Making His Baby(72)

Every week is a nightmare scenario. It’s hard to remember it’s only been a month since David demanded the divorce papers be rewritten, because time slips through my fingers like grains of sticky, terrible sand. Some days, it feels like only three days passed. Others, a lifetime.

Robolibrarian tries for a stronger hold on mediation this week. She’s fielding questions, posing possibilities, establishing scenarios. My head hurts and I don’t feel like playing along, so I don’t.

Today, Eric the asshole lawyer and I are mentally involved in another series of compromising positions. I’m wearing a black leather bodysuit, crotchless for when I want him to touch me, and carrying a whip. Every time the real asshole says anything I whip imaginary him.

Dream Eric is tied to a chair, a ball gag dangling around his neck. I pick up the weight of it in my hands and let it drop against his Adam’s apple. He winces and the words stop once more.

“Can we stop this pretentious bullshit?” Vivian says, her voice floating through my daydreams like an overhead announcement at the yoga studio. “We have a long-documented history of David’s marital transgressions.”

I smack Dream Eric across the cheek with the handle of my whip. He hisses as a sharp red mark blossoms across his cheek. I grin, watching the fear behind his eyes. His lip trembles.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Dream Eric whispers.

“Little asshole,” I grab a fistful of his dark hair and yank it back, exposing his throat. “You won’t talk to me that way again.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“There are no innocent parties in a divorce.” Real Life Eric is talking again. Daydream Eric’s mouth moves, but his voice is different, confident, cocky.

I really, really hate Real Life Eric. Especially for being so bloody sexy.

Bondage has never been an interest of mine before, it was something that always horrified me. David tried once, bringing home an arsenal of crotchless panties and a thick leather strap-on. I slept in one of the guest rooms, feigning the stomach flu to get out of it.

We didn’t have sex for weeks after that. Our sex life was always terrible but that was a new level of awful I didn’t want to explore. Now, though? Surrounded by this filth?

Bring it on.

But only with the hot lawyer, because the idea of sleeping with David ever again is enough to make my stomach crawl. Dream Me slaps Dream Eric across the other cheek. To prove a point.

My phone vibrates, pulling me fully out of the daydream. I don’t check it right away, but look around to see what I’ve missed. Vivian and Eric look like they’ve forgotten we’re even here. They are fully engrossed in their argument, pulling out pictures and scribbling notes on yellow pads.

Vivian’s notepad, instead of drawings, is full of angry capital letters and heavy ink underlining words I can barely make out. Mediation has taken an abrupt turn, and I’m not sure how or why.

Robolibrarian’s hair is as severe as normal, but her face is especially grim. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Through this whole thing, even with her remaining angrily silent in previous sessions, I had the impression she was on my side.

I didn’t do anything inherently wrong. Maybe I didn’t use the crotchless panties and maybe I refused counseling the last time, but David and I had tried four other times in our marriage. Wasn’t I allowed to say I wasn’t comfortable with certain sex acts?

David is staring at me with a look I wish I could forget. He winks and lifts his phone slightly. My phone vibrates again, reminding me I have a text. My throat is dry when I unlock it under the table.

Wanna fuck after this?

I stare at it for a solid minute, my face a plastic mask of indifference, but inside I am roiling. The nerve! After everything that happened? He cannot be serious. We’re in this stupid room because he liked to fuck anything with legs that wasn’t me and he has the audacity to proposition me?

With a quick click, I lock my phone and pretend I didn’t see it. Let him think I got a text from someone else. Entertaining that shit is out of the question.

I close my eyes and straddle Dream Eric. His whole body is tense and his face open. He’s waiting for me to make the next move. Dream Eric wants nothing more than to pleasure me. I smack him with the whip again and a tear falls down his face.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he whimpers.

“Sometimes sorry isn’t fucking good enough, Eric.” I pause, frozen by the words fresh from my lips. “I mean, Asshole.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

My lap vibrates. These distractions are becoming a real problem.

You look really sexy in that dress. You want me to fuck you in it. Right here on the table.