Jonathan Roy

"You're distracted, Roy." Her long, manicured fingers glide down my arm, making my skin crawl with disgust. My eyes focus on the caramel upholstery of the car seat as I grip the door, crushing my fingers against the metal.
"Thank you for coming, Freire." My face tightens as her hand touches my neck, causing my shoulder to twitch and my jaw to clench.
"Thank you? Is that all I deserve, Roy?" I let my eyes meet hers, seeing what her dark soul desires. I twist my neck to the other side, grinding my teeth. "I thought I deserved more, for old times' sake."
"Your answer lies there, as you said, old times... That's all, Freire, don't forget it! You've done your part, and I'll pass it on to the council." I pull away from her, leaving her fingers frozen in mid-air, escaping her touch.
"Of course." She closes her hand, placing the bag over her forearm and pulling out her sunglasses. "But you still have the same look of that broken young man who used to submit to me. I had forgotten for a moment who you are now."
"Don't make that mistake again, Freire. As you once told me: I learn quickly." I let go of the car door, slipping my hand into my suit pocket, staring at her.
"Yes, and you were right, you learn very quickly. The student who surpassed the teacher so well that he no longer desires her touch." Freire tilts her head to the side, swinging her sunglasses in her hand, looking at the mansion, waiting for me to deny her statement, but I only give her my silence as a response.
I don’t want her touch. Freire taught me well how suffocating a touch can be, especially hers. But, strangely, a peculiar creature sheltered within the mansion has made me succumb to the soft tips of her fingers, yearning for more.
"Does she know the truth, Roy?" A vein pulses hard at the side of my forehead, and I suck in air forcefully into my lungs. "That day on the street, when Gregovivk told me how enraged you were and I witnessed with my own eyes the peculiar scene of the clumsy girl, I still thought it was an exaggeration, even though you abandoned us there without finishing the meeting for the next encounter..."
My fingers clench more tightly inside my pocket. My fury is still the same as that day, recalling Ginger practically kneeling before that damned Russian. Of course, as a Master, he recognized the marks on Gim’s neck, and he liked what he saw. But I couldn’t say the same, and I only refrained from punching him until his blood washed the asphalt because my desire to strangle Miss Fox’s creamy throat was greater.
"Czar and you talk too much," I respond dryly. Freire still has her narrowed eyes, shrugging.
"I think this time we're right. I saw her, remember? And today, here in your home, I could see through those expressive eyes the submissive soul she carries within her. But the question I ask myself is: what made you really want her? The Master in front of the submissive, or was it just young Jonathan, whom I molded, who saw the similarity she brings, reminding you of your..." My body lunges toward her, startling her and making her back slam against the car, dropping her sunglasses to the ground.
Her chest heaves rapidly, nervously watching me. I lower my gaze to the fallen sunglasses near my feet, then back up to her made-up face.
"Kneel, Freire, and pick up your glasses!" My rough voice releases the harsh words.
Her mouth opens in shock, shaking her head, silently pleading with her eyes not to expose her.
"Roy, don’t you dare do this to me..."
"I'm not your jewel to be polished! Don’t make the mistake of opening your mouth to say that again..." I hiss in command, locking my stern gaze on her. Her head lowers in submission, clutching the bag tighter on her forearm. "Kneel!"
"Yes..."
"Yes what, Freire?" I turn my head, looking at the car, showing disdain as her shoulders slump further.
"Yes, Master..." I nod, watching her body lower until her knees touch the ground. She reaches out, carefully picking up the glasses, remaining submissive, waiting for a command.
"Don’t forget who the Master is now, Freire! Keep that in mind when you wish to relive old times. I can guarantee memories as bitter as the ones you left me." I take my hands out of my pockets, straightening my tie and smoothing my blazer. "You may leave!"
I turn my back on her, walking away, leaving her there. I hear the sound of her car starting as I slam the mansion’s entrance door shut. I look around the empty hall. The library door is still open, and I walk in to find the room empty, but the soft scent of Gim’s hair cream still lingers. I’ve tolerated Dexter for too long, and I desire to put an end to his damn curiosity! Lorane, that dumb bitch, shot herself in the foot and screwed me over by letting that kid stick his dick between her legs. Now I have to deal with her crazy sister and that shitty detective! I raise my gaze to the stairs, knowing Ginger is up there. Her defiant eyes locked in a fierce battle with mine as she left the library.
What are you doing, Roy?
My brain keeps firing off the damn question: why do I feel vulnerable around her? I walk toward my office, trying to understand. Her curiosity makes me eager to teach her, but Ginger defies the rules. Perhaps the initial idea was to exorcise my past demons while the little one satisfied her curiosity, but now everything is hazy. The lack of control hits me like a runaway train. Just by inhaling her scent, my cock responds, awakening to the memory of her hot, wet interior, sliding over it. Always ready, always obedient. I can smell the scent of her panties, soaking every time I take them off her, keeping them stored in my pocket. I’ve practically set aside a drawer in the wardrobe in my room just to store them. The fact that I shared her that night in Sodom with Baby makes me realize I want much more. Gim welcomes me freely, and even at the peak, she asks for more, and I go in search of everything until I see her in freefall. The soft expressions her face makes when the orgasm hits her, her skin that shivers with every touch, the welts that rise, aligned with the lash of the leather, it’s here that I have her, so free in her true nature, an obedient submissive. I realize I need to be inside that pussy as much as I can just to keep her imprisoned with me. When she’s away or distant, my dominant soul relentlessly seeks her. I’ve been paralyzed within myself for so long, locked away among my demons, that I’m alarmed by how much I need her. I close the office door, walking toward the swamp painting, my soul still just like it: inert and trapped within me. But those dark eyes have managed to penetrate the muck, seeping in, like a tiny spider weaving its web among the branches of the trees.