Bringing Her Home Again Ch. 02

Chapter 2: The Beginning

I place the pan of tilapia in the oven as she walks into the kitchen.

"Let me see," I tell her as she approaches.

"My bottom?" she asks.

"Yes. I want to see it."

She gingerly lifts her long gauze-like dress until it is bunched up around her waist and turns her backside to me. Her bottom is bare, as it is always, and it's still red from her early-evening strapping.

"It hurts," she says with a pout.

"Yes, my love," I respond with a smile, hand on my beard. "Punishment spankings are supposed to hurt. And be remembered. I trust I have succeeded?"

She smiles again, bending all the way over so that I can get a better look. She looks the part of the petulant schoolgirl as she stands, bottom pushed out, with her hands on her knees. She looks back up at me. "Yes, you have succeeded. Please don't tell me it hurt you more than it hurt me," she says with a smile.

I laugh. "Oh, no. I am quite sure it hurt you more," I say as I examine her tender bottom. She jumps as I lightly touch the angriest-looking stripe. Then I back away, reminding myself to be gentle.

I carefully lower her dress, and she stands and then turns toward me. "I know it was supposed to hurt," she says, looking me squarely in the eyes as I place my hands on her forearms.

She looks down, gathering her thoughts, and then looks back into my eyes and sighs. "I hated it, but I needed it too," she admits. "You were right in doing this to me. In doing it for me."

Slowly, she leans forward and rests the top of her head on my chest, a sign that I interpret as her happy acceptance of her forced submission, a melting into her role. I stroke her hair and wait until she rises.

"I'm famished," she says when she looks back up to me. "I guess a good beating makes me hungry. The fish must be nearly ready for the sauce I made before our—um—interruption." She smiles at me. "Shall I check it and put the asparagus in?"

I let her take over and watch as she falls gracefully into the role she loves, cooking my dinner, taking care of her man. She moves slowly, perhaps a tad tentatively, but her face is serene.

When dinner is ready and on the table, I pull out her chair and she blushes when she sees the pillow that is resting on her seat. "I thought that might be more comfortable for you than the hard chair," I say as she begins to sit.

She winces as her ass touches the cushion. "Yes, thank you," she says, "my bottom is rather sore."

I sit and we take our meal together, a lovely tilapia in a tomato-based salsa with Kalamata olives and artichoke hearts, with a side of crisp asparagus spears covered in pine nuts. I wait until she has taken a few bites before continuing.

"So, my love, shall we try again?"

She responds with a quizzical look. "Try again?" she asks.

I raise my eyebrows back at her. "Yes," I respond patiently.

"Rather than turning your back to me, which was the final straw by the way, would you like to begin telling me about your day?"

"Oh, that," she replies demurely. "Of course. As you know..." she begins and I spend the next hour listening carefully to her as she tells me about the project she is working on and the numerous delays and frustrations she has recently encountered. I smile and nod and ask questions as she works things out in her head. Finally, when she is finished, I ask one last question. "Will you need to go into the office this weekend?"

"No," she says, drawing out the word, a bit of a hesitation in her voice. "No," she concludes. "I'll manage without. This weekend I am all yours. I wear my anklet without reservation or caveats. This weekend I look forward only to being the source of my man's pleasure."

"Good," I reply. I reach over and touch the fabric of her dress.

"This dress is a special one," I say. "It is one I have not seen you wear in many years. I suppose I had thought you had disposed of it. It is quite worn, but it's still one of my favorites.

"You remember?"

"Remember? But of course, I remember. There are so many memories of you wearing that dress, aren't there?"

Early on, she wore that particular dress frequently. It is, I believe they call it, a carwash skirt, with slats cut up along the bottom, like the multiple chamois strips in an automatic carwash. This variation is a sleeveless animal print dress. It has a simple scoop neck and buttons—twelve—from neckline to bottom. It is made of a soft, crinkly fabric. Back in our earlier days, we called it her slave dress. She was wearing it the first time she made the comment to me that changed our lives.

"Sometimes," she'd said, all those many years ago as she'd sipped a glass of wine after a particularly difficult workweek. "Sometimes, I just want someone to tell me what to do."

I'd laughed it off that first time. My Briana? I could barely imagine her putting up with someone who would try to tell her what to do, much less want it. No way could she mean it. Calm. Competent. Briana never needed anyone to tell her anything. So I let her comment pass as chitchat.

But as the evening wore on, I knew I'd misread her and had made a mistake. I'd felt her disappointment and realized that she had asked me for something very difficult to request, and I had laughed it off. Next time, I would not be caught unprepared.

Over the next couple of months, I watched her closely, probably more closely than I had in years. As usual, my Briana was spunky and feisty. A tease. But she was also sweet and sexy, and she always treated me as a man, as her man. Ours was a relationship based on love and mutual respect. Yes, she could push, and she could sometimes be a bitch—she was, after all, a woman. But she was good to me. And I was good to her as well.

Yet once in a while during those months, I saw the spark of a woman who wanted, not to submit exactly, but to be forced to submit. I saw the dare in her eyes. A sort of "come and get me, if you're man enough" dare. And I decided I was man enough.

So the next time, I was ready. It took awhile for her to give me another clear-cut indication of her needs. Almost six months passed without any type of overt reference. But when she did, she replayed the scene in almost the exact same way as she had the first time. It was again a Friday night. She wore the same animal print carwash dress. She repeated the same line.

"Sometimes," she'd said, eyes downcast, a demure smile on her face. "Sometimes I just need someone to tell me what to do."

That time, though, I'd lifted her chin to force her to look at me. "Young lady," I'd said keeping my voice level as I gave her chin a squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. "Do you realize what you are asking?"

"Yes," she'd answered, her tone eager and excited, like that of a young girl. The smile in her bright eyes was unmistakable.

I ran my finger along her jaw line and down to the hollow of her neck. I paused as she raised her face and closed her eyes, and I rubbed the top of her neckline, hand resting briefly at the luscious mounds that peeked out from under her printed bodice I repeated her request. "You want me to tell you what to do."

"Yes," she nodded.

"Yes, what?" I'd prodded.

She took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," I'd said. "Now it's time to set some ground rules."

It's not often that a man gets to demand from the woman he loves everything he can think of. But that night, as we talked, I told her the plan I'd developed over the previous couple of months.

For that one weekend, I'd told her, I would make all the decisions. "Yes," she said, her voice husky in anticipation.

"I will relieve you of all responsibilities, except one," I said. "There is only one thing you must do, one simple rule you must follow."

"Yes," she said again.

"You will obey. If I make the calls, you will obey each and every one. Your only requirement is to follow my lead. You will think only of your man and your obedience to him. In that, you will please me."

I would tell her exactly what I wanted, I'd explained. I would tell her what to wear, and what to do. But she needed to understand that I would direct her in ways that would give me pleasure. I would make her into what I wanted her to be.

"Nothing will be off limits, Brianna," I warned sternly. "This weekend I will show you what your man likes from you, and I will make you do it for me again and again."

"Are we on the same page?" I asked.

Her voice was breathless. "Yes, I'll do anything."

"You have always feared me touching your virgin ass, but this weekend I will teach you that delight—for both of us—waits there. I will not hurt you, but I will use you as I desire. I will challenge you, Bree, and you will rise to the occasion."

I softened my voice and caressed her face. "You have given me a beautiful gift, my Briana, the gift of a wife who is willing to let go of herself to be pleasing to her husband. I will take your gift gladly. But make no mistake: I will use it for my pleasure. Since all decisions are mine, since your body belongs to me, you should know in advance that your orgasms belong to me as well. Do you understand? You may come only as I permit you to come, only as it pleases me to watch you in your ecstasy."

I slipped my hand up her dress and felt the slick wetness of her cunt. "If you are my good girl, I shall let you come over and over again," I'd said as I slid my finger over the soft wet folds therein. "But if you are a bad girl, or if you come without my permission, I shall punish you for your disobedience." I flicked my finger against her clit for emphasis.

I knew I was throwing a lot at her, but Briana was a sexual girl, a driven intensity junkie. If I were right, she would be pleased by my words.

Her face was flushed as she waited for me to continue.

"There is one more thing. As we continue through this weekend, I will demand that you speak to me honestly and openly about your experiences. I know you do not like to talk about sex, but this weekend you will do it. Why? Because I demand it of you. You have asked me to tell you what to do. And I am doing just that."

She whimpered her response.

"Briana, I want you to look at me," I had ordered. "I am not fucking around here. Do you understand these rules?"

"Yes. Yes, Sir."

"And how are you feeling right now?"

She'd hesitated, perhaps only gathering her thoughts, but I had to set the tone.

"Briana," I'd said sternly. "You want this. I know you do. And now you're getting it. Do as you have been told. Answer me. I do not want to begin our weekend together with a punishment spanking, but I will if you do not answer me immediately. How are you feeling right now?"

"Relieved," she'd finally replied. "I have longed for this for many years. I am not sure I knew of that longing, exactly, if you know what I mean. And I have certainly never understood it. It was a secret urging, one that comes from deep in my womanly parts. It's a physical need. And an emotional one. But I am also afraid. Not of you, but of letting go. I want this. You have no idea how badly I want this. My insides quiver in excitement. Please. Yes. I understand and agree. Teach me how to please you. I want your eyes on me always. I want to be your good girl. I want to reach out and touch you. Please. May I?"

"Soon, baby girl," I had answered, not yet finished. "There is one more thing. Not a rule exactly, but there is something else you need to understand. This is the weekend I will make you mine. I will make you perform for me, make you serve me like a little slave girl serves the one who masters her." I lifted her hair and kissed her neck. "You already look the part, barefoot in your little slave girl dress. And I have something to complete the ensemble."

I rose and pulled out the gift-wrapped box I had bought in anticipation of this night. Her eyes grew big when she opened it. It was a shiny silver anklet, thin and petite, perfect for her slender frame.

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.

"Thank you."

I got down on my knees before her and fastened the piece abound her shapely ankle. "From now on, you will wear this as sign of your decision to submit to my commands," I said.

She nodded eagerly.

"And girl," I said gruffly, resting my hands on her knees. "This will be the last time I'll be on my knees before you."

When I stood, we changed positions and it was she who dropped to her knees.

"Yes," I agreed, "it's time for your first lesson."

She began to unzip my pants.

"No," I said firmly.

She looked up at me, confused.

I wrapped my hands around her hair. "Not so fast. You already know what your man likes. From here, as I look down at you, I see only the very tops of your breasts. But I want to see more. Take off your bra and unbutton a few buttons. Think of your man, Briana, and take it slowly. I have a beautiful woman on her knees before me. Do you think I want it to end quickly? No. Take your time. Prepare yourself for me. Then you will be even more pleasing to me as you slowly worship my cock."

She did as she was told, then reach up under my shirt, straightening her back and presenting for me her well-formed globes. Her nipples, always at attention, poked out from under her bodice and I reached for them and gave them a little squeeze. She moaned in delight and licked her lips as she pulled my waist nearer to her. Slowly, she began to unbuckle my belt, and as she pulled down my jeans I could feel her hot breath. I stepped out of my pants and settled in, feet shoulder-width apart, buttocks resting against the sofa for support.

She started low, licking and nipping my muscular calves as she sensually began working her way up my thigh. I'd never seen my Brianna so complaisant.

She'd asked for direction, and that day she got plenty of it. Under my guidance, we experimented with the pressure of her lips, the swirl of her tongue. She learned the delight I found as she ministered her attentions on the underside of my hard and throbbing shaft. Her face radiated excitement and anticipation. Finally, I'd pushed her face away.

"How do you feel?" I'd queried.

"Happy. Excited. And terribly needy." She touched herself. "I am so wet I feel as if I could come..."

"No," I'd thundered. "Don't you dare take that from me. You have pleased me greatly so far. Continue to concentrate on me. Listen carefully. Take me deep into your mouth, as deep as you can. Relax, so that you can accommodate as much as you can. I want to come in your mouth."

She opened wide and took me in. I wrapped my finger in her hair and pulled tight. A few hard strokes was all it took. I pumped my full load into her.

She'd stayed on her knees at my feet and I'd gently caressed her face.

"Good girl. My beautiful Brianna-girl. I love you. I love you."

Finally, I'd sat on the floor next to her and pushed her to her back, with her legs curled up under her buttocks. I placed my hands on her mons and she raised her hips to greet me, to try to suck my fingers inside her waiting cunt.

"Ahhhhh," she mumbled as she wriggled at my touch.

"My beautiful girl," I'd repeated. "My beautiful obedient girl. You have pleased me immensely. And it would please me even more to hear you beg."

"Please," she'd said over and over again.

"You'll have to do better than that," I'd said with a laugh. I rubbed a finger lightly over her protruding clit. "I can tell you're close, so you'd better hurry."

"Please, let me come for you. You make me so needy for your touch. I'll be your good girl, but I need...."

"Yes, baby," I'd replied. "Come for me."

And so it began.