Liberated

Chapter Three: The Pain of Reality

Note: This story references events from Enslaved by the Pen that would otherwise be decontextualized if read independently and requires the reader to be familiar with the general chronology of events from that series. It is recommended that this be read following Enslaved by the Pen. Please note that the stories contained within both series are non-con fiction, and should be read at the reader's own discretion.

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"No." Amelia's voice was softly imposing in its refusal, gentle in her repudiation of me. Her body still trembled in my grasp. "No," she reiterated her insistence slightly more forcefully.

She raised her eyes to mine, penetrating my gaze with a piercing, unwavering glare, and repeated her denial. "I said no Gabe. I'm not calling Adam to cancel. You can't compel me to do anything. You don't own me. You don't control me."

She wrestled out of my arms, her fists thumping against my chest before falling backwards onto the floor behind her, all the while kicking and twisting her legs away from me. She cackled then, a full-throated peal of laughter as tears concurrently streaked down her cheeks. Half madness, half disbelief corrupted her response. Repositioning herself on her knees, she reached her hand forwards as she attempted to lift herself. But her body only faltered in disequilibrium. Absent of the privilege of strength, her body only heaved as if in hyperventilation, capable of no greater exertion than panic.

I extended my arm forwards in assistance. She only slapped my hand away.

"NO." She hurled the word at me with vehement volume. "I'm not fucking calling Adam, and I'm not fucking yours anymore. I never was, not willingly. I informed you in your office, we're done Gabe. Our connection is severed. We have nothing to discuss until you accept accountability for your heinous actions. Release me."

I winced at the untruthfulness of her words. If only she knew the intimacies of her yearnings to be mine that she uttered in unconsciousness. If only she was cognizant of how she longed to be under the control of my hand yet employed a labyrinthian series of rationalizations so that silence would not rebut her strenuous objections.

Amelia struggled for breath as she tentatively gathered herself to her feet, reaching unsteadily backwards and shuffling incrementally for the protective reassurance of the wall until it supported her petite frame. She looked dwarfed in the shadows of the corner's shielding enclosure. Her head turned towards the exit. The flicker of calculation crossed her eyes as she pondered the efficacy of escaping. Her body slowly slinked towards the door and frantically reached for the doorknob. I sauntered towards her until the flat of my palms pressed against the wall and her body was trapped between my arms unable to move in flight or fear. My body an impromptu blockade to her freedom, pinioning her tightly in my place of intention. She fidgeted amidst the heat of our pressed forms.

Her earlobe was sweet in my mouth as I suckled on the flesh. My tongue licked a lewd line to dapple her neck with my saliva until it settled in the top of her cleavage, barely lapping at the alluring valley of flesh that taunted me. I nibbled back up her skin, inspecting her eyes with amusement as my upraised knee forced her dampened panties into her cunt. She grinded against me, oblivious to her own movements as her breath quickened and the flush of pleasure crept incrementally upwards mottling her neck in splotches of scarlet skin and peach-hued flesh. Her wetness saturated through the fabric of my trousers, so excited was she by this scenario. My fingers were light as they slipped under the top hem of the dress' bodice, teasingly stretching it forwards and allowing it to snap back against her flesh. She startled with each repetition until my fingers slipped under the material and settled to cup her breast. My thumb idly circled her nipple, a languorous intentionality hinting of what was to come.

My voice hypnotic in its insistence. "Contact Adam and tell him you won't be able to make your brunch Amelia. You're mistaken in believing that you have a choice in this matter. This is not optional. It's an instruction. We have matters to discuss."

Amelia only glowered at her phone proffered in my outstretched hand. "Text him and allow me to approve the message before you send it."

She made no movements. She uttered nary a word in response or refutation.

"As I stated earlier Amelia, I did always appreciate this black dress you've selected. It's flattering, but you seem markedly intransigent this morning. Perhaps a reminder of who you are and who I am is in order to instill your obedience. I appreciate how much you enjoy feeling powerless in your vulnerability."

I unzipped her dress, painstakingly sliding the black fabric down her torso, until it released from the curves of her hips into an obsidian puddle at her feet. Her attempts at covering her bared breasts were met with the forceful pull of my hands trapping her arms by her frame. Her upper body jerked in a staccato motion, brusque, and disjointed in its movements as she endeavoured to extricate herself from my unyielding control. She stood there cowering before me in the small strip of her panties, her nipples already erect with desire, her breasts pushed slightly together by my capturing forearms.

She looked alluringly diminutive as her body demonstrated its awakening, and her mind, its conflict. Her flesh involuntarily prickled as I towered over her. Her body electrified with the briefest exertion of my touches as each moment painstakingly passed: the slight thrill of an index finger drawing down an arm to gently trace in the bend of her elbow; the circling of a thumb around her darkened areola; the lap of my tongue tracing the contours of her jawline; the sweep of a finger rubbing against the outside of her lace panties, pressing teasingly inwards to the inferno that awaited.

"No little one," I gently reprimanded her as she continued her futile attempts at twisting away from my control. The grip of my fingers only tightened around her wrists further as she continued her one-sided skirmish. Each resisting jerk of her body was counteracted with my own strengthening forcefulness, until at last she yelped and yielded.

Her chest rose and fell with dramatic emphasis in accompaniment to her ragged exhalations. Her eyes lifted to mine, determined in her noncompliance. "I refuse to play your game Gabe. I didn't understand before. I understand now. You have no power over me if I deny granting it to you. I'm not contacting Adam. I'm going to meet him for brunch. I'm going to reveal everything that happened to me, about my history, our history. You're going to release me. Please."

Her voice adopted a pitiable tone towards the end of her declaration, as if in negation to the firmness of her assertion. Her eyes widened in hopeful optimism before adopting a look of imploration. Her fingers unlocked and flexed uselessly amidst my secure grip.

My countenance conveyed sympathy at Amelia's naiveté. She didn't comprehend the nature of our entwined destinies. She remained obstinately untruthful to herself and to the sanctity of our relationship. I wanted to play back the surveillance videos of her nighttime admissions. A confrontation with reality was required. Yet, the approach of force without respect had not proven effective in the months I held her in captivity. An alternative method to convince her of the necessity of my presence was demanded, one premised on appealing to her logic and equally to her lust.

I seized both of her wrists in front of her body with one hand, while my other meandered to the gusset of her drenched panties. My eyebrow arched in feigned astonishment as my finger languidly stroked the exterior of the fabric before my fingers forced ever inwards into the radiating heat of her molten, pulsing cunt. She struggled maintaining a neutral visage as desire steadily etched over her face. Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted. Her tongue flickered, before she bit her lip trying to quell the rising swell of arousal dictating the deliberate thrusting of her hips onto my hand.

She remained stranded in my keep. My fingers teased her cunt. My thumb casually grazed against her clitoris. Her legs intuitively widened to accept me without further instruction. My fingers withdrew before abruptly gripping the flimsy cotton material and ripping it away. I cast the shredded panties aside and resumed my explorations into her slick, velveteen folds.

"Ask me little one," my thumb ever relentlessly ruthless in its delivery of promised pleasure.

The hitch of her breath as she uttered her refusal was adorably comical.

"No," she struggled out, her voice faltering as her desire swelled within. "You don't own me. I already told you what just happened moments ago won't ever happen again." The statement made as if to convince herself of its verity rather than denying me its reality.

"Ask me, little one." My thumb amplified its frenzied pace, and I recognized the obvious flush of arousal she attempted to camouflage. She turned her head, as her eyes denied an attendance with mine. Upon release of her wrists, I gripped her chin, forcing the desperation of her widening pupils to concentrate on me. She flailed at first, struggling with her predicament, but abandoned her efforts as she crested towards the pinnacle of her pleasure. Her neck strained. Her body pink with excitement. Her thighs slick with enthusiasm. Her movements increasingly erratic as her body veered towards its inevitable stuttering release.

"Ask me," I insisted. My thumb unrelenting in its punishing pace against the nub of pleasure that sparked the desperation of her manoeuvrings against my hand.

She tipped her head back against the wall. I saw the first tear well in the corner of her eye as she battled the urgency of her body and its natural inclination to obey its destined owner, in contrast to the determination of her resolve to deny her unsettled peace. With reluctance, she brought her eyes up to mine, biting her lip, before the threatened drop of salinity streaked down her cheek.

I operated as I perpetually did in these instances of her struggle. My voice was quietly intimidating in its admonishment, providing her with the rationalizations she mentally required to embrace her submission. "Amelia, if you climax without permission, I will punish you and punish you harshly. Do not displease me. Now request permission from me like the good girl I know you are." The trace of menace lingered on the last syllable, in emphasis of my dominance.

She pleaded with me with a vulnerability that was at once endearing and simultaneously heart-wrenching. She appeared unexpectedly diminutive in my grasp as she battled with accepting my words as canon, and her obedience as credo.

"May I come please?" she choked out the words, her voice quiet, almost timid in its dejection.

I lapped up the path of her tear with my tongue before whispering in her ear. "Ask me properly little one. You know better than that. You've been trained better than that. Punishment awaits if you fail to abide."

Her body wrestled against the swell of pleasure, fracturing her judgement, as her mind persisted down its ineffective path of resistance. Her head thrashed laterally as if she could will the pleasure away. Yet her pelvis continued to gyrate, pressing the wetness of her pussy against my hand, seeking the elusive thrill of climax. And then, it was there. I recognized the familiar look of surrender conveyed in her eyes. It was the acquiescence that was permanently in her to gift to me. The feral desperation of her pupils as they bore into mine, beseeching me to capture her soul anew. I was her Master again, albeit momentarily.

"May I come please Master?" Her voice defeated in its capitulation, but pleadingly desperate in its ever-insatiable hunger.

The gruelling pace of my finger massaged against her hardened clitoris, and I allowed her the grace of desire's summit. My mouth crushed against hers in a suffocating embrace as my tongue sought the warmth of hers. There was no longer any combativeness. She was utterly mine to mould. The flat of my palm sought the rounded curve of her buttocks and I spanked her unexpectedly, if not awkwardly from my position. The long length of her exposed neck as it arched backwards in pleasure invited my tongue, and I drank on her flesh as if ravenous. My hand slapped her again and she pressed backwards seeking the agony, before then thrusting forwards inviting the satisfaction. The oscillating motions of her body as it teetered between the pleasure of pain, and the pain of pleasure was exquisite to behold. I had successfully entrenched her masochistic streak to elevated depths of depravity.

My hands were selfish in their claim on her, and they found purchase in the forgotten swells and crevices of supple flesh whose appreciation time had thieved from both of us. Her climax was intense almost violent against my hand, as she battered her pussy against my palm with increasing fury. Her nails dug into my biceps as she collapsed forwards into my hold, screaming out her climax with anguish and desire, struggling for her breath as she mouthed, "Master."

My fingers withdrew from the familiar clutching wetness. Without instruction, she instinctively accepted my slicked digits deeply within her widely opened mouth, suckling on them. Her tongue infused with the tang of her own debasement. How I longed to enter her satiny cunt and stake my claim of ownership; but restraint was required. She however occupied no such illusions. To my amazement, her tiny fingers unsheathed the painfully rigid column of flesh that sprang upwards in its unveiling. Her legs wrapped around my waist as she lifted herself and slid down onto my manhood. Her body released a long-suppressed shudder as my penis parted the sensitive petals of her womanhood, re-christening what was eternally mine. The tightness of her flesh gripped my cock with a viselike strength as I burrowed deeper, ever inwards. The friction of entry strangled my girth as she embraced becoming the receptable to my spear.

As her legs crossed around my waist, I rammed into her with abandon. I crushed her body into my embrace with such voraciousness that she emitted a choked moan before the momentum of my thrusting lurched us forward, shoving her back against the wall with a resounding thud. I clung to her flesh with a desperation of want that disclosed my legitimate lust and love for her. Our two bodies moved in a unifying rhythm as we undulated towards my climax. Gentle at times, frantic at others, I claimed her with little consideration to her pleasure. In that moment, she was my possession, and that certainty was a mutual understanding that bonded us in a sacred covenant. I staked what she voluntarily surrendered to me, coveting her body to secure my claim. We were forceful and demanding in our desperation, as if two lovers verging towards imminent immolation. She was always my catalyst, precipitating the greed of my longing.

"Little one, confess your love for me," I gasped, as our breaths comingled, and my mouth captured hers in a suffocating kiss that refused to yield.

She clawed at my back through my shirt, whipping her head laterally before her teeth nipped at my clothed shoulder. "Master," she murmured reluctantly, quietly. Nothing more was uttered. Nothing more needed to be proclaimed. We both understood the significance of her unspoken silence. She didn't desire her submissive compulsions acknowledged. I had little inclination for my tentative optimism denied.

My hand reached between the twisted contours of our bodies, rewarding her with the purity of my touch upon her clitoris. "Good girl," I cooed in admiration as I furiously massaged and caressed the neglected bundle of nerves bringing her to the verge of pleasure once again. My cock swelled and spasmed, releasing my thick, viscous seed into her, as she too pursued her own climax, succumbing to its pull, hurtling over the brink. I embraced her spluttering naked form against my clothed chest, both of us panting intensely, our yowling subdued, as my pelvis continued pulsing into her compliant body. We clung to one another.

Amelia's body loosened, as an expression of serenity substituted her once delirious demeanour. She was sated by the familiar security of being used by the only one she belonged to. She leaned back trusting my arms to receive her as she relaxed further into my hold. But then the reality of what she had surrendered to me yet again so willingly and so enthusiastically infiltrated her consciousness. She slid away from my grasp, slipped to her knees, and sobbed, her arms cocooning around her form in an apparent act of modesty and an attempted reclamation of dignity that I knew she believed I had stripped her of.

"I can't do this again," she rocked into herself. "I won't do this again Gabe. You can't force me to be yours. Simply because you can induce me to climax doesn't translate to ownership of me. You and I both acknowledge that," she sniffled with a despaired, distressed wail. "My actions were a product of temporary insanity. That wasn't reflective of what I want. If you're determined in trapping me, I'll refuse to engage with you Gabe. What enjoyment can you derive if I reject your attempts to be transformed into the plaything you desire to mould me into. You never wanted a mindless sex slave, but that's what I'll knowingly and deliberately become." The hysteria overwhelmed her, and her body wracked in heaving gasps as her tears splattered to the wooden parquet below. "I escaped from you. We were done. I have dignity. I have autonomy. I have self-worth." Her fists smashed against the parquet. "You can't steal that from me! You can't demand that I give it to you."

My little one was careening towards turmoil in her own mind, frantic in her repudiations. I tucked myself back into my pants, and knelt, before stroking the hair from her eyes, wiping the wetness that speckled her cheeks. My arms cocooned around her nakedness, attempting to quell the refusals that writ across her body as she strained to evade the security of my presence.

"This wasn't a punishment, Amelia. This wasn't my attempt at symbolically exerting my power over you." My tone was subdued, soothing in its objective. "This was an illustrative confirmation to the both of us that your body undeniably belongs to me. Every pore of your being is responsive to your Master's touch, naturally receptive to my whims. More importantly, I wanted to fulfill for you the yearnings you so evidently crave, the pleasure that you initiated by your free will. They were your legs that spread in supplication to receive my cock. Your heels dug into my back, pulling me deeper into you, a suffocating type of surrender that was limitless in its debauchery. Those were your inclinations, Amelia."

My lips met the silkiness of her locks, as my arms tightened around her.

"You thrill under my hand and under my command. Your sensuality blooms. Do you not see that what your mind denies, your body desires? You yearn to be imprisoned by the eroticism of humiliation and held hostage by the sexual denial that only I can deliver. Your every response is exquisitely attuned to be my cherished slut. Your mind is carnal in its appetite to have every fantasy fulfilled by me. Be truthful whether you derive the same satisfaction with Adam."

I kept her in my grasp for long moments, emphasizing the physicality of my possession of her, and her permission to be consumed by me. The strangulating nature of our embrace allowed my observations to bear witness to our reality, further solidifying my keep over her very being. Her sniffles subsided and then strangely rage overtook as she once again endeavored unsuccessfully to shove me abruptly away.