by Jane Henry
***
Paolo in the other room, her thoughts a swirl of excitement and anxiety, Meredith had lain awake in bed for a good long while before she fell asleep. Mr. Brookstone had given her some very basic instructions, proposing that he thought simple rules were a good starting point, rather than overwhelming her with many new expectations. Although she was eager to begin—and somewhat disappointed in his short list of initial expectations—when she thought it over, it seemed to make sense that basic rules were a good place to begin.
He'd told her that eating at regular intervals was required. He also said she was to communicate respectfully, and he wouldn't tolerate any rudeness from her. This seemed almost silly, as she couldn't imagine a case in which she'd be tempted to be rude. Finally, he'd said that because he was requiring her obedience, he expected her to check in with him regularly, and he devised a method of anonymous communication. They both would use a messaging app on their phones, so she wouldn't have to reveal her phone number or real name.
The irony struck her. She'd just agreed to obey a man who was virtually anonymous. Still, she was excited.
After she logged off, a message popped up on her phone.
Time to go to bed now. You've had a long day. Go get ready for bed, go to sleep, and message me in the morning.
She'd gone to bed, allowing herself to dwell on the feeling of comfort his concern gave her, and pushing any thoughts of guilt aside. She wasn't cheating on her husband. No, she wasn't. She was not being unfaithful. She loved Paolo. This was for her, so she could figure out if she were truly submissive, and her finding out how she really ticked would only be best for Paolo in the long run.
What Paolo didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Wouldn't it be better for him anyway, not putting pressure on him? Not putting a further divide in their relationship?
And with those thoughts mulling around in her mind—where was that quiet that was supposed to come from submission, anyway—she fell asleep.
She rarely woke when Paolo came into the room. He was usually quiet, and she typically didn't become aware of his presence until she woke in the night and felt him next to her. So she woke with a start when she felt his hands on her. He hadn't said a word, that she was aware of, anyway. The room was plunged into darkness, and her heart stuttered as she felt him near her. What was he doing? Before she was even completely awake, she became aware of the fact that she was undeniably turned on, heart racing, eager for more of whatever he'd just done to her.
She felt his hand on the back of her head, slowly fisting at the nape of her neck, as he pulled her head over to him. She gasped as his mouth met hers, the prickle of his whiskers stinging her lips, his tongue shoved into her mouth. He kissed her so hard, so passionately, so forcefully, she felt as if she could hardly breathe. He continued to pull her head back, the sharp tingle of her hair being pulled causing a quick spike of excitement to thrill through her core. She had no choice but to submit as his tongue plundered her mouth. This was no make-out session. This was no good-night kiss. This was taking what belonged to him.
His hands roamed her body, shoving the t-shirt she'd worn to bed up as his hands grabbed her breasts so hard it hurt. Suddenly, his mouth was gone, he was pushing up, his hands on her clothes, tearing them off forcefully, and she lay bare before him, eyes wide.
Part of her was excited. But part of her was afraid. They'd had rough sex before. He was always somewhat dominant in bed. But this was different. Why was he being so rough? Why hadn't he said a word to her? She realized as her eyes adjusted to the light, that he was still dressed, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Somehow, being naked next to him as he hovered over her fully clothed made her feel even more vulnerable.
Then he was back, the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress as he took both her hands in his strong ones and pinned them over her head. Oh, God. She loved when he did that. Holding both of her hands in one of his, still pinned down, his other hand reached down and squeezed her breast. She gave a cry of pain and he stopped, pinching her nipple, then letting it go, first one breast then the other, alternating sharp tugs and pinches with softer caresses.
His mouth came back down on her, plunging in, pushing her lips apart so hard it hurt, then his mouth was gone, and she found herself longing to have him back. His lips traveled to her neck and she gasped as she felt a prickle. What the hell was he doing? She felt him nip, a sharp spike of pain shooting down her spine, then the sensation of warm arousal as he licked where he nipped.
Oh my God.
Still, he said not a word.
His mouth traveled the length of her body, down her neck, nipping and licking, down to her breasts where he teased her nipples with his tongue until she thought she'd explode, down to her waist, then down between her legs. She gasped when she felt his mouth on her, her own hands now released and fisted in his hair. He froze.
He rose, taking her hands in his again, he pinned them down above her head. He traveled back down between her legs, and involuntarily her hands lifted again as his tongue sent spasms through her body. She yelped as his hand came down on her upper thigh with a stinging swat. He took her hands and pinned them above her again, emphasizing his silent demand with another sharp spank.
She got the message.
What the hell had gotten into him?
She didn't move her hands.
He'd just spanked her? It wasn't an all-out spanking, but she could still feel the sting of his hand on her.
Down he went again, his tongue causing her to moan and squirm, teasing, sucking, and it took every bit of self control she had not to move her hands. She was so turned on, she thought one more lick, one more squeeze, one more pinch, and she'd lose all control.
But then he was gone. No mouth on her. No hands on her. He took her in his arms, his upper body strength what he relied most heavily on now, and pushed her hands down. She heard his hands fumble and the telltale sound of a zipper.
With no warning, he plunged himself into her. She didn't know until he was inside her how ready she was.
In and out, she cried out with every fierce thrust, feeling her own climaxing building. She was so there, so ready, so on the edge as he continued the welcome assault. Her head tipped back as a particularly intense shove from him sent icicles though her legs. She shut her eyes, focusing on Paolo, focusing on being present to him. In an effort to assuage her mixed emotions, focusing on the tingle she still felt on her thigh, she imagined the man towering above her to be the brooding, muscled, tattooed Tanner. One more thrust would send her soaring, and she moaned as she heard Paolo grunt into his own climax. Sweat trickled over her breasts as she gasped. Oh, God, but she needed to climax.
Too soon, he was gone.
She felt a sense of longing as she felt him leave her. She looked in confusion as he crawled to the edge of the bed. He kicked off his jeans and tossed them off the bed. He climbed back over to her and she wondered what he would do now. Would he put his hand between her legs and bring her to climax? God, she hoped he would go back to her with his mouth.
But he didn't.
He pulled the covers up, climbed beneath them, and rolled over to his side of the bed, the distance between them a virtual chasm. Heart still pounding, disbelieving, she watched him until his shoulders stopped heaving and settled into a soft rhythm. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.
Had he thought she had climaxed? What the hell?
He hadn't said a word. Confused and disappointed, she pulled the covers back up over her own shoulder.
It was a very long time before she fell back asleep.
Chapter Seven
Meredith woke the next day to an empty bed. Paolo was gone. She sat up, the memory of the night before coming back with vivid clarity.
He'd taken her. He'd pinned her down, had his way with her, then gone to bed without a word, and no thought to her own pleasure.
Why?
She felt angry. She felt betrayed. Frowning, she decided she'd go see if he was acting weird again. Her phone b
uzzed.
Good morning, Bonita. How are you today?
Her heart thumped.
Mr. Brookstone.
So much to say. Oh, how she wished she could confide in him all the thoughts that swirled through her mind. But she could not bring herself to discuss her husband with Mr. Brookstone. She had, after all, told him she was available. She'd justified the statement with the notion that she was available to be dominated. Her husband wanted no part of it, and although she wasn't single, she was free to be submissive to whomever she chose.
She picked up her phone.
I'm just waking up. Good morning, Mr. Brookstone.
Did you sleep well?
I slept well enough. The night was somewhat frustrating, but I slept it off anyway. Off to go get ready for the day and make sure I get a good breakfast.
Ah. Good girl! I look forward to hearing from you shortly. Message me after you've eaten.
She swallowed.
Yes, sir.
She put her phone down and stood, taking her bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door. She wondered where Paolo was, as she headed to the shower. She stood in the hallway, listening for sounds of him in the kitchen, but she heard nothing. Frowning, she went to the kitchen. There was a note on the counter for her.
Robbie came over. He needs some help picking out lumber for a project he's doing. Be back later. Will text.
Her heart sank. So she was alone, with no chance of a discussion about the night before. Not that she was really sure she wanted one. But she did want to see his face. She wanted to know what was going on. Her phone buzzed again and she jumped. It left her feeling unsettled that Mr. Brookstone kept infiltrating her thoughts about her husband. Why was she so jumpy?
She picked up her phone, and was surprised to see a text from Paolo.
You awake yet?
Her fingers flew over the keys in response. Yeah. Just about to take a shower.
A pause, and then another message came up.
Did you enjoy last night?
She frowned. Enjoy? Well, yeah, the dominant taking of what belonged to him was seriously hot, and she'd be so up for another round of that. But... could she say she enjoyed it? She hated how he'd left her hanging, not said a word, and hadn't made the effort to ensure her own pleasure. She wouldn't say she enjoyed it. Her phone buzzed again.
I looked up those books you read, and thought some forceful stuff might be fun to play around with. It was really hot. I'd be up for doing that again.
Her heart jumped. He looked them up? Yikes. He was willing to try something more forceful?
Oh, really? Hmmm. She pursed her lips.
Well, that part was hot. What else to say? "Hey, how about bringing me to climax? Why did you leave me hanging? I don't like how you did that to me?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. No way could she talk about this with him. Her phone buzzed again. Message from Mr. Brookstone.
Have you had breakfast yet?
Oh, God, talking to them both at the same time was enough to make anyone crazy. She didn't want Mr. Brookstone to know she was texting her husband, and she sure as hell didn't want Paolo to know she was messaging the guy she'd agreed to allow to be her Dom.
Just going to now she responded to Mr. Brookstone.
Paolo's response came back.
Glad you liked that part. I did, too. Hey, don't forget to take the recycling out this morning. Pick up this afternoon.
She typed the words Yes, sir before she even realized what she was doing.
Oh my God! Quickly, so afraid she'd send it and cause Paolo to wonder what the hell she was playing at, she deleted her message and edited it.
Okay, sounds good.
She tossed her phone on the counter.
She was going to go out of her mind playing this game.
***
Meredith found herself eagerly anticipating every single interaction with Mr. Brookstone. Still kind, and gentlemanly, but now with a sterner edge about him, he still bantered with her, only now with a careful eye on her tone of voice. They would often go to chat together, and he'd check up on her throughout the day. She was making sure she was getting her meals in, and paying closer attention to what she ate than she ever did before. It was embarrassing having to tell him she'd had a donut or pastry for breakfast. He might chide her. So she started making herself breakfast, packing lunch for work, and cooking balanced dinners in the evening.
Paolo was hot and cold. Some nights he ate with her, and they seemed to fall back into an easy camaraderie she'd desperately missed. But at times, he'd pull back, brooding, giving her curt, one-word answers and refusing to eat the meals she cooked. Not having any indication as to when he would be Paolo and when he'd be the brooding stranger, she found herself on edge when she'd come home.
After a particularly long day at work, she came home to find the entryway hall unlit and the kitchen vacant. With a sigh, she hung up her coat and bag, and went to find Paolo. She finally found him in the den, reading a book.
"Hey, honey," she said with forced cheerfulness. "How are you?"
He shrugged, putting his book in his lap.
"Want to order takeout tonight?" he asked. It sounded good, but she cast a nervous glance at the clock. She was supposed to be meeting Mr. Brookstone online in an hour, and most of the takeout they often ordered would take at least that long. She chewed her lip. He stared at her.
"I just thought it would save you some cooking," he said, returning to his book.
"Yes," she said, growing apprehension rising in her stomach. "Yes, let's do that! Sounds fantastic!" She turned quickly, going to retrieve the takeout menus from the kitchen cupboard. She grabbed her phone on the way and sent a quick message to Mr. Brookstone.
Hey, I'm going to be a bit late tonight.
The response came back rapidly.
Why is that?
She took a deep breath. Damn it. She'd been hoping he'd be understanding.
I have a few things to do first, and I don't know if I'll be done in time.
I asked you be there at a certain time. Tonight is the night we'd agreed upon to add more rules to your requirements, and you're already planning to be late? I want a good reason, Bonita. You owe me at least that.
Frowning, she stared at her phone. Why wasn't he being cooperative?
I'm not trying to be too hard on you. But you need to understand that when your Dom asks you to do something, it's to be done promptly unless you have a very good reason. I'm simply asking for a very good reason.
Yes, sir.
Now I'll ask you one more time. What is your reason?
She groaned.
I don't have a good one, sir. I'll be on time this evening. There was a pause.
Good girl.
The praise that usually filled her with a kind of warmth felt hollow. She glanced at the clock, hurrying in to see Paolo.
"How about I just go pick up some burgers?" she asked. He shook his head.
"Nah, I got burgers with Robbie just yesterday. I'd rather order some pizza."
With a sigh, she picked out the pizza menu and handed it to him. Maybe she could somehow log on discreetly on her phone and send short messages to Mr. Brookstone. Maybe he wouldn't suspect he didn't have her undivided attention. But how could she discuss rules and such with Paolo sitting right there in the room?
Would Paolo suspect something was up?
She spent the next hour waiting for the pizza to come, watching the minutes tick down on the clock, until finally she had only one minute left before she had to meet Mr. Brookstone. The bell rang. She fairly ran to get it, gave a generous tip, muttering, "Keep the change," shut the door and brought the pizza into the den. She gasped as she almost ran into Paolo in the kitchen.
"Hey, babe," he said with a smile. "I thought it would be nice to eat in the dining room. What do you think?"
She glanced at the clock. Seven o'clock on the nose. Disappoint Paolo and cause him to suspect something fishy was going on? Or disobey
Mr. Brookstone and incur her first punishment? She shivered. She knew he couldn't spank her, but he'd said he had other ways of ensuring her obedience. Whatever he could mete out would be better than dealing with brooding Paolo again.
She smiled.
"Sounds fantastic, honey."
Thirty minutes later, leaving the dishes piled in the sink, she made a quick excuse of wanting to lie down for a bit because she was tired, and went to her room. She picked up her phone.
Nothing. With a deep breath, she logged onto the forum. Mr. Brookstone, Little Lady, and Master Winston were all in chat. Her stomach flipped. So he was there. No way had he forgotten the time. She swallowed, logged onto chat, and went to send him a private message.
Hello, Mr. Brookstone. I'm sorry I'm late.
The response was immediate.
You told me you'd be here on time. She swallowed.
Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.
I'm glad to hear you're sorry, Bonita. But since you've disobeyed me, it's my duty to punish you. You know that, don't you?
She squeezed her eyes shut. What would he do? Oh, gosh. This wasn't what she wanted, not at all, yet she also felt a draw to the eroticism of what he'd said.
Yes, but... I'm not sure I want to continue this.
Bonita, when you're facing punishment is not the time to decide you don't want this relationship. We have an agreement. My job is to lead, and yours to obey. We have a two-week agreement I'm going to hold you to, and I firmly believe it's not in your best interest to be given mercy in this instance. I gave you a simple request. You disobeyed me. Now you will accept your punishment, and we will put this behind us.
Tears filled her eyes. She felt a conflict of emotions—drawn to his dominance, sorrow for having let him down, and curiosity as to what it would feel like to be punished.
Yes, sir.
If we were in each other's presence, I would spank you. I would give you one hard swat for each minute you were late. But since I don't have that tool at my disposal, you'll kneel on the floor by your bed for thirty minutes. You've mentioned before you have hardwood. That should be punishment enough. Tell the rest of the people here in chat you'll be back in a while. Close your browser. Then kneel by your bed and set your timer on your phone for thirty minutes. During your punishment, I want you to focus on why you're being punished, and what you've learned from this. When your punishment is over, you will message me. You are not to get out of the punishment position. Am I clear?
