Free The Right Thing by Allyson Young

invader. Then he
surged to the back of her throat, hard against her palate and held himself
there, hands tangled in her hair, no way to pull back, not a fraction. She
fought to remain calm, to wait and trust him but this time Master didn’t ease
back in time and shades of black burst behind her eyelids. Tender tissues
fluttered and she began to fade…
    McKenzie lurched upward, gasping for air, hands moving to her neck.
It felt so real. Her pussy tingled with the remembrance and she squeezed her
thighs together in denial or to prolong the sensation, not knowing which. All
of the coping over the past months desecrated. Damn him. They’d experimented
with all forms of sexual congress and Michael cajoled, punished and generally
talked her past all boundaries with the exception of two. She feared erotic
asphyxiation to the point of an anxiety attack, and while she would service
others in his presence, at his instruction, she hated the lack of monogamy.
Michael limited the latter to oral sex, conceding her point and it warmed her
heart, gave her hope.
    McKenzie confided how truly disloyal it felt to be pleasured by
others, being so committed to him and nothing Master could do or say convinced
her differently. Insisting it gave him pleasure to share her, to see her being
pleasured, that it made him feel powerful to bestow her on others, didn’t
change her mind set and in the end Michael again conceded. Those two limits
were written in the explicit contract. And then she conceded the first one,
allowing him to cut off her air, choke her, to enhance the pleasure, the terror
adding to the ecstasy, and she allowed it. But Michael had never choked her
with his cock and it seemed to be a warning, an evil portent or a death knell.
Except she’d woken before he’d done her harm…
    Seeing Michael crashed all her mental barriers down. Hard earned
routine and the relearned, yet false, sense of independence and control both
shattered. McKenzie let herself fall back on the thin pillow and the tears
again flowed, soaking the hair at her temples, dripping through the strands to
pool in her ears. Michael wasn’t going to go away and she wouldn’t be able to
withstand him. At a total loss, she decided to die. But how? Maybe Donna would
help her. She waited, eyes on the ceiling, carefully thinking about nothing,
until Donna’s heavy footsteps on the stairs announced her arrival.
     
    * * *
*
     
    “Are out of your ever loving mind? Kill yourself? What do I look
like? That Dr. Karokian dude? Get your ass out of bed
and drink your coffee. No asshole’s worth that.”
    Well, framed like that, her idea did seem a little over the top, and
Dr. Kevorkian himself would probably tell her so. Blame it on the shock and the
erotic nightmare that was more like an erotic interlude if only a rehash of
suspect reasoning. Maybe symbolic. She would live to fight another day. She got
up, pulling on her jeans, secretly thinking Donna was like a loving mother
bear, and sat with the other woman at the little card table Mrs. Wu set up in a
corner of the bedroom.
    “It isn’t the Ritz, but they keep it nice, ’Kenzie.” Donna was
looking around the room with admiration. “My place is bigger but it’s certainly
not as homey.”
    McKenzie had no idea where Donna lived, let alone what her home
looked like. She knew she was pretending, lulling herself with details and a
false sense of security in order not to think about Michael, but was also
ashamed not showing any interest in either Donna or Lisa’s life. Donna cut to
the chase with her usual forthright attitude.
    “So what’s the story with asshole?”
    Time to share and trust a little. “Michael was my, uh, boyfriend for
nearly a year. We had a fight and I left him and I guess he wants to talk to me
about it.”
    “More like drag you back and beat on you some more.”
    McKenzie froze in place. What was Donna thinking? How would she ever
explain what her life had been like, that she’d wanted every