The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (5 page)

“Michael deliberately stacked the deck against you from the
beginning,” he continued. “He set you up to fail.”

“I didn’t fail,” I said.

“Exactly. But you were meant to. My guess is that he
expected you to use your safe word almost immediately, undoubtedly during the
first punishment, when he spanked you. It would have been an important part of
the script that you use the safe word, and it’s the only reason he gave you
one. The mask’s sensory deprivation elevated the fear, and would have done in
any average newcomer.”

I stared at him, lost in what he was saying.

“But you weren’t average,” he said. “You didn’t use the safe
word. And so Michael had to up the stakes and change his plan.”

“How do you know this?”

“I don’t know it for absolute certain, but the evidence
points to it.”

“What was his plan to begin with?”

“My team and I had to sift through other videos in his
personal library. My guess, from what I saw in those recordings, is that he
planned to put you in a position where you were forced to use your safe word.
Then he would have exploited the guilt of your failure to manipulate you into
doing things you wouldn’t have done otherwise, probably sexual acts with him
and Kamun. He would have tried to convince you to allow the crew to film it,
and if you didn’t agree, he would have sent the crew out of the room, and used
the still cameras to film you anyway.”

My mind was reeling. I took a few steps down the path,
stopped, took a few more. I looked toward the lake, then back to Gibson. “Good
God. You’re serious?”

He was so calm, so held together as he explained himself. “I
am. Michael had done similar things before, with the exception of using the
hood. That was new, and hints that he sensed you’d be harder to break than the
others.”

My entire body stilled. This was something I hadn’t
considered. I had assumed what happened that night was what Michael planned to
happen. That my refusal to use my safe word had changed things, taken the
events of that night in a different direction ... I didn’t know what to make of
it.

Gibson took my arm and led me down the path to a small bench
that nestled between a pair of large, leafy bushes. We sat on the smooth wood,
next to one another, but not touching. I stared past him, seeing nothing, only
aware of the whirl of conjecture inside me.

I was supposed to use my safe word. Gone in a different
direction. How different?

As if Gibson heard my unspoken question, he said, “Because you
didn’t use your safe word, Michael had to move onto a second punishment, which
he wouldn’t have anticipated needing to do. He left the room after your first
punishment. I think he did that to take some time off camera in order to decide
what to do next.”

That made sense, I thought. It all made sense.

“After Michael returned and stopped what the others were
doing to you,” he said, “he took Kamun aside and spoke with him. There’s no way
of knowing what was said since the sound was edited out. I think Michael was
telling Kamun what they’d be doing next.”

I thought, Michael stopped what the others were doing to me.
Stopped Kamun from hurting me with his dry fingers, something he had only been
doing because I’d been left alone, because Michael was off considering what to
do next. Was it true? And even more importantly, did it matter?

“So then they flogged you,” Gibson said. “The both of them,
without warming you up properly. At one point, they were hitting you in
alternating strokes. It should have broken you, forced you to use your safe
word. Once again, though, you blew his plans and didn’t stop him. He called it
quits barely in time to avoid doing real harm to you.”

I remembered the ferocious swiftness of the strikes, had
suspected two floggers were used. Of course, I couldn’t have known two men were
wielding those floggers.

“The mood shifted at that point,” Gibson continued. “It was
obvious on the video that Michael got excited after the flogging. I think he
was both impressed and aroused by you not doing what he expected.”

He paused, seemed to be considering his words for a moment.
“I think he then threw out whatever ideas he had of returning to his original
script. From that point on, he played it however it moved him. He got wrapped
up in the idea of actually punishing you, and he wanted to see how far you
would go, how much you could take.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to believe this or not, could
hardly believe it, regardless. “I don’t understand how you can know this,
Gibson.”

“It would help if we could watch the video together. It’s
all there.”

More nausea. Always the nausea. “No. I can’t. You’ll just
have to tell me.”

A moment of sympathy passed over his features. “Okay. I’ll
try to explain. For one thing, after the second punishment, Kamun and the crew
had to scramble around to keep up with Michael’s movements. It was obvious they
didn’t know what he might do next. I’m certain he never planned to secure you
on that table, or he would have had it readied in advance. Instead, he had to
uncover it, and then the lights had to be dragged across the room and there was
a great deal of nonsensical dubbing throughout it all, probably hiding
Michael’s directions and the crew’s complaints. The body language of Kamun and
the crew suggested they weren’t happy with Michael changing the plans.”

“One important piece of evidence is at the end,” Gibson
continued. “As Michael finished the blows of your final punishment, Kamun
approached you, clearly expecting to do something to you. Michael pushed him
away, and it was apparent to me that he was warning Kamun off of you. There was
a brief, heated discussion, but it was dubbed over with rubbish about how the
sub had paid for her sins, and so on with the absurd, invented plot.”

I nodded. I remembered the plot well. The hokey dialogue.
The disobedient sub. It should have been laughable, beyond corny, and it would
have been, had it not starred me.

“Kamun and the crew obviously weren’t happy,” Gibson said.
“Kamun stalked out of the room, and the crew followed him, leaving their gear
and shutting the door behind them. Michael quickly struck you one more time
then climbed onto the table, straddling you. Then ‘The End’ flashed on the
screen. It was over.”

I tried to catch up with everything Gibson said. The video
ended when Michael climbed on top of me, just after he finished the ten blows.
I well knew, though, that my time in that room and on that table didn’t end
there. There was a lifetime yet to go, where Michael made me wear the
completed, miserable hood while he took me.

I looked at Gibson, his calm expression, so steady and
controlled in his explanation, telling me what must have been hard for him,
probably nearly as difficult as it was for me to hear.

“That wasn’t the end,” I said. “I mean, where the video
ended. More happened.”

“I know. There was an uncut recording of that night, in his
library, only of the wide-angled stationary feeds, no soundtrack.”

“You watched it?”

“I did.”

“Has anyone else?”

“No.”

“It was just Michael with me, alone, at the end, on the
table?”

“Yes.”

“The others, they seemed angry when he made them leave?”

“Yes. I think Michael had promised them that they would be
with you, but he changed his mind and sent them away. It was similar to what
happened in the bonus shower video, which was actually more of a clip. The crew
surprised him by showing up in the doorway. He tried to wave them off but they
ignored him. He let them film for a short while, less than five minutes, then
he stood up and took a step toward the camera. The clip ended there.”

“Did you find more footage from the shower? I mean, in
Michael’s private library, or anywhere else?”

“No.”

I needed to move. I stood up and headed down the path again.
Gibson quickly caught up and fell in alongside me. We were soon beside the
lake, winding around the edges of the sparkling water, next to the rushes and
cattails which lined the shore.

I didn’t know what to make of everything Gibson described.
For the second time, what I thought happened that night wasn’t what actually
happened. Or it was, but it wasn’t. It was difficult to keep straight. Too many
versions of one night.

I was relieved to know that only Michael had sex with me. I
hadn’t dwelled on it in the past weeks, but I hadn’t dared hope that the others
hadn’t been given a turn with me while I was strapped to the table. And now I
learned that Michael sent them away. I wasn’t violated, or not in that way, at
any rate.

Then there was the what-if. What if I had used my safe word
the way Michael had intended? It would have been a different evening. Would he
have been able to manipulate me into agreeing to the cameras, to Kamun joining
us? No way to know with certainty.

Maybe, though, I wouldn’t have given in to the phony
guilting. Maybe I would have left unscathed, and there would have been no video
that anyone would pay to see. Michael couldn’t have destroyed everything,
because he wouldn’t have had a weapon.

It was a killer what-if. I snagged a long reed as I passed a
clump of grasses. I shredded the reed in seconds, sending curly strands of
green twirling onto the stone path.

I turned to Gibson. “Why have you told me all of this? It’s
only confusing me. Making me regret more.”

“No,” he said quietly, gently, “no additional regrets.”

He touched my arm, slowing my march until he brought me to a
halt.

The sunlight fell on his handsome face and sparkled on his
dark hair, in the few strands of silver around his temples. I was breathing
quickly from emotion and the short burst of speed, but Gibson was steady as
ever, an emblem of calm support, the patient and compassionate guide.

He held my gaze. “I told you this for two reasons. First, to
explain how wrong Michael was in the way he treated you that night, all the
ways he was a bad dominant. You need to know, so in the future, you’ll know
what you should demand from a partner. And hopefully, what to avoid.”

I could accept that, even appreciate it.

“Michael’s misconduct began with the premise of the
evening,” he said, “punishing you for behavior that wasn’t wrong to begin with.
And it ran throughout the night. He pushed you too far, hit you too hard and
too many times, he left you alone with untrustworthy men, he put you in a hood
that would have muddled your thinking, and then, he completed the hood with a
gag that left you unable to use your safe word. I’m guessing he never gave you
an alternate signal to use to warn him if you needed to stop or if something
went wrong.”

I shook my head. No, he hadn’t. And I hadn’t ever thought
about that, neither at the time nor later.

“Then,” Gibson added, his voice gaining intensity as he
listed Michael’s many wrongs, “finally, as if all the other things weren’t
enough, he took you to the shower for what should have been much-needed and
well-earned aftercare. But instead of caring for you, he disregarded your
mental and physical state and raped you.”

That charge took me aback. “No, he didn’t rape me. He asked,
and I told him he could do it.”

“You were in no condition to give consent. He took
advantage. It was selfish and wrong, Nonnie. I can’t say this strongly enough.
He basically raped you.”

I saw by his tense look, and the rising heat in his voice
that there was little to be gained by arguing. I understood, and agreed with
everything else he said Michael did wrong that night. However, the events in
the shower, the power of the moment, then and later, that was different. Gibson
didn’t understand, and I didn’t know how to explain it to him, wasn’t sure I
understood it myself.

I thought it best to move past it. And anyway, I was still
in the throes of the what-ifs.

“Okay,” I said, “that’s one reason. You said you had two.”

His face softened. “I did. I thought that if you knew what
actually happened that night, from Michael’s point of view, that it might take
away some of the pain of his betrayal.”

I furrowed my brows. Impossible.

“You told me that you thought you were a dupe that night,
that by setting you up to be filmed, Michael ruined what you considered a proud
moment, an accomplishment. You thought Michael was laughing at that
accomplishment, belittling it.”

I nodded slowly.

“You were wrong about that,” he said. “Michael was impressed
by what you did, so much so that he changed his plans, eventually tossed out
his friends. You may have started the night as a dupe in his eyes, but I assure
you, he didn’t see you that way for long.”

He stopped, not expecting a response from me, but giving me
a moment to let his words sink in.

Michael saw me as an easy mark, and then he didn’t. Did it
matter?

Gibson squeezed my hands lightly. “Michael did some bad
things that night, but he didn’t ridicule your efforts or make a mockery of
your suffering. I don’t think he ever would have created and released that film
on his Web site if you hadn’t chosen to be with me, and if he hadn’t believed
himself pushed into a corner.”

“If I haven’t been clear enough,” he continued, “I’ll
re-word it. That night was special for you, and I’m certain it was special for
him, too, or at least as special as anything can be for someone like Michael.”

I considered the idea. Was Gibson right? Did Michael take my
actions seriously after all?

When Michael accosted me at my apartment on the terrible day
when I learned about the videos, he said something about me astonishing him the
night of my punishment. He said he’d done similar things before, with other
submissives, and he thought I was like them, until he saw how far I could go.

At the time, I dismissed what he said, believing he was
simply pulling his typical bullshit routine. But I might have been wrong;
perhaps he was being honest for once.