Free The Journal (Her Master's Voice) by Liv Honeywell, Domitri Xavier

 

     
    H e heard the knock on the door of his study. This was her signal that she had complied with all his instructions, not a request to enter. She would come in when he said so and she would never dare to knock again.
    He had asked her to dress immaculately, smartly; as if they were going to dinner. Her hair must be perfect, away from her face. Her make up flawless, perhaps to look a little tarty, but she would know how far to go and the penalties for going over the top. She would be wearing elegant, high heeled shoes.
    He told her to come in, gently, softly; as if she were merely coming in for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately she stepped into the room; looking down with her hands behind her. She would never look at his face directly without his express permission.
    “Come to me.”
    She had no idea what to expect. Would he be soft and tender? Or would he sweep her off her feet by mauling her like an animal. She knew that her body was his and he could treat it in any way that pleased him.
    He ran his fingers through her hair, gently folding it back and forth and her head moved with his every gesture. Then he thrust his fingers deep toward her skull and tugged at her hair, moving her head in all directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.
    “This is no time for making such noises.”
    The quiet scream stopped immediately. She was under his power, his presence; his dominance. There was never any doubt about it.
    He put his hands over her eyes and closed them, turning her face downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her hands behind her by her wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed her breasts forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased him; a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.
    He put one hand over her mouth. The other roamed over every contour of her body; her pouting breasts, her waist, behind her neck. He moved to her pussy and felt that it was already wet. Then both hands wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let out a yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong fingers. She was his to do with as he wished.
    He turned away from her, then turned back to look. She was beautiful. She was his. Her pain would be his pleasure...

 

     
    I knocked on the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well the knots in the wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many times had I stood here, gazing at this door; trying to guess what would happen when I opened it?
    I wondered how long he would have me wait. I didn’t know what to think. Did he somehow know what I’d done? Had he been waiting for me to tell him, giving me the chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he had to make me? I couldn’t imagine how he could know, but... he had sounded distracted earlier. Not like himself.
    I’d so wanted to confess. I really had. I’d tried all day yesterday. I’d tried today as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, the awful expression on his face that would come from knowing I’d done something absolutely forbidden.
    And… and I was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now I’d made it worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much more I’d let him down by not telling him the truth.
    I hoped I could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way to explain, though I wasn’t sure I could explain it to myself. What on earth had I done?
    I hoped he would allow me to speak, or I wouldn’t be able to say a word, not even to confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was done with me and then tell him? Wait until he had used my body, whichever way he chose; wait until he had given me pleasure which I surely didn’t deserve?
    Then what? If I couldn’t find the nerve now, if I hadn’t found it earlier, what on earth made me think I would find it then?
    I reached out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger tip. My