John Kent wants Ellen, not just as an incredible submissive lover, but as his wife. To do that, he has to convince fiercely independent Ellen Forsythe that giving up her single state will be more than worth the sacrifice. Not an easy job. But John isn't a man to waver or give up when he has a goal in sight and Ellen is firmly in his sights.
"Go along," he replied, giving her a slap on her arse. "And while you're there take a shower and put on the garment I've laid out for you."
He called it a 'garment': a red leather belt with interesting loops and studs. Not that she'd ever complain about anything John wanted. Well, almost anything. She did have her limits but he respected them totally and life around him was incredible. No. 'Incredible' was wildly insufficient to describe it. John brought joy and sex into her life. Filled up the empty pits left by Edward's death, and renewed in her the perfect pleasure of total submission.
And if she took too long showering he'd no doubt give her a few extra swipes of the damn cane. She was ready quickly, taking time to rub her body with the sandalwood scented oil he always kept for her, before adjusting and buckling the belt around her waist. It was impossible not to notice the twin rings were exactly on each side.
To keep her in place for the caning?
Her pussy flooded at the thought.
She was still a little wobbly kneed when she walked across the hall and into his kitchen.
His smile had her grinning back.
"Here." He held out a green olive on the end of a small fork. Knowing what he expected she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. "What do you think?" he asked. "I found them at Fortnum's."
The saltiness of the olive spread over her tongue. She bit into stuffing in place of the hard stone. What was the familiar taste? Not the pimentos, almonds or anchovies she'd encountered before. This was tangy, sharp and like... "Cheese? Stilton?" Definitely a strong, blue cheese.
"Almost right," he replied. "It's gorgonzola. Sit down." He indicated a leather topped stool under the table.
"Keep your legs open, remember?"
"Of course I do!" Honestly, was she likely to forget?
"Just wanted to make you you hadn't forgotten, it's been nearly two weeks."
She smiled, not about to get into the ten days/nine days, ten/nine strokes of the cane conversation again. Not that he'd forget. "Mushroom omelette, you said?"
"For you, my love, yes." He turned back to the stove and got busy, leaving her to sip on a glass of sparkling water and watch as he cracked eggs, beat them in a bowl and heated butter over the gas.
She fought back the urge to get up, wrap her arms around him and tell him she loved him utterly and completely. What if he didn't feel the same? Suppose he loved playing sex games with her but didn't love her. Damn! She was not about to ruin things. John Kent was the best thing to happen to her since Edward and she was not about to wreck things.
She took a sip from her glass and watched as John reached for two plates from the warming drawer, deftly folded over the omelette, divided it into two and slid each half onto a plate.
It tasted every bit as good as she'd expected.
Everything John did, he did well. Maybe he just avoided the things he couldn't do well. If she had time she ought to investigate what they were. Or why bother when he was smiling at her over his glass?
"Had enough?" He asked as she finished and drained her water glass.
"To eat? Yes."
"Good. Stay put."
Took him all of five minutes to put their used plates into the dishwasher, then he dried his hands and said, "Follow me."
He went straight into the playroom beyond his bedroom. She'd rather expected that. What she hadn't expected was they new article of furniture. Where did he buy these things? A kinky department of John Lewis? Or Selfridges? It was really quite simple: a stool with a wide, padded seat. But most people's kitchen stools didn't have dangling leather straps with clips and buckles.
"Ready my dear," John asked, turning to face her as he lifted a cane off the table. A slender, very flexible cane, as he demonstrated with a couple of swishes in the air.
At the sound, goosebumps skittered up and down her spine and her pussy clenched. "You can safe word out, you know." he said. "What is your safe word?"
"Want to use it? You may by all means. Safe word out and we'll go to bed and cuddle."
They wouldn't just cuddle. But somehow vanilla sex didn't appeal right now. "I don't want to use it."
"Brilliant!" He beckoned her. "Come here and put yourself over the stool."