He sat quietly. No sounds in the house. She was late again. Two hours ago she’d called, said she was finishing up, would be home very shortly. He had the dinner ready, but now it was cold. He watched the chilled wine on the table, droplets of water sliding slowly down the sides, pooling at the bottom.
He was tired. Waiting. His own dinner was untouched, cold, salad wilted, no longer even edible. A feast, gone to waste because she had once again gotten involved in something at work. Perhaps, he thought, she was just not interested. The surprises he’d had, the warmth and the feelings he wanted to share with her now cooled as well.
He remained still as he heard her car pull up. Finally. The headlights shone through the living room window, then flicked off. He waited, heard the car door slam. The key in the lock, clicking. Quietly, the front door opened.
She peeked inside, saw him sitting. Waited for a reaction. Something, anything. And received nothing.
She kicked off her heels, ready with an apology. Padded across the floor, the words ready, her voice suddenly lost as she saw his face, sad, but angry. She found herself on her knees in front of him. Her head lay quietly on his lap. She remained perfectly still, begging him silently not to be angry.
After a time, his hands ran through her hair. Still no sound. He combed it out, slowly, carefully, completely under control, willing himself not to be angry. Instead, he felt himself wanting her, forgiving, but knowing what must come. As he did, his hands tightened in her hair, pulling it, not hard at first, but after gathering a bit of her hair in his hands, he could not contain himself any longer. He yanked back, pulling her head up.
“You’re late again.” His deep voice made her shiver.
“I’m...” She started a reply.
“Shhh. Tonight, we have to put an end to it.”
He arose, held out his hand. “Dinner is ruined, but perhaps there’s time for something else.”
Slowly, curious now, she took his hand, was drawn up. Standing, she nearly reached his height. He took her face in his hands, now, kissed her and then turn, walking toward the bedroom. “I have something for you,” he said over his shoulder.
She followed him, wondering even more. How could he be so patient, so kind, even though she’d continually been late? This was not the one she’d known before. That was certain. A change. Something just below the surface, commanding her attention. He’d always been pleasant, so sweet, so understanding, but somehow she realized that there would be none of this tonight.
In the bedroom, she saw a filmy gown, lying on the bed. He stood next to it, looking down at it.
“Put it on.”
She slowly removed her clothes as he watched. She knew that he loved to see her nude, would run his hands over her body in his mind, touching her, tasting her, feeling her skin. That thought excited her. She wondered what would come next.
Slowly, she slipped the gown over her head under his watchful gaze.
“Turn around.”
She did. A slow pirouette, hands at her sides, then over her head.
“Stand still now,” he commanded. He bent, reached under the bed. A long crop was in his hand. She reacted, fearful.
“Somehow I knew you’d be late tonight. Decided that it was time to teach you a little lesson.”
She gasped. At the same time, she thrilled at the thought, wondering how it might feel. She watched him, mesmerized, thinking that she should run, but could not as he sat slowly on the bed.
