Frustrated Instincts
By
Serena Akeroyd
Marina: Part Three
Naughty Nookie Series
The right of Gemma Mazurke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.
Frustrated Instincts
Serena Akeroyd
Copyright © Gemma Mazurke 2014
First Smashwords Edition August 2014
Cover design by Clarissa Yeo http://www.yocladesigns.com
**DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, BDSM or otherwise, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Gemma Mazurke will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.**
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Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Naughty Nookie Series
Acknowledgments
The writing world is a tough nut to crack. Without some fabulous friends I’ve met via the various social networks, it would have been so much harder.
Thanks to Christine, Rebecca, Nicole and Tammy. Four lovely ladies who took the time to beta-read for me just to help out. You’re a quartet of loves!
Prologue
I, as a committed, loving woman with the desire to express my devotion to the man who has opened my eyes to the truth of my nature, present the gift of a free mind, trusting heart and the complete ownership of all that I am. I do so entrust the submission of my will, knowing he will safekeep said ownership and never take advantage of his position of power.
At all times, he will guide me sensually, sexually and habitually, ensuring my protection and safety even if it is from myself. He will help form me into the person I have buried away and help me in my growth as a true submissive to my Sir. I am his to mold and shape, aiding me to become the person I truly am, strengthening my character, confidence and sense of self.
If he pushes me to the edge, my safe word, Papillon, is there for my protection. Once uttered, he will bring me back from the edge that frightened me, cherish and reassure me and not punish me in my failing to do as he bids. I understand that once said, the word can never be repealed and always has consequences. Even though I shall never be punished for its use, I must consider whether my Sir is breaking his own promise to protect me and keep me safe or if he is simply taking me to a peak only he can guide me to.
I will not defy him or lie. I shall respect him and ask his permission to leave Blue Ridge until such time as I can be trusted to behave respectably. I shall eat to nourish my body for it is his body, to love and to cherish. If I fail in this, I can be punished. I shall not curse and if I am issued a direct command, I must obey unless I have three reasons as to why I simply cannot. If this is so, I shall not be disciplined, but if any other rule is broken, Sir reserves the right to assert his position over me and to chastise as and when he so chooses.
His support and affection are constant and are never to be withheld by way of punishment. I will be loved and adored, showered with affection in exchange for offering him the gift of my submission. I must strive to overcome hesitations, inherent feelings of guilt and shame that stop me from embracing the true me and that disappoint my Sir. I must never put my own selfish wishes above those of his. I shall never refuse him simply to deny him, to do so goes against the very gift I’m offering him.
Requests considered as trivial, from the shade of nail lacquer on my toes to my choice of outfit or those that are serious, for example in regards to health and my physical and emotional welfare, are to be obeyed. Discussions are welcome, negotiations can be made, outright refusal and snark will result in punishment.
My pussy is his, just as my body is. I shall maintain it in a manner he sees fit. Be it frequent waxing or maintaining a healthy weight.
Through it all, for my gift, he shall treat me as a treasured possession. I shall never be demeaned or damaged in his care. With him, I am safe. My environment is safe and I may question and expect truthful answers from him.
I may dedicate my time to my art without fear of the consequences. However, if he believes I am working too hard or am not caring for myself, he reserves the right to protect me from myself.
I offer my consent and myself to the man who will cherish me as no other can.
Nathan Adam Conroy
Sir
Marina Joy Denison
submissive
One
Five days.
One-hundred and twenty hours.
The time it took me to revert to ways of old.
Well, not entirely old. Just to get a touch sassier. A bit more like the real me. Walking around like a zombie, muttering ‘Yes, Sir,’ ‘No, Sir,’ sure as shit isn’t Marina Joy Denison.
Christ, it’s a hell of a surprise I lasted that long. I blame my humility on a few things; fatigue, shock and finally, pain.
Firstly, fatigue. Two further nights’ rest, a slumber so deep the house could have been hit by lightning and I wouldn’t have noticed, and tucked up against Nate... that’s all it took to have me back on fighting form.
The cot in the hospital had been a fancy one. Comfortable in its own way, but with the discord between Nate and I, my sleep was anything but restful. I’ve ceased feeling like the walking dead and instead, am slowly returning to normal.
Secondly, shock. Who wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were a sub after twenty-eight years of burying it away? I guess, at some point, anyone in this lifestyle, feels as though they’re walking in a dream. Combine it with the idea that Nate had been hiding his true character from me, that he’d known from the start what I was... Well, hell, my first day on the job, as it were, was bound to turn me inside out.
Thirdly, pain. Turns out, I have a pretty advanced ulcer eating away at my stomach lining. The churning, nauseating sensation in my belly, combined with my fondness for antacids has a source. With no family background of them, my low alcohol intake as well as being under fifty, it’s unusual at my age to have an ulcer.
Stress, apparently, lies at the root of the problem. I’m on medication to reduce acid levels in my stomach and Nate has made it a rule that for one hour a day, I’m to take a breather. Yoga has woven its way into that time and become a ‘soft’ rule too. But I think that’s only because he gets to watch and enjoy me turning myself into a pretzel. After all, there is nothing stressful in my life anymore. I don’t have to avoid the Russian mob and I’m no longer running a business that catered to its clients twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week!
It’s been three weeks since my ‘first’ day and life has been odd if strangely good. For the first
two of those five days, I walked around like the aforementioned zombie. I didn’t dare say a word, because lying is way too easy for me ̶ and God, doesn’t that make me sound like a hideous person?
It’s not that I lie for the sake of lying; it’s just so easy to prevaricate and inadvertently fib. I’ve come to realize that this is a self-defensive trait. To hide the true me from the rest of the world.
Now, I’ve no problem with continuing in that vein with the majority of folk I come into contact with… just not with Nate.
For those first days, I was careful who I talked to and the subjects were always bland and unlikely to cause me to be dishonest. For example, I refrained from discussing my time in New York in anything but a general way, as I don’t intend for the commune to ever know I ran and owned a brothel in the city that never sleeps.
I focused so hard on Nate’s voice; seeking soft intonations and drops in tone. Anything to make sure there wasn’t some kind of hidden request buried in his words.
I ate whatever he put in front of me even though sometimes it made me feel sick.
I love cursing. Fuck is my favorite word but did I utter it once? No. I didn’t.
I was perfect. Even if I do say so myself.
I did what he said, when. I didn’t argue. I even had my pussy waxed with him watching, for Christ’s sake!
We went shopping together and he had to approve of every item before I could even put it in the basket and the weirdest thing was he paid and I didn’t even bat an eyelid.
Christ, it was like I’d been transported to a parallel universe. One where I’d had my personality completely removed.
Then two things happened to have the real me surging back into existence, something that made me feel a whole hell of a lot more human.
Sam and I had a minor apocalyptic battle over the Thoroughbred issue. I.e. His establishing a Thoroughbred stud farm on Blue Ridge and spending a small fortune on said venture without my permission.
And on the very same day, I discovered Mona is potentially pregnant with her married, gay lover. Thanks to the self-induced purdah at the hospital, I learned the news nearly a month after the gossip first exploded on to the scene. Something that didn’t make me feel totally tickety-boo!
The former, I could handle. For those five days of being a milk-and-water miss, Sam managed to escape from my justified fury. He did so, mostly, by staying under the radar. He must have camped out in his lab, because I didn’t see him. Nor did I see Jase, the man hired to care for one of our ailing stallions, who must have been on similar orders to stay out of my way.
I saw Jase first and I fought with Sam afterward. After the amount of money Sam has poured into this pet project of his, I can’t just throw the entire thing out of the window, even though I’d like to. He’s got his heart set on having a stable of purebred stock—fuck knows why—but to simply discard the entire thing would be a waste of the money he’s invested.
It goes against the grain to let him get away with it, but it won’t be for long. At the end of the year, when it’s time for individuals to put in grant requests for whatever they’re working on, Sam’s grant will be piteously low.
He’ll have to come and beg me for extra throughout the year. And doesn’t the prospect just fill me with malevolent glee? I’d rub my hands together in satisfaction, but I’d look like Dr. Evil minus Mini-Me.
Of the two, it was the latter: Mona’s precarious, impregnated position—overuse of the letter P? Much!—in an unsecure relationship that had me bursting out of my self-containing cage. No matter how often I called her, her phone was never on. And neither was Eddie’s. Stuck in Montana, away from the two women I call my family, with no way to contact them... I burst. Either that or my stomach ulcer nearly did.
After a five-minute stretch of calling Mona’s phone and hearing the dialing tone, Nate happened on by and caught the brunt of my fury. I cursed, raged, and refused to listen to him, when he tried to speak. I threw the plate of food he’d brought me for lunch at the wall and generally behaved like a spoilt brat.
My punishment?
I had to stand in the naughty corner.
Christ, even now, three weeks on, I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or turned on.
“Calm down, Marina,” he’d gritted out, switching his gaze from the new mural that was a plate of spaghetti bolognese decorating the bedroom wall to me. His focus on me had made me shiver, but I was way too worked up to even calm down at the sight of his very contained but meaningful stare.
“I can’t talk to my fucking family, Nate. How the hell am I supposed to calm down? Mona’s pregnant, for Christ’s sake! To a gay man!” I choked out the word, unable to believe the words. The media might have believed she was Zane Matthews’ surrogate, but Eddie and I know differently. “I didn’t find out because she called to tell me. Oh no! I had to find out via the internet! And will she answer her fucking phone? No! And Eddie’s gone AWOL now. I’m stuck on this fucking ranch and I’m no fucking use to them here. How can I help them if they don’t turn on their fucking phones? They need me.”
“And I don’t need you? This ranch doesn’t need you? If they wanted to talk to you, then they would. If their phones are switched off, then it’s for a reason. And concerned or not, you cannot break the rules without there being consequences.”
“I don’t have time for this. I need to go back to New York,” I’d spat, flustered at the idea of all I had to do to get myself ready for a flight back to the city. My mind had already turned inward, before he broke into it like an axe cutting through wood.
“You’re going nowhere.” Ice had dripped down his words. “We’re not playing, Marina. You can’t simply discard the path you’ve chosen... Have I said you can leave the ranch?”
That ice had my eyes flashing to his. Caught in the cold stare, I’d hugged my belly. “Please, Nate. Surely, you understand. I can’t just leave them to it.”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do. You don’t even know if you’re leaving them to anything. If they had needed to speak to you, they would have contacted you. As it is, you’re out of the loop, because they want it that way and you will not invade their privacy until they’re ready to confide in you, do you understand me?”
My lower lip had popped out, a sulk had been starting. Defiance had oozed out of my every pore.
“I want to be there for them. Even if I switched off my phone, I’d expect them to come after me. To help me. It’s just what we do.”
“Well, not anymore. If Mona’s pregnant, then that’s her choice. If she’s a surrogate, then again, she chose to become one. It has nothing to do with you.”
“You knew?”
He shrugged. “As little as you mentioned the pair to me, you did tell me her surname once. Simone Barranquet is a pretty unusual name. And the pair of them, that writer and her, they always seemed to be on the TV when I was in hospital.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nate crossed his arms and cast me a pointed look. “I wasn’t saying much to you at the time.”
Still feeling pretty raw about the role I played in Nate’s injuries, I flushed. “You could have told me at any time during these last three weeks! Why didn’t you?”
“Because more important things have been on my mind.”
His low voice, filled with that unmistakable quality of Sir, had me ducking my head. Instinctively, I’d reacted to the tenor but the old me had been so pissed off at him, I’d been on the brink of more rebellion. Half-turning away from him, I’d taken a step back, when he’d dashed across the room and stopped an inch away from me. Every part of him invading my personal space, when his hands grabbed my upper arms.
There’d been no pain, even though his hold was fierce, he’d used the grip to drag me closer to him and to bite out, “You’ve just broken so many rules, I can’t even fucking count how many times I need to punish you. You’re going to stand in that corner over there until I can think of what to do with you.”
/> “I don’t have time for this, Nate!”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad at me. He’d sucked in a huge breath of air as though begging for calm, then had ground out, “There’s nothing else you need to do except obey me.”
Mouth working as I stared at him, studying the tic in his jaw as his fury at my disobedience made itself known. Still, I’d hesitated, torn between his words and the idea of my friends needing me, even if he was right. They didn’t need me enough to contact me. But that hesitation sealed my fate and had him releasing his hold on one of my arms, then with the other, he dragged me to the armchair and bit out, “Stand there and don’t move a goddamn inch.”
Until that point, he hadn’t spanked me since the first day. Not to punish, at any rate. On a morning and on a night, he’d hit my behind five times as a reminder to be good. The freakish thing had been I’d wanted him to spank me more even though I’d done everything within my power to avoid punishment. I think that had been the whole idea. Reverse psychology.
Making me want something even though I only earned such treatment through misbehavior.
As it was, the idea he was about to spank me had all thoughts of my friends flushing free from my mind. My pussy had started to heat up, need had begun to slither through my veins. And then, he’d started to take off his belt. His lack of hard-on had told me I wasn’t in for a treat and the instant he had his belt in his hand, I’d stepped away from him, knowing what was coming.
“You get your ass over here, right this second, Marina,” he’d ordered and my legs had made the decision for me, pushing me forwards and settling myself on his lap so he was comfortable and not straining his wounds and I could rest my hips and head on the armrests.
The first cut of the belt into my butt had made a hand spank seem like a snowflake falling on to the curve of my cheek. I didn’t have to count, just had to endure as the leather stung my flesh. I did count, but silently. Ten times, he raised the belt and each time, I cried and struggled on his lap, wriggling and moaning, shrieking and rebelling against his treatment of my poor butt. Even covered with thick denim, the sting had penetrated the fabric and made me howl with the dull thuds.
Frustrated Instincts (Marina: Part Three: Naughty Nookie Series) Page 1