Page 37 of Force Me To Obey

Then I was suddenly jolted by the unthinkable, “Skye!” Preston’s voice rang with that commanding, icy tone of reprimand that he had so thoroughly mastered, the very one that made my whole body shudder and my pussy wet.

I didn’t move.

“Skye, out here now! I know you’re there.”

I was dressed in pajama pants and a man’s old tee shirt, my breasts tenting the stretchy fabric. I could even feel my nipples grow taut from arousal, looking like two perky headlights at the tips of my ample breasts. I padded into the room trying to look guiltless.

“What were you doing there?”

I shrugged.

“Answer me.” He lounged on the sofa. A woman I didn’t know was draped on his one side. His legs were crossed, ankle on knee in a casual pose I’d never seen. Even so, he was very masterly, very stern. I even liked that, but all those other unfamiliar eyes made me hate every miserable sweaty second of the interrogation. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room?”

“Hmm, not exactly.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?” He looked at me incredulously. I had no idea what was behind that, until it dawned on me that he expected the same language from me now that I used in private with him.

“I’m not lying, sir. At least that is how I understood my instructions. You never mentioned that I had to stay in my room. I came out to get a Coke.”

“If you really believe that line, Skye, then you’re more stupid that I thought you were.”

“You’re calling my stupid?”

“I’m calling it how I see it.”

“Well, to hell with you, Preston Lockhart.”

I guess I was wound too tightly; too pent-up. Regardless of whether I was some man’s submissive or not, after several months worth of holding back—and my angry jealousy—the nasty little piece of me that needed to spit and fuss a bit just burst out in one split second.

“To hell with me?” he repeated, amused—and I think just a little drunk.

“Yeah… that’s right.”

“Well, exactly what is it you want from me? I’ve asked you that before, and you couldn’t answer.” Yes, the question was familiar, but I couldn’t remember why… nor could I even recall the first time he asked it… “Maybe you know now.”

My whole body was hot, my face beating with shame. I wanted out of the room, but I couldn’t figure how that would happen. I finally shrugged again, flippantly. “I’m a novice in your game, Preston. And I probably want too much. I’ve been thinking that I could be your submissive, and also be the woman in your life.” I looked around nervously at the women on either side of him. I almost lost my train of thought; I was almost crying. But then, the last of my speech wasn’t about to go unsaid. “I guess I didn’t read the contract clearly,” I blurted out sarcastically, “not that it was ever stated in so many words, or there was anything for me to sign. So, you’ve made a fool of me. I’m sure I deserved it, but damn it,” I took a deep breath, “I’m in love with you!”

With hot tears stinging my eyes, I was too embarrassed to stay and wait for his answer. I took off, not looking back.

Though Preston called me, I refused to stop.

“Skye!” he said it so sharply that I did hesitate at the door of my room.

To my shock, he’d bolted from his lounging position—having a whole helluva lot more energy that I’d thought he’d have so late in the evening—and was at my door in seconds, taking me by the arm, hauling me back to the living room where his friends waited with great interest. He plopped back down on the sofa next to the pretty, pert girl with ice blonde hair and a droopy languid smile. All the while he stared at me as if to say, “Don’t you dare move a muscle.” I wasn’t going to whether he said it or not.

“Letha, you know the paddle in the cupboard? Go get

it for me.” Letha was not the blonde, but turned out to be the woman slouching in the easy chair to his right. The thick, attractive, big-mouthed brunette was more than happy to oblige my master, and moved with some unexpected grace, and certainly enthusiasm to retrieve the requested item. She returned with a hefty wooden punishment paddle that had been drilled with holes. It was at least eighteen inches from handle to the far edge of the business end—a horrible sight to my wide-shocked eyes.

He reached for me, before I could back off, and pulled me over his lap. His physical strength was compellingly evident. All the muscles in his body seemed to converge on me, to hold me in place inside the powerful grasp of his arm. Preston tore at my pajama bottoms until they were dangling at my feet, then he swiftly paddled my behind to a garishly purple hue, with bruises rising underneath the scalded skin. Each smack was dreadful, as the plump rounds of my ass took an awful beating. Though I wanted to cry, I tried vainly to hold back my anguish because I thought I should. To stoically keep the pain inside almost hurt me more than the sting of the wood; and that wood was a dreadful master of my emotions. It finally prevented any attempt I could make to control myself. Before Preston finished I became a wriggling, jerking, frantic, snapping, crying bitch. Although I have no idea what I said—I’m sure it was awful—Preston never threw it back at me, which has always surprised me. Maybe some things you just have to let go.

After he finished blistering my ass, he put the paddle down and worked his fingers in between my thighs, playing with my genitals. It wasn’t sixty seconds and I was coming—with his blessing. But the bigger blessing was more a curse—the raw humiliation of being revealed for what I was in such a public display. I guess there had been many other such circumstances during the course of the game that revealed my true self, but none were quite so textbook as this one for shaming me and leaving me stripped of any self-respect.

“Now, Skye, apologize to my guests.”

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