Czar Gregovivk Part 2

“I’ll tell you this: the master will know; he will impose limits,” I say seriously, looking at her, unraveling the little bird that gazes lost at the statue. “It’s not about sex or the power to belittle someone, Mabel, but rather about the total trust that the submissive places in her master, the act of teaching and disciplining.” I keep my eyes locked on hers, wishing she would speak about what truly brought her here, even though I already know deep down what this lost little bird seeks. “Why do you need help, little bird?”
Just say it; I need those words to come out of your mouth, and I can deliver a world of exquisite pleasures to her. I will show Mabel how much pleasure her little body can have, transforming her into a hot and provocative Messalina of flesh and blood. Her submissive soul screams desperately within Mabel, begging for release, and any dominant can hear her just by looking into the dark constellation of her eyes. Mabel is like that little porcelain statue in her lap—a delicate, lost, and lonely tribute, waiting for a master to teach her.
“I-I...” Her lips bite down as she stares at the sculpture. “I don’t have control over some desires I feel, and no matter how much I drown them, repress them, I feel that each time they appear, they are stronger.”
“Do you like to feel pain, Miss Shot?” I ask the question directly, already knowing the answer before she speaks.
“I don’t... But my body, it likes it.” She compresses her lips and tries to hide the tremors from them. “Macro is afraid I’ll do something stupid again, which is why he brought me here; he thought I could feel free...”
“And you didn’t feel that way the night I chose you for the privileges, which is why you ran away?” I touch the tip of her chin, making her look at me. “Did I scare you or hurt you?”
“No,” Mabel answers quickly, shaking her head negatively. “You didn’t hurt me, sir.”
It’s almost impossible to hold back the sigh of relief that escapes my mouth upon hearing her words. I was aware that I hadn’t hurt her; I spent seven days replaying every second of that night in my head, trying to understand what I had done to cause her flight, never getting anywhere. But now, it’s liberating to hear those words coming from her mouth.
“But I scared you, that’s why you ran...”
“It wasn’t you.” Mabel closes her eyes and pulls her face away from my hand. “I ran from myself; I was afraid of myself. Afraid of going through everything again, of losing myself completely...”
For some people, it’s hard to comprehend the body’s emotions, what leads them to feel pleasure, what drives their vitality. But that’s not what I see in the woman before me. Mabel isn’t confused; she’s a few steps away from collapse, repressing what her soul is pleading for. But I wonder: why? There’s something more that she’s not sharing.
“How long have you been feeling these masochistic needs, Miss Shot?”
She stiffens for a few seconds, letting me know that I’ve hit the mark in understanding her need.
“I hadn’t felt them for a few years, I think two, almost three.” She bows her head forward, looking lost at the statue. “I thought they had gone away, that they were gone forever. But then, last week...”
“They returned,” I finish for her, picking up the statue from her lap and gently rocking it in my hand.
“Stronger, more urgent.” Mabel goes back to rubbing her fingers on her knees, over the fabric of her dress.
“And that’s why you returned to Sodom.” I stand up, turning my back to her and walking back to where the statue was, placing it back in its spot.
“Actually, I came back more because Macro thinks I might do something stupid again. And to be quite frank, I think I might end up doing just that,” she says nervously, snapping her fingers together. “That’s why I came here to ask if you could help me...”
I prefer to keep my back to her, not allowing her to perceive my surprise at hearing her words. I had imagined this would be what she sought: help from some master. But not that it would be me, especially since it was clearly I who caused the emotions she repressed. Normally, we try to understand what plagues us by diverting from what causes the emotion. And it’s precisely in my thoughts that I find my answer. Someone had triggered this in Mabel, which is why her instincts are condemned. Perhaps it wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it was strong enough to mark her forever.
“You’ve used the term stupidity twice.” I turn and face her. “Your friend is afraid you’ll do something stupid again, which tells me that a previous stupidity has already occurred.” I take a step forward, walking toward her. “What was that stupidity, little bird?”
“Look, I think that’s not the point. We don’t need to talk about that, what brought me here, but rather the fact that I’m here because I know I can’t handle this on my own for much longer,” she speaks, nervously gesturing with her fingers in a hurried manner. “I don’t want to take up your time any more than I already have, Mr. Gregovivk. To be honest, I shouldn’t have come here, much less ask you for something like this. I won’t judge you if you think I’m an unbalanced person because I’m sure that’s exactly how I seem at the moment.”
Her body rises quickly, practically spitting the words nervously from her mouth.
“Sit down!” The order escapes my lips loud, harsh, and precise.
I see her look at me, confused, blinking repeatedly before slowly sitting down and curling her body into the sofa. She returns to the position of her knees pressed together, her hands anxiously rubbing them.
“Look into my eyes and answer my question, Miss Shot.” I maintain a dominant posture, standing, letting her know she won’t leave this room until I have my answers. “Start from the beginning.”
She looks at her fingers and lets out a low sigh before tilting her head up and looking at me again.