Here we are, another year almost over and another year of coping. It's been a year of hibernation and keeping myself afloat, but I've moped enough and it's time to get writing again. I originally wrote this chapter shortly after I'd finished Part 5, imagining the life of Damian and Siena in their HEA. Then I shelved it after losing momentum and falling prey to depression. The hard part about continuing this story is to not ruin what you've already created, but these fictional friends have kept me company in dark moments, and that just lends itself to more content. So now to get down to business...
There will be 2 more installments after this chapter. Some twists and turns are in store for our happy couple, because the only thing certain in life is change. In the last installment, I promise there will be resolution in the end. And if you invest the time to read what I've invested so much time in, I only ask that you please leave a comment. It's the only form of currency I get out of this. And it makes this writer so happy when she hears feedback. Thank you, and please enjoy.
Part 6
I love to greet him when he gets home. A throwback to a bygone era of domestic subjugation that never appealed to me until I met him. Even if it is not our Friday night, even if I am not expecting anything in return, I want him to know that I am at his disposal. That nothing is more important than being stripped of my clothes and waiting for him. Our opposing schedules make it hard enough to find time together; it quickly simplifies things to place myself somewhere in the apartment and wait for him to find me naked. In the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron, pretending that it is how one always intends to cook a meal sans clothes. Less surprising, is of course, the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the large four-poster bed, my hair pulled back into a ponytail. Waiting with nothing but an innocent smile on my face, waiting to be found ready and willing for Mr. Damian.
Tonight being a much-anticipated Friday, I decide to wait in the living room, comfortably lounging on the long, black leather sofa. He already texted to say he would be running a little late, which I do not mind. I've already spent 23 years of my life waiting to meet someone like him, a few more minutes won't make a difference.
I sit in the quiet stillness of the spacious loft, closing my eyes in a state of relaxation that won't lead to sleep when I'm anticipating the events of the evening. The daylight coming through the large windows is fading, the room growing darker, and sure enough, I hear the gears of the elevator clicking. The low hum of the motor spooling up the cable, slowly lifting the metal box and delivering its inhabitant to me.
I silence my phone so we will not be disturbed and place it in the drawer of the coffee table, then sit back on the couch. The elevator comes to a stop with a clunking halt on our floor, then the sound of the metal gate being hoisted up and apart. I swing around and get up on my knees, perching myself over the back of the couch so I can see him, and he can see me.
He departs the elevator wearing his leather cycling jacket and carrying his helmet. Methodically he sets down the gleaming all-black helmet on the tall table just beside the elevator, then takes off his leather gloves, then he removes his jacket. All the gear is deposited neatly, and only then does he start to walk into the apartment.
First, he stops in the kitchen. A quick wash of his hands, then he fills up a glass of water and takes a drink. Another glance around as if there may be something else he needs to address in the kitchen before he walks around the large island and heads in my direction.
The back of the couch is directly in his path, with me sitting up on my knees and facing him. I've placed my hands on the top of the couch, keeping my arms angled in so that they will somewhat cover my bare breasts. My hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, around my throat is a thin velvet choker in a shade of deep red, accessorized with a small metal ring that can be utilized for securing any number of things. The only garment I'm wearing: tiny red panties that cover just a smidge more than a thong would.
He is still dressed in his all black outfit, everything neatly styled with intimidating elegance. His expression regards me coolly, just the slightest pull at the corner of his mouth that conceals his smile, but it's his eyes that give him away. A twinkle in the clear blue that is no longer assessing his one-time client, but drinking in the sight of me. Naked and kneeling, waiting for him.
Barely able to contain my excitement, I take a small risk, and speak first.
"Good evening, Mr. Damian."
"Good evening," he replies with a slight nod of his head. "How is my Miss Siena this night?"
My heart flutters when I hear him say my name, to hear him say that I am his.
"I am very well, Mr. Damian. Even better now that you are here."
He grins at my flattery because he knows I mean it, bringing a hand up to my face, a pause as he studies me.
"Has Miss Siena prepared herself today?"
He wants to be sure I'm taking care of myself before we exhaust all my energies, after just once when I nearly fainted during an intense session of Shibari.
"Yes, Mr. Damian. I had breakfast and lunch. Lots of water."
"Good girl," he replies with an affectionate pat to my cheek, then takes his hand away.
I wait patiently for his orders as he silently stands there, a tactic I'm well acquainted with. But this time the wait feels like a genuine pause for himself, a look of just the slightest indecision. He tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful smile.
"How would Miss Siena feel if she was to choose for herself this evening?"
"Choose my own discipline?"
He shakes his head, a little amused at my confusion. "No, she would choose what she would want to do for the evening. Anything she wants. And she would choose for Mr. Damian."
My eyes go wide at this last statement. "I would choose...for you?"
He nods his head. "Yes."
"I would tell Mr. Damian...what to do?"
He nods again. "Yes."
"Anything I want?"
"Anything Miss Siena wants," he confirms, leaning down with a pointed look as he stares into my eyes, "anything her heart desires."
We have never switched like this; I've never even considered it. There have been moments of my insubordination, playful disobedience that I wanted to be reprimanded for, but never have I fathomed telling Mr. Damian what to do.
He sees my hesitation and walks around the couch. I'm turning around when he stops in front of me, once again cupping my face in his hand as he leans down to my still kneeling form and pulls me into him.
I bring my hands up to his face, locking eyes with him. "Are you sure?" I whisper.
"Night after night, you have given yourself to me without question. Tonight it is Mr. Damian's turn to give himself to Miss Siena," he whispers with a tender kiss.
I shake my head, still unsure if I can do what he is asking me to do.
"Just for tonight?" I ask.
He nods with a smile. "Just for tonight."
The panic ebbs away as I feel his reassuring embrace, as he kisses me again. We keep kissing as I think through my options, as I debate what I want most and what I feel capable of. After he's allowed me to stall for a generous amount of time, he pulls his hands away, taking a step back. I take a deep breath, and start with something basic.
"Would Mr. Damian please undress himself?"
He closes his eyes with a dignified bow of his head. "Of course, Miss Siena."
First, he begins by unbuttoning the black pinstripe vest he always wears, the one that holds the little gold pocket watch he used to time the sessions of my punishment. He takes the watch from its small slit pocket and shrugs out of the vest, neatly folds it in half then sets both vest and watch down on the coffee table. He looks down as he proceeds to unbutton the black dress shirt, making it to the third button before my hand intervenes.
Mr. Damian does not allow me to undress him, and even when not in our D/s roles, it is something I usually miss out on because I am too distracted by his undressing of me. He glances down at himself, and looks back at me, a wry little grin. He knows what I want, and removes his hands.
My fingers slip each button free, pausing to savor each descent of more exposure, to briefly feel my fingertips brush across his bare skin, until I reach the button that is tucked neatly under his belt and into his pants. I pause just long enough that he begins to raise a hand, but stops when I continue.
I knot the starchy fabric of his shirt into my fist and tug up in one blunt move, a tug that pulls his body forward just a bit. The last button is undone by my hand, and slowly my fingers go up his bare chest, across his taut muscles, pushing the fabric apart so I can shove it off his shoulders. This is my favorite part, to deliberately push his sleeves down his arms. Except when I reach his wrists, the cuffs are too tight to simply pull free over his hands. I can feel his amusement when I debate how best to solve this problem, a small smirk as he watches me tug on one sleeve, then the other.
For a moment he is left with his arms hanging down at his sides, his hands effectively restrained within the cuffs of his shirt. Tired of stooping over to fuss with his sleeves, I stand up straight and meet his eyes. His glances down at himself, a raise of an eyebrow that says perhaps it is not so bad that he is confined within his shirt, that I have plenty of access to other parts of him. I consider this, but I want his hands free so that I may utilize them for my own designs.
I kneel down and carefully undo the button at his cuff, first one arm, then the other. When both buttons are undone, the shirt falls to the ground in a pile of black silk. Still on my knees, I look up at him, proud of my tenacity.
"Please, undo your belt."
"Of course, Miss Siena," he answers in his sultry voice, bringing his right hand up to the steely gray belt buckle. True to form, he undoes the buckle with one hand, but does not remove the belt.
"Would you also like me to remove it, Miss Siena?"
He is just as diabolical when he is not the one delivering commands. I give him my own skeptical raise of an eyebrow, and slowly stand back up.
"I think I can manage that, but thank you."
I've got a hand poised on his belt when he replies.
"But of course, Miss Siena."
