Author's note: This story contains themes of incest, BDSM and Dominant-submissive relationships. If these themes offend you, please stop reading now!
Please read this story from Part 1 to understand the story progression. This can't be read as a stand-alone story.
All characters are fictional. Any similarities to actual people are purely coincidental.
I encourage all readers to comment and vote. There is no better way to hone your writing skills than feedback—good or bad.
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Angie left the hotel suite a few minutes after John. She peeked out of the door to make sure he was gone. Then she hurried down the hallway and summoned the elevator pressing the button for the lobby level. The back of the elevator car was mirrored glass and she caught a glimpse of herself looking panicked and frenzied. She shook off the irksome feeling and very stealthily slipped into the large lobby.
John was moving through the revolving door at the entrance. She scurried up closer to the door and ducked behind a large potted palm tree. She watched him carefully waiting for him to get in a taxi. She wanted to be certain he was gone. Despite her need to see Tom, she still felt guilty. Mostly, she was just afraid of getting caught. She watched him get into a car and pull away knowing that she'd have a few hours. She ran back through the lobby to her room.
She looked at the e-mail one more time. If she was going to watch him train his submissive women, then it was apparently his intention to make her feel like a slut. She pulled out a loose fitting sundress and set it on the bathroom counter. Then she glanced in the mirror doing a turn to get a final look at herself. She picked up her lipstick and took a deep breath. She brought the red lipstick to her chest and wrote 'Train Me' across her breasts. She looked at the backwards words in the mirror as her heart beat fast in her chest. She brought the lipstick to her stomach and wrote 'Sir's Pussy' with an arrow pointing down. As objectifying as it seemed, her pussy had never felt so wet.
She pulled on the loose dress. Then she grabbed her purse and went down to catch a taxi to his house. She was filled with excitement, nerves and fear. This was happening, she told herself. She was actually following through on one of the stupidest and hottest things she had ever done. She climbed into the cab wondering if any of the people she passed could imagine the naughty words written on her body.
******
The drive was uncomfortably quiet as Tom wove back through West Hollywood toward his home. John looked upset when he got into the car at the hotel. Tom just kept his cool and reminded himself that this would be over soon.
"New car?" John finally said equally uncomfortable with the awkwardness.
"New since the last time you were out here." Tom replied.
"Oh. It's... uh... nice."
"It's a good vehicle for pansy, faggoty writers." He snipped.
He wanted his father to realize he hadn't forgotten his recent insults.
John just sneered a little. "Jesus. Are you gonna cry now? You know the last few weeks haven't been easy for me."
"Like they've been any better for me?" Tom shot back. "She landed on my doorstep with no warning and uprooted my entire life. I've been doing you a favor arranging this meeting to get this settled. What've you been doing? Fucking some masseuse and wondering who's going to cook your dinner? How about looking at me and just saying thank you? 'Thank you, Tom.' Is that so hard?"
"Why should I? You're on her side. She was going to have to do this meeting eventually."
He wasn't willing to give his son the pleasure of his gratitude.
Tom looked over at his father with a sad, exhausted expression. His hope that this would be settled amicably was fading away.
"I guess I thought you might want to say it because it's the right thing to do." He replied looking forward with his eyes on the road. "I'm not on anyone's side." He took a breath. "Thank you by the way. Thank you for going to work every day and putting a roof over my head for eighteen years. Thank you for putting me through school. I've always appreciated it. I assumed you knew that. I just want you to try and give her the respect she deserves tonight. She ran a household. Maybe she didn't work much, but that's still a big job. You know that's true."
John just snorted at the last part. In his mind, his son's thank you was just a confirmation that he busted his ass for the family. As far as respect, he thought that he should be the one getting some. He remained silent and looked out the passenger window unwilling to make eye contact until they parked on the street in front of a large, expansive house.
"Whose house is this?" He asked taking in the property. "I thought she was staying with you."
"Does it matter?" Tom replied. "You're here. She's here. Do you really give a shit whose place it is?"
John gave a shit. He didn't ask any more questions though. He thought it would seem weak. It never occurred to him that Marie may have been staying somewhere other than their son's apartment. He hadn't seen any credit card charges or cash withdrawals since she left. He'd been monitoring it closely. It bothered him that she found some way to sustain herself. He looked at the house as they walked up to the front door. He figured that this was intentional. She probably wanted to meet him in a fancy house to make it seem like she was doing perfectly fine on her own. He wasn't going to be snookered by these petty tricks.
Tom stopped him briefly on the doorstep. "Listen. You figure this out. I'll try to give you some privacy even though I told her I'd be there. I have an important call coming in at 8pm. So hopefully this won't take too long."
"Fine." He replied.
******
Marie had waited for nearly an hour at the dining room table. She wished she was wearing her collar. It made her feel so much more secure. She knew she couldn't though. She tried to imagine what her husband would say seeing her in it. She concentrated on the garter and stockings under her dress. It was the fanciest set of lingerie she had ever worn. It felt sexy and she noticed her nipples pushing at the fabric of her new Stella McCartney dress. She thought about her conversation with Sir this morning. Somehow, she thought, this would end badly for her husband.
She heard the front door open, and her nerves acted up in alarm at the reality of seeing him. She took a deep, audible breath and then stood from her chair, smoothed her dress and turned around. Tom led his father down the short hallway to the dining room. His other guests knew to keep out of sight for the moment. John just stared at the surroundings as he followed.
John stopped when he saw his wife standing quietly next to a chair at the long table. He would never admit it, but there was a cycle of emotions that tore through him in a matter of seconds -- sadness, guilt, confusion and then anger. He noticed all the details -- her shoes, her dress, a new hairstyle, manicured nails. He wasn't used to seeing her so put together. Even he had to admit that she looked better than she had in a long time. She was smiling.
It was the anger that swelled inside him. What right did she have getting a makeover in the middle of their marital collapse, he thought. The smile bothered him most of all. Little did he know she wasn't smiling at him, but rather at the confident man standing just behind him.
"Hello, John." She said softly.
"Hi." It was the only thing that he could say at the moment.
Tom led his father into the room and offered him at seat in the armed dining chair at the head of the table. Marie sat back down in her chair at the other end. There was a long distance across the length of the table. It felt strangely similar to the emotional distance between them. Tom's heart broke guessing how this would end.
He cleared his throat. "Excuse me for a moment. Why don't you two take some time to yourselves."
Tom stepped out of the room into the kitchen.
******
