Control Freak

by Sophia Vice

  I sigh dramatically. “I think that might be dangerous for me.”

  Shauna waits for me to elaborate.

  I bite my lip. “I really like Adam.”

  Understanding dawns in Shauna’s eyes. “Oh,” she says softly. “I see. That could be a problem.”

  Over the next few days I oscillate between stressing out over how I’m going to make my rent and laying around my apartment watching reality tv and eating frozen pizza. I apply to a few other barista and waitress jobs online, but I don’t hear back from any of them. Every day seems bleaker than the last, and even though I see Shauna again, I find myself feeling lonely. Adam is halfway in my thoughts all the time, and I can’t stop remembering the blissful sensuality of his hands on my skin. Before bed, I’m unable to resist the temptation of touching myself to the memory of how it felt to be over his lap, his strong hands paddling my ass.

  During the daylight hours I rage against fate and whatever powers-that-be that Adam, the hottest guy I’ve ever met, had to have some kind of weird power complex. Why can’t he just have a normal relationship? Why is the world always so cruel to me? There’s no way, I tell myself repeatedly, that I could stand having him micro-manage my life. No way.

  What if you just gave it a try? My subconscious whispers to me.

  The temptation is definitely there. Compared to how vivid and alive I felt during those few hours with Adam, the rest of my life is downright depressing. I’m a jobless drop-out that prefers to drink herself into a stupor regularly rather than face her problems. Self-worth? Zero.

  To be honest, I added Adam’s number to my phone contacts the night he dropped me off. Maybe I was already a goner even then? Either way, it becomes a battle not to text Adam something. I don’t even know what I would say. Whenever I pick up the phone I’m gripped by apprehension and anxiety: What if he’s already moved on to another girl? What if this is a huge mistake? I shouldn’t even be considering this!

  I hit rock bottom a week later. I’m into my sixth hour of watching a Netflix show when the tv suddenly shuts off. I get up and fiddle with the outlet for a while before I realize that nothing else in the apartment is working either. The lights are out, and the internet is down. Oh my god, I realize, I forgot to pay my power bill.

  I grab my bottle of whiskey, stumbling over some dirty clothes in the darkness. I sink back into the sofa, staring at my powerless TV. This is it. I can’t get any lower. My life is a mess. I bury my face in my hands, my fingers digging into my scalp as I struggle to get a grip.

  Maybe I do need someone to help me get organized—to tell me what to do. I know that I’m depressed, and that I’ve lost the will to do much of anything at all. I take a deep swig of the whiskey, and it burns down my throat.

  Yeah, okay, maybe a therapist would be a healthier alternative to letting my brother’s very wealthy and powerful best friend take over my life.

  But I’m craving Adam’s brand of control. I want to empty my head of all these bad thoughts that say I’m worthless. I need him to cleanse the negativity away with his hands and the pleasure and pain he can give me. I need the release—and I need it now.

  I slide my phone out of my pocket and text Adam before I can change my mind: can you come over?

  6

  Adam

  I’m in my office late, reading over some financial reports, when there’s a tentative knock at the door.

  “Yeah,” I say, a little gruff. The fact that Kyle hasn’t gotten in touch has been driving me crazy, and I’ve tried not to let it affect my work, but I know I’ve been lacking in patience this week. People have taken to falling quiet when I enter a room.

  I know I’m bringing the morale down, but I can’t help it. I keep thinking of how I should have gone more slowly with Kyle so that she could have glimpsed what it would have been like to be mine—how I could fill her life with so much pleasure.

  Chris pokes his head in. “Do you have a moment?”

  I wave him in. He approaches my desk slowly, as if he’s trying to sneak up on a mountain lion.

  I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not going to bite your head off,” I grind out.

  Chris smiles weakly. “Sure?”

  I nod curtly and Chris settles into the chair opposite my desk, looking relieved. “You know, today Jen asked me if our stocks had taken a hit or something.”

  I groan. “Am I that bad?”

  Chris just smiles. “I just hope for all of our sakes that Kyle calls you back.”

  “You and me both.”

  “I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong… but how do you think Jason will react if you guys start something?” He leans forward in his seat.

  I shrug. “I held back for too long because I worried that Jason might not approve,” I say simply.

  Chris nods slowly. “You know, Ricky is much younger than me, and if Ricky had had an older brother, I don’t think that would’ve stopped me either.”

  I smile a little, realizing that Chris is right—the age gap between him and his husband is pretty similar to the age gap between Kyle and I. Hope rises within me, but then dies as I realize that Chris probably wasn’t looking for someone, a really special someone, who wants to be a full-time submissive.

  I sigh. “So what have you got for me?”

  Chris slides an envelope across the table towards me. “These are the quarterly—”

  He’s interrupted by my phone chiming with a text. Normally I keep text notifications silenced at work, but I’ve been keeping them on in case Kyle ever texted. It’s beneath me, but I can’t help myself. I glance down at my phone on my desk. It’s an unknown number.

  Can you come over?

  I smile, and, ridiculously, I get hard. Over a text. I’m a complete goner for this girl. Thankfully, my lower body is concealed by the desk.

  I’ve wanted her more than anyone I’ve ever met—but I need her to be compatible. I need her to give up control. I suppress a groan, the thought making me even harder. I want to see her supple bottom turn red under my palm again. I want to hear her cry out.

  I text her back quickly. Of course. What is your address?

  Chris gets up, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I’ll come back with this stuff in the morning.”

  Absently, I nod, already getting ready to leave. Hope, pure and unadulterated, springs to life within me. Maybe, just maybe, Kyle could be the girl that I’ve been waiting for.

  I frown as I pull up to the dilapidated building. It obviously hasn’t been updated in years, and I see a drug addict lying dazed against the exterior wall. I’m filled with displeasure and protective instincts at seeing where Kyle lives. This is unacceptable, I think, and my own thoughts surprise me.

  I already think of her as mine.

  I quickly park and enter the building, sidestepping the drug-addled man slumped by the door. There isn’t an elevator, so I take the steps two at a time as urgency propels me forward. Although her text was simple, I worry that maybe something bad has happened. For some reason, I have a wild need to reassure myself that she is safe and sound, physically and mentally. I don’t know how or when my attraction for her turned into this, but assuring her well-being has become a priority for me.

  I also want to know in what capacity she wants me here, since I did offer her friendship. It’s a move I’ve been feeling guilty about, because although my offer was sincere, my motives were not innocent. I had hoped that if she wasn’t ready to enter into the kind of relationship I had described, I might be able to keep her in my life and increase the chances of her changing her mind.

  I have to know whether she wants to be mine—whether she will give all of her worries and troubles over to me, and trust me to ensure her well-being. The desire to know her feelings burns me up inside, and I have to take a moment to calm myself.

  I see her apartment number and knock three times. My stomach sinks as I hear some movement and sniffling on the other side of the door.

  “One second,” Kyle cal
ls out, her voice watery.

  I stand impatiently, wishing I could just rip the door off of its hinges, when Kyle finally undoes the locks and eases the door open. She stands awkwardly, her ample curves filling the doorframe. Her mussed hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and it’s clear that she’s been crying from the way her mascara tracks down her cheeks.

  I don’t even think, and pull her into my arms. Her palms rest against my chest as she leans into me, sniffling. The sight kills me, and I feel an immediate need to find the source of her anguish. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.

  “What’s wrong, babygirl?” I rub circles into her back soothingly.

  She looks up at me, her eyes glistening with more unshed tears. “I don’t know why I texted you. I shouldn’t have. It’s ridiculous… I—” she trails off, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as if to physically stop her babbling.

  “Nonsense,” I hush, “nothing about how you feel is ridiculous. Why don’t you let me in, and we can talk?” I put both of my hands on her shoulders comfortingly.

  “Okay,” she acquiesces in a small voice. She steps back and I enter the room, absorbing the details with a rising sense of dismay.

  It’s a complete and total disaster. Trash, clothes, and dirty dishes are everywhere. The state of the room would be enough to make anyone feel depressed. My hand itches with the need to correct this behavior by turning her over my knee and giving her a sound spanking so that she can learn to treat her living space, and therefore herself, with more respect.

  I take a deep breath and carefully shut down the urge to dominate her. I still don’t know how she feels about my proposition—about being mine—and I can’t assume anything. Plus, my number one priority is finding out what’s upsetting her.

  Her face flames as she clears some dirty clothes off of her sofa, and I sit down. Without thinking, I pull her down with me, holding her hips so that she’s sitting close to me. I know I shouldn’t touch her like that without knowing her answer, but I can’t seem to help myself. I never can when it comes to her.

  Kyle bites her lip, and it makes me want to do dirty things to that pouty mouth of hers. “Sorry about the mess.” Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

  I sigh, suppressing the instinct to punish her for her messiness. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her eyes widen a little, and I realize that my question came out as an order. Woops.

  “I’m sorry I made you come out here. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you or anything.”

  I look at her levelly. “Stop apologizing. What made you text me?”

  She shrugs. “I just…I don’t know. I lost power because I didn’t pay my electricity bill. I guess it just made how dark things feel a little too literal.” She rubs a hand over her face in agitation. “I’m sorry, I know this is ridiculous. You have better things to do than listen to me whine about my problems.”

  I arch an eyebrow as displeasure rolls through me. “Stop apologizing.” If she were mine, I would punish her for every time she apologized unnecessarily. “Why didn’t you pay the electricity bill?”

  She looks at her knees—that’s another behavior I would correct. I would teach her to look people in the eye with good posture instead of acting like a self-conscious little girl. She fidgets some more before she responds, peeking up at me with shy embarrassment. “I forgot. My bank account is near zero, and I was going to switch it to my credit card, but I guess I didn’t get around to it.”

  I exhale slowly through my nose, trying to control the overwhelming desire to punish her for being forgetful—the way a good Dom should. I can’t have my pet forgetting to take care of herself. If I gave her a lesson that she would remember, she would be better served in the future. I could help her reform.

  With a pang of clarity, I realize that I can’t help her at all unless she tells me in what capacity she asked me here—as her dom, or as a friend. As a friend, I am totally helpless. I can offer her a shoulder to cry on, some comfort, but more than likely this pattern of self-destruction will continue. Totally unacceptable, I think. I’ve always been a perfectionist at work, but this need for perfection is what always broke my relationships. I can’t stand by and watch someone I care for be even a bit less than what they are capable of. I can’t imagine just giving Kyle some words of comfort and then leaving her to continue her squalid life in this run-down apartment.

  No—I need to help her move beyond this pattern of thinking and behaving. The need to correct her and teach her to value herself is riding me hard, but I need her permission first. I need to know if she trusts me to know what’s best for her.

  “Kyle. Was there a reason you texted me, and not another friend?” I examine her face as she looks up at me, her eyes wide.

  She opens and closes her mouth, and I can see the internal war going on behind her eyes. It’s clear she can’t be vulnerable with me yet—and that’s okay, since I need to earn her vulnerability—but I do deserve the truth.

  “Kyle. I’ve been honest with you every step of the way. I’ve let you know exactly how I feel. Do you think you could give me the same consideration?”

  She nods, worrying the inside of her lip.

  “Why did you text me?”

  “I want to try it!” She bursts suddenly, her fists balling at her sides. She immediately turns red, and I have to suppress my huff of laughter. She’s too adorable.

  Elation fills my body. She wants to try being mine. My heart pounds a loud staccato in my ears as I realize that Kyle has said yes to me, and my need for total control—my need to provide for her in every way.

  “It’s going to be intense,” I warn. I kick myself mentally—why do I have to try to talk her out of it when she’s just agreed? “You have to trust that whatever I do, even if I punish you, it’s for your own good. I will correct you only so that you can improve and to ensure your well-being.”

  She nods, looking up at me shyly through her lashes. The look nearly undoes me, making me want to bend her over the arm of the sofa. Punishment before reward, I remind myself.

  “If it’s ever too much for you, I want you to say ‘Red.’ That’s your safeword. It doesn’t matter if I’m dominating you physically or in some other sense—if you safeword, everything will stop. It doesn’t mean you can get out of a punishment, but we will stop to talk about why it’s too much for you and maybe do something different.”

  She nods, and I can tell that’s she’s feeling overwhelmed by all of this. “What’s your safeword?”

  “Red,” she repeats softly.

  “Good girl.” I tip her chin up with one finger. “And if you think you’re close to safewording, say ‘yellow.’ Okay?”

  She nods, her chin moving against my fingers. I run my thumb over her pouty lower lip, and my cock hardens. I want to use her everywhere—her mouth, her pussy, her ass—now that she’s mine, I’ll want to spend my every waking minute buried deep inside of her. But first, my pet needs to learn that there are behaviors I won’t tolerate.

  “I know you don’t know what I expect from you yet,” I murmur, and she shivers, “and it may feel unfair that I am punishing you for breaking rules you didn’t know about, but it is the best way for you to learn.”

  I watch her expectantly as she absorbs my words and anxiety makes her tense up. Her fear does strange things to me. It arouses me, knowing that she’s anxious and afraid but that she wants to please me anyway. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard. I have to push away the urge to fuck her right here and now.

  “Yes, sir’ is the proper reply,” I tell her, tucking some hair that has escaped her ponytail over her ear. She’s trembling, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  “Yes, sir,” she says softly, and I can’t hold in my groan. The words sound sinful, and oh-so-natural rolling off her tongue.

  “Lay over my lap.”

  Still trying to control her trembling, she obeys, but the lines of her body are awkward and stiff.

  “Do you remember how to positi
on yourself from last time?” I run a hand over her back, and she shudders as she extends her arms forward and shifts so that her thighs and stomach are firmly over my lap. Finally, she arches her back and tilts her ass upwards in invitation.

  I pull down her sweatpants without warning, and she inhales sharply. I don’t give her any time to compose herself. Smack!

  “I expect you to answer my questions out loud, pet.” Smack! I growl in satisfaction as beautiful red hand-prints bloom over her lush ass.

  “Yes, sir!” she gasps, still reeling from the hard smacks.

  I land another spank, and the globes of her bottom jiggle. “Why are you being punished?”

  Smack!

  “For not texting you earlier?” She pants, shifting so that she can see me from the corner of her eye.

  Smack! “No. I would never punish you for taking time to decide on something important. And stay in position.” Smack!

  She squeals as she quickly looks back down to face the cushions of the sofa. Her hands grip the cushions helplessly as my hard spanks continue to fall on her luscious ass.

  “Think, pet. Why are you being punished?”

  “Um, I—” She’s interrupted by another hard spank, and she cries out, her voice hoarse.

  “I won’t stop until you answer. It has nothing to do with me, pet. Think.” My own voice is rough and husky. I am sure she can feel my need for her pressing into her belly.

  “I didn’t pay my electricity bill!” she screams, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she squirms on my lap.

  My left hand automatically presses on the small of her back, rendering her still and helpless. My right hand squeezes the now bright red globes of her ass, and she hisses in pain. It makes me hard enough to cut glass.

  “That’s right. And why didn’t you pay your electricity bill?” My voice is low and coaxing, as if I’m soothing a wounded animal.