by Nikki Sex
Emily stirs and opens her eyes.
“Hey,” I say softly, moving a tendril of hair from her face.
“Hey, yourself,” she says with a grin. I help her sit up and give her the O.J. She’s grateful and drinks it all.
I smile. “Good girl. You must have been dehydrated. Want me to get you some more?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
I reach over, scoop her up into my arms and stand up. She gives a squeal of surprise and laughs. “Are we going somewhere?”
I take her into the bathroom and sit her down on the toilet. “I see,” she says, with amusement in her voice. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Women should always urinate after sex,” I tell her. “It prevents urinary tract infections. I was very careful not to touch your cunt with the same fingers that I used on your ass, but you can never be too careful.”
Emily’s expression is pensive. She’s probably never considered the possibility of a UTI after sex or after anal play. As she takes care of business, I run the bath and consider how I plan to spoil her.
Aftercare is such a turn on for me. There’s a heady space of mutual connection that comes as a result of a sub’s surrender. An intense scene strips barriers away though the extremes of sensation, pleasure, pain and emotion.
The toilet flushes. I hear water running in the bathroom sink. When I turn, Emily stands in front of me. I frame her face with my hands and kiss her forehead. When I sweep her up into my arms, she laughs. I put her in the bath and join her. I sit behind her and pull her into my arms. Her head rests on my chest and shoulder.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Mmmmm. Very okay. The water feels great.”
I feel so close to Emily. Bonded together, body and soul. She’s mine to comfort, to punish, to protect, or reward. Mine to care for. To worship and adore.
Mine and mine alone.
I take a washcloth, put on soap and softly rub it over her skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Nothing really. I’m just sitting here, feeling loved and happy.”
“You are loved,” I say, hugging her closer. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I turn on the shower after she’s nice and relaxed and I get her to stand up while I finish bathing her. It’s fun for me to take time to carefully wash every part of her body. She protests at first, but gives in and enjoys it.
When we’re both clean, I get out and dry myself.
“Stay warm in the shower for a minute,” I say. I check the bed. Jesus. What a mess. I quickly change the bottom sheet. Returning to the bathroom, I turn off the water and carefully dry every part of her.
“I’m perfectly capable of drying myself.”
“Too bad,” I say. “Tonight it’s my job.”
“Why?”
I grin. I just knew she’d ask. I can’t wait to see her reaction when I tell her the score. “Because, Emily, it’s my pleasure to personally look after my property.”
As expected, my girl laughs. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely. You belong to me. I take very good care of my possessions. Especially my favorite and most essential possession, which is you.” When I pull her into me, she wraps her arms around my neck. Warm, clean, lazy and content, we nuzzle into each other.
I put her nightgown on her. Unlike me, she doesn’t like to sleep naked. Then I pick her up and carry her back to bed. Em giggles at my ‘he-man’ tactics. She’s impressed that I changed the bottom sheet.
I love aftercare but I don’t usually have the opportunity to pamper a sub to this degree. Before now I’ve been in a club environment. I tend to any welts, or damage, offer a drink of water, a blanket and an embrace. And if my sub wants to talk, I listen.
Em and I climb into bed together. I naturally pull her into me, with her head on my chest. “Do you want to talk or sleep?” I only ask this because it’s late and we have to get up early for work tomorrow.
She yawns. “I think we’d better get some sleep. You wore me out.”
“No questions?”
“Sure, but we can talk tomorrow.”
I lean over and pull up her nightgown, checking out that sweet, round butt of hers. “My, my, miss Riding Hood,” I say, trying to sound like the big, bad, wolf. “What lovely stripes you have.”
Craning her neck, she looks at her behind.
“They are marks of my ownership,” I whisper in her ear. “Kind of like a brand. When you sit down tomorrow, you’ll feel it. It’ll be a reminder of your submission to me.” I squeeze one butt cheek and she gives me a delightful little squeal. “You’ll remember exactly who owns this beautiful ass.”
“Yeah, right,” she snorts. “Well, this beautiful ass of ‘yours,’ along with the rest of my body, needs some sleep.” She rolls on to her side. I roll over and throw my arm over her, cuddling in spoon position, with my cock against her rounded softness.
“Good night, sweetheart,” I murmur.
“Good night, my love,” she says softly.
I draw in a deep, contented breath at these words. It’s as I said. Love is the most perfect joy that any human being can experience. It’s a gift, but it can also be a curse.
But in this one rare and perfect moment, it’s a gift.
Chapter 28.
“How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.”
– Wayne W. Dyer
~~~
At work the next day, Emily and I spend the morning putting out fires.
It’s pension week and it seems that every person in the area over the age of sixty-five, decides to shop at Jarman’s. It rains and someone slips, just inside of the supermarket. It’s appears to be only a sprain, but I call an ambulance just to be safe. Two sales reps demand my attention: one from a reputable company, with a bad idea. One from an iffy company, with a good idea.
I hear a woman loudly complaining and move to help deal with the situation. As I get closer, I discover the complainant is Rose Dunlop’s mother. Shit. I’m outta there, quickly before she sees me. Last time I saw that woman was three years ago. She looks just as crazy now, except that back then, all of her madness was directed at me.
I don’t want to go there again.
Just as I think the world has calmed down, an attractive black woman is directed my way. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, her expression fierce. She strides toward me, bag in hand. It may as well be a weapon, at least that’s what her body language is projecting.
Shit. Somehow, I just know this is Reggie’s mom.
“Mrs. Turner?” I ask.
“What are you doing with my son?” she demands to know.
“Please,” I say mildly, wanting to avoid a public scene. “Come with me and we’ll talk about it.” All the while, all I can think of is that old saying, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’
I bring her to my office and ask her to please sit down, but she paces in front of me, belligerent and accusing. “Why did you pay my son that money? Just what are you up to? Do you know how old he is?”
“Well…”
“What’s going on?” she interrupts and continues to fire questions at me, without giving me a chance to answer any of them. I can’t get a word in.
I can’t calm her down, although I use every skill that I have. The woman is a protective lioness. Short of offering her my neck, I doubt that I can soothe her. When Emily arrives with a sheath of papers in her hand, I barely conceal my relief.
I’d happily take on an aggressive and much bigger man. But a woman defending her offspring? No thanks.
“Mr. Jarman?” Emily says. “Would you like me to take over here? There’s a few things I’d like to discuss with Mrs. Turner.”
Our visitor’s dark eyes flash. “Who are you?”
“My name is Emily Malone,” Em says quietly, holding out her hand. Apparently a victim of inbuilt courtesy, Mrs. Turner automatically and I suspect against her will, takes it. “I’m afraid that it’s my fault that Mr. J
arman employed your son.” Emily gestures to a chair. “Won’t you sit down?”
I make my escape, as Reggie’s mom sits down. I see Emily sit across from her, at my desk, just as I close the door behind me.
Whew. Grinning, I can’t help but feel proud... and relieved. That’s my girl, taking charge and sorting out this unpleasantness. Emily’s so accomplished and professional. I walk down to the supermarket floor, to see if anybody needs my help, while I wait to get my office back.
About thirty minutes later, I get a text from Emily and I snicker. ‘It’s safe. You can come back now.’ I don’t bother responding, because it only takes two minutes to get up the stairs.
Mrs. Turner and Emily smile and talk animatedly together, just outside my office. They look like best friends. “Oh hi, Mr. Jarman. May I introduce you to Lily Turner? I’ve just employed her on a three-month provisional basis. She’ll be starting Monday.”
I’m literally speechless, but I try to hide this fact, as I plaster on a smile. I shake our newest employee’s hand. Mrs. Turner’s smile is more sincere than mine. She waves her goodbyes and leaves.
Em and I return to my office. I shut the door and sit down behind my dad’s desk. Em sits across from me. While I’m surprised – stunned actually – I’m not mad. Emily’s been running this place for the last three years. I trust her judgment. I’m also incredibly biased. My little rabbit is more than just beautiful, responsive and submissive in bed. She’s got a truckload of management skills and common sense.
Although I demand control in the bedroom, I’m perfectly happy for Emily to take charge when outside of it. The look on her face, however, is priceless. She thinks that I’m going to be angry. I can see that she’s ready to explain her actions.
“So,” I say mildly. “What’s the story?”
“I forgot to tell you yesterday. When you told me that Reggie’s last name was Turner, I knew that I recognized the name from somewhere. I realized that his mother had applied for a job here recently,” she says. “I’d never met her, but I remembered seeing her last name on an application.”
Emily goes to my little office fridge, opens it and takes out a small bottle of Coke. She holds it out in front of me. “You want one?”
“Sure,” I snort. “But after the morning we’ve had, I’d rather have a beer.”
“I’m with you there.” She exhales her agreement, hands me the Coke and grabs herself one too. We both drink, gratefully.
She sits down across from me. “It turns out that Lily had a good job in Portland. Reggie got into some trouble and they had to leave pretty quickly. Now she’s stuck working two cleaning jobs and she’s barely able to get by. But she’s qualified. Maria’s going out on maternity leave next month and I don’t want to leave us short-staffed. Besides, this way, we can train Lily properly before Maria leaves.”
I sit forward, intensely curious. “What happened with Reggie?”
Emily’s face hardens. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I think. Lily won’t talk about it, but she confided that he still has nightmares. Moving was expensive. That poor woman is stressed and broke.” Em tips up the bottle and has a long swallow.
I frown and feel sorry, not for Mrs. Turner, but for her kid. What kind of trauma would cause him nightmares?
“Anyway,” Emily continues, “Lily told me that Reggie gave her the money that you gave him yesterday. That’s why she came in.”
“Really? He gave that money to his mom?” The little thief just moved up a notch in my book. Helping his mom, you’ve got to respect that.
I meet Emily’s blue eyes and read the compassion in them. I recall Reggie’s little pile of stolen goods: a couple of sandwiches, some candy bars, a Coke and a large kitchen knife. I can’t help but feel a little twinge in my chest.
I swear, my little rabbit only just met Lily and she already knows the woman’s life story. Typical. Everyone likes Emily. But how did she sort all of this out so fast and so perfectly? My only thought when faced with a protective mother was to defend myself and escape.
The girl has skills. I have a sudden urge to hug and kiss Em, just because she’s a good person. In fact, she’s the nicest and most caring person that I know.
The phone rings, breaking the moment. When I answer it, I discover that there’s another fire to put out. Some mix up between supply and delivery, involving an annoyed sales rep. I roll my eyes.
“I’ll go,” Emily says and stands up with a smile.
I check my watch and see that it’s lunchtime. “We’re not going to have lunch together, are we?”
“Not today, sorry.”
“Shit. It’s so damn busy, I probably won’t be able to see you all day.”
Emily packs our lunch at least three days a week and we often add something from the deli. Somehow, she just started doing it. Partially because getting something to eat involves driving out somewhere and we’re often too pressed for time here at work to get away.
When we take lunch together, we go out to ‘the park.’ The park isn’t really ‘park-like’ at all. It’s a little stand of fir trees, set on the store’s property at the back of the supermarket. If a semitrailer isn’t out back unloading, or some sort of noisy refrigeration truck isn’t around, it’s a quiet, pleasant place to eat.
I just want to be with her, every moment possible.
Years ago, dad set up benches and tables out there, for the staff to eat on. My dad’s always been a cheapskate, or at least I’ve always thought so. But he did buy those benches. They’re nice ones, too. This thought warms me.
I love my dad. I never knew how much until recently, when he ended up in hospital and we finally managed to have an honest talk to each other.
I guide Emily to my office door, with the palm of my hand, low enough on her back to touch her butt. When we get to the door, I give her a gentle pat on the bottom. It’s a reminder of last night and of the lovely stripes that I gave her with my belt.
Emily took those blows for me. Those few marks are proof that she’s mine.
She turns to look at me. My little rabbit is no dummy. She reads my intense stare easily. The look I give her says, “Remember, I own you.”
As is often the case, Em does the unexpected and laughs. She frames my face with her hands and gives me a quick kiss. “Paul,” she says and shakes her head. “You’re such a Neanderthal.”
We give each other knowing smiles. “I miss you already,” I say as she walks out the door.
Chapter 29.
“To live without passion is to have no life at all.”
– André Chevalier
~~~
Reggie shows up at work, right after school. Just like yesterday, he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt and expensive Nike shoes. I’ve been waiting for him downstairs and my heart lifts when I see him. There’s no explaining it. Why am I interested in this kid?
When Reggie sees me, he smiles. I smile back.
We go to my office and once more, we sit across from each other. I’m not going to tell him that we employed his mom today. That will be her happy surprise to share with him.
I take a moment to make a quick phone call. “Yeah, send Joseph up in five. Thanks.” I look at my newest acquisition. My ex-thief, newly hired errand boy, Reggie. I’ll get Emily to take down his personnel details later. She’d enjoy spending time with him.
There’s nothing better than making Emily happy.
For a moment, I’m caught up in vivid images of my gorgeous rabbit, as they flood my mind. Our connection is so intense. We completely click. My stomach flutters with constant manic joy and anticipation. Not with the expectation of sex, although being a guy, I probably think about sex at every thirty seconds anyway.
No, I just feel happy at the sight, or even just the thought of Emily. I’m hardly eating – I’m not really hungry. I don’t seem to need much sleep, either. I’ve really got it bad.
Of course, as a contrast to this joy, is my dread of fucking everything up. I have trust is
sues and self-doubts. I fear that Emily sees me through rose-colored glasses and when she knows who I really am, she’ll run as far away from me as possible.
I worry about my past catching up with me and of losing control of the Beast within. I don’t want to lose Emily. I’ve never experienced such overwhelming emotions. No, such overwhelming passions. That’s what André Chevalier would say.
André says that there is nothing like passion, in order to feel and to know that you’re alive.
I can almost hear the Frenchman’s voice, “Mon ami, felicitations! Nothing excites the passions so fully as being in love.”
André is right. I’m head-over-heels in love. It’s madness. Ever since I’ve gotten together with Emily, I’ve had higher highs and lower lows than I’ve ever experienced before.
Reggie shifts restlessly in his chair, drawing my attention. Shit, I almost forgot where I was and that I wasn’t alone. I can add distracted to my list of new character traits.
I return to the matter at hand and clear my throat. He’s a different boy today. He’s still skinny and still an adolescent, but the neon sign on his forehead is no longer broadcasting, “I don’t give a damn,” and, “fuck you.” It’s not broadcasting it all. If anything, the kid looks hopeful and interested.
“I’ve been thinking about the work that I want you to do for me, Reggie,” I begin. “Is there anything in particular that you think you should be doing, or that you’d like to try?”
The boy shrugs. Just like yesterday, he doesn’t have much to say. Perfect. I like him already.
“I need you to be clear about something. You work for me,” I inform him. “Not for the supermarket and not for any of the employees. I’m paying you. I’m your boss.”
“Okay,” he says.
“What I’ve decided is to teach you what goes on around here. So, for the next few days, I’ll team you up with different staff members. When you’re with them, you do as they ask, you keep your eyes open and learn any helpful skills that you think you can manage. Okay?”