Roc and Water

My promise for shorter breaks between chapters seems to have not quite come to pass. I truly appreciate your support and patience! Things get a little deeper between Corrine and Patrick this chapter...hope you enjoy! Many thanks to FA_JF for her ongoing support and advice!

*****

Monday arrives all too soon. Saturday was spent on the motorcycle exploring back roads in the gorge. We checked in on his cabin while out there, enjoying a fast and desperate fuck after having been pressed together on his bike for so many hours, the close contact and vibrations driving us both mad. That evening, back at his home, I soaked in bath salts in the tub; a welcomed relief after the flogging the night before and being on the back of his bike all day.

Most of Sunday was spent with his "Little Brother" Luka, who I'd heard so much about over the past weeks. For ten years old, it was clear that his rough upbringing had toughened him, and made him seem older than his years. It was only after we took him to see the new X-men movie and ice cream afterwards that I could see him loosen up a little and show his goofy side. He was guarded with me at first, but by the end of the day he'd warmed up a bit, and was curious about my work at the radio station. We made a plan to go to the studio on his next Sunday with Patrick.

It's Monday now, and as planned, we head to the gym together to work out and confront Kym for her hostility towards me. From the moment we walk in the door, our movements are followed by Kym. As it was before, her expression is bleak, with a tinge of sadness. It's clear she tries to stay focused on the client she is training, but when the session is over she remains in the weight room, tracking our movements from the far wall.

Although I trust Patrick's assertion that they were never more than 'friends with benefits', it's obvious that what happened between them was much more to her. My feelings about Kym vacillate between being pissed off and sympathetic.

I head over to the other side of the gym to do some stretches on the mats. Just as I settle into my first one, I watch with no surprise as Kym sheds her loose gym top and walks towards Patrick in her sports bra and tight gym shorts. Her young, tight body catches the attention of both men and woman as she passes. My breath catches as she moves to embrace Patrick in a hug. He looks caught off guard, but accepts the hug briefly before pulling away. She keeps her back towards me, but shortly after they start talking I see him gesture towards me so Kym is forced to turn around and acknowledge my presence.

She looks miserable as they walk in my direction, but turns and flashes Patrick flirty smiles along the way. I hadn't expected this confrontation to occur in the middle of the gym, and feel unprepared to say to her what I'd been rehearsing all morning. As soon as they reach me, Patrick breaks away from her to stand by my side, gently laying his hand on my shoulder.

"Kym, I'd like you to meet Corrine, my girlfriend. Corrine, this is Kym." His demeanor is warm, albeit a little guarded.

Kym's lips initially become a thin line as her whole body tenses, but then as if on stage she quickly recovers her composure.

"Corrine, is it? You look familiar...have you been here before?" She's laying the sweetness on thick.

I take a deep sigh and decide I'm not going to play her game.

"Yes, Kym... We both know I have. Listen, I have no issues with the fact that you and Patrick hooked up. What I'm not okay is you trying to intimidate me every time I walk in the gym."

Briefly she'd looks at a loss for words, but recovers quickly. Cocking her head with a smile, she exclaims, "Oh right! You do look familiar... Didn't I see you last week in the water aerobics class for our, uh... our older members?"

My eyes widen, and I can't hold back a gasp of laughter as I shake my head. This girl is priceless.

Patrick stands tall and responds for me. "Kym, what the hell? Corrine's been coming to this gym longer than I have, and you know that. I don't know why you seem hell bent on staring her down every time she comes in, but it needs to stop. Now."

"I have no idea what she's talking about. Honestly, Patrick... I don't know why she'd say such things." Kym is doing her best to look incredulous and hurt at the same time.

Patrick pauses, and looks between the two of us. Is it possible he's questioning whether my accusations hold any merit? For a moment, I wonder.

"Kym, Corrine has no reason to make any of this up. In fact, she did her best to hide it from me for a few weeks. Just tell me why you're being such a bitch..." his voice softens a little before he adds, "when I know that's not who you are."

Kym's righteous demeanor begins to crumble in front of us. "Patrick, I just don't understand... I know you wanted me. The night of my show...after the show...it was incredible. We had such a connection." Her voice begins to crack as she continues. "I gave you space! I gave you time!" Her hands ball into tight fists against her side as small tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes.

As manipulative as she's been, her breakdown feels pretty sincere. I move to step away to let them talk in private, but Patrick's hand tightens on my shoulder.

Patrick's words are calm, but firm. "I'm not going to lie to you or Corrine that our night together wasn't a good time, it was, but that's all it was Kym...just a night; one in many for me during those days."

Kym flinches and I do too, until Patrick continues, sincerity in his voice. "Please Kym, you have to understand. I did my best to be honest with you where I was in my life at that time. I wasn't looking for a relationship. If I had any idea you had feelings for me, I never would have been with you."

She looks crestfallen, but nods a little as she looks down at the floor. "I know," she says, "you did...I just thought...maybe if I played it cool you'd eventually want me." She looks up with red eyes at him, then me. "Fuck! I'm such an idiot." She practically stomps her feet on the ground. "Why does this keep happening to me?"

I finally find my voice, and ask softly, "Kym, how old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

I think back to myself at twenty-three. "At your age I was convinced every guy was 'the one'. Sex and attraction are incredibly powerful, but it's also easy to lose yourself. You should never have to change who you are, or deny what you need from a relationship...sadly I learned that lesson a bit later in life."

Kym is still looking at the floor but once again nods. With a deep sigh, she says, "I hear you...I know. My friends tell me that all the time."

She lifts her head and looks at me evenly. "Sorry for being such a bitch. I just...I just don't get it. I mean, why would he want you when you're..." She trails off and stops herself before going any further. "Shit. I better just go."

With that, she walks away and quickly pushes through a door for employees only. Patrick and I are left standing there, stunned.

He starts to laugh. "What the hell was she talking about? Why wouldn't I want you?"

I look at him, eyes wide open. "You really don't know what she was going to say?"

"No", he says, shaking his head.

I love that he doesn't, and with a smile take his hand. "No matter...but you just earned yourself a blowjob."

Overall, this weekend has shown us that in submitting to him fully, I never once lost my sense of self, or self-worth. Instead I felt valued and cherished, while he seemed greatly satisfied by each and every act of trust I bestowed on him.

***

A few more weeks pass. Trips to the gym have been stress-free. While Kym isn't overly friendly, she no longer seems fixated on the two of us, and most of the time ignores us both. Regardless, it's summer and we've spent less time in the gym and more time on our bikes, or hiking local trails with the dogs.

Although no longer daily, Addie and I continue to speak on the telephone and Skype frequently. She's struggled with Frank over spending time with his new girlfriend, and I brace myself for resistance when I ask how she would feel if I invited Patrick along to London when I come to visit her later in the month. I've yet to ask him, waiting to see her reaction, and am pleasantly surprised when she appears okay with it. I assure her that we'll still have plenty of alone time. It's clear that Addie holds no illusions for Frank and I reuniting, but this is all still so new for her.

When I do ask Patrick to join me in London, he grabs me tight and gives a resounding "Fuck, yeah!", then proceeds to interrogate me about Addie for the rest of the evening. He's been to London a few times before to visit some ex-pat friends from his river rafting days. They live just outside of Bedfordshire, a bit over an hour outside of London, and we plan to add on a few days at the end of the trip to stay with them.

The growing trust and comfort in our relationship has allowed for an intimacy I've never known. Somehow over time, my submission towards him has become less of a role, and more just a way of being. In giving him control, not just over my body but also more and more frequently in our everyday life, I've felt calmer and more centered than I ever have.

My concerns about deepening my submission to Patrick, both in and out of the bedroom, have eased as I've come to realize he's not arbitrary in his commands, or exertion of control. Little by little I've let go of my constant vigilance. I slip more easily than I thought I would into a more deferent mindset, surprised that not once do I feel condescended to or put out by his decisions. In fact, I find it quite freeing to let go of all of the choices I usually have to make in a given day, from the clothes I wear to our plans for the day.

The trust I feel when I give my body over to him has only strengthened too, after twice now using my safeword "yellow". The first time involved the most complex Shibari he had yet to undertake; a beautiful but severely confining array of knots that had me lying on the bed on my belly with my thighs open, knees bent, and arms crossed behind my back so that each hand held the alternate wrist. I'd felt myself sinking deeper into an almost meditative space, comfortable and divinely blissful, when he started to braid rope into my hair.

He'd been checking in with me throughout the evening, but when he pulled the rope binding my hair back and began to secure it to rope that was crisscrossing my back I began to feel anxious. For a moment I kept quiet and took deep breaths, but quickly I felt myself sinking into a panic attack.

Before I am even aware of my actions, I quietly, but clearly said, "yellow".

With a knife that had been lying close at hand on the bedside table, he quickly cut the rope between my braid and back, causing my head to drop to the bed. In a flash he was on his knees and at eye level with me, his hand cupping my face. Already my breath and comfort had returned, and despite reassuring him that I was good to continue, he chose to remove the rope altogether. Sensing my disappointment, he assured me we'd try it again, this time without head restraint.

We spent the evening exploring reasons why head restraint triggered panic in me, when it never had when his hand was tight in my hair. Whether it was the position, or the extreme nature of the restraint, I could never voice a clear reason for my panic. Despite my assertion that it wouldn't happen again, my lack of insight for the cause of my reaction did not sit well with Patrick. Now that I knew how quickly I would be released If need be, I pleaded to try it again. He nodded, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that it would be a while before he'd want to pursue it. It was obvious the experience had spooked him.

The second time I said "yellow" was when he'd covered by breasts, torso, cunt lips, and inner thighs with clothespins. You'd think with all of those pegs pinching my flesh, I'd have called out "red" before then, but the intense pain had me riding a wave of endorphins that caused pleasure to pulse through my body, and my mind to float in the clouds . The wave crashed, but not in a good way, when he clamped clothespins on each of my pinky toes. It felt like two elephants had started tap-dancing on them, and I screamed "yellow" so loud the dogs were barking outside his bedroom door.

Once again, Patrick acted quickly but calmly and removed the two offending clothespins. I smiled gratefully up to him, my eyes wet with tears. His plan from the beginning had been to remove the pegs as I orgasmed, and the thought of him removing them without that bliss sounded like a nightmare waiting to happen. I urged him in broken words to continue, and before I know it the slim vibrator that had been resting dormant in my ass buzzed to life, while his Hitachi wand was pressed against my cunt lips and clit.

I figured he'd want to make me come quickly, but instead once he saw me writhing in pain and pleasure below him he took his sweet time taking me to the edge and back again, over and over until a sheen of sweat covered my body and moisture flooded between my legs.

When finally he allowed me to come, he left the wand between my legs and then two by two quickly removed the pegs from my body. Fresh screams and tears wracked my body as pain and pleasure twisted in my head for dominance until it didn't matter which one took control. Once they were all removed, I collapsed onto my back and continued a long, cathartic cry as he gently soothed my fiery skin.

Once my tears had subsided, I turned towards him with wide eyes. I could see him scrutinize me, trying to discern if I was okay. A look of relief flooded over him when with a shy smile I'd asked him to promise to do that again one day...soon.

***

Pete and Patrick have torn apart my kitchen, leaving me without a fridge or stove. My camp stove and a cooler have been good temporary substitutions. They've worked together before, and seem to get on well with each other except for their taste in music, which amuses me to no end. Whereas Pete would prefer listening to classical all day, Patrick needs a little more energy in his music to keep him going.

I've remained adamant about keeping our relationship private from Pete, wanting to keep our personal and professional relationships separate from each other. Patrick has been less than thrilled with this arrangement, obviously feeling frustrated by his lack of say in the matter. While he has no interest in sharing the D/s nature of our relationship, he doesn't see the harm in Pete knowing that we're dating. Although I feel more secure than ever with him, I still prefer that Pete not worry about whether his job will go south if our relationship does. I know this doesn't make sense since the two work independent from each other, but it's just a feeling I have.

Patrick has acquiesced, grudgingly, but I've noticed that as soon as Pete leaves in the late afternoons, he is quick to get his dom on, and more often than not I'm naked within five minutes and in one compromising position or another. This evening is no different, and once Pete is gone I find myself naked, kneeling on a cushion with my legs spread and my hands clasped behind my back grasping the opposing forearms as Patrick cooks a stir fry in my electric wok.

Despite my current state, we're having an amicable conversation when all of a sudden Patrick falls silent mid-sentence, mouth slack and breath caught.

"What?" I utter, when from behind me I hear footsteps. My heart begins to slam in my chest.

"Uh...um...sorry," says an obviously mortified Pete. "I, um, forgot my phone. I would have called, except... Oh, shit... I didn't have my phone."

I don't turn around, for obvious reasons, but slowly move my arms around to cover my breasts, and close my knees together.

"It's okay, Pete," I barely whisper, my throat suddenly incredibly dry.

"It's... just past you on my work table." He says gruffly. In my peripheral vision I see him walk quickly past me, grab his phone, and hightail it past me once again.

With a quite mumble, Pete says goodnight once again and hightails it out of the kitchen.

Moments later the side door slams shut.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" I shout, bolting up from the cushion and towards my bedroom, but Patrick moves faster and is quickly in front of me, blocking my exit from the kitchen. Sounds of the stir-fry sizzle in the background.

He places his hands on my arms firmly, holding me at a distance as he looks down on me. My eyes are wide and my chest heaving; a rush of embarrassment, anger, and panic surges through me. He's breathing hard too as the two of us stand there, our wills clashing.

"Back on your knees, Corrine; I didn't say you could get up." His tone is firm, and a bit harder than I'm used to from him.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Move, Patrick. I want to get dressed. I'm not up for this anymore tonight."

Patrick removes his hands from my shoulders, holding his palms up for a moment. He doesn't move from the doorway, though, and continues to look down on me, a mix of question and challenge in his eyes.

"You're not up for what tonight?"

"This..." I gesture wildly to the cushion on the floor, then wave my hand in front of my naked body. "...this game, this role-playing. Fuck it!" With each word, I feel my chest clench. I don't mean them, what's between us has been anything but a game, but I can't seem to rein in my own outburst. I feel flustered and out of control.

Standing there with my hands on my hips, breathing rapidly and ready for him to get angry and lash out at me for my harsh words, I watch, instead, as he composes himself. It's subtle, but I see a resolute calm take over, I see his jaw relax as the tension around his eyes softens.

"Do not move," is all he says as he walks past me. My back to him, I can hear him working on the stir-fry before I hear the sound of the Wok being turned off. We both know that what I chose to do in this moment, whether to stay where I am or run for the bedroom, will decide not only the fate of the evening, but potentially the direction of our relationship.

I stay.

"Return to the cushion and resume kneeling." His voice is vacant, without emotion. This scares me more than his anger.

I surprise myself by how quickly I trot back to the cushion and resume my position on my knees, hands locked behind my back, grasping my forearms tightly. I'm desperate for some sign of approval for my compliance, for any sign of affection from him. Instead, I watch as he dishes up one plate of food for himself, grabs a beer from the cooler, and walks over to the table.

Normally by now, I would have been invited off the cushion, dished up our plates side by side, then sit in our usual seats at the table, talking about our days. Although I may be naked and he clothed, the dynamic tended to be pretty laid back. Instead, I watch from my cushion as he takes a seat at the table and opens his beer.

I'm comforted that instead of taking his usual seat, which would have put his back to me, he picked a chair that faces me. His eyes pass over me for the first time, impassive, as he sets his plate down and begins eating. I can't stand the silence, the not knowing what he's thinking.

"Patrick, I..."

"Quiet."

This shuts me down in a second.

While his tone is sharp, his eyes are now gleaming. It's clear that my obedience has pleased him, and I can see the wheels turning behind his fiery eyes. Something about that look just makes me melt inside, and creates quick changes to my body and psyche. My nipples and areolas quickly constrict, and my blood runs hot as it courses through my veins. My focus is solely on him as all else drifts away.

My excitement is obvious to Patrick, and as if to reinforce the current disparity in our positions, he casually begins to eat. For some reason this excites me even more and it's taking all of my will to keep my knees spread. My cunt and ass begin a rhythmic clenching that both drives me on and frustrates me. I can feel droplets of fluids slide over my labia, onto my perineum. Keeping me on the floor as he eats our dinner, seemingly indifferent to my needs, drops me into that lovely focused headspace, where all I want to do is to please and serve him.