“Yes, Master.” I couldn’t deny that the girl in the headboard mirror earlier had been a sight to behold.
His finger stilled inside me and he closed his eyes before I realized my mistake. Of course, his expression was impossible to read, though it didn’t look like his arousal had diminished any. Feeling bolder and not wanting him to stop I wriggled further down to impale myself on his finger.
He groaned, but his finger withdrew from me. He placed his hand on his thigh and kept his attention on the road. I wished I could disappear into the seat, but I remained there, unmoving. I wanted to at least close my thighs and put my legs down, but he hadn’t said I could. So, could I? Was this a punishment for slipping up and calling him ‘master’? Had he simply forgotten the position he’d had me assume? Or was he expecting that I’d figure out on my own I could put my legs down? If that was it, obviously he’d never been on the receiving end of his belt before.
So, I sat there in the obscene position, staring out unseeing at the scenery that whizzed by. My eyes were blurry with tears, but I held them there.
“You can put your legs down, Scar. You don’t need my permission,” he said gently. He didn’t sound angry with me—that was good.
I did as he said, realizing it was exactly that—I was doing what he said to do, not making the decision for myself. But since what he was telling me to do aligned with my own wishes at the moment, I wasn’t going to quibble over the details.
I went back to staring out the window, still glancing occasionally in the side mirror for signs of followers. I figured though until I saw a guy leaning out his car window with a gun aimed at us, I probably wasn’t going to be of much use as a lookout.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Scar, put your pants back on before I drag you over here and fuck you senseless,” his voice boomed in the otherwise silent vehicle and I jolted in my seat. Thank god we’d stopped for a bathroom break already.
A ripple of arousal coursed through me at his words, but I did as he said because I didn’t imagine it would be terribly safe to drive and fuck at the same time.
I fidgeted in the seat once dressed, still finding clothes uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait for the next time we stopped for the night and I could take them off again.
“Tell me about you,” he said in a tone that was moderately more controlled than it had been a moment before.
“What is it you want to know?” I asked, not certain how to respond. There really wasn’t much to tell.
“Fuck, I don’t know. What’s your favorite movie?”
My favorite movie? It was such a normal question it caught me off-guard. “Lord of the Rings,” I blurted out without having to think about it. The movie was good, but it was the characters that made the film. Each one of them, no matter how small their role, could warrant a featurette of their own.
Then I ventured to return the question. “What about you? What’s yours?”
“I haven’t watched a movie since I was barely thirteen years old. I do recall my favorite at the time was any movie with breasts.” He grinned devilishly.
I giggled—yes, just like a schoolgirl. But what he said brought my thoughts back to that time, to the reason he’d stopped being a normal kid who watched movies on Friday nights. He was an adult now though, not subservient to anyone. And yet, he hadn’t watched a single movie?
Right. The reason hit me hard. He’d had far more entertaining pastimes to bother with mundane things like movies—such as turning girls like me into pleasure slaves. I couldn’t help but imagine him with them—hurting them, kissing them, touching…fucking them.
My head filled with doubts, not only because I couldn’t possibly keep his attention for long, but because of what it was that might draw it elsewhere. What if that life had been a part of him for so long that he couldn’t just walk away from it?
“Help keep me focused here, Pet,” his voice broke through the panic, but the words were fuzzy.
He chuckled. “Favorite book?”
OK. Books. Oh, but how could I possibly answer that? “I don’t have a favorite, or, they’re all my favorites, I suppose.”
“You really like to read.” His eyes were slightly unfocused as if he was remembering back to something, but I had no idea what.
“Yes,” I admitted, feeling like I was opening up some part of me to him. I hadn’t realized there was anything about me left to open up. He’d controlled everything, even making my body respond when I hadn’t wanted it to. It felt like he’d taken every part of me, but it turned out I’d been wrong. There were still pieces of me he’d never seen, most of them small and meaningless on their own, but significant when all put together.