Begin Again (Bound To You Book 1)

by Jane Henry

  To her shock, she felt herself tempted to respond Yes, sir. She stopped herself. What the hell?

  Okay. Thank you.

  Little Lady: Bonita, permission to private message, please?

  Meredith blinked. She'd completely forgotten that the room required permission to private message.

  Sure.

  Another box popped up in front of her.

  I just wanted to welcome you. New members are often put off when discussions like this come up. I promise, we don't bite. Well, some do, but I'll give you fair warning.

  Meredith snorted. She looked at the message, and clicked reply.

  Thank you. That means a lot to me. I'm still so new, this is kinda scary to me, but I'm fascinated all at the same time.

  Little Lady: I understand.

  Meredith couldn't identify why, or how, but she felt as if Little Lady really did. She felt somehow as if this kind, anonymous woman, who'd struggled with loneliness and coming to grips with her own lukewarm marriage, did understand her. Meredith decided to go out on a whim.

  Little Lady, I hope this doesn't come across as creepy, but it was in reading your own testimony that I came to this chat room. I saw you and Master Winston were here, and felt I wanted to get to know you better. This whole thing... this whole lifestyle... fascinates me. You seem very approachable, and I admire your relationship.

  Little Lady: No, it doesn't sound creepy at all. I'm glad you found something comforting in our story. Thank you for your kind words. I don't know you, but I would like to tell you this much. You are not alone.

  Again, a lump rose in her throat. As the private message minimized, Meredith saw the main conversation had continued during their private conversation.

  Master Winston: It's time for Little Lady to go to bed now. Say good night, Little One.

  Little one. Meredith's heart thumped and again, tears came to her eyes that surprised her. She felt a longing growing, a desire, and her desperate loneliness growing stronger.

  Little Lady: Yes, sir. Good night, everyone.

  Again, a private message popped up.

  Little Lady: Good night, Bonita. I hope we meet again.

  And she was gone. Just like that. Yes, sir, I'm off to bed, voila. Boom.

  Wow.

  Little One.

  What would that feel like? To have Paolo tell her, just like that, time to go to bed.

  How would it feel if he called her Little One?

  It would seem weird, maybe. He wasn't her Dom. He was just her husband.

  Still, part of her couldn't help but wonder.

  Left alone with CollarMePlease and Rowdy, who did continue to argue despite Master Winston's admonitions, Meredith stayed around for a bit longer before taking her leave herself. She went back to the main forum, deciding she'd spend a little more time reading before she went to bed. She continued to read. She read, and she read, and she read. Hours later, eyes blurred and unfocused, she shut the top of her laptop, stood, and slid it onto her dresser. She got herself ready for bed. Normally, she'd climb into bed herself, but something drove her to go say goodnight to Paolo.

  She shuffled out to the den, where the TV blared on, but when she got to Paolo's chair, she sighed. He'd fallen asleep. She watched him sleeping for a minute. He looked younger when he slept, and it made her wistful. He was still so handsome. Still so attractive to her, and his sleeping form caused her to want to make him happy again. Picking up a blanket from the back of the couch, she placed it over him, tucking it in around his arms. She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

  Then she went to bed alone.

  Chapter Four

  Meredith spent every night over the next two weeks on the computer. She made quick dinners that required very little prep work, reasoning that Paolo wasn't interested anyway, so what was the point? Then she'd quickly retreat to their bedroom. She didn't want to make it look too suspicious, though, sneaking off with the laptop every night, so sometimes she used her phone, or her tablet. She didn't just chat, though every one of her evenings ended with a visit to the chat room. She spent vast amounts of time just reading, researching and learning more and more about the lifestyle that up until recently was foreign to her, but now was the primary focus of her thoughts. And as she frequented the forum, she began to get to know people there.

  It was an odd experience, feeling that she could share some of her innermost thoughts and feelings with people whose faces were a mystery to her, just about as well as she could be friendly to people she knew in real life. It was odd forming relationships with people she'd never seen or spoken to. She came to adore Little Lady and Master Winston, though she couldn't quite wrap her brain around their dynamic. Little Lady deferred to him in every way, even in chat. When she spoke of him, it was with the utmost respect and adoration. It was clear, after a very short time, how much Winston cherished her, though he could be very stern. It was the sternness that surprised Meredith, because of how deeply it affected her.

  One night, she ventured into the chat room, hoping to find Little Lady. Paolo was in his own world, reading sports news reports online, so Meredith took her phone and retreated to her bedroom. She'd read a new romance novel and was eager to discuss it with Little Lady. Little Lady wasn't always there, as she had restrictions on her online activity, and Winston often gave her tasks to complete. Winston, as moderator, was often there, and Meredith discovered over time that he was retired military. He said his schedule gave him the freedom to visit frequently, and he kept the forum up on his phone almost all the time. So it was no surprise to see his name in the upper corner. Meredith hit enter.

  Chat room occupants: Master Winston, Rowdy, Mr. Brookstone, Bonita.

  Mr. Brookstone was a new one. Meredith felt curiosity stir within her.

  What did he look like? She'd seen a picture of Little Lady and Master Winston, and it amused her how little they looked like the way she'd imagined them. She pictured a mousy little woman with wide-eyes, and a stern, dark-haired man with a foreboding countenance, complete with rippling muscles and maybe even tattoos. It was fun to imagine them that way. Doms had to be tall, dark, and handsome, she reasoned, chiding herself with a schoolgirl giggle. But they looked nothing like that at all. Winston was indeed very attractive, but older than she'd imagined. He was in his late forties, with short gray hair and ice blue eyes. He didn't sport the scruffy beard she'd imagined, but was clean-shaven, with a medium build, and of average height. He was handsome in his own way, but didn't 'look' like a 'Dom'. And Little Lady was adorable. A bit shorter than Winston, she had a mane of thick blonde curls that brushed her shoulders, and soft brown eyes framed with long lashes. She wore glasses, and the smile in the picture was wide and genuine.

  It was fun to imagine what the names on the screen looked like. She already had Rowdy pegged as a pimple-faced, nerdy creeper with slick oily hair, who lived in his mother's basement, and CollarMePlease was a young goth chick who wore black lipstick and vivid red nail polish, totally badass and cute in her own way. She wondered what they thought of her. In their mind's eye, was she thin, young, and stunning? Or did they imagine her matronly, or unattractive? She glanced in the mirror over her bed. She had silvery-blonde curls that were full and feminine, just reaching her chin. Her eyes were blue-gray, with thin lashes, and she had a smooth, clear complexion with a small, round nose. She'd sent a picture to Little Lady, who'd responded, "You're absolutely beautiful. I can see the kindness in your eyes."

  She'd made her night with that.

  Bonita. Beautiful.

  Beautiful to whom?

  She turned back to the chat room. Aw, hell, she was feeling desperate again, as Paolo had retreated so far from her he hadn't even touched her in weeks. Why not imagine a Dom who was tall, dark, and handsome? What would it hurt?

  Mr. Brookstone. The mere name sent a thrill through her. Her heart gave a great leap. He could be her imaginary dark-eyed lover, the one who towered over her in his magnificence, with those dark, brooding eyes
, his full lips hidden behind the scruffy black beard. He could pierce her with a look, his deep voice rumbling over her when he spoke. And of course, he had to have large, capable hands.

  How else would he pin her over his lap?

  Meredith swallowed hard, and focused on the room in front of her. God, she was losing her mind.

  Hello, she typed. Where's your little lady tonight, Master Winston?

  Her heart stuttered at his response.

  Master Winston: Good evening, Bonita. I'm sorry to say my Little Lady won't be joining us tonight. She's gotten herself in trouble and will not be allowed back here until next week.

  Meredith's heart sank. She felt terrible for her poor friend. She couldn't imagine what she'd done to earn a punishment, and she wished she had a way of reaching out to her, to provide her with comfort. She knew Little Lady desired to please her husband badly, and she hated any kind of punishment.

  I'm sorry to hear that. Please tell her I was asking for her.

  Master Winston: Of course, Bonita. Thank you.

  Rowdy: Did you have to spank her naughty little ass?

  Master Winston: The subject of her punishment is not up for discussion.

  Meredith felt a surge of emotions. The desire to slap Rowdy's pock-marked face. And something else, though she couldn't identify what yet. Her fingers trembled, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

  Winston rarely spoke personally of punishing Little Lady, though Meredith knew spanking was part of their dynamic. Punishment was usually referred to in general terms when it came up in chat.

  Mr. Brookstone: Excuse me, Master Winston. I don't want to pry into your relationship, but this whole thing has me very curious. May I ask a few questions?

  Master Winston: Of course. That's why I'm here.

  Mr. Brookstone: You've been Dom to your wife for years now, right?

  Master Winston: Yes. Nearly ten, to be exact.

  Mr. Brookstone: How did you reconcile your desire to protect her—you know, never raise a hand to a woman—with the need to punish her? Know what I mean?

  Meredith already liked this guy. She imagined him sitting back in front of his computer, folding his muscled arms in front of him.

  Master Winston: That's a good question, and one I wish more in the scene would ask, Mr. Brookstone. It took some time. We eased our way into it. At first, I would only spank her with my hand, which was really no different from the bedroom play we'd already been engaged in for years. But her response to my discipline was immediately evident.

  Mr. Brookstone: How so?

  Master Winston: She thrives under my dominance. She talked to me frequently, and told me she had a cathartic release when I punished her. I could see it in her face. I spent a good deal of time reading about the lifestyle, and how I could fulfill her need for a loving, but strong hand. And I set about meeting those needs of hers. I still had some residual reticence, even after we'd done this for a while, but it became clear over time that she needed this from me. I decided it was the best thing to do, because I loved her.

  Mr. Brookstone: Very interesting. I suspect my wife may have also thrived under such an arrangement.

  So he was formerly married. What had happened to his wife? Had she died? Were they divorced? Meredith knew it was impolite to pry in the chat room. For once, she hoped Rowdy's complete disregard for propriety would help satisfy her curiosity.

  Rowdy: Hell yeah. Spank those asses. There's not a woman out there who doesn't deserve a spanking. It's time men grew some balls and put them in their place.

  Master Winston: This dynamic isn't about exercising our power over women at large, Rowdy. It's a consensual agreement between two people.

  Rowdy: I know, I know, I'm just pulling your leg, dude.

  Another member entered. Xcavator.

  Xcavator: Hey. Bonita, how nice to see you're here.

  Nice to see you? She had no idea who he was. She was the only woman in the chat room, though. Was he seeking someone?

  Mr. Brookstone: Bonita, permission to private message?

  Her eyes widened. Why on earth was he asking to message her privately?

  Yes.

  A private message window popped up

  Mr. Brookstone: Hello. I just wanted to introduce myself. I've been reading some things you've written, and I like the way you think. I also wanted to give you a warning.

  Her heartbeat raced even harder. A warning? Was this guy a creeper who thought he could cyber-dom her? She frowned. Should she message Winston? Messaging moderators was allowed without public permission, for safety reasons. She popped open a window and typed Winston a message.

  Excuse me. But do you know this man Mr. Brookstone? He's private messaging me, and I'm not sure I can trust him.

  A reply message came back immediately.

  As I've gotten to know him, I've found him to be a perfect gentleman. He seems trustworthy and honest. We've been writing to one another privately at length. However, please exercise caution as always, Bonita. Don't give him any private information, and if he says anything at all that unsettles you, you come straight to me.

  She felt a rush of appreciation for her friend.

  I will. Thank you.

  You're very welcome.

  She took a deep breath and sent a message back to Mr. Brookstone.

  I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Brookstone. Thank you for your kind words. But what is it exactly you want to warn me about?

  Mr: Brookstone: The new person who just entered the chatroom. Xcavator. He's interested in you. He's made that clear in several other chats, and I wish Winston would ban him. I don't trust him at all. I know you don't know me, and I hope over time we can change that. But please. Be careful of him. Winston is on to him, but has to be careful not to overreact. I have no such restrictions.

  She glanced back up at the screen. Who was this Xcavator?

  Even more importantly, who was this Mr. Brookstone? She frowned.

  Oh God how she wished she could go talk to Paolo.

  But if she could go talk to Paolo, would she even be here? What would he think about her venturing into dangerous waters like this?

  What would he think about this Mr. Brookstone's attempts to protect her?

  Thank you, Mr. Brookstone. I will be careful.

  Mr. Brookstone: Thank you. And I'm very pleased to meet you.

  Same here.

  She frowned as she looked back to the main screen.

  Disappointed her friend wasn't here, wary of both Xcavator and Mr. Brookstone, and feeling again that she was completely alone, she decided it wasn't worth staying. She went back to the main screen.

  Gentleman, I'm going to take my leave.

  They said good night to her, and she shut the computer.

  What was she playing at?

  ***

  Meredith opened the door to the house, and let herself in. She was much later than usual, as she'd had work to catch up on at the office, and she almost stopped for takeout on the way home. But she was so tired, she just wanted to be home. When she opened the door, she could hear the blare of the television from where she was, across the house, and she sighed. Somehow, she kept hoping that when she came home one day, it would be different. The house would again smell of Paolo's cooking, kale soup, or feijoada, a mouth-watering beef stew. There were only a few dishes Paolo made, but the few he did, he did well. Since he worked for himself, he made his own hours, and it was not unusual for Meredith to come home after he did.

  But there was, of course, no clinking of dishes in the kitchen. No rock blaring on the radio in time to Paolo's chopping up veggies. No, 'Welcome home, baby', kiss.

  Couldn't he even think to order something? Didn't he get sick of the constant drone of the television?

  She put her bag down, shrugged off her coat, and went to go see him in the den, frustration and exhaustion mounting. He didn't turn when she came in, but picked up the remote and flicked the channel. Empty chip bags and soda cans littered the floor near his
chair. Meredith never really had been a perfectionist in the housecleaning department, but something about seeing the trash around his chair caused the barely-tapped-down anger to flare.

  "For crying out loud!" she said, eyes narrowed, jaw set, anger surging through her chest, "what do we live in, a garbage dump?" Paolo turned to look over his shoulder and raised his eyes to her, clearly taken aback. But he never did like her to raise her voice, and his eyes immediately narrowed.

  "What the hell is your problem?"

  "What's my problem?" she spat out, closing the distance between them in two long strides. "This is my problem!" She fisted the cellophane wrappers clutched in her hands and tossed them in his lap. "You don't want to cook anymore? Fine! You want to waste your day away in front of the goddamned television? Fine! But don't expect me to come home after working all day and pick up your damn trash like I'm your servant! It's disgusting!"

  She stood glowering, her arms crossed over her chest, heaving with anger. A small voice pricked the back of her mind, igniting a spark of guilt. She hated when she lost her temper.

  Little Lady wouldn't dream of talking to Master Winston this way.

  The immediate thought surprised her, but she shoved the notion away, facing her husband in a silent staring match, both shooting daggers at the other, until finally he broke the silence.

  "You've got anything else to say?" he asked, in a voice of deadly calm. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

  She never spoke to him this way. She'd occasionally lose her temper, but it never lasted long, and he usually stopped her with a curt 'Enough, Meredith'. She never yelled at him. Never raised her voice. Part of her felt good finally letting it all out, finally lashing back out at him.

  Part of her felt like shit.

  "Yeah," she retorted, pointing a livid finger in his direction. "I do. I have something else to say." He said nothing, but glared at her. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his hands clamped together in fists so tight, his knuckles were white.

  "Then say it," he ordered in a dangerously low voice. She took a deep, shuddering breath.