really like it, I feel powerful, and in control, and...but I can’t. He has respected my boundaries this entire time. He has been all about me and my boundaries and my desires, this entire time.
He has really been in service to me, this entire time.
The thought is stunning. One of those things you instantly know is profoundly true. It obliterates my own selfish needs and wants in one bright flash, and leaves me with this: I have to reciprocate. I have to find a way to be of service to him, too.
I have to find a way to show him how I feel. I have to find a way to show him that he, too, is deserving of love.
Respecting his boundaries is probably a good place to start.
Quietly I go about the business of cleaning myself up. I shower in his bathroom; I wash with his soap. I dress in the comfortable clothes that he has provided, I make myself presentable for the drive home. And I do it all with a zen-like calm that is new to me, but feels natural.
I am now a woman on a mission.
P ART 4:
C LAIMED
After the man in the hooded mask fucked me senseless, I was sure I would get another card.
I was sure.
I’d been seeing the Doctor by appointment, each session an instructive lesson in dominance, submission, orgasms, and life, not necessarily in that order. The appointments were announced via black embossed cards that were all at once stylish, commanding, and, of course, instructive. They told me where to be, what to wear, and gave me some hint of what to expect. Most of all, they’d assured me that I’d get another chance with the Doctor.
With Cedric.
So, during my last appointment, I’d made a few discoveries. First, that the man I’d only known as “the Doctor” is actually Cedric Durant, heir of the Durant family. Then I’d discovered that his dead wife had been his first submissive, and that she’d killed herself years ago, leaving the Doctor guarded and closed off from love. Which made the next discovery kind of tough: I’d discovered that I’d fallen in love with the Doctor – with Cedric – and I’d done all of this discovering by profoundly violating his privacy and reading his love letters from his dead wife.
Then I confessed to all of it.
Well, I confessed after I’d discovered that the man hidden behind that hooded mask, who had stripped me bare in front of an appreciative audience, who was working so hard to keep his identity a secret, was, in fact, the Doctor himself. I confessed, and he’d given me the best sex of my life.
So that last appointment had been. . . eventful. And even though I had no right to expect that another card would arrive, or that the Doctor would ever forgive me, or that I’d ever even see him again, I was absolutely sure one would arrive. I had complete faith.
A week later, I still hadn’t gotten that stupid card.
I had plenty to keep me busy. The Doctor has helped me find the confidence to go after my dreams and all the rest, which I guess is sort of the point of his unusual practice, and I’m determined to pursue them even if he never wants to see me again. So I submitted my portfolio to the only art school worth applying to, hoping my community college credits would somehow help, and I’ve muddled on, hidden amidst the people who should know me best, but don’t – my family – and planned a new life for the person I’ve secretly become under the Doctor’s care.
My family are. . . I would not describe them as supportive. They don’t take me seriously, I guess. My younger brother gets all the love and respect, even though he hasn’t even pretended to try to get a real job since graduating high school. I used to be pretty angry about this, honestly, but now, with all I’ve experienced, with all the Doctor has shown me about myself, I find that I can see my parents clearly now, too. And they are unhappy. Neither of them has the courage to be who they really want to be; my Mom has a box of half-finished novels getting musty in the attic,
He has really been in service to me, this entire time.
The thought is stunning. One of those things you instantly know is profoundly true. It obliterates my own selfish needs and wants in one bright flash, and leaves me with this: I have to reciprocate. I have to find a way to be of service to him, too.
I have to find a way to show him how I feel. I have to find a way to show him that he, too, is deserving of love.
Respecting his boundaries is probably a good place to start.
Quietly I go about the business of cleaning myself up. I shower in his bathroom; I wash with his soap. I dress in the comfortable clothes that he has provided, I make myself presentable for the drive home. And I do it all with a zen-like calm that is new to me, but feels natural.
I am now a woman on a mission.
P ART 4:
C LAIMED
After the man in the hooded mask fucked me senseless, I was sure I would get another card.
I was sure.
I’d been seeing the Doctor by appointment, each session an instructive lesson in dominance, submission, orgasms, and life, not necessarily in that order. The appointments were announced via black embossed cards that were all at once stylish, commanding, and, of course, instructive. They told me where to be, what to wear, and gave me some hint of what to expect. Most of all, they’d assured me that I’d get another chance with the Doctor.
With Cedric.
So, during my last appointment, I’d made a few discoveries. First, that the man I’d only known as “the Doctor” is actually Cedric Durant, heir of the Durant family. Then I’d discovered that his dead wife had been his first submissive, and that she’d killed herself years ago, leaving the Doctor guarded and closed off from love. Which made the next discovery kind of tough: I’d discovered that I’d fallen in love with the Doctor – with Cedric – and I’d done all of this discovering by profoundly violating his privacy and reading his love letters from his dead wife.
Then I confessed to all of it.
Well, I confessed after I’d discovered that the man hidden behind that hooded mask, who had stripped me bare in front of an appreciative audience, who was working so hard to keep his identity a secret, was, in fact, the Doctor himself. I confessed, and he’d given me the best sex of my life.
So that last appointment had been. . . eventful. And even though I had no right to expect that another card would arrive, or that the Doctor would ever forgive me, or that I’d ever even see him again, I was absolutely sure one would arrive. I had complete faith.
A week later, I still hadn’t gotten that stupid card.
I had plenty to keep me busy. The Doctor has helped me find the confidence to go after my dreams and all the rest, which I guess is sort of the point of his unusual practice, and I’m determined to pursue them even if he never wants to see me again. So I submitted my portfolio to the only art school worth applying to, hoping my community college credits would somehow help, and I’ve muddled on, hidden amidst the people who should know me best, but don’t – my family – and planned a new life for the person I’ve secretly become under the Doctor’s care.
My family are. . . I would not describe them as supportive. They don’t take me seriously, I guess. My younger brother gets all the love and respect, even though he hasn’t even pretended to try to get a real job since graduating high school. I used to be pretty angry about this, honestly, but now, with all I’ve experienced, with all the Doctor has shown me about myself, I find that I can see my parents clearly now, too. And they are unhappy. Neither of them has the courage to be who they really want to be; my Mom has a box of half-finished novels getting musty in the attic,
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