Page 15 of Break Me
I jerk against his hand, but he tightens, imposing his command upon me with the silent force of his grip, his gaze, and his very presence. I choke back the growing lump in my throat and imbue my words with more sincerity. “I-I’m going to become a precious little submissive who will make my master very proud.” The last word morphs into a whimper, and I shut my eyes tight as defeat, confusion, and something hopeful whir inside me.
Dax swipes his thumb across my cheek. “That’s right. A pretty little submissive. Made to serve and please. You’re gonna make some man very proud indeed.”
I want to repel his words, but his slow strokes and the tender resonance of his voice make it impossible. Leaning into his touch, I inhale a stuttering breath that shakes through my chest.
“Good girl,” he praises again, straightening, and the words are like a soothing balm to my broken soul. “I can already feel you giving in.”
“I’m not—” My words break off as a swoosh of air inflates the front of the collar. Gasping, I open my eyes and stare up at Dax as he squeezes the pump attached to the collar. More air seeps into the collar, filling a small rubber ball at the bottom that expands right against my windpipe.
“So good,” he croons as he keeps stroking my cheek.
“No, no,” I pant. “Stop.” My hands shoot up to grab his, but there’s no give as I pull at his strong fingers, and he pumps again. The ball presses into my windpipe, and my breaths become shallow gusts rushing past my parted lips. “I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.” His soft words and gentle caresses are such a contradiction to the cruel pressing at the front of my throat that my head spins. “Not as effortlessly as before, but you’re still getting air into your lungs.” Releasing the pump, he presses his big, calloused hand to the top of my chest, and my hands automatically follow, still clutching onto his. “Feel.”
I focus on my chest and my rapid breaths. The air does reach past the constriction, but panic still hovers along the edges of my mind as I feel like my throat is about to close completely.
“Slow down your breaths.” He sinks down in front of me to get better access to my eyes as he guides me. “Breathe in deeply.” He demonstrates with a long inhale through his mouth. “And out slowly.” He pushes the air back out on a steady exhale.
I imitate as he goes again, clinging to his hand on my chest like it’s the only thing holding me out of the gaping pit of panic that threatens to swallow me whole.
“That’s it. Keep going like that.” He continues breathing slowly and demonstratively—in and out, in and out—and I keep following—in and out, in and out. When he stops, I realize my breaths have steadied, and the looming panic has receded.
He pulls me into him, cupping the back of my head as he lets me rest against his chest. I can’t think, I can’t move. All I can do is keep breathing as the small protrusion in the collar presses against my windpipe. I claw my fingers against his thighs, but it’s more in search of stability than to resist.
When he helps me onto the mattress to lie on my side, my head is empty.
“Say the words again,” he whispers. When I part my lips but can’t remember, he says them for me, this time with a small but potent change. “I am a precious little submissive who is making my trainer very proud.”
“I—” I dart my tongue out to lick my lips. “I am a precious little submissive who is making my trainer very proud.”
Tears leak from my eyes. I feel wholly and utterly at his mercy. Exposed and vulnerable, yet somehow safe. It doesn’t make sense, and I can’t get my head working to try and solve the riddle. I just stare up at him, blinking as the tears keep dripping, baring my innermost vulnerabilities and cracking open parts of me I never wanted and always rejected.
I feel utterly broken yet strangely calm when he grabs the pump and releases the air. The world around me slowly filters back in, but a haze has settled over my brain, dulling the fear, keeping me floating in this strange restfulness.
He removes the collar with slow carefulness as if not to break the spell. Then he gives me a final stroke on the cheek, gets up, and leaves. The lights go off, and I drift away into some deep, peaceful place, hovering at the edge of consciousness, with Dax’s deep voice lingering in my ear.
10
DAX
“Can you patch up this girl?” one of the trainers asks as he drags a beat-up girl into my office.
He’s about to dump her on the exam table when I turn in my leather chair. “No.”
He pauses and lifts a brow at me. “No? What the hell do you mean, no?”
I grab a first aid kit and toss it to him. “Do it yourself. I’m busy.”
“With what?” He gestures to the empty desk in front of me.
“Just get out,” I say with irritation as I point at the door.
The girl groans as he hauls her back out, and the door slams as he shoves it into its frame.
I let out an exasperated sigh and press my hand to my forehead as I lean back in my chair. When can I get some goddamn peace? Everyone keeps coming in here, wanting me to wax a pussy, perform an enema, or patch up a few cuts.
Why the hell can’t they do it themselves? It’s not rocket science.