Not surprisingly, Nick
feels more comfortable within the roleplay scenario, especially our own tried-and-true.
He knows now that he is not hurting me but being able to experience it as a
different persona, allows him to relax and truly enjoy it, and who am I to
complain.
My mermaid
costume got more mileage with a new twist, in order to get her wish granted,
new legs and all, the Mermaid has to be spanked by the Fisherman. And if
Princess Summer bumps into the Peasant Boy while prancing around her lavender
fields, needless to say, the next morning her royal bum requires an extra
pillow to sit on. The only one he refuses to repeat is Milord and Milady’s
wedding night, a hint, Milord has a swordbelt. Well, virginity is one of my
kinks he’s not happy to oblige. Funny enough that was the first time when he
deliberately differentiated Milord from Nick and mercilessly pecked at Nick.
In Nick's version of all-time fans’
favourite, Little Red Riding Hood and Big Bad Wolf got married and lived
happily ever after. Unless, of course, Red happens to cook up a storm, packs
some freshly baked empanadas and home-made pickles, and goes to visit her
grandmother, or, ahem, some girlfriend in New York, alone, ditching the
security, again. Then all bets are off, as Wolfie takes the security rule too
close to his heart, and no lingerie set, even red, will distract him from the
task at hand or in hand. Red is a very sorry good girl after everything is said
and done, mostly done. This one had too much resemblance to real life, for my
liking.
But roleplaying
as Dom and sub? That’s Dominant and submissive for you, vanilla people,
although I doubt that anyone needs a translation since The Fifty came out. How is
it different from actually being D/s in the bedroom, beats me, no pun intended.
Are we gradually slipping into the bedroom D/s? I don’t know, don’t fix what’s
not broken. Nick-what-Nick, it’s Sir for you, young lady.
“Are you going
to count this one, or shall I start again?” Nick raises an eyebrow.
“No, Sir. One.
Thank you, Sir.”
We are on the same
couch that Nick promised to burn after the Disaster, in the same position, my
knees on the seat, bent at the waist, head on the folded hands on the back of
the couch, hair in a high ponytail. I wear my favourite short dress with long
sleeves, it’s comfortable and loose enough for an easy access. Nick says that access
should be my middle name, you know, Izzie Access, yeah, Nick and his dad jokes.
I glance at him
over my shoulder and catch a tiny devilish twinkle in his eyes. What a sight! When
he came in after work, he already took his suit jacket off and held it in his
hand, while tugging at the tie with the other. He always looks strikingly
handsome, like a teenager in a forty-four-year-old body, but now in a white
shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the undone tie hanging loose around the
open collar, just wow. I looked perfect fifteen years ago, he is perfect now. Nick
clears his throat and combs hair to the side with his hand, his version of ‘eyes
up here’. The long and bumpy road that brought us to this moment was all worth
it. I smile at the thought, and Nick beams back with pride.
“Good girl.
You're welcome." Nick is oozing with buzzwords, and so am I. The edge of
the belt taps my bare cheek. “Back in the position.” Swat.
“Two. Thank you,
Sir. May I have another?”
“You may,” he
smirks at a classic phrase, “but no need for such formality. Are you trying to
slow me down?" Three more strokes come in a quick succession.
“Three, four,
five, Sir,” I quip.
“No, darling,
that was extra for stalling.” Sir is in a playful mood but does not hesitate to
add extra swats for any infraction, bogus or real. Shocking how much his aim
had improved. I don’t want to know where he gets the tips on his belting
technique, but now he holds the business end with the other hand and lets it go
the last moment, so there is no more twisting, but ouch, he can aim for the
same spot and get it, if he wants to.
My hand flies
back to cover my butt, and he catches it just in time, the belt landing on my
thighs, quelle surprise, as a reprimand for trying to block. It hurts
like hell. “Nick, you bloody bastard!”
“Ah!" Nick
gasps for air with a thoroughly faked offence. "I don't even know what
number to assign to such obscenity.”
“Then don't!” I
slap my hand on the back of the couch and straighten my back.
“Colour?”
“Bloody green, get
on with it.” The hand on the small of my back nudges me down.
“Who is that
Nick fella?" Swat. "I asked you a question."
“No one, sir.”
“Then why do I
keep hearing his name from you, hmm?”
“Won't happen
again, sir.”
“Was he a lousy
lay?” he lays the trap. Ouch!
"Yes, sir.
No." Smack! I bit my tongue. "No one is like you, sir."
"Too late,"
he withdraws. The belt buckle hits the floor with a loud clang. "Corner!"
“There are no
corners in this room,” I protest. It’s so unfair! That question doesn’t have a
right answer, whatever I say, he can turn it against me.
“Have no doubts,
I’ll make one for you.” He promptly drags the heavy armchair out of the corner
and taps the wall. I pull up my panties and head over. “I do not recall giving
you a permission to put your panties back on.”
“Sorry, sir.” He
is still there, standing by the corner. He wouldn’t move, and I have to squeeze
in to get into my not so solitary destination.
“I'm not done
with you, young lady,” he scowls as he pulls the panties down himself.
“Thank you, sir,”
I whisper.
“For what?”
I can feel him pressing
against my back. What does it mean? He wanted me badly, I screwed up, he put me
in the corner, and now he can’t find a way out. Sir needs help, my Baby Dom
needs help. Helping is not topping, helping is guiding.
“For not being
done with me." I turn around to see his reaction.
“Nose to the
wall.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have to
say it?” he lilts in his signature English accent.
“Nnn--,” I
stutter, “Sir said it first, I just confirmed, I’m sorry.”
“Well, you
shouldn't have.”
“It’s not fair.
It’s hard to think when my ass is on fire.”
“Your bum,” his
hand promptly smacks my bum. “Or bottom, rear, behind, backside. So many excellent
choices.” The art of punctuating, another one he mastered recently. He so
rarely spanks me with his hand, I don’t know what to make of it. With his super
low pain tolerance, just a few smacks send him howling, so he either decided to
suck it in or maxed out on his daily painkillers just to indulge me.
“I'm truly
sorry.” I turn around again to face him, and this time he doesn’t stop me.
“You will be
sorrier.” Hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, that’s more like it.
“May I please
come back?”
“You surely may,”
he gestures back to the couch. I trudge back with the panties around the
ankles. I make it look more difficult than it is, anything to distract Nick
from his funk.
“Nick looks very
much like Sir, same eyes, same hair.”
“Same dick?” he
wonders matter-of-factly, as he helps me to climb back on the couch.
“I would never
compare Sir's cock with another--"
“Pray tell,” he
nods, pleased that I switched to the allowed nomenclature of body parts.
“Only Sir knows
what I truly need and gives it to me. Will you please forgive me?”
“In due time.”
“Will you please
help me earn your forgiveness?” Why is it that one of us always have to screw
up and crawl back, only this time it’s also my butt on the line.
He finally picks up the belt from the floor
and folds it in half. Here goes the scolding and the lecture rolled in one, punctuated
with the loud blows for the extra clarity, but his anguish and disappointment
hurt more than the sting of the belt.
“Whom do you
belong to?”
“You, Sir.”
“Whom do you
obey?”
“You, Sir.”
“Who takes care
of you?”
“You, Sir.”
“Makes you happy?”
“You, Sir.”
“What about
Nick?” he pauses.
“I need both you
and Nick in my life. No," I raise my hand to stop him and turn around.
"I need Nick more than I need you, Sir. With all due respect, without Nick,
none of this matter." His face is mere inches away from mine, hurt melting
away from his eyes. It takes all my willpower not to close the distance. I do
not touch Sir without permission, Sir touches me, Sir uses me as he deems fit,
Sir most definitely does not kiss.
Nick’s lips, as
always, taste like strawberries, duh, he’s addicted to the strawberry gum and
probably had a strawberry mousse cake in strawberry reduction for dessert. He
picks me up to carry to bed. Sir is gone, it’s all Nick now, his strawberry
lips all over me, bringing me to the oh-mon-dieu-Nicky moment in a
record time. He follows me with a sing-a-song ‘oh darling’ instead of the usual
‘oh fuck’ and collapses beside me, both of us sinking quickly into a deep
dreamless sleep, and I cannot be happier.
