Writhing, her stunning bronze body laid spread eagle before them. Her sensitive nipples longed to be handled, she moaned and shivered helplessly bound and needing their touch. Both man walked on either side of her. She fought the urge to move fearing their game would begin again.
“Your wife is beautiful,” Mark said her skin burned under his fingers tracing over her nude body. “Does he tell you how beautiful you are?” he asked his voice was low and smooth as he looked tenderly into her eyes. She shook her head; nervously her eyes darted to her husband then back to Mark. “Don’t worry. I will teach him how to handle you.” He smiled gently then turned his attention to her husband, motioning him to follow.
“Your wife needs you to take control, be a man. That doesn’t mean beating the shit out of her. It means pushing limits, asserting yourself by telling her what you expect of her and allowing her to give it to you. Most women can have an orgasm based on that simple principle alone. But anyone can have an orgasm; you want to move past orgasm. You want to give her an experience that will have her wanting more, you want her to feel needed. The best way to achieve this is to give her what she wants and then take it away; the law of attraction.” Mark said flipping through their papers.
“She enjoys cunnilingus,” Mark continued.
“Very much,” The husband said bashfully.
“And you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”
“Nothing at all.”
Mark urged him on. “Perfect. A clean slate to work with. I don’t have to un-teach you anything.” They stood over her talking as though she wasn’t there. “First of all, You are the Dom which means you’re responsible for her well being. She is to obey you at all time for your safety as well as hers. If she doesn’t then she should be punished. She has to understand that you have her best interest in mind and will give her what she deserves not what she wants. If she becomes disruptive during a scene by trying to over-control you, you have the power to stop and leave her to suffer the consequences of her actions.
This doesn’t mean you get to treat her like shit nor does it mean she has to shut up and put up with whatever happens. Everything that takes place in a scene should be negotiated before the scene and can re-negotiate during. The most important measure to take is to establish a safe-word. It’s acts as a signal between the two of you,” Mark stops, turning his attention to Greta coughing from the doorway, pointing at her watch. “That’s all the time we have for today. Greta will assist you from here. Have a good evening.”
Preparing to leave for the day, Mark walked to his office with the thoughts of Sydney’s nightmare playing on in his mind. He sat resting his eyes, feet kicked up on the desk, trying to sort out what was bothering her. Over the past couple of weeks, her moods swung between preoccupied and overprotective. All attempts to reach her were quickly dismissed and when pressed; she’d leave. Mark couldn’t make heads or tails of her behavior but he knew that it was just a matter of time before it would come to a head.
He prayed for the strength to handle whatever was coming his way.
“I didn’t know you could cook.” Mark remarked to Sydney as he collected their dinner plates from the coffee table.
“I don’t cook, #4 prepared our dinner,” Sydney replied, curling up onto the sofa with her laptop. Mark laughed from the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you have assigned numbers for your assistants. You really have no interest in them?”
“Why should I?” She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “As long as they’re obedient and productive, why should I give two shits about them?”
“Because they are humans and they live to serve you.” He retorted diplomatically.
“So,” Mark came from the kitchen and frowned at her harshness. “So, how about asking their names?”
“No,” She ended the discussion. “Grab your day planner. We need to coordinate our schedules for next week. Mark fetched his book and reclined on the opposite end of the sofa; too exhausted to continue their exchange. “What do you have scheduled next Wednesday?” she asked.
“I’m booked solid until midnight. What about you?”
“Same. What about Thursday?”
“Thursday,” Mark scratched the back of his head, yawning. “I’m busy all day. I’m teaching a rigger course. Luckily I was to move my Friday appointments to Tuesday, which leaves Friday clear for me. You?”
“Thursday I have a couple coming in for corset training and suspension work. But Friday is clear.”
“Syd, I know you wanted this to be a surprise…” he closed his planner. “But where are we going?”
“Iowa.” She smiled faintly but Mark wasn’t amused.
His eyes narrowed. “Not on your fucking life,” he stood and marched to the shower with Sydney following close behind.
“Why not?” she asked.
Brow lowered, he turned and snapped. “Why would I?”
“Because it has been a longtime since you’ve spoken to them,” She maintained her composure under his heavy gaze. “People can change, Mark.”
“Not these people,” he stripped off his shirt balling it in his hand.
“Given enough time, anyone can change. You have to put your proud aside; be open to them. They’re your family and in the end family may be all we have.” She pleaded.
“Don’t preach to me the importance of family,” he glared straight at her. “You claim to have a close connection with your family but I have yet to meet them.”
“Don’t go there,” she warned.
He stepped closer, looming over her. “You brought this on yourself. Every Sunday you go missing for hours with no explanation and then there’s your nightmares. Sydney, I don’t mind being woken up at night if you’re frightened but at some point you’re going to have to talk to me about what’s causing them. Stop fighting me.”
She stared up at him but saw nothing through her fear and anger. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Mark’s jaws flexed, “No, you don’t owe me an explanation but will you please let me know who’ll be walking through my front door?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always the same person.” Her eyes burned with tears that refused to fall. She knew where this conversation was heading and it shook her to the core.
He laughed, “No you’re not. Sometimes you’re perfectly content and other times it feels like you hate me. Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” she wrestled a breath. “I don’t hate you and I don’t want you to leave.” Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
The bridge of his nose wrinkled with anger. “If you don’t want me to leave then stop pushing me away!” Sydney flinched as he threw his shirt past her. Without another word he walked to the dressing area.
“Oh God,” she mouthed, the muscles of the throat constricted in sync. “I’m not trying to push you away, Mark.” she followed.
He turned, discounting the panic in her eyes. “Funny, but that’s the way it feels. It seems like I should know you by now but I don’t. I’m not one of your nameless assistants; here to serve you but not too closely. I’m your goddamn boyfriend, Sydney. I’m here!” he moved closer, filling the space between them.
“Stop,” Sydney braced her shaking hand against his chest and looked away brushing away the first tear drops.
“What are you so afraid of?” Mark demanded, clasping her hand in place.
The ramparts of her defense collapsed at once; every breath seemed to take more effort than it was worth. Stripped of her armor, she fought the urge to run from the irritation brewing in his down casted eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears, the fear of losing him clouded her thoughts while the dread of full disclosure turned in her gut. One part of her demanded she leave while the other insisted she stay and hold on to what she’d found with Mark.
Her eyes darted side to side like a trapped animal with no way out. “I’m afraid,” She yanked free of his grasp and backed away.
“Afraid of what? Talk to me, Sydney!”
“I’m afraid that if I allow you too close to me that…that you’ll see that I’m broken,” Against her will, she came undone. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Can you leave with a clear conscience now that you know that I’m flawed? Does that make leaving easier?”
Mark had never seen this display of raw vulnerability from Sydney; a rush of concern and guilt came over him as he tried to determine what had he done to cause this sudden violent reaction. He reached for her, wanting nothing more than to ease her troubles, but she recoiled.
“Don’t touch me,” she wept as Mark took her wrist bringing her into his comforting embrace. Her chest heaved against his; the floodgates of her past were standing open for him to scrutinize.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he held her close. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. You’re not broken.”
“Yes, I am,” she sobbed. “I can’t let anyone near me. You, the one person that understood me, I’ve somehow, managed to push you away. I can’t pretend anymore. I’m not perfect, Mark.”
He held her face gently, peering directly into her watery eyes. “You don’t ever to have to be perfect on my account. It’s alright,” he shook his head quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”
Sydney lay slumped against his chest, her sorrow palatable. Mark held her in silence; in time he felt her arms snake around his waist and her breathing calmed. Without warning, a tinge of presence touched Mark’s spine, the fine hairs on his neck bristled; his Dom rose then settled. Sydney inhaled sharply and then released slowly.
“Thank you, daddy,” she smiled to herself.
“Would you rather talk about this later?” Mark thumbed away the last of her tears.
Sydney pressed her lips into a smile and shook her head. “No, I’m ready to talk now. I’ll drive.”
Spread The Word
This article is part 5 of a 14 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
Beg Me: Part Five