by Smith, Maren
“What can I get you to drink?” their server asked. A young man in his twenties, he waited while she scoured a one-sheet menu and had very quiet conniptions over the prices. She made no sound at all, but as her gaze bounced from item to item, her eyes very clearly showed the rapid proliferation of her internal worries. And then, surreptitiously under the table where she thought he couldn’t see it, she’d check her wallet again.
“I’ll have a Coors,” he said, and then hoping it might bring an end to the price problem, added. “This is also one ticket, and it comes to me.”
Their server nodded, before turning to Puppy. “And for you?”
“Water,” she said softly.
Hands in his lap, one thumb tapping out a Morse code of irritation against his thigh, Carlson waited until their server headed for the bar. “I’ve got this, okay? Don’t worry about paying me back—”
“I can pay my own way,” she said stubbornly, but her eyes said that was a lie and the way her gaze kept bouncing over the menu he knew she was still looking only at the prices.
Old Ebbitt Grill was as far from a McDonalds as any restaurant could get, and yet it wasn’t really what he’d consider pricey either, especially for D.C. The burgers and sandwiches ran about $15, with entrees ranging between $18 and $21, but the portions were decent, the food was beyond good, and he was determined to see she got something in her stomach before he took her home.
“I’m paying for dinner,” he repeated. “No strings attached. No hidden agendas or obligations implied. For both our peace of mind, sex is off the table, okay? The minute we leave here, I’m taking you back to your house and dropping you off so you can get a good night’s sleep. But that’s then, and this is now. And for right now, we are going to order drinks, dinner, and a dessert, and I expect you to eat all three. So, now that you know my plans for the evening, would you like a beer?”
She recoiled.
“Soda? Juice?”
Her instant headshake was more of a flinch. “I can’t.”
“Why not? And don’t say it’s because of that other fellow, because we agreed before we left Black Light that he was the past and I’m right now. You made me your Sir, and I don’t share my submissive. Particularly not with assholes. Now,” he said, determined to keep his temper in check. “Do you like apple, orange, or cranberry juice? I’m pretty sure they’ll have all three behind the bar.” He signaled their server.
“I’ll have water,” she repeated.
“This is not a date,” Carlson said bluntly. “If it were, I would have no problem taking your feelings into account or splitting the check. What this is, is aftercare. It’s a dominant making sure his submissive gets what she needs after a night at the club, and you can get used to this because while I won’t always take you out to dinner after we leave Black Light, I will be making sure you get what you need. That’s my job now. I take it very seriously, and what I think you need more than anything else right now is about two or three weeks’ worth of regular meals and at least as much uninterrupted sleep.”
“What can I get you?” the server asked, appearing at their tableside with his pad, his pen and a smile.
“Water,” she said, and tried to hand the menu to him.
Carlson took it before the server could. “Where’s your bathroom?”
The server pointed them out.
“Can you give us a few more minutes, please?” Carlson asked, pasting on a smile.
The server went back to the bar and, dropping his napkin from his lap back onto the table, Carlson slid out of his side of the booth.
“Come on.” He held his hand out for hers.
“I don’t have to go.” Her breaths were coming a little too fast and a little too shallow, and she refused to look at him. She had a right to be nervous, although right now she had no basis for her reaction. Yes, Carlson had read the print outs someone had left in his locker. When he got home tonight, he had every intention of doing a more in-depth internet search on this Ethen fellow, but he was not that guy. He was, however, a dominant with limits and she had just reached one.
Reaching down into her lap, he took her by the wrist. “Come on,” he said again, every bit as gently and yet as firmly as his grip.
She didn’t fight him, but it was just as clear that she really didn’t want to crawl up out of the booth and follow along behind him as he wound his way past a lot of empty tables to the bathrooms in the far back of the restaurant. The entire section in this area was empty and cleaned for the night. He glanced around, checking the distance between here and the nearest other patrons, but between the volume of the music and the noise from the kitchen, he knew he stood a halfway decent chance of not attracting too much attention.
Trust a restaurant in the State’s capital to be progressive when it came to their restrooms. There was a men’s, a women’s, and a single unit gender neutral/family bathroom. Pulling her inside, he shut and locked the door.
She stared at the toilet and then she stared at him, a slow flush of pink stealing up into her too pale face. “I don’t have to—” Cutting off with a gasp, she only just bit back a yelp when he abruptly bent her over, tucking her under his arm against his hip, and in a dozen of the hardest swats he could muster, paddled the seat of her jeans. Apart from another sharp gasp at the first loud smack and her breathy squeak once it was over, she took it in absolute silence. When he released her, instead of straightening back up, she almost dropped to her knees right there on the bathroom floor. His quick grip on her arm prevented it.
Her eyes locked on him, huge in a too pale face. Her mouth was a rounded ‘o’ of—was that wonder or shock; it was hard to tell—and the very apples of her cheeks were pink. Twice, he thought her subtle twitch was an aborted attempt to reach back with the arm he wasn’t holding hostage, but she never did touch her bottom. No rubbing after a punishment must have been against her previous dom’s rules.
Well, it wasn’t against Carlson’s, but at the moment, he had bigger issues to correct her on.
“We are going to have a drink. We are going to have dinner. We are going to have dessert, and we are not going to worry about what it costs because your Sir has told you he is taking care of it and you will trust him to do that. If you really do want water, fine, but you’ll have it in conjunction with a drink that has calories, because you need the nutrition and the calories. Now, are we clear or do we need to talk about this a second time?”
She never took her eyes off him. Not even when she shook her head in swift, tiny side to side jerks.
“Do you need to take a minute? Do you want to wash your face or your hands before we go back to the table?”
Again, no.
“All right.” Unlocking the door, he held it open and motioned her to proceed him back to the table. Waiting for her to slide into the booth before he took his seat, Carlson once more signaled their server, who arrived within minutes with her water and his beer.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Do you need to look at the menu again?” Carlson asked, holding one out to her.
Not taking it, she kept her stare locked on the table as she stammered, “I-I’m f-fine with water.”
Picking up both menus, Carlson tapped them sharply together before handing them back. Pasting his smile back on, he announced, “We will take two of the biggest, cheesiest, bacon-packed burgers you’ve got on the menu. A little pink to the meat is fine. Fries and coleslaw, yes, please. A piece of your mile-high peanut butter pie ala mode to share afterward, with a large glass of milk. Also, if you wouldn’t mind, please bring her a small glass of orange juice with her meal, and I believe I’m going to need another beer.”
* * *
When Carlson got up from the table, she tried to tuck her hands into her lap under the edge. Reaching down, he took hold of her wrist anyway.
“No,” she whimpered, but firmly, gently, he pulled her out of the booth and made his way once more back to the bathroom.
Her bottom was still s
tinging from the last trip. Although strong enough to leave her squirming when she first sat down, the warmth of that lingering burn hadn’t won her instant obedience when the server returned to take her order. And to be honest, she still didn’t fully understand why she hadn’t just submitted to what she’d already agreed to. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want to be a bother, but she didn’t want to be disobedient either. Her stomach was so empty that it didn’t even hurt anymore, but the hollowness was constant and gnawing. And yet, when he’d brought her back to their table, all she could think about was Pony lying in bed, suffering this same emptiness.
The thought of eating when her sub-mate couldn’t, especially when it was her fault… she couldn’t.
She just couldn’t.
The last person in the world that she wanted mad at her was Carlson, this handsome man with his soldier’s physique, that touch of gray at his temples, and the quiet authority that made her insides both quiver and melt. All he had to do was look at her, and all of those old, familiar submissive desires rekindled inside her. One would have thought she’d learned her lesson with Ethen, and yet, here she was, quietly desperately aching to feel the strong comfort of a man’s hand in her hair. Or to hear those two magic words—good girl—spoken in the soothing rumble of a man’s voice right up against the shell of her ear.
Except, she didn’t deserve that. She hadn’t been good at all, and now here she was. Being led by the wrist like a recalcitrant child back through the mostly empty restaurant. Nothing felt worse than this low-grade thump of useless arousal, pulsing in her clit while the guilt it spawned chewed up her insides. That guilt grew sharper teeth while she stood helplessly by the hand dryer while Carlson shut and locked the door for privacy.
Her breathing turned quick and shallow as she turned it over and over in her mind. Why had she done it? Why hadn’t she just given in and done what he wanted? She would have done that for Ethen. She would have done anything for Ethen, never mind what it was or where they were. She would have done it because the consequences of choosing otherwise were always so very much worse than the humiliation of the deed.
But this wasn’t Ethen.
Carlson wasn’t Ethen. Watching him turn to face her didn’t shoot the same icy fear into her gut that her previous Master had never failed to inspire.
Carlson wasn’t him.
That low pulse between her legs became a full bloom of wanton heat as that startling revelation rocketed through her. It set all the most unexpected parts of her to pulsing along in time with her budding arousal as, folding his arms across his chest, Carlson made himself comfortable against the door.
“All right,” he said grimly. “Spill it. What’s going on?”
Fingers fidgeting, Puppy stared back at him, completely lost as to how she might ever explain either what she’d done or what she’d just realized. Her already quickened breaths grew shallower as her anxiety ratcheted higher. He was waiting for an answer. Unable to give one, she tried to shrug, something Ethen had once slapped her mouth for.
‘Your words,’ he’d said at the time, and she didn’t have high hopes that Carlson wouldn’t react the same way. But while his expression darkened, he never so much as unfolded his arms. He made no move to hurt her, and all those cords of quivering tension running through her pulsed a little hotter and a little harder.
“Nope, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “When I ask a question, I want an answer. What’s going on with you? If somewhere between Black Light and now you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine, but you need to say so.”
“I haven’t changed my mind, Sir,” she shakily whispered, and scared as she was, she meant it. She was surprised how much she meant it. Those few moments when he’d held her back at Black Light, those had been the safest that she had felt in what felt like forever. As startled as she’d been the first time he’d bent her over, she stared up at him, unafraid. She didn’t know if she could trust it, but he hadn’t hurt her, and this blooming pulse of wanting inside her was trying mightily to convince her he never would. “Are… are you going to yell at me?”
He inhaled slow and deep, letting it out again almost in a growl. “Do I sound like I’m yelling?” he countered, calmly.
“Are… are you going to wh-whip me?” Tiny sparks of pain flashed along the periphery of her awareness as her constantly fidgeting fingers picked and picked at her own fingernails, cutting into the cuticles.
He tipped his head. “No. I’m not.”
Was he going to put her on the floor? Was he going to kick her? Sodomize her? Let someone else do it for him, because she wasn’t worth his time anymore?
“I’m not happy,” Carlson told her evenly. “I thought this matter was handled the last time we were back here. To be honest, I kind of feel like I’m being backed into a corner where I have to make a decision as to whether or not this is worth a second try.”
Her heart and shoulders both sank. Most days, she wasn’t worth anybody’s first effort, much less their second. Although she knew better than to say such a thing out loud, he seemed to hear it anyway and, in a heartbeat, his whole countenance changed.
His frown darkened and his stony gray eyes flashed, hard and cold. “Go ahead,” he dared. “Say it. I promise my belt will be off before you finish and I will absolutely set your ass on fire. Police might well be called, but the risk will be absolutely worth it.”
Every cord of tension in her shook. Her breath caught. Every inch of her believed him, and yet the thought of him whipping his belt from around his waist did not inspire the same palpitating response in her that Ethen grabbing her leash did.
Because Carlson wasn’t Ethen.
Carlson was calm. Even angry, he was calm. And caring. He was trying to take care of her, the way a good Dom should. Not because she deserved it. She didn’t. They barely even knew one another. But in a broken moment when she felt her most helpless, she had called him Sir and, for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, he had responded to that.
Carlson was safety, even as he—perhaps even because he—said, “I’m going to do something I never do. I’m going to give you until the count of three to explain what’s going on, and then I’m sorry, but I’m walking. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me—”
“I’m scared.” She knew better than to interrupt, but she couldn’t stop herself. Shaking, she picked at her fingernails.
“Okay,” he said evenly. “Of what?”
Of him. Of what he was going to do next. Of his following through with what he’d just promised and walking away. Leaving her without comfort, without safety. Without anything.
She faltered, restlessly fidgeting until he took hold of her hands. It wasn’t until he looked at her red-stained fingertips that she noticed she was bleeding. That scared her. Hurting herself was definitely against the rules and this could not be hidden. Pony would notice right away, and she would tell.
Breathing out another grim sigh, Carlson took her to the sink. Silent as a doll, she let him wash her hands. He took care to make sure the water was running warm before he put her hands under the faucet; that touched her. He soaped her hands, taking care also, even though he was so obviously annoyed, not to hurt her further as he washed the blood away until he could see what she’d done to herself.
He tsked, shaking his head once, but that was all. Shutting off the water, he swiped a rough paper towel from the dispenser next to the hand dryer. Gently, he dried around her raw cuticles, pausing to press and hold in the two spots that were still seeping crimson. “Is it me that you’re scared of?”
She watched the gentleness of his hands, the watery flow of tears growing inside her, stinging her eyes, filling up the back of her throat, making it hard to breathe. “No.”
Right now, he was probably the only person in the world that she wasn’t afraid of.
That realization on its own was equal parts terrifying to her, and amazing.
“Since I don’t think you can be trusted right now not to h
urt yourself while we finish this, I would like you to put your hands on your head.” Releasing her, he backed up once more to lean against the door.
Her involuntary flinch as she adopted Ethen’s Inspection pose pierced all the way to her soul. But even with the ghosts this position spawned, standing like this before him felt just different enough to re-awaken that long buried need to serve that she’d been so sure Ethen had killed.
“Are you afraid of me now?” Carlson asked, making himself comfortable again.
“No, Sir.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He folded his arms. “Then maybe you’ll answer my question. The last time we were in this bathroom, I told you what my expectations were and you agreed to them. So, either you lied to my face, in which case we have a problem. Or something made you change your mind, in which case I deserve to know what that was so it can be addressed. If you’re deliberately testing your boundaries in the hopes of receiving another punishment, then I’ve got a problem and it will be addressed, but not in a way you’re going to like. So, which of those is it? Were you lying?”
Her chest tightened all over again. “No, Sir.”
“Were you bratting in the hopes of winning another spanking?”
Appalled, Puppy froze. She had never, would never brat. To ‘win’ a punishment? She’d spent every waking moment for two years living in such fear of them that just thinking about it now twisted her insides so sharply that for a moment she was afraid she might get sick.
No one she knew would ever deliberately provoke one of Ethen’s punishments. And if ever that insane urge had once lived inside of her, then he had surely beat it out of her long ago.
Did her face pale? Maybe it was her trembling that Carlson suddenly glimpsed, his gaze sharpening on her while her legs shook so violently that it was a wonder she was still standing. Whatever it was, something made Carlson stop. His eyes narrowed, even as some of the harshness softened on his face.
“What made you change your mind, sweetheart?”
