Owning Wednesday (22 page)

“Not as sorry as you will be.”

“Yes, Daniel,” she said. Then, “Ow!” as he landed the first stroke.

He had to hand it to her. He never could have taken the pain that she did, which was why he was the dominant and she the submissive. She trembled and cried penitent tears, but she never broke the pose. She kept her ass high in the air, offered to him for punishment. He only gave her twenty, which he made her count, and he only aimed for the plug a few times. He whacked her hard at the end, and the resulting jumps and wails were gorgeous. When he put down the crop, he reached around to take off the nipple clamps and the clamp biting between her legs. She sniffled and looked back at him with her wide blue eyes. Her distress and vulnerability triggered a delicious pang of tightness in his pelvis. He brushed back her hair and dried the few remaining tears by running his tongue lightly across her cheeks.

“Good girl,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s go to dinner. I’m hungry. I’ll fuck your ass when we get back.”

Dominance 101: the longer you make them wait for it, the wilder they get. Another good hour and a half with that plug in her ass, reminding her of what was coming later… Nice. He could see her turning the thought of it over in her brain.
Oh no. Oh yes. But oh no.

At the restaurant they found a private corner table where she could sit beside him and squirm at will. “I love you, Wednesday,” he said as he scanned the menu. “Now sit still before I bend you over this table.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said softly.

“Are you sure of that?” Of course he wouldn’t, but it was fun to pretend once in a while. “I’m hard already for you,” he said, putting down the menu, “but we’re going to eat first. Hmm. Just think how riled up I’ll be when I finally have my go at your asshole.”

She clenched her hands in her lap, and blushed as the waiter arrived. He wondered if the waiter had heard. Even if he hadn’t, how could he look at Wednesday and
not
know she was hornier than hell? That she’d been beaten and fucked and toyed with mercilessly and now was being made to wait over a leisurely dinner for Daniel to finish her off with his cock up her ass?

The waiter looked at him while he placed their orders, and no, the waiter didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest clue. After he left, Daniel looked back at Wednesday, who was still blushing, still squirming under his gaze.

“Hanging in there, Wed?”

“I’m doing fine,” she said with a smile.

But her expression said,
I want you to fuck me. Soon.

* * *

It couldn’t have been soon enough for either of them. When they returned to their room, he stopped her right inside the door and pushed her to the floor, and she moaned as he knelt behind her, pushing up her dress. He pulled out the toy and positioned his cock against her hole, then pressed into her ass slowly, into the hot, clenching channel. He took time after the long buildup to savor the moment, and gave her adequate time to adjust to his girth. He hovered over her, trying to leash the animal impulses that had him wanting to conquer, to rut. As unforgiving as steel, he held her hands above her head.

“Daniel,” she said. “More…”

“Hush. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want you to hurt me.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her hair, “because you’re a hopeless pain slut.”

“Yes, Daniel,” she moaned, agreeing with him so wholeheartedly that he had to laugh.

“You just lie still and let me fuck you, and I’ll hurt you as much as I see fit.”

He pressed deeper then, with excruciating slowness, until he was all the way in. She groaned and squirmed, his horny sex toy. Each movement was bliss, a tug and tease to his throbbing cock. He ignored her restless squiggling, ignored the fact that his pants were still in a heap down by his knees. He focused on his needs for the moment, the amazing tightness of plumbing her asshole.

“Daniel!” she cried. “Daniel, please fuck me hard. Take me harder!”

“Shh. Enough. I don’t want to fuck you hard. I want to fuck you slow, fuck you forever. I’m going to take my time. I’m not even sure I want you to come. I think I might just use you and put you to bed unsatisfied. I always say I’ll do that, but I never do.” He slid in again and out, chuckling at the way her shoulders tensed. “I think it would be an edifying lesson for you. Master’s needs come first. Always.”

She exploded in a whine and tried to squirm away. He slapped her flank with a sharp crack.

“Stop. Ass up. Let me fuck you.”

He plowed in and out, each stroke an impossible slide of excruciating pressure. He was impassioned; he was tender. He tried to make it last, but it was hard when every movement he made sent wild sparks of heat along his nerves. When he was nearly to the point of capitulation, he pressed down on her shoulders and slid deeper, then deeper still. He teetered on the cusp of a gathering cloudburst, a storm about to break wide. She twitched her bottom and buried her face in her hands. Poor, poor subbie. Orgasm denied.

“Daniel…Sir?” Her muffled voice was plaintive. “Did you really mean it? About not letting me come?”

“Yes, I really meant it. I’m not letting you come this time. Your orgasms are mine to control, yes? That’s what we agreed the first day.”

Another sigh. “Yes, Sir.” As if resigned to her fate, she drew her legs under her, offering her bottom, giving herself up for his use. The unselfish, submissive action hit him like a lightning bolt. Hot excitement rolled over him in a crippling wave that arced up his chest and down to his cock and balls. He took her ass cheeks in his hands and pounded into her. He finished with a pulsing crescendo, an emptying of his cock that went on and on. He filled her ass with his cum, feeling powerful and totally replete.

She didn’t move. He slid his fingertips down to knead her bottom, then slid them up to toy aimlessly with the neat silk hem of her dress.

“What a good girl you are. I’m so proud of you. Did you like giving up your orgasm for my pleasure?”

She was quiet, then looked back at him and answered honestly, “No, Sir. I didn’t like it.”

“But you did it anyway, didn’t you? For me. Because I wanted it.”

She buried her face in the floor. “Yes, Sir.”

“Wait there. Don’t move an inch.” He left to clean himself up, half expecting to find her masturbating against the floor when he returned. But she was still. Beautiful obedience.

“Turn over,” he said. “Lie on your back. Keep your legs parted.”

She did as he asked. He surveyed his lovely girl, noted the glistening wetness of her slit and her swollen, unsatisfied clitoris. He looked at his watch, then back down at her.

“You have exactly two minutes to make yourself come. You can only use one hand. If you don’t manage it, you won’t get another chance until morning. Go.”

She looked a bit embarrassed, but her horniness won over that. She slid her right hand down to her clit, and rubbed and touched it, arching her back. She bit her lip, her breath coming faster almost at once. Her eyes closed in erotic concentration.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

She let out her breath in a desperate gust, but she obeyed him.

“One minute and thirty seconds left,” he said, glancing at his watch.

She made a small keening sound, her eyes locked on his. She moved her fingers faster and faster with desperate abandon. She jerked her hips, and the wetness of her juices gleamed on her delicate fingers. She held his gaze until the orgasm came on her, then she closed them, lost in her own world. But it was enough, enough to satisfy him. For the moment. Her wanton display actually had his cock twitching again. He looked down at his watch.

“Not bad. One minute and thirty seconds.” He smiled at her.

She opened her eyes wide. “Still thirty seconds left? Can I try to come again?”

* * *

As the production dragged on, long days on set became a problem. Too often, Wednesday seemed bored and alone. Daniel urged her to start writing again to pass the time and even bought her a laptop and notebooks and every type of pen. She did eventually begin to put some words on paper, after some nudging on his part and, yes, threats of punishment unless she did as he asked. But she’d still been tired and grouchy of late.

On top of Wednesday’s moods, Daniel was dealing with Vincent’s escalating requests for news and information. Vincent had been happy to hear she was writing again, a talent he’d always worried he had derailed with his attentions. He actually asked if Daniel would e-mail him some of her work.

“
Absolutely not
,” Daniel had said. She wouldn’t even let Daniel look at it, not that he would have admitted that to Vincent. In most other things she had grown less secretive around him, and intimacy scared her less. But her writing remained strictly off-limits. “
You can look at it when it’s done, Daniel
.” But apparently nothing was ever done, because she never showed him a thing.

Then March twenty-ninth rolled around, Wednesday’s birthday. Daniel couldn’t help but recall that night a year earlier—the night Vincent had shared her with him. Daniel was determined not to let those memories intrude on her birthday celebration. But when he arrived at the hotel with her favorite Thai takeout and a confection of a birthday cake, he was alarmed to find Wednesday sprawled listlessly on the couch.

He put the food down and went to kneel by her. Her color was awful, pale and greenish. Her eyes looked bloodshot like she’d been crying. He touched her forehead. “Are you sick?”

She shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

Are you thinking about Vincent? He doesn’t matter anymore. Just smile for me, baby
. “I brought your favorite. Pork and noodles.”

She put a hand to her mouth and pushed past him, then shut herself in the bathroom. He heard her being sick, then water running and audible sobbing.

He knocked softly on the door. “You okay in there?”

“No.”

“Not the best way to spend your birthday, huh? Can I come in?”

When she didn’t answer, he opened the door to find her huddled against the bathtub, her expression bleak. “Oh, baby. I won’t mention food again, I promise. Not until you’re feeling better. The cake will keep.”

“It won’t keep,” she said. “I’ll never be feeling better.”

“It’s probably just some twenty-four-hour bug.”

“My period is three weeks late, Daniel. And I don’t think it’s coming anytime soo—”

She heaved and dived for the bowl. Daniel stood, too shocked to reply or help her.
Three weeks late
. When nothing came up, she spit in the toilet and then leaned back, fixing him with a virulent look. “I told you I forgot a pill.”

“Jesus, Wednesday.” He was still processing the missed-period thing. “Forgot a pill? What?”

“I missed a pill, damn it! Remember? And you said not to worry about it. ‘
Oh, it’s just one. Nothing’s going to happen
.’ Well, I think something happened.”

She started to cry again, miserable tears. It finally occurred to him to go to her. He huddled beside her on the floor and pulled her resisting form against him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think one pill would matter. But I mean…are you sure? Have you taken a test?”

“I don’t want to take a test.” She pouted, wiping away tears.

He wanted to commiserate, but some frisson of curiosity started to infiltrate his brain. A little child—his and Wednesday’s. What would that be like? He found the idea didn’t upset him that much. “Listen, baby—”

“Don’t call me baby,” she snapped. “I don’t want to think about babies.”

“Okay, but don’t overreact here. If you’re pregnant, we’ll deal with it. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It
is
the end of the world!” She gazed up at him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “My mother died having me. She was too small. And my dad always said I was built like her, so I think…” She wrapped her arms around her waist, looking down at herself in horror. “I know I’m too small too.”

“Oh, Wednesday. Just because your mother died doesn’t mean you will,” he said gently. “Obstetrics as a science has come a long way. They’re a lot more careful now with all the lawsuits and whatnot. Besides, there’s no way I’ll let you die.”