Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Caleb
The gratitude I feel when she finally leaves is untold.
I’m experienced at this. I know what I’m doing. But…
I look at my pictures of her, the ones that I took while she was tied up in those red ropes.
She’s perfect. Beautiful in ways that no one and nothing ever has been.
I wanted her for so long that this experience is still echoing inside of me. Both as a profound, tremendously incredible experience, and as a big fucking mistake.
I can’t give her anything.
I can do this, though. I can try to get her stable with the ranch and I can teach her what she wants. She’s definitely a sub. A perfect one.
She needs training. But she’s…
Incredible.
I go to my office and I decide to get some work done. I am lost in that, and it’s enough to make me forget that I’m waiting for a message when my phone chimes.
You told me to message you.
Then, my work fades away completely, and all I can think about is her.
That experience earlier was…
Fucking transcendent.
I decide than that I’m going to send her the pictures of herself. So that she can see what I see.
The knots binding her together were intricate and the crossover of the rope turned out perfect.
The bright red lovely against her pale skin.
I’m getting hard again looking at them. I can’t say that happens all that often.
This is something I’ve done so many times it’s muscle memory.
But the experience with her wasn’t like that.
I was paying attention constantly. Every movement she made. Every small breath she took in and out.
Her response takes a while.
I didn’t realize that you were doing something that intricate.
It’s what I like. I like to take my time over it. I like the art of it.
I think about elaborating. And then before I can think it all the way through, I do it.
It’s the only time my brain is still. A naked woman holds my attention, and add the knots, it’s like a state of total flow, concentration and control. There’s nothing else like it.
I can understand that. It’s the only time that I can remember, in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was forgetting to do something. Or like everyone was depending on me.
I lock my teeth together. I don’t want to keep going down this path. That’s not the point of this app.
You want to do another scene tomorrow?
Yes.
Are you sure?
I was hard on her today. Though, I’m capable of being a lot harder.
Yes. I want… I want to keep doing this.
Anything you would change?
I want you to touch me.
I touched you plenty.
You were inside of me. You didn’t touch me.
And I like that. Honestly. Intimacy without softness. It’s what gets me off. But I can see it. I’m putting it together in my mind even as I turn over her request. Her completely immobilized for me, open to me. Making use of the hardware on the bed to hold her fast.
Yeah. I can make that work.
I have an idea.
Okay. I’ll come and clean for you tomorrow, and then maybe we can have dinner.
I don’t need you to plan it. In fact, I think it would be better if we don’t plan things.
There was an element of surprise and a bit of a struggle to the scene from earlier today, and the idea of leaning into that gets me off.
Remember your safe word. I’m telling you, if I push you too hard, you need to let me know.
I will.
I don’t trust her, though. And I can’t quite say why.
I have trouble sleeping that night because I’m hard as fuck, thinking about how much I wish she was in bed next to me so that I could turn over and take her fast, savage. That’s not in my general repertoire. I don’t spend the night with submissives. And everything for me is a ritual.
It makes me feel grounded. Gives me the distance that I want while giving me the physical closeness that I need.
It’s a whole fucking trauma response, I’m aware.
I’ve had a lot of therapy. I know exactly why I do the things that I do.
But I still do them. I’ve had my diagnoses – general trauma from childhood neglect and ADHD and it doesn’t change anything.
Hell, I don’t think that I would want to change anything even if I could.
All of the bullshit that I’ve been through brought me to where I am now. So it can’t be all bad.
Or maybe it can be. But it doesn’t much matter.
When I wake up in the morning, the countdown to when I see Avery is on. I spent way too much of the night before plotting out what I’m going to do to her today.
From what she’s said to me, there’s an element of the helplessness she experienced in the scene that she likes. The ability to be passive is a good thing for her. I get it.
That’s a gift that I give my submissives.
It’s a chance to be held but helpless. A chance to be free of responsibility.
Of the weight of everything. All of it is on my shoulders.
And I like that, because I don’t have any connections in my life.
So for a few hours, this submissive belongs to me.
She’s mine. I can make her feel things that nobody else can.
I can take her to places that she’s never even fantasized about.
I can do it without her having to do any of the work.
That’s my gift.
And hell, it’s not difficult for me to understand why Avery needs that.
Her dad is a piece of shit, honestly, and the only reason that I’m cordial with him is because it allows me to engage with helping her out when she needs it.
But that’s all I can offer her. It’s fucking it.
I busy myself with work on the ranch, making sure that I’m out when she arrives.
By the time I let myself go back to the house, I’m starving. Though, I can’t quite tell if it’s for food or for her.
I guess it doesn’t really matter. There’s a craving deep inside of me and it can only be satisfied by going back to the house.
I open up the door, and stop. Because there she is, kneeling naked on my living room floor, folding clothes and looking innocent as fuck. Like she’s not playing games with me. Like she’s not bare ass naked for the sole purpose of tempting me.
The wolf thing…
I was being fucking petty when I told her to call me that.
I’ve had subs call me master, sir, and I could’ve easily accepted it from her.
But she doesn’t make me feel like either of those things.
She doesn’t make me feel like I’m in control, and I didn’t want to give her the validation of being right because she did some research on the internet.
So I chose wolf. But right now, that’s exactly what I feel like.
Starving. Ravenous. Ready to consume her.
Ready to punish her for fucking with me.
I think that’s exactly what she wants. I hope that’s exactly what she wants.
I growl, low in the back of my throat, and I watch as her shoulders go straight, her spine tall as she kneels there.
Her hair is in a braid again today, and that gets me hot.
I loved the way everything went yesterday.
The way I was able to tie her hair into the elaborate knots, keeping her hair pulled back just the way that I wanted it.
She’s a good girl, giving me that again, though we’re not repeating the exact same thing today.
I like repetition. But only to a point. I also need variety. And today I have a whole different art project in mind.
What I really want to do is pick her up, throw her down onto the couch, free myself, and fuck her without any preamble. I feel hot, like I’m losing my mind, and I know that denial is what’s best for us both.
I don’t need to give myself any kind of instant gratification.
The denial is… Oh, it’s almost sweeter than having her.
I deny myself so rarely. It’s part of that tricky lack of impulse control thing.
But then, there’s a dichotomy to that and the way that I like to do BDSM.
It’s not really different than what I do to my subs, honestly.
Pleasure, pain. Denial, satisfaction. In many ways, that’s what I’m giving to myself.
I’m giving it to myself now, in spades.
I let myself pounce on her. No warning. I take her down to the floor, pinning her there, fully clothed over the top of her soft, naked body. She wanted me to touch her. She can have it.
She whimpers, looking up at me wide-eyed, wiggling beneath me.
I touch her face, let my hand drift down to cup her breast. I denied myself that yesterday.
It feels heavy, perfect in my hand, her nipple tight and sensitive.
I noticed how sensitive she was yesterday when I watched her rubbing herself against the bedspread while she was coming.
I pinch her hard. And she tries to wiggle away from me. But I don’t let her. I pick her up off the floor, holding her fast against my body. “Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences for this?” I asked.
“I… I didn’t mean…”
“You’re fucking with me. You’re trying to get a reaction out of me. Congratulations. You have it.”
The truth is, I’m thrilled with her. But the Dominant in me knows that what she wants is to be punished. What she wants is anger. What she wants is to feel like she’s being carried away, taken outside of herself.
I can give her that.
I can give us both that.
Maybe there’s something to the fact that I spend half my time role-playing supreme control when I don’t have a whole lot of it, in truth.
I carry her straight up the stairs, heading toward the bedroom, and I force the door open, laying her down at the center of the bed.
“Don’t you fucking move,” I say.
“I…”
“Shush,” I say. “I didn’t ask for you to talk. If you want to play games with me, then you’re going to get games.”
That’s exactly how I want her. On her back, looking up at me.
The first thing I have to do is tie her wrists and ankles. That will give me time to work on the rest.
There’s a wild look about her, and I relish it.
I go to the cabinet and open up a drawer. Taking out my ropes. I loop one through the hardware that’s bolted to the bed, make a loop, and tie it securely before wrapping the rope around her wrist.