by Jane Henry
Shaking her head, she ladled the warm soup in her bowl. She swallowed.
"Paolo, you want something to eat?" she yelled into the other room.
"All set," he replied. Did he still sound angry? She couldn't tell. Satisfied that she'd at least gotten him to speak to her again, she took out a spoon from the silverware drawer, and took a sleeve of crackers from the cabinet. The soup smelled good, and she was glad Mr. Brookstone had urged her to eat.
She made her way into the dining room, replaying the scene she'd read earlier and the conversation with her friend. Be careful of fiction.
Was her friend right? Would it be better to skip the fiction and try to focus on what she did have? Decades of marriage to a man who'd been faithful, and loyal, and a devoted father to their son. She sighed, thinking back on the story she'd read.
I belong to my beloved, and my beloved belongs to me.
There was a time when she'd relate to that adoration, that feeling of completion that Paolo brought her. How could she have let something like the accident drive a wedge between them? She sighed, spooning the last bite of soup and chasing it with another cracker.
Her appetite satisfied, she loaded her dishes into the dishwasher, and went to get a glass of water from the fridge. She spied a tall, almost full bottle of wine, white zinfandel she'd picked up a few weeks before. It was delicious, and fruity, and not being one to drink very often, she'd completely forgotten it was there.
It could be fun chatting with Mr. Brookstone with the buzz of wine coursing through her.
She filled a tall wine glass with the fragrant, white wine, and put the bottle back in the fridge.
If she were a submissive, would she have to ask for permission before she had a drink? She thought back to what Mr. Brookstone had said. Would she be in trouble for indulging in a glass of vinho, as Paolo would say, without permission?
I would also spank her for disobeying me.
With the heat from the wine surging through her, intermingled with the warmth of Mr. Brookstone's dominant comment, she fairly floated her way back to her bedroom.
People didn't want to be punished. The whole point of punishment was that it had to be avoided.
So why was she so drawn to the idea of being punished?
***
Mr. Brookstone: Have you gotten yourself something to eat, Bonita?
Bonita: Sure did. Had a nice bowl of soup with some crackers.
Mr. Brookstone: Perfect. Well done.
Again, the warmth of his approval melted over her. She looked back at the conversation in the chat room.
CollarMePlease: Hi, Bonita! You have me jealous with your soup! I had Lucky Charms for dinner. Epic fail!
Mr. Brookstone: You girls! Honestly!
Meredith giggled.
CollarMePlease: giggles… No worries, I had a nice entree salad for lunch, and Lucky Charms are fortified with twelve essential vitamins and nutrients.
Rowdy: Brats, all of you.
CollarMePlease: At your service. Bonita, we were just talking about praise, and how it fits in with a D/S dynamic.
Praise?
Bonita: Oh, yeah?
Mr. Brookstone: Yes. CMP was saying that a dominant meting out praise is as important as meting out discipline. What do you think?
Rowdy: I think that's bullshit.
Mr. Brookstone: I didn't ask you. Tell me again, Rowdy. You're single, right? No submissive?
Rowdy: Yeah.
Mr. Brookstone: Imagine that.
Ms. Fire and Ice: Gentlemen.
Mr. Brookstone: Bonita, what are your thoughts?
Bonita: Well, yes, praise is important if it's well deserved. It seems to me, a submissive has the desire to please. And if he praised her too often, it would perhaps lose the appeal. But the well-placed comment after she's met his approval would likely make her eager to please.
Her mind began to wander.
Good girl.
Well done.
CollarMePlease: Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes! One of my fantasies involves me sitting by my Dom's feet, while he plays with my hair, and tells me I'm his good girl. Ohhh, I love that.
Mr. Brookstone: LOL that's cute.
CollarMePlease: Look at this picture I found on Tumblr. I loooooove it.
She linked to a picture, and the image immediately popped up on the screen. It was black and white. An attractive gentleman sat in a straight-backed chair, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a crisp white shirt. He sat in a relaxed position, knees apart, while a beautiful young woman, wearing absolutely nothing, sat by his feet, between his legs, her head resting on his knee. Meredith could tell she was naked by the curve of her back and swell of her breast, but it was carefully shot so that it wasn't offensive. His hand rested on her head. The image was serene. Moving. Meredith longed to be the girl with her head in her Dominant's lap.
Mr. Brookstone: Pheeeew. That's hot.
Meredith giggled.
Bonita: Yes, I love the suit.
Rowdy: I luv the ass and tits, sa-weeet
Mr. Brookstone: Ms. Fire and Ice, don't you spank guys? Rowdy here seems kinda needy...
Ms. Fire and Ice: Don't tempt me, Mr. Brookstone. Rowdy, you're making this an unpleasant conversation.
Meredith laughed to herself.
Bonita: I like the picture, CollarMe. I really do.
CollarMePlease: Isn't it romantic?
Mr. Brookstone: Very.
Maybe it wasn't all about rules and consequences. Maybe there was more to it than that. How would it feel to sit like that? To know you were cherished like that? There was a time when she did feel cherished. There was a time when she did feel loved.
You can make this right again.
She chatted a bit longer, as CollarMePlease posted more pictures, Rowdy pissed her off, and Mr. Brookstone made comments that made her laugh. But she knew what she wanted to do. She knew what she had to do.
Bonita: I need to go for now.
A private message popped up from Mr. Brookstone. They'd gone past formalities, and could private message at will.
Mr. Brookstone: I enjoyed our conversation tonight. Will I see you again soon?
Bonita: Sure. I'll be back on tomorrow night.
Mr. Brookstone: Perfect. Hey. One more thing.
Bonita: Yes?
Mr. Brookstone: Make sure you take care of yourself tomorrow. No skipping meals. Got it?
Mixed feelings rose. Attraction to his dominance. The satisfaction of her desire to be taken care of met. Guilt, for allowing herself to grow more attached to a man who was not her husband.
Bonita: You got it. Have a good night.
Mr. Brookstone: Good night, Bonita. Sleep well.
She went to click the 'x' at the top of the screen, but before she did, she paused. She pulled her profile up and read it.
Role: Undecided.
She bit her lip, pulling up the drop-down menu.
Submissive. She clicked save.
Profile Updated.
***
Meredith lay back on the bed. She stared at her tablet as if it would somehow bite her.
What was going on?
Two decades of marriage, and never once had she ever thought of leaving Paolo. And what kind of a wife would leave her husband after he suffered such a miserable blow? But how much was she supposed to put up with? She had needs, too.
The thought of leaving Paolo made her want to cry.
The thought of staying with him, at least the way he was here, made her want to cry.
She wanted to quiet her mind. She wanted to stop the incessant churning of thoughts, emotions, and questions. She wanted quiet. She opened her book.
Tanner woke up earlier than he usually did. He was accustomed to the sweet nuzzling caresses of Sylvia waking him up, as sunlight streamed through the window and the warmth of the blankets around them served as a sort of cocoon. Waking with Sylvia by his side was one of his favorite things to do. But this morning, she was not there, of course.
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He sat, the realization that she lay apart from him because of his caging her crashing in on him.
Was this right? Sometimes, when he engaged in the heavier tasks their dynamic required—turning her over his knee for a sound disciplinary spanking, telling her no to something and using his stern Dom voice to make her behave, clasping the cold metal cuffs around her slender wrists before a session—he felt a twinge of self-doubt. Was it right for him to treat her this way? He'd been raised to be a gentleman, a real man who treated women with the utmost respect. To an outside observer, the way he occasionally treated Sylvia was anything but that. And now, looking down upon the silver cage used to house animals, his beautiful submissive sleeping quietly behind the bars, he felt a pang of guilt.
But he always had his answer quickly. The fleeting moments of self-doubt, stemming from having grown accustomed to social mores, were just that—fleeting. The fruits of their relationship were immediately evident.
His burning need to protect her. The peace and acceptance on her own face, even after being punished, as she welcomed her own need to please him. Their passionate lovemaking. Those eyes, sky-blue mirrors into her soul, that looked upon him with nothing short of pure adoration. The way her obedience to him made him hard. When she sat by his feet... that simple gesture of obedience and submission was one of her favorite things to do... he felt like a king.
He stood, frowning at his evident arousal he felt when waking, that Sylvia usually welcomed and eased away. Damn it to hell. If caging her required him to wake up alone, maybe he'd do it less frequently than he initially planned. He reached for the bedside table and picked up the small silver key, stood, then knelt beside her cage.
She looked as peaceful as a small child, as if she had not a worry in the world. Her small hands were clasped under her chin, the soft rising and falling of her chest the picture of peace and contentment. And he knew then, in that moment, with the key to her freedom held in his hands, watching her beautiful, unadulterated sleep, he knew that he'd give his life for her.
Meredith put her phone down.
There it was again.
When she sat by his feet... that simple gesture of obedience and submission...
She thought of the picture CollarMePlease had posted earlier in the chat room.
You can make this right.
She wasn't going to go in and ask Paolo to Dom her. Yeah, no way was that happening. He'd look at her like she was some kind of a lunatic, and she'd already decided she'd do absolutely nothing to push them further apart.
But no way was she spending the night apart from him either. She stood. Nerves caused her stomach to churn. Her hands shook, and her breathing came in labored gasps. God, but it was easier to run away. How much easier would it be for her to climb into bed and read her book until she fell asleep? She didn't want easy. She didn't want the same.
With decided, firm steps, she marched out to the den. She stopped short when she went to the kitchen. The few dishes that had been in the sink were gone. The counters were sparkling clean, a new dishtowel lay out, and the pile of mail and ads on the counter was gone. Disbelieving, she stepped into the den, where she came upon a similar picture of tidiness. Cushions were straightened, the afghan her mother had crocheted for their wedding day neatly folded on the back of the sofa. But Paolo was nowhere to be seen. Meredith frowned. It was so unusual for him not to be in the den.
He wasn't in the bedroom, of course, and the kitchen and den were vacant. He couldn't get to his workshop in the basement anymore because of the stairs, so that was out, too. The only thing left would be the small living room, the 'sitting room', she'd always called it. It was the small room where she often read, because there was no TV or media distractions, but just a small love seat and recliner.
Paolo sat on the love seat, reading. He looked up in surprise when she came in.
"You okay, meu amor?"
She nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat that rose when he used the familiar term of endearment, she walked over to him.
My love.
"Fine," she whispered. She trembled as she drew closer to him. She couldn't turn back now. It was now or never.
She came to him until she stood between his legs, closer than she'd been to him in a very long time, his eyes widened in surprise.
Not caring what he'd think, not caring what he'd say, she had to know. She had to try. She had to feel. Not breaking eye contact, she didn't say a word.
She knelt.
Oh, but it felt good to kneel by him. She couldn't identify the look in his eyes. Yes, he was surprised. But it was more than that. His eyes softened, and she felt comfort descend upon her as their eyes remained fixed on one another.
Mirrors to the soul.
"Paolo," she said, her voice breaking. So much to say. So much to forgive. Her hands rested on his knees, his large hands rested over hers. It felt good to have his hands over hers like that, protective, strong, and intimate. He nodded.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she felt the sincerity of her apology. She never wanted to hurt him. "I don't know why... I just... came in, and I..."
He placed a finger to her lips, and slowly shook his head.
"Say no more," he said. His voice was deep, and mellow, and she felt it to her core. She swallowed, looking down, not able to stop her emotions from boiling over. He took her chin in his hands, tipping her head up so that her eyes met his once again. "We both need to apologize," he said in a deep, even rumble. "I'm sorry, too."
She nodded.
"Lay your head down, baby," he instructed. She obeyed, her head in his lap, surprised by the command she didn't expect. Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair. Over and over again, his warm fingers reached the top of her head and combed down, smoothing her hair down, and a sense of comfort descended upon her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel the strength in his hand, tears seeping out as she rested her head upon his knee.
After some time, his hand traveled past her head and caressed her back with smooth, strong strokes, up and down, and she sighed into the relaxing feeling. She could lay like this forever. She couldn't remember ever having sat by his feet like this before. She wondered why. It was the most amazing feeling in the world, this feeling of surrender. The feeling of contentment.
The feeling of being exactly where she belonged.
***
Dark. Quiet. Angry slashes of rain assaulting the windshield.
No, no, no! Stop it! Not now, please, not now, don't do it!
As she became aware of the music, she tried to lift her hands to block it all out, block out the sounds, shield her eyes.
Paolo, stop! Please, don't! I can't bear it, not again!
Heart pounding, she felt as if she were bound and gagged, so consumed with terror and the knowledge of what was coming she couldn't move. He turned to her, his dark eyes so happy, so full of life.
"Eu te amor.”
Crash!
It was the sound of her own screams that woke her. She sat up in bed, heart pounding so hard she felt it would burst, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Half in the rain-slicked horror of broken glass and screams, half in the comfort of her bedroom, she flailed, the blankets twisted so badly around her legs, she felt a full-blown panic attack ascending on her. She couldn't breathe. Something was strangling her, surely, if she didn't catch a breath soon, she was going to pass out, or worse. She had to breathe.
Why couldn't she breathe?
Strong arms engulfed her, pulling her close, Paolo's deep, commanding voice crashing into the confusion.
"Breathe, Meredith!"
Instinctively, she obeyed, mouth opening and gasping, like breaking the surface of a pool, as cool, life-giving air filled her lungs. Breath after breath she took, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing, as he held her so close, so tight, it hurt.
"I've got you, baby," he said. "Shhh. Breathe, baby."
She closed her eyes, breathi
ng steadily now, as her heartbeat returned to normal.
"It was... the accident," she gasped, unable to stop the torrent of words from coming. "You and me in the dark. I hate it. I can't stop it. I try. Oh God, every time I try to stop you, try to warn you, but I'm frozen." Her voice ended on a sob.
"Shhh, baby."
"It's horrible, Paolo. Oh, God, it's so horrible." She noticed with surprise that his shirt was damp, and it took a moment to register that it was from her own tears.
"I know. I get them, too," he said.
He did? Guilt flooded her. How come he never told her?
"You do?" she whispered, lifting her tear-stained face to look at him. He nodded, his voice just the breath of a whisper above her.
"In my dream, it's not my voice I can't use though," he continued, his voice still soft but hardening.
What did he mean?
"In my dream, I always try to hit the brakes.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing her eyes shut so tight as realization dawned on her.
"Only, when I wake up, it's not just a dream anymore."
As they held each other, their breathing regulating, no more need to talk, she uttered a silent prayer, hardly knowing what to say.
Please.
Help me help him.
Chapter Six
The next few days were almost like the old days. At first, she and Paolo spent more time with each other than they had since before the accident. Meredith still held back, though. She didn't know at first why she did, and it angered her that she wasn't being that attentive, loving... submissive wife she wanted to be, in her mind's eye. She didn't like when her own feelings and reactions confused her, so as she stood over the kitchen sink, washing up the dishes from dinner, she mulled it all over.
Why didn't she put all of her in it? Why wasn't she willing to go back to the way things would be? It was what she'd longed for, prayed for, pined for. But now that they were on the cusp, she couldn't take the plunge.
She thought of the long nights she spent alone. She thought of the desperation she felt, just wanting her husband back. And she thought of how badly she didn't want to go back to that place of feeling utterly alone. As the warm water from the sink trickled over her hand, and she bent to load the dishwasher, she thought of how the day had gone.
