IX: A Dark Beginning

I feel numb. Unlike before, I do not take in the scenery around me. Instead, my eyes are glued to the road and my mind is empty. The anxiety I had this morning is gone and replaced with a pain I had thought I had overcome. I had mourned the loss of my mother long ago. I had come to terms with her situation, accepting that the woman I once called my best friend was now gone. Just like my father, a man that was taken from us much too soon.

But unlike my father, Renée was still breathing. But that was all she was doing, existing. It hurt me so much more than losing dad. I had dreamed that dad went to a better place, a place that seemed forever barred from me, yet Renée was stuck here. Unable to communicate and walking the earth like a lost soul. I send check after check with the hopes that she will get better, which makes it even more crushing to see her lack of progress.

The small amount of hope I have for her is what keeps me going. Every night I spent on a stranger’s lap I thought of the money and the possibilities it could bring. It is a strange thought to think what my life could have been. A few short years ago I was in high school with a family, a wealth of friends, and a bright future ahead of me. In such a short time I had lost so much.

Mr. Masen has provided me with much to consider. I could be his and he could take care of me, or I could turn my back on his offer and continue to fight my battles alone. He spoke of how freeing this lifestyle could be for someone like me. The idea sounds so appealing and though I have little clue to what it would entail; I want nothing more than to be his.

Night has begun to fall by the time I reach my apartment in the city. I avoid eye contact with the prostitutes on the street corner as I make the short walk to my complex. One, a woman with red hair and a face that had been aged with drug use, runs her long fingernails through my hair as I pass her. They taunt me as I walk away, joking that they will enjoy the day when I am there with them. My eyes fill with tears but I don’t let a single one fall as I pull out my keys and unlock the door to my small sanctuary.

I am meant to work tonight and I know if I do not show up Jack will send someone to check up on me. I dread Sunday nights at the club; they are depressing and filled with lonely men. Mr. Masen will be disappointed if I go, I know he will and the thought of seeing disapproval in his eyes pains me. But I don’t know if I can bear to spend the night alone in my apartment. There is too much for me to think about and my work is the perfect place for me to lose myself. I can take on the personality of another and pretend to live a different life for a while.

I eat a small dinner by myself and let the television run in the background, appreciating the noise. Tossing half of my meal in the trash, I travel to my closet to choose my outfit for tonight. I choose the lace outfit from my night with Mr. Masen. Reruns play as I sit in front of my small television and do my hair and makeup. I cake on foundation and mascara until I barely recognize myself in the mirror.

It’s eleven and I quickly call a taxi, already knowing that I will be late. Jack hates when his girls are late. Most his threats are empty, but when you are as poor as many of us they can inspire fear. For many girls, this job is the only constant they have in life.

The taxi is prompt and I quickly throw on my trench to cover my joke of an outfit. The air is becoming crisp as the season begins to change and I find many gently trembling along the apartment walls as they brave the cold night.

I keep my thoughts neutral on the way to the club. I don’t dare think of Mr. Masen or our deal. I could only imagine what he would think if he saw me this instant. There are a few cars in the parking lot when we arrive. They sit in the dark parking lot, illuminated only by the flashing light of the sign “Girls! Girls! Girls!”

I pay the driver and he quickly drives away. It appears that not even he wants to be on this side of town. As I walk toward the club I see a dark van sitting by the entrance. The headlights are not on but I can see that the car is running. It stands out in this neighborhood. It is much nicer than the cars that usually vacate the lot. Well, besides Mr. Masen’s car of course.

I avoid it as I make my way toward the front doors. The windows are tinted, but I can’t help but feel there is someone inside the car watching me. Whether the reason is sinister or not, something about the ominous van puts me on edge. My heart nearly leaps into my throat as a tall man steps out of the driver’s seat.

“Miss Swan,” a deep voice says as he moves to step toward me.

Under the bright red lights of the club I see him. He is very formal and clean, in a black suit and navy tie. He is well over six foot, an inch or two taller than Mr. Masen and built very sturdy. His features are striking, but not handsome. I find that I have never seen this man before in my life.

“Do I know you,” I question in a clear voice.

“Miss Swan I think that it is best that you come with me.”

I choke out an awkward laugh. “Go with you,” I question incredulously, “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“You know Mr. Masen yes?”

Mr. Masen? This man knows Mr. Masen? Is he under Mr. Masen’s employment or has Mr. Masen merely paid this man to follow me? I remain silent as my mind is reeling and I can manage nothing more than to nod my head in affirmation.

“He asked me to come here to retrieve you.”

“So Mr. Masen is not with you?”

“No Miss, Mr. Masen is at work right now.”

“So he sent you here? How did he know where I was?”

“I think it’s best that you come with me Miss. I will take you back to Mr. Masen’s home.”

I shake my head and I feel my body back away from the van.

“I have to work.”

“Mr. Masen insisted that you come with me.”

What will Mr. Masen do if I do not come, and why hasn’t he mentioned this man before? Mr. Masen had mentioned staff that lived with him, but he did not explain much. Perhaps he did not think it was my place to know. I mean he was not willing to even tell me his Christian name. He has offered me so much; do I really dare defy him? This club is not what I want, but then nothing in my life it as I had once imagined it. Taking one last look at the job I have relied on for so long, I make my way toward the dark van. 

Chapter VIII: A Harsh Reality

My drive is both long and excruciating. The “retreat” is far from my home in the city; far from anyone who does not belong there. But after the call I received from Grace, I knew that I would have to come as soon as possible. I never thought this day would come and I can scarcely believe it is here.

I veer off the highway onto a familiar road that is surrounded by birch trees. The road is long, winding, and unpopulated by vehicles. The further I move from the town the less people I see. As I pass a single gas station that looks practically abandoned, except for a truck and two older men smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk, I know that I am close. Turning off to a side road I pass by rows of trees and grass that has grown wild due to neglect. I see the familiar cedar wood gazebo and I know that I have found what I am looking for.

A nurse I recognize waves at me as I pass the gazebo to the small parking lot near the facility. There are patients outside wondering about. I’m sure this is their “free time” to explore. The doctors say that experiencing the outdoors can really help especially after being kept inside for the majority of the day. I look for her, but she is nowhere to be found. She used to love the outdoors; she would lie outside and tan for hours while I played in the yard.

Stepping out of my car, which thankfully managed to endure the trip, I smooth my dress and fix my hair. A nervous habit I picked up as a young girl. I wore my nicest dress today, because if all things go as the doctor had hoped, today would be a very good day. As I approach the facility I try to calm my nerves. It has been over two years since I was last here. I don’t even want to think about my last visit. It was so horrible and so very depressing. I had then thought that all hope was lost.

This place is nothing like a hospital. Instead of uncomfortable stark white walls, unsympathetic furnishes, and the smell of antiseptic; the hues of this facility are warm and the furnishings inviting. It smells like burning candles and baked goods from the kitchen. But when I look around and see the community she lives in, I can’t help but feel unsettled. It’s the people here that put me on edge. The staff is nice but at times their expressions are unnerving. Perhaps because they know so much that I do not.

I make my way to the second floor and walk towards the nurse’s station to be greeted by an attractive woman in her mid-forties dressed in blue scrubs.

 “I’m Isabella Swan here to see Renée Dwyer.”

The nurse smiles kindly at me and hands me a visitor form and quickly writes my name on a small name tag. She wishes me well before directing me to the correct room. There are a few patients sitting around a television watching soap operas in the living area, but Renée is not one of them. I find her alone in her small room. She is painting a small picture of flowers and facing the window. She doesn’t notice my entrance, but then again, she barely notices much of anything.

The doctor waltzes in before I can say anything to her. He is tall and clean cut, in an immaculate white coat and dark trousers. I am unfamiliar with him, I only remember the floor’s head doctor, Grace. He sees the confusion on my face and instantly introduces himself.

“I’m Dr. Black and you must be Isabella Swan,” he smiles at me and then looks to Renée, who is completely unresponsive and barely notices us in the room. She is focusing on her brush strokes and humming softly. 

“Renée, it looks like you have a visitor today.”

She ignores him and continues to dip her brush into the acrylic paint before applying it liberally to the canvas. I walk around her until I can see her face. It is familiar, but it is not the face I grew up seeing. She has smile lines but I know it has been quite a long time since her pretty face displayed any expression.

“Mom,” my voice is barely above a whisper.

Her eyes meet mine and I can barely breathe. The look she gives me shoots a dagger through my heart. It is as if she is seeing right through me, as if I am not in front of her, as if she does not recognize me. Her stare is crippling and tears immediately feel my eyes. I haven’t felt this weak in a long time.

“Mom it’s me, Isabella.” I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks like a watery grimace.

There is a fleeting look of recognition in her eyes before she looks away, her focus going back to her painting. Before a tear falls, I am out of the room. I can’t handle seeing her this way. I see Grace in the hallway; she smiles for a moment before she registers the look on my face.

“I thought you said she could talk,” I say before Grace can so much as greet me.

“She did Isabella, she spoke yesterday,” Grace assures me, her beautiful face troubled.

“She didn’t say anything to me,” I gasp, trying to keep my emotions at bay.

“I’m so sorry Isabella,” I hear Dr. Black solemnly say from behind me.

“What did she say,” I manage to ask.

Grace studies me for a moment, before she gives me a sad smile and says, “She said your name Isabella. She said your name quite a few times.” 

Chapter VII: A Pleasurable Punishment

Mr. Masen’s disapproval is clear. As soon as I told him my address, his face contorted in disgust. I could tell that he wanted to reprimand me but only because he does not fully understand my struggle. It is clear that Mr. Masen is unfamiliar with the life I lead. As we drove deep into the city, past the expensive modern homes and into the part of town that has a staple hooker at every corner; Mr. Masen began to tense beside me.

“You live out here,” he has the gull to ask.

I couldn’t help but become upset. This is truly the best I can do. I ignored his comment and continued to stare out the window. I gaze out at homeless men seeking shelter, women seeking a john for the night, and junkies hurrying about toward their next fix. I couldn’t help but think how easily I could be one of those people. If my mother hadn’t put a good head on my shoulders I would have been one of them. I am sure of it.

That was what made me so upset. How could this man judge me? I would have to be daft to think my life was perfect, but it not as bad as he imagines it. I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. Sure my job is horrid at times, but without it I would be living in a shelter fighting for a warm cot every night.

When Mr. Masen pulled in front of my complex, I plead with him to stay in his car. Mr. Masen ignored my wishes and got out of the car with a look of scorn. Compared to his home I realize my quaint apartment must appear to him as quite the dump. If I was willing to take my clothes off more often, I am sure I could afford better. But I can’t do that. Not yet.

“Home sweet home,” I quietly tease him as soon as we arrive.

“Isabella this is ridiculous. How could a young female possibly stay here? It cannot be safe.”

I’m annoyed by his tone and take off in the direction of my apartment. I hear his footsteps behind me; he is moving at a relaxed pace as if to take in the scenery. My apartment is on the first floor of the complex, back by the dumpsters. At night it is eerie, but I never stay outside for long. I riffle through my bag to produce my keys and with shaky hands I unlock my front door. I’ve never felt embarrassed about my living situation until now. No one has ever been in my apartment. I have no family or friends to invite over. Mr. Masen is the first.

I turn on the lights and step aside for Mr. Masen to enter. I can tell he is trying very hard to keep his displeasure at bay. It is obvious that he finds my small apartment repulsive. It is not dirty, but it is messy. My clothes are thrown about and my floors are covered with stacks of my favorite novels, my one escape.

“This apartment is filthy Isabella,” Mr. Masen says in a low violent tone as he breathes down my neck. His hot breath sends a shiver down my spine. “I am very disappointed Isabella.”

My cheeks flush as my entire body grows warm. “I’m sorry to displease you sir,” I say quietly, trying to suppress the growing smile on my face.

I know what he is doing. I’ve decided that I quite like displeasing Mr. Masen. If he is going to do what I hope he will, I will most definitely like it very much.

With a cool look, Mr. Masen moves past me to sit on the couch. He gestures for me to come toward him and I can’t help but trimmer with excitement. He smirks at me, as if he can read my thoughts and gestures for me to lie across his lap. I position myself so my ass is in the air waiting for his heavy hand.

“Isabella I’m going to give you five spankings and then you are going to straighten up this apartment like a good girl. Do you understand me?”

I can barely contain my excitement as I nod my head. As soon as Mr. Masen brings his hand down, firmly on my ass, I let out a small squeal and grow instantly wet. I’m still amazed that I am aroused by such a thing. His hand comes down four more times and by the time he is finished I am bathing in euphoria.

“You ready to clean my sweet girl?”

Part of me cannot believe that I am letting this strange man order me around. But I’m delighted by it. In a strange way I feel…cared for. I will soon be his contractual submissive and I know I will feel the weight of the world taken off of my shoulders.

“Of course sir,” I smile shyly.

“You’re going to clean this apartment and then I am going to fuck you on the floor.”

I stifle a gasp and keep my eyes on the ground. Mr. Masen helps me off of his lap and into an upright position. My legs are shaky as I begin to clean. I keep my thighs pressed tightly together to relieve the tension building between my legs. It only made me more wet knowing that Mr. Masen was watching my every move. Seeing me clean was apparently pleasing to him.

“Take off your coat,” he orders from the couch.

My breath hitches at his command. I’m naked underneath and the thought of cleaning my apartment in the nude is oddly erotic. I slip out of my coat and let it drop to the floor, smiling at the sensation of my nipples puckering in the cold air. I finish my cleaning as Mr. Masen watches me comfortably from the couch. As I am picking up my last item of clothing, I feel him approach me, stopping to stand right behind me as I bend over to pick up a shirt.

“See, was that so hard Isabella,” Mr. Masen mocks as his fingers trail up and down my wet folds.

“No sir,” I moan as he slips one finger inside of me.

“That’s it, get my fingers wet like a good girl Isabella.” Mr. Masen is pleased, and so am I.

He pumps his fingers in me a few more times until I am dripping down my thighs.

“Get on your knees Isabella,” he whispers into my ear. “Get on your knees and put your palms on the ground.”

I immediately drop to my knees and follow his instructions. He falls to his knees behind me and strokes me with his warm fingers. Right before I reach an orgasm he pulls his fingers away. I the sound of his fly being unzipped and the tear of a foil packet. Soon his hands are back on me and I am intoxicated with his scent.

“Are you ready for me Isabella,” he chuckles darkly. He does not wait for an answer. “You better be ready for me baby because you’re going to have to stay still and take it like a good girl.”

Mr. Masen is inside me with one harsh thrust and begins an unforgiving pace, fucking me on the relentlessly on the hardwood floor. Three orgasms later, Mr. Masen is gone and I am left with my own thoughts. On Monday I will sign a contract; on Monday I will be his.

The sun will soon rise and I find that I am not the least bit tired. Mr. Masen has given me a great deal to think about. I decide to take a long bath with the hope to relax and meditate on my future with a clear mind. It is nice to have a moment of clarity now that I am no longer under the influence of Mr. Masen’s presence. But I find that I am happy with my decision. I know that I need this.

Before I take a couple of sleeping pills with the hopes of a night of restful sleep, I check my phone to see two missed calls and a voice mail. They are from hours ago. I recognize the number and suddenly feel nauseous. Oh God no!

Chapter VI: A Natural Submissive

“Yes Sir. But you must understand that my knowledge on this life is sort of…limited.”

Mr. Masen looks amused, his emerald eyes filled with mirth.

“I understand that Isabella. But you are naturally submissive. That is the key element to all of this. You have to want this too. I will train you and Isabella…I am a great teacher.”

Although I know little, I trust him. He is right about me. I crave domination; I crave the structure it can provide. It has been many years since I have felt cared for; it has been a long time since anyone in this world has looked out for me. I’ve spent so many years being angry, angry at my family, angry at God, and angry at myself. Until now, I had not realized how far I had fallen. I know if I had the courage to look in the mirror, truly look, I would not recognize myself.

“What is it Isabella,” Mr. Masen asks after I have been quiet for too long.

I flush and avoid his gaze. I don’t want to bare my soul to him, not yet at least. Mr. Masen rubs my back and coaxes me to speak. I can’t talk about it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about it.

“If this relationship is going to work, we have to be open and honest with each other.”

“It is nothing sir,” I calmly assure him, “I was merely lost in thought.”

I glance up at him to find his gaze assessing me. I’m sure he does not believe me, but he says nothing. Mr. Masen holds me in his arms and the feeling is soothing. I don’t want to remember the last time I was comforted like this. I replace those old memories that have plagued my thoughts for so long with this new one. When I look back on a time where I felt exceptionally cared for, I shall remember this.

“I don’t want you to return to that club Isabella,” Mr. Masen says. His voice low and riddled with disgust.

As much as I would love to never return, I know I can’t afford it. I can barely afford my living as it is. The money has become an addiction and it’s so hard to turn away. Every day as I make the long bus ride into the city I promise myself that that day will be my last at Jack’s club. But every night when I leave with money in hand, I can’t bring myself to quit. There are not many options for a girl like me, at least none that would pay so well. When you have no one, you can’t afford to be particular.

Jack knows this. I know that is why he hired me. It’s the same reason he has hired many girls. He wants us dependent on him, dependent on the money, and dependent on the lifestyle we become accustomed to. But for me, it is not much of a lifestyle. I barely get by. After my bills are paid there is nothing left. As soon as there is nothing left, I take my clothes off once more.

“Sir,” my voice is uneasy, “it’s my job.”

My reply sounds weak. I sound weak. I can’t afford to stop, not with the responsibilities I have. Mr. Masen has to understand this. I won’t be his kept woman. I won’t allow him to purchase me every night.

“I can help you find a more suitable position. I’m sure there is something you would rather do. I know you hate the club, I could see it in your eyes,” Mr. Masen states.

“Sir,” I begin meekly, as I do not want to anger him on this subject, “I do dislike it. But I need the money.”

He is quiet for a moment, calculating. “You could work here…for me. I need a new housekeeper.”

Could I truly work for this man? Shouldn’t there be some separation between us? I’m sure he would grow bored of me if I were always around. What if he were to grow bored of me, would he merely throw me out like a used toy when he was finished? I need job security, I need the money. Or perhaps, I merely don’t want to give it up. I’m surprised by this and find that I barely know myself.

“I would like to stay where I am at,” I state quietly.

Mr. Masen tilts my chin up so I am forced to meet his gaze. “That is out of the question Isabella. If you are to be my submissive I will not allow other men to gawk at you. You will begin to behave modestly. If you don’t, then I shall punish you. Do I make myself clear Isabella?”

I silently gape at him, too in shock to say anything. I’ve never allowed anyone to order me around, but when Mr. Masen does it, its…arousing. Very arousing and I find myself wanting to follow his rules. I want to please him and I would like for him to be proud of me.

“Answer me Isabella,” he commands.

“Yes sir.”

His gaze drops to my naked body. “Do you have any modest clothes Isabella?”

“Yes sir.”

It has been years since I have purchased new apparel. My clothes from high school are modest, although they are rather loose.

“I would like you to wear something modest the next time we meet. Your appearance is a reflection on me now.” Mr. Masen pauses for a moment, appraising me. “Do you have someplace to stay Isabella?”

Does this man believe I am homeless? Do I look homeless?

“Yes sir,” I say, my tone riddled with embarrassment, “I have an apartment.”

“Take some time to think Isabella. I really want you to meditate on my offer before you sign anything. We will only do what you feel comfortable with, I promise. We will meet again on Monday?”

Although he asks, it does not sound like a question. I nod in affirmation. Mr. Masen smiles and places a kiss on my temple.

“Monday it is then,” Mr. Masen grins. A real grin seems so uncharacteristic for this man, I stay stunned in place. “I will drive you home now.”

“I can take a cab,” I suggest shyly. I don’t want Mr. Masen to see my apartment. I doubt he will approve.

“I would like to drive you. That way I’ll know that you arrived safely.”

It’s strange that he cares. But then again, I suppose I am a stranger no longer. I am his submissive and he promised to take care of me. 

Chapter V: The Beginning

Although I am too shy to meet his gaze, I feel Mr. Masen’s eyes on my body. His stare is calculating but his touch is tender. My mind is still reeling from the proposition he has presented. I am unfamiliar with what being a submissive would entail.

“I have a contract prepared, one that is fairly detailed. We can go over your limits and find what you are comfortable with.”

Mr. Masen is smiling at me and rubbing my palm in a comforting gesture. Can I do this? Can I submit myself to a man I barely know? Something within me tells me that his presence in my life would be a positive thing. I need guidance, I need structure, and I need a man like Mr. Masen. Mr. Masen is studying me as I remain silent.

“Let me take you to bed Isabella,” he says softly, “I prefer your pussy to paperwork.”

I blush and find I want nothing more than what he suggests. It has been so long for me. I haven’t been with a man since junior year of high school. Once I started working at the club, I found sex almost repulsing. But with Mr. Masen things are different; he does not treat me like other men do. He does not look at me like a common whore, but instead, someone to care for.

“Do you want that Isabella,” he questions.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice heavy with desire.

He smiles and helps me up from my seat. “We will go over a contract later. Tonight I want to watch you cum.”

His words make me wet and I allow him to take my hand and lead me out of the room. His home is spectacular, unlike anything I have ever seen. I am astonished by such a display of wealth. Every room is beautifully furnished and every hallway displays extraordinary pieces of artwork. This man has lead a far different life than me. This man has not experienced pain, hunger, or loss.

His home office is spectacular and larger than my whole apartment. Mr. Masen dims the lights and pulls me toward a long leather couch. He gives me a roguish grin as he drags my panties down my legs and removes my bra. My nipples pucker under his gaze and I ache for him to touch.

“Are you going to take off your clothes Mr. Masen,” I tease, playfully running my hand down the buttons of his shirt.

“You are to only speak when spoken to Isabella,” he reprimands before throwing me on the couch, the leather feeling cold against my skin.

“But yes, Isabella, I think I will.”

With heavy eyes I watch him undress. He is toned, but not overly muscular and his chest is lightly covered in hair. He is the most handsome man I have had the pleasure of seeing and I can’t help but gawk at him. He does not seem to mind; he smirks at me and pulls down his trousers, freeing his erection. As soon as he is naked, he joins me on his couch, pressing his warm flesh against mine.

“Do you want this Isabella,” Mr. Masen questions as he presses his erection against my dripping core.

I smile coyly and say nothing. I want to be his good girl.

“You may answer me baby.”

“Yes sir,” I blush, staring down at the proximity from his penis to my core.

He smirks and reaches into his bedside table and rifles through a box of condoms. Taking one, he rips the package with his teeth before sliding the condom onto his throbbing erection. I watch him, my eyes transfixed on his movements. I can’t believe I am doing this, with a complete stranger at that. But I feel closer to Mr. Masen than I have the boys I have had sex with in the past.

“Are you nervous Isabella? You are shaking,” Mr. Masen comments.

“It’s been a long time,” I comment shyly.

He seems surprised but says nothing. Lining up his cock with my entrance, he thoughtfully asks, “Are you ready Bella?”

Bella. I love that. It’s what my mother used to call me.

“Yes sir.”

Without hesitation, Mr. Masen thrusts into me. He stretches me to me limit and I can practically feel him in the back of my throat. I groan and shimmy my hips away from him. He grabs my hips and forces me to stay still.

“You’re so tight Isabella,” he groans as he pulls out before thrusting into my pussy with more force. “Stay still baby, I won’t hurt you.”

I moan at his words and try to gain control of my body. As he begins to thrust, I trash beneath him, my body pleading him to bring me to orgasm. He plays my body as a familiar instrument as he plucks my nipples and rubs my clit. His touches are familiar, as if we have been together before.

“Are you close,” he asks before suckling my nipple.

“Yes sir,” I moan, quivering beneath his strong body.

“Don’t cum until I tell you to,” he orders, biting my nipple before kissing me hard on the lips.

I try to remain in control as he thrusts into me relentlessly. I bite my lip and concentrate, closing my eyes to avoid looking at the beautiful man looming over me. I hear his breaths become labored and I know he is close. He works my clit as his strong legs begin to shake between mine.

“Are you ready to cum beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, “are you ready to cum on my cock?”

His words make me moan and I nod my head, beseeching him to put an end to my agony. He plays with my clit and before I know it, all the tension in my body releases. He’s speaking to me but I cannot hear him over my screams. His cock is still driving into me at an unforgiving pace. As soon as my moans cease, I hear the sound of our wet skin slapping together.

“Cum again beautiful,” Mr. Masen demands as I feel him growing close.

I’m lost. I don’t think another orgasm is possible, but Mr. Masen seems determined. He rubs my clit and I can feel his hot breathes against my sweaty skin.

“Come on baby, cum again for me. Cum again like a good girl,” he commands.

His words make my pussy drip and his skilled fingers soon bring me to another intense orgasm.

“Cum with me,” he orders as I feel him still and ejaculate.

I cum so hard my entire body shakes. Mr. Masen is kissing every inch of my face and whispering tender words into my ear. I am so lost in my own pleasure, I barely hear him, but I know his words are kind.

His cock softens and he pulls out of me. I cringe at the loss, feeling quite sore already. Mr. Masen pulls the condom off of his flaccid cock, knots it, and throws it on the floor. He pulls me against his hard body and pets my hair.

“Be my submissive Isabella,” he quietly beseeches me as he runs his fingers through my hair, “you will want for nothing. I promise to take care of you, let me.”

“Yes.”

Chapter IV: An Interesting Offer

Mr. Masen leads me toward a dimly lit dining room that is decorated in dark oaks and burgundy. He holds my hand, rubs circles on its back with his thumb. Something about his touch is so tender.

“Would you care for another drink Isabella?”

His tone is so formal, so businesslike.

“If it will please you sir,” I answer meekly.

He gives me a smile of approval. I have pleased him; knowing that pleases me. He pours me a small glass of Hendrick’s over ice and gestures me to sit down. I ease into my seat at the dining room table and place my hands flat on the table’s surface. He watches me with a wolfish grin before pouring a glass of Hendrick’s for himself.

Mr. Masen sits across the table from me and I frown at the distance. He smirks and takes a long drink of his gin, gesturing for me to do the same. Taking one hand off the table’s smooth surface, I reach for my drink and take a long and relaxing sip. The liquid stings as it goes down, but I relish in the discomfort.

“I invited you home with me because I would like to help you.”

This surprises me.

“Sir,” I ask, my brows knitted together in confusion.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time Isabella; I’ve seen how you live. You are circling the drain as we speak.”

Tears prick my eyes at his words, but I know he is right. I remain silent.

“You could benefit from having someone like me in your life.”

My mind is reeling but I say nothing.

“You may speak freely Isabella. Tell me what is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

“I’m sorry sir, what do you mean you have been watching me? Have you been coming to the club? I am sure I would have recognized you if that were the case.”

Without so much as a pause, Mr. Masen says, “I saw you leaving a bookstore two weeks ago, you captivated me. I wanted to know more, so I kept an eye on you. I was shocked, to say the least, when I found where you worked. Your life needs structure Isabella. You need discipline, before you cross too many lines leaving you unable to come back.”

This mysterious stranger has been watching me? How could his watchful eye go unnoticed?

“So you would discipline me?”

“Yes,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“How would you do that,” I ask shyly.

“You would willingly surrender yourself to me. In return, I shall be completely devoted to you Isabella. You must trust me to know what is in your best interest.”

Everything I have been taught growing up tells me that I should be offended by his words. My mother had expressed her wishes for me to be independent and willful, but something inside me finds the ideas he presents to be desirable. He is right about me, in the short time he has known me he has seen through the façade. I am left feeling exposed and unnerved.

“What are you thinking,” he commands.

“How can I surrender myself to you?”

“You will allow me to control which aspects of your life I see fit, sexual and otherwise. I will train you to please me. Your life will transform Isabella, I assure you.”

The idea of him controlling me is arousing. I need his guidance, for guidance is something I so utterly lack. I have no one to find comfort in, no one to seek advice and answers from. With no family and no friends, I feel lost in this world. Mr. Masen has presented me with so much in such a short matter of time. His offer gives me hope. I can’t remember the last time I felt hopeful about anything because hope has always lead to disappointment.

“You want to help me,” I ask quietly.

“Helping you would please me very much Isabella,” his voice promises, “You have such potential. I would hate to see it go to waste.”

I blush. This stranger believes in me more than I believe in myself.

“What will I need to do?”

“I’m a dominant Isabella. Do you know what that means?”

I have some idea. Working at a club, I am very aware of some men’s sadomasochistic fantasies. I’ve had customers who enjoy the feeling of leather against their skin and the harsh sting of a whip against their backs. I’ve never participated in such acts, but that does not keep the curious men from asking. Mr. Masen see’s the confusion on my face and explains.

“You will submit control to me Isabella. We will have a formal set of rules and rituals that you will learn to abide. I will use your body as I see fit. You will trust me and put your faith in me. As your dominant I will be completely devoted to you.”

“You will punish me?” My cheeks flush with desire.

“I will punish you because I respect you Isabella. You will be punished because I know you can perform better.”

The thought of giving up my power is arousing. I’m so unfamiliar with the feelings Mr. Masen conjures up, but they feel wonderful. I’m at a loss for what to say. It feels dangerous for me to want something so badly.

“You are a natural submissive Isabella.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

This peaks my interest. I have never thought of myself as submissive. But perhaps I don’t know myself as well as I think I do.

“How do you know?”

“You are very respectful, very eager to please me. When you sat down tonight, you placed your palms on the table without instruction to do so. You will be a joy to train Isabella.”

I sit up straighter in my chair, happy with his assessment. Mr. Masen believes in me.

“You want me as your submissive?”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. Before we even spoke, I knew you would be perfect.”

I flush and Mr. Masen reaches his hand across the oak table to place it atop of mine. His touch is soft and my heart warms. It is the most comforting touch I have felt in a long time.  

A/N: I think one wonderful thing about this lifestyle is the structure it can provide. Bella definitely does not have anyone in her life to guide her and is left to make poor choices. I know she is a stripper, but she is in no way a bad person. She has just had a pretty hard life…which you will soon find out. What do you guys think about Edward following her? He is definitely not the type of man to frequent strip clubs.