The Enticement: The Submissive Series

by Tara Sue Me

  “I was thinking about this weekend,” Nathaniel said about twenty minutes into the drive.

  “Oh, do we have plans?” I didn’t think we did. It was actually one of the few free weekends we had on our calendar. The annual black-tie fund-raiser for Nathaniel’s nonprofit was coming up in a few months and he had a lot of things to oversee between now and then.

  “No. Which is why I was thinking what I was.”

  I waited for him to continue, noting his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “I know we don’t have anything scheduled for another week or so, but I want you in my collar this weekend.”

  That was unexpected. Since we’d started playing every month, he’d never asked to increase frequency. Even after Elizabeth was born, we’d never progressed to anything other than once a month. We’d talked about it, but I’d gotten pregnant with Henry and that had put a stop to the discussions. We still played a bit while I was pregnant, but with a dramatically decreased intensity.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “Are you not interested?”

  “It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting that to be what you were thinking about.”

  “Maybe that’s why it would be a good idea.”

  His statement hung in the air between us while I thought about what he said. He had a point. It probably would be a good idea and I had anticipated something of the sort after our last weekend.

  “Will you ask Linda to take the kids?” I asked.

  His grip on the steering wheel grew even tighter, his knuckles turning white before he loosened his hands. “I think you need a reminder about what you’re to be concerned about when you’re in my collar.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked straight ahead, but I saw his lips draw together in a thin line before he answered. “It means you’re to leave the plans for the weekend up to me. I’ll take care of everything. Your job is to be in the right frame of mind.”

  “So that means I can’t ask about our kids?”

  “Instead of answering, I’m going to give you an assignment. I want you to write a five-hundred-word blog post on the possible ways I might take the question you asked me. Due Friday at six.”

  Was he serious? I didn’t know what I was going to have to work on after the meeting and here he was adding to it?

  “What if I don’t have time?”

  “Then I will handle the situation Friday at six.”

  I didn’t even have to ask what that meant. “Hell.”

  Of course, I could tell him I didn’t want to wear his collar this weekend. It might actually be a good idea since I didn’t know what I’d have on my plate by then. But I really wanted to.

  Which meant I had to do the assignment.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked.

  I sighed. “That’s a yes.”

  “You don’t have to act like it’s a fate worse than death.” He glanced at me and flashed a smile. “You could look at it as another way to sharpen your writing skills.”

  “My writing skills are fine, thank you very much.”

  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was being a brat. It was just, ugh. He truly had ways to get under my skin. Deciding to make use of the time left in the car, I pulled a notebook from my purse and started jotting down ideas for the assignment he gave me.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Ideas for what I’m going to put in the blog post you just told me to write.”

  “Put it down.”

  “What?”

  “Put. It. Down.”

  “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or does driving into the city always make you this grumpy?”

  “I am not grumpy.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “I asked you if you wanted to wear my collar this weekend and I gave you a writing assignment. That does not make me grumpy. That I don’t want you working on it in the car does not make me grumpy.” He stared straight ahead. “You should know me well enough by now to know I don’t say or do anything without reasons.”

  Of course I knew that. He could very well have all the reasons in the world, but that didn’t mean they were right. Though, most of the time, his were.

  “Let me further expand on the writing assignment,” he said. “I want you to take time to think about your question to me and how I took it. I don’t want you to jot down what you think the answer is or what you’ve discovered in your research. I want a well thought-out, contemplative post.”

  I shoved the notebook back into my bag.

  “To help you, I want you to spend thirty minutes meditating on it tonight. You’re not to write anything about it until your meditation is completed.”

  Thirty minutes?

  I almost asked again if he was serious, but the somber expression he wore made me change my mind. Then I decided what I really wanted to ask him was where the hell did he think I was going to find thirty minutes?

  “What you can do now,” he said, “is to write your top three fantasies. Just a line or two.”

  “That sounds like more fun.” I retrieved the notebook and pen.

  “Good. Let me know when you finish.”

  Since he wanted only a line or two and since they were my fantasies, it didn’t take me long. I put the pen down with a sigh when I finished, feeling just a little carsick from the writing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Writing in the car doesn’t sit so well with my stomach, especially with the butterflies already there.” I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.

  “No more writing then. Instead, tell me your first fantasy.”

  I cracked one eye open. He didn’t look like he was joking. But talking about my fantasies might take my mind off my queasy belly.

  “The first one I wrote down was the one we talked about when Simon and Lynne were over. The men.”

  “Ahh, yes. No way I’d forget that one.”

  Me either. I hoped he set it up one day. That would be the most outlandish scene we’d ever talked about. Men watching as I pleased my Master. His strict look-but-don’t-touch rule.

  “Second one?” he asked.

  “That one’s easy, too. More of the consensual nonconsent.”

  “Capture fantasy.”

  “Yes. I didn’t write any details down, though.”

  “I wouldn’t think you would. Rather takes away the surprise factor if you know when and how you’re going to be captured.”

  “We haven’t done a lot of that type of play, but I always like it when we do. It’s a huge turn-on.”

  I liked role play where it was like he’d kidnapped me. Maybe he’d make me his sex slave and I had to do anything and everything he wanted. Before I could explore that particular fantasy in my head, he asked, “Third?”

  “I liked this one,” I said.

  “Interesting. I would have thought you liked all of them,” he teased.

  I swatted his arm. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes. Sorry to interrupt. You were saying?”

  “Three was an interrogation.”

  “That does sound like fun,” he said. “I could do a lot with that.”

  “In my mind, I’m bound in a dark room. All my clothes are on, but as I give you answers to your questions, every time I give the wrong answer or one you don’t like, you cut away an article of clothing.”

  “I think all three of these are tied for best fantasy in my head.”

  “Mine, too. In three, you finally have me naked and I’m still all tied up and you give me another question. I refuse to answer it, so you make me take you orally. You’re rough, but it’s turning me on and I’m almost choking on your cock.” I glanced out of the corner of my eye. “It’s not exactly like breath play.” That was a hard limit for h
im. “But close enough, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, pretty close. I’d have to think about it, though.” He squeezed my knee with his right hand. “I won’t do anything that could potentially harm you or cause serious health issues.”

  “But a little cock gagging?”

  “Would probably turn me on immensely.”

  We pulled into the parking deck across from his office. I hadn’t realized the time had gone by so quickly. Because he liked getting to work rather early, we were one of the few cars in the deck.

  I looked at my watch. Still three hours until my meeting. I decided I’d either stay in Nathaniel’s office or go shopping or something.

  “Are you coming up with me?” he asked.

  “For a few minutes,” I said. “I was thinking I’d head down to the coffee shop in a little bit. Not sure I’ll get any coffee, though. My stomach is all queasy again.”

  He walked around to my side of the car and helped me out. “Abby,” he said, taking my hand. “You’re an intelligent, hardworking woman. Don’t let nerves get the best of you—you’re too good for that.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s just hard sometimes. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  He kissed my hand. “You’re going to do great.”

  I spent about an hour in his office, talking. He had a few ideas for the fund-raiser he wanted to run past me and I gave him my thoughts. The location we’d used in previous years wasn’t available this year and he had to find a new one.

  “I have got to find someone to take over running this,” he said, meaning the entire nonprofit, not just the fund-raiser.

  “You’ve been saying that for years.”

  “I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “But I really mean it this time.”

  I just laughed. It was his pet project and he’d have a hard time passing the reins over to someone else. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Watch me,” he said, and I had a feeling he might be serious this time.

  He stood up. “I have a meeting I need to attend. Are you going to stay here or go out?”

  “I think I’ll go out. Maybe grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Let me know how it goes.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “You’re going to blow them away.”

  “I hope so.”

  After he left, I told his admin good-bye and I walked to a local coffee shop to pass the time. The place held quite a bit of history for me. Years ago, Nathaniel had met me here after I walked out on him. It was in this shop, in a back corner booth, that he confessed everything to me and I decided to take him back.

  I took out a paperback I’d brought, but after reading the same page over and over, I gave up and put it away. One of the waitresses stopped by my table and asked if I’d like a refill. I drank half the cup before picking up my pen to write.

  Nathaniel had told me I couldn’t start on his assignment until I’d meditated, so I couldn’t work on that. The suggested pieces Meagan asked for were complete. I tapped my pen against the table before I took my third fantasy and wrote about it in more detail.

  The scene was so vivid, it was as if the bustling shop around me disappeared while I wrote the interrogation. Interestingly enough, I found I wasn’t able to write the part I’d described to him about gagging on his cock.

  Why? I wrote.

  I thought about the question. Why could I write the entire scene, but not that part? It couldn’t be because we hadn’t done it. I’d written and fantasized about a lot of things we hadn’t done. That was one of the points of a fantasy, wasn’t it?

  I wrote a few paragraphs about fantasies. The freedom they gave us. The flexibility. But none of that helped me answer my question, so I stopped and made a note that I could add more information and use it for a blog post.

  Maybe, I thought, my inability to picture that part of my fantasy had little to do with me and more to do with him. I jotted down why that could be: his hard limit on breath play, fear that he would hurt me, and my uncertainty about what he would do. Nathaniel was too real and I knew him too well to even fantasize about him doing something he considered a hard limit.

  Spurred on by my possible revelation, I starting writing down things I knew about him. A few things I noted were just words: strength, passion, and caring. Others were sentences: he doesn’t complain when I buy cheap artwork from antique stores simply because I like the shade of blue the artist used, and he knows how to make the best hot chocolate. By the time I lifted up my head to glance at the time, I had completed three pages. I giggled, picturing him rolling his eyes if he came across my list. I folded the pages together and closed the notebook. I needed to leave in a few minutes.

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text and I smiled when I saw it was from Nathaniel.

  So proud of you. Love you and can’t wait to hear how the meeting goes.

  I sent him one back. Thank you! You make me feel strong.

  His reply was fast. If you really want to thank me . . .

  You’re insatiable, I wrote back. Talk soon.

  I unfolded the pages in my notebook and wrote one more sentence: He always knows the perfect thing to say to make me feel better.

  I walked to the headquarters for WNN, housed in the larger NNN complex and, I’ll admit, it felt a bit like I was in an alternate universe when I stepped inside and looked around. Never had I thought to be interviewing for anything having to do with such a large corporation. Even though Nathaniel and I had been married for over six years, there were times I still felt awed when surrounded by wealth and power.

  I gave my name and showed my ID to the security guard and stood to the side while I waited for Meagan to come escort me up. I didn’t have long to wait.

  “Abby,” a tall woman with platinum blond hair said, minutes later. “So happy you’re here. I’m Meagan.”

  I shook the hand she offered me and then she led me to a bank of elevators. She chatted as we went up, asking about my family, and we discovered we both had a love of golden retrievers.

  She led me to her office. It was a modern-looking space, done in sleek wood and shiny chrome. Not my preference, but it seemed to match her.

  “Have a seat,” she said with a wave to a chair that looked more like a piece of art than a place to sit.

  She sat in a chair beside me instead of taking her place behind her desk, and a huge smile covered her face. Her hair was super straight and it swung back and forth as she talked. “I am so thrilled you’re here. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “This is going to be wonderful. I just know it!” She held up a hand. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what I’m thinking. We’d initially like for you to write a series of blog posts for our Web site that’ll match our latest television episode. We’re thinking the post should go up the day before the episode airs. But I think you should do something different for the first post. Really grab everyone’s attention.”

  I had gathered as much from her earlier communications. She talked a bit about content and timeline expectations. It all sounded reasonable.

  “I have a question about privacy,” I said. “Will you be able to keep my name from the public?”

  “Of course, I totally understand the privacy concern. You can keep on being known as the Submissive Wife.”

  That was my biggest concern. In a perfect world, it wouldn’t matter that I was a submissive and that I wore my husband’s collar. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t perfect and people didn’t always treat my sexual preferences with respect.

  And I didn’t even want to think about the kids hearing something.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She picked up some papers from her desk. “I wrote down a few of the themes of our upcoming episodes: taking charge of your sexuality, sexually mismat
ched partners, and sex toys. You can take a look and see if you have any questions.”

  “How many posts a week were you thinking?” I took the papers and looked through them. Nothing surprising. Written on each week’s theme were suggested questions: Where do you find reputable information? How do you find like-minded people? That sort of thing.

  “I know the questions look a bit on the boring and tame side.” Mischief danced in her eyes. I was willing to bet she could be trouble if the situation presented itself. “Those were questions the production team thought up. I’m giving you permission to do something else. Besides, I want the first post to pack a real punch. Knock the world on its feet.”

  I looked over the list of topics, and they did look to be on the boring side. “What’s your production team going to say if I don’t take their suggestions about what to write?”

  “Trust me. If the post gets enough hits, they won’t care what it’s about.”

  “I like you,” I said with a tiny laugh.

  “Seriously.” She took the top paper from my hand and started to read. “List of Web sites you recommend for those looking for more information. Really? Or this one, BDSM defined. Not too bad, you could probably work with that and do something.” She flipped to the second page. “Spicing up your sex life. Like that hasn’t been done to death. The horse is dead—leave it alone.”

  She went to the third page and shook her head, not even bothering to read. “What I’m saying, Abby, is make this section of the Web site yours. Don’t feel like you’re limited by these suggestions. We approached you because people love your site and they love it because it’s you. Not a corporation telling you what to do.”

  I liked where she was going with her advice. I didn’t think I could take her up on the offer if the company wasn’t going to give me control of my own content.

  “I’d much rather be able to decide on what to write myself. I don’t know if I can be forced to write something.”

  She handed the papers back to me. “Now, I will say, there are probably a few topics we won’t publish. But in looking over your blog, I haven’t seen you write on any of them, so I think we’re good. If you’re unsure, you can always run the idea by me first.”