by Rebel Wild
“Come in,” he says, seeing me in the doorway. I walk in to see him busy typing away at his computer. I stand with my head down, waiting to be acknowledged. “Closer,” he says, never taking his eyes away from his screen.
“Yes, sir,” I tell him and walk to the spot I stood on my first day. I stand there for several minutes while he ignores me.
“You slept through dinner,” he finally says, stopping his work to speak to me. “Did you not get enough rest last night?”
“Yes, sir, I thought I did.”
“Yet you still missed dinner.” He rounds his desk to stand behind me. I want to apologize, to explain what happened with my dad today, but I know he won’t care for my excuses, so I bite my lip to shut up. “Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turn in his direction. I feel the heat of his glare as he eyes me up and down. I would give anything to be able to hide my jean-clad legs and bare feet.
“You left your room without shoes,” he says, disgusted with me as he walks back toward his desk. I turn so I’m still facing him. The fingers of his right hand are tapping on his desk as he leans on it.
“Yes, sir,” I confirm, even though it wasn’t a question.
“Do I need to remind you of what I expect of you, Miss Warren?”
He’s back to calling me Miss Warren again. Just fall on your knees and beg for mercy, Sydney.
“No, sir.”
“Then, you’re already aware?”
“Yes, sir.”
He hasn’t been this annoyed with me since the first day I arrived, but now I don’t know whether to feel like I’m being interrogated by the district attorney or by my new daddy.
“You purposely disobeyed.” He hisses at me. My new daddy.
“No, sir,” I say. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I wasn’t trying to… no, sir.”
“You know what’s expected of you and you chose to disregard it. Is it your goal to be punished?”
I shake my head but stop when he gives me a death glare for doing it.
“No, sir,” I tell him.
“Have I not been patient with you?”
“More than patient, sir,” I admit.
“Maybe a little too patient. Maybe you need a reminder of your place.”
“No, sir.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation with you again, or I’ll remind you of who I am,” he says, his voice rising with every word. “Do you want to get your father out of jail?”
“More than anything, sir.”
“Then do better to please me.” He slams his hand on his desk to bring home his point, making me jump a little.
“Yes, sir.”
My voice trembles. God, he makes me feel like shit. He takes a moment to breathe and just like that his anger goes away but seeing him calm does nothing to make me feel better.
“What happened with your father today? Joe said you were upset.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“Why?”
“I lied to him about working for you. I said I was just helping Mona. I never really lied to him that bad before. His lawyer wants him to take the plea deal you offered, but he won’t take it,” I tell him, sniffing as my tears flow at the mention of it and I stand crying like a big baby. “He won’t listen to him. He won’t listen to me. He’ll lose his license and he doesn’t want to be a burden on me. He cares more about his stupid license and making money than he does being free. His only shot is for me to do this right, but I’m messing up and I don’t know if I can please you enough to drop the charges. He’s scared, but he won’t admit it. He’d rather die than appear weak. He literally told me he would rather die.”
I hiccup and my shoulders bounce up and down as I try to do it silently. I know it’s probably not very pleasing to him. He lifts my chin. My breaths are ragged, and they make my face tremble as it rests in his hands. The movement of my eyes when I look up at him makes my head hurt even more and I grimace. His demeanor is cold, but his eyes are soft and sympathetic. It takes me back to how they were in the playroom. I wonder if he knows how much his eyes betray him.
“It’s not easy for a man to show weakness,” he tells me. “Especially to someone whose opinion matters.”
I’m about to give my “yes sir,” but I sniff too hard, causing a very loud snort. I’m so embarrassed. It must show on my face because his eyes dance with amusement. He releases my chin, takes a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and hands it to me to clean my face. I dry my tears with the smooth, bright fabric while he moves over to his desk. Opening his drawer, he takes out a blue medicine bottle. I recognize it as ibuprofen because Daddy takes it all the time. He pours two of the pills into his hand then goes over to his mini bar and pours a glass of water before returning to me. He hands me the two ibuprofen and gives me the water to chase them down.
“Your dinner’s waiting for you in the fridge,” he says, taking the empty glass from me.
“Thank you, sir.”
“For what?”
Listening.
“The pain pills.”
“Make sure you eat all your dinner as you didn’t have enough for lunch,” he says. “Go now.” He motions toward the door and I quickly leave.
I can’t believe I just spilled my guts to Mr. Garrett of all people, but now that I’ve unloaded and said it all out loud to someone, I feel better. My appetite has returned and it’s in full force. I open the fridge to retrieve my plate when I see a case of Coke.
“Yes,” I squeal as I take one and look at it like it’s gold.
I hold it in my hand. It’s perfectly chilled in all its red and white canned glory, just waiting for me to drink its deliciousness. I pop it open and take a long swallow, humming when it hits my taste buds. Reluctantly, I set the can down and I uncover my plate, smelling the yellow bell pepper stuffed to the brim with vegetables before I pop it in the microwave for a few minutes. The ding of the timer makes my mouth water. Not even bothering to go into the dining room, I take the plate and sit on the barstool to eat.
After devouring my dinner, I sit, with my hunger satisfied, savoring the last bit of my soda. I’m in mid-swallow with the can still up to my lips when Mr. Garrett walks into the kitchen catching me off guard. I completely forget myself and watch as he approaches me, turning when he comes near so that my body’s facing him while he stands in front of my barstool. He eyes the Coke still in my hand and I’m unsure if I was actually supposed to have it. I bite my bottom lip in uncertainty as I stare up at him. He sighs loudly, allowing his eyes to drift down to my mouth.
“You frustrate the hell out of me,” he says. His eyes move back up to meet mine and I see the storm that is brewing inside them. “What do I have to do to make you give in to me?”
I know he doesn’t really want me to answer, so I suck even more of my lip in to keep quiet. I release it when he leans down close to me, his face now inches from mine. His tongue slips out of his mouth to moisten his lips, making his intentions clear. My mouth opens at the sight of it and he takes the opportunity to seize my lips with his. His tongue slips into my mouth and it tastes of spicy brown whiskey and warm caramel.
“Mmm,” I hear myself moan as he deepens the kiss, seductively working over my mouth.
No one has ever kissed me this way before. It is slow, carnal, and intoxicating all at the same time. He ravishes me and I feel it right down to my toes. I can’t seem to stop my body from responding to him. I lean in, needing more. I’m about to slip off the stool until he grabs my shoulders to push me back. He rips his lips away from mine way too soon. I’m left heated at the effect he has on me while I breathe desperately for air.
“On second thought,” he says, like he didn’t just take my breath away. “I think I know.” I dare not roll my eyes at his smug smirk as he walks away. He stops and turns around and I hold
my breath, thinking he just guessed my thought. “Try not to worry about your father. I’m sure you’ll wear him down.”
“Yes, sir,” I say to him and catch myself when I laugh.
“Sleep well.”
“Good night, sir,” I say to him and chastise myself for gawking at him as he goes.
I finish my soda and put my dish in the dishwasher before I go off to my room. I opt for taking a bath instead of my usual shower. I find bubbles with a name I can’t pronounce and put a little in, giving an aroma similar to passion fruit. I soak in the hot water. My mind soon drifts to Mr. Garrett. I close my eyes and absentmindedly lick my lips in hopes that a little taste of him remains. My insides become warm with arousal. I dip my hand between my legs to soothe my aching clit. I’m already close to coming. Mr. Garrett’s face flashes in my mind, causing me to jump up. My God, he’s haunting me.
I drain the tub, dry off, and head back into the bedroom. I find Mr. Garrett’s handkerchief where I left it next to my rabbit on the bed and I study it. It’s monogrammed with his initials. I trace the letters with my index finger before I stuff it under the pillow with my rabbit and try to sleep.
Chapter Nine
I’ve survived my first two weeks as Mr. Garrett’s submissive, and I have to say it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. He’s not as bad as I thought he would be. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve gotten used to him or that I’m just better at following all his rules.
He’s been training me, demonstrating how all the crude devices can be pleasurable. When we’re done, he even lets me ask questions without getting angry or impatient with me. He claims he’s getting me used to things, but he’s torturing me and I think he’s doing it on purpose.
Ever since I dissolved in a puddle on his kitchen floor when he kissed me that night, he’s had me eating out of his hands. He knows exactly how to use his mouth to get me going. He builds me up and as soon as I’m about to explode, he stops and ends our session. I know he’s doing that on purpose. I bet he likes making me squirm. He gets off on it. He wants to make me desperate. He wants me to beg for it so he can “savor” it. Well, if that’s true, it’s working. My hang-up about being his submissive is dangling by a very thin thread.
I haven’t had an orgasm since I’ve been here, and I’m frustrated all the time. I’m always horny and on top of that, I’m stir crazy. I’ve been cooped up in here too long. The only place I’m allowed to go is to jail and I hate it there. I asked Joe to stop for something to eat on our way back today and he acted like he didn’t hear me. I even pretended to be faint from hunger, but he wasn’t buying it. Apparently, Mr. Garrett gave him strict orders to take me to and from the Twin Towers, nowhere else. Thank God, I have the table and chair out on my balcony now. At least I get to sit and have some fresh air while I catch some sun.
It’s almost time for dinner, so I hurry and change. I don’t bother to shower because once he dismisses me, I always have a quick minute to get ready for the playroom. I riffle through the cocktail dresses in my closet, looking for just the right one and I find it. It is a fire engine red, barely-there, spaghetti-strapped mini-dress that pushes my boobs up so high they hurt. I match it with red Jimmy Choo sky-high heels. If this dress doesn’t scream “give me an orgasm” I don’t know what does. Flipping my hair behind my shoulders, I adjust my boobs. They look like they’ve grown two-cup sizes in this dress. I run my hands over my butt and it feels like I’ve done a thousand squats.
Who knew a dress could do all that. I shake my head, not knowing if I should be disgusted or in awe at how desperate I am to come. It’s not like I used to get myself off a lot, but I’ve never been more aware of my vagina. It’s constantly making its needs known and it’s all because my body can’t function right around Mr. Garrett. I don’t even find him all that attractive. I lie. He’s hot, but he’s a sex freak. Who the hell knows how many women he’s had tied up in that playroom? It’s disgusting. So why do I want him to touch me so damn bad? It must be because I’m so starved for an orgasm, but that all ends in a few hours. I’m determined to have one tonight, with or without him.
I’m helping Bree in the kitchen when Mr. Garrett comes in. I have the biggest grin on my face from his reaction to this dress. I can almost see his chin hit the floor and his tongue rolling out of his mouth.
“You have a little drool,” Bree says, handing him a napkin.
He snatches it from her and wipes his mouth before going into the dining room, with her trying not to laugh at him. She’s made stuffed eggplant from a recipe she got online. She doesn’t like the way it came out, but it smells delicious.
I serve Mr. Garrett the way I always do and then sit down to join him. My eyes are downcast, but I can feel him on my skin. He eye-fucks me for several excruciatingly long minutes before he snaps out of it and starts eating.
“What do you think of the meal?” he asks me and I try to hurry up and swallow so I can answer him.
“Very delicious, sir.” I’ve never had stuffed eggplant before, but it’s good.
“Try the wine,” he says, and I take a sip. He’s watching me so closely that I’m fighting not to become self-conscious and clumsy. “Well?” I can hear a tinge of curiosity in his voice.
“It’s… excellent, sir.”
If allowed, I would have told him it’s surprisingly sweet as well. I don’t have much to go on when it comes to alcohol, though. Daddy let me have a glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve and my birthday this year, but he always kept the liquor cabinet locked.
“It’s a Merlot blend,” he tells me like I would have a clue as to what that meant. “It goes well with the eggplant.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, as it truly does complement the meal.
“How’s your dad?” He asks me the same way he does every night since I ended up a blubbering mess in his office.
I know I took all the fun out of him wanting to yell at me by telling him my problems. I don’t think he wants a submissive with problems, even though those problems are the only reason I’m here. Thinking about it makes me cringe. I need to push that out of my mind.
“He’s the same, sir. He’s still not willing to take the advice of his lawyer.”
“I’m sure he’ll come around. Clear.” I quickly and gladly clear the table of our empty plates and wine glasses because I know what’s coming next. “I want you in the playroom, now,” he tells me when I stand before him once again in the dining room, waiting for my dismissal.
“Sir?”
I wasn’t expecting this. He usually gives me at least twenty minutes to get ready. I think my “need an orgasm” dress just backfired on me. Maybe it’s worked a little too well.
“Is there a problem?”
“I haven’t gotten ready,” I tell him, mentally kicking myself that I didn’t shower. I just know I smell.
“You forgot to say, sir,” he reminds me. “That alone is going to get you a paddling.” Just the word ‘paddling’ coming from him sounds ominous. I can tell by the way he’s raping me with his eyes, he’s going to enjoy it. How the hell can I get out of this? I’m eight-fucking-teen! Why am I standing here trying to think of a way out of getting a spanking? It’s ridiculous. Who the hell does he think he is? “Are you going to continue to stand there disobeying me because I don’t mind? I can think of many other ways to punish that body of yours.”
Oh, shit!
“No, sir,” I say, and quickly go up to the playroom.
“And take off the heels,” he calls after me.
“Yes, sir,” I say to him.
I do as he says and take off my heels. I leave them in an unused corner of the room before I get into position. Like the first time, I’m nervous to be in here, but it isn’t out of fear so much anymore. It’s the anticipation that has me wound up. I try to breathe normally as he enters the room with his usual confident swagger. Over the last three sessions,
he’s let me look at him. I haven’t been able to touch him, but I can tell by the size and definition of his muscles that he’s rock solid. His skin is flawless and when he presses his pelvis into my rear end, I know he is well-defined in that area too.
“Over here,” he says to me and I join him in the middle of the room.
He binds my wrists with the usual restraints and ties my hands above my head. He slips a blindfold on, making it impossible for me to see anything.
“Do you know why you’re being punished?”
“I didn’t address you properly, sir.”
“What are your safewords?”
“Bunnies and spiders, sir.”
I listen as he walks away from me only to come back a few seconds later. I feel him behind me. He runs his hands under my dress, pushing it up my thighs to above my waist. My heart races from the feel of him on my skin. I hear him growl when he sees my red satin and lace panties. He gathers my dress up in front of me and tucks it between my legs to keep it from sliding back down again.
“Keep your legs together.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cold, bare wood of a paddle is on my ass and I stiffen up, tucking in my cheeks, trying to get them away from it. He’s punished me with it once before when I didn’t respond to his text fast enough. I was on the toilet at the time. I almost freaked out when Joe came knocking on the bathroom door to check on me. Apparently, I’m to answer him even in those intimate moments. Mr. Garrett was so pissed when he got home, he pulled me in here for my first punishment. When he spanked me with the paddle that day, he’d covered it with fur to soften the sting. Now it’s just the wood and I know that’s going to hurt much worse.