Afterlife by Joey W. Hill Page A

panties
    and socks. Then she slid them off, bal
    ing them up and
    putting them in the hamper behind
    her. She turned toward
    the shower. She would not think
    about the fact she was
    standing naked in her bathroom, in
    front of Jon Forte. She
    would jump in the shower and—
    “Stop. Put your hands behind your
    back, fingers laced,
    and spread your legs shoulder width
    apart.”
    Her breath caught in her throat. It was
    a standard
    submissive pose, al owing the Master
    access to his slave
    however he wished. It made those
    butterflies in her
    stomach go wild, even as that
    throbbing tightness in her
    chest and throat started anew. It
    wasn’t real, it wasn’t true. It
    couldn’t be, because she’d wanted it
    for too long. She was
    playing a game that had already
    passed her by.
    She shook her head, fumbled for the
    towel on the bar.
    “Jon, this isn’t going to work. I can’t
    —”
    His hand closed over her wrist. He
    shut off the shower,
    then he wrapped his other hand in her
    hair, pul ing at the
    scalp in a near painful way, though
    his movements
    remained calm, unhurried.
    “Down.”
    She wasn’t sure at first what he
    meant, but the pressure
    of his hand, moving to her shoulder,
    made it clear. She
    couldn’t resist him, and suddenly she
    was kneeling on the
    lavender carpet before him, his hand
    tethered in her hair
    keeping her up on her knees, her
    buttocks brushing her
    heels. The steam created by the
    shower caressed her bare
    skin with heat.
    His fingers flexed. “Do you want to
    kneel to me, Rachel?
    Have you fantasized about it? Don’t
    think, just answer.”
    “Yes.” Her throat was clogged with
    tears again.
    “And what did you do when you
    were on your knees?”
    “I…put my mouth on your… You put
    your c-cock in my
    mouth.”
    “And what did you cal me? What
    name did I demand you
    cal me when you begged for more?”
    Once again, it was stymied, too much
    debris washing in
    with the very thought. She couldn’t
    speak.
    “Did you masturbate when you
    fantasized about me like
    that, Rachel?”
    He’d let her have that one, a pass
    card. She got the
    feeling he wouldn’t give her another.
    “Yes.”
    “And did you ask my permission to
    come?”
    “Yes.” She licked her lips. He’d told
    her to keep her eyes
    down, but she was very aware that if
    she looked up she’d
    be staring right at his cock, beneath
    the fabric of his
    trousers. She wanted to see him hard
    and thick, swipe
    away the viscous fluid col ected at
    the slit with her tongue.
    You’re a fucking whore…
    She flinched, pul ing back from his
    touch. “No,” she said
    brokenly. “Please don’t.” Don’t ruin
    this.
    “Rachel.” Jon was kneeling with her
    then, his hands on
    her bare shoulders even as she tried
    to get away from him,
    mortified, vulnerable beyond repair.
    “Ssshh. Listen to me.
    Hush and listen.”
    She stopped only because it was
    clear he wasn’t letting
    her go, and he was far stronger and
    more determined. He
    had one knee on the carpet by her
    right knee and the other
    bent leg hemming in the opposite
    side.
    “We have a long way to go, don’t
    we?” That firm mouth
    had a kind curve now, his eyes
    compassionate. However,
    the intensity remained, indicating his
    compassion wasn’t
    the pity she dreaded.
    “You know that place of utter stil
    ness, the one you find in
    meditation?” When she managed a
    jerky nod, he
    continued. “It’s a place where you’ve
    let everything that
    burdens your mind free. Al those
    thoughts, good or bad,
    peaceful or disturbing, can wander in
    and out of your mind
    like an open room. You don’t try to
    hold onto anything or
    push it out. You release your wil and
    simply be. Take a
    breath. Slow, even, deep. Let it go.”
    She managed it, though her fingers
    remained clutched
    on his forearm. Her gaze stayed on
    her knees, lowered as
    he’d demanded.
    “You’ve been a submissive for a
    long time, haven’t you?”
    He didn’t say, “you’ve