Liberated

Chapter Five: The Parallax of Perception

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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The collar dangled precariously off the tip of Gabe's outstretched finger, taunting me with its intentionality.

My head shook violently. This was the first time Gabe demanded I don the collar in public, the spectacle of my submission for all to behold. We had entered our arrangement for two weeks now, and never once before had Gabe been as insistent as he was this morning.

I stepped backwards, retreating from Gabe's grasp. "No Gabe. That wasn't our deal."

"Is that for you to determine? If I wish for my little one to wear this in public, she will do so with pride. Remind me what our arrangement was little one because you seem to have conveniently forgotten the minutiae of our accord."

My eyes narrowed, resentful that Gabe was insisting I voice reality to our mutually agreed upon covenant of debauchery. He looked smug as he leaned against the door frame, his chiselled chest peeking from beneath his unbuttoned shirt. His eyebrow lifted in expectation at what he knew would be my reluctant, though expected obedience. I silently reminded myself on the necessity of my acquiescence. I had agreed to be Gabe's to preserve my mental sanity, to carve a path for my future that wouldn't be determined by others, and to reconceptualize Gabe in my mind from the monster that he was to a past I left behind. The words that tumbled out of my mouth stung with each syllable I enunciated as I recited what we had decided weeks ago after I stormed into Gabe's office that afternoon in confrontation with collar in hand.

As I leaned against his office door that fateful day, I observed the unmistakable unbridled yearning flit over his eyes as they narrowed in realization that my very presence symbolized my surrender into his keep. The initial melancholy that lurked beneath his eyes when I first entered transformed to a realization at the collar I presented in my hand. He had approached me with such softness in query of my motivations, attentively listening to my explanation as his hand wrapped around the proffered collar, before accepting it into his trust.

Afterwards, he hauled me into a suffocating, if not frantic, clawing embrace. The collar he once tightly palmed, now abandoned on the floor, as he smothered my lips with his own before callously bending me over his desk and kicking my legs apart, my breasts uncomfortably flattened. His chest curved heavily over my back as his fingers yanked my dress up over my hips to expose my panties, and his fingers snaked beyond the flimsy fabric to push into the petals of flesh that he knew would be wet in anticipation and want.

"Tell me who I am now, little one. You can no longer deny your destined owner, can you?" His fingers thrust deeply in me, in reminder of my privileged position to his dominance.

When my voice refused to cede in cooperation, he only jackhammered his fingers vigorously into my silky folds and my body ratcheted forwards in reverberation as it absorbed the propelling force of his digits. My legs only widened in acceptance of what he bequeathed, independent of his directive. The slickness of his effect on me was obscene in sound as his fingers delved into my velvety depths, caressing me to greater heights of yearning and desperation.

"Who am I little one?" His voice was husky, intensely dark, and alluringly demanding in my ear. "You've chosen. I knew you would, though didn't expect this scenario." He accentuated the sibilance of his words. "Your return to me was inevitable, though admittedly challenged my patience. Our destinies are forever entwined."

His fingers retreated before they wiped the moisture of my arousal over my lip. His large hand was tender as it cupped my spread sex, gliding up and down to draw the slickness to paint my slit. The zipper of his pants was pulled down, and the hardness of his manhood sprang forward, pressing against the crevice of my buttocks. His hands enclosed around my diminutive waist, and he hauled me to him, the heat of his manhood pulsated heavily against my squirming lower body as the weight of his command held me captive against him. With one inelegant motion, he yanked my dress up and over my neck, exposing my back to his insistent tongue that licked downwards in possession. His hand flattened, firm on my nape, unrelenting in maintaining me in the compromising position that was vulnerable to detection by others.

"Please Gabe, I don't want this, like this. Some one will discover us."

He disregarded my pleas and only alerted his assistant indicating that he not be disturbed. The firmness of his cock pushed into my engorged folds, before he hesitated, holding my pleasure at bay with the tip of his manhood, demanding that I solicit him for the privilege of my own debasement, in his environment, where I already assumed the position of interloper. It was a familiar refrain that we had enacted for months in his mansion: tease, plead, possess, surrender.

Securing my sexuality like this, contorted over his desk, my dress entangled in my limbs, with the threat of force looming, and my vulnerability on display, guaranteed that my surrender to him was pre-ordained. As he inched unhurriedly into me, I grabbed the edge of the desk, bracing for what I knew would be an intentionally forceful ownership of his property. His hand curled tightly over my mouth as he slammed into me, preventing my cry of anguish as he rutted into my satiny folds, possessing me with such frenzied abandon that I could only yield each time he bottomed out in me. I bit against the flat of his palm, suppressing my grunts as he claimed me, over and again, until he groaned out his climax, his thighs hot against mine. Each thrust of his pelvis against my buttocks an intentional inscription under the aegis of his possession.

His cock remained nestled within, the still pulsing column of flesh sheathed by my quivering pussy. His hand slipped down between the juncture of my thighs to inch upwards in exploration of my clitoris, which he massaged with precision.

"Who am I little one?"

His breath was scorching against my ear. The pace of his fingers increased, and I could sense the edge of summit as he endlessly teased the starved bundle of nerves, manipulating my clitoris with skill as my breathing accelerated with each intentioned caress.

"You offered the collar to me little one, of your own volition. I didn't force you to present yourself. You yearn to be taken over my desk, fucked by the one who owns you. Who am I?"

Gabe waited, his hand ever generous as his fingers rubbed and caressed my clitoris. Just as he brought me to pleasure's edge, he abruptly halted any further ministrations.

"Still don't wish to acknowledge who I am to you? Perhaps more convincing is required."

He reached down to my spread legs and ripped my panties off. I expected to be gagged, but instead, his finger burrowed the fabric into my tight anal canal, the lacy material assaulting my anus. He pushed ever inwards, the panties abrasive as the material was shoved into my ass until the entire undergarment had been inserted; his finger remained lodged in me, sawing in and out. He wrenched me up by my shoulders with force before spinning me around and pushing me onto my knees. In my disorientation, he seemed a colossus, legs astride, cock out, staring down at the half-naked supplicant whose body thrummed in denied ecstasy. He only gestured once towards my hand and it drifted to between my legs, as ordered, ever compliant.

I remained kneeling, shadowed by his stance, fingering myself, and delivering my body closer to pleasure. His hand only cupped my chin loosely, directing it upwards. This was his intention all along, to garner my knowing and voluntary capitulation on my knees, where the weight of such an admission mattered most. It was an unfathomable plumbing of the depths of depravity in the name of his dominance and my submission.

"Ask me." His directive was gravelly in timbre. His fingers entwined into my hair, pulling on my tresses as if a handlebar directing me to his intended outcome, audacious in his presumption.

No other words were necessary. My body ached for release under the command of my subjugator, aroused on the threshold of possession, the lure of ownership too potent to disregard.

"Master," I cried, the word laden with desire. My fingers were unrelenting against my own swollen nub. "Master, may I climax please." The query tumbled out as my body was unable to defend against desire's call as it pleaded for release, straining against its natural inclination.

He only smiled darkly as he nodded and watched with approval as I orgasmed under his dominion. I had accepted my position; I was his to do as he determined. If I believed my ordeal had concluded, I was mistaken as Gabe retrieved the collar on the floor and wrapped it around my neck, securing me of my place. He yanked me up. My chest flattened against the surface of his desk once again, returning to the initial altar of my subjugation. His fingers dipped into my quivering cunt, gathering the juices of our commingling, before he spread them on his cock.

"Feel my arousal little one. Observing your wanton behaviour at my behest has persuaded me to ravish you again. Your willingness to be mine is a convincing argument."

How Gabe managed such a curtailed refractory period was unbelievable, as I immediately felt the rigid press of his glans against my anus. I shook my head frantically, lifting my torso off his desk, attempting to flee the humiliation that washed over me. Gabe only captured both of my wrists, demanding obedience from my body, as the incessant push of his cock seated fully into my ass; defilement transpired independent of my authorization.

"I own your holes now little one, and I decide what goes in them. If I want to fuck you with your panties stuffed in your ass, then I will, and you will beg me to do so."

The despotism motivating Gabe's actions solidified my sense of smallness under his authority, an entreaty to his dominance. He didn't demand of me again what was an unnecessary request. He only waited with quiet patience, understanding that when I did plead for his violation I was voluntarily entrusting my body into the tyranny of his control. Gabe stood sentinel. Bent over his desk, my wrists tightly seized in Gabe's grasp, my legs kicked apart, speared on Gabe's manhood, panties in my ass, I knew what my body expected of me, and what my mind demanded of me. Though degradation suffused my consciousness, my pussy soaked at my helplessness, of being singed by the heat of Gabe's dominance as it radiated off his body, and of his haughtiness at claiming what was perpetually destined to be his, by force, design, and concession.

"Master, please fuck me in the ass." My voice was tinged with defeat. I had elected to traverse this route, and now Gabe was insisting I live with the consequences of that choice.

Gabe released my wrists and gripped my hips tight against his pelvis, toying with my desire, incendiary and ravenous. As I was about to plead, he fucked into my ass with long, deep thrusts. His hands gathered my wrists against the small of my back. I could feel the panties with each inwards thrust as my sphincter squeezed around the rigid column as demanded. The wetness of my debasement slid down my cheeks dripping to the desk below as he answered a call, never interrupting the rhythm of his claim on me, as I transformed into an object for his use. My regret apparent as he picked me up after he ejaculated into me and instructed me to return home with the panties remaining in me, a reminder of my conquest. Later that evening, Gabe insisted on the privilege of watching me present my ass as he methodically excavated the fabric from deeply within, pulling out the thong's elastic in an exaggerated demonstration of power and entitlement.

"Thank you, Master," I mustered as he placed the sordid panties on my back, in chastisement.

Now, two weeks later we were at an impasse again. I knew my obedience was demanded. Gabe dangled the collar; momentum swung it laterally. He repeated his query. "Is wearing your collar in public for you to determine little one?"

I intuited that refusing his honorific would engender discipline. I recognized denying his directive would garner more. It was an unappealing consequence that I endeavoured not to be punished for. I only shook my head. "No Master, it's not. Master decides."

Gabe buckled the oppressive leather around my neck, tugging me to my bedroom by the O-ring.

"That was our agreement was it not Amelia?"

I could only nod as I was marched to the bed and positioned over Gabe's lap, my hands captured behind me. I was being disciplined for my insubordination to his authority. My insolence required no further explication. As his hand rubbed my buttocks in preparation, my meek requests for punishment over my transgressions were enthusiastically obliged. The first strike of his opened palm struck the juncture of my thighs and buttocks with such force that I shrieked. Each subsequent strike was more painful than the last. As I endured the blows that showered down upon my flesh, I could only lament that Gabe was accurate that this was our agreement. I had knowingly entered into a relationship with Gabe of my own accord.

After discussions with Adam, I had thoroughly deliberated my options. I desired vengeance. I sought accountability. I loved Gabe, but I couldn't love him like this. I needed to excise the lingering hold Gabe held over my life, to repatriate the sexual autonomy that I should have always retained in choice, rather than sublimated in coercion. I originally believed that the initial office confrontation was sufficient in casting aside my past demons. But Gabe's demonstration that morning of my faux abduction illustrated how weak-willed I had been in mitigating my own suffering and resisting his sheer magnetism. If Gabe could not relinquish his suffocating grip on my life, or rather, if I could not remove myself from it, then no matter where I fled to, no matter who I dated, Gabe would infiltrate my life because I sanctioned such an intrusion.

This was the only approach that would engineer an appropriate sense of closure for me, without attenuating my resolve. When I approached Gabe that morning, I presented him with neither his leather collar, nor its knitted counterpart. It explained Gabe's initial mournful look which then transformed into a puzzled countenance. Instead, I thrust my own collar in his hand, heavy, leather, and embossed with my own initials. It was a collar that symbolized a purely transactional experience. If I was to play his game, I would retain power. There was to be no prevarication of the truth between us, no hesitation in consent on my part, no manipulations or machinations, or distortions of reality. We would be open and honest, and in the end, the exercise would eliminate the vacillation in my mind of our intent and subject positions. I would emerge with a newfound understanding of my submission and my power to leave him behind if I desired.

I informed Gabe that the conditions of my surrender were non-negotiable. I would be his for a period of two months. We would not remain in the mansion, nor the ersatz apartment, but in my abode where I knew surveillance was absent. My safeword applied, as did my limits. Legitimate punishments were acceptable if they were within reason. Despite everything, I knew that ultimately Gabe would respect my boundaries and grant me the security of exploring my darker fantasies. As ludicrous as it was, it was with Gabe that I could reveal my darkest yearnings.

I would communicate and visit with friends including Adam, when I desired, and maintain the semblance of my routinized life. We would then approach the detective in person, where I would be witness to Gabe 's confession. He would surrender selected recordings to the detective as evidence of my captivity. I wasn't seeking vengeance I assured him, but accountability and justice. Gabe would then unreservedly release me and agree that I was no longer his. After Gabe's period of penance, I would contact him if I desired. But we would start anew, no entanglements of earlier times, no assumptions of ownership, and no veneration of the past. Gabe was to illustrate to me the type of Dom he was, absent of manipulation and machinations.

"Gabe, if you deviate from our agreed upon negotiations, then you will never have the luxury of seeing or speaking to me again."

My gaze was unwavering, resolute, when I uttered the ultimatum. I knew removing myself from him was a psychic wound more calamitous than death for him, to be dispossessed of the presence that he fantasized and lusted for. The prolonged demise of interminable loneliness instead of love to accompany him would be torturous. As much as I was infatuated with Gabe, he was equally under my enthrall. I had no murderous intention in my heart, nor was I willing to sacrifice a life of imprisonment in furtherance of vengeance.

Despite my doubts over Gabe's acceptance of my conditions, he had readily agreed. I remembered the moment I witnessed the optimism that lurked beneath his eyes, the gentleness with which he embraced me. I knelt and Gabe had fastened my collar around my neck.

"Mine," he whispered, tears in his eyes, grateful for hope, regardless of how improbable.

"Master," I responded. I had never been certain of my course of action more than in that instant. We were colliding towards destiny, but no longer designed by blindness.

"Twenty-five," I sniffled as my thoughts returned to the present and to the excruciating tenderness radiating from my flesh as the last of Gabe's strikes was levelled upon my buttocks as my body squirmed over his lap. The wetness of my tears did little to mitigate my unrepentant mentality. My state of mind focused solely on the pain that sparked and stung in sensation. There were no gentle caresses to alleviate the throbbing of my flesh.

"Explain to me why you deserved your punishment little one." Gabe pressed down on my wrists with some force, prompting a response from my fidgeting, naked form that had otherwise attempted to maintain a silent stoicism in rebuke of his discipline.

I detested how Gabe's insistence on eliciting my self-incriminations inexorably increased my feelings of vulnerability and subjugation. Even when I verbally affirmed the necessity of receiving discipline, the flicker of rebellion reared in defiance. My emotions were exceedingly transparent when I made no efforts to conceal them. In response to my continuing lack of deference, Gabe placed me in the corner after my spanking, my buttocks crimson from his strikes, standing to ponder my predicament.

The sweep of Gabe's shirt over my back jolted me from my thoughts. "A little underdressed aren't we little one? We return to what initially got you into trouble." Gabe pivoted my body so he could absorb my naked and collared form, before pulling me towards him. "Your collar and my desire to publicize that you're mine."

I consented to this. In the two weeks since I had willingly become Gabe's, he had not violated my boundaries. If anything, Gabe was waging a unilateral campaign to convince me to not approach the authorities. He was exceedingly thoughtful in how he enacted my submission and his control, ever enticing me into the lair of his lust. While he hadn't moved into my apartment, he stayed many nights, and waking up in the security of his arms, my cheek pressed against his chest was cocooning in warmth and reassuring in touch. Gabe was soft and secure, but commanding in his enactment of control, of which I could always depart.