by Jane Henry
He was asking a lot of her, to continually bring her thoughts to him, to continue to trust him, and to submit herself to his discipline when necessary. Though he knew she was attracted to his dominance and this was something she wanted from him, he knew that actually submitting to discipline wasn’t easy. He could see the struggle, and her willingness to continue to submit to him pleased him. It was her job to trust him. And it was his to cherish that trust.
She needed him.
Glancing at the laptop, he pulled it open and tried to log onto the forum, fully expecting that he would receive an error message like Meredith, but to his surprise, it booted and he was able to log in as he always had. He glanced at Meredith’s conversations, and read through some of the comments she’d left. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was nearly everyone else on the forum he did not trust. He frowned as he glanced at her history. When she’d been on the forum recently, she’d engaged in a public chat conversation with the fucking asswipe who should’ve been banned. Xcavator.
Meredith didn’t know. In the public forum, Xcavator appeared suave and charming, but his real colors showed through in the private “Dominant Only” section which Meredith did not have access to. Xcavator posted crude pictures, made disparaging, misogynistic remarks about women and had no respect for the moderators who tried to tame him. He got in regular spats with the other dominants. Many members had requested his removal, and some had even tried to push him out of the forum, but he’d broken no forum rules. Nothing could be done. There were rumors he’d pursued two women, who, after his pursuit, left the forum and never returned. But there was no evidence to support the rumors, and the administrative team didn’t have enough proof that he was a danger.
So, he stayed.
Didn’t mean Paolo had to fucking let him interact with his wife.
When Paolo was logged on, he went immediately to the “new posts” section and scanned Xcavator’s name. He swore under his breath at the latest—Tumblr pictures posted that met the bare minimum forum requirements. Pictures of women being tied up and flogged, one with angry welts on her back, and another with purplish bruises. One with a gag and chain and the words I’ll give you something to put in that sassy mouth of yours. Paolo felt his stomach twist. Sure, Paolo could accept that sometimes heavier, consensual BDSM was appealing to other couples. But there was something about the flavor of these pictures that needled him. There was something… brutal about them. This guy was a fucking douche bag. And he was no moron either. The morons would come and spill their shit all over the forum. The women wouldn’t give them the time of day. But not Xcavator. No, he went for the jugular in the Male Forum, but was all sunshine and roses in public.
Unbelievable.
Fucking psycho.
Paolo logged out of the forum under his name, and logged back under Meredith’s.
He zoned in on the recent conversation Meredith had with Xcavator. Paolo frowned, as he read the line-by-line conversation. His blood boiled to read the sickly-sweet way Xcavator pretended to be a good guy, and the innocent way Meredith replied. Shit. He would have to make it abundantly clear how much he did not want her interacting with this guy. Paolo scrolled back up and noticed a private message from Winston to Meredith. Winston had warned Meredith not to engage in conversation with Xcavator.
He’d have to thank Winston.
And he’d also make it clear that although Meredith was under no obligation to obey Winston—she was Paolo’s Submissive, and his alone—Paolo trusted Winston enough that if Winston urged her to do something for her own safety, she’d better do what he said. Paolo clenched his jaw and willed himself to look away from the forum.
He fucking hated having his hands tied. Being dependent on the wheelchair and having Meredith pick up the slack from what he couldn’t do killed him. He couldn’t even roll the barrels out of the garage on trash day. She never complained. She was totally capable. Still, he hated the feeling of being impotent, watching her carry heavy things, or doing yard work.
But there were plenty of ways he could ensure her safety. And this was one of them.
He was grateful then. Grateful that she’d pledged her obedience to him. Grateful that even though he was incapable of taking care of her the way he wanted to, at times, with her submission to him she’d given him the ability to take care of her on a deeper level. He could now make sure she didn’t exhaust herself, run herself down, and neglect her needs. He could watch out for how she spent her time, making sure she got enough sleep, that she didn’t get dragged down into drama with family or friends.
And he could make sure she didn’t interact with fucking pervert wannabe dom douche bags.
There would be no more forum for Meredith.
***
Her bottom stinging, Meredith peeled potatoes and watched the little peels fall into the bowl in front of her, as she mulled through her thoughts. As she had many times before, she wished she could talk to Annalise. What was it Annalise had said about a dom retreating? Why was Paolo being so weird with her? She felt torn, because on the one hand, she knew he demanded she tell him everything that was on her mind and in her heart. He wanted to lead her. He needed to know what was going on with her, if he was going to lead. But at the same time, when she did go to him, she often felt that she was putting too much pressure on him. She didn’t want to be needy. She didn’t want to have to keep coming to him, over and over again, for more and more. She wanted to be able to handle things on her own.
But did she really?
What would the independence feel like?
She had just told him how much better she felt when he was in charge. She had just told him how she wanted to feel his strength. When he was devoted to leading her, making sure her first instinct was to obey him, and he was dedicated to taking care of her needs, they were both content. She felt closer to him. She felt eager to obey him, and so erotically attracted to his being stern, and dominant. But was it too much for him?
The potato peels fell away in curly tendrils, slipping into the bowl and piling up. She put the freshly peeled potatoes in a pot, and picked up a paring knife. Her thoughts simmered and swirled.
There was no doubting the fact that things were better between them. She loved so very many things about submitting to Paolo. She felt as if he’d awakened in her a part of herself she didn’t even know existed. It felt intimate, and sexy, and although sometimes the intensity scared her, she loved that it was Paolo who was with her through it all. And she knew Paolo thrived on being her dominant every bit as much as she thrived on being his submissive.
“Paolo?” she called out to where he was. “I’m making mashed potatoes to go with the steak. Does that sound good?”
She almost wished she could reach out and pull the words back. Why was she asking him what to make with the steak? What did she want from him? What if he just yelled a curt “fine, whatever” or something equally dismissive?
“No potatoes, baby,” he yelled out from the other room. “Rice tonight. Potatoes are heavy and I want something lighter.”
She paused, staring at the bowl in front of her. Well, that was fine. Maybe she should’ve asked him before she’d finished peeling them. She shrugged, diced the potatoes up, and submerged them in a bowl of ice water. She’d refrigerate them and use them in the stew she was planning the next day. That is… if he wanted stew. She paused. The actual application of following his lead was a bit more challenging than the way she sometimes played it out in her head.
“Hokey dokey,” she mumbled, as she began covering them in water.
“What was that?” came Paolo’s voice from the other room, deeper now, and she stood straighter.
“Yes, sir,” she said louder, and she swallowed as she felt herself put in her place. The sir always did that to her. Sometimes, it felt hot, attractive, and her dark fantasies played into the eroticism of yes, sir. But sometimes it felt almost humiliating, having to humble herself in such a way.
Again, Paolo’s voic
e called out to her.
“Come here, Meredith.”
Her hands still damp, she glanced at the clock. Rice the way Paolo liked it would take half an hour. She obediently wiped her hands on a dishtowel, and walked out to where he was. When she reached him, he didn’t speak to her at first. She stood hesitantly, shifting on her feet, but his eyes were on the screen. The minutes ticked by. She fidgeted impatiently but said nothing, waiting for him to address her. Finally, his eyes went to hers.
“Good girl coming,” he said with an approving nod. “And for waiting until I spoke. I called you in here because I don’t want you yelling to me from another room. If it’s necessary, you may, but from now on, if you have a question for me, you bring yourself to me and don’t yell to me across the house. Am I clear?”
She nodded. She didn’t yell to him often, but it happened. She could see his point.
“Okay,” she said, then quickly amended, “Yes, sir.”
He gave a curt nod. “Good girl. Go finish getting dinner ready, and when we’re done eating, I’ll clean up and you’ll go get ready for our night. I’ll tell you some of the ideas I have for what we talked about.” She nodded.
“Thank you, baby,” he murmured. “Go now.”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He smiled and her heart thudded. She loved the way his eyes twinkled at her. God, she loved him. She walked back to the kitchen, not quite sure what had just happened between the two of them, but somehow certain that it was exactly what she needed.
***
“On your knees.”
She obeyed quickly, her knees hitting the carpet, her back upright, eyes focused solely on him. God, but it felt good to be kneeling like this, in a physical place of submission, where all the decisions were made for her and she had only one simple task.
Simply obey.
There were no other things to worry about. No endless to-do lists twirling and spinning and tangling in the recesses of her mind. No unsettled thoughts, feelings or fears. Nothing but Paolo. Her knees on the floor. The present moment. His strong hands holding hers, and his dark eyes boring into hers. She felt a prickle of arousal as her eyes traveled the length of his arm, and a jolt of fear as his words sharpened.
“Eyes to me.”
She brought her eyes back to his.
“Did you do everything I asked you to do today?” he asked, that stern edge in his voice, lips pursed, and she could feel it. The pulse of authority. The knowledge that if she told him she’d disobeyed him, he’d punish her. The understanding that he was in charge. She sighed with relief.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
His eyes crinkled around the edges. “Good girl,” he whispered. Her shoulders dropped as she felt the breath go out of her.
Obey.
Yes, sir.
“What do you I expect you to do, Meredith?”
“You mean my rules?” she asked. He nodded.
“Obey you. Respond, “yes, sir,” when you speak to me. Tell you what’s on my mind.” She giggled. “No clothes to bed.” But he kept looking at her with those steady eyes, no trace of a smile on his lips.
“Are you allowed to swear?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Are you allowed to lose your temper?”
She shook her head again. “No, sir.”
His eyes began to twinkle. “Are you allowed to drive like a crazy woman?”
She smiled softly. “No, sir.”
He leaned over, his hand gently but firmly fisting the hair at the nape of her neck. “And when I make love to you, are you allowed to come before I say?”
She swallowed. “No, sir,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” he whispered back. “And what happens if you disobey me?”
“You punish me,” she said.
“How?” he hissed in a heated whisper.
Her breath hitched. “You spank me, sir,” she said.
He nodded, releasing her hair. “Yes,” he said, almost as if to himself. “I like this. We do need to connect like this. I need to remind you who’s in charge. And I like knowing that you’re reminded of your place.” He patted his lap. “Over my lap now,” he ordered.
She obeyed, knowing he was going to give her what she needed, eager to feel centered and at peace, as the residual stresses of the day melted away. He wasted no time. The minute her belly hit his knee, he brought his hand down with a resounding swat. She gasped and inadvertently shifted a bit, but he pulled her back over his lap as his murmured words of affirmation anchored her.
“You’ll do what I say,” he said, with another sharp swat. She nodded. “Today, you were a good girl.” His voice dropped. “But when I tell you I need space, you need to give that to me. I can’t always be exactly what you need every minute of the day. You need me, and I get that, but some days you’ll have to give me time to get back into the game. Do you understand that?” He punctuated his words with another sharp swat. She nodded.
“You were a good girl,” he said, his hand on her bottom, caressing. “And you’ll continue to be a good girl. Won’t you, baby?” His hand came down again, hard, and she yelped.
“Yes, sir,” she panted. He continued to spank her firmly, but not harshly, and she began to feel calmer as he continued. He gave her a handful of swats, then patted her bottom.
“You get up into bed now,” he said. “That’s all for now.”
She felt as if she could’ve lain across his lap forever. Yes, the spanking hurt, but it was a quick sting followed by the spread of warmth and comfort. She trusted him. He was her dominant. He loved her. He expected her obedience, and she would give that to him. She loved how he expected her obedience. Even though she wasn’t ready for the spanking to end, she focused herself on doing what he said. She crawled up onto the bed and slid under the covers.
“Good night, Bonita,” he said, and she felt calm descend on her.
“Good night, Paolo,” she whispered.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, tucking the blanket in around her.
Secure and comforted, she let his presence soothe her to sleep.
***
She needed this from him. That much was true.
He flipped the page on his book, as she slept next to him.
She responded very well when he spanked her. This was clear. And hell, he liked spanking her. If he knew how she’d light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July, he’d have spanked her on their honeymoon. It was hot. He loved the feel of power her submission gave him, how she’d put herself over his lap and take what he gave her. It was the ultimate act of submission, when she put herself over his lap. She trusted him not to hurt her. She submitted to his guidance, denying her own will and trusting him to meet hers.
If he’d known he could get her to behave… yeah, that was a whole other story. He remembered fights they’d gotten into when they were first married, and even more recent spats that were stupid and nonsensical. Sure, he’d been at fault at times. She was a girl, and girls had needs, and he wasn’t a mind reader. But if he’d known how a simple spanking could’ve stopped her in her tracks when they were younger—yeah, she’d have ended up over his lap a time or two. The mere thought was somewhat amusing, now. He wondered about the times she’d raised her voice and yelled at him, how she would’ve responded if he’d given her a good spanking. Maybe she’d have gotten angrier. But if he knew then what he knew now… yeah, that would’ve been a different story. He’d have spanked the brat right out of her.
But that was then, and this was now. Now they were empty nesters, falling back in love with each other, embracing their roles as submissive and dominant. He knew they had a long way to go. Just today had shown him that. He had to learn to communicate his need for downtime in a way that she didn’t feel rejected. Was that even possible? And she needed to learn that him pulling away didn’t mean he didn’t love her, or didn’t want to be her dom, or any of that shit.
They’d get there.<
br />
She’d screw up, and so would he. He had no doubt she would lose her temper still, from time to time. He’d help her by making sure he met her needs before she was even tempted to disobey him, and spanking her ass promptly when she needed him to. That’s what she needed from him. Consistency. Attention. A firm hand.
He’d do his best to give her that.
He flipped on his tablet. After dinner, he’d tried to access to forum, but couldn’t again. He frowned. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt unsettled. He knew she’d want to talk to her friend, but she’d have to wait until he knew it was safe. He shut off the tablet, tossed it on the nightstand and curled up next to Meredith, where he fell fast asleep.
Chapter Three
Paolo ran his hand down the smooth, unfinished wood on his workbench and inhaled deeply. It smelled familiar in here, and it relaxed him. After the accident, he’d spent several months without getting his hands on his tools, without crafting and repairing, fixing and building, and it was only after Robbie had helped him move his workshop from the basement that he took to what was his once again. He marveled at the feel of the hammer and saw in his hand. His heart soared at the raspy sound of sandpaper on wood, and he watched with practiced ease as the roughness of wood smoothed beneath his fingers, soft as satin.
He’d built many of the items in their house—the table in their dining room, the butcher block island in the kitchen, where Meredith stood and chopped vegetables or peeled carrots. He’d fashioned their dining room chairs by hand, and his wedding gift to her had been the hutch he built from a maple tree in her mother’s back yard. He’d spent months on that, every spare minute he had, and like most handcrafted pieces of furniture, it stood the test of time.
He smiled to himself. It was only natural that he would use his very own hands to fashion tools for his newfound love of all things kinky. He chuckled as he spun the new paddle in his hand. It would need christening. She would protest and squeal and likely try to get away, but he knew it was all an act. A flush would creep to her cheeks and the tempo of her breathing would increase. All he had to do was call her name in his deep voice, and she came undone. He laid the paddle down on the bench and ran a finger along the heart he’d carved in intricate detail. It was a pretty paddle, this one, and Meredith’s ass would be even prettier when it was rosy red after he applied it. He’d even drilled a hole in the very end and secured a small leather loop.
