Control Freak

by Sophia Vice

  “Are you okay?” Adam whispers.

  My heart flutters as I realize that if I told him I wasn’t okay, Adam might just send Jason and Julia home, no questions asked—because I, even though I’ve resisted believing it, am his priority.

  “I’m okay,” I breathe, and Adam steps back, leaving me bereft of the warmth and security of his body.

  I burn bright red as I turn to face my brother and Julia, who are obviously trying to give us privacy by admiring the woodwork on one of Adam’s cabinets.

  “Well,” Adam declares, “now that all of the waterworks are over with, should we eat?” Adam winks at me, his steely gray eyes twinkling, and I blush.

  Jason grins at Adam’s straightforwardness, slapping his friend on the back. “Thanks,” I overhear him say to Adam as we walk to the kitchen—and I know what he’s thanking Adam for.

  And then I feel it.

  My heart thumping.

  Because I’m so, so deep in love with this man—this control freak.

  My control freak.

  14

  Kyle

  The first few days of my new “lifestyle change” are brutal and hard to adjust to. The personal trainer, who also trains Adam, spends the first session assessing me. Adam gives us privacy as he runs off to do his own thing in the fancy gym he got me a membership to. I scowl as he shouts “have fun!”

  It’s humiliating since the personal trainer weighs me and then witnesses what a weakling I am as he asks me to perform various tasks.

  I’m a sweaty, unattractive mess by the time Adam and I leave the gym.

  “Was that so bad?” He grips his gym bag, grinning at me.

  “It was like torture. It was humiliating.”

  “No pain, no gain, baby,” he laughs, kissing me.

  I love these light moments between us. Just as much as I love it when he’s Mr. Control Freak.

  My whole body is a world of pain over the next few days. I’m not used to working-out, or moving much at all, and it feels like all of my muscles are mad at me for making them work. Adam makes me take magnesium baths and stuffs me full of muscle-building protein and vegetables at every meal.

  Lily and I correspond over email, and she sends me positive vibes and helpful encouragements. I am nice in my replies, hoping to atone for how cold I was towards her when I thought her and Adam had history. I tell myself that smile emojis can fix anything.

  Adam is supportive too, telling me constantly how proud of me he is. He reinforces this by filling my nights with toe-curling pleasure and making me come over and over. Sometimes there is a little pain too, like the nipple clamps or a light whipping, but it always adds to the pleasure.

  I mess up on the eighth day of my new regimen. Adam’s at work, and I’m supposed to go meet my trainer at the gym.

  As I’m driving over I decide that I just don’t have it in me. Every inch of my body is in pain from all of the hard working-out I’ve been doing, and I need a break. I pull into a fast-food parking lot and text Mark, my personal trainer, that I am feeling under the weather.

  I sit in my car as it idles after I’ve sent the text, a strange mix of disappointment and dread settling into my stomach.

  My phone pings. Sorry to hear that! Mark messages me. I stare at the text, suddenly anxious. What if Adam has some kind of deal set up with Mark? What if Mark rats me out?

  I turn my car off and get out, feeling like I need to do something to get my mind off of my guilt. I’m a grown woman—why should I feel like I’ve done something bad?

  Before I’ve even consciously made a decision, I’m at the counter of the fast-food place and making my usual order—Coke, fries, chicken nuggets, and a double-cheeseburger.

  When my food is up I sit down with it, holding back a moan at the smell. I bite into my burger and nearly faint at the pleasure. This is what food should taste like. I could eat it all day.

  I devour everything in record speed, even the coke. I relish the sugary sweetness sliding over my taste buds. It’s like my body built up a ledger of all the junk food it was being denied, and now it wants payback—and maybe some extra to make up for lost time.

  As I lick my fingers clean, my food-induced ecstasy turns to shame. The food now feels heavy and dense in my stomach, and I know that I’ve fallen off the wagon. Hell, am I trying to give myself diabetes?

  As I drive back to Adam’s my shame deepens, and when I get there I immediately brush my teeth and use some mouthwash, hoping that he won’t smell the fast-food on my breath. After that I try to distract myself by reading a book, but my mind keeps circling back to how I’ve gone against one of Adam’s rules: take care of yourself. Today I didn’t do that at all. I was ruled by my impulses, and I know it. I’m weak-willed.

  Adam finally gets home, and I spring off the sofa to greet him. I’ve only been staying at the house for a few days, but it has already become a ritual for us.

  He grins when he sees me, and I try not to freeze up as he gathers me into his arms so that he can kiss me passionately. His lips press against mine and his teeth nip at my lower lip, asking permission to enter. My lips part and his tongue sweeps in as he leans towards me, my back arched over the support of his arm. He kisses me like he owns me.

  In a way, I guess he does.

  Finally we pull apart, breathless.

  “I could really get used to seeing your beautiful face first thing when I get home,” he murmurs, raining a line of kisses down my face. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” I offer vaguely. “You?”

  He grins like a tiger. “Some things went my way that I was hoping for, you could say. Can I take you to dinner to celebrate?”

  I try to smile. “Sure, that sounds great. Just let me change.”

  In the closet my smile falls, and I take a few deep breaths. I’ve failed him, and myself. The worst part is, I’m too chicken shit to tell him.

  I pull on some jeans and an old sweater. I always feel like a bum in my ratty old clothes compared to him, but I can’t afford to buy anything nice. Not until I get a job, anyway.

  I stare at myself in the mirror. My body is sore, but there isn’t anything to show for my efforts yet. I still look bloated and fat, my belly lolling over the waistband of my jeans. What’s even the point? I think. I’ll never feel healthy. I’ll never be beautiful.

  At some point he’s going to realize that we aren’t a good match. I can’t keep up with his self-discipline, his good looks, any of it. I close my eyes, tears burning the backs of my lids.

  How long is it going to be before he gets tired of me?

  I do my best to act natural on the drive to the restaurant, but the secret of how I completely went against his rules weighs my mind down. With every word I speak, a voice in my mind cries out You’ve disappointed him. I half expect him to notice that something is up and that I’m hiding something from him, but Adam seems to be in such a good mood from whatever went well at work that he doesn’t seem as perceptive as usual.

  Luck is on my side, it seems—or I’ve just become better at deceit.

  I fully expect the restaurant to be another health-oriented one, like the places he’s taken me to before, but I’m surprised when he pulls into an old drive-through. It’s a landmark of the city, but I have never been to it. Teenagers on skates are delivering packages of fast-food to the customers in their cars.

  “Fast-food?” I ask incredulously as he pulls into a free spot.

  He grins at me, his cheeks dimpling in that way that melts my heart. “This was my favorite place growing up, so I wanted to show it to you. I know how hard you’ve been working, and I wanted to surprise you. I told Lily not to say anything, but you get to have a cheat meal once a week. I know I should have let you pick—and I promise next week it will be totally your call. Meanwhile, you can get anything on the menu. Be as unhealthy as you want for just this meal.”

  I stare at him, overwhelmed by how considerate, thoughtful, and caring he is. A tidal wave of regret and shame washes over
me.

  His face falls a little as he takes in my expression. “What is it, Kyle? I’m completely serious—I’m so impressed with how you’ve tackled everything the last few days. It isn’t easy to change habits.”

  “Look, I fucked up!” I finally burst. “I skipped out on the personal training today! I went and ate fast food instead.”

  Adam looks at me evenly. He doesn’t look mad, exactly, but all of the boyish excitement is gone—and I know that I’m the one that ruined this moment.

  “I see,” he says neutrally as he turns the engine back on.

  The drive back to his home is silent, but mercifully quick since we weren’t far. When he parks he looks at me, his eyes darkening. “I want you on the bed. Naked. I’m going to be a few minutes.”

  A few minutes to decide how he’s going to punish me, I think with dread, and honestly, a little excitement too.

  Swallowing down my fear I go to the bedroom and strip off my clothes. I don’t think any of my transgressions have been as serious as this, and I’m honestly afraid of how bad the punishment will be. The room is cold and my naked flesh prickles with goosebumps.

  The potent mix of anxiety and anticipation makes me slick between my thighs, and my nipples harden in the cool air.

  It seems like an eternity, but Adam finally comes into the room. “Get onto your hands and knees,” he growls. I obey immediately, and he unbuckles his pants and pulls out his large cock. He taps my lips with the tip.

  “Open,” he commands.

  Nervously, I part my lips. We haven’t done this yet, and although I’ve given plenty of blow-jobs, I’ve never been with anyone of Adam’s size.

  His cock slides into my mouth, stretching my jaw out with its girth, and he groans as he grips my hair, using it like reins to drag my mouth over his thick cock.

  Saliva dribbles down my chin, and I try to pull back, unused to how undignified it is.

  Adam tsks me, gripping my hair a little tighter as he pushes his cock in so far that it touches the back of my throat. I cough, struggling to breathe.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “I love feeling you choke on my cock. If you need to safeword, hold up three fingers,” he grinds out, and after I nod, he proceeds to fuck my throat as my hands uselessly press against his hips in an attempt to keep him from going in so deep.

  He’s given me an out, and I know I could safeword, but I don’t want to.

  I want to atone. To let him correct me. To be his good girl.

  “Relax your throat,” he commands as his cock presses two-thirds of the way in, right against the opening of my throat.

  I struggle to obey him, and he pushes forward, his cock sliding forcefully down my throat.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Good girl,” he rumbles, holding his cock still as I struggle to relax.

  I can’t help but cough around him, becoming light-headed, but right before I think I really can’t take it he slides back out. I inhale deeply, but I only have a few seconds before he slides back in. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “take that cock. You’ve been very bad. Show me how sorry you are.”

  I flush, and he only thrusts a few more times before he pulls out completely and his cum shoots out all over my chest and face. I continue to sputter and cough as he looks down at me, his eyes heavy-lidded with masculine satisfaction. I feel confused—degraded, hot, turned-on, and still very guilty.

  “Now, bad girl, you can get your spanking,” he states, making me tremble as he offers me a hand to help me get to my feet.

  I want to argue with him, but I know that that will just make the punishment worse. I make a move towards the bathroom so that I can wipe off his cum, but he shakes his head.

  “Leave it,” he orders huskily as he sits on the edge of the bed, gesturing for me.

  He has me go over his knees.

  Then his hand starts coming down, each spank cracking like lightning against my skin. I try not to be noisy, but soon I’m crying out.

  And, like last time, he spanks me to tears, all the while making me recite what I’ve done.

  “Who did you hurt when you skipped your personal training and ate all of that bad food without permission? Was it me?”

  “No,” I blubber, tears streaming down my face.

  He spanks me harder. “Then who?”

  “Me!” I shout, mad at how this question and answering makes me feel like a kid that’s done wrong.

  “What are you being punished for?” He spanks my sit-spot, and I keen, lurching forward, but his strong hands keep me in place.

  “Skipping training, and cheating on my diet,” I whimper, bracing for the next spank.

  “Partly, but that isn’t why I’m so disappointed.” His hand comes down again, making me cry out.

  “I don’t understand.” My voice is thick with tears, my snot running onto his slacks.

  “Think, pet. Yes, you didn’t take care of yourself, but what other rule did you break?” His hand gently squeezes and rubs my stinging skin before he spanks me again.

  “Fuck!”

  He spanks me harder, the smack echoing in the room. “Language, pet. Now answer me.”

  “Honesty,” I choke out. “I didn’t tell you that I had broken a rule.”

  He spanks me again, and this time I can’t help myself—I flail out, my legs kicking to break his hold. It’s an instinct I can’t control.

  “No, you don’t get off that easy,” he rumbles, his hand quickly securing my wrists to my lower back while one strong leg comes over mine, effectively immobilizing me.

  “Ten more. I want you to count.”

  Smack!

  “One!” I cry, pitching forward, but his hand wrapped around my wrists keep me still.

  Smack!

  “Two!”

  Smack!

  The pain is blinding. “Fuck! Three.”

  “Language.” His voice is stern. Smack!

  “Four! I’m sorry!”

  “I know you are, baby.” Smack!

  “Five. I’m sorry. Please, sir, no more.”

  “You beg sweetly, but you need this.” Smack!

  I howl. My whole ass is on fire now, and everywhere his hand lands I’ve already been spanked several times. “I can’t!”

  “Count.”

  “Six.”

  Smack!

  “Seven!” My whole world has narrowed down to his hand, and my powerlessness. I have no choice but to take this punishment.

  It’s taking away the guilt. With each spank, with each sting, I can feel a cleansing—a chance to start fresh.

  Smack! Smack! Smack! The last three are in quick succession, and I’m blubbering by the end.

  “Eight, nine, ten,” I whisper, my voice choked up with tears.

  Adam immediately gathers me up, his hand running down my back. He talks to me quietly as I cry, telling me how well I took my spanking and what a good girl I’m going to be from now on. I tuck my face into his chest, embarrassed at how my face must be swollen with tears.

  After all my tears have dried and I’ve taken some calming breaths Adam breaks the silence.

  “Your punishment isn’t over.” His voice isn’t unkind, but matter-of-fact.

  I look at him, startled. “I thought you said that all was forgiven once I’ve…once you’ve…”

  “Punished you?” He asks softly, his thumb running over my bottom lip.

  I nod.

  His eyes stay focused on my lips. “That’s true. And you’ll have that forgiveness once you’ve had the second part of this punishment.”

  I stare at him, feeling like something inside of me is breaking. I’m going to have to safeword. This was harder than he’s ever spanked me, and my ass can’t take anymore.

  But his punishment isn’t what I expect.

  “We’re going into the den, and you’re going to workout to make up for what you missed today.” His hand continues to rub my back in soothing motions.

  I sit up, indignation shooting up my spine. “Excuse me
?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Do you have a problem with how I choose to punish you, pet?” His deep voice sends chills down my spine. “After all, you broke two rules. Not just one.”

  I have to take a couple of breaths before I calm down. This is how this works, I remind myself. He’s in charge. He’s in control. If I argue, I only make it worse for myself. “No.”

  He grabs a flogger from the closet, and I go to get my workout clothes, but he stops me.

  “No. You’ll do this naked and freshly spanked.”

  I gape at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Very.” He snaps the flogger into the air, making me jump in surprise at the sound. “Now get down there before your punishment gets worse.”

  He follows me down, and my core tightens in anxiety and arousal at the way his jaw is hard-set.

  When we get into the den, half of which is set up like a mini-gym, I turn to face him. I try to stand tall rather than hunching, since he has lectured me about my posture before. I don’t want to add to my punishment.

  “One hundred jumping jacks,” he orders me.

  I stand there, still feeling like this has to be a joke.

  Lightning fast, he flogs my right breast, making me gasp in surprise and pain. “Was I unclear?”

  “No.”

  Another hit with the flogger, this time on my left breast. “No, what?”

  “No, sir.”

  I begin doing the jumping jacks, and as I start slowing down after fifty he begins to flog my breasts and already-stinging ass, telling me to go faster, to get my arms up higher. At one point the flogger swings between my legs, thudding against my dripping wet pussy. I stumble.

  “Don’t stop,” he commands, his voice velvet-soft as he continues to flog my tender bottom. I grit my teeth and keep doing jumping jacks, sweat now pouring down my body.

  After that he makes me do fifty burpees, my tits swinging vulgarly as I leap up and down.

  Then sit-ups.

  Then lunges.

  Then squats.

  When he makes me do it all over again, I almost safeword. I can’t get enough air into my lungs and my eyes sting from sweat.