Tuesday Ch. 02

Padraic raises an eyebrow and sets the bottle back down.

'Are you certain that's what you want Ari?' His tone is serious.

'Yes sir. I've done things with you I did not think were possible, but I feel like I've never really... never... just....'

'You want to be punished.' He says with an intense sense of finality.

'Yes! God. That!' You exclaim and bang your hand on the table.

He eyes you for a moment and then nods.

'I understand Ari. I do.'

His hands slip around the neck of the bottle and he picks it up and unscrews the thin metal cap. Cold schnapps splashes into your little shot glass. You wrap your own delicate fingers around the lump of chilled glass and move to drink it but he stops you.

'Not yet girl. Not yet. I want you to know this.'

Slowly, you release the glass and give him your full attention. He meets your gaze and looks you in the eye.

'Do the things that I ask you. Try and fix what you have with your husband and I'll reward you for it.'

'How will I be rewarded?'

'When was the last time you had an Orgasm?'

'Twelve days, seventeen hours and about twenty minutes, give or take.'

That makes him chuckle. You titter a little bit yourself. You are extremely aware of how intense your need for release has been, but you didn't realize you were timing it down to the minute.

'Well, if you can do the things I ask you to do with your husband. I will make sure that you beg me to stop making you orgasm next week. And when he goes away I will make sure that you feel... punished.'

You stare at him. He just offered you two things you intensely want and all you have to do is trust him. Like a flame being snuffed out, all your doubts vanish. It's worth it to try.

'Do you promise sir? To do those things for me?'

'I do. I will. You just do the things I tell you and I will make it happen.'

You nod. He taps the glass in front of you and motions for you to drink. Expensive and powerful schnapps washes around your mouth and burns down your throat.

And the evening is done.

Padraic rubs your shoulders gently and guides you out the door almost like he was ushering a last call out the door. But this time he walks you out to your car, which he has never done before.

You look up at him and cock an eyebrow. Is he going to kiss you goodnight? Did this relationship just get more complex again.

He's not going to kiss you. He places a hand on the little leather collar and straightens it. The little nametag jingles as he slides the collar in place and you can feel the tiny scrap of metal chilling your skin.

He looks at you for a moment. His eyes are soft and blue.

'That collar really does suit you.' He says quietly.

You touch it self consciously, and look up at him. He looks so pale and so tired suddenly.

'I like it. Thank you for giving it to me.' You tell him.

He nods, his lips pursed. It isn't like him to not say something, but you don't press. That isn't your role. He calls the shots. He makes the orders.

He stands quietly you with on a dark quiet street and tries to work something out.

'I'll text you girl.' He says finally. 'And we'll talk.'

And then he turned and walked away into the night.

Something happened there on that street, but you don't know what. You could tell he was suddenly hurting, but you couldn't tell why. Something about the collar made him sad.

Somebody had it before you. Somebody wore it until the leather was soft and pliable and the sheen had worn off the nameplate.

You lay in bed next to your husband as he quietly snores away the evening and blissfully dreams the things that department managers dream. You think about the collar and Padraic and more orgasms than you can bear and wonder how in the world this tall, pale, devious sadist is going to fix the mess that your sex life has become.

You don't know how. You can't even guess.

But you trust him.

That will have to do.

The next morning you stumble out of bed and start your day. You feel bleary, because you spent the previous evening gasping for air, not having orgasms and pleading with Padraic to stop until two in the morning. These things do not make for a restful evening.

You make coffee and putter through the household chores. There are things to be done and you sleepwalk through them. You keep yourself busy and it's only when you are making yourself a coffee that you notice the text on your phone from Padraic.

'Check your email.' is all the text states.

You quickly log into your phone and realize that he sent you instructions for the day. You're to write out a little note to your husband and tell him that you love him and stash it in his lunch or in his briefcase. Then you're to take a little photo of yourself later on in the day and tell him you are thinking of him.

That's it? How is this going to fix your problem?

Still, you do as you are told. You find a scrap of notepaper, jot down a little note to him where you tell him that you love him to pieces and put a couple of little hearts on it and sign it. You slip it into the lunch that you're helping him pack as he cleans baby food off the high chair for you.

Later on that day you slip into something nice, put on some lipstick and take a shot of yourself blowing a kiss. It takes eight or nine tries to get a photo that doesn't make you cringe. But the ninth photo looks acceptable to you and you send it on to your husband with a little note telling him that you are thinking of him.

And that's that.

Except that about eight minutes later, your phone pings and you get a text back from your husband.

'Thinking of you too beautiful. See you tonight!'

You stare at the text for a moment. It's a little thing. It's nothing. You actually sort of manipulated him into sending that back.

Except you didn't. Padraic ordered you to drop the note in his lunch and send the photo. He didn't say anything about this.

He didn't say anything about the warm flush in your tummy either. It's been a while since you had that sensation over your husband.

You mull it for a while as you bake some cookies. Sugar, eggs, white chocolate and macadamia nuts all combine to form crunchy little discs of bliss that your husband loves.

Padraic didn't ask for that, but you figured a little embellishment won't hurt.

Your husband returns home at five, like he always does. He wanders into the kitchen where you are making dinner and gives you a little hug and a kiss. He mentions the note and the message and says they made him smile.

The cookies make him smile even more. He gives you a hug and talk about both your days. Dinner is consumed, dishes are washed and put away and some mindless television is watched before you both call it an evening.

You get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and Padraic has left a message for you again. Your email has instructions for tomorrow. It's the same, but more intense. The same note in his lunch, but you need to leave a lipstick kiss on it. And another picture today, but you have to be in lingerie in the shot.

Ok, he may be on to something here. You still don't understand how this will make your husband feel dominant again though.

You text him back that you did both things that he asked and will make sure that both things are done for tomorrow, exactly as he requested.

The next day is the same as the previous one. You slip the note into his briefcase this time. Some scandalous underwear is retrieved from your little stash of sexual goodies. You slip into a lacy black bra and little red and black thong and put stockings and garters on.

It's hard to take the photo with your cell phone. You feel trampy and ridiculous.

But you know better than to try and defy Padraic, and it's for your husband, so you pose in front of your tiny little camera and take a naughty picture for the man you married. You take a couple actually, because for some reason it feels important to look as sexy as possible for this shot.

You send it to your husband finally, after several ridiculously tense moments as you double and triple check the number you sent it to. You had a terrible thought that you sent it to your mother in law and Christmas would have been forever awkward at that point.

But you didn't, and it went to you husband along with the note you sent him.

'Love you sweetie.' Is all you text when you send him the photo.

You start undressing and returning the naughty lingerie to it's storage place. You haven't even finished folding it when your phone chimes.

It's a picture from your husband. He has a smile plastered across his face and his eyes are wide.

'Wow!' Is all he texts back to you.

You don't know why, but you spend the rest of the day with a stupid grin on your face.

He sneaks into the kitchen that evening and stands there watching you make dinner. You don't notice him right away, but he startles you when you see him.

'Sorry Ari.' He says with a grin.

'Geez hubby! Are you trying to scare me to death?'

'Not a chance wife. You might stop sending me pictures then.'

He grins at you and you just blush and give him a sly smile. He smiles back and wanders across the kitchen so that he can hook an arm around your hip and pull you him. His lips press down on your own with a touch more vigour than you're used to.

'So what's gotten into you?'

Nothing much. Just a cruel Dominant man I've been seeing behind your back has ordered me to try and do sexy things for you. You?

The thought echoes through your head. You shut it down and just tell him that you want him to feel special.

'You do you know. I feel special every day I'm married to you.' He says happily in response. Then he gives your shoulders a squeeze and he wanders into the other room.

You feel guilty, but you don't know why. Is it because you've been seeing Padraic behind his back, or is it because Padraic seems to have a better handle on getting what you need from your husband than you do?

That seems harsh and stupid. Of course he doesn't know him better. He's just forcing you to do things that you normally would never think of in an attempt to bring something out of your husband that you haven't seen in a while.

Is that wrong?

You wish you knew the answer to that question.

That night you report to Padraic that things went really well, and he then reveals his master plan. This is all building up to a special show that you'll be doing for your husband on Saturday night after he gets in from work. He has a whole list of things that you need to have done, but you see the words special show and start to panic a little.

You're a ballerina, not a stripper. You're not sure you can pull this off and you tell him so.

You wait a little while and he emails you back. The message is simple and concise.

'You can do this girl. You can do it for him. Just follow the steps that I've laid out and do the things that I ask and I will be very surprised if he doesn't respond in a very specific way.'

You express your reservations about the plan. He simply responds with one question.

'Do you trust me?'

Yes, Dammit. (The Dammit is silent. Extremely so.)

'Then follow the plan girl.'

You sigh and look at the plan for tomorrow. Your nose crinkles up in disgust at what is required.

You never thought your sex life would require pencil crayons.

It takes you about forty five minutes to do what Padraic asks of you. You're annoyed at first, but you get surprisingly drawn into the task and embellish it with as much color and neat printing as you can manage.

When it's finished, you admire your work for a moment, then go and slip into your hubby's lunch.

After that, you head to bed to get some sleep. You've got one more day before you manage to follow through on your task, and you think you're going to want your rest.

The next day arrives and you give your husband a peck on the cheek as he heads out the door with his lunch in hand. You take care of the household responsibilities and check your work email to ensure that everything is going smoothly there. There are a couple of things that you need to deal with, but nothing too pressing.

So with that, you get ready for tonight.

You open up your closet and start sorting through your drawers of lingerie. You find a lacy corset and some nice ruffled panties and even fish out a garter belt and stockings to wear.

You lay them out on the bed and fret over how they look. Sometimes you hate your body. Between the stretch marks and the scars you don't feel terribly sexy, you just feel awkward and self conscious when you look at yourself naked. It's never been a problem with your Husband or Padraic, but it still bothers you.

Still, you can wear things that make you feel less self conscious at least, and the lacy corset will help with that. So will a dark room lit with candles.

Rum will help you get over your nerves as well. At least you hope it will.

You send a quick picture of the lingerie to Padraic and let him know that everything is as he wanted it to be.

His message gets back to you a little while later and he compliments you on the outfit chosen. He reminds you to pick out some sexy shoes however, which makes you smile.

Ah shoes. You love them. They automatically make you feel attractive and erotic and.... taller. And anything that makes you feel taller is all right in your book.

As you fish through your closet for a pair of heels that will make you feel sexy and confident and tall you bump into a box that jingles quietly when you move it. Your curiosity is piqued, so you prey it open and smile. It's your little stash of kinky little toys that you and your husband used to use when you were younger.

You paw through them and pluck out a pair of handcuffs and admire them for a minute. They're covered in chrome and a pair of keys dangles from the lock on the restraints. You remember how they felt on your wrists as your husband would pin you to the bed and use your body the way he pleased. You remember how intense and wonderful it felt and you feel frustrated.

How did that get so messed up? You can't remember any one incident that ended it, it was a bunch of little things strung together. Bit by bit they chipped away at something that you had with your husband that was wonderful and satisfying and fed all your dark needs.

You really hope that Padraic knows what he's doing.

On a whim, you take the cuffs out of the box and lay them on the bed. You don't think it will happen, but you'd like to think that it could.

Now that you've got the bedroom set up, all you can do is wait. You want to have your husband's favourite meal ready for him when he gets home, but his favourite food is steak with a baked potato, and that doesn't require a lot of preparation.

So you go and find some work to do. You took your leave a while ago and had been e-commuting to work for a while now. It had grown on you and you intended to ask for it as a perk when you went back to work full time.

A couple of new clients had been assigned to you and you called both and completed intake interviews with both. The first hadn't been to difficult but the second had been surly and aggressive and you knew that she was going to be a problem.

Then again, most of them were. You worked with the homeless and worked within the system to help find them resources to get clean and off the streets. Some of the homeless were very happy to have your help and some were suspicious of your motives.

And of course a few were crazy. Those were the ones that were hardest to help. They wouldn't trust anyone, tended to be violent and unstable and caused problems wherever they went. You'd had a few rare successes, but for you to be able to help anyone, they had to let you help them.

You wondered sometimes what Padraic thought of you. He only knew you for four hours every week, and generally when you were submitting to your most depraved and dark fantasies. Did he think you were crazy? Is he just using you to satisfy his own needs? Why does he care about your husband and his needs and your relationship at all?

You stop cold for a second. Why does he care? He's never even met your husband, yet he treats your marriage like its sacred and he protects it while slaking every dark thirst you conjure up at the same time.

It makes no sense to you. He's as mysterious as he has ever been.

As you sit there and ponder the riddle that is your sadistic weekly partner, your eyes drift across the clock on the wall and you realize that your husband will be home in a little more than ninety minutes. You have things to do, meat to sear, potatoes to roast, liquor to pour and a fantasy to flesh out.

You get to it, it doesn't take long.

When your husband gets home, you're waiting for him in a black, slinky satin housecoat. He opens the door forcefully and looks around for you. When he sees you, he simply plucks the item that you crafted for him the evening before out of his shirtpocket and holds it up.

'What is this?!' He asks.

'What do you think it is?'

'It's a ticket, to a special show, that I found in my lunch.'

'I think you're right.' You respond with a smile.

'And what might this show be?' He asks you with wide eyes.

'I think you're just going to have to find out sweetie.' You say with a sly smile.

He looks at the ticket, and then looks back at you with puppy dog eyes.

'Not even a little hint?'

You just giggle and throw his steak into the now searing hot pan. Meats sizzles and snaps and smoke billows into the kitchen. You pour him a smokey whiskey in the smoke filled kitchen and hand him the tumbler glass filled with strong alcohol and chunks of ice.

'Show starts at nine. Don't be late.'

He takes the glass from you and grins.

'Yes ma'am!'

You blanch a little when he says that and then force a smile back on your face. Yes ma'am? Really?

You really hope Padraic knows what he's doing.

You feed your husband. And you ply him with strong liquor. You rub his shoulders and neck and you run your nails through his hair and scratch his scalp. Then after you relax him as much as you can you lead him into the living room and set him in an easy chair so that he can relax and watch TV while you prepare for your evening with him.

'Don't be late.' You whisper into his ear as you slip out of the room.

He grins at you. You sense he might be early.

You retire to your tiny little boudoir and start making yourself into something dark and mysterious. Red lipstick and dark eyeliner accent your face and you spray yourself with a floral perfume that you know he likes. The robe is tucked away into the corner and you give the room one last once over before the hour strikes.

It's only now as you scan the room that you realize that you didn't give him a place to sit.

Shit!

Desperate, you scan the room. There's a little loveseat in the corner that you have some stuff draped over. It will have to do.

You hastily kick off your high heels and drag the chair into a position with a good view of the bed. You want your husband to have a good view of the show.

Your very private, very intimate, show.

Oh Jesus, you don't believe that you are going to do this.

You stop and feel panicked for a moment. Your chest gets tight and you feel frantic. What if he isn't interested in this? What if this just makes it worse? What if you can't go through with... this?

You dart over to your dresser and grab your phone. You jab at the buttons until it starts to ring the number and after a few jangling rings it connects to the person you're calling.

'Hello?' Says Padraic calmly.

'Sir? It's me. I don't know if I can do this. I'm just... I'm really... what if this makes it worse?'

'Girl...' He begins. You cut him off as your stress escalates.