by Jane Henry
It had been time for Paolo's check-up. The plan was, he would go through a battery of tests to see if the therapy he'd undergone had any effect and whether or not he'd be able to walk again. Paolo had sustained a spinal cord injury in the accident. He'd been told if the damage to his spinal cord had been any higher, he'd have lost complete control of his lower body. Meredith could only imagine the blow to his self esteem it would've been for him to rely on her to use the bathroom, and to lose complete sexual function. But he hadn't sustained that bad of an injury. He'd been going to therapy regularly, to help him gain limited use of his lower body.
The check-up hadn't gone too well. Not at all.
In the doctor's office at the end of the visit, the doctor explained that although Paolo had put a great effort into his rehab, it appeared the nerve damage he'd sustained was likely permanent, and he'd reached a threshold.
Paolo had been furious.
"You mean I'm in this wheelchair for life?" he'd said. The doctor, a young man just a few years older than their son, had looked at him sorrowfully.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Paolo. That appears to be very likely."
Paolo hadn't said anything at the time. He'd nodded, and they'd gone home in silence. At dinner, which he'd surprised her by eating with her, he'd still said nothing. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"We'll get through this, honey," she'd said, reaching for her hand. He'd pulled back as if bitten.
"We?" he said, and the instant dismissal of her efforts to support him crashed over her as if he'd thrown ice water in her face.
That was the last he'd said. He mumbled something about going to watch the game, wheeled out to the den, and he was back again. Back where she couldn't reach him.
With a sigh, she'd realized why she hadn't put herself out there again. Why she'd tried, but part of her had been holding back all along.
She couldn't bear the thought of being rejected again.
She pushed the start button on the dishwasher with a trembling finger.
She'd go back to her book. She'd go read alone. She'd pull herself back, in an effort of self-protection.
She'd do what had become familiar and habitual.
***
"Is that what you think?" Tanner said, as Sylvia scooted around the edge of the bed.
"Oh, I know," she taunted, knowing that her efforts to get away from him were fruitless, and that eventually he'd catch her. "You may be bigger than I am, but I'm smaller and faster, and I can still get away."
"We'll see about that," he growled, slowing down, his eyes narrowing has he circled his prey. Her eyes flitted to the doorway. Did she have enough space to run for it? If she did, and he caught her... well, it was worth it. Faking a move to the right, waiting for him to imitate her moves, she waited until he'd moved right, and she bolted left to the doorway. He moved even quicker than she thought possible, and she squealed out loud as his large arm circled her waist and hauled her back to the bed.
"Oh, now you'll pay for that, little girl," he said, as he held her in the air, kicking and screaming. She was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
He sat down heavily on the bed, easily turning her over his knee, her upper body laying on the bed and her feet dangling helplessly. He took both her arms gently but firmly and pinned them behind her, on her lower back.
"Let's see how full of sass you are now," he continued, as she felt his hands on the back of her skirt, pulling it off and baring her to him. She felt the fabric dangle around her ankles, and heat moving through her. She squirmed with her pulsating arousal as he restrained her. It was always like this, when he overpowered her, pinned her arms down in bed, or pushed her up against the wall, his strength sending red-hot signals to her lower regions.
"What were you saying just a moment ago, young lady?" he said, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. "Think you can get away?"
"No, sir," she said, and just for the hell of it, she tried to squirm a little. His large palm slapped down on her naked ass, and she squealed from the sting of it. Her arousal intensified, as she felt his warm, coarse hand caressing the spot he'd just spanked.
"Ah, but you've really been a good little girl, haven't you?" he murmured, his voice softening now, and she melted.
"Yes, sir," she whispered. She felt his hand lift up and come down again, but it wasn't like being punished. No, nothing like that at all. It was nothing like the pain—both emotional and physical—of a hard disciplinary spanking. This was for her pleasure. He'd take her just below her tolerance, with firm but deliberate strokes.
"Good girls deserve good girl spankings," he crooned, his voice sending shudders through her. Again, he spanked her, but the second she felt the sharp sting of his palm against her bare skin, warmth spread throughout, and his fingers thrust in her. She gasped. He was rough but knew exactly how far to push her. Over and over again, his hand cracked down on her, his fingers traveled between her legs, until she was so overcome with her burning need to climax that one more swat from him would send her over the edge.
"When I say," he growled. "You come when I say."
"Yes, sir," she said, her mind growing hazy, unable to focus anymore.
This is why she loved being dominated by him. No thoughts swimming through her mind. No self-doubt, or constant spinning. Nothing but him, overpowering her. Nothing but the feel of his masterful hands on her. Nothing but her desperate need for release that he would eventually give.
Meredith put her book down, her own desire consuming her. Shit, but she wanted Paolo to do that to her. What would it take? How could she get up the nerve to ask him? Flying back under the covers and taking care of her own needs wouldn't hold a candle to what she was reading here. No. It wasn't just sexual release she longed for. She wanted that mind-numbing experience. She wanted to feel overpowered. Even the thought of having to wait to climax at his command appealed to her.
To be that special to him. To have nothing but his undivided attention. What would that be like?
She stood. Maybe… maybe he was over his anger from earlier. Maybe he was back again, ready to talk. She walked out to the living room.
His clenched jaw and eyes focused straight forward were her first clue that he was still brooding, but desperate to see—desperate to try—she forced herself to walk over to him. She sat by his feet. It had become habit, sitting by his feet. She liked how it felt sitting by him, and he liked having her there. She felt his hand come out and gently stroke her head, but then it was gone. She looked up at him, and he didn't look back.
"Hey," she said, even though the voice in her mind said No, don't do it, don't ask him. Turn back now while you still can.
"Yeah?" he asked, eyes still focused on the screen.
"You ever hear about that... book?" she asked. Good one, Mer.
His raised his eyebrows. "That book?"
"You know," she said, afraid that if she didn't say it all in a rush of words, she'd lose her courage and retreat back to her room. Alone. "That one where... the guy does stuff like, you know ties the girl up and... dominates her." Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. The Ryland Chronicles had been plastered all over the news, and most people had at least a vague idea of what they were about, as the movie was coming out.
He scowled. "Yeah, I've heard about that book," he said. "There are a few of them. I heard they were badly written, it was all about sex, and the guy was an abusive jerk."
Again, his words hit like ice cold water. He raised an eyebrow, his voice deepening. "Is that the shit you've been reading?"
Although from a purely literary perspective, she thought he had a point, having read them now, she still felt embarrassed. Ryland took his girl to his retreat in the mountains and had done all sorts of shit to her under the guise of 'consensual non-consent'. And although she'd really felt turned off by the series, it had been her first taste of dominance, and had opened the door for her.
"I read them," she said curtly. "And you're right. Tot
al shit." Her voice sharp and cold, she stood, not wanting to be near him anymore. She had her answer. No way would he dominate. No way would he be interested in that 'shit'.
His eyes softened. "Mer, it wasn't a comment about you, I'm just talking about the books," he said, but she was done. She shook her head, not wanting to end the night on a bad note.
"It's all right, honey," she said. "I get it." And without another word, she stalked out of the room.
***
Master Winston: Good evening, Bonita! How nice to see you! It's been a few days, I think, since last we visited.
Bonita: Hello, Master Winston. Very nice to see you, too. It's been a busy few days. She didn't want to write anything in the public forum about her husband. Little Lady knew quite a bit. They'd spent hours chatting privately, and she knew about Paolo, though she didn't know his name. She knew about the accident, and she knew quite a bit about Meredith's own reaction to things, and Meredith could only assume that Little Lady had filled Master Winston in. But no one in the public forum knew much about her private life.
She glanced at the names on the top of the screen. No Mr. Brookstone.
Master Winston: I hope you're well.
Bonita: I'm doing okay. How about yourself?
Master Winston: Absolutely fantastic. Little Lady and I are planning a weekend away, and we leave in less than twenty-four hours.
Bonita: Oh, how nice! Where are you going?
Little Lady: Yes, Master Winston. Wherever ARE we going? Bonita wants to know!
Master Winston: Careful there, Little One. You know your destination is secret. No more asking now. I'm not going to tell you again.
Little Lady: Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.
Master Winston: It's quite all right, love. I know you'll do as you're told.
Meredith swallowed. Oh gosh, there was something about the way they interacted with one another that was so attractive to her.
CollarMePlease: You guys are so flipping cute.
Little Lady: smiles… thank you, CollarMe.
Master Winston: Bonita, tonight's discussion involves the motives we have in choosing to be dominant and submissive. CollarMePlease was just explaining her perspective.
She watched the screen flash with the entrance of a new visitor.
Mr. Brookstone.
She swallowed hard, excitement bubbling up in her at the sight of his name, but guilt flooding her that she was so eager to see him there. She hadn't interacted with him since the time he'd told her to make sure she'd eaten.
Her conscience pricked her. Leave, Meredith. Go now. You're not in a good place tonight.
She frowned. She wanted companionship. She wasn't going to leave, not now, just when she was meeting up with friends who'd help her forget her difficult day. She wasn't doing anything wrong. For crying out loud, she didn't even know where the guy lived or what he looked like.
Screw it.
Bonita: Hello, Mr. Brookstone. Nice to see you.
Mr. Brookstone: Same here, Bonita.
CollarMePlease: Hi, Mr. Brookstone!
Mr. Brookstone: Nice to see you, CollarMePlease!
CollarMePlease: We were talking about why we all like the idea of DS. I was just explaining to the group that there are so many reasons I want to be submissive. I love the idea of being protected, and important to someone, just his and no one else's. I love the idea of having someone watch over me, make sure I got to bed on time, and took care of myself. And I also think it's really really REALLY HOT.
Mr. Brookstone: I agree, CollarMePlease.
He agreed? Why did he agree, and Paolo cast it all off as stupid shit? A little niggling voice at the back of her mind rebuked her, told her that wasn't the conversation they'd had at all, but she ignored that little voice as the conversation continued.
Bonita: That appeals to me, too, CollarMePlease.
Mr. Brookstone: I think that's perfectly understandable.
Master Winston: If I may give the Dominant's perspective, please.
Bonita: Absolutely
Master Winston: It's all of those things. Yes, the Submissive wants to feel cherished, and protected. It's how she feels loved. I know that although my Little Lady occasionally grates against my restrictions for her, that she ultimately embraces my rules, because of the freedom they bring. Would you agree, Little One?
Little Lady: Absolutely, sir.
Master Winston: As for the Dominant, the idea that an amazing, capable, strong woman has granted him authority over her is deeply attractive. Yes, it's erotic. But it also makes him feel like a king. He has to balance that authority with understanding, of course, and that's easier said than done. But he is fueled with his innate desire to meet her needs in every way.
Meredith felt tears prick her eyes as understanding dawned, but before she could think further on it, a private message popped up.
Mr. Brookstone: This all sounds intriguing. What do you think?
Bonita: Yes. But it's one of those things... I wonder, would it feel as good as I think it would? And how would you know? In reality, is it really as good as that?
Mr. Brookstone: Yes. It seems as if there would almost have to be a trial period of sorts or something.
Bonita: Exactly! I mean, what if I were to try this, and it just didn't work? But the idea of having someone take care of my needs... hell, that's so appealing I can't even say.
Mr. Brookstone: Yes. I could see that. Hey, speaking of which... have you gotten your meals in? No skipping?
She felt a flush of pleasure at his question.
Bonita: I've been pretty good about it, yes.
Mr. Brookstone: Pretty good? Care to elaborate?
She could hear the tone shift, and she squirmed.
Bonita: I've skipped breakfast a few times. But I've had dinner every night.
Mr. Brookstone: Not good, Bonita. Breakfast is the most important part of the day.
Bonita: I know. You're right. I'll do better.
Mr. Brookstone: Are you just telling me that, or do you mean it?
She felt chastened, as she looked at the screen.
Bonita: No, you're right. I will do better.
Mr. Brookstone: Good girl.
She pursed her lips and stared at the screen. Without a second thought to what she was saying, her fingers flew.
Bonita: You see? You know, that appeals to me. That's what I want. Someone to take care of me like that. I hope I'm not overstepping, Mr. Brookstone. It's just... I'm trying to figure this all out. And how can I know this is what I want if I don't try it?
Mr. Brookstone: Then why don't you try it?
Bonita: Because there's only one missing component. Someone to try it with!
Heart pounding, she wondered what he'd say. Oh God but she'd put herself on the line. There was a pause before he responded.
Mr. Brookstone: Bonita, before I share with you my thoughts on this, may I ask you a question?
Bonita: Of course.
Mr. Brookstone: Are you married?
She swallowed. Shit. She'd never told him anything like that. How could she respond? No way would she tell him an outright lie. That would just be wrong, and she couldn't bring herself to do that, even though she was desperate, craving the attention he could give her.
Was she married? Yes. But was she involved in a real relationship? She bit her lip as she replied.
Bonita: I'm available. And you?
Another pregnant pause, before her screen flashed in front of her again.
Mr. Brookstone: Also available. Since we're both available, perhaps you'd like to try a little experiment with me.
Heart pounding, she typed quickly, not wanting the moment to escape, but so afraid if she didn't act now, her conscience would get the better of her.
Bonita: What's that, Mr. Brookstone?
Mr. Brookstone: I'd like to propose a temporary arrangement between the two of us. A trial period. Purely for the intention of determining whether or not this lifestyle choice would work. W
e could ease into it, and both test the waters.
Holy shit. She sat back, mulling it over.
What harm would it do? She could feel it out, as he said, test the waters. Get an idea of this whole submission thing was better in fiction than it was in real life. He was always an honorable guy, such a gentleman in the short time she'd known him. What could possibly be wrong with this? A friendly agreement between two people, a short trial period. And when the trial period was over, she would know.
Was she truly a submissive?
She wasn't going to sleep with him. Smiling, she typed her response.
Bonita: First I need to know what you look like.
Mr. Brookstone: Ha! I'll not brag, but people consider me a handsome man. I've heard the ol' 'Tall, Dark, and Handsome'.
She felt her cheeks grow warm. Her dark-eyed lover.
Mr. Brookstone: And you?
Bonita: I'm also told I'm attractive LOL.
Mr. Brookstone: I have no doubt. So let's hear your answer, woman. I'm eager to hear it.
Bonita: I'd love to try this out. Yes. What exactly do you have in mind?
Mr. Brookstone: I propose a two-week trial period, where we both fulfill our roles. I give you rules, and you agree to be obedient to me. You will grant me authority over you. During that trial period, I'll lay out my expectations for you, and do my best to meet your needs. But I'll have the power to enforce those rules, and I will mete out punishment if you disobey me. I can't spank you, of course, but I can still devise methods of ensuring your obedience.
Her heart pounded. This shit was getting real.
Bonita: Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Okay, Mr. B.
Mr. Brookstone: For the purposes of our agreement, you can still call me Mr. Brookstone, but when I require a response, I want the response to be 'Yes, Sir'. Understood?
She swallowed, her hands trembling over the keys at her response.
Bonita: Yes, sir.
