

"Yes, sir."

"Come prepared to stay overnight."

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl," he murmured in that calm, confident voice and Kimberley smiled as she let go.

She hung up. She went home and undressed. She showered, enjoying the hot feel of the water. She washed and blow-dried her hair. She picked out her best underwear and put on her nicest dress. She packed.

She closed her eyes and sat on her bed and felt the anticipation ripple through her, never fading, never slowing. She smiled.

She got off the bed. She picked up her bag and opened the door. She turned around and looked at her little apartment as though she was seeing it for the last time.

Kimberley left.

***

Samantha smiled as her friend talked.

It had been a week since that awful day in the office; a week since Greg had been dragged, kicking and screaming with his pants still around his ankles, by the police. She'd texted Kimberley and received a handful of messages promising that she was okay, she just needed some time away to process; that she was with a friend.

Then nothing. She'd gotten a little concerned, remembering her earlier conversations; the girl's strange silences, her frightened looks, her vague talks about a dominant boyfriend. Her imagination got away from her, conjuring up another Greg or worse; creeps, rapists and people trafficking rings.

So when she got a call from Kimberley asking her out for a coffee she felt her fears fade. The feeling vanished entirely when they met up and she found herself talking to a bubbly, excited Kim- a Kim with a gleam in her eye and a spring in her step, a Kim that seemed to walk on air as she talked about spending the week with her new boyfriend. A Kim that barely seemed interested in the police investigation into Greg's years of appalling misconduct, about the company's offers to those that worked under him for financial compensation and good references in return for silence.

Sam liked this new Kim for the most part, although some part of her- to be honest, not that small a part- missed the old Kim, the shy and stammering girl, and wondered what had become of her. Still, she was comfortable enough to accept an offer to come back to her place that night for drinks.

"Back to my boyfriend's place, I mean," Kimberley said, grinning. "I'm staying there now. Besides, I owe you a fun night out for helping me."