EIGHTEEN

The sunshine through the sheers was bright, telling her she’d slept long past her normal hour. Lifting her head, she saw it was eight o’clock. She rarely slept past six or seven, but she expected being in Dale’s arms was responsible. Just as the fact he was no longer there was probably why she was waking up. He’d left the covers pulled around her, though, leaving her like a nested bird. The thought made her smile.

Lifting her head, she found him. He was sitting in the wing-backed chair, watching her. He was fully dressed, clean-shaven. He was reading her morning paper but, seeing her wake, he set it aside. As her gaze coursed up to his face, everything stilled. The expression he wore wasn’t a lazy morning smile, a lover about to ask her if she wanted pancakes. It was that of a stern Master.

He’d called her an independent, strong woman, and she was that. She was capable, self-sufficient. Yet that expression awoke deeper, far more primal responses, bringing the submissive in her to full alert, uneasy and anticipating at once, though it was a little more weighted on the uneasy side, given his forbidding countenance.

“That thing I said, about teaching you every day not to handle the things that aren’t your job to handle?” His eyes glinted. “I’m a man of my word. Bring me your hairbrush. No robe. You stay naked until I give you permission to wear clothes.”

She slid from the bed, shivering a little in the morning air as she moved to the bathroom. The tile was cold under her bare feet. She picked up the wooden brush. It had the carving of a hummingbird on the back, surrounded by petunias. She’d bought it at one of NOLA’s craft fairs, the brush carved by a local artisan. She brought it to Dale, lowering her eyes as she stood between the span of his boots.

“Am I your friend right now, Athena? Your equal?”

She shook her head.

“Then how should you be addressing me, girl?” he snapped, making her jump.

“Master. Sir.”

He latched onto her wrist and pulled her forward. He directed her down over his knees, such that her breasts were pressing into his calves, her legs sprawled ignominiously over his other leg, spread by his knee there. He put a hand on her ass, holding her in the precarious position. “Put your palms on the floor.”

It required her to shift forward, perching her ass at the highest point, centered between his legs. Her knees were bent, toes barely holding on to the floor, only his hold on her backside keeping her stable. Then he changed that anchor point, putting his hand between her legs and clamping it around her pussy, his thumb pushed against her rim. “You keep your legs spread. You don’t worry about balance. That’s up to me. Why are you being punished, Athena? Why will I punish you every day like this until I’m satisfied you’ve learned the lesson?”

Every day? Did that mean he’d be here every morning? Her pussy dampened at the thought, even as her pulse increased in trepidation. As tender as she knew he could be, he was equally capable of this, silencing every voice in her head but the one that told her she better follow his every order to the letter.

“For . . . for trying to handle things that I shouldn’t. For trying to handle my Master.”

“And?”

“I—I don’t know, sir.”

The brush came down on her left buttock, stinging and sharp, making her jump. “For not caring for your Master’s property. You are my property. You understand, girl?”

“Yes sir.” She bit back a yelp as he struck her again. “Yes, Master.”

“I’m going to give you a pretty severe spanking this morning. Enough that by the end of it you’re going to be trying to get away. But I’m just going to hold you down and keep going until I’m sure you understand. Because words alone won’t do it.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said, trying to hold on to the floor as he shifted.

“Not as sorry as you need to be, girl.” And then he made good on his word.

She was sure he was holding back, because he looked powerful enough to put someone through a wall, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. She tried to be still and quiet, accept her punishment, but he’d predicted that correctly as well. Before he was done, she’d lost track of the count and was squirming, screaming, trying to get away. He proved without a doubt then that he was far stronger than she was, holding her in that position with one arm, bringing the brush down again and again until she was jerking at every blow, sobbing, clinging to his pants leg. Then he made her let go of him and put her palms back on the floor as he’d commanded, before giving her five more strong whacks. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his leg, shuddering with the pain.

Her relief at seeing him place the brush on the side table was overwhelming. She was panting, her heart thundering. He eased her to the floor between his feet, positioning her so she was facing away from him. He wasn’t in a mood to be tender yet, though. “On your ass, girl. Don’t you try to avoid it. Draw your knees up to your chest, link your arms over them.”

She winced as the position stretched the skin over the most abused portions of her throbbing buttocks, but she clenched her fingers together over her knees, rocking forward. His hands were on her hair, undoing the braid. As her sobs slowed to little hiccups, she wondered at his silence, wondered what he was thinking or planning next. He stroked his fingers through the wavy strands, loosening them. Then he picked up the brush and began to use it on her hair.

Deep, massaging pulls, the bristles scratching her scalp in a soothing way. She sniffled, shook, rocked against his touch. When he reached forward to pull a loose strand away from her face, she brushed her mouth against his fingers. As he stopped, holding his hand there, she turned her face into his palm fully. She cried, even as she nuzzled him, touched her tongue to the creases between his fingers.

She was a wreck, but that hard shell she’d formed around herself these past few days had literally been beaten to pieces. What was left beneath was raw and vulnerable, but not broken. If anything, she felt as if she was kneeling over her own soul, retrieving it from that shell, seeing it free at last.

He took his hand away and began brushing once more. She closed her eyes, letting the tears run freely, her ass hurting, every part of her shaking. At some point, she realized he was humming, a quiet, soothing sound as he followed each stroke of the brush with a stroke of his hand through her hair.

She wasn’t sure how long he did it, but it was the most memorable aftercare she’d ever experienced or witnessed. The clock ticked on the wall, the only noise beyond the tiny adjustments normal to the house, the faint sound of birds outside. She was glad she’d given the staff off until next week. She liked it like this, just the two of them.

The simple stasis became something else as the tears died back. She thought of what she’d wanted last night. That had been the lust, the desire for emotional and physical release, but this had a different need entangled with it.

“Master?” Her voice was rusty with tears.

He paused. “Yes, girl?”

“May I . . . thank you?”

His hands resumed their movement along her hair. “Do you think you deserve that?”

“No sir. But I want to give you pleasure. Please.”

He stopped again. She heard him shift, sit back. Eagerness flooded her as she heard the metal of his belt being unbuckled, his jeans being unzipped, the adjustment of clothing.

“Turn around and get on your knees. Arms boxed behind your back, hands holding your forearms.”

He wasn’t going to allow her to touch him except with her mouth. While that disappointed her, another part of it took it as an extension of the same punishment. She’d overstepped her authority with her Master. If she put it in Dale’s terminology, he was sure as fuck going to make sure she didn’t do it again.

As another side effect of his punishment, she realized she’d let go of what had happened with Sheila. It still felt raw, painful, but when her mind turned to it, there was no cringing embarrassment or sense of failure. At least right now. If she even considered those negative feelings, the punishment he’d just given her overrode it. It was a deliberate form of conditioning. God help her, he’d implied he’d be dishing it out to her regularly, but, perverse as it seemed, that made her feel better. He was in control. The punishment reminded her that any attempt to hold control broke his rules. And he was right. That reminder had brought relief. Pain had accompanied it, but as a result, there’d been no room for shame or regret. Paying the consequences of her actions took care of that.

He put his hands on her upper arms and shifted her forward on the carpet, bringing her mouth within range of his cock, jutting up hard from the nest of testicles. He’d merely opened the jeans, freed his shaft from them and the boxers beneath. He wasn’t going to give her a tempting view of his ass or upper thighs. She was servicing her Master, pure and simple, and it made everything in her tighten up and contract, every nerve ending rippling with eager, excruciating need.

He gathered her brushed hair into a tail, holding it in his fist. With the pressure of his closed hand against her scalp, he brought her down to him. Because her arms were boxed behind her, she had to depend on his hold, the hand he had on her shoulder to control her descent and direction. Then she had her mouth on his cock.

She made a hungry noise as she enclosed it, slid down to the root. He grunted, hand tightening in her hair, and he began to control all the movements, up and down, making it clear her mouth was at his disposal, to use as he desired. Arousal from her pussy made her calves slick, but even before that she’d been wet, from the spanking of all things. Through the punishment, her nipples had stayed hard, her heart thumping erratically with arousal as well as pain-induced adrenaline.

She’d accepted she was a submissive, but discovering how much his harshest punishments could turn her on was still new at times. The moment she’d opened her eyes in the bed and Dale had given her that look, telling her he was going to be cruel with her, she’d started to respond. She didn’t think she was a hardcore masochist, but she was realizing the punishment helped her put her mind in the right place. He had figured it out well ahead of her. Which was why he did it, of course. That, and because he purely enjoyed it, in a way that inexplicably thrilled her.

She focused on his taste, his scent, the heat and weight of him. It was more than his cock. She loved the sheer solidity and dense strength he possessed. His toughness was more than a surface thing. He was just as strong inside, a man who’d proven he was capable of handling a great deal, for himself and others.

So often he’d had to fish the words out of her, but during this pure service, she felt everything they’d discussed last night. She saw the difference between handling things she incorrectly felt like she couldn’t rely upon him or shouldn’t ask him to do, and wanting to do things for him purely out of love. She wanted to make things easier for him because he was her Master, and he loved her. He gave her a sense of safety and well-being that made her want to do the same for him.

It was amazing, what one spanking could do. If he delivered on his daily threat, she might solve all the world’s problems in a week. Maybe they should have Dale hand out spankings to Congress. With a really, really big paddle.

But for now, she had one focus, and she gladly surrendered her undivided attention to it. She sucked on his cock, accommodating him by relaxing her throat muscles as he pushed her down to the root, then brought her back up again. She worked with him, bobbing up and down, flicking her tongue over him with mad, hungry delight, making matching noises in her throat as she increased the suction, nipping at him here and there.

“Fuck . . .” His oath was music to her. She kept at it, directed by his closed fist on her hair, the strength of his arm pushing down, drawing her up. Please come for me, Master. He could take her to a mindless state where she had only one sharp wish. To serve him, to feel his release and know she’d cared for him as she should.

His thighs shifted beneath her gaze, his breath increased. His fingers convulsed in her hair, the grip on her shoulder bruising. Her own fingers, gripping her forearms in the boxed position along her back, were damp from the effort she was putting into this. Then that effort was rewarded.

His cock jerked, convulsed in her mouth. She prepared herself, reveling in it when his seed spurted into the back of her throat, so violently she had to struggle to hold on to it, sealing her lips hard around him as he continued to shove her down upon him. She swallowed, coughed, swallowed, and took him down, using her tongue to lash at him, gather it all up, swallow some more.

He slowed with a shudder, a long, satisfied male sigh. She was worked up, highly aroused, but she wanted to stay that way. She wanted him to fuck her, but she also wanted to be like this, too, in a state of constant eager readiness for him. In some vague part of her mind, she realized she was hovering on the edge of a different type of subspace, everything gone except this, and she hadn’t even climaxed. He’d taken her there another way, with the extreme punishment, followed by the demand of servicing him, two things she hadn’t even realized how much she wanted and needed until she did them.

“Bring me a warm washcloth.”

She rose on shaking legs, went into the bathroom and ran the water. She glanced up at the mirror as she waited on it, and saw two things. Her face, alive and vibrant, enraptured. His expression in the background, watching her with a possessive . . . contentment. She’d sated him physically for the moment, so what she was seeing was his satisfaction at knowing his sub belonged fully to him. It matched her fierce need to be possessed by him and him alone.

She came back to him, knelt. He took the cloth from her and cleaned himself as she watched with desire beating in her chest, pulsing between her legs.

He rose, tucked himself back into his clothes, rethreaded his belt and touched her head. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

He bent, tipping up her chin to give her lips a quick brush, and then he was moving away down the hall. She listened to his footsteps, the sound of him in her house, and felt . . . balanced.

Dressing was a little difficult since she was having some coordination problems, but by the time she managed to put on jeans and a suitable shirt, clean up her face, she was at least not fumbling her moisturizer. She clipped her hair back on her neck with a silver barrette, sure he wasn’t in the mood to wait for her to style it. He’d said she was beautiful to him, and she was going to believe it. Though she did add a touch of concealer and eye makeup.

She followed her nose to the kitchen, where he was scrambling eggs and working on toast. “I would have made you breakfast,” she said.

“Did I tell you to make me breakfast, Athena?”

“No sir.” She thought of the formal contract that some Masters and subs wrote to clarify rules and structure. He simply led, guiding her with questions and insight, and ferreted out her desires through her responses, crafting that contract between them as they went along. She expected it was a skill from his training, thinking on his feet, mapping out a strategy, and she liked it very much. As nebulous and unspecific as she’d been about what she was seeking from the beginning, it was actually what worked best for her.

Perhaps it was part of what had drawn her to him, seeing those qualities demonstrated in his interactions with Willow or Sally. She thought about their volatile discussion over his continuing to take subs, and the warm memory of how that had been resolved. He was committed to her, and her to him. “May I help in any way?”

“Set the table. And you can wash out the frying pan. Not my favorite thing.”

She suppressed a smile at that, and caught the twinkle in his eye when he saw it. She set the table and scrubbed the pan as he transferred their breakfast to plates and brought them to the table. He held her chair for her, scooting her up to her plate before he took the seat next to her.

Companionable silence reigned for a while as they ate. He commented about the hedge garden they could see out the window, asked about whether her wooden birdfeeders had been custom made. He liked carpentry, working with his hands, and that led to her asking him about his projects. She found out that, before Eddie’s, he’d lived in one of NOLA’s rougher neighborhoods, and had made flower boxes for the families there. He’d also helped with community beautification projects, like setting up a playground on an empty lot.

Impulsively, she reached out, closing her fingers around his resting on the table. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed it, squeezed. “Better today?” he asked, gaze searching her face.

“Much.”

“No embarrassment.” It was a mandate, not a question, and she smiled a little at that.

“Surprisingly, a lot less than I expected.”

“Good.” He gave her an appraising look. “Go to the living room. I have a bag there, on the coffee table. There’s a bottle in it. Bring it back to me.”

Curious, she obeyed. It appeared to be some type of ointment, handmade, because there was no labeling on it. When she put it in his hand, he gestured. “Turn away from me, drop your jeans and panties to your knees.”

He was direct and calm about such orders, whereas they sent things careening in a hundred different directions inside her, like the thrill of a sudden jump of the car over a hump in the road. As she complied, she heard him unscrew the top, then squirt some of the liquid onto his hands. He must have rubbed it into his palms before he began to massage it into her tender flesh, because it was warm when it touched her.

“You’ll put this on twice a day, morning and evening, as long as I decide to give you your daily punishment. Remember, I expect my submissive to care for herself. I like touching her soft skin.”

Since she liked that, too, it seemed a mutually beneficial task. “It also keeps the nerve endings sensitive,” he added. “I want you to feel that punishment, Athena, until I’m sure you’ve learned the lesson.”

She thought of that spanking, shuddered inside at the idea of going through it a countless number of times before he was satisfied. She knew there’d be nothing she could consciously do to convince him; he would be guided by that damnable intuition of his to know when it finally clicked, and she couldn’t really argue with it. It was hard to undo over twenty years of behavior, and she’d already proven, several times now, that it could ambush her, push her back into that cell, as he called it. He intended to seal off that room, and his punishment would be the mortar that did it.

A behavior modification proposal like that brought a dichotomy of anxiety and relief. She was also highly aware of his hands, kneading her buttocks, slipping intimately between them to finger her rim. Then he slid his touch lower and his other arm banded around her waist, bringing her down into a sitting position on his lap. The position allowed him to push his fingers between her labia, his thumb sliding over her clit.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, Master.”

“Are you going to play with it when I’m not around?”

“Only if you tell me to.”

He chuckled against her ear, a dangerous sound. “Wishful thinking, girl. Denying you makes you work harder to please me. When I finally tell you to come, you gush against my cock and mouth harder than when you aren’t denied. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Master. Ahh . . .” She moaned as he pushed his fingers in deeper, rubbed his thumb over her.

“Push your jeans and panties off and spread your legs wider, drape them over my knees. Lay your head back on my shoulder so your spine’s arched.”

He withdrew his hand to let her remove the clothes but kept his strong arm around her waist, seeming to enjoy the wriggling it took her to obey the command. She dropped her head back on his shoulder, looking at the play of sunlight across her ceiling, filtered through the window. Her legs were spread wide, her knees hooked over his thighs, and she cried out as he pushed his hand between her ass and his groin, coming up between her legs to bury his fingers inside her cunt once more. They were hooked at just the right angle to drive her crazy. She was moaning in no time, rocking against his touch, bouncing a little, as much as the position permitted.

“There she is, my hot and shameless girl. Push up your shirt and bra so I can see your nipples, how tight they are.”

She fumbled to obey, tugging on the underwire cups to get them over her breasts. When the garment was resting above them, beneath her chin, the restrictive feel of the band made her think of the breast bondage he’d done on her. His hot breath caressed the right breast because of where he had his jaw resting on her shoulder. The nipple beaded further, winning an approving hum from him. It was indescribably erotic, sprawled on his knees like this, her lower half naked, him masturbating her in front of her west-side gardens, in her kitchen.

“Master . . . I’m so close . . . please.”

“Beg me pretty, and I might let you.”

“Please, Master. I’ll do anything. Please let me come. I’m yours . . . I’ll do anything for you . . . I want you to own all of me, every moment . . . every day . . .”

Maybe he hadn’t intended her to go that far, but once she started, she couldn’t stop the flood of words. His arrival last night, refusing to let her hide anymore, then the shower and curling around her while she slept. Even the spanking and this torment now, it summoned the words from her, gushing forth the same way the orgasm bearing down on her now would. Irrefutable, undeniable.

“I’m yours . . . please, Master.”

“Music to my ears,” he growled. “Your cunt is sucking on my hand. You are my sweet slave, Athena. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master. I’m your slave. Always.” In this moment she truly was, everything emotional and physical surrendered to his will.

“Then come for me. Show me your obedience.”

She came so hard she almost blacked out, her vocal chords straining in one long yearning shriek. His fingers worked her throughout, his arm banded around her waist holding fast, no matter her involuntary struggles. She didn’t come down until spots were scattered across her vision like a Dalmatian’s coat, and she was clinging to his arm, panting.

“There you are, dear girl. There you are. Shh . . .” He was rocking her like a baby, and she turned her face into his, pressing against his temple. She loved him. Yes, she’d been through too much, had loved another man too long, to be ready to say it aloud yet, but with her body, her clutch of her hands, she knew she was telling him.

She loved him.

He held her until the world evened out again, then he shifted her, held her steady while she stepped back into her jeans and underwear. He adjusted her bra and shirt himself, indulging the typical male desire to fondle her thoroughly first. He made her kneel between his feet, her hands placed on his knees.

“So here’s the deal,” he said. “This week, I’m going to see you once a day. You wear a skirt every day, no panties. You keep the brush with you, because you won’t know when or where I’ll show up. When I do, I’ll take us to a private place of my choosing. Once we’re there, you’ll lift your skirt and bend over. I’ll give you your punishment. Each night, I’m going to call you at bedtime. I’ve left that butterfly vibrator I gave you in your nightstand drawer. You’ll use it from the time I call you until I hang up, but you will not come. After five days of that, we’re going to go to Release together. You will be going as my sub. My slave. On that day, I’ll tell you what I want you to wear, how to prepare yourself. Understand?”

“I won’t . . . see you otherwise before then?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice, even as the rest of her quaked at the itinerary he’d laid out. He touched her face.

“We’ll see. I want your mind in a certain place, Athena. This will get it there.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you.” He gave her a disparaging look. “A slave’s punishment can sometimes be just as hard on the Master, remember? So don’t pull this shit again.”

He sobered then, putting his hands over hers. “I think that therapist was right, and what happened at Release unlocked the things you’ve kept tamped down since Roy’s passing. With your staff not due back until Monday, if I hadn’t come to find you, you might have passed out from dehydration, fallen down the stairs; really hurt yourself.”

Color rose in her face. With her head much clearer, the logic was impossible to deny. She’d been irresponsible. What if something terrible like that had happened, and Lynn or Beth had been the one to find her on Monday? How could she do that to them? Or to Dale?

He tightened his hands on hers. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s done. Don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s my job.”

The wry curl to his mouth made her feel a little better, but when she gave him a helpless look of apology, he shook his head, touched her face. “You feel things much deeper than you realize. You’ve held so much inside for so long, when you let it out, it can take you by surprise like that. You scared me, Athena,” he admitted. “It pissed me off, how pale and shaky you were. I wanted to say to hell with it, bundle you up and make you live at my place where I can watch you all the time. It’s the good and bad thing about the kind of Master I am. You’re right. I am overbearing and overprotective. I’m not going to let up on this until I’m sure you won’t put yourself back there again. That you’ll trust me enough to turn to me when you need me.”

She understood that, but . . . “I liked waking up with you.” She didn’t want to be deprived of that for five whole days.

“It was pretty great for me, too.” He ran his knuckle over her cheek, tapped her chin once with it. “Trust that I know what I’m doing, all right?”

She wanted to trust him for always. It was just never as easy as it sounded. She was already feeling nauseous about going back to Release on Friday.

—

She’d fantasized about being under a Master’s full control, but as a practical woman, she realized such a thing was likely best left as a fantasy, the demands of her life being what they were. Over the next five days, Dale proved he was capable of coming pretty damn close to the fantasy, making it her reality in a way that had her mind going in lots of different directions.

She was self-conscious about wearing no panties to the office that first day. It made her feel naked, particularly wearing a skirt. For the first two hours of the morning, she had to force herself to focus, since she found herself listening for his voice every five minutes. At nine-thirty, she gave herself a firm chastising and then redoubled her efforts on the presentation she was preparing, moving from that to a review of their CEO’s progress report for the latest quarter. At ten o’clock her phone vibrated on her desk. Picking it up, she saw his text.

Meet me in the basement, maintenance corridor. You’ll be gone ten minutes.

She shouldn’t be surprised he already knew the layout of her building. Had he anticipated his SEAL training coming in handy for something like this? She suppressed a nervous snicker at the thought. He’d chosen a specific time block that wouldn’t interfere with her ten thirty meeting, but it was close enough to it that when she faced her board she’d likely still be throbbing in multiple ways. Her Master was thoughtful and diabolical.

She picked up her purse, since it contained the brush, and left the office at the quick march in her heels. As she breezed past Ellen’s desk, she told her she had a short errand to run and she’d be right back. Her admin’s bemused reaction wasn’t surprising, since Athena was probably flushed as a fall apple.

At this time of morning, the maintenance crew was dispersed through the building, only the dispatcher on the underground level, and his office was at the end of the hall. Dale was waiting at the entrance to the hallway. He nodded to her, unsmiling. At his gesture, she preceded him, quivering a little when he put his hand to her lower back. He stopped her at the fourth door on the hallway and opened it with his other hand, keeping her in the shelter of his body.

It was one of the generator rooms, soundproof so the rumbling noise wouldn’t impact other activities in the maintenance offices. He let go of her arm and locked the door behind them, sliding a device over the lock that appeared as if it would keep a key from turning the latch from the outside. Then he turned to face her and gave her a silent, expectant look. No greeting, nothing but that uncompromising stare and the crossed arms over his broad chest.

Putting the purse on top of a piece of humming equipment, she removed the brush, handed it to him. Her gaze lowered as he took it from her fingers, her breath shortening as she unzipped the skirt. She let it slide down to her ankles. He guided her to a steel pole, made her grasp it with both hands. Sliding his arm around her, he pressed his palm to her abdomen, and pulled her out further, so she was bent over, holding on to the pole, her hip pressed into his upper thigh and hip bone.

“Open up.”

She spread her legs before she realized he was talking about the yellow rubber ball he was holding, the one he’d taken from her desk that first time he’d visited. She turned rosy at her mistake, but before she could close her legs, he cupped her there. Her pussy was already so wet, two of his fingertips slid into her quivering tissues.

“Good girl. My slave should always make herself accessible to her Master’s cock, wherever he wants to put it. Now, open your mouth.”

The ball gag was put in place, stretching her lips as before, and then he proceeded. He gave her every bit as fierce a spanking with the brush as he had before, such that she was soon squealing against the gag, her fingers biting into the pipe. When he was done and she was breathless, blinking back the tears, he nudged her to an upright position. While he had her continue to hold the pole, he made her step back into her skirt and aligned it properly on her hips, zipping the side zipper. After he straightened her blouse over it, he curved that arm around her waist, pressing her back against him. Leaning into his strength, she watched as he produced a wet wipe packet from his pocket. He cleaned the dirt from the pole off each of her hands, his touch as gentle and careful as it had been brutal.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “Day one, girl. I’ll call you tonight. You sit as much as possible. I want you to suffer. Bad as you scared me, consider yourself lucky I didn’t send you one of those wooden school chairs to sit on all week, instead of that cushy office chair you put your pretty ass into each day.”

He opened the door and checked the corridor before escorting her back to the entrance of the hallway. He left her there with a nod, a press of her arm beneath his firm hand. Clutching her purse, she stared after him, striding across her lobby. The scattering of women all gave him a second look. Though most of the men passing through her lobby wore suits and ties, Dale didn’t need any such fabrication of power. It emanated off the fit man in his dark jeans and T-shirt and commanded attention, likely inspiring all sorts of female fantasies. She tried not to begrudge them that, since he was actually part of her reality. But good heavens, the man had an arm.

Back in her office and sitting in her “cushy chair,” she found herself wondering how much worse the wood would have been, given her ass felt as if it had been pummeled. He’d be doing this every day this week. The same thought that evoked trepidation also kept her pussy soaked, such that she had to go into her private restroom several times to dry herself. The sensitive petals screamed for her to rub them, to bring her some relief, but she restrained herself, remembering her Master’s orders.

Denial just made the desire worse, which he’d made clear was his intent. She’d wear skirts with liners the rest of the week, and keep the box of tissues at her desk so she could put some between her legs while in her office by herself, to staunch the near-constant flow of arousal.

After making that prudent mental note, she gathered up her files and headed for her meeting. She felt like a fish floundering against a heavy, sensual current, threatening to sweep her away.

—

That night, the phone rang at ten, twelve hours after the spanking. Would he be that prompt every night? She expected not. He’d scramble the times to keep her off balance. Like he wasn’t already excelling at that. When she answered, touching her hands-free piece at her ear, her mind was already locked into the place he wanted her to be.

“Yes, Master.”

“Are you in your bedroom?”

“Yes sir.”

“Take off everything, put the vibrator on yourself and lie spread eagle on the bed, legs out as wide as they can go.”

Spreading her legs pressed the clit stimulator even more firmly against her. The first hum of it made her jerk.

“So tell me about your day, Athena. Not just your meeting. Everything you did from the time you got up until I called you just now. In detail.”

She worked her way through her schedule, but of course he wouldn’t leave it there. He asked her questions, making her think through her impressions of people, how she felt about those scenarios, the dynamics involved. All things she might volunteer herself, if she wasn’t losing her mind a thousand brain cells at a time, like lemmings jumping a cliff.

She stumbled and stuttered, gasped, and he patiently kept her on track, sharpening his tone when needed. It became all about pleasing him, and somewhere along the way, she completely let go of herself, immersed in arousal and his voice, answering his demands.

“I’m . . . I’m close, Master. I don’t think I can . . . stop.”

“Stop the vibration.”

She did, with shaky, uncoordinated fingers, and returned her hands to the rails of her headboard, where she’d been clinging, trying to resist the overwhelming desire to come.

“Good girl. We’re done for tonight. You remember to keep your hands away from what’s mine.”

“Yes sir.” She wanted him to keep talking to her, needed something from him, but she didn’t know what. What he gave her helped.

“I love you, Athena. Sweet dreams.”

—

The simple, straightforward way he said it made her cry for some reason. Being so fiercely aroused made a woman emotional, for sure, but it was also because she now knew how deeply he meant it. Dale was a man of commitment. He didn’t make promises he didn’t keep, and he knew I love you was the biggest promise a man could offer a woman.

I hope you get to feel what you’ve given me. Had this been what Roy meant? If so, the love of the husband departed and the lover present were enough to overwhelm her. She almost didn’t get out of bed the next day. She was still aroused, yes, but other emotions were churning inside her as well. She wasn’t due at the office, so she worked in the garden and prepared herself for a tea with several women from the Junior League, another planning meeting for the spring festival.

She was glad Dale had persuaded her to call Lynn and ask her to come back to work before Monday. Okay, well, he’d ordered her to do it, stating he wanted someone around the house with her during the day until he was sure she was solidly on her feet again. She was, enough to resent being treated like a child, but understanding his worry enough to capitulate with grace to the overbearing request . . . this time.

Now, though, she found herself grateful for the companionable chatter with her housekeeper as they set the table in the gazebo and she arranged cut flowers in a vase. Her mind slid to her first meet with Dale there. The way she’d gone to her knees beside him right where Lynn was standing. She’d taken food from his hand.

He’d said he loved her.

Intense BDSM practices like the spanking were so incredibly physical it could leave a woman’s soul feeling a wistful twinge, a craving for the emotional. By cleaning her hands after the spanking, by leaving her with a statement of his love last night on the phone, he weighted the scale firmly back on the side of her heart. With each punishment, he was also helping her reconcile what had happened at the club, tipping the scales away from her fixation on that and instead on what they could have together. At least she sincerely hoped that was what was happening. Trust and faith. That’s what he’d asked of her, and she was trying, day by day.

After the tea with the ladies, she did her workout, a hundred laps in her pool. Usually she donned her functional one-piece for that. But teetering all day on a sharp edge of arousal, trying to predict when Dale would next appear, she was a creature of pure sensuality. It didn’t matter if he arrived now or three hours from now. She wanted to dress as if her Master might come to her at any moment, and when he did, she wanted to give him a reason to linger. Maybe test his control a little bit. The idea gave her a spurt of wicked mischief.

The bikini was a sea green color that picked up the green in her eyes. The first time she’d worn it, Roy had reacted like a randy teenage boy, a gratifying and memorable response. The straps crisscrossed over the sternum so her breasts were lifted and pressed together, the deep cleavage drawing the male eye. The bottoms were a Brazilian cut with several horizontal strands of beads dangling low over the crotch. When she looked at herself from multiple angles in the mirror in the pool house, she saw the bottoms hitched high enough to display the faint bruising of her buttocks from her Master’s punishment. She wanted to show them off like a brand of ownership, and she guessed that was what they were.

She started her laps. On the twenty-fifth, she noticed the light on her phone. She came to the edge, looked.

I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes. Be ready.

He’d texted that eight minutes ago. She responded:

I’m in the pool house, Master.

Then she called the kitchen to let Lynn know he’d be arriving but wouldn’t need an escort. He knew where the pool house was.

She did five more laps to burn off the nervous energy, then left the pool and padded over to her towel. She started, seeing him leaning in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, his gaze sliding over her like his hands. Firm, proprietary. She stopped in the act of reaching for the towel because he shook his head, crooked his finger at her.

She picked up the brush off the lounge chair and came toward him. The blue-green eyes became even more vibrant, watching her walk, the jut of her nipples through the thin suit. When wet, it clung to her pussy and breasts in a way that was pretty much indecent. He put out his hand for the brush, then motioned to her to turn, show him the back. She heard him let out a breath that made her glow. Then quake, because of his next words.

“Going to be extra hard on you today, girl. You’re purposefully tempting your Master, and you’re too damn good at it.”

Her toes curled. He took her arm, guided her into the private changing room, closed the door and took a seat on the bench, reaching out to manacle her wrist with his strong fingers. “Everyone’s in the house,” he said, his tone dark and dangerous. “No one to hear you scream, especially after I gag you with this.”

Instead of the ball gag, today he had a ring gag. There was only one reason a man would put a ring gag on his sub, and that was because he wanted her jaw locked open wide and her tongue pressed down so she was helpless to do anything but take the thrust of his cock.

He gave her a look. “Going to make it interesting, girl? Fight me?”

She thought about the pain of that brush coming down on her haunches. As if following her train of thought, he let his gaze slide that way. “Your ass is nice and wet. It hurts more that way, you know.”

He increased pressure on her wrist and their gazes locked. In an instant, she understood what he wanted, the intense play he wanted to give them both. The pressure of the past two days obliged, her mind willing to play rabbit to his wolf. She twisted, broke the grip, bolted for the door. He caught her, moving much faster than she would have expected. The man was so unbelievably strong, catching her about the waist and swinging her toward the bench as she thrashed and fought him, trying to get away.

That strength also kept her from hurting herself, because though he was relentless, he put her down on her stomach on the bench as if she were an egg. Her knees pressed against the outdoor carpet as he straddled her, gripping her wet hair to bring up her head. She tried to worm away from him as he forced the ring into her mouth, strapped it on. Her struggles earned her a sharp slap on her thigh that quieted her, made her surrender. He cinched the gag around her head, then stepped back.

“Take your bottoms down to your knees. Your thumbs stay hooked into either side of them to keep those hands there.”

Her stomach was on the bench, her breasts on the other side, and as she complied, he circled her, squatting before her to lift her chin. He gazed at her face, her mouth stretched wide with the ring gag, her fevered eyes upon him. His touch dropped so he could play in the cleavage the suit presented, then moved over the wet fabric clinging to her nipples. She whimpered, her fingers tightening in her swimsuit bottoms as he pinched her.

“You’re a wet dream, girl,” he said. “Looking at the way that suit pushes your breasts together, I’m getting some good ideas about the next time I tell you to put it on. I’ll put my fingers in your pussy, collect some of your honey and lube up this sweet cleft”—his fingers stroked the channel between her breasts—“then I’ll put my cock between them and fuck your tits until I come.”

She swallowed, her gaze now pleading. He was making her insane. His next words suggested the feeling might be mutual.

“When you look at me that way, you rip my heart right out of my chest.”

He rose. Moving behind her, he started on day two of her punishment. He was right. Wet flesh made the slap of the brush even more severe, such that she was screaming against the gag in no time.

After it was over, he laid the brush next to her, came back to her front and lifted her onto her knees with a firm grip on her hair and a steadying hand pressed against her chest. As she swayed there, waiting on his pleasure, he opened his jeans, revealing an enormous erection. He stroked it for a few agonizing moments, denying her as her tongue worked against the steel ring, wanting his taste, wanting to do that for him. Her hands were still bound by her swimsuit bottoms, fingers pressed against her thighs.

Finally, he moved forward, taking hold of her hair again and pressing his knees against the bench, his cock to her spread lips. Bound by his will, her mouth controlled by the gag and her hands by his imposed restraints, she could only close her eyes and savor the way it felt, being used by him in whatever manner drove his pleasure, which in turn heightened hers to an almost drug-induced euphoria.

He came quickly, reminding her of what he’d said, about a punishment for the slave testing the Master. She did her best to swallow all of his seed, though of course some escaped, along with the profuse saliva caused by the gag. He didn’t seem to find it unsightly, though. After he tucked himself back in his jeans, he removed the gag and wiped her chin with his fingers, letting her suck on them before he cleaned her face up with another wipe. She stayed as he’d bade her, shaking like a leaf, while he put the gag and wipes back into a small bag he’d brought with him.

“Day two, girl. I’ll call you tonight. Don’t you go back into that pool. You’ve finished your workout for today.”

—

And so it went. She dreaded and longed for the spanking each day, applied the lotion per his direction, grateful for it, and looked forward to his nightly call, despite the fact he’d leave her trembling on the peak of an orgasm. After the second night, she had an ice pack on standby at the end of the call. She’d hold it between her thighs until the throbbing subsided. That way she had half a chance of keeping her erotic dreams from making her come in her sleep.

She remembered how, at the beginning of the week of punishment, she’d felt like her mind was going in all directions. What amazed her was how those vacillating emotions started to spin into one braided rope as the week went on. As if, when all was said and done, all roads led to him. Her daily schedule became easier as she let go of worry about when he would appear, what he would require of her. She trusted him, she anticipated him, she longed for him. She wanted to fulfill her punishment so he could be her Master in other ways. She would never do anything to force his hand like this again. Of course when she told him that, he gave her an amused look.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, girl. You have a stubborn streak and your own way of doing things. I like that about you. I liked it when you fought me. His eyes acquired that lazy, dangerous look that never failed to make her wet. I’ll have to teach you some other maneuvers so we can do a little sparring.

She’d just arrived at her office that morning when the phone buzzed. Her body prickled with heat. Had Dale decided to come and see her this early? He was going to kill her. She had a demanding day ahead. Pulling the phone out of her purse, she read the text.

Day five, girl. No jewelry tonight, just your collar.

She nearly dropped the phone. Sometime over the past few days, a miracle had happened. She’d completely forgotten about the significance of the fifth day. Her mind had become so fixated on all he was doing to her, how she could comply with his demands.

Wear a sexy dress and heels, one of those tiny panty/bra combinations that make me want to fuck you in public so every guy knows you’re mine. Tonight, I’ll be doing just that.

Heat prickled over her skin. Everything about him she’d gleaned from Jimmy suggested he’d always kept it to oral or manual, not actual penetration with his partners. So if he did that, he would be making a statement. She wasn’t just his sub of the evening. She was his sub, period. Sheila’s sneering derision and Amy’s look of dismissal crossed her mind again, as well as Jimmy’s . . . lack of support. She didn’t know exactly how to classify his reaction, except that it hadn’t been positive.

She wished Dale would take her to another club, where their focus could simply be on each other. It had been too much to hope the worry would disappear entirely. As she tried to breathe through the mini–panic attack, she thought about how much calmer she might be if her Master would permit her One. Bloody. Orgasm.

She put it away to deal with her day. A phone conference, emails, a meeting at one of the plantations that would be hosting an upcoming event for the company. When she came home late afternoon, she decided to take a second shower, additional preparation for tonight. It wasn’t until she’d stepped out of the spacious stall and was standing before her closet she realized she’d put herself into a numb mode most of the day, and that wasn’t where Dale would want her to be for this. It wasn’t where or how she wanted to experience it, either. He had made it clear he wanted her to embrace her own desires, that that was what pleased him the most.

Well, if that was the case, she really didn’t desire to go to this club.

She sighed, knowing that wasn’t what he’d meant. She was fingering a dress but waffling over whether or not to wear it. She’d bought it a couple of weeks ago, thinking Dale would really like it, but now she was worried the garment would forever be tainted by what happened tonight, if it went as catastrophically as before.

Why was she letting them define her, have so much power? When Roy was alive, his approval and love had been enough. She had a justifiable pride in her accomplishments, of course, but there was a confidence underlying any victory or failure, fueled by her knowledge his love was truly unconditional. No matter what happened, he would support and help guide her when she needed counsel. As a result, she’d wanted to succeed, not just for her own satisfaction but as a reflection upon him. True love made a person want to be even better for their significant other. Wasn’t that what tonight was about as well?

She was going as her Master’s possession, his cherished sub. Her actions would reflect upon him, and yet, at the same time, by following his lead, she was showing her trust in him. The wall she felt about going to the club needed to be broken down. The best way to do it was face it. Only this time she wasn’t facing it alone.

You never should have done it alone.

Remembering Dale’s words, she resolutely pulled the dress off the rack, and started thinking about her hair, her makeup.

—

It was eight o’clock. She was on the second-floor landing, about to come down, when he punched in the key code, entered. She held on to the rail to balance her shaky legs, but she made an effort to put an extra sway in her step, knowing that the low cut of the dress would draw the eye to the movement of her breasts as she descended. The black lace edging of her bra was a tempting garnish along the neckline. The various slits of the above-the-knee skirt made it swirl around her legs like feathers. The bottom portion of the dress was sheer enough a man could see the outline of her hips and legs beneath it, the hint of the black thong she wore. Her black heels had thin ankle straps.

When she reached the bottom step, he was there to take her hand. He studied her as a Master would, no hint of warmth or affection yet. She could use a hug before doing this. Several in fact, but that expression kept her quiet, her eyes lowered before his intent gaze. Everything inside her coiled tight, waiting for his approval.

“I told you your punishment is for five days. Today is day five.”

She thought about enduring the sting of that brush one more time, and she didn’t think she could bear it. “You don’t have your brush with you,” he said in a mildly accusing tone. “Turn around, lift your skirt. Let me see how cruel I was to you.”

She knew there was mild bruising, reddish abrasions, but not as much as she’d expected for how excruciating it had felt. Apparently that part of the body could sustain a lot of impact without reflecting the results. But she still quivered as he traced the marks on her buttocks, visible from the scrap of thong. “What does my girl think? Does she need one more spanking to help her understand the lesson?”

She imagined herself kneeling on the stairs, fingers digging into the carpet as he administered her punishment. She wanted to say no vehemently. But her body quivered, anticipating.

“That’s for my Master to decide.”

He was silent, then his arm slid around her waist. He stood on the floor level and she was still on the bottom step, so his jaw brushed the juncture of throat and neck, his lips finding the latter. She melted into the first openly sensual and affectionate gesture he’d given her all week. She hoped she had permission to touch him, because her fingers curled into his forearm, never wanting to let him go. Her sore buttocks pressed against his hard body, dressed in the club wear he’d worn the first time she saw him. Black dress jeans, heavy-weight black T-shirt, and his belt with the silver buckle. He wore the silver-tipped boots. “Good answer, girl. I think we’re done with that part of things, for now.”

Chuckling at her relieved sigh, he turned her in his arms, cradling her face in one hand as he held on to her with the other. “You look pretty enough to eat. I plan to do that tonight, too. I’ve missed tasting your pussy.”

But he started with her lips, putting his mouth over hers. She would have expected the wild animal he’d kept stoked all week within her to come to life, tear him to shreds in the attempt to crawl all over him, crawl inside him, but instead everything went completely still. The knife edge of her arousal was so intense, it was paralyzing, locked with an equally strong emotional response.

She made a little noise, her arms limp at her sides, her body leaning into him as he framed her face, plundered her mouth, teased her tongue and lips. Her hands ended up on his hips, thumbs hooked in his belt, and when he lifted his head at last, he held her full weight against him. With a faint smile, he tightened his arm and brought her to the floor so she was looking up at him. He fingered her collar, sliding his finger underneath the Trident pendant. “You’re wearing it.”

“I’ve only taken it off for the shower. But I . . .” It was new to her, to ask for new structure, new rules, rather than just letting him set them, but she hoped that was part of what he wanted her to explore as well.

“I know I’ll need to wear other jewelry at times, for different things. But I’d prefer it if . . . when I did, I had to ask your permission to remove it.”

His gaze heated, his body rippling against her as he tightened his grip on her waist, fingers sliding over her tender ass to stroke with devastating gentleness.

“Agreed. You definitely don’t have my permission to remove it tonight, Athena. You belong to me utterly. The moment we walk out this door, until we come back through it tonight, we’re one hundred percent in scene. You understand?”

It meant every word he uttered was a command, that she asked permission if she wished to speak, and that she was completely his. Tonight was graduation for all the lessons of the week, to see if her trust had reached the level needed to handle tonight’s . . . obstacle. She pushed the word away, not wanting to think of it that way, and that in itself was a heartening change. She was going somewhere her Master wished to take her. That was the beginning and end of it. The rest didn’t matter.