by Jane Henry
“I know, honey,” he said softly, and her eyes looked up at him again. At once, he was reminded of the little girl he used to take to the playground, who loved being pushed so high on the swing she said she was flying, the girl with the pigtails and knobby knees that knocked together when she rode her bike. The little girl that was still there, but hidden under layers of anger and fog.
“He’s happy now, Marianna,” Maverick said softly. “And he’s still here with you, but in a different way.”
Marianna’s lip trembled. “I miss him,” she whispered.
“Of course you do,” he whispered back, opening up his arms. “We all do.” Her anger was gone now. The moment had passed, and he no longer needed to be as stern.
“C’mere,” he said softly. With a sniffle, she ran over and buried her head on his chest. He patted her back and started to pat her hair, but it was such a tangle of knots, he looked helplessly at Celia. Her eyes flickered. He didn’t know quite what to read in them, but a look flashed through her before she looked at him again, business-like and attentive. He gestured to Marianna’s hair. Her eyes widened, and she nodded, giving him the thumbs-up. He would smooth her hair and braid it, which Marianna loved. He smiled his thanks.
He sighed, as he held Marianna, who cried quietly. She needed him. His mom needed him. But he couldn’t be here forever.
* * *
Celia opened up the jar of ultra creamy milk chocolate icing and tore the foil-lid off with her teeth. She grabbed the bag of pretzels, and ripped it open. “Fat free,” she murmured appreciatively at the bag. “Not for long.”
She dipped a pretzel in the frosting, swirled, and stuffed it in her mouth. Totally gross and totally satisfying. She sighed, grabbed another pretzel, and swore when it broke in the middle of the container of icing. She grabbed a fistful of pretzels, shoved them in, and scraped them back up. She took a good lick. Yum. She had to fortify herself before the scene that would unfold tonight.
Maybe she should tell him she was sick. Surely, a few more bites of pretzels slathered in jarred frosting might actually do that to her. Damn wheat killed her stomach, but she put up with it because the gluten-free shit was for the birds. Maybe she should call Rodney and ask him to have Louanne film the scene. But no, that wouldn’t do. The last time she’d had Louanne film, she was all wobbly, and all over the place. The girl didn’t know what she was doing. And if Rodney filmed, that left Maverick alone with the women and that was not happening!
She sighed, the vision of Maverick surrounded by those submissive girls with their asses up in the air ready to take his punishment made her shudder. She glared at the frosting and pretzels, pushed away from the counter top chair, and rummaged in her cabinet until she found a jar of peanut butter. She yanked it down and plunked it next to the frosting. Perfect. She was just opening the lid and grabbing a spoon when the phone rang. Maverick. Shit. Even though he was on the phone and not standing in front of her, she felt guilty being caught red-handed.
“H’lo?” she said around a mouthful of frosting-topped peanut butter.
“Hey,” Maverick said, his deep voice reaching right through the phone and making her nipples harden. Shit! She glared at the treacherous phone. Why couldn’t he be skinny and nerdy? Why couldn’t he have a high-pitched voice? Why did he have to be all strong and gruff, like a big dommy teddy bear? It would be so much easier to maintain their friendship and not fall for him if he didn’t set every single friggin’ nerve of hers on end.
The fantasies really did not help. It was his fault, anyway.
It had all started eight years ago. She’d been positively shitfaced at her twenty-fifth birthday party. Maverick had had a few to drink himself, but it was Rodney who’d announced Celia needed her birthday spanking. She had no idea that Maverick and Rodney had just gotten into the scene, and it shocked the hell out of her when Rodney had produced a stout paddle from his pocket. There were hoots and hollers and cheers, as Rodney had told her to position herself for her birthday spanking. She’d never been spanked, but she was always game for a laugh, so she’d leaned over the arm of the couch and lifted her ass. Rodney had delivered a few, counting out the number, then handed the paddle to someone else. She couldn’t even remember who. All she remembered was the cheering, how fucking turned-on she was, and how inside, she was begging, pleading, even though she had no idea why, for Maverick to take the paddle.
The count had gotten up to ten and then the paddle was handed to Maverick. Celia would never forget his slow, wicked smile, as he took the implement in his hand. With that massive bear of a man she’d loved since she was a little girl, wielding a paddle and about to spank her, she’d lost her shit.
“Uh uh!” she said. “No way. I’m not offering my ass to him!”
She was afraid she wouldn’t sit for a week, although inside she was quaking, aroused and flaming hot, as licks of fire ripped through her. He was easily twice the size of every other guy there. Maverick had simply tossed the paddle to Rodney, laughing, as he snagged her around the belt loop, sat down on the couch, and hauled her over his lap.
“Who said anything about offering?” he said, as he proceeded to deliver the remainder of her birthday spanks with slow, stinging swats counted out loud with the rest of the raucous crowd. When he was done, he’d unceremoniously dumped her on the couch and wished her a happy birthday.
And he’d changed her life forever.
She’d never been more turned on in her life. Heat flamed in her chest and between her legs. She couldn’t breathe, her breath coming in gasps as the heady swirl of arousal made her dizzy. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. And Maverick simply sat there, popped the bottle off another beer, and told her to be a good girl.
She’d replayed that alone in her bedroom so many times, she’d lost count. The seat of her pants flaming hot, Maverick’s bottle of beer up to his lips, “Be a good girl, Celia,” in his deep, husky voice. The feel of her belly over his knees, and the slap and sting of his enormous palm on her jean-clad bottom. Celia didn’t really know why she was so turned on, but after a while, she stopped questioning it. It was something deeper than her reason; it was primal, and out of her control. All she knew was that the thought of being disciplined by Maverick was the sexiest thing she’d ever imagined, but it was more than sexy. There was something reassuring, even sweet about it, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Rodney and Maverick had kept their interest in BDSM and spanking hidden from Celia for a while, but she had her ways. Really, who kept a paddle in their pockets anyway? She didn’t buy the birthday excuse. She’d found out, met some of their friends into the scene, and she’d been interested ever since.
And damn it all to hell, if she wasn’t head over heels in love with her best friend.
“What’th up, Maverick?” she asked, swirling the spoon in the peanut butter and then plunging it into the frosting. She’d feel like absolute shit when she hit the treadmill in the morning, but she’d burn it off and then some. She shoved the spoon in her mouth, but somehow, with Maverick on the other end of the line, it had suddenly lost its appeal. He’d give her “that look” anyway. No fair.
“What time are we supposed to be meeting at Rodney’s?” he asked.
“Theven,” she said, peanut butter stuck to the top of her mouth. She washed it down with another spoonful of frosting. It didn’t help.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Jutht taking my medithine,” she mumbled back into the phone.
She heard a low growl on the other end of the phone. She felt a twinge of guilt, and quickly scooped another bit of peanut butter and chocolate, stood, and yanked open the cabinet. She extracted a bag of chocolate chips, tore them open, and sighed at the familiar smell of chocolate, as chips spilled from the bag and bounced off the counter and floor. She expertly dotted the top of her spoon, and plunged it into her mouth.
“Does your medicine include peanut butter on a spoon?” he asked in a stern voice.
What do you care?
And how do you know me so well?
“Maybe,” she said. She frowned, scooped some more icing onto a pretzel, and chomped into the phone defiantly.
“And pretzels? Celia!” he chided.
“I’ll be fine!” she said. “Is this what you called about? To lecture me on my eating habits?”
“You need more than a lecture on your eating habits,” he growled.
Her eyes squeezed shut, as her chest constricted, and her breath caught. He wouldn’t!
“Well, then, scooter, better go find me a Dom to keep me in line, because I’m thoroughly enjoying myself and in no mood to self regulate.”
“Scooter?” he said.
“Yeah. I said scooter.” She sighed. For some reason, she felt her anger rising and she wanted to slam the phone on the counter. How could he? Was he a total idiot? Did he have no idea how she felt about him? And why did he have to go and be all dommy and protective? It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t take it. But she’d die before she’d tell him. “Would dumbass be more appropriate? Or asswipe?”
She could feel him getting angry on the other side of the line. “Sue me for caring,” he snapped. “Jesus!”
No, Maverick. No. It’s not because you care. It’s because you care too much.
“Sorry,” she mumbled into the phone, suddenly repentant and feeling like a loser. “I shouldn’t take my bad night out on you.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” he said crossly. “I hope you do find a Dom, a guy strong enough to take you in hand the way you need it.”
Her chest tightened and she closed her eyes, but she went on. “Yeah, me too. Hey, is that all you called for?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“Bye,” she said. He called just to see what time they were meeting? Had he completely forgotten the fine art of text messaging? She tossed the phone on the counter, grabbed the bag of chocolate chips, and flopped back on her couch. She tossed a fistful of chocolate in the air, some landing in her mouth, some on her cheek, some on the sofa cushions. And she indulged in what she knew was even worse for her than a peanut butter-icing-pretzel-chocolate binge.
The door opened and Maverick stepped in. He looked stern, and serious, a scowl on his face, though his eyes weren’t heated and angry.
“I thought I told you not to eat the food that will make you sick,” he chided, as he shut the door and locked it. “If you’re stressed, or upset, you come to me,” he said. “You don’t run to food, or sugar. That’s not good for you, and you know it. But the real problem here, little girl, is that you disobeyed me.” He removed his coat and hung it on the rack. He took his keys and placed them on the hook by the door.
He crossed the room and sat on the couch.
She sat up and looked up at him, ashamed, and repentant.
“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”
“You will be,” he said, as he patted his lap. “Now come here.”
Shaking, trembling, she pushed herself off the sofa, and lay over his knee. His large hand rested on her lower back, before going even lower.
“You know I’m going to spank you for this, Celia,” he said.
She nodded into the sofa cushions.
“What do you I expect from you?” he asked, as she felt the warmth of his hand on her bottom.
“To take care of myself, and to do what you say,” she responded.
Her phone rang again from the counter.
She pushed herself up, feeling drowsy from having closed her eyes and sick from the sugar and pretzels. She took a step toward the kitchen and reached for her phone.
“Yeah?” she said.
Rodney.
“You’ve got some restraints we can use?” he asked.
She sighed. “Yep. I’ll bring ‘em.”
“Okay, thanks, Cel. You’re a peach.”
“Thanks. See you soon.” She shut the phone off.
She was something.
Chapter Three
When Celia arrived at Rodney and Louanne’s, there were a few unfamiliar cars parked along the side of the street. Celia had personally asked a Dom she knew for recommendations for submissives who would be willing to take part in a demonstration. Each one of the submissives who’d agree to come for the filming was happy to take part, especially when they found out who’d be performing the scene for the camera.
Maverick had earned a bit of a reputation, the big bad bear of a Dom, even if he was completely oblivious. After he broke up with Crystal, word had spread that he was single, and there were many girls who were interested. But as none had appealed to him, he remained single.
Celia went to the side door at Rodney’s place, and trotted down the stairs, past the potted plants Louanne tenderly cared for, down the steep cement stairs to the basement of their little home. Knocking lightly on the door, she realized it was open, so she pushed it open and entered. She shut and locked it behind her. They may have left it open as people arrived, but soon, they’d want privacy, she reasoned.
When she entered, amidst laughter and voices, no one noticed her. Celia felt relieved, even if she did feel nauseous, and she didn’t feel like socializing with anyone. Slipping to the side, she shrugged off her sweatshirt and bag, and tossed them into the office. She went back to the main area and scanned the crowd for Maverick. It was part of her routine. Find Maverick, so she could strategically plan how to avoid him until she was ready. Some days were better than others. Some days, she could joke around with him, and he was just her friend, a big brother of a guy. Dependable. Funny. Comfortable.
But when she was feeling lonely, and yearning to be put in her place as a submissive, it was much harder. The longing intensified. She knew it wouldn’t do any good fantasizing about him. He thought of her as a sister, and no more. He’d made that clear on many occasions, though she’d never so much as hinted about her attraction to him. She couldn’t. She would ruin everything and though the thought of never having her interest in him met was painful, the thought of losing his friendship was devastating. But still, she could no more stop herself from fantasizing about him than she could stop the frosting-laden pretzels from sailing into her mouth.
“Hey, Cel,” Louanne greeted. She was wearing a cute pair of tight-fitting jeans with black leather boots that came to her knees, a pale blue tunic top, and silver hoops. She looked classy and cute, as usual perched atop one of the bar stools, and had the equipment set up to begin filming. “So, tonight we get to see these guys in action,” she said with a giggle.
“Yeah,” Celia said, as she took a seat next to Louanne. “You okay with that? I mean, Rodney’s going to spank another woman or two,” she said. “And that’s cool?”
Louanne shook her head. “No, he’s not,” she said. “I felt a little weird about it. So, Rodney and Maverick worked it out. Rodney is going to narrate, and hand implements or restraints to Maverick, but Maverick is doing the actual spanking.”
Celia’s heart flipped. Damn it!
“Ah, okay,” she said. “No wonder they’re all lined up and ready to go.” They hadn’t even had to pay these women. All she’d had to do was mention spanking scene and Maverick, and they’d practically begged to come and bend over.
“Celia,” Maverick’s deep voice came from across the room. She looked up, and he crooked a finger for her to come. Her heart did what it always did – stuttered and squeezed, and she found herself trotting over to him as if her feet had a mind of their own.
“Yeah? What’s up, big guy?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as usual.
He beckoned for her to come closer. He was wearing a dark, sleeveless tee shirt that showed off his biceps, and was sitting on a straight-backed chair, legs apart, hands folded in his lap. He looked stern, and calm, and so hot she felt her legs wobbling as she walked to him.
“You bring the restraints?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded. “I brought bondage tape,” she said. “You
ever use that stuff?”
He nodded. There wasn’t much he hadn’t tried. The bondage tape looked like a roll of duct tape, but unlike duct tape, it would only stick to itself. It was ideal for situations like this, in which he needed something disposable and safe.
“Thanks,” he said. “Bring it over.”
She rolled her eyes, even as she felt his command down to the tips of her toes. He was so grumpy sometimes, so deliciously grumpy.
“What do you say?” she chided, trying to coax a “please” out of him.
His eyes narrowed. “Please,” he gritted out.
“Good boy!” she chirped, patting him on the head. She’d turned to go and get the tape, when she felt a sharp crack on her ass take her breath away. She turned back to him, wide-eyed, in utter shock that he’d just spanked her.
He merely shrugged. “Just warmin’ up, honey,” he said, though his eyes were narrowed at her.
She growled at him, even as she turned and trotted away, her chest heaving and lady parts tingling. Just warmin’ up, my ass, she thought, then she giggled as the pun hit her. Louanne looked at her quizzically, but Celia ignored her and fumbled through her bag. She retrieved the tape, and trotted back over to Maverick.
“Here. But why do you need restraints, anyway? I thought we made it clear we weren’t doing BDSM scenes?”
He shrugged. “Restraints can come in very handy for a spanking session,” he said. “Especially a more serious one, when the sub is tempted to maybe get away.”
Yeah, that was a visual she needed, thank you very much. Not! Maverick not only spanking a submissive, but also restraining her first? She sighed. She’d need more frosting.
“You don’t look so good,” he said, as he cast concerned eyes at her.
“Yeah, feeling a little sick around the edges,” she replied.
