by Jane Henry
"Stop fucking pretending that you're the only one who was affected by the accident," she hissed, her voice cracking as her eyes filled with tears. Not wanting him to see her cry, she turned on her heel and stormed to her room, oblivious to anything but the compelling desire to get the hell away from him before he saw her cry.
***
Part of her wanted to run to her new friends. She wanted to tell Little Lady everything that happened. She'd told her friend about the accident. There were a few late nights she'd confided in her, telling her what no one else knew—how lonely she was, how badly she missed her husband, how she longed to have him back.
But part of her didn't want to admit what she'd done. Even in the most laid-back of dynamics, what she'd done was deserving of punishment. Although she justified her outburst of temper, she was plagued with guilt.
Maybe Paolo needed help. Maybe she could've sat down and talked to him calmly, instead of attacking him out of nowhere, like a snake striking an unsuspecting victim. Maybe, maybe... the maybes didn't matter. The reality was, she had snapped at him. She'd gone and lost her temper. And over what? A few stupid food wrappers that she could've fit in one hand and tossed in the trash?
But she knew it wasn't about the wrappers. It wasn't about a few pieces of trash. No, it ran much deeper than that. As she lay in bed, her anger completely dissipated. Now that she'd let loose, and let herself give in to the fury, she felt nothing but remorse. Shame. And an overwhelming sadness.
She turned to her pillow, the tears flowing freely now, the loneliness so palpable, she felt smothered by it. Her thoughts turned to the community she'd spent the past weeks completely immersed in.
What would happen now if Paolo was her Dom? She'd be punished, no doubt. It wasn't acceptable to raise her voice and disrespect him like that. Although there were no hard and fast rules, and each couple determined their own dynamic, there were a few basic tenets she'd picked up on in conversations and in her reading, and she knew Master Winston's guidelines for Little Lady fell under the same categories.
Danger, Dishonesty, Disrespect, and Disobedience.
Little Lady was expected to make safe choices. So things like speeding, or talking on her phone in the car, were punishable offenses. She was required to always be honest, respectful, and obedient. Although she didn't have a formal list of rules, or anything like that—Meredith knew that some people did—Little Lady knew what was expected of her and she did her best to please Master Winston.
Meredith wondered. What would it feel like if she knew that Paolo was going to punish her for her outburst? Would she dread him coming in? She had no doubt that part of her would. Little Lady said that awaiting a punishment was brutal, and she'd rather take a spanking any day than wait for Master Winston to punish her. Meredith lay in bed, her eyes shut, allowing her imagination to flesh out the scene. She'd hear him come down the hall. He'd enter the room and approach her, his anger tempered, but a stern, intimidating glint in his eye.
"Stand," he'd say, commanding her to get out of bed and come to face him. She'd obey. She wondered what that would feel like. Would she be nervous? Would she shake? He'd narrow his eyes at her. But it would be different than when he was furious at her. He'd be in control of himself. He wouldn't be yelling. He'd be stern.
"Strip and lay over the bed," he'd instruct. She'd obey. What would he use? Would he get a strap he kept hung in his closet? Would he fetch a paddle that lay hidden in a drawer? Would he take off his belt? Or use his hand?
He'd spank her. She imagined she'd flinch, and squirm. Decades of working as a carpenter gave Paolo enormous upper body strength, even if he was in a wheelchair, and she well knew, from the distant memories she had of the few times they wrestled in play, how quickly he could subdue her. Would he lecture her? For some reason, she'd want him to lecture her.
"Are you allowed to yell at me?" Swat!
Her mind froze, not knowing how she would respond. "No, Paolo? No? No, Sir?"
"What happens when you disrespect me?"
"I get a spanking."
It would hurt. Of course it would hurt. Maybe she'd even cry. Little Lady said she always cried, though it was more from the emotional impact of facing punishment than the actual pain of a spanking. Meredith imagined her crying, as Paolo continued to punish her.
But then. Then it would be over. Then he'd hug her. Then he'd forgive her. She wouldn't feel this terrible guilt anymore, would she? She wouldn't be weeping, alone in her bedroom, wishing she could close the distance between them.
She'd apologize. He'd forgive her. And maybe he'd even kiss her. Maybe that would even lead to other things...
As her mind wandered, she squirmed.
She felt as if someone had lit a fire under her. Her mouth felt parched, her body trembled, as arousal pulsated through her core. The ache for Paolo was almost unbearable. With a frustrated groan, she pulled out her phone. She'd spent so much time online, and she'd been so turned off with the idea of caging, she hadn't gotten back to her book yet. She wanted to escape. She wanted to push reality away and go back to her fantasy world.
Sylvia lay her head down on the pillow Master Tanner had given her. Still groggy from being woken up from sleep, she stretched out on the mattress, her head nestled on the soft pillow, the blanket he'd tucked around her before he left warm and secure.
Before he left.
She barely held back the sob that threatened to escape.
No, she would not give in to the longing she felt. Oh, how she wanted him. The desire to be held by him was an ever-present craving, but after she'd been punished, it was insatiable. Occasionally, when he took her after he punished her, he filled the longing in her heart to be close. But sometimes, he ordered her to bed without another word.
She knew some submissives, or slaves, had no desire for any aftercare. She knew that some dominants, or masters, wouldn't allow it. But it had always been a component of punishment sessions for her and Master Tanner. Typically, the heavier the punishment, the greater her desire to crawl back to him and be rewarded with his forgiveness.
"I have to please him," she thought to herself. "I will do whatever my master asks of me, even if it means we spend the night apart."
She hadn't spent the night apart from him since she'd traveled to visit family six months ago, and then, she'd stayed on the phone with him until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, tears of longing dampening her pillow when he finally bid her go to sleep. She reached for the gold collar around her neck, and as usual, a sense of peace enveloped her when her fingers entwined in the solid metal.
"I belong to him," she thought. "I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me."
Where did that come from? It was something Master Tanner had read to her. She hadn't seen what, at the time, but she had a vague recollection it was something religious. He wasn't terribly religious himself, but very well read, and he often read to her before bed. Poetry. Stories. And this one she'd loved, as he'd read it, as it so beautifully captured the longing she had for her master.
Her hand around the gold chain, her eyes rested on the metal bars that enclosed her. And as she stared at the bars, she felt quiet descend upon her. Her mind grew quiet, and a stillness suffused her.
The bars around her were no more a separation from her master than the gold around her neck was a sign of bondage. No, no, it wasn't bondage or dismissal. It was far more than that. And as she lay in the quiet, listening to the soft, steady breathing of Master Tanner above her, she knew she would welcome the distance. She knew she could face it now.
The metal bars around her were not her imprisonment.
They were her freedom.
Meredith put her book down with a frown.
Huh.
She could relate to some of those feelings, though in her mind she could still hardly reconcile the idea of a collar, much less a cage. It still sounded so demeaning. It still sounded so wrong, consensuality be damned.
She wondered what Little Lady
and Master Winston thought of the whole thing. She glanced to her bedroom door. It was easier to access the online community with the laptop. But she had no desire to go out and see Paolo again. No doubt, he was still furious with her. With a frown, she pulled out her tablet and logged on. She glanced at the See Who's On notification at the top of the page, and she smiled when she saw Little Lady's name. She hit the button to send her a private message.
Hey, lady. I was hoping you'd be here. The reply came back quickly.
Little Lady: Bonita! How nice to see you again! How are you?
She felt a lump rise in her throat again. How was she? She was horrible! She'd screamed at her husband, and was destined to spend the night alone. Again. Her appetite had fled, so she hadn't even thought of dinner, and now gnawing hunger was eating at her but she had no desire to go out to where her husband was. She'd just read a scene in her book that confused her with the feelings it stirred up inside. But how much did she want to tell Little Lady? They'd had some long conversations, and Meredith had told Little Lady quite a bit about Paolo's accident.
Bonita: Eh. I'm okay. How about you?
Little Lady: Oh, I'm fantastic. I've had the loveliest of days with MW. We've just finished our dinner. He's the most amazing cook, and he made me a marinated steak tip dinner with roasted asparagus. He's out in the kitchen cleaning up now, and he said I could come on. I was hoping to find you here.
Meredith furrowed her brows as she typed.
Bonita: He does dishes?
The idea was so contrary to what she'd envisioned. Little Lady was his submissive. Didn't that mean that she did all those menial tasks?
Little Lady: Of course LOL. Although he requires me to do many chores around here in his absence, we mostly share the household tasks when he comes home.
Meredith nodded. Well, that was surprising, but still cool.
Little Lady: You said you were just 'okay'. Something you want to talk about, sweetie?
Her friend's concern caused tears to prick the back of Meredith's eyes. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, I have so many things I want to talk about I don't even know where to begin! Why did I yell at my husband? How do I make it better? How do I bring him back to me? Do I want to be submissive to him? How would I even begin? Why do I want this? Why am I spending all my free time talking to men who spank their wives and women who allow them? Why, why, why, does this all appeal to me so much? Have I gone crazy?
But she merely took a deep breath and typed My husband and I got into an argument. We haven't made up. I'm alone in my room, and have spent some time reading fiction, and I feel even more confused now than ever.
It took a minute for Little Lady's response to pop up.
Little Lady: I'm so sorry you had an argument. Do you want to talk about it?
Bonita: Yes. It was really bad. Master Winston would be furious with you, if you spoke to him the way I spoke to my husband. She felt ashamed as she continued. I screamed. I yelled. I swore. I acted like a spoiled little brat.
Little Lady: Don't think about what MW would do, Bonita. Our marriage is not yours. Yes, I would be punished for behaving that way, but that's not your concern. Why did you lose your temper?
Bonita: I came home and he was... where he always is. In his stupid chair. And there were empty wrappers and soda cans all around his chair. And I just... lost it.
Little Lady: Ah. I don't think it was about the wrappers, my friend.
Bonita: I know. I think you're right.
Little Lady: Your anger came from a place of hurt, Bonita. You feel as if he's abandoned you, I think. And I don't blame you for feeling that way.
A tear crept down Meredith's cheek as she nodded to the screen. Oh how she wished Little Lady was here with her, sitting next to her, drinking coffee. How did she know?
Bonita: Yes. You're right.
Little Lady: MW says I have one minute, Bonita. So please allow me to say one more thing quickly, before I need to leave.
Bonita: Of course.
Little Lady: Be careful of fiction. They often don't capture the reality. This lifestyle isn't a romance. It's real life. There are ups and downs, and nothing is perfect. Don't make the mistake of letting something fictionalized rob from you what you have. You can make this right again.
Meredith stared at the screen.
Little Lady: I need to go now. Good night. My prayers and thoughts are with you.
Bonita: Thank you. Good night.
She saw the icon showing her friend's presence disappear. She stared at the screen in front of her.
You can make this right again.
But how?
She saw the blinking chat window in the upper corner of the screen, and name caught her attention.
Mr. Brookstone.
She'd had several conversations with him now, and liked how easy it was to talk with him. He was fun, engaging, and intriguing. It would be nice to chat with him again.
Before she could think of what she was doing, aware of a vague pull at her conscience, she clicked 'enter'.
Chapter Five
The room was fairly teeming with conversations when she entered. There were names she didn't recognize, though she noticed with a groan that Rowdy was also present. Master Winston wasn't there, but another moderator, Ms. Fire and Ice, had a moderator cap above her name.
Ms. Fire and Ice: Bonita! Welcome. I'm not sure we've had the chance to meet yet, but I've read some of your comments and your welcome message. Nice to meet you!
Bonita: Same here, Ms. Fire and Ice. Thank you!
Mr. Brookstone: Hello, Bonita. I was wondering if you'd stop in tonight. How are you? She smiled to herself, casting a reproving glare at the door. At least someone was glad to see her.
Bonita: Doing okay. Starving LOL. How are you?
Mr. Brookstone: Hanging in there. Why are you starving?
Bonita: Oh, I skipped dinner, but I'm too tired to go out and make myself anything at this point. Aware of the fact that she was stretching the truth, she didn't really want to tell her life story in a public forum where everyone could see.
Mr. Brookstone: May I private message?
The hell with it.
Sure.
A private message window popped up on her screen.
Mr. Brookstone: You sound upset tonight. Everything okay?
Bonita: Yeah, it's okay, I guess. I really should go get something to eat. I get all cranky and unreasonably emotional when I'm hungry. And you don't have to ask me to private message me. It's all good.
Mr. Brookstone: Thank you. I wanted to message you because I think you really should go eat something. It's not good to skip meals. If I were in a D/S dynamic, I would absolutely make that one of the rules I enforced.
She raised her eyebrows, a strange feeling creeping over her. She could almost hear the sternness in his tone. Part of her resented it. Although he wasn't chastising her, it felt like a rebuke. But part of her was drawn to it. Heart pounding, she decided to push it.
Bonita: Oh, yeah? Why?
Mr. Brookstone: Because a dominant's job is to make sure the needs of his submissive are met.
Swallowing hard, desperate to feed her hunger of another sort, she took another leap.
Bonita: And what would you do about it? How would you enforce it?
Mr. Brookstone: I would make my expectations clear, to begin. I'd tell her when she was required to eat, and would make sure she obeyed. And if I found that she skipped a meal with no good excuse, I wouldn't allow her to be on the computer or watching TV or doing anything like that until she'd had a good meal.
Bonita: That sounds reasonable.
Mr. Brookstone: I would also spank her for disobeying me. I would make it clear how seriously I took her wellbeing.
Thunder pounded in her ears. She swallowed hard.
Bonita: Also, reasonable. Heh, seems like you've warmed up to the idea of this whole thing.
Mr. Brookstone: LOL. Yep. Hey, since you think this is reasonable, tell you what. Why
don't you log off and go get something to eat? And when you're finished, we can continue our conversation. I enjoy talking to you.
She stared at the screen. Was he trying to Dom her? Well, no. He wasn't really telling her what to do. He was making a suggestion, as a friend. How would that be any different from Robbie telling her to check the air in her tires, or MW urging her not to trust creepers online?
Mr. Brookstone wasn't her Dom. He was just a dominant, protective kinda guy, like most of the men on the forum. Part of her wanted to push back. How would he respond if she gave him an attitude about it? Would he grow sterner? Ashamed of the silly temptation, she typed back.
Bonita: Okay. I'll grab something to eat. See you in a few.
Mr. Brookstone: Good girl.
Her heart warmed at the praise.
Whoa.
What the hell was going on? Shaking her head at herself, she stood up and stretched, laying her tablet on the bed, and walked to the kitchen to get something to eat. Hunger gnawing at her, she opened the cupboard and reached for the box of cookies. She knew eating straight carbs on an empty stomach made her shaky, but the cookies looked so inviting. Then she froze. What would happen if she went back to the computer and Mr. Brookstone asked her what she'd eaten? Would he lecture her for eating cookies instead of a meal? Hell, it wasn't his place to lecture her!
Would Master Winston allow Little Lady to eat cookies for dinner? With a frown, Meredith grabbed a can of chicken soup from the cupboard, popped it open, and dumped it in a pan. While she heated it up, she thought about her conversation with Mr. Brookstone.
A dominant's job is to make sure the needs of his submissive are met.
She sighed, stirring the soup, as bubbles rose and the heat from the spoon warmed her hand. The savory smell of the chicken broth made her stomach growl with hunger. Should she offer Paolo something to eat? She didn't want to talk to him. It was safer being quiet, holding onto her anger. She didn't want to apologize. It wasn't his anger she avoided. It was his indifference.
You can make this right again, Little Lady had said.
