Mimosa Ch. 02

"Rest! Rest! Is that the only word you know Sherita?" Oasis yelled at the closing door. For good measure, she threw her book too, hitting the wall with a solid " thunk!". "I am not a child Sherita! I can even pee in the toilet by myself! You can leave now!" She continued to yell at the empty room. Flipping the covers that had been pulled up over her for her forced nap, she restlessly got out of bed. Walking across the room, she tried to turn the doorknob. Locked! "Dammit, Sherita! Open this door right now!" She knew it was useless, this tirade she went through each afternoon, at this time. Yelling, screaming, crying, begging never did help the competent Sherita change her mind. It only caused her healing ribs to ache painfully, and her throat and voice to become hoarse for hours after.

She had been home for three weeks, and mobile for two. Her thoughts, and the "Tyrant", as she called Sherita in her mind, were her only company, and recreation for the past week. Philippe had to leave again, and finish the business he was so abruptly taken from, because of her accident. He was the one who had installed the lock, after four afternoons in a row, when she defiantly refused to nap.

"I am not a child, I do not need a nap every afternoon," she protested.

"Sherita says you need to rest completely Oasis, at least some of the afternoon," he said patiently, while testing the new lock. Satisfied with the installation, he turned to her. Her heated glare and rigid body made him smile in amusement.

"It is not funny Philippe!" She fumed at him. "I feel like a prisoner as well as a child!"

"Well, if you would act less like a child, and do your healing time like a good little girl, your prison time, I'm sure, would be less." He enjoyed the way her glare turned to quiet resignation, knowing she had to accept Sherita's terms, because they were his own too. "Come, ma cherie," he said, opening his arms. "Be a good slave to me before I have go."

She relented to his embrace. The closeness to him, and being held so tenderly, her anger was gone. But it was he, being the good Master. Taking her to the bed, and opening her silk wrap, then opening her, to all of the pleasures he knew how to give her.

First his mouth over her soft skin, beginning with her neck, making her flesh pimple, and her body arch to him. Her hands reached behind his head, caressing his hair, interlacing together. She felt the fabric of his collar pressing her palms, and pulling her hands in front of him, tried to unbutton his shirt. He grasped them, his mouth leaving her skin, pushing them together above her head, his eyes finding hers, telling her to be patient. Closing her eyes, she gripped the iron lace above her, a moan of acceptance escaping her lips. His mouth came back to her, catching her breath between his tongue and teeth, sucking her entire mouth to him, her tongue given over to this pleasure.

Releasing her tongue, she opened her eyes, and watched him lick her lips, her mouth open to him, hoping he would plunge his soft tip back to her. He knew her desire, knew if he let her, she would suck his tongue back to herself and not let go, until he was begging inwardly for her mercy. Licking her open mouth slightly again, he pulled back out of reach of her dangerous mouth, placing his finger there instead, while undressing with the other hand. The way she greedily and seductively captured his finger to his palm, he knew her animal instincts had taken over, made even more urgent by deprivation, caused by her body needing time to heal.

She opened to him, though inwardly her healing body ached in pain. Gripping the iron lace, her mind thought of only his tender mouth and soft tongue devouring her flesh. Each passing of his tongue was replaced by cool air to her wet skin. She felt the path, a brilliant searing of her senses, knowing he had written the map of her body many times with this pen. When his mouth reached the folds of her other lips, she moaned in pleasure and in pain. The sensation making her body tense in anticipation, the pain barreling through her broken chest. She bit back an open cry, knowing he would stop if he thought it was too much for her to embrace. He took her lips gently between his teeth, gingerly letting them slip out again, over and over. Watching her body push towards his mouth, his own scale of her pain was successfully gauged, by her bodies' reaction.

"Please mon Philippe! Please!" She begged. Crying out in complete need when she felt him open her lips with his tongue. "Oui.oui Philippe, there mon Amour!" Her hands left the iron lace, gripping the bed covers in tense appreciation. Finding his shoulders between her spread knees, she gripped them, her nails driving his tongue inside of her. She pulled her feet under his arms, her heels digging restlessly into the bed under his armpits. Her hands found his forearms, and held them, palms pressed flat against them, helping her push her body down.

His tongue was teasingly gently against her clit. It was his desire for her to reach pleasure in a soft and gentle way. Feeling her body relax into his tongue, he guided her, slowly, letting her build methodically. He enjoyed her moans of pleasure, her moans of need. His tongue, an instrument playing her body. Bringing her so close, his tongue left her; his head raised waiting her protest.

Instantly, her body shifted in denial. "Mon Philippe! Please, please let me, let me cum for you," she begged, placing her hands against his face. Her thumbs traced his lips, already wet with her arousal. She pulled herself to his mouth, licking greedily around his lips, and pushed her tongue deeper past.

"Oui Oasis," he breathed into her mouth, "Cum for your Master." Keeping her kiss, he gently rose to meet her. Laying her back, and meeting her eyes, he entered her. Pleasure filled them both. A soft fulfillment to their sealed relation to each other. He felt her pleasure quickly around him. Her inner muscles convulsed tightly, holding, or expelling him, depending on his direction. Her cries came with tears, and he licked them from her face, before they escaped him. He loved these tears. The purity he could taste in them, from her pure happiness of joining with him.

When he left her that afternoon, her obstinate pout resumed. His final words, more a final command, "It's for your own good!"

The Conspiracy

She left her thoughts of pleasure, and continued her tirade against the door. Her actions were more a show of anger towards herself, for having not taken better care in Philippe's absence, and now having the consequences to live, because of. Sherita was only a means of releasing them. Taking her anger out on Sherita only prolonged her own acceptance that she needed someone to care for her.

Hearing the lock turning in the door, Oasis stepped back slightly, expecting Sherita to appear. Marcus filling the doorway was a complete surprise. She gave him a look of disapproval, and turned away from him.

"Stop!" He commanded. "Turn around, and go sit on your bed!" Not waiting to see if she complied, he turned out of the doorway and called for Sherita. Bringing her in with him, he stood in front of Oasis, seated quietly on the edge of the bed. "Why are you beating the door, half to death?" He asked. "As I understand it, you are supposed to be resting, supposed to be taking care of yourself, the way you are told!" Turning to Sherita, he asked, "Am I right?"

Sherita only nodded. This week, alone with her new charge, had been too trying for her to answer in a simple verbal, yes or no. Her face, though, did not hide the strain. Tight lipped, and a stern glance faced Oasis without pity.

"I think I am obliged to punish you in Philippe's absence."

Oasis turned over in her mind an objection, feeling the chagrin of his statement. Pushing her limits, she said, "If you think so, why don't you ask him?" She felt completely out of control, even holding his hardened face with her eyes. Her defiance was overrun with thoughts of having her life back with only Philippe, and the others around her gone, no longer playing her puppet strings. There were too many with the ability to tell her what to do and when to do it. Consequence gained or not, she objected to this. It felt too much like being given over to another, something she had never experienced before. Her life since the accident had lost its structure, its understanding of what was normal to her. She wanted her "normal" back. So much so, she was willing to cross her boundaries of submission. "Marcus," she began, knowing using his given name was forbidden, "I am sure Sherita will tell you, I am certainly not healed enough for any of your pun.ish.ments." She drew out the pronunciation of her last word, holding her chin and her eyebrows up obstinately.

He looked down at her. Fury a building emotion, tightening his jaw, and narrowing his eyes. "You seem to be feeling well enough to attack your door," he said, controlling the tone of his words. "I believe we will call HIM, and see if his thinking is along the lines of my own."

Oasis pulled air through her nose so sharply, even without her tight expression, the call of her bluff was shown. She looked away from Marcus, pointing her gaze to the floor, the wheels of her mind could be seen. Worry passed along her face, like a race of champions.

"Yes, you know what HE will say already, don't you?" Not needing an answer he continued. "He will say of course! He will also give the details, though I'm sure not as cruel as my own would be. You should feel lucky; a pampered little slut like yourself would not wear clothes in comfort, if it were left to me!" His words hid none of his anger, but he smiled anyway, seeing her level of anxiety continues to rise. "Get the phone for me," he said, then added, "On your knees."

When Oasis rose to her feet and began to step towards the phone, his actions hid none of his anger either. Grabbing her hair and twisting it around his hand, he gathered her, head and body to him. "On. your. knees. O.a.sis!" A pronunciation into her ear, to mimic her own.

When he pulled her hair down, she had no choice but to go with it. She felt the first sting of tears rise to the back of her throat. Not from any pain, but from a feeling of humiliation so strong. Her anger a battle to this feeling, her lack of choice the victor, seeing her to the floor. She progressed this way, her hair an unexpected leash, as he walked with her kneeled to the phone. Anger rose once more in a last effort of defiance. Crossing her arms indignantly in front of her, she poised this way, without words.

"You are a foolish slut, as well as a child," he said, a touch of contempt in his voice. Taking her hair once more around in his hand, the slack taken in, causing her chin to lie back, he said, "Pick it up Oasis, or I will be obliged to painfully continue, until every hair, beautiful to HIM, dangles from my hand."

Feeling her face lifted against the roots of her hair tightly bound, she gasped audibly with pain. Another slight upward movement, and her hands reached blindly for the phone, the first tear to escape, she felt pooled in her ear. Her shaking fingers clasped the phone, bringing it up to her line of vision. When she opened her eyes, she saw the phone, but saw too, the burning anger reflected in Marcus' eyes. His release of her hair to take the phone came with a slight push. She fell forward, her hands instinctively in front of her, keeping her face from hitting the floor. Laying her forehead to the carpet she caressed her stinging scalp. A small comfort hearing only one side of the conversation of the phone above her. His grasp of her hair again brought her back to her knees roughly. Her hands and his one tangled into her tresses. Pulling even more tightly, her position made even more to submission, her elbows brought out, her kneeled, as if for inspection. Feeling the phone held to her ear for her she closed her eyes, and hoped Master would rescue her.

"Oasis," Philippe said gently.

It was genuine, this tone, she knew, but also she felt his regret to have to punish her.

"Go back to your bed, assume your punishment position, bent over, and wait."

She wanted to explain, to plead her own behavior, but as inflated as she had made the situation, she knew there was no explanation worthy of his mercy. "Yes, Master," she whispered, feeling she really was a lucky slut, or child, or slave, or being. Marcus still held her scalp to its very end, and she knew Philippe's punishment would never be close to losing her hair.

Her scalp's reprieve, felt again, being pushed to the floor, and humiliated; Oasis crawled back to her bed, standing as told bent over, ready for punishment. The bottom of her silk wrap touched the curve of her bottom cheeks. So exposed and even with disdain of her audience, she felt the cool touches of air grace her private skin, and arouse her unwillingly. She saw Marcus across the bed from her; phone poised towards her, then the first sting against her bottom.

Her initial cry was from knowing the only other person in the room to deliver this slap was Sherita. Her next cries were gained from this novice hand, and made even more prominently felt, because the force told her, Sherita was gaining back from her, all of the misery she had bestowed. Humiliation was only one portrayal all three in attendance, two in the room and one on the phone, could hear. When Sherita stopped briefly to place pillows under her patient's breasts, this was the only attention given to her healing body. The hand that struck her again, and again, became ruthless in it's intent. Oasis imagined Philippe on the other end of the line, content as a full king, knowing in Sherita, he had found a natural enforcer, hearing her cries turn to sobs.

The phone placed back to its cradle, Marcus came back to the bed, and his anger abated some. He helped Oasis lay comfortably on her back, inwardly pleased, when she winced to adjust her bottom to this position. Even more pleased to see a docile, obedient slave again. Attaching her collar, he chained her to the iron lattice, the rest of her body free. "The rest of this day and night you will stay in bed," he stated, and left her before she could have any comment about it.

It was only when she needed to use the bathroom that she thought of how many hours she still had left to await her release from the bed. Her bladder continued its torture into the late hours of morning. A fitful sleep finally took her. In her dreams, she was crying, and awoke, a sob in her throat, when she realized, she had peed her bed. It was made even worse, when Marcus released her without saying a word, but she felt his laughter when he picked up the phone for himself, to order her a new mattress.

Enlightenment

Sherita felt some remorse for accepting her role so blithely. Her inner beliefs, her instilled teachings, had all but been thrown out, by the first hand she laid, across Oasis' exposed bottom. She wanted to deny to herself, she enjoyed it, but the complete satisfaction to hear these cries come from Oasis, could not be denied. The sheer primal desire it invoked from her blood stream, even to think of this small power bestowed to her, alarmed her senses. She had thoughts of leaving. Turning in her resignation, and quitting what was battling her upbringing, her sense of right and wrong.

Sitting quietly, alone in the kitchen, she stroked the new implement in her hand. A crop, the kind used on horses! The leather was soft against her fingertips, though only moments before, it burned her hand each time she welled it uncertainly against Oasis' exposed skin. "The moans!" She could not believe how much they excited her, and almost made her hand strike the fashioned rod with even more intent. But.he was there, a silent guide to her, with a look, or a hand movement telling her just how it should be done. She was careful not to hit his hand. A hand giving pleasure, while hers was giving pain. "Oh Lord," she said, out loud, her hands on either side of her face supported by her elbows on the table. "I am too old, to feel so uncertain."

He had arrived today bearing gifts. His enthusiasm was so boyish; Sherita could not help her anticipation to know what was in her elongated box. When she carefully lifted the lid, and saw the riding crop amidst the delicate tissue paper, she could not imagine a stranger gift. Her questioning thoughts looked up with her, but his attention was already away. A bounding joy she saw, the moment he took Oasis in his arms. The kiss being shared she discreetly looked away from. Spanking Oasis until she cried, at the time, she wondered what kind of reception he would get coming home. Seeing them interlaced, like lovers in a movie, she had to smile. It was like watching a miracle of forgiveness and love unfolds before her eyes. She personally would have slapped his face the minute he walked through the door, but with Oasis as a patient, she was learning, the bitter and the sweet, life sometimes gave you, were surprises.

"Oasis!" He exclaimed, breaking their lips apart, and pushing her arm lengths to look at her. "Sherita, merci, merci! She looks wonderful!"

Sherita smiled modestly to him. Even with some extra duty thrown into her job description, she knew her task had been performed well.

"Come, Oasis, sit down with me. I have a gift for you too." He lead her to the couch, and once seated, kissed her again gently. This time letting his eyes open, enjoying the complete iridescence of her face so close to his own. With a force of will, he pulled back from her. Her eyes seeking his immediately with a look of such arousal, he thought she might demand him to take her right there! Her silent demand only added to his excitement to be with her again. Pulling a small box from the packages at his feet, he presented it to her in one hand, palm up. The other hand pulled her fingers eagerly to open it.

It was contagious. This abundant exuberance from him thrilled her. She had watched Sherita open her gift, and seeing the contents too, she had no questions as to its use, and its intent. Enveloped in his kiss, drove any senses out of her, except for her responding happiness to be with him again. Sherita was forgotten, as she slowly lifted the hinged lid of the tiny box. He had long ago stopped giving her jewels, flowers, things she found insubstantial, and never found meaning in, so a tiny box was like opening a secret. His ankle chain was the only adornment to her body, and the only one she would wear, without being told to add his favorite earrings, or necklace, sometimes a tiny bracelet. The metallic shine revealed a key. A simple shiny new key, against the simple velvet red backing of the tiny box. It was her turn to look questioningly to him, contentment in knowing that there was no one else waiting for him to greet.

"Philippe." she began, but his fingers went to her mouth, a small command of silence, she knew to accept.

Sitting back against the couch, he spread his legs, and pulled her into his lap, scooting her bottom to the cushion exposed between his thighs. She did not resist, pleasing him, with her silence, a command he had taught her initially. Pulling her back against him, he relaxed, even though her body was tight with anticipation. "It's a key Oasis, to what will start the vessel, that will take you, take all of us, to your new home." His arms were around her sitting torso, preventing her from jumping up instantly in response to this news. She tried to stand; tried to turn around to him and face him, but he held her tightly in place. "All you have to say is, yes." Holding her securely around the middle with one hand, the other raised her skirt, revealing her stocking thighs, and sensual garters holding them. He pushed his fingers and hand under the garter strap of one thigh, caressing her exposed skin. Feeling her relax some against him, he said again, "All you have to do is say, yes."