by January Rowe
“It’s my business because I see her and you don’t. She’s not sleeping. She’s sewing those corset outfits—all night. And she’s in one piss-poor mood because of it. I went to see her today and she jumped down my throat.”
Tern got the picture. Jill was snotty and Jaeger overreacted. “Fine. I’ll have a talk with her. You’ll get an apology.”
“She apologized already, bro. I know she’s doing the best she can. But you’re not. You’re neglecting her. She needs boundaries. She needs rules and expectations to be happy.”
Who was this confirmed bachelor telling him how to run his marriage? Tern’s blood was rising. If Jaeger had been saying that stuff to his face, Tern would’ve thrown a punch.
“We don’t operate by rules and punishments,” Tern replied coldly. “I don’t control her.”
“You’d better start.”
“I gotta go,” Tern said.
Jaeger snorted dismissively. “Yeah. Go back to work.”
Jaeger’s advice ran around in Tern’s head as he drove back to the man camp. Was Jill unhappy? Was he neglecting her? Was Jill really sewing all night?
He was tempted to drive up to the bluff and call her. But he needed to see her, not just hear her. He texted, telling her they would Skype on Sunday at two, her time.
It had been three weeks since they’d Skyped.
Jill looked twitchy and exhausted, her freckles standing out in her abnormally pale skin. Her eyes were a dull, grayed-out brown. Her shoulders were up high, her hair hidden behind a bandana. It was an unfamiliar, odd look. She was so proud of her hair, and had always made a special effort to look nice when they Skyped. Maybe she was falling apart.
And then she smiled at him, and her face was transformed. “Oh, Tern, it’s so good to see you.”
Jill was fine. Jaeger had overreacted.
“So how are you?” he asked.
“I’ve had a rough couple of days.”
That explained the bandana, her exhaustion.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I bought some chicken at the grocery store Monday and it turned out to be rotten. It wasn’t even expired. But I was too tired to go back and exchange it. So I just tossed it out. What a waste of money! Why can’t stores be more careful? And then, last night I was picking bugs off our pumpkins and then this next morning the bugs were back! I don’t know if they were the same ones or new ones. I’m so tempted to poison them. Tern, should I poison them? I hate having to make all these decisions alone. Like last week, I had to decide, right on the spot, if I was going to sign up Poppy for soccer. Her best friend was signing up and the roster was filling and Poppy really wanted to play. I had to decide yes or no. I decided yes because it wasn’t going to conflict with Math Olympiad. Did I do the right thing?”
She went on and on, describing some mean soccer moms who were openly critical of Poppy’s footwork. Jillie, normally so nonconfrontational, ended up telling those soccer moms to keep their nasty comments to themselves. He listened to her vent. Though she asked for his support, he couldn’t get in any sort of comment, because she was on to the next complaint so quickly. So he just nodded.
His Jillie was a bit on edge. Less resilient than normal, probably. But she was not miserable like Jaeger claimed.
“Say something, Tern.”
Finally she paused long enough for him to respond. “I think you’re doing great. I’m so proud of the way you’re holding down the fort while I’m away. I have faith in you making the right choices, heart. I wish I could be there to help.”
“It’s so lonely. It’s so hard.” She tugged down the front of her bandana and smiled weakly.
Jaeger was wrong. Jill didn’t need to be managed. She hadn’t mentioned sewing in her tirade at all. Just general household mishaps like bugs and chicken and Math Olympiad and a dripping shower faucet and some school permission form she’d forgotten to sign. She wasn’t falling to pieces.
“What, exactly, is Math Olympiad?” he asked.
“Oh. I guess I forgot to tell you about it. It’s an after-school program where the kids solve math problems.”
“That’s supposed to be fun?”
“Yeah. It is for her. Except a few days ago. I picked her up from Math Olympiad and she didn’t even say hi. She was scowling all the way home. I’m thinking she can’t do the math problems and I should have never let her do Olympiad. Once we got home, she hurled open the door. She pitched a fit! She starts howling for her mother. Her mother! I had no idea what to do. What do I say about Kim? Hey, Poppy, don’t bother crying because the bitch doesn’t give a shit? I’m in way over my head. I was so panicked, I called you, but you were out of range, I guess. I couldn’t call Jaeger because he’s…well, he’s annoyed at me. So I called CeCe. Poppy kept wailing away and I got so scared. Thank God CeCe answered my call.”
Tern hadn’t been there for Jill. A guilty lump formed in Tern’s throat. He hated to let Jill down. Even accidentally. “What’d CeCe say?”
“She convinced me that Poppy wasn’t really crying for her mom. She was probably just tired. Or maybe she was sick of being bossed around all the time. CeCe was so calm about it. She’s acting like the fit wasn’t a big deal. And I was scared to death, thinking I’m a horrible guardian! Poppy stopped screaming after about twenty minutes. I thought it was hours. Anyway, she fell asleep. Maybe she was too tired. I was so glad I never had to make up some story about Kim loving her or something. So anyway, I asked CeCe if I’m going to laugh about Poppy’s tantrum someday. She told me no. I’ll just be relieved it’s over and prepare for the next crisis.”
“Another crisis. That’s reassuring,” he said.
She chuckled dryly. “Yeah. I guess that’s what we signed up for. Oh, I forgot to tell you! I’m sewing corsets again.”
So she was sewing. That didn’t mean she was sewing all night like Jaeger claimed.
“Yeah?” he asked. “How’s that going?”
“Oh. Ups and downs. The other day I was sewing and all of a sudden I couldn’t sew this one casing right. I had to take out the stitches and start over.”
Having trouble with casings was as out of character as her wearing a bandana. Sewing was second nature to her.
“That’s a pain,” he said.
“It sure is. My head wasn’t on straight that day. At all. Later on that night the same thing happened on a different outfit, except all of the casings were wrong! So I spend an hour taking out every single casing. I’m on automatic, like a stupid robot. It was crazy, because this corset is gold pleather. Pleather. You don’t get a do-over with pleather. I should’ve figured that out before I bothered taking out one stitch. Yet I kept taking out the stitches in every single casing. So here it is, two in the morning, and I’m looking at this holey piece of pleather. I can’t decide if I’m going to laugh or cry. I end up going to bed.”
She rubbed her eyes as if she was still tired out.
“How much are you sewing, Jillie?”
She lifted her chin and smiled, her energy returning. “A lot. I list my corsets online and they sell fast. For good money. I have thousands of dollars in my PayPal account now. Thousands!”
He had no idea what a PayPal account was. Or why she would have money in one.
“What’s going on? Do you need more money for the household expenses? Did I put you on a budget that’s too tight?”
“No, Tern. You send me enough. All the corset money is for the lawyer. I want to get you home sooner.”
Her statement blindsided him. His loving wife was running herself ragged trying to earn money.
“Jillie, we’ve been through this already,” he said. “Back when you offered to sell the house. It’s my job to provide for the family. Not yours.”
“But I can help,” she said. “I want to help. Please.”
Tern exhaled a long sigh. He wasn’t a controlling, strict man. He didn’t demand Jill’s submissiveness. He hated giving orders, micromanaging, meting out punishments. But if he didn’t
provide his wife with guidance while he was away, she was going to kill herself. And that would be the very definition of a neglectful Dominant.
“You’ll stop sewing,” he said.
Her eyes went wide. “Stop? You don’t want me to help you?”
“No.”
“What if I just eased up? I promise I’ll take it slow.”
“No. You will not sew for money.”
She lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushing with anger.
Getting her to obey was going to take more than a simple order. Fine. He was up to the task. To keep her happy and fulfilled, he would have to change his approach. He’d not only have to give her rules, but monitor her as well, keeping tabs on her emotional and physical health.
“We’ll talk about this later on tonight,” he said.
Jaeger had Jill’s misery pegged from the get-go. Tern owed him one.
Chapter Eight
Jill was still a nervous wreck hours after the Skype session. Tern’s new rule forbidding her to sew didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t she help earn money? Along with being upset, she felt shame. She didn’t want to be mad. Their relationship worked because she felt good pleasing him. And because she rarely failed in her devotion, they seldom had conflicts.
So why did she want to tell him to go to hell now?
Hiding her wild emotions, she tucked Poppy in. Jill read her little niece a chapter from one of her favorite Boxcar Children books. Jill hadn’t done that in a while.
She kissed the girl’s soft cheek. “Good night, sleep tight.”
“Nighty night, Aunt Jill.”
Standing out in the hall, Jill took a long moment to gaze at Poppy. Could she give this child what she needed without Tern?
In Jill’s agitated state of mind, she felt doomed to failure. Sure, she’d sooner die than abandon Poppy. But the child needed more than a roof over her head. Poppy was advanced in reading, and maybe even a math genius. What new surprises about the girl were headed her way?
Jill went to her room. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t get to sleep. She kept thinking about Tern’s order to stop sewing. He was being so unfair. She’d been able to balance sewing with her life for nearly ten years. Why had Tern forgotten that?
All she wanted to do was help.
Maybe he didn’t love her anymore. Maybe he didn’t want to come home sooner. A submissive was supposed to trust that her Dominant always wanted what was best for her. And for that reason, a submissive was supposed to obey. Instead, she wrestled with resentment.
As promised, Tern called her later on that night. She hadn’t slept a bit.
“Hi, Jillie. Is muffin asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I thought we might hash this out, this time with a little more privacy.”
She didn’t want to hash anything out. She was afraid she’d say something angry, and get into even more trouble. She already felt inadequate enough.
“Where are you?” she asked, making her voice warm. She hoped to divert their conversation to trivial, unimportant subjects. Certainly not sewing.
“I’m in my pickup. So how are you feeling, heart?”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m too tired to sleep, though.”
“You’re angry at me.”
She took a deep breath, distressed. He’d always insisted on her honesty, but what would happen to their already strained long-distance relationship if she blew up at him? “Yes.”
“I get it. I’m not home. You have to do everything alone. You have to make choices all the time. Instead of helping you, I interfere. Like with your sewing business.”
“Yes.” He understood. He cared. Her heart eased just a little bit.
“Maybe you think I don’t want to come home.”
She swallowed sudden tears. “Yes.”
“Well I do want to come home. I miss you so much it hurts.”
Her heart eased a little more.
“What are you wearing?” Tern asked.
She smiled about the sudden change of subject. “I’m wearing that faded black T-shirt of yours.”
“Take it off,” he said.
Maybe he was going to devise a phone sex scenario for her. Better yet, maybe he would spank her. She hoped for a spanking. She needed a healthy beating to settle her ambivalent feelings toward him. Pain—even pretend pain—would completely erase her residual anger.
“Okay, I took your shirt off,” she said. “I’m totally naked. I’m shivering and excited.”
“No you aren’t. You didn’t have enough time to take anything off. Put the phone on speaker. And get naked for real.”
She put down the phone. Sitting up on the side of the bed, she stripped. Anticipation flooded her. “I’m naked, Sir. I’m waiting for my punishment.”
“Why should I punish you?”
“For lying about being naked. I’m desperate for you to smack my ass red and then fuck me.”
He laughed. The laugh was wicked, making her body perk up.
“I have something else in mind, Miss topping-from-the-bottom. I’m going to get you relaxed so you can sleep. Cup your breasts.”
She looked down. Her breasts were a bit too big, a bit too saggy. She tried to stay fit by walking everywhere and doing hardcore gardening, but that didn’t help gravity droop.
“Are you cupping your breasts?” Tern prodded.
“Yes.” Cupping her breasts in her palms, she lifted. Her breasts looked pretty good. She wished Tern could be there to see her breasts all high and pointy in her hand bra.
“Lie down. Now stroke your nipples,” he said.
She lay back in the bed. Still holding her breasts, she grazed her nipples with her thumbs. She felt awkward.
“Shut your eyes,” he continued. “Imagine that I’m the one touching you. Rub your nipples.”
She obeyed. Rather than aroused, she felt uncomfortable. Just skin against skin. It was like trying to tickle herself. Strange and futile.
“Now slide your hands down. Rest them on your stomach,” he said. “Feel how soft your belly is. You’re a rounded, voluptuous woman. One I adore. Are you doing it?”
“Yes.”
“Now lower. Skim your hands over your mound.”
She draped her hands over her mound. “I’m skimming.”
“Feel the heat there. The pulse. Ripe and ready. Now tap your sweet nubbin with your finger.”
She hated to masturbate. And he knew it. Tern had a bit of the sadist in him, so sometimes he forced her to masturbate while he watched and told her what to do. No matter how hard she tried, she only achieved a bare twitch of orgasm. Afterward he rewarded her with a session of the nastiest, steamiest sex.
This time she wouldn’t get that glorious release.
“Oh, this is nice,” she said.
“You’re lying again. I know when you’re being pleasured. I can hear it in your voice, your breathing. Obey me, heart. It’s for your own good.”
He was asking for surrender over the phone. A whimpering sound caught in her throat. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“Tap,” he said. “And this time I expect you to give it 100 percent.”
She yielded. The taps made her tender pearl swell. The first tendril of carnal sensation eased through her. Caught by surprise, she resisted the impact. She wanted him. Not her own fingers.
“Press your palm against your clit,” he said. “It’s burning hot, throbbing with need. Feel it?”
“No,” she gasped. “I don’t.”
“You do. Now pump your hips against your palm.”
She reluctantly did what he demanded.
“That’s it,” he said. “Now faster.”
Blood pounding in her ears, she obeyed. She strained against the pressure of her palm.
Her hips moved faster now, automatic, frantic. Her world narrowed to her greedy clit. Beginning tremors seized her. Why was the sensation so strong this time? “No!”
“Yes. Now come for me,” he said. �
�Come hard.”
Powerless to resist his command, she writhed and stroked, uncontrolled. She was caught in an avalanche of pleasure. Her clit spit fire. Her ovaries sang. She couldn’t breathe. She shuddered again and again, finally crying out.
“Good girl,” he said.
She was sated, limp. Her body was liquid. When she could finally speak, she said, “I hated doing that, Tern.”
He laughed. This time the laugh was not evil. “I love you, too, heart. Now get dressed. I don’t want you catching cold.”
For the first time in weeks, she slept soundly.
* * * *
The next morning she woke up humming. She was happy because she got some good sleep. It had nothing to do with having had all those orgasms. She despised masturbation, and always would.
Still, Tern’s sexual authority over her made her feel secure.
Even Poppy was in a great mood. She skipped all the way to school. The little girl must have had been sensing Jill’s anxiety and craziness over the sewing. That might have been the reason for Poppy’s tantrum.
Jill was convinced that her late-night sewing had disrupted the family. It was appropriate for Tern to force her to stop. The number one lesson of parenthood was that your kid comes first. Even before bringing home your man.
Tern now called her every single night. He wanted to be the last thing she heard before she went to sleep. His attention caused her to be upbeat, pleasing, devoted. He was working so hard to get the money for legal expenses, a good attitude was the least she could do.
He continued to order her to masturbate whenever it suited him. It suited him whenever he caught an edge to her voice, or she seemed tired. Indifferent to her begging and promises, he’d order her to strip naked, and rub and stroke—and blast off. As much as she hated the sessions, she came to think of masturbation as service to him.
Without sewing, time weighed heavily on her. She worked in the garden, digging new plots, transplanting bushes. She took up baking. She even read novels. But she just didn’t have enough to do. It was a stress no orgasms could cure. Boredom made her steadily more miserable and anxious.
Of course Tern sensed it, even over the phone.
