by Anna Martin
We didn’t have nightstands yet, so I put his on the floor next to the bed.
When I crawled in next to him, he rolled over and wrapped his body around mine. I didn’t say anything but sighed deeply. It was a relief to be held by him again.
THE HOUSE started to take shape around us as I took charge of making it a space of our own. It wasn’t the sort of house that needed a lot of fuss. The most ostentatious thing about it was the yellow exterior; inside, things were neat and simple. A deep, comfortable couch and a leather armchair. A plain set of dishes. Enough drawers for our clothes—no point in having a lot of space. We’d never fill it all.
Will’s office, the small room at the front of the house, was set up with a desk and a swivel chair and painted a beautiful, neutral color good for concentrating.
Will finished his day whenever his work was done, all meetings tied up, the last e-mail sent, although his work BlackBerry was likely to go off at all hours of the day and night. He ignored it more than he answered it. I was folding laundry when he stalked into the bedroom and announced himself off duty.
We sort of ran into each other at the end of the bed, and Will caught me as I tried to pass him in the too-small space, pulling me into his arms as I laughed and wriggled.
“Mm,” I said against his shoulder as he held me tight.
“Shh.”
I wasn’t really going anywhere important, and being held like this was reassuring. Familiar. Especially when he held on to my arms, the loving embrace becoming stronger and more powerful. It put me in the sort of headspace I hadn’t been in for a while.
When he let me go, I tipped my head for the best angle to kiss him, just softly, then I sank to my knees in front of him and rested my forehead against his hip.
“Jesse,” he said softly, then stopped.
“You know I’m yours, Sir,” I said. “Always.”
“I’ll only ask you this once—are you sure you’re ready? Because if you’re not, this stops right now and you can take your time to build back up to it again.”
“Respectfully, Sir, I’m ready. I… I’d like you to punish me.”
I sat back on my heels and neatly presented. This position was so natural, so instinctive to me, and helped me settle into a familiar headspace. Like wrapping myself in an old blanket, this was reassuring. Here, I knew my place.
Master ran his fingers through my hair, almost carelessly, then stepped around me and left me kneeling in place while he did something on the other side of the room. I took deep, calming breaths and tried not to be too excited at the prospect of an impromptu session.
“Here,” he commanded, and snapped his fingers.
I turned and crawled, remaining on my hands and knees in front of him until he sat on the edge of the bed, then I returned to my presenting position. We had this down to a dance, almost. He moved—I moved. It was as simple as that.
“Why am I doing this, Jesse?” he asked. “Why should I hurt you?”
“Because… I disobeyed you, Sir.”
“By doing what?”
“When you left, when I was here alone, I masturbated.”
He was silent for a few moments, then he leaned down and caught hold of my chin tightly and tipped my head up so we were eye-to-eye.
“When this is done, we talk. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Over my lap.”
This was one of his favorite positions to punish me. It wasn’t distant, like bending over a bench or a bed or a table. This was my body laid out over his, and I’d willingly lain down, accepting my fate. I wasn’t bound or gagged or held in place—I had to keep myself there, because that’s what he wanted.
Master had been experimenting with the humiliation factor for a while. I got off on public displays, so that didn’t really work, but there was something about this position that was just damn naughty. In the best possible way.
I was still wearing underwear, but Master hadn’t told me to take them off, and there was no way I was going to do anything except breathe without his permission now. Years of being his sub meant I was well-trained in anticipating his wishes, and I knew how to behave to get what I wanted.
When I was settled, my ass hitched up over his thighs, head resting on my arms on the bed, he let the first smack fly. It landed right on top of my still-clothed ass, and I let out a tiny hum of pleasure. The next two delivered a sting and my skin started to warm.
Even when he tugged my underwear down, he left the tight boxers around my knees. Keeping them on heightened that sense of punishment.
We were both familiar with the way a good, hard spanking went. Master would warm me up first with a spank, rub, squeeze routine that was measured and fairly rhythmical. When I was ready, he’d pick up the pace and mess with the rhythm, so I’d get three stinging smacks to my left ass cheek, then a slower, thudding one to my right that lingered for a while.
His favorite spot to hit was the crease where my cheek met the top of my thigh. I was sensitive there, and he paid special attention to his smacks, making sure I was taken up and up and up on the pleasurable pain.
I grew harder against his thigh and I was sure he could feel it. Since this wasn’t a planned session, he was only wearing shorts, like I’d been, rather than the leather pants he preferred. I had to hold in the urge to hump his leg, knowing this would not go down well.
When something much harder than Master’s hand cracked against my ass, I howled. I hadn’t been expecting that, and even though it was nothing compared to the amount of pain I could take, it was enough to shock me into indignant cries.
“Oh, shut up,” Master said, whacking me a few more times with what I recognized as a wood-backed hairbrush. “You asked for this.”
I had, there was no denying it.
The extra sting from the makeshift paddle was enough to have me gritting my teeth, bedsheets clenched tightly in my fists to absorb some of the shock. Any thoughts I had about my Master going gentle on me, since we’d not had a session together for a few months, were chased out of my head by his even, punishing blows.
“Count,” he demanded, and I knew it was nearly over.
The last ten were delivered to the backs of my thighs in rapid succession, leaving me to bark out the numbers between each smack with barely enough time to catch my breath or absorb the sting of pain.
I wanted to collapse forward, finally relax and take a few moments to slow my racing heartbeat, but Master had other ideas.
“Up,” he said, smacking me again to make me move.
Quick to obey, I knelt on the floor, shaking my underwear off one leg and presenting, my hard cock thrust forward.
Master looked down at his lap, then sighed dramatically. “Look what you’ve done now,” he said, gesturing to his erection, which was leaking steadily, causing a darker patch on his light gray boxers. “Deal with that.”
He didn’t need to ask me twice.
We were still catching up with the sex we’d missed over the past few months. It wasn’t a hardship to suck him off, though, especially considering how he’d just given me something I’d been desperate for. I knew all the tricks to make him come quickly, swallowing his cock into the back of my throat past my gag reflex, which had taken years to perfect. It wasn’t a skill that had come easily to me, but I was proud of the fact I could serve him like this.
Since he hadn’t specifically said to suck him, just to deal with it, I gently massaged his balls with my fingertips and got bold enough to sneak one finger back and press the secret spot behind them.
When Master grabbed my hair and pulled hard enough to hurt, I knew he was close. With my lips sealed around him, I sucked hard and flicked my tongue over his shaft, providing just enough sensation to tip him over the edge.
Master grunted when he came, telling me it was a satisfactory but not mind-blowing orgasm. I’d settle for that. His fingers slowly unfurled from my hair, and he stood, pulled his boxers up, and grabbed a pair of pajama pants from the top of
the blanket box.
“Since you seem to enjoy masturbation more than me these days, finish yourself off,” he said dismissively. “When you’re done you can meet me in the living room. And clean up after yourself.”
I wanted to groan for his hands on me, to beg for something else, but I’d totally asked for that, and it was a response I should have anticipated. He liked making me do this, not finishing me off at the end of a session. It was another layer to his appreciation for humiliation.
The door wasn’t closed, meaning he could possibly see what I was doing. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to the space on the bed where his thighs had been, hoping to absorb some of the scent of him at the very least. With my legs spread wide, I grabbed hold of my cock and gave it a few solid tugs. Knowing it wouldn’t take long to get off, I clenched my ass muscles, feeling the burn still resonating there, then pinched my nipple as my hand on my cock gained speed.
My orgasm was more of a sob than a scream, but it was something, and I was grateful for it. Master could have so easily denied me altogether—further punishment, which I would, of course, have taken. Even if I didn’t like it.
Cleaning myself didn’t take long; we hadn’t made that much of a mess. There was a bottle of lotion in the bathroom that was supposed to be for sunburn, but it worked pretty well on spanked skin too, so I rubbed some of it in to ease the sting.
In the period between the end of a session and the time when we reconnected after, I was never quite sure how to refer to the man with whom I shared my life. My Master had walked out the door and ended the scene, so really, he was Will again. There was more to it than that, though, until he kissed me and gave me one of those cheeky grins. That was when I had my partner back.
I considered not putting clothes on because I really was sore, but he was clothed, so I thought I probably should be as well. We shared a lot when it came to clothes, nightwear especially, since we were pretty much the same size. There was no point in separating pajamas, so I grabbed a pair at random and hopped into them as I walked through to the living room.
He was curled up in a chair with the TV on low and smiled at me when I draped myself over him.
“Better?” he asked, brushing his hand over the top of my head.
“Much. Thank you.”
“Any time. You have to talk now, though. You know that, right?”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but my ass definitely would not withstand another beating in one night, so I nodded and wriggled into a more comfortable position instead. We could share an armchair pretty well, a combination of Will’s bony ass and my super-flexibility.
“I don’t punish you for jerking off,” Will said when we were finally settled.
“I know.”
“Do you want me to start?”
“Not particularly,” I said, grinning at him so he knew I was joking.
“Okay. So, why now?”
“You weren’t going to just hit me,” I said. “I knew you’d give me something light if I asked for it, but you don’t really go to town on me unless I deserve it.”
“I don’t have a problem with changing the rules in the moment,” Will said, running his palm up and down my spine in a soothing gesture. “I think we need that freedom in our play time, and we know each other well enough now to not have to discuss every detail to death before we do it.”
“Mm.”
I was floating, high on life and being sore and being his. This was mostly his time anyway. Will liked to think out loud. While he was thinking, I snuggled.
“We could look at your contract again, if you like.”
“Shit, Will, we haven’t renegotiated in years.”
“I know,” he said. “Maybe now’s a good time to do that.”
“Now’s a good time?” I echoed. “What, with our whole lives up in the air? We don’t even know where we’re going to be living in six months’ time, let alone what our circumstances will be.”
Will grumbled at that. “Okay, so, hypothetically, if we were going to renegotiate, what would you ask for?”
I tried to think. “Can we just… get back into a rhythm again? Things have been so all over the place recently. It would be good to know that even if we don’t have a schedule, we still get to connect like this regularly.”
“One day, when we negotiate, you’ll ask for something other than more time together.”
I laughed and tipped my head to rest on his shoulder. “It means as much to you as it does to me.”
Will nodded in agreement. “You should be able to ask for something if you want it. I think I need to trust your judgment more.”
I protested at that, because most of the time it felt like he knew me better than I knew myself.
“I want for us to have sex here,” I said. “This is our home away from home. We should be able to do what we want. No restrictions just because we live down the street from my family.”
“That’s fair. You’re ready to get back into the lifestyle, then?”
“I don’t think I was ever out of it. We were just… on hiatus.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “I’ll start planning some things for you.”
When I groaned, he tickled me hard in the ribs, then covered my mouth with his. It was a kiss loaded with promises.
Chapter 6
THE DAYS when he was home were amazing. I’d go for my now-habitual run around the neighborhood, then come home to fix breakfast for us both. His morning grumpiness was something I was used to: coffee helped, and I dragged him into his office by eight most mornings. Eight thirty if we stopped to have sex.
Sometimes he had to take conference calls, the confidential type that meant the door was closed and I shouldn’t go in. The first time I was annoyed—it was my house too, after all. I wanted to be able to move around it without having to worry.
Will didn’t have much in the way of spare time to do laundry and clean and vacuum, so I did all that, went to visit my dad, and when he finished work for the day, we got to spend time together.
For a reason I couldn’t explain, I was feeling lonely. Friends in Seattle called, texted, left me messages on social media to let me know they hadn’t forgotten about us. It was different, though, knowing my life narrowed down to my family and Will. In some ways, I liked it like that. There wasn’t room in my life or my heart to let people other than my family in while I was still grieving hard, but my self-imposed isolation didn’t help with the loneliness.
Will tried to get me to take up a hobby, but other than reading, nothing really appealed to me. I had research I could do for my job, and the Internet helped with that. I could spend time sketching out ideas for how I could develop visitor numbers in my little area of the museum.
Some days I baked: cookies and brownies and cakes, things that could keep me occupied for a few hours at a time. Will made me take batches over to my dad. Otherwise, he’d eat them all and get fat. My boy had a sweet tooth.
I figured out how to make waffles too—from scratch, not out of a box—since breakfast food was Will’s favorite. And when I made it for him, he emerged, bearlike, from his office/cave to eat.
“What are your plans for today?” Will asked. His plate was stacked high with waffles and raspberries, but I’d held back on the whipped cream. It wasn’t good for him.
“There’s still more for me to do outside,” I said, digging into my own breakfast. “The yard is a mess, but there’s so much I can’t do this time of year.”
“I wish we had a pool,” Will said wistfully.
“No reason why we couldn’t put one in. There’s space.”
“I know. Maybe for next summer.”
“There’s flowers in those beds, you know,” I said. “They’re just being suffocated by weeds. I’ll get on that soon.”
He nodded. “You’re doing a great job, you know.”
I grinned at him. “Thanks.” It was nice to hear.
“Have you seen this?” Will asked, waving one of the local newspapers at me.
I didn’t get the newspapers, but my dad did. I guessed he’d left this one, and Will generally read anything that was put under his nose. We were similar like that.
“Hm?”
“There’s a job advert here for a teacher.”
I rolled my eyes and poured myself more coffee. “All right. No, thanks.”
“Seriously, Jess,” he said, pushing the paper across the table. “It’s part-time, you share the job with another teacher, and it’s only temporary to start with. There’s no long-term commitment on either side.”
Since he was insisting, I cast my eyes over the ad and took in the salient details. High school history teacher. Next county over. Good pay, good benefits, probably good experience, as far as my career was concerned.
“You should call them, ask for an application,” he said.
I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”
It wasn’t exactly part of my grand plan for life, but I was starting to feel guilty about not bringing income into the household. Sure, Will was in a position to support me. That support came from our savings, though, which, if I was honest, was more Will’s money than my own. And it couldn’t last forever.
He kissed me hard before going back to work, and I made a start on the dishes. I had a plan for the afternoon which included tackling the next section of the backyard. It was a dirty, messy, sweaty job ripping weeds out of the ground and trying to get the baked-solid dirt to do something other than just crumble.
Now that the interior of the house was fixed up and we could live in the space, the next job was getting the outside up to scratch. I needed to extend the repainting of the house around to the back, since I’d only bothered to refresh the sunny yellow at the front so far. And then there was the deck and the fruit trees and the lawn. It was far from an easy task.
My dad had plenty of gardening equipment I could borrow, and even if I didn’t know how to use all of it when I picked it up, I made estimates and guesses and got straight to work. The fruit trees needed to be pruned and tidied up. It wasn’t the right time of year to do it, according to the web page I’d found, but the whole end of the yard was a mess and I had to do something about it.