“More?” I asked, undoing his bow tie. “How about this?” I made the tie into a makeshift gag and stuffed it into his open mouth.
And the sight of him beneath me, bound and gagged, was my undoing, and my body unraveled explosively.
“You may come, submissive,” I said to him, and he did as he was told.
Like a good boy.
I needed a moment to calm the fuck down, so I sauntered casually over to the fridge and opened the door.
“I know you won’t eat,” I said passively, “but please stay while I make myself some dinner. I’d love to talk.” Between the journals and the music, I simply had to talk to this man who had just rocked my world.
He approached me, straightening his tux, composed already. “Mistress, would you like me to prepare you dinner while you make yourself more comfortable? As breathtaking as the dress is, I doubt it’s terribly comfy.”
I smirked at his offer and kind gesture. “That’s why I like the weekends,” I explained. “Once I get home from school on a Friday, I wear flannel until Monday,” I laughed, then looked at him seriously. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Gentry?”
His eyes searched me. “I’m sure if pressed, I could find something,” he joked.
“Well, start thinking, because I might just press,” I said, placing my hands on his hard chest. “There are plenty of ingredients to work with in the fridge and cabinets. I’m not picky . . . when it comes to food, that is.”
“I don’t see any recipe books,” he said, eyes scanning my counter, “but I would like to learn your food preferences. May I prepare you something from this?” He began walking toward my recipe box.
No!
“That’s all right. Those are my mom’s recipes, and she’s a real cunt.” He nodded, backing away from the box. “But enough about dinner,” I said, changing the subject. “I would like to see the results of your penance.”
He began assembling ingredients. “Penance?” he asked.
I frowned. “My e-mail,” I grunted through my teeth.
He shook his head, looking very upset with himself. “I hadn’t checked my e-mail today—I was picking up the piano and gown. I won’t make this mistake again, I promise,” he said, defeated.
I felt guilty, but still pushed him.
“Please do as it says when you get home. I’ll send you off tonight with a flogger of my choosing.”
“Of course.”
I decided to take a shower. It gave me a great opportunity to pull myself together. I took my time in the bathroom. I wanted to come out to a cooked dinner, not a meal in progress. So I exfoliated, I conditioned, I buffed, I brushed. When I got out, I moisturized and blew my hair straight and clipped in a few colorful extensions. Since my hair was sort of a boring, dark blond, I liked to mix it up with some funky strips of blue or sometimes pink. And when I’m Domming, red. Lots of it.
Deciding what to wear right then was a challenge for me. I liked wearing black in the presence of my submissives, just to remind them of my position. However, some of the things that William had given me yesterday simply screamed to be worn. I selected the navy blue silk pajamas—the top was a satin and lace camisole and the bottoms were satin drawstring pants. Covered but sexy and casual. And the navy was dark enough to be considered a variation on black. Nice.
I stepped out to otherworldly aromas.
“Tortellini with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes,” he said, and poured me a glass of white wine.