Dwelling in Desire

I gave Beth plenty of space while she got ready.

Now that things were out in the open—now that I knew she shared my desires, at least some, we were in more dangerous territory than ever. I wanted to tie her to my bed and not let her free until I'd drained myself of the will to fuck her. Which to my knowledge, would never happen.

Soon, I promised myself. Today I had other plans.

I heard her downstairs using the blow dryer she'd conveniently provided, and closed my eyes in anticipation. I crossed my fingers and prayed to God that she'd wear those "sort-of-pigtails" again. Maybe I'd even request them when we got a little further into our relationship.

Or maybe you should just march downstairs right now, and tell her. Command her to wear them. You know she would. But that would make you a creepy old man, and you don't want to risk scaring her off, do you?

I sighed in frustration at that. Yes, I wanted to see her in pigtails. Yes, she most likely would if I commanded her to. But what would she think of me? Would my fucked up kink be the loose thread that compromised our long-term relationship?

And for that matter, I'd yet to even

introduce

Beth to pain. Sadism. It was a part of my sexual identity that I didn't imagine would ever fade. Unfortunately, it was the part I was most afraid to share with her.

If she weren't so fucking sweet, perhaps I wouldn't have reservations. It seemed reprehensible, the things I wanted to do to her. I disgusted myself. But then, what if? What if she

liked

it?

It was not out of the realm of possibility. I'd met plenty of women attuned to my sort of kink. None of whom I'd felt that immediate chemistry with though. And none of whom I'd cared whether it lasted longer than a single night of passion.

Tina and I had gotten to know one another pretty well. She knew what made me tick, especially in bed. But we weren't soul mates. No matter how much sense it made that we should be.

I wanted Bethany. Even if she was new to...well

everything

of a sexual nature, I had to have her. I only hoped I wouldn't frighten her enough to fuck this up.

At least I knew one thing now. She was definitely interested in long term commitment. She had, for the

third time

, begged me to fill her with my cum. And I'd indulged her. Indulged myself. And as I'd studied her face this afternoon, my cock still plugging her delightfully full of my semen, I knew that she wanted it. Truly, to her core, as I did.

She. Fucking. Wanted it.

I'd have been a first class idiot to pass up what she was clearly offering.

The blow dryer silenced, and I quickly finished shaving as I heard Bethany ascend the stairs. I heard her emptying the dryer of her clothes down the hall, and waited for her to enter. When she did, she was fully dressed.

I barely fought off a frown. She must have dressed while in the laundry room. Of course. Why on earth would she dress in front of me? Innocent that she was still, of course she was shy. And in truth, it was a wise decision. I didn't trust myself to see her naked and not do something about it.

Still. She'd hidden herself from me. And that knowledge gnawed at my gut. Eventually I would ensure that she always dressed and undressed in front of me—when I was home at least. It was the control I craved. Knowing that she could deny me nothing.

Deny me nothing.

I drew in a deep breath as I observed her. She'd decided to wear her hair down today. It was lovely, as always. But I longed to see her slender neck, creamy and pure as the rest of her, ready for defilement. And the sick bastard in me wanted those fucking pigtails. Christ, I needed to get

that

out in the open as soon as humanly possible, before I exploded.

Sternly, I pointed to the bench at the foot of the bed.

"Sit, Bethany."

Total obedience. Immediate.

Fuck.

"Stay."

Hell, is this a Daddy Dom fetish, or fucking puppy play?

Whatever it was, it came from the core of me. Raw, natural domination.

And she took to it like a moth to a flame.

Knowing Beth wouldn't budge, I turned and strode with purpose to my closet. The more chaste of the two.

I reached up to the top shelf and pulled down my large suitcase. I hauled it back through the master bath and set it firmly before Bethany as she blinked in surprise.

"Going on a trip?" she laughed nervously.

"You are going to fill this Bethany," I declared gruffly. "When we go to your house, you will pack enough clothes for at least a week, as well as any materials you need for work. Pack everything you need, little girl, and I do mean everything. Am I understood?"

Her glazed expression pleased me greatly.

"Yes Sir," she practically whispered.

I knew that whisper. It was the whisper of arousal.

I nodded, and issued a final command. "Follow."

I knew I was pushing the envelope. But if we were to be together permanently, as I wanted, she needed to know the score. What better way to inform her than to demonstrate and practice?

Of course my Bethany didn't miss a beat. She padded after me, staying close behind as we descended the stairs.

I grabbed my keys and phone from the kitchen island and led her to the garage.

As we passed my fully restored 1969 Cadillac, I smirked at all the possibilities of what I could do to her in that car.

Later.

My smug expression from the sexual imagery in my head was swiftly replaced with concern as we approached the Jag. Sitting just before the front bumper was my trunk.

My eyes flew to her face, and I saw it. Recognition. Fear. And her licking her lips.

Fuck.

I didn't know whether to be worried about her thoughts and recollections, or encouraged by her obvious arousal. I opted for the latter, despite the knot in my stomach.

"See anything interesting Bethany?"

Her eyes flitted up to mine, and she blinked in nervousness.

"What do you mean?" she muttered.

At that, I couldn't help a sinister grin.

"Come now," I crooned, stepping towards her, "Be a good girl, and tell the truth. Do you recognize that trunk Bethany?"

My eyes bored into hers, and I knew she would not lie.

"It's the trunk from your closet," she murmured softly.

"That's right baby. Do you know what's in it?"

She wanted to deny it. I could tell. There was a barely perceptible shake of her head before she swallowed in nervousness.

"No?" I chuckled. "Then perhaps I can refresh your memory. Come," I ordered as I approached the trunk and leant down to release the latch.

Beth stood there, pale but transfixed as she watched me lift the lid.

But her worry quickly morphed into confusion as light penetrated the decades old trunk.

"Where's all the stuff?"

I grinned in triumph. She had outed herself.

"What stuff?" I teased.

She blushed, but persisted. "Your

stuff

Curt. Your...where'd they go?"

"Why are you so interested?"

Beth frowned and her face went even redder as she stewed in guilty embarrassment.

Sighing, I folded. "Those items are my past. I've disposed of them."

"What? Why?"

I smiled at her obvious disappointment.

"Because Bethany, when I play with you, in particular when I use tools for enhancing our pleasure, I want those tools to be untainted. New. Exclusive to us."

"Oh," she whispered.

"Now, perhaps you'd like to share how you know of my toys to begin with."

Her shoulders fell. She knew the jig was up.

"I happened across them when I was exploring the house."

"You opened my trunk," I stated.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed.

"I know."

"Wait a second," she frowned. "How did you know? How could you have known, unless..."

Her eyes widened.

"Do you have...cameras inside? Hidden surveillance cameras?" she asked, paling in dread.

I took a deep breath. Forcing a confession from her on this inevitably meant I would need to come clean as well.

"Yes."

"Oh my God," she whispered, her eyes fluttering, doing the math in her head.

"Then you," she shook her head, refusing to make eye contact with me. "You saw..."

"Yes Bethany, I saw."

"Oh God! What you must think of me!" she was holding back tears, and I struggled with the stabbing pain in my gut.

"Beth, I saw, yes. But I want you to know that what I saw has not tarnished my opinion of you. Quite the opposite, in fact. That footage of you laying on my bed nearly caused me to split my pants for Pete's sake."

"Oh God, you saw

that

too??" she wailed. "Shit! I'm so sorry Curt!" she shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

"Listen to me," I ordered, grasping her arms and pulling her close.

Still she hid her face from me, shaking her head in shame.

"Look. At. Me. Now."

Sniffling, her eyes watery with tears, she obeyed.

"I am not sorry. I'm not fucking sorry at all. If it hadn't happened, I might never have pursued you. We would not be where we are. I would not be holding you, kissing you, making...love to you. So no, I'm not fucking sorry, and I never will be."

A tear fell then, down her soft as fucking silk cheek. And I did what came naturally. I pulled her to my chest and held her tight, kissing and stroking her hair, soothing her until her sniffles subsided.

"I...need you Bethany. I need you. Today is about moving forward, together. No more secrets."

How I could say that when I clung to one of such fucking significance was laughable. It was true, that I needed her. But it was not the entire truth. It just wasn't time yet. The situation was fragile enough without me throwing gasoline on the flames, I reasoned.

"Okay," she whispered into my chest.

"Good girl. What do you say we go and get your stuff now? Then we can grab an early supper?"

Another sniff, another nod into my chest.

"Okay, let's get you buckled in then."

She looked up at me, inquisitive, but held her tongue as I led her to the passenger side.

I held the door, as always, but this time I tried something different. Once she was seated, I reached in and grasped the seatbelt buckle, pulling and securing it across her body. I ran my hand along the underside, checking the snugness against her breasts. I smirked at her intake of breath, and after a leisurely exploration of her firm round tits, I trailed my hand over her belly and down to her shorts.

Another gasp, a barely restrained bucking of hips.

My fingers skimmed gently down her fly, and finally rested at the junction of her thighs.

Wedging my fingers between her legs, I softly commanded her, "Open."

She cautiously obeyed, spreading her legs for me a bit.

"More."

I urged her on with a firm tap to each thigh, and relished her soft gasp.

When she'd spread herself to my satisfaction, I growled, "From now on Bethany, when you ride with me, your legs will be spread. Like this. You will be open for me. Accessible to me. Do you consent?"

This was a key moment. I'd planned to hold off on this, but dammit she was just so fucking submissive. I felt to my very soul that she wanted this as much as I.

Even in the dim light of the garage, I could see the raw desire in her eyes.

"Yes Curt."

"That's my good girl," I leant in and kissed her. The kiss carried on far longer than I intended. Having her bound, restrained just beneath me, her legs parted in sweet submission, her soft mews into my mouth...it was too delicious to call to an end.

Only when my cock pulsed insistently against the inside of my jeans did I finally relent.

Beth's lips were swollen red.

"Goddamn it Bethany," I cursed in frustrated arousal.

"Aahh," she shuddered, panting, her eyes fluttering.

What the hell? I hadn't even touched her, and I could swear she'd just...

"Please Curt...please..."

"Please what, little girl?"

"Please...don't tease me."

I could understand that plea. God knew we'd both been through enough of that. Nodding, I pulled back and closed the passenger door before loading my large suitcase into the modest but sufficient trunk.

Once I'd buckled myself in, I opened the Nav app and had Beth punch in her address.

We rode in silence, both our minds swarming with whys and what-ifs.

I frowned as we pulled into a

very

modest neighborhood, though it was nicer than the one I grew up in.

"This a safe area?" I asked guardedly.

"Are you worried about me?" Beth teased.

Spotting her street number on a weathered yellow house, I pulled into the drive and parked before turning to her.

"You are damn fucking right I'm worried about you," I growled. "You will learn quickly that I care for what's mine. I protect what's mine. And to the fullest extent, I

own

," I stroked her thigh suggestively, "What is mine."

I studied her face, fighting off the impulse to do the same as she licked her lips. I searched her eyes for fear, for repulsion, but found only lust and excitement.

"Yes Sir."

"I'll return for you in an hour Beth. Pack everything you need, for work, sleep, and play. Go."

She nodded before unfastening her seatbelt. I popped the trunk for her.

"And Bethany," I called just before she closed the door, "Be sure to pack a few skirts."

She smirked and shook her head in girlish annoyance, as I responded with a cocky boyish grin.

We'd see if she obeyed. If she didn't, I would punish her. And if she did, well, I'd probably punish her anyway. But she'd be in a skirt. I chuckled to myself as I pulled out of her driveway, navigating to the nearest general store.

--

Sweet heavens.

This was a new Curt Donovan. Well maybe not

new

, but definitely more. More intense. More overtly sexual. And dominant.

Had he been hiding all this time? I'd seen glimpses, moments where I sensed he wanted...more. But until now I'd had no idea what

more

was. And now that I knew, my head was spinning.

Curt's behavior was...strange. At least according to social convention.

The washing me. The buckling me in. The command to keep my legs spread while riding in the car with him. Despite my brain telling me this was wrong, my body was embracing it. Embracing him.

And it didn't

feel

wrong.

I wanted him. I would do anything for him. And as long as he promised to take care of me, where was the harm in that?

I stared into my closet. Nothing seemed to be

enough

.

Nothing in my possession was sexy or glamorous enough for Curt.

Skirts. He'd said to pack some skirts.

Well I had those. But I tended to stay more conservative and demure with skirts and dresses. I had a

couple

that bordered on slutty. One being that tiny black number I'd worn the night I tried to go clubbing.

That

was slutty. But did he

like

slutty?

I thought of that night in the city. I'd been dressed obscenely, miles outside of my comfort zone, my end game being to lose my virginity to the first guy that let his libido take over his brain.

I closed my eyes, trying to recall Curt's reaction. He hadn't looked pleased. Heck, he'd covered me up immediately with his coat.

I'd seen his eyes filled with desire before. Many times. But when?

I thought of our more intimate encounters. The closet, the pizza, the wedding...

Every time he'd left me breathless, I'd been dressed innocently, more or less.

Yes. That was what Curt liked. Innocent. Demure.

Good.

I grinned to myself as his huskily whispered "good girl" invaded my senses. If he liked good girls, then a good girl I would be.

I sifted through my closet and drawers, zeroing in on light pinks, of which I had plenty, soft blues, lavenders, yellows, and creams. All demure. All innocent. And all of which would wear on his control if my suspicions were correct.

But what about nighttime? Pajamas? Should I even bother? The way things were going, I didn't think I would even have time to change into PJs before Curt had me at his mercy beneath the sheets.

Well, just in case, I'd pack a few. I'd never purchased lingerie before, so as far as options that Curt might like, the closest I had were a couple of one piece night shirts. One with a large decal of the Powerpuff girls, and a pink one with little white hearts all over it.

Both I'd had since high school, and they were practically see-through from being washed so many times. Perhaps the ultra thin fabric would compensate for the youthful design, I mused.

Just in case, I packed my old Chicago Bulls shirt and favorite pajama shorts. Curt was bound to run out of steam at some point, right?

Underwear...

I may not have been a slut, but I definitely had fantasies. Growing up Catholic there'd been minimal opportunity to...express myself, in a way that hinted at any degree of sexuality. Once I was out of my parents' house however, I'd purchased several sets of matching bras and panties. Some more subdued, some toeing the line between flirty and brazen. But nothing particularly scandalous. It'd put a dent in my bank account for a while, but it was worth it to occasionally feel sexy. Womanly. Grown up.

I grabbed all the matching sets I had, along with several cotton panties. I packed enough for two weeks, because ultimately, Curt would probably have me changing my panties at least once a day.

I couldn't wait.

Once Curt's suitcase was drowning in a sea of pastels, I went to my desk to grab my pertinent files and laptop.

Since I had no major projects at the moment, I didn't need much else. Which, come to think of it, was not good at all.

I'd finished Curt's project. The design fees for that were almost entirely spent, and the commission checks would only last me a couple more months.

I needed to line up some new projects. And I needed to update my portfolio with photos of Curt's house.

The thought made me frown. Using

his

house to further my success? Using Curt's house would be using Curt. And I couldn't do that. So what the heck had I been working for all this time?

It didn't matter, I told myself. Things were different. And I wanted Curt more than I wanted anything else, including a flourishing career.

I would find other leads. I would sign new projects. And I'd be a success. I didn't need Curt's support to do that.

But what if?

What if business dried up? Leads were already sparse at best, what with the economy.

Worry about that another day Beth. You have a sex god coming to pick you up in ten minutes.

I could feel my melancholy expression dissolve, replaced with a giddy smirk.

--

I found myself looking up at the clear autumn sky, thanking God as I hauled two shopping bags out to the Jag. I was flying by the seat of my pants pretty much, so it seemed like God's work that I'd found everything I needed at the first general store I'd walked into. Perhaps the bastard was finally cutting me a break.

Perhaps he's cutting you more than a break, you dipshit. You have Bethany.

Fair enough.

Pulling into the driveway of Beth's home, I laughed when I saw her standing on the porch, waiting like a good girl with my suitcase. She'd changed into a cute pink skirt with a gray polka dot blouse.

Rolling down the window I called out, "What are you so dressed up for?"

"I'm waiting for my date," she smirked petulantly at me.

"Your date, huh?" I shifted into park and engaged the emergency brake.

I grinned as she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

Getting out of the car, I stalked up to her.

"Well Bethany," I purred, "Your

date

is shit out of luck. You're mine and no one else's."

I snuck my hand around her waist and pulled her tight to me, letting her feel it. I nearly moaned in need when I heard her sweet gasp of realization.