Mastering Inga (Service & Submission Book 2)

by Michaels, Megan

  “Uhm... I didn’t ask for help. I kept my visa a secret, and I didn’t give my problems to my Master.”

  “Good girl. Yes, those are the issues. Like I said earlier, I know your bottom is sore.” Garrett stroked his hand over her buttocks, pressing on a couple bruised areas, gauging her sensitivity. “I’ll adjust how hard I strap your backside. But you’ll be in tears when it’s over. This is a punishment after all.”

  “Yes, Master.” A little sob escaped on the last word.

  He leaned over to get a closer look at her face. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. You’ll be sore, but you’ll survive. You know you should be spanked, right? Do you need to safe word?”

  “No, Master. I don’t need to use my safe word. I deserve this. I just feel bad and I’m afraid.”

  “There’s no need to be afraid, Missy. It’s just a spanking. It’ll be fast and efficient. Let’s get this over with. Talking only makes it worse.” He doubled the belt over palming the buckle.

  He reminded himself that her lapse in judgment put his career — and family — at risk. Her desire to be a slave demanded that he punish her for leaving him out of her crisis. He inhaled a deep, cleansing breath swinging the belt against her bottom, starting slow and steady.

  “You will not keep things to yourself. You’re to tell your Master when you’re in a crisis.”

  He stopped, letting the pain settle in and giving her a chance to catch her breath. “Halfway through your punishment. Do you think you’ll tell me the next time something goes wrong in your life?”

  “Oooooh. Yes, Master. I’ll tell you.”

  “Eleven more. Turn your toes in, no clenching. You’re already bruised — I don’t want more bruising. Keep your hands on the cushions.”

  “You’re important to me. What you do matters to me” He struck four times on the crest of her bottom trying to not overlap too much. As promised, he’d reduced the strength of each stroke, and he did his best to avoid areas that had bruises, although that wasn’t entirely possible.

  “If you’re upset, I need to know. I need to know what is making you cry and keeping you up at night. You’re mine.”

  The last four lashes were to the underside of her cheeks and upper thighs. She screeched and would’ve kicked out, but he’d been prepared for that, holding them down with one of his legs.

  While he threaded his belt back on he watched her closely, her quiet sobbing tearing at his heart. She sounded so heartbroken; she was always so hard on herself for earning a punishment. This punishment was a necessary part of her training though. Knowing that, he’d still treated her with kid gloves today, caring for her and catering to her. She needed to know that she was treasured, that he was anything but brutal — even when she’d earned herself a bottom warming.

  He walked up behind her, reaching out to rub her buttocks. She flinched and the skin on her bottom rippled at his touch. “It’s over, girlie. It’s all over. You have a clean slate.”

  He continued to rub and caress her bottom, the flesh hot to the touch. She’d be sore for the rest of the day, no doubt about it.

  “C’mon, Inga. Let’s get going to the Immigration Office so we can come home and take a nap before getting the kids.” He gently grasped her by the elbow, helping her off the couch.

  His eyes focused on her breasts, watching them sway as she moved. God, she had great boobs. They were lush with, soft, silky, alabaster skin. The prominent peach-colored nipples were such a contrast with the milky white flesh. He couldn’t help himself any longer, cupping her left breast in his hand, pushing it upward so he could suck on her nipple. His tongue circled the point and then he opened his mouth to pull in the areola and surrounding flesh, nestling his nose into the soft upper flesh of her breast.

  She smelled sweet, like honey and she needed the comfort of his touch.

  He pulled away, admiring the moist peak, murmuring, “Such a pretty peach color — and as sweet as one too.”

  She needs comfort, asshole!

  He pulled her into his embrace. She had such a lithe body, tall and lanky but with a round, curvy ass and generous breasts. She rested her head on his shoulder, softly weeping once more.

  “Hey. Hey, it’s all right.” He kissed her forehead and neck. “You’re such a good girl. We’ll get this all taken care of so you can stay with us. We don’t want you to leave. We want you to stay. After I dropped the children off at Preston and Avery’s house, my brother and I talked in detail about this issue, and I think we’ve got this figured out. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see. Trust me.”

  He rubbed her back, sliding his hand down to cup a hot bottom cheek. He squeezed the injured flesh and heard her gasp. “Do you think this sore, naughty bottom will help you remember to share everything with me? Your schedule, your bills, your concerns, your frustrations? Everything and anything?”

  “Yes, Master. I will. I promise. My rumpa is very sore.”

  “Huh. So that’s where we got the word ‘rump.’ Yes, I can tell from looking at it, that your rumpa is going to be very sore today. I think I’ll have a very well-behaved nanny and slave in my house today.” He winked at her and patted her bottom. “Let’s get you dressed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Inga had sat quietly and gingerly on the way to the Immigration Office. Her bottom had never been this sore. She’d remember to include him in everything from now on, probably more than he ever wanted. But she wasn’t going to take a chance like that again.

  Once inside the Immigration Office, Garrett had walked up to the counter with her and explained her situation, holding out the letter she’d received in the mail. They’d been given a number and been told to wait. Why did Americans have such long lines no matter where they went? Obviously, they loved waiting in lines.

  She’d opted to stand instead of sitting on the long wooden benches. However, when she stood behind him, attempting to make it seem like a subtle act of submission, he’d scowled at her and patted a spot on the bench next to him. When she still didn’t move, he quirked an eyebrow at her and casually gave her the ASL sign for ‘sit’. She knew she was in dangerous waters with him, so she quickly rounded the bench to sit next to him. She hissed quietly through her teeth as her sore bottom made contact with the bench.

  He leaned over, whispering to her. “It’ll be a good reminder to behave, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Both of them played on their phones while waiting. Nearly an hour later, their number was finally called. They both approached the stern-looking older woman. Her hair had been pulled back in a severe bun, glasses resting low on the end of her nose. She didn’t look like she smiled very often.

  Inga opened her mouth to speak, but Garrett took over, apprising the woman of their situation and presenting the letter that Inga had received.

  What happened next utterly shocked her. She would remember it always in a foggy, confused manner for years to come.

  “Sir?” the stern woman named Wanda asked. “Would you like to ask for an extension for her working visa?”

  “No. What we’d like to do is apply for a ninety day fiancée visa. How long does it take for that application to be processed?”

  “It would take the customary two to three weeks, sir. However, until it’s approved the deadline for her working visa would be suspended. Let me go find the form and I’ll be right back, sir.” Wanda limped away to get the form.

  “Wait! What did you say? You didn’t even talk to me about this. You can’t just decide that you’re getting me a ninety day fiancée visa without asking me? What if I say no?”

  Inga was mortified. How did he just decide to do this without so much as talking to her about his plan?

  “I didn’t think it was necessary to talk to you. You’re happy, I’m happy, the kids are happy, and we all want you to stay. You want a Master, and I want a slave. We’re compatible and we get along. I think we’ll be very happy. Aren’t you happy? Do you think you’d be unhappy with me? Or with the k
ids?”

  “Well... no. I’m happy with you. And I think I already love the kids. I would love to stay. But you can’t just decide that we’re engaged without talking to me.”

  “I already did, my dear. You’ll see that this is the perfect resolution to your visa issue.”

  “I don’t want to become engaged as a ‘resolution to my visa issue’! Don’t you see that this is a problem? Don’t you see that this is not romantic? At all? Du dum kukhuvud!”

  “Hey, what did you just say?”

  She froze.

  How stupid was that? Your ass is so sore it hurts to breathe, and you just called him a nasty name. Again.

  “Answer me. Now! I heard dum dum, which I’m assuming means ‘dumb.’ You do not want to upset me more today, little girl.” He turned to face her, his hands on both hips.

  Her throat constricted in fear, and she swallowed loudly. “I... uhm… I said, ‘stupid dickhead.’” She dropped her gaze, staring at the floor.

  “We’ll deal with the name-calling at home. Until then, I want you to agree and sign the paperwork. The ninety day fiancée visa is the resolution to our situation. We’ll discuss this in a rational and adult manner in a private setting. As your Master, you need to trust me. Please. I know what I’m doing. I know how you feel; and how we feel about you. This’ll be what makes us all happy. Please. Trust me.”

  She raised her gaze to his. How could someone so smart make such a poor decision? Did he think about this at all? This had to be the most unromantic thing she had ever heard of. Nothing in this plan was romantic. ‘A perfect resolution to your visa issue’ is not how a woman wants to become engaged. If he hadn’t learned this during his first marriage, he’d sure as hell figure it out the second time.

  Slave or not, her Master would learn how to be romantic.

  * * *

  Garrett and Inga drove home quietly, not a word spoken between them since they’d left the Immigration Office. Preston had talked to his friend Dave who had a high-ranking at DHS, and Dave confirmed that they could’ve just requested an extension to the application. But Garrett knew that deep inside, Inga felt the same as he did — they had fallen in love. It made no sense. It’d only been a month, but they fit so well together. She loved the kids, and they loved her. Hell, he loved her.

  Everything about her was different from Anne. Inga was tall, and Anne short. Anne had been a slave by nature; she’d fallen into the role easily, requiring very little discipline or punishment. Inga had spark and fire, belying her internal struggle. Yes, she submitted beautifully, but if pushed too hard or too fast, she tended to push back. When she did push back though, she would show remorse, apologizing for her poor behavior. Garrett didn’t yet know much about her past, but one thing he was already sure of was that she was a fighter.

  Had something happened in her formative years to make her that way? Circumstances changed a person, made them shield their ego, protect their spirit. But when attacked, they fought back with everything they had. Survival of the fittest. His Inga. His slave. He’d mold her, making her into a beautiful slave; but until then he’d treat her with kid gloves, pushing her just hard enough to help her grow — but not hard enough to make her rebellious and defiant.

  But right now, he needed to deal with angry Inga. The surprise he expected. Hell, he’d planned on the surprise. He thought that she’d be happy... maybe a little. But her anger definitely had not been anticipated. Worse, she’d reverted to calling him names again. He hadn’t ever had to deal with name calling from a slave before, and he wasn’t yet sure how he wanted to deal with it. At least in the silence of the car he would be able to formulate his plan.

  As soon as the car came to stop in the garage, she bolted into the house. He chased her down in the kitchen.

  “Miss Inga! Stop, right there! Now!”

  To her credit, she stopped instantly but didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, her back stiffening in anger.

  Interesting. So this is what she’s going with. Defiance.

  “We don’t talk until you’re facing me. Turn around.” He tossed his keys into the dish on the counter, taking his jacket off and hanging it up while he waited for her to obey his order. Typically, he didn’t wait for compliance — he expected obedience immediately.

  He walked up behind her, close enough that his nose brushed her hair. He inhaled her scent slowly. “Do you need a spanking to help you obey?”

  She paused long enough that he lifted her dress and gave her already very red bottom four hard swats, two on each cheek.

  “Oooooh!”

  She turned toward him immediately with tears in her eyes, suddenly looking miserable.

  “You had a choice, Inga. And you chose to have your backside reheated. Now, let’s talk. Tell me why you’re mad. I thought you’d be happy. I wanted to surprise you.”

  He moved closer to her but she put her hands up to halt him and shouted, “Skita i det blå skåpet! I just can’t believe you did it! How? How did you think I’d be happy?”

  “I’m getting worn out with you yelling at me in Swedish. We’ve talked about that too, last time you decided to call me a stupid dickhead. What did you just say?”

  Her jaw tightened. “I said, ‘you shit in a blue locker.’ It means you crossed a line or went too far. It’s what we say when someone doesn’t know boundaries. You don’t say an engagement is a ‘resolution to my visa issue’ and expect me to be happy about it. You’re such a du — never mind. It’s not worth it. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “No. It’s definitely not worth it. And what the hell does ‘shitting in a blue locker’ have to do with anything?”

  “I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter! What you did was… I don’t want to say it. Never mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring.

  “Give me one word.” He held up his forefinger. “Just one word explaining what’s wrong with what I did today?”

  “Unromantic.” Her eyes filled with tears and she crinkled her nose in distaste.

  What a moron, Garrett. You’re an asshole!

  He saw the situation and, like most men, saw the obvious solution and fixed it. He loved her, and he was pretty sure she loved him too. He wanted a slave, and she wanted a Master. It seemed logical and rational.

  And that’s the problem. You were logical and rational, not romantic!

  Experience had taught him that this was going to be a problem. Now, he not only had to fix the mistake he’d made, but also prove that his action was a romantic gesture… kinda.

  Women just saw things so differently. Fixing this wouldn’t be easy.

  First, he had to deal with her name-calling at the Immigration Office, and then he’d have to address her defiance. He may have been wrong in the presentation of his solution, but a slave never acted like this with a Master. Deep submission required trusting your Master even when it made no sense — or asking for a time to discuss it openly. He hated punishments. Even though he loved spanking a bare bottom, and he really loved spanking her bottom in particular, he hated having to spank for punishment.

  He took a deep breath, realizing that the pout and angry scowl had not receded from her face. It made his task that much easier.

  “We’re going to take care of your name calling and mouthiness — right now.” He started toward the laundry room, which meant he needed to walk past her. She backed up, almost flinching from him. He stopped, running a finger from her shoulder to her elbow, grasping her arm. “I’d never hurt you, girlie. You never need to back up from me, ever. I cherish the people I love in my life. And you, my dear, are a love in my life. Believe it. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that love gives you leniency. Your submission and obedience will always be foremost in my mind, especially since you’ve told me of your desire to be a slave.”

  He went to the laundry room, searching until he found what he was looking for. He returned to the kitchen and a very curious nanny looking to see what he held in his h
ands. He stood in front of her, quietly looking into her piercing blue eyes until, finally, she averted her gaze.

  “It seems like your tongue is an issue. Well, the biggest issue is keeping those Swedish phrases from slipping out. I don’t appreciate being called dumb, or stupid — and I definitely don’t like being called a dickhead or asshole. I spanked you the last time for this, and we’re here again, so today I’m going to try something else.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wooden spring clothespin and held it at eye level, opening and closing the stout jaws. “This little thing is what we call a clothespin. Are you familiar with these? Do they have them in Sweden?”

  “Yes, Master. We call them klädnypa.”

  “Well, this little klädnypa is going to be pinched onto your tongue for twenty minutes. I want you naked and on your knees on the kitchen tile. Undress.”

  He made sure his voice brooked no disobedience.

  She pulled the dress over her head and without being asked, pulled her thong off, standing beautifully and gloriously naked.

  Jesus, that woman has a figure.

  She had a body that just begged a man to worship it. His cock was threatening to rip its way out through the fabric of his slacks. With no shame whatsoever, he reached into his pants to adjust himself

  “On your knees, hands on your thighs.” He waited until she gracefully knelt. “Open your mouth. Head back, and look at me.”

  He had no idea how he was going to make it twenty minutes like this, but it was necessary. He walked toward her, reaching out to grasp the soft nipple in his pincer grasp, twisting and rolling the peak until it hardened. He put the clothespin on her nipple, and she gasped as he let the jaws close fully on her sensitive flesh. Pinching and tugging on the other nipple, she shivered.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it, sweetie? Tell me what’s happening to your sex with all this manipulation of your breasts.”

  She stammered with excitement. “Uhm... I’m... it f-feels like... my clit is throbbing, Master. And my fittsaft is dripping. I feel it in spurts when you pull on my nipple and my sex is clenching. I n-need you to touch me, Master. Lick my pussy, please.”