Reclaiming Sophie

by Natasha Knight

  She gasped.

  “Do you consent, Sophie?” he asked, keeping pressure on the hard little nub.

  “Yes,” she said, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl, now eat your dinner,” he said, suddenly ravenous as he smeared his slick fingers along her thigh before picking up his knife and fork.

  Chapter Nine

  Sophie could hardly taste what she ate at the restaurant. Michael, on the other hand, ate as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Even so, she could see the battle that had begun within him. He was unable to understand that he could like what he’d done, that he could become aroused by it. Perhaps he was surprised at how easily it came to him, or how naturally he took on the role of the dominant partner that she sought.

  She’d meant what she’d told him; she had no doubt he would never really hurt her. She wondered if it would help him to talk to Kyan a little more, but didn’t want to bring it up. He needed to figure that out for himself.

  Michael parked the car along their street and walked her inside without a word. The dim overhead lamps they’d left on and the one in the living room were the only light in the place. Sophie took in the elegant entrance with its large black-and-white, diagonally placed tiles, the old staircase with its marble handrail.

  She had baked a Dutch apple cake earlier in the day and the house still smelled of it. It was Michael’s favorite.

  His fingers were on her back. She shivered beneath his light touch as he traced both shoulders until he reached the straps that held the dress up. She held her breath when he slipped each off her arms and remained perfectly still while he slid the dress down and off her body.

  “Step out,” he said, holding her arm for support.

  She swallowed and slowly did as he said. He then led her up the first set of stairs and continued up the second to the attic. There, he hit the switch to turn on the overhead lamp, using the dimmer to keep the light soft. He closed the door behind them.

  “Put the chair in the middle of the rug facing me,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment, wondering why they’d come to the attic. The house was big enough that they’d only used this space for storage. It wasn’t a warm place, quite the opposite. It was dark with exposed beams and wood all around. The only pieces of furniture were an old, worn bench, a dusty dresser, and a chair set among boxes stacked along the walls. A carpet covered a circular area in the center of the room, an old, thick sheepskin she’d loved, but they had not had anywhere to put once they’d moved here.

  She wondered what he was thinking. What he wanted. She’d assumed they’d go to their bedroom, maybe go through the box he’d gotten. This was strange.

  He cleared his throat and she moved to pick up the simple wooden chair and set it in the middle of the carpet.

  “Now sit down.”

  Sophie sat and placed her hands on her lap, her eyes on him.

  “When you’re not told to look at me, I’d like your eyes on the floor.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered before lowering her lashes, looking at the pale pink polish that was chipping on her toenails.

  “Stay as you are,” he said.

  She did, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he retreated back down the stairs. Once he was gone, she looked around at the space she’d always found a little creepy. When she found herself reflected in the large windows where the drapes were still open, she stealthily crouched and went to them to pull them closed. She then returned to her place on the chair just as she heard him returning.

  Michael stopped at the top of the stairs that ended directly at the attic door. She glanced up to see him take in the now closed drapes and quickly dropped her gaze. He walked to the dresser and set the box down. She heard him open the box and dig through a few items there, and when she turned her head just slightly to catch a glimpse of what he had, he surprised her.

  “I hope you’re looking where you should be,” he said, without turning or stopping.

  She returned her gaze to the carpet, digging her toes into it as she listened to him opening a package.

  “Ah,” he said, obviously finding what he was looking for. “Stand up, Sophie.”

  He stood in his button-down shirt with the new cufflinks she’d given him earlier this week.

  “Were you told to close the drapes?” he asked.

  “No, Sir,” she simply answered.

  “Then please go back to the window and open them wide.”

  “But…” With the light on inside, anyone on the street, not to mention the people in the house across the canal, could look straight inside.

  “Open them, Sophie.”

  She walked over and pushed the drapes open. He followed close behind.

  “No, stay where you are,” he said when she began to turn.

  Lights were on in the attic of the house that faced theirs. A family lived there with their eighteen-year-old son whom she knew occupied that room.

  “Michael,” she began, turning.

  His hand came down hard on her ass, making her gasp. He held it there, squeezing the fleshy mound.

  “Spread your legs and lean forward slightly, put your hands on the sill for support.”

  She swallowed, suddenly more aroused than anything else. Placing trembling hands on the sill, she positioned herself as he said, tilting her hips upward.

  “I bought you something,” he said, the fingers of one hand coming around the front of her to grasp her clit.

  She ground into him when she felt his other hand at the cleft between her buttocks. It was slippery and she realized it must be lubricant on his fingers.

  He played with her a while as she stood displayed at the window, one hand working her clit, the other starting to make its way between her cheeks and toward her anus. When his slippery fingers reached it and began circling, she dropped her head down with a moan.

  “I knew you’d like this,” he said. “You’re a good girl, Sophie. Now relax and open for me.”

  “Mmm,” came the soft purr as she leaned back into him and his finger penetrated. Her muscles tightened around it at first, but she relaxed and allowed him deeper.

  “Sir,” she said.

  “Yes, Sophie?” he asked, still playing, slowly moving his finger in and out of her ass while his other hand kneaded her clit.

  “You’re going to make me come,” she barely managed.

  “Come then,” he said as he pulled his finger out and she felt the cool tip of something else at her entrance.

  Her eyes shot open and she turned around.

  “Mi… Sir!”

  “Face forward. I’m already going to punish you for closing the curtains when you were supposed to remain seated; don’t make it worse for yourself. Besides, I thought you’d be grateful for my gift.”

  His gift had now breached her entrance and its widening length was working its way inside her. She relaxed into his hands as he continued to rub her clit, her anus opening to take the plug.

  “It’s not so big,” he said. “Just a little farther.” His breath was at her neck. “Relax. There, it’s in,” he said, taking his hand from her clit.

  * * *

  Michael watched her from a step away. She remained with her hands on the windowsill, leaning slightly forward, her body tense, obviously trying to manage the plug. It was the silicone one, the easier one to take. It wasn’t the largest one he’d bought, but when he’d ordered them, he’d only ordered those worth using. No point in a plug no larger than his smallest finger. He’d never taken her anally and he wondered now why that was. He’d had anal sex with girlfriends in the past, but somehow the idea that she was his wife made it seem… wrong. It wasn’t wrong though. In fact, it was his right to claim every part of her as her husband. Just as much as it was hers to have him do so.

  “Stay just as you are,” he said. He watched as the lights of the bedroom in the house across the street went out. There was something thrilling about putting her on display like this. But she was struggling with it
, he could see that much. He went to the box and emptied it, laying the items out on the surface of the dresser. He’d ordered several things from a specialty shop in London. He chose what he wanted: the pretty leather blindfold. It was dark red, the darkest red. It would contrast beautifully against her pale skin. It was flared and a sort of leather made to look like lace. Along with it, he chose the gauntlet leather-lace gloves that matched the blindfold. They were beautiful pieces, elegant pieces. But they were also functional and would restrain her when he needed to. But for now, he’d simply slip the items on her, let her get a feel for her new bonds.

  “Sophie,” Michael said. He sounded different to his own ears; darker was the word that came to mind.

  She began to turn.

  “No, stay as you are.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m going to blindfold you.”

  She nodded with a small movement of her head. She was nervous.

  He slid the leather over her eyes. The underside was soft black silk, so although it would have the weight and smell of leather, it would be soft against her softer skin.

  “Breathe, Sophie,” he said as he tied the blindfold in place.

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding as she brought her hands up to touch it.

  “Hold your arms out to the sides,” he said.

  She hesitated if for only a moment. She didn’t yet trust him in this role. He’d have to earn that trust. Slowly, she extended her arms. He slid the first glove on and secured it, then repeated on the other arm.

  “Put them back on the windowsill,” he said quietly.

  It was so dead quiet in the room he could hear her swallow.

  “I want to whip you,” he said.

  “Whip?” she asked, her voice faltering.

  He retrieved the riding crop. It was a long, gorgeous piece, heavy but flexible. He imagined the damage it could do if not used properly. He knew how to use it though. Or at least he had enough experience with it with horses. He was an accomplished rider and since being back in Holland, he’d taken the sport up again, riding almost every weekend.

  He ran the slapper along the flesh of her outer thigh, caressing her hip, tracing it along its curve up to her narrow waist. He slid it back down to find her inner thigh and lightly tapped there, wanting her legs wider. She understood and took them farther.

  “Good. Walk your hips back a little more, just a few inches. I still want you visible at the window.”

  “Michael,” she began.

  Her gasp came simultaneously with the first strike of the crop. He’d stunned her and he imagined the pain of it, the sound of leather against flesh filling the room. He’d struck as soon as she’d said his name and he’d not been gentle. He’d chosen a spot on her outer thigh, knowing it would hurt.

  “Again?” he asked.

  He shifted his eyes from the reddened spot on her hip to her hands, which gripped the windowsill so tightly her knuckles were white.

  “Yes. Please, Sir,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  His lips quivered into a smile. His cock was hard, but more than that. Some other part of him was coming alive. He swallowed and, with a flick of his wrist, struck again, on her buttock this time. Again, she gasped, but no more than that.

  “Another?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He struck twice; quick, short hits to her tender flesh.

  “Sir!” she called out, her lesson immediately understood. “Yes, please, Sir.”

  She was being so good, his little wife. He raised the crop and struck again. He didn’t put near his full strength into it, but with this implement, he didn’t need to.

  The sound she made this time came simultaneously with the blow and she leaned forward a little. He brought the crop down again, this time striking without stopping, alternating cheeks, until both were reddened.

  “Sir!”

  When she called out he stopped, looking at the side of her face, at the sweat that had gathered along her forehead, her upper lip. Her face was flushed a pretty pink, a paler pink than her ass. Michael dropped the crop and turned her, taking her mouth with his. She opened for him, her lips moist, salty sweat mingling with her breath, her heat. He kissed her fully, a long, devouring kiss and she wrapped her arms around him, her wrists at the back of his neck pulling him to her, the sound she was making one of desperate desire. Michael lifted her and carried her to the sheepskin carpet. Laying her on her back, he pushed her legs open, bending her knees toward her chest, and gripped the base of the plug.

  “I want to fuck your ass,” he said. “I want to stripe you red and fuck your ass hard, Sophie.”

  “Do it! God, do it now, Michael!”

  “I’d hurt you,” he said, setting his cock at her pussy, sliding it slowly inside her. “You’re not ready yet.” The pressure of the plug made her pussy feel different. He moved slowly, somehow managing not to drive into her like he wanted to. Her pussy clamped down around his cock fast, slickening the passage even more.

  “Hard. Fuck me hard.”

  He pressed her legs into the carpet on either side of her. He watched her beautiful face as she struggled to see him from behind her mask. She opened her mouth when she came, then bit into her lip, drawing one single drop of blood. Michael’s heart pounded while he watched and he brought his mouth to hers again, his orgasm coming fast and hard, the taste of blood almost overwhelming in his mouth as he emptied himself deep inside her.

  Chapter Ten

  “I wish we didn’t have to go,” Sophie said, looking over at Michael in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. She slipped her earring into place and closed the clasp. It was Sunday afternoon and his parents had organized a birthday party for Michael’s niece who was turning one. Amanda, Michael’s sister, had always been friendly toward her. She was younger than Michael by two years. His older sister, Karen, was a different story. Between Karen and her mother-in-law, Sophie’s stress levels were at an all-time high. When they’d lived in the States, she’d only had to see them twice a year. Now that they were in Holland however, more and more invitations were pouring in, intruding on the quiet life she and Michael had made for themselves.

  Michael slid the razor up along his throat, over his chin, and up to his lip before glancing at her as he rinsed the foam from the blade. Sophie looked at him expectantly. These conversations always added a layer of tension to their marriage. A layer that always made her uncomfortable, to say the least.

  He rinsed his face and pressed a towel to it before turning to her. Once he’d wiped away the moisture, he set it on the counter and put his hands on her arms, rubbing once, then squeezing. His blue gaze searched her eyes and he reached down to kiss her lips.

  “You know we can’t get out of it. You know my mother,” he said, trying to tease her. “Besides, it’s for Mandy. You know there’s nothing I’d rather do than keep you tied to the bed all weekend.”

  She smiled, exhaling, and reached up to wipe off a strip of shaving foam he’d missed.

  “We’ll just stay a little while, not too long, I promise.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Who’s going to be there? Just your family?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he said, turning away and walking into the bedroom. “Some friends of my sister’s, old neighbors I guess. We’ll just go give Rosa our gift, eat something, have a drink, and I promise to get you out of there as fast as I can.”

  “Before your mother descends?” she asked, following him into the bedroom, regretting the words as soon as they were out.

  Michael stopped, looked at her, then pulled his shirt over his head. “Soph,” he began, his voice impatient. They’d had this argument before. More than once.

  Sophie walked to the closet and chose her dress, her heart beating hard, waiting for his reaction.

  It wasn’t what she expected though. Michael came up behind her and turned her to face him. “I know she’s… difficult,” he said.

  Sophie tried to smile, to make l
ight of it, but failed. She looked at him, her eyes wide, wanting him to tell her… what?

  “I’m sorry, Michael,” she said.

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I know between her and Karen, it’s not easy for you, but we don’t see them that often and it’s my family. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “I know. It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

  “I promise, just an hour, two at the most.”

  She nodded, dreading that hour or two or three or four it always managed to turn into.

  * * *

  “Michael!” Amanda’s voice came from the garden. The day was warm and sunny enough for the group to gather outside. Michael turned to meet her as she crossed the yard toward them, Rosa’s blonde curls bobbing up and down.

  “Hey, Mandy,” he said, hugging her and quickly relieving her of his niece. “Rosa, happy birthday,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  Sophie watched their interaction, Mandy beaming proudly, her eyes only on her little girl. Michael talking to Rosa like she’d never heard him talk to anyone before—sweet and playful, even the tone of his voice a little different as he teased the little girl who looked back at him like he was the king of the world. Her chest tightened and she would have taken a step back, a little lost, if it hadn’t been for Amanda.

  “Hey, Sophie,” she said, taking her hand and inching close to her sister-in-law. Although Mandy was ten years older than she was, Sophie considered her a friend. “How are you? How are you adjusting to wet Holland? I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit in a while; it’s a little busy with Rosa.”

  “It’s okay, I understand, Amanda,” she said. “Besides, it’s going better. God, she’s grown, huh?” Sophie asked, ruffling Rosa’s head of curls, trying to divert the attention from herself.

  “Yeah, you should see how much she eats and she started walking. Kind of.” As she said it, the two watched Michael set Rosa down on the grass. He held her hand as she took three steps before plopping down onto her bottom.