Control Freak

by Brianna Hale

  As I disembark the train and walk up the street to my parents’ house, I gaze happily into the big, clear evening sky. I have a feeling this summer is going to be amazing.

  My good mood persists all evening. The next morning I stand before my open wardrobe door in my underwear, deciding what clothes to put on. For once it’s not, What will not make me look disgusting and ugly and fat, fat, FAT? The nasty voice is quieter than ever within her box as I ask myself instead, What will make me feel cute?

  I pull out a foil pink midi skirt and a loose white tee. As I put them on I remember Mr. Blomqvist saying, Do as you’re told in that deep, gravelly voice of his. Hell yes, I can be daddy’s girl.

  An hour later at the museum, he passes my desk on the way to his office with his usual, brusque, “Good morning,” but today there’s a shade of a smile for me as well.

  We have our scheduled catchups and respond to work emails, both of us pretending nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I eat lunch in his office, and as usual, he doesn’t say a word to me when he comes back from the gym.

  After our afternoon catchup, a notification pops up in my inbox. It’s a new meeting with Mr. Blomqvist, scheduled between six and seven every weekday evening until the end of August. The meeting name is one-on-one, which is the same as all our other catch-ups. I have a feeling, though, it’s going to be a very different sort of one-on-one.

  Nervously, I hit accept. The first meeting is tonight. I wonder if Mr. Blomqvist needs me to do anything. I’m used to prepping like crazy for meetings, but this invite is entirely blank. He sends me several more emails over the next thirty minutes, but they’re all about innocuous work things. It’s difficult to concentrate fully on what I’m doing when I remember what he asked me last night. Have you ever been spanked? Would you like to be?

  It felt so easy to say yes at the time when we were so intimate together, and his large hands were cupping my ass.

  Placing my fingers over the keyboard, I put all thoughts of Mr. Blomqvist and spankings out of my mind, and get on with things. I would be a poorly behaved sub if I let my mind run riot while I’m supposed to be working for him.

  Oh, there goes that tingly feeling again…

  At six, my heart pounding, I knock on his door and go in. Mr. Blomqvist is typing and doesn’t look up. He points to a spot on the carpet in the middle of the room. “Kneel. On your heels. Hands on your knees.” Then he goes on typing.

  I do as I’m told, sitting in the spot he indicated. Well, this isn’t what I expected. He sounded so peremptory, very different from his soft, indulgent manner yesterday.

  A moment later he calls out, “Turn a little to your right.”

  I do, and now I can see his bonsai trees along the windowsill, and him in my peripheral vision to my left. He doesn’t speak after that, and I just sit there quietly, looking at the plants. Listening to him typing, feeling my legs beneath me, my breath flowing in and out of my body. It feels strange having nothing to do.

  A moment later Mr. Blomqvist gets up and locks the door, and my heart rate picks up, but he just goes back to his desk. Even though he’s not looking at me, I feel instinctively that he’s as aware of me as I am of him.

  Ten minutes later by the clock on the wall, he comes and stands before me with his hands clasped behind his back. “You were upset yesterday, käraste. I think you need a good cry. I didn’t like seeing you holding in your tears.”

  I gaze up at him, and he seems impossibly tall and broad from this angle. I didn’t think he would make me cry. I thought he wanted to do the opposite.

  Mr. Blomqvist kneels down before me and peers at me closely. “I’m going to put you over the arm of that sofa, and I’m going to spank you.”

  He points to the sofa, and I look. Oh, boy.

  “It’s going to hurt. If it starts to get too much say orange, and I’ll ease off. If something is awful and you want me to stop altogether, say red. If that sounds awful now, say red.”

  He waits, and I say nothing.

  “Good girl. You’re not going to say anything else except for those two words if you need them. Not even yes, daddy. There’s nothing I want you to say. There’s nothing I want you to think about. Is that clear? Nod if you understand.”

  I nod again.

  He takes hold of me by the ponytail, and I gasp, and he impels me to my feet. He’s not rough exactly, but he’s not gentle either. My stomach swoops with alarm and something else as he pushes me down over the arm of the sofa.

  Sometimes I’m not very nice, but I think it will be good for you.

  He pulls my skirt up handfuls at a time and then traces a finger over my underwear, his touch delicate. “You look so pretty today, Lacey.”

  I open my mouth to say thank you but then remember my promise not to speak and shut it again. Mr. Blomqvist laughs softly. The first strike of his hand is vicious, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. The stinging goes on and on, and I shift around on my toes. He waits, and then wraps my ponytail around his hand again, though not so tightly I couldn’t get up if I wanted to.

  I don’t want to.

  He spanks me again, and then again, pinching my flesh hard in between, making tears start into my eyes. I whimper, but I don’t speak. Not orange or red or anything else. I just stop fighting. I haven’t given up in a long, long time, but it finally feels safe to let go now. It’s not even the pain that makes me cry. The pain just makes it easier. I pull a cushion over and press my face into it, and soon I’m sobbing. For once I’m not afraid of the tears, because nothing terrible is waiting to sink its teeth and claws into me. Mr. Blomqvist is the only beast in this room.

  Sometime later, I’m not even sure how long, my ass is burning, and he gathers me up against him. His hands are gentle now. We sit down on the sofa, and he pulls me close to him. He wipes the tears from my cheeks, speaking softly in Swedish. I don’t know what he’s saying, but it sounds so good, how you might talk to a skittish horse or a frightened child. The tears keep coming, but this time I don’t try and stop them. It’s a relief not to be forcing myself away from my emotions for a change. I put my head down on his shoulder and let the tears run down my face.

  A few minutes later, I begin to sniffle my way back to normality.

  Mr. Blomqvist passes me a tissue and smooths my hair as I mop my face. Then he kisses the top of my head and murmurs, “You can speak when you’re ready. Do you feel better?”

  I do feel better, strangely. I look up at him shyly. I want to thank him for what just happened, but I’m not sure what I want to say. Instead, I ask, “Can I kiss you?”

  He smiles, and it’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. “Of course, käraste.” He pulls me closer and kisses me with such tenderness. My arms slip around his neck, and I lose myself in the kiss. A slow kiss. A vivid kiss. A kiss that says so much and feels even more intimate than his tongue on my clit. His body is so warm and strong against my own and he holds me lightly but firmly in his arms.

  I think I like this Viking very much.

  Mr. Blomqvist breaks the kiss and glances up at the clock. “Meeting’s over already. How are you feeling?”

  Tired. Weak. But happy. “A whole hour and I didn’t think one bad thought.”

  He kisses me again. “That’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever heard. What do you think, shall we go on with our meetings? I won’t make you cry every time, I promise.”

  “Just sometimes?” I ask teasingly.

  Blue fire lights in his eyes. “Oh, yes. Sometimes I will. You’re just so pretty when you cry.”

  He stands and helps me up. Before he opens the office door, he takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. “Thank you, käraste. Text me if you need anything, all right?”

  I go up on tiptoe and plant a kiss on his lips, smiling. “Thank you, daddy.”

  I’m rewarded with a small growl, and his hand briefly gripping my throat. “Off with you. Before I change my mind.”

  Th
e next day it’s the same routine. We work together innocently throughout the day. At six I go into his office and kneel on the floor in the middle of the room. I listen to the sound of Mr. Blomqvist typing at his computer and relax into my surroundings. There’s nothing I need to do or decide for the next hour. The freedom is luxurious.

  A short while later Mr. Blomqvist stands up and comes toward me. Today he’s smiling, but it’s not exactly a friendly smile. My heart skips like a stone across water as he reaches down and pulls me to my feet. He lovingly cups my chin, and his mouth is close to mine as if he’s going to kiss me.

  But he doesn’t. He turns me around, draws my back tight against his chest and wraps a hand around my throat.

  “I’ve been thinking about your pussy all day,” he says roughly into my ear, pulling my skirt up in fistfuls. His hand dives down into my underwear, and I’m slick against his fingers.

  “Va i helvete, girl. Are you wet at your desk all afternoon thinking about our meeting?”

  Weakly, I nod, already too lost in the circular motions of his fingers. I close my eyes, relaxing against him and giving in to the sensations as he strokes me. They build rapidly, and my body floods with heat.

  “I see you out there working so diligently,” he growls, between kissing my throat. “Looking like an angel. Being so good as you answer phone calls and emails for me. But you’ve been thinking filthy things about your daddy, haven’t you?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but he speaks over me. “No talking until I say so.”

  If Mr. Blomqvist was sweet yesterday while he inflicted pain, he’s ferocious today while he gives me pleasure. His hard-on is wedged into my ass. I wonder if he suspects I’m a virgin and that he’s the first man to touch me like this and whisper dirty things in my ear.

  Trapped in the vice-like hold of his arms, I’m edging closer and closer to my peak—but then he stops.

  “Do you want me to keep going, little girl?”

  I whimper, nodding, and clutch at him. I was so close. He teases me with the tip of his finger, his grip on my throat tightening and making me light-headed.

  “Then how about I don’t stop?” He says it like a threat.

  He starts to work my clit again, harder and faster than before. My orgasm rushes up so fast that I cry out, but the sound is strangled as he squeezes my throat. My climax moves deeper inside me until my whole core is ablaze with fiery pleasure. I’ve never come so hard before.

  When my orgasm subsides, Mr. Blomqvist keeps stroking my clit. I squirm in his arms, trying to show him that I’ve finished, but he doesn’t stop. All my nerves are raw and my flesh so over-sensitized that it’s becoming painful. I have to say something.

  “No, daddy, that’s too—”

  “Shut up.”

  I writhe and buck in his arms, unable to control what my body is doing. He’s too strong and I can’t get away from him. No matter what I do he keeps rubbing my over-sensitized clit, bolts of lightning hammering through me. As I flail about, one of my heels connects with his shin, and I hear him grunt in pain. I didn’t kick him on purpose, but it’s tempting to do it again. It’s tempting to say red, because this is agony. A moment later the torture starts to blend with pleasure, and a white-hot orgasm burns through me, exploding through the pain. I climb even higher than before, my whole body wracked with bliss.

  When it passes off, Mr. Blomqvist lets go of me and I slump down over his desk, out of breath and panting hard. What the hell? It hurt so bad I wanted to scream, but then I had the most intense orgasm of my life. I push myself up with my arms and turn around to face him. I can see the outline of his erection through his trousers. God, that’s sexy.

  Also, he’s a fucking asshole.

  “You can talk now,” he tells me. “You looked so pretty as you were fighting to get away from me.”

  My mouth twitches with my desire to swear at him, and he must see it because he grins knowingly. Go on, little girl. I dare you.

  “Do you like it when I fight you?” I ask.

  “Mm, I do. When you can’t help yourself. Poor baby, completely at my mercy.” His hard blue gaze is not at all sympathetic.

  I sink down to my knees, reaching for his trouser leg, and push it up, finding the red mark on his shin where I kicked him. I kiss it softly, and an ache goes through my pussy. I like it down here very much.

  “Sorry for kicking you, daddy,” I whisper softly, caressing his calf with my fingers.

  His eyes are narrowed with heat, and I pretend not to notice that his bulging cock is close to my lips.

  “What does va i helvete mean?”

  “It’s a naughty phrase that good girls like you shouldn’t be saying.”

  I plant a kiss on his thigh, not breaking eye contact. “Am I not allowed to say bad words?”

  “Certainly not, unless you want a spanking. But I tell you what. Because you’re being such a good girl, and because I’m curious, I give you permission to tell me what you really think of what I just did to you. Just this once I won’t punish you for any bad language.”

  I smile sweetly at him. “You’re a prick, daddy. But apparently I’m into that.”

  Mr. Blomqvist laughs, and I feel higher than ever. I love making him laugh. I kiss up his thigh, taking my time until I find his erection, and drag my tongue along his length. I flick my gaze up at him, and he’s intent on what I’m doing.

  “Teach me?” I whisper.

  Sitting down in his chair, he pulls me between his thighs and undoes his belt and flies. I rub him through his underwear, enjoying the thick, hot outline of his shaft. I grow bolder, tugging down the waistband of his underwear and revealing his cock, hard and swollen with veins. I’m not afraid, though perhaps at seeing the size of him I should be. I trace my fingers along his generous length, and he’s velvety and hot to the touch. Tentatively, I reach out with my tongue and lick him. He tastes slightly musky, a pleasant taste, and I move a little closer to take the hot tip of him into my mouth.

  Mr. Blomqvist pulls the elastic from my hair, and it tumbles around my shoulders. “Beautiful girl,” he murmurs in that deep, gravelly accent of his, gently fisting my curls in his big hands.

  A thrill goes through me. He likes what I’m doing, even though I’m just making it up as I go along. I gather wetness onto my tongue and run it over his shaft, and he hisses in pleasure and grips my hair tighter. I take him deeper into my mouth, and then suck up and down slowly, enjoying the way he feels against my tongue and the small sounds of approval he’s making. He wraps his legs around me and pulls me closer, and I revel in the strength of him around me. Protecting me and desiring me.

  I suck him in rhythmic motions, using the drag as I pull up to pleasure him. Beneath my fingers, I feel his belly tighten and his breath deepen. His head tips back, and as he comes he lets out the most delicious groan. My mouth floods with that same musky taste, but stronger and salty-sweet, and very Mr. Blomqvist-esque. I like it, but I lean over into the wastepaper bin and spit.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, dragging the back of my hand across my mouth. “Can’t really swallow, um, anything.” Not even semen, apparently. How many calories does—

  That’s what I’m thinking about right now?

  Mr. Blomqvist doesn’t seem to notice I spat. He reaches down and pulls me up into his lap, holding me tightly against him. Still breathing hard, he kisses me deeply, tasting himself on me with his tongue. “That was fucking amazing, sweet girl.”

  “You liked it?” I ask, fishing for more praise.

  He makes a nnnng noise in the back of his throat. “Very much. Do you enjoy our little meetings, Lacey?”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and wriggle until my sex is pressed against his cock through my underwear. “God, yes.”

  “How is this affecting you? Out there I mean.”

  Out there as I get on with my everyday life. I think for a moment. “You’re scarier than anything else I’m afraid of. I don’t know what you’re going to do to me in here, and
that’s a good thing. It clears all the clutter out of my head.”

  Mr. Blomqvist is silent for a moment, tidying the riot of curls around my face. “I’m glad, käraste.”

  “Thank you for being so sweet to me,” I whisper. I like when he’s a prick, but I love these tender moments even more, when we’re quiet together, just holding each other.

  “I’m rough with your body sometimes, but I’ll always be gentle with your soul. She bruises far more easily.” He plants a kiss on my nose and hands my hair elastic back. “I want you to know you can confide in me if you ever want to. I can take whatever you throw at me, käraste.”

  His eyes are filled with meaning. Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about me accidentally kicking him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stian

  A whole hour of Lacey to myself every day, Monday to Friday. In my free moments at the gym and driving to work, I plan the progression of each of our sessions together over the next few weeks, mentally upping the intensity each day. I want to test her limits and find out what she can withstand. Not to be cruel, though there is a sadistic pleasure in watching a sub shaking and whimpering in pain that she’s bravely enduring for me. The plan isn’t to break her. The world is a slightly less scary place when someone’s taken you to your limits, and you haven’t broken down and begged for mercy.

  I see Lacey unfurling as the days pass. She smiles more easily, especially at me. She walks taller and her eyes are brighter. It’s like watching a neglected, battered flowering plant tentatively opening up again under my care. I think she must have pruned away much of her enjoyment of life after she became sick, and now it’s coming back to her.

  A week after I give her a forced orgasm, I decide it’s time to try something new. She hasn’t been naked with me before, so I prepare her by taking off her top and bra, looking steadily into her eyes as I do. No flinching. No shyness. Her nipples are dark and tight, and I suck each one into my mouth, listening to her gasps of pleasure.