Maybe I was just too clueless to see it.
That was irony for you. Financially, they were at the strongest point ever in their marriage. Hell, their retirement was pretty much guaranteed at this point from the money they’d put away, dedicatedly managing their 401k plans, and being careful with finances. Mikey’s academic scholarships hadn’t hurt any, either. Not to mention, they now had free time to spend together however they wanted.
Yet here they were, in crisis and at crossroads.
Of all the worst-case things he’d ever imagined possibly happening to them as a married couple, this particular scenario had never even crossed his radar.
Ever.
When he heard her car pull into the driveway, he slowly sat up, holding the washcloth to his forehead as he did and waiting for the room to stop spinning. He didn’t get migraines this badly very often anymore, but when one hit him, it was a doozy.
He wouldn’t allow it to come between him and this talk he needed to finish with her.
Even if it means I’m holding a trash can in my lap while we talk.
Chapter Twenty
When Jenny arrived home she felt bad for a variety of reasons, not the least that she’d acted like a childish brat throwing a temper tantrum.
This wasn’t just about her. Of course it wasn’t. It was about Mike, too.
She’d lost sight of that fact.
She’d gotten so wrapped up in having her fantasies fulfilled that she’d forgotten about his.
Hell, she was ashamed to admit she hadn’t even asked about his fantasies during this whole process. So intent on getting what she wanted, she’d overlooked the man she loved.
She found him in their bedroom, sitting up on the edge of the bed while holding a wet washcloth against his forehead. A trash can sat on the floor next to the bed, not in its usual spot.
Meaning he’d either felt sick, or gotten sick.
More guilt. She walked in and sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
“I’m sorry,” she softly said. “I’m sorry I threw a tantrum.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”
He blindly reached out toward her and she took his hand in hers.
He squeezed. “Maybe I overreacted,” he whispered. She could hear the pain in his voice from the headache. “It’s just that I love you and I don’t want to be my father.”
“You aren’t your father. Sweetheart, I trust you with my life. If I didn’t trust you, do you honestly think I would want to do this with you?”
“Maybe we need to back up,” he said. “I didn’t realize how important this was to you. I thought you were just playing around with it. I didn’t realize it meant this much to you.”
That gave her hope.
She leaned in and pulled the washcloth down enough to kiss him on the forehead. He opened his eyes and she saw how his sweet brown eyes were rimmed with red.
He must have a helluva migraine.
She felt guilty about that, too. She had added to his stress and his pain. Loren and Shayla’s words came back to her that if she really wanted to make this a lifestyle, to serve him, she had to do it the way he wanted her to, not the way she wanted to.
“Why don’t we agree to table the discussion until you feel better?” she said. “I can call in tomorrow, if you’d like to stay home.”
She thought at first he was going to say no, but then he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Could you please make me some mint tea?”
She smiled. “Of course.” She went to stand to do it, but he tugged on her hand.
“I love you, baby. I don’t want to lose us over this. I just…I’m going to need some time.”
She didn’t want to start crying in front of him, but his words and tone gave her hope. She nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. “I know. I don’t want to lose us, either. You’re my life, kind sir.”
He managed a weak, pained smile. “You’re my life, too, m’lady.”
* * * *
Even though the headache broke overnight, Mike still called off the next morning and asked to work from home. Tony confirmed that was fine. Jenny called in, too, and then went to make them breakfast.
When Mike finally made his way out to the kitchen, he walked up behind her at the stove and hugged her, kissing the back of her neck. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Everyone keeps telling us to find our own flavor of this,” he said. “I get that, but it’s still hard for me to get past what I saw growing up, you know?”
She turned in his arms. “We can keep it limited just to sexy stuff, if you want. But the way you talked to me that night when you came home, the way you took charge, that’s the kind of stuff I really need. And I want it to be you.”
“Why?”
“Why do I want it to be you?”
He smiled. “Why do you need it?”
“I—” She got that confounded look she sometimes wore when she really didn’t know. “I think,” she finally said, “it’s because I’m always in charge or have responsibilities. Mikey, work, the volunteer stuff. Now I don’t want to be in charge anymore. I did that. I’m done. I retire from adulthood.” She smiled.
That drew a chuckle from him. “Hey, I said you could retire, if you want.”
“No, I don’t want to stop working.” She turned to flip the pancakes. “But around here, even if you only want to do it when we’re alone, yeah, I want you to be in charge. If you want to be,” she quickly added.
“I don’t want to make all your decisions for you,” he said. “You’re your own person. And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll have energy for that.”
“I don’t mean I want you to micromanage me.” She thought about it. “Shayla told me that she sums it up like this. She’s not a religious person. She’s never had much of a desire to be one. But Tony is her higher power. Invisible, but always there, and when she has to lean on him, or turn to him, he can step in and she feels comforted by that. I don’t even mean I want the same kind of dynamic they have, but that explanation just sounded perfect.”
She removed the pancakes from the skillet and ladled out more batter.
“So you don’t want me to pick your clothes every day and stuff?” Relief started to creep into his mind.
“No. Please, you know how mornings can be for me if I’m running late. But like if we decided to go to dinner with Shayla and them. Or even dinner with vanilla friends. If you wanted to pick my clothes for that, I wouldn’t mind.”
He wrapped his arms around her again, his chin resting on her shoulder. “What if I told you no panties?”
She froze. He thought maybe he’d pushed too hard, but then she whispered, “If Sir didn’t want me to wear panties, I wouldn’t wear panties.”
Aaaand there went his cock, hard, pressing against her ass. He reached around her, switched off the stove, and scooped her up into his arms. Then he turned and headed out of the kitchen.
She let out a laugh. What are you doing?”
“Being dominant,” he said. “Drop the spatula.”
“It’ll hit the floor.”
“I don’t care.”
She did, and he heard it clatter to the tile floor somewhere behind them.
He carried her into their bedroom, dropped her onto the bed, and pulled down her pajama pants. When she started to try to help him, he grabbed her hands and put them over her head.
“No,” he softly said. “Hands stay there.”
Her chest rose and fell as her breathing quickened. “Yes, Sir.”
He smiled. “Good girl.”
Then he pulled up her T-shirt so it exposed her breasts. He cupped them both in his hands and gave a test squeeze, watching her expression as he tightened his grip on them, just until she let out a soft, gasping cry.
Okay, I can do that.
He leaned in and teased her right nipple with his tongue, nipping at
it and getting that same gasp of pleasure from her. To the left to repeat the treatment.
Her hands remained above her head.
He returned to pulling her PJ bottoms down, burying his face in her pussy, and sucking on her clit until she let out that same gasp.
She always kept herself trimmed short there, but he had an idea, something he’d seen in the books of hers he’d read that had intrigued him. He looked up at her. “Keep yourself completely shaved down here from now on. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir!”
He smiled. “Good girl.” With her PJ bottoms preventing her from spreading her legs very far, he tormented and teased her, keeping her legs pinned under him, until she finally gave him the first orgasm.
“Good girl,” he said.
Then he yanked her bottoms off her and got out of bed, pulling her until she was standing bent over the bed. “Hands behind your head,” he said. “Fingers laced.”
She immediately complied.
He shoved his boxers down his hips and grabbed his cock. “Tell me what you want.”
“Please fuck me, Sir!”
He swiped the head of his cock up and down her pussy, slowly working it into her until he’d filled her. Then he grabbed her hips. “Maybe we should start off every morning like this,” he said, taking his time and savoring the feel of her pussy fisting his cock. “Maybe I should make a rule that you have to start every morning giving me a blowjob or something.”
She let out a little gasp. No, he wouldn’t make that rule, because he’d never be able to follow through and make it to work on time. He hated mornings.
But the threat of it seemed to amp up her desire.
“Yes, Sir!”
He reached over to the bedside table and rummaged around in the drawer until he found the vibrator. When he turned it on, it gave a dead click.
Dammit.
“Do you have any spare batteries for this thing?”
She froze, thinking. “No,” she finally said in a tiny, disappointed voice.
“Okay, here’s a real rule,” he said. “You keep fresh batteries in your vibrator at all times.”
She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “Yes, Sir.”
He tossed the dead toy onto the bed and reached around her hip, finding her clit with his fingers. “The old-fashioned way it is.” Her laughter turned to sexy moans as he got her fired up again.
That’s a natural twenty dex roll for me.
As she quickly rose up to another orgasm, her pussy clenching around his cock, he smiled.
I’ll have to ask Eliza and Rusty if there’s a Dom modifier bonus in there somewhere.
If he could mix DnD thoughts with his domination skills, maybe there was hope for him yet.
He started fucking her harder, faster, once he knew she’d finished her orgasm and quickly added his load of cum to her pussy. Then he crawled up onto the bed and pulled her into his arms to snuggle.
“Can you handle riding in the slow lane with me while I figure out what I’m doing?” he asked.
She snuggled against him, her face pressed to his chest. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “I don’t care the speed we’re going, as long as we’re going together.”
He nuzzled the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “Tony mentioned something that night at the club about sadistic reflexology,” he said. “How I could press on points on your feet and not do any harm at all. I could try that, if you’d like me to.”
“Oh, shit,” she muttered. That was followed immediately by a nervous giggle.
“Is that a red?”
She outright laughed. “Um, no, Sir. That wasn’t a red.”
“You can say red if you want.”
She looked up to meet his gaze, a seductive smile on her face. “I know I can. I don’t want to.”
* * * *
Oh, yes, Jenny already knew about sadistic reflexology. Shayla had demonstrated it for them one night at book club after they’d read about it in a scene in a book. None of them had believed it was possible, or could be as painful as portrayed.
Until she’d shown them.
It was funny how some of the more unbelievably mundane scenes in books were actually the most realistic. And hottest.
And she liked it that way. She wanted to read about women like herself, who were middle-aged and a few pounds overweight and their husbands, who were also middle-aged and a few pounds overweight. Couples stumbling their way through all this. People dealing with dodging children or even parents and siblings.
And the thought of her husband maybe tying her up and doing that to her?
It made her even wetter. No, she didn’t want to be beaten any harder than with his bare hand, or maybe very light smacks with a paddle. Or hell, even a nice suede flogger, which didn’t hurt at all, from what Tony and Shayla showed them.
“Thank you,” she softly said.
“For what?”
“For not giving up. For forgiving me for being a brat.”
He held her more tightly. “Sweetheart, I love you. And as long as what we do doesn’t derail our marriage, we’ll work our way through it.”
She closed her eyes and let out a relieved breath. This would be okay. They’d both get what they needed, and grow closer as a couple.
She knew it.
It wasn’t just some random roll of the dice, it was a surety she felt to the depths of her soul. They’d worked too hard as a couple for too many years not to succeed.
And she didn’t care if her husband didn’t live up to some fantasy uber-Dom image she read about in books. He wanted to try to be her Dom.
And that was more than Domly enough for her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks later, Jenny was back in heaven again. They’d put the meltdown behind them and took it slow and steady. Sometimes it frustrated her a little, but then Shayla reminded her that it was in Mike’s hands now.
That was what Jenny had wanted all along.
That was what she got.
Tony and Shayla invited them to a private party at their house the next Saturday night, and Mike agreed they could go. The afternoon of, she made a casserole to take with them and then headed into the bedroom to start getting ready.
She found Mike standing in the closet, but staring at her clothes with a confounded look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We really need to go clothes shopping for you.”
“Today?”
He smiled as he reached for something. “No, not today. No time. But had I thought this through a little better, we would have.” He pulled out a sundress that was only in her closet because she’d forgotten to give it to Goodwill. It still fit her, but was a little tight across the bust. He held it out toward her.
“What?”
He shook the hanger. “Take it. That’s what you’re wearing tonight.”
She’d started to protest and immediately clamped down on it before the words left her mouth. This was part of submission. If she safeworded for something like this, he might get a little spooked and back off.
And she definitely did not want him to do that. She took it from him. “Yes, Sir.”
“No bra or panties,” he added as he stepped past her.
She found herself snapping her mouth shut on that one, too.
Clutching the dress to her, she turned to watch him as he headed into the bathroom to get his shower.
Hell, her pussy felt soaked already. She’d have a damn wet spot on her dress at this rate.
She laid the sundress on the bed and went to fish out sandals that would go with it. The invitation had specified the dress code was casual cook-out, or kinky fetish, if you wanted, but either was acceptable.
She didn’t know if Shayla had included that little clarification for her benefit since she didn’t own any kinky clothes, but she appreciated it.
This was the first private party they’d been to and while she wasn’t exactly nervous, she felt a little apprehensi
ve. She didn’t know many of the people on the guest list, which Shayla told her was the point. She and Tony wanted them to start making more friends in the kinky community who were more their “speed.” People they might be able to more easily relate to. A few heavier players, but several who didn’t do much, if any, impact play.
I hope Mike doesn’t regret agreeing we could go.
* * * *
Tony had assured Mike the day before that the party would be their speed. They had a couple of friends who were rope riggers who would also be there and more than willing to help teach Mike some basics, if he was interested.
He thought he might just be interested.
The more he’d researched BDSM, the more he found himself drawn to the beautiful artistry of shibari. He wasn’t sure he’d ever want to do suspensions, but the thought of tying Jenny up and then using a Hitachi vibrator on her made him hard, and wouldn’t harm her.
So there were two of his three personal benchmarks met right there.
The third, of course, being that she was okay with it. And he suspected she’d be fine with it, considering some of the hints she’d dropped about it when he showed her pictures of gorgeous ropework.
He also appreciated the fact that she’d agreed to wear the dress he’d picked. He knew damn well why she hadn’t worn it in a while. Maybe she didn’t remember, but he did, the time about six months earlier when she’d tried it on before an event, then immediately pulled it off again because she thought it was too tight across her boobs.
At the time, he’d felt a little pang of sadness that she hadn’t worn it anyway. He loved how tight it was across her boobs. It had looked sexy as hell.
Okay, so maybe I did have a secret interest in this all along and just never knew it.
Once he’d stopped trying to overthink and rationalize things and actually listened to the lessons Tony and others tried to impart to him, it had started being fun.
Which, as Tony and Shayla and others had insisted, was one of the three hard and fast “rules” of BDSM.
A Roll of the Dice [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Page 15
