Taming a Brat Ch. 12
As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also hope that you allow your subconscious to delve deep into this chapter's complex nature. If you're looking for immediate gratification, skip this series. If you have any questions you don't wish to leave as a comment, please feel free to contact me directly via the email listed on my page, I will respond. I appreciate honest critique and general discussions regarding my stories. Enjoy! 😀
Taming a Brat Ch. 12
Olivia
I looked up to watch Owen crossing the room to the office at the back of the building. He winked at me, and I blushed. A couple of the girls sitting on a plush couch against the window on the right side of the room giggled and blushed as well. Owen strutted past without noticing them. He only had eyes for me, and my heart beat a little quicker at the thought.
I had been conversing with some of the girls after dinner for a bit while Owen sat talking with Kat, Leanne, and a man I had never met, who was clearly her dom. They looked at each other with such admiration-not to mention Leanne's collar was stunning. A thin gold choker chain around her slender neck with small daisies adorning it. The daisy in the middle had a tiny keyhole in it; I knew who held the key. Normally I would have been jealous, but for the first time in a long time, I felt the familiar stirrings of hope within me. After a while they dispersed, Owen taking the hint that I wanted to stay longer. He could get a bit of work done while I got some girl time in, it was a win-win.
One of the girls was especially upset, so Camilla and I sat with her, consoling her the best we could. A couple of other girls wandered over and sat with us, listening. The girl's name was Melanie and she had just arrived the previous night. She was in rough shape, track marks up and down both arms and pockmarks all over her face from picking at her skin. If you really looked at her, into her blue eyes underneath the deep purple bruising, you could tell she was once stunning. Those baby blues held a spark of intelligence in them that had me curious as to how she became so sickly at such a young age. She was too thin, her face sunken in from malnutrition. Her teeth were straight, but stained yellow from neglect. Slight dimples appeared when she smiled. She seemed to have a nervous habit of twirling thick strands of her long, black hair with her finger, tangling it more than it already was. It looked to be even matted in some spots. I had Camilla get a brush from her room, and we all took turns combing out the knots and tangles.
The other two girls had arrived on the same night just a week prior and had already bonded. Their names were Amy and Lexi. After several minutes of listening, they started to open up and offer Melanie advice as well. After a while we were all chatting and laughing like old friends; even Melanie was smiling. It took about two hours to get Melanie's hair completely smoothed out and tangle-free; she was already looking better.
"I just really want to thank you guys for comforting me and talking with me for so long. And my hair, don't even get me started on my hair. Thank you a million times over," she said through tears, giving us each a tight embrace before heading upstairs to her room for the night.
"Oh, Melanie!" I called after her, almost forgetting to tell her something. She spun on her heel to face me at the bottom of the staircase. "Get my number from Kat and contact me whenever, okay? Anytime."
She smiled sweetly and blew me a kiss, turning back around to trudge up the steps. I turned to Camilla and the other two girls, saying goodnight and giving them each a brief hug.
"And you both can get my number from either Camilla or Kat as well, okay? We're both here for you whenever you need," I let them both know with sincerity.
"Thank you, Olivia," Amy told me, hugging me again.
"We really appreciate you both," Lexi said to Camilla and I, giving us both another hug as well.
"Keep an eye on Melanie for me," I called over my shoulder as I walked to the office.
I felt awful for poor Melanie. She was so young, only twenty-two. It was evident at first glance that she was an addict. Still, I couldn't possibly imagine how bad her situation really was until she told us her story. A broken and abusive childhood, mostly spent in foster care until she was booted out of the system at eighteen. Having no family or friends to take her in, she was forced to sleep in filthy places, hiding the best she could from predators. It just so happened to be winter at the time, and she was half dead by the time she was picked up off the street by some low-life pimp that got her hooked on drugs. She told us that's when her life really started, so to speak. She was still miserable, the only difference being that she had a purpose. She never had a day off, constantly being used and abused by horrible men. Apparently this went on for two years before she finally made an escape plan and found The West House.
Although some of the other girl's stories were much different from mine, I still empathized with them. I wanted to be there for Melanie, to help her overcome the addiction and trauma that so plagued her. I knew I needed to focus on myself and my own healing, but I had to assist Melanie on her journey to heal as well. I had an odd gut feeling about her, one that I interpreted to be some kind of cosmic push to stay by her side. I couldn't help but think how different my life would be if I hadn't found The West House and Owen.
I was so incredibly grateful for The West House. I wanted to convey that to Owen more than anything. I was even beyond grateful for Kat and Leanne, who played such a huge part in all of it too. There had to be some way I could repay them. I didn't think there really was any way to fully repay them, but there had to be something I could do to show my immense gratitude.
Most of the girls had gone upstairs for the night. I thought I even saw Kat go to her room downstairs. She liked to be downstairs in case a girl came to the house looking for help late at night. I walked to the office door and knocked softly, pushing it open slowly. I peeked in and saw Owen typing furiously on his laptop, his face contorted in anger. My brows knitted together in concern, and I walked over to him hesitantly.
"Are you-"
He slapped his laptop closed before I could say another word or get a good look at the screen. I jumped, backing away a couple of steps. His shoulders slowly relaxed, only slightly, after taking a few deep breaths. I just stood there and waited, worrying at my cuticles.
Finally, he turned around slowly in his chair and looked at me, the vague lines on his forehead more prominent than usual. He tried to place a calm mask over his features, but I saw right through it.
"What happened?" I asked tentatively, still chewing my cuticles damn near bloody.
He sighed, standing to his full height and towering over me as he took a step towards me. I looked up at him as he took my hand, pulling it away from my mouth.
"What's one of our rules?" he cocked his head slightly, anger swirling like a storm in his already dark eyes. His voice was low and deep.
"No harming myself?" I squeaked out.
"And why shouldn't you harm yourself?" he countered, his voice lowering to almost a growl.
"Be-because you don't like your things being damaged," I managed to get out despite my voice growing more and more shaky.
"And why don't I like my things being damaged?" he leaned down a little closer to my face. I started to shake. I had never been this intimidated by him before. The unknowing was what was getting to me. Why was he so angry? What had made him seethe and type that inhumanly fast?
I cleared my throat, my eyes shifting back and forth between his face and the cream carpet. "Because they belong to you. Owen, what-"
He snatched my wrist in a tight hold as I involuntarily lifted it to chew my cuticles again, which were already an angry shade of red and raw. He drew his face away from mine momentarily to look at my fingers. He examined them for a minute or so, his nostrils flaring and his complexion growing darker. He was fuming, and I was terrified. I had genuinely never seen him that angry. I had no idea what was about to happen.
"Look at this," he spat through clenched teeth. "Look what you've done."
I stared at my nearly bloody mess of cuticles. Suddenly, I got the strangest urge to cry. I looked up at him, anger quickly replacing my weakness. I narrowed my eyes, trying to rip my hand out of his grasp. His grip only tightened. I clenched my jaw and huffed in frustration. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Owen dropped my hand and turned away from me, walking out of the office. I could hear his footsteps retreating through the house towards the front entrance.
I was bewildered, running after him at full speed. I was out of breath by the time I reached his car. He was standing at the passenger side door, holding it open for me but looking off into the distance, jaw still tight, knuckles white on the frame of the door.
I decided not to question him at that moment; something was clearly very wrong. I didn't want to poke and prod. I decided I'd give him some time. I walked over to him, ducking under his outstretched arm and sitting in the passenger seat. He had an automatic car starter of course, so it was already running. I quickly flicked on the radio, turning it to a more chill station and turning down the volume so it was just background music. Maybe it would make the car ride back to his place a bit less awkward.
He stiffly sat in the driver's seat, shutting off the radio. He rolled all four windows down and did some crazy Fast & Furious shit where he reversed, drifting in a circle until we were facing away from the house. I screamed, clutching the sides of my seat and panting, wisps of hair in my face. I looked over at him just as he hit the gas even harder and we were speeding down the driveway, kicking up some major dust. I brushed my hair out of my face but it was pointless at the speed we were going. I was still staring at Owen through my unruly hair. He was tense, gripping the wheel hard, intently focusing his eyes forward on the road.
I looked away and silently prayed I wouldn't die that night, although I trusted Owen and knew he was a good driver. We sped out of the driveway onto the road. I held on for dear life as we merged onto the highway, going faster than ever. I looked over at the speedometer, we were going over 100 miles per hour. My eyes widened in alarm, my hair whipping relentlessly against my face and neck.
When we finally pulled into Owen's driveway, coming to a sudden halt, my hair was a wind-whipped disaster. My skin felt warm and flushed. I was wet solely from the exhilarating adrenaline coursing through my veins. I didn't even realize I was panting so hard until I looked down at my chest rising and falling too fast. I slowed my breathing as Owen got out, turning the car off. The silence was getting way too loud for my comfort.
I went to open my door, but Owen was there holding his hand out to me. I trepidatiously grabbed onto his large warm hand. He pulled me up and out, guiding me in front of him with his hand at the small of my back. We reached the door and he stepped around me, unlocking it and pushing me forward.
"Basement, now," he demanded in that deep, low voice that was starting to scare me.
I had explored the house a bit when I had woken before him earlier in the morning. It dawned on me then that he had previously mentioned his dungeon. It seemed so long ago. I had completely forgotten until that moment. I had explored every room in Owen's expansive home. I started with the master bedroom, sneaking around and painstakingly opening every drawer as silently as possible. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I moved on to the two guest bedrooms, saving his office for last. Owen's office was the most interesting, as he had several shadow boxes lining the walls full of small antiques. I liked little keepsakes. I had analyzed nearly every one. The mahogany wood desk looked identical to the one in his office at his club, The Nightingale. The drawers were all locked, aside from the top left drawer. It was filled with drawings of obscured women, their features barely visible, but they all looked alike. I briefly wondered who had drawn them. I had tucked one into my pocket, saving it for later inspection.
I wandered downstairs, where I had found a sizable reading room with towering bookshelves stuffed full. It was basically a mini library furnished with comfy-looking recliners and ottomans. A perfect place to lose yourself in a good novel. I wondered if Owen used it often. Another minimally furnished guest room, the living room and kitchen of course, where there was an entryway. It led down to a basement that I couldn't enter due to the locked red door. I knew his dungeon was past the locked door as I twisted the handle aggressively. I was dying with curiosity. Worried Owen would find me snooping, I hurried back upstairs to make a pot of coffee inconspicuously before he came looking for me.
My thoughts were racing through my mind, resulting in my heart rate spiking even higher. I walked into the dark entryway nestled into the left corner of the kitchen. Low lighting automatically flicked on and a carpeted staircase with lights down the sides appeared. I tried to center myself, failing to collect my racing thoughts. He nudged my lower back with his hand. I begrudgingly took each step slowly, feeling as if I was descending into the pits of hell. I started to feel suffocated-like the walls were closing in on me. The walls weren't off-white anymore; they were turning a dark gray. The carpeted steps were morphing into smooth wood. I could hardly breathe as I reached the last step. I didn't know what the real door looked like because all I could see was the chipped white door to Thomas's basement, where he tortured me night after night.
My hair was swept away from my neck, and I felt a warm hand grasp my shoulder. I blinked as I felt velvety soft breath caress the side of my neck and ear.
"Stay with me, baby, I'm right here," Owen whispered, his lips brushing my bare skin lightly.
The chipped white door transformed back into a pretty cherry red door; I sighed in relief. He snapped me out of my flashback like it was nothing. He simply demanded I stay present with him and only him. I shuddered from head to toe as he reached around me and unlocked the door, swinging it open. I walked in willingly, in awe. It was a beautiful space. Red was the main color, with white and black accents. It was my favorite color, my safe word. I immediately felt like I could breathe again. It smelled of leather with faint hints of Owen's cologne.
I walked towards the bed in the center of the enormous room. Nothing was traditional about the space, but everything just seemed so right. There were couches to the right of the bed, red leather with white and black pillows surrounding a huge white ottoman. In front of the headboard several feet away there were what looked to be exercise equipment. Upon closer inspection, there was an elaborate sex swing, oddly shaped chairs and a large barred cage with wrist straps hanging down from chains inside.
I gawked at all the whips, chains, ropes, and plethora of sex toys lining the far left wall. Some things looked foreign to me, and I had seen a lot. I turned slightly, seeing the St. Andrew's cross in the far left corner. I started to panic again, bringing my hand to my chest and clutching at the material of my shirt.
Owen's voice was in my ear in an instant, my heart slowing immediately as he whispered huskily in my ear, "I'm still here with you baby. You're okay. Stay here with me, please."
His voice broke on the last word but before I could turn to see if he was okay, his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me back towards the bed. I thought we would stop there, but he kept pushing me until we got to the huge white ottoman. He turned me around to face him. I looked into his dark eyes, still swirling with rage and something else, too. I opened my mouth to ask what we were doing down here when he pushed me down onto the ottoman. I was laying down, staring up at Owen in confusion.
"What's your safe word, Olivia?"
"Red," I told him simply.
He nodded in acceptance. "I don't-" he stopped himself, sighing and running a tremulous hand through his thick black hair. "I can't see you hurt anymore, Olivia. Not by anyone, not even yourself. The only person that is ever going to leave a mark on you from now on is me-and only me. Nod if you understand."
I nodded slowly, furrowing my brows in confusion. "All this because I chewed my cuticles?"
I wasn't even trying to be a brat, not then. I wasn't that dumb. I was genuinely curious why he had brought me down to his dungeon so suddenly with no explanation.
His eyebrow lifted and he cocked his head. "You know the rules, but no, not just that."
He bent and took hold of my arm, surprising me with his gentleness. He turned my palm towards him, using his other hand to ever so lightly trace the deepest scars on my arm. His face crumpled just for a second, enough for me to see that my scars truly bothered him. Not in a disgusted kind of way, but more so like he had a deeply rooted sense of empathy for me. I got the feeling that if he could wave a magic wand and heal every single one of them for me, he would in a heartbeat.
"You've never said anything before," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.
His eyes snapped to mine, and he shook his head emphatically. He bent further, bringing my arm to his lips. He kissed each scar gently, lingering for a moment over every one. It took several minutes, as he finished with my right arm, continuing on to my left arm. I watched his every move, never looking away. It was the sweetest act anyone had ever performed on me. My heart felt like some of the fissures were being knitted back together, and it hurt like hell.
My scars were a part of me, no matter how badly I wished I could erase them from my skin. Having BPD meant that sometimes I made decisions that weren't 'normal'-so to speak. I felt pain differently than others. I hadn't hurt myself for a while, but I knew no matter how much time passed the scars would always remain. They were a constant reminder of my painful past. Thomas had hated the idea of getting them covered with tattoos, so I never did. Instead, I learned how to expertly conceal them with makeup when I wasn't wearing a long-sleeved shirt. I hadn't realized that Owen had taken such notice of them with how well I hid them. Although, I shouldn't have been so surprised with how observant and analytical Owen was. Normally with expensive cover-up, they were almost invisible from several feet away. On closer inspection, anyone could see there was something a bit off. Most people never said anything, but Owen wasn't most people.
He finally placed my arm back at my side and looked into my eyes. He reached down and wiped the tears pouring down my cheeks. I sniffled, and one side of his mouth turned up slightly. He looked sad, but the anger was still there, too.
He bent and jerked his pant leg up, pulling something out and standing to his full height over me. I felt beyond vulnerable under his gaze, the sadness gone and replaced with the lingering anger. He moved his arm from his side, showing me what he was holding. It was a large knife that looked wickedly sharp. The ceiling lights were dimmed but still glinted viciously off the blade. I could see my own distorted reflection in it as he twisted it back and forth in his hand.
"Owen-" I tried to sit up, but he just shook his head slowly in warning.
"I can do whatever I want with what is mine, and what are you?"
"Yours," I whispered brokenly. I started to wonder if Owen had lost his fucking mind for a second.
"That's right, baby. You're all mine. I want my marks on you, no one else's. Where do you want the first one?" he rasped.
After I remained silent for several seconds, he pointed the tip of the knife at my thigh. I shook my head. He started to move it lower, and I vigorously shook my head. He looked at me curiously, moving the knife and pointing it at my stomach. I shook my head slowly. He went up a bit higher, right under my boobs. I shook my head even slower. He hovered the knife lazily through the air just above my skin, and as he was going over the top of my breasts, I nodded. His eyes shot to mine, his head cocking to the side a bit.
It was like some innate desire took over my body. In that exact moment, when he said he wanted his marks on me and no one else's-I wanted that more than anything as well. No, I needed that. I needed him to fully claim me. I wanted the whole world to know who I belonged to.
He was still staring at me quizzically when I reached up and grabbed the blade in my hand, feeling it slice through my palm. I directed it right over my heart and brought his hand down so that just the tip rested against my skin, pricking it so that just a tiny bead of blood escaped. He watched it as it grew in size and rolled down my boob, disappearing underneath it. He licked his lips and looked deep into my eyes, moving closer until his lips were just barely against mine. He parted his lips and inhaled as if to speak, but he didn't.
Owen devoured my mouth with his, exploring with his tongue like it was his first time kissing me. I melted under him, under his touch, his intoxicating taste. All of my senses were so alive; waves of pleasure running over every inch of my skin. He took my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking and pulling at it before biting down hard enough to make me cry out. Instead, I moaned and arched into him, yearning for more contact with his body. The blade pressed deeper into my skin, making me suck in a sharp breath. He moved back a few inches to look at me. I whimpered, desperate for more.
"Stay still," he growled.
I flattened out and watched him as he focused his gaze on the patch of skin above my heart. Most people would be disconcerted at the sight of a large man holding a knife over their heart, but I was mesmerized and in awe of the sight of Owen. He had never looked so powerful and in control as he did then, as odd as that was. It was as if he was funneling all of his rage and emotions into the act of marking me as his own. The precision of his movements with the knife was almost unsettling but so thrilling.
My thighs clenched and unclenched rapidly on their own. Owen's gaze flickered to them, then to my face. He steadied me by gripping my thigh, stopping my clenching. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my throbbing pussy. I could feel my wetness pooling into my panties, soaking them. His nostrils flared, as if he could smell my arousal.
He looked back at my chest; I held my breath as the tip of the deadly weapon started to move into and over my skin. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and accepting the bite of the blade. Once I accepted the pain, it morphed into pleasure. Tingles shot through my limbs, my stomach fluttering in excitement. It didn't take long and when he pulled the blade away from my skin, I found myself craving more. I needed him to touch me in any way. No matter how hard I tried to calm myself and shake the feeling, I couldn't.
Owen backed away a couple of steps, admiring his work. He was too far from me. I snapped upright, getting to my feet too fast. I wobbled, Owen catching hold of my elbows to steady me. He took my jaw in his hand, directing my face upward. He looked into my eyes, a tinge of worry swimming in his intent gaze.
"Please," was all I could manage to rasp out.
His pupils dilated, and he flipped me around, pressing me tightly against him. I felt his hard cock against my back, pulsating. I leaned my head back into his chest, trying to see his face. He wrapped his hand around my neck, bending to put his lips against my ear.
"You're mine, Olivia," he whispered gruffly into the shell of my ear.
He loosened his bruising grip on my hip with his other hand. I heard the rustle of clothing being moved and then replaced. He moved his hand in front of my face, and I gasped in utter shock. It was a pistol.
"I want you to get this nice and wet for me, baby girl."
I couldn't breathe to speak, just a small sound came out of my throat.
"Now, Olivia. I'm not trying to hurt that sweet little pussy of mine." His deep voice rumbled through his chest to my back, I shivered. He chuckled darkly; I repressed another shiver.
I opened my mouth with an audible pop. Owen placed the tip of the gun into my mouth. I closed my lips around it, exploring it with my tongue and tasting its metallicness. He pushed it further into my mouth. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend it was Owen's cock. I grabbed his hand, pushing the gun into my throat, gagging on it.
"Fuck," Owen groaned, grinding his cock against my back.
I moved his hand so that the gun was moving in and out of my mouth faster. I choked on it again, the sound seeming so loud in the quiet space. He grinded his cock against me again, groaning and gripping my throat more tightly. He removed the pistol from my mouth despite my efforts to keep going.
"I have something better for you, baby."
He pushed me back down onto the ottoman, face down this time. I put both palms against the white leather, noticing the blood for the first time. I had forgotten that I'd boldly grabbed his knife, slicing my palm open. The flow wasn't heavy, but it was still steadily bleeding. It was smeared all over the ottoman.
Beautiful.
I felt Owen's hands on my feet, taking my boots off. Then his hands were on my hips, pulling my pants down and off. He pulled my shirt up, and I pushed off the ottoman enough for him to pull it over my head. He unsnapped my bra; I slid my arms out of it and tossed it aside.
"Now you can arch your back. Show me that ass, baby," he demanded.
I could feel his eyes boring into my ass from behind me. I bit my lip, arching as much as I could so that my ass was nice and perked up for him. There was silence for a minute or so, which made me bite my lip harder. Did he like what he saw? Did I do something wrong?
What the actual fuck is happening?
Before I could think of another question, I felt his warm, calloused hand smoothing over my ass cheek. He palmed it, squeezing hard while something cold was pressed to my bare pussy.
"You didn't even need to suck it; you're fucking soaked, Olivia," he growled.
"I-I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, afraid of making him more angry.
I felt the gun slide into my pussy a few inches; I was pleasantly surprised at just how good it felt. I really was soaking wet; my juices dripping down my inner thighs. I hadn't even realized how frantically desperate I was for him to fuck me. I would always be disappointed that it wasn't his cock-but at that moment, I was just grateful for absolutely anything. I needed him to bring me release. I could feel myself drifting towards subspace, but I just needed the deliverance I knew he could bring me to get there. The liberating climax only he could give me.
"Don't ever say sorry for being wet for me."
My eyes rolled back as he pushed the gun further into my dripping pussy.
"Breathe, baby," he whispered huskily right behind me as his hand snaked over my ass and back.
He gripped my shoulder, using it to pull me back onto his gun. It was fully inside of me when I finally released the breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. I cried out, throwing my head back. That made Owen growl, and he pulled the gun slowly out of my pussy, shoving it back in. I yelled out his name, clutching the edge of the ottoman with both hands, making more blood leak from my sliced palm. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but Owen giving me my impending release.
"Please," I whined, drawing the word out pathetically.
"Please what?" He demanded harshly as he slowed the gun to a stop.
I started to panic as the raw sensations came to a halt. My pussy squeezed around the gun spasmodically, desperate for it to move again. I stuttered, making incoherent sounds.
"You want to cum, baby?" he asked temptingly, almost meanly, his lips at my ear.
I nodded my head exaggeratedly, still unable to form coherent words. My head was spinning. I was torn between urgently wanting an orgasm and wanting Owen to snap out of it. He was acting so out of character. He always made it a point to clearly communicate and be level with me. I still had no idea what had happened or why he was so angry. The unknowing was leading my mind to conjure up horrible images of him turning out to be just like Thomas. Maybe everything was all a lie from the very beginning. Maybe he had planned all along to trick me into trusting him so profoundly that he could lure me down to his dungeon. Maybe he'd put me in that barred cage, leaving me there to rot when he was finished using me.
My heart started to pound uncontrollably at the sudden direction my thoughts took. I was confused from the start, just letting him ride out the wave of rage, letting him string me along. But I was starting to think something was really wrong.
My mind flashed back to Thomas, the look on his face when he abused me. Owen couldn't be like Thomas, who never cared about my pleasure, only his. Although Owen was in such a furious state, it still seemed his ultimate goal was to bring me pleasure by making me his. I wasn't sure what could have possibly brought the act of claiming me to fruition so soon, which is what shook me to my core, genuinely scaring me.
As if he could sense my fear, he moved his hand from my shoulder to my neck, pulling my head back. He loomed over me, studying me for a moment. His eyes roved over my face, like he was trying to take a perfect mental picture of my features. He ground his teeth, it sounded like they were breaking. He took his hand from my neck and leisurely pulled the gun out of my pussy. It was agonizing, and I mewled softly.
"Look at that tight little pussy gripping my gun. I can't wait to see it grip my cock like that," he husked, his vocal cords straining.
He put his hands on my hips, flipping me over onto my back again. He got to his knees in front of me, pulling me closer to the edge of the ottoman. He opened my legs, spreading them apart as far as they could stretch. He dipped the gun in between my folds, gently running the tip over my clit and back down to my entrance. He pushed in just a couple of inches then removed it. He showed it to me; it was glistening with my wetness.
"Do you know why I want you to cum all over my gun, Olivia?"
I loved how my name rolled off his wicked tongue. A lot of people called me Liv or Livvie. Not Owen, he never had. I shook my head at his question after a few seconds. I was more worried about why he even had a gun in the first place.
"I want you to cum all over my gun, and you will cum all over my gun, because I'm going to make Thomas smell it before I shoot him in the head with it. In the moments before he dies, I want him to vividly remember what he lost. I want him to remember what you tasted like when he smells your pussy on my gun. And when I see that realization cross his stupid fucking face, I'm going to kill him," Owen finished matter-of-factly.
Before I could even process what he had just told me, he slid the gun deep into my pussy. I cried out in ecstasy as my pussy was finally filled again. He pumped it in and out steadily as he bent, closing his lips over my needy clit. My eyes rolled back in my head. My hand shot out to grab onto him, any part of him. I felt his thick, lush hair and fisted a handful of it, gripping it like a lifeline. He growled as I pulled it harder when I felt my orgasm finally starting to roll towards the edge of the cliff.
"Owen, you're gonna make me cum!" I exclaimed in pure bliss, my vision blurring.
I didn't even recognize the sound of my own voice. I sounded crazed and desperate. He was doing things to me that were making me come undone. Making me feel things I had never imagined I could feel. I felt wild and reckless.
"Cum for me, baby girl, cum for me now," he demanded in that gruff tone that made my pussy weep for him.
I screamed as he nipped at my clit, sending shockwaves through my torso. It was the catalyst my body needed to bring my orgasm right over the edge. I still gripped his hair tightly with one hand, clawing at the leather with my other. I arched my back upwards, wrapping my legs around his head and squeezing as the most intense orgasm I had ever had burst, then pulsed like electricity throughout my entire body. He kept pumping the gun into my pussy and sucking at my clit, prolonging my orgasm until I felt like I was going to black out. He slowed his ministrations, removing the gun from my sore pussy, and eliciting one last tired moan from me.
"Good girl, Olivia. You did so fucking good tonight, baby."
He looked more relaxed, more like himself. But I was wary, taking his hand gingerly when he extended it to me. He pulled me up into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. I had so many questions, but I was exhausted. It had to be extremely late, and the day had been eventful to say the very least. I couldn't believe how much had happened in just one single day.
Owen knew I was tired, telling me we were going upstairs to take a shower and bandage my hand. I complied, wanting to get cleaned up so I could go to sleep. Way too much had happened. I needed a break from thinking. I would figure everything out in the morning.
I stumbled out the door to the dungeon, almost face planting on the steps. Owen caught me, scooping me up into his arms like I weighed nothing. He took me upstairs, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge on the way. He set me down on the cold bathroom tile and helped me undress, after making me drink at least half the water bottle. He undressed and led me into the cavernous shower, washing my body and hair for me.
I felt numb, unable to formulate any rational thoughts. I knew I was in subspace, that was partly why. But it had more to do with the exhaustion I felt, both mentally and physically. I was checked out for the night and Owen clearly realized it, taking on the caregiver role. I shoved back my dubiety and trepidation for the time being; smothering the niggling feeling of confusion as well. I put my hand over my heart as it swelled almost painfully, feeling the mark Owen carved into my skin with my fingertips. I was okay with that, only being able to feel my healing heart and Owen's mark.
Owen
She had done so well, so perfectly well. My sweet baby girl. Mine. I reached over slowly, gently running the tip of my finger over the fresh mark I had left on her. She had wanted it above her heart of all places on her beautiful body. I was shocked, but pleased. I had felt that warmth seeping into my chest, growing.
There was a small mirror behind me on the marbled wall for shaving. I moved to the side, slipping behind her and coaxing her towards the mirror. She looked exhausted with a faraway look in her eyes. She was most definitely deeply immersed in subspace, floating. I also knew she was confused. I could see the wheels trying to turn in her addled brain; she was teetering on a high beam. I wouldn't let her fall, never that.
"Look at my mark, Olivia," I whispered softly in her ear, rubbing my hands over her smooth, wet arms.
I watched her as she looked up cautiously into the mirror at her chest. She blinked several times, bringing her hand up to curiously trace the mark.
"What does it mean?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.
She was coming back to me, I could feel her muscles relaxing as she leaned back into my chest. I sighed in relief, nuzzling her neck, nipping gently.
"It's an infinity sign. It means forever, baby. You're mine to protect an-" I stopped myself, my heart thundering in my chest. She looked from the mark to my face in the mirror. I met her eyes. "You're mine to protect and to love - forever," I finished slowly.
Her mouth popped open as she gasped softly. Tears filled her eyes, rolling down her flushed cheeks. She turned around to face me, having to look up at me due to our height difference. I loved how small she was; I could easily crush her in an instant, but I never would. She was becoming the most prized possession I had ever had in my entire life. A rare gem to be cherished and safeguarded at all costs.
She extended one hand towards my face, cupping my cheek. She pulled my face down to hers, our lips brushing together.
"I am yours, Owen, forever. No matter how corny you are," she giggled tiredly against my mouth before kissing me deeply.
I smiled against her impossibly soft lips, kissing her back like my life depended on it. My cock grew so hard I could hardly stand it. I gripped it in my fist at the base, but it only made it worse. I pumped my hand up and down only a few times before I spurted my seed all over her belly. I groaned into her mouth, and she smiled weakly against my parted lips.
I stepped back, looking at the state of my girl. She was beat and needed sleep right away. I pulled her back under the water, reluctantly washing my cum off her. As much as I'd have loved to keep it on her, I knew she probably wouldn't appreciate that in the morning. She let me guide her out of the shower and into one of my shirts that she was practically swimming in. I examined her hand, ensuring it didn't need stitches, then gently bandaging it. I covered the mark I had made with a bandage as well, applying some antibacterial ointment. I made her finish the water bottle before plopping her onto my bed. Finding a comb, I brushed through her long, dark blonde hair, braiding it into one single pleat down her back. Her eyes were already closed as I tucked her under the covers. I kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment to inhale her scent.
I closed my eyes, seeing a flash of red and purple that transmuted into a collar around Rachel's neck. It was the first time I had seen her face so vividly in years. Her small, milky hands reached up to her neck, removing the collar and tossing it aside. She blew me a kiss, waving to me as she faded into blackness behind my eyelids. My first official collared sub, I was finally letting her go.
I kept my eyes shut and waited as she appeared, the girl I had been seeing for so many years in my dreams. She was beautiful in a way words couldn't describe. Dark blonde, honey-colored hair almost down to her ass. Her perfect small frame, that drove me so wild. Those expressive, dark eyes with a sparkle of mischievousness and perception. She brought something into view, wrapping it around her neck, and fixing it in place with a key that she tossed aside. A red leather collar with a black infinity sign etched into it. I beamed widely, despite my own exhaustion.
I had never had-whatever that was-happen to me before, not while I was awake, anyhow. A vision? Some kind of prophecy? I decided I'd take it as a sign that Olivia would indeed be mine forever, despite all the obstacles we were facing. She would wear my collar one day - a day that would perhaps come sooner than either of us thought.
I stood, opened my eyes, and headed back into the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on my face. I had to reshower, considering I hadn't even washed the blood out of my hair from Olivia's hand. I briefly lingered on that image in my mind's eye. The way she looked and sounded as I devoured her sweet pussy. The way she gripped my hair as if her life depended on it, needing to hold onto any part of me. My cock stiffened as I washed my body and hair with my favorite minty body wash, relishing in the tingle it left over my skin.
I finished up, throwing on boxers before snuggling up to Olivia's warm body. My body curved around hers perfectly. It wasn't enough somehow, so I scooped her onto my chest as I laid on my back, wrapping my arms around her torso. She stirred, making some soft, incoherent sounds before drifting right back to sleep.
"My beautiful girl," I whispered against her damp hair before passing out myself.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, Olivia was still on my chest, snoring. My lips turned up into a smile as I smoothed my hand down her back, over her plump little ass. My cock hardened immediately in response to her scent all over and around me, the feel of her softness and warmth against my hard body. She stopped snoring, stirring in my arms.
"Goodmorning, baby girl."
She lifted her head sluggishly, blinking her eyes rapidly as she tried to focus on me. Once she realized where the hell she was, she smiled weakly, but I could see the apprehension starting to permeate through her. Her body stiffened against me, and her eyes grew distant. I started to panic, my heart thudding in my chest like a constant hammer. I should have known it was too much for her, but still I selfishly proceeded to claim her anyhow.
"Everything is okay, Olivia. I'm right here with you; you're okay." I tried my best to soothe her.
Then, in an instant, her eyes-and her facial expression-changed. She was angry. I could handle anger, but not being distant right then. She pushed off of my chest, and I let her. I watched as she stomped across the room to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I chuckled, getting out of bed and heading downstairs to use the bathroom and put on a pot of coffee. She clearly needed some space and coffee would help as well, I hoped.
I was sipping my coffee, reading a news article on my phone, when Olivia decided to finally grace me with her presence. She gave me a dirty look before heading to the pot of coffee and pouring it into an oversized coffee mug. She poured an ungodly amount of sugar into it as well as creamer. She sat down across from me, scooting her chair back dramatically. I chuckled into my mug. Her eyes shot up to mine, her cheeks turning crimson.
"What the fuck is so funny?" she growled at me.
I lifted a brow, setting my mug down without breaking eye contact.
"You do realize drinking a cup of sugar and creamer isn't the best way to turn around a rough morning?" I chuckled again.
"Does it look like I give a rat's ass what you think?" she countered, her tone dripping with venom.
I folded my hands on the table in front of me, leaning forward over the table.
"You wanna try that again, baby?" I deadpanned, one side of my mouth turned up in a smirk.
"Fuck you," she shot back, casually taking a sip of her coffee.
"Nah, I don't think I will," I retorted nonchalantly.
At this, her face deepened into a crimson red; I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. I knew I had hit a sore spot. She scooted her chair back, it screeched over the tiles. She stood, spinning on her heel to storm away, but I was quicker. I snatched her around the waist, spinning her back around to face me and wrapping my arms around her to squeeze her against my chest. She fought me, attempting to wiggle and squirm her way out of my hold.
"Should we take another trip down to my dungeon so soon?" I taunted her.
She stiffened in my arms, not quite the reaction I was looking for. I expected a certain amount of fear regarding my dungeon, but that's all I felt-unease without an ounce of excitement. I unwrapped my arms from around her, pushing her back with my hands on her shoulders to look down at her. She refused to meet my gaze, staring down at my feet instead. I was beginning to worry the prior night's activities had thoroughly been too much for her to handle.
"Baby, what's going on in your head right now, huh?" I ran my thumb along her jawline. "I know you have some questions. I'm willing to answer them all, and explain everything."
She looked up at me hesitantly. "I forgot to take my medicine last night," she said simply.
My eyes widened in alarm. I put my palm to my forehead and cursed myself silently. What kind of dom was I? Apparently, the kind of dom that thought a punishment and marking his sub was more important than making sure she was taken care of. I sighed heavily, the shame and disappointment seeping through to my bones. It was a familiar feeling I had hoped to never feel again. I was devastated because I failed my own test. How could I keep her if I couldn't even remember to remind her to take her meds?
I imagined Olivia waving goodbye, then fading into the blackness instead of Rachel. I shook my head emphatically, trying to rid the image in my mind's eye. I needed to step up and fix the damage I had already inflicted. My heart beat painfully in my hollow chest. I sighed heavily, looking into her beautiful dark eyes flecked with burnt orange in the morning light. I let out another exasperated exhale, stepping back from her. She took a tiny step forward, then faltered, looking down. My heart felt as if it would burst.
"Why don't you go get dressed, take your medicine, and we'll talk after, okay?"
She nodded her head, biting her full lower lip, which had my cock hardening in an instant despite my short-circuited emotions. I dropped my head into my hands, feeling the urge to let the dam break open. I couldn't show weakness when I had already fucked up so badly. I smoothed my hair back, headed into the living room to sit on one of the leather recliners, and waited for her.
After about forty-five minutes or so, she finally came down the stairs, looking up at me through thick lashes she had applied mascara to. She had applied a full face of makeup, and put on a pretty, short white sundress with lacework on the sleeves. I had seen her done up many times, but I would never forget how she looked right at that moment. She kept her eyes on me as she lowered herself off the last step, swaying her hips as she walked towards me, and sat in the recliner next to mine. She crossed her pale legs that were in desperate need of sunshine. Then again, maybe not. I liked the way her creamy white skin marked so easily when I punished her. Perfect, red handprints on that round ass of hers. My cock swelled in my boxers, not much material to hide it.
Her brow arched up as she licked her mauve painted lips. "Like what you see?" she asked in an uncharacteristically sweet voice, tossing her long hair behind her shoulder. It was wavy from the braid I had put it in. "Where did you learn to braid by the way?" she asked in her normal tone, cocking her head curiously.
From what research I had done on BPD, skipping even one dose of her medicine could be detrimental for her. The mood swings could potentially get worse, as she would enter into a sort of relapse. Sometimes it could take days to get back on track and balance out again. She could also be experiencing withdrawal symptoms. The chemical shifts from missing just one dose could lead to her feeling anxious and especially moody. Apparently the kind of medicine she was on was a heavy one, which is why she felt the effects so strongly from one missed dose.
I thought of all the information I had read from various articles on the internet. I had even called up an old friend, Dr. Evan Peters, who ran his own medical practice. He was usually my go-to doctor for some of the girls that came to The West House injured or ill. He was good about keeping them off record, if need be. I made an appointment for Olivia to be seen, as I was sure she needed a new doctor, if she had one at all. I still needed to mention it to her. It was insane how much had happened in such a short period of time; my brain wasn't usually so bombarded.
"We need to discuss some things, Olivia. I would like you to remain quiet while I speak, then you may share what you have to say, okay?" I asked, steepling my fingers under my chin with both elbows resting on the arms of the recliner.
She chewed at her lip momentarily, jumping when I cleared my throat aggressively. Had she not learned her damn lesson? Although, brats never learned their lesson the first time. I shouldn't have been surprised. She gathered herself. Looking at me, she narrowed her eyes slightly. She seemed to think twice about opening her mouth and bratting me at that moment, because she relaxed her face, sighing in defeat.
"Fine," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping in the recliner like a child.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you and sit up straight, Olivia," I deepened my tone.
She did as she was told, but not without attitude, and rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
"And if you roll your eyes one more time, I will put you over my knee and spank you," I told her matter-of-factly, adding a little growl at the end for extra measure.
She knew I meant it, uncrossing her arms and sitting a bit straighter. However, I could tell she was fighting her inner brat. She wanted to cuss me out and have her way, but it wasn't happening. I had no clue what I was even doing, considering how I had just failed her as a dom several hours prior. Although I couldn't help but dom her, I wanted nothing more than that. I also wanted her to be safe, happy, and taken care of. If I couldn't provide that for her, then I had to let her go, didn't I? Could I? I cleared my throat, running a shaking hand through my mussed hair. She was doing things to me I had never experienced in my life before.
"First of all, I would like to apologize for how I acted last night. I know now that I went too far, too fast. I don't think you were ready for such a heavy session like that and I'm genuinely sorry, Olivia. I had planned to wait a lot longer to mark and claim you as my submissive like that. I lost control, which is what I was afraid of from the start of all this."
She furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to say something, but I held up my hand for her to stop. Her mouth snapped shut audibly. She crossed her arms over her chest again.
"I should have ensured your health was being taken care of before any kind of punishment or session. I was so angry and caught up in my emotions that I failed you last night."
When she opened her mouth to retort again, I stood to my full height quickly, making her flinch just enough that I took notice. I ground my teeth together in frustration. I let the fury I felt get the best of me; I showed her a side of me that frightened her. Could that even be reversed? I started to pace back and forth across the living room as I kept talking.
"I let my temper win, I instilled fear in you when I should be the one helping you in any way I can. But I scared you, I know I did and I'm so sorry, Olivia. There was a reason for being angry in the first place, but I should have never let you see that side of me. I should have had more self-control an-"
"What was the reason, Owen? I'm sorry for interrupting, but please. I need to know before you go on, Owen," her voice was strained.
I turned around to look at her, halting my frantic pacing. She looked tense and distraught, like I was withholding information she direly needed to know. I was withholding information from her, inadvertently. I knew when I told her she would fall apart. It wasn't like I was worried I couldn't repair the damage, I just hated to see her in distress.
"I received an email from Thomas's lawyer. He notified me that all charges have been dropped, which turned out to be true upon getting in touch with the detective in charge of the case," I told her in an honest rush of words.
She took a hitching breath, her hand flying to her throat. Panic flooded her features. She brought her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her gaze was fixed, focusing on nothing. I walked over to her swiftly, bending down and scooping her up into my arms like a baby. I sat in her recliner, rocking and soothing her.
"I'm right here, baby. I'm right here with you. You're okay. I've got you, my sweet girl," I whispered into her silky hair.
She clutched onto my shoulders with both hands, twisting to bury her face in my chest. Sobs racked through her body, she shook with them. I held onto her tightly, rocking her while she bawled her eyes out for several minutes. The mournful sounds of her crying pierced through my chest, and into my aching heart. I had never seen her cry so hard. It was like years of pent up sorrow was pouring out of her and into me. Tears slipped down my cheeks, and into the stubble I needed to shave. I couldn't remember the last time I cried.
"We're going to figure this out, Olivia, baby. I promise you, no matter what happens between us. I will ensure that you get justice for what he's done to you. I promise you that, Olivia," my voice broke and I nearly choked on a sob.
I swallowed down my emotions, trying to center myself. I needed to be there for her. I needed to make sure she was okay, no matter what the future held for us. More than okay; I wanted her to be successful and thrive. No, I needed that for her. I was starting to realize that I had invested in her well-being and happiness from the moment I laid eyes upon her. I wanted that for the other girls as well, of course. There was just something special about her. It wasn't even the fact I had been seeing her face in my dreams for years before meeting her. She stood apart from any other person I'd ever met, in the best ways possible.
Her sobs eventually turned to whimpers, then to sniffles. She looked up at me through her ruined mascara. Black smudges down her red cheeks and all, she had never looked so beautiful to me.
After a moment, she spoke softly into the stillness surrounding us, "No matter what happens between us?" She looked stricken, brows furrowed, as if I had said something unforgivable.
- The dominant nature of Owen was evident as he tightly gripped Olivia's wrist, his eyes filled with anger and concern.
- In the dimly lit dungeon, the submissive Olivia sought refuge, hoping to find pleasure and healing from her dominant partner.
- Olivia, feeling possessive of her newfound freedom and healing, made a bold claim to Owen, expressing her desire to help Melanie, the troubled newcomer.
- Unbeknownst to Olivia, her dominant partner, Owen, had been harboring a secret sadistic side, a side that would later reveal itself in unexpected ways.