STORY EXCERPT

Fuck this shit.

While Tony had been in Denver for over five weeks now, his body was still firmly adamant about staying on Florida time.

Meaning he was lying in bed, wide awake at five a.m. local time on a Tuesday morning, already able to tell he had absolutely no hope of going back to sleep this morning despite not needing to be up for two hours.

The thought of rubbing one out came to mind, almost immediately followed by the memory of Shayla sounding close to tears when he’d talked to her last night. It was the third time she’d forgotten to put her collar and cuffs on since he’d left, and he didn’t have the heart to remove that as a rule, even though he knew he’d have to give her the punishment she believed she’d earned.

If he didn’t, she’d feel even worse. He’d given up trying to talk her out of feeling like that. And if he removed the rule, she’d feel like she’d failed him, even though she’d done anything but.

No, he wouldn’t rub one out. If his pet was stuck alone, he’d suck it up, too. He’d given her permission to masturbate if she wanted to as long as she told him about it later, but so far, she’d only done it during their phone sex sessions.

Then again, that’s the only time he’d felt like doing it, too.

He finally sat up, groaning at the various aches and pains he felt from several weeks of non-stop physical work. It wasn’t so much that it was hard—although it was for parts of it because the damn server rack systems were freaking heavy—but it was also repetitive, getting down under the raised floor to run wires, on his knees, climbing step-ladders—just…a grind.

And they weren’t even done yet. Still had to finish the new data center install, then get everything up and running. Troubleshooting. Once that was all on-line, he could begin the process of shutting down, moving, and reinstalling the colo’s servers.

More troubleshooting.

And Jim Coughy’s performance was going down daily. He didn’t know how much pot the guy was consuming, but this was fucking ridiculous.

Fuck my life.

He dragged himself to his feet and grabbed his work and personal phones as he headed for the bathroom, opting to sit and scroll instead of trying to aim.

He had a good-morning text from Shayla, but he couldn’t call her yet. She’d be scrambling to get ready for work, and if he called and interrupted her, she’d stop and that’d make her late.

He’d wait thirty minutes, which would put her in the middle of her morning drive to work and able to talk.

Okay, so that was a reason not to go to sleep.

He then scrolled through his work e-mail and quickly dumped a lot of what he didn’t need to worry about, forwarded a few, answered a couple more.

That handled, he opted to take a shower and stand there, letting the hot water beat on his body. Then he made himself a cup of coffee from the room’s crappy-ass coffeemaker and climbed onto the bed to sit up with the TV tuned to an early morning local newscast.

Note to self, stop and buy a fucking coffeemaker.

This bullshit was ridiculous. He could buy himself a cheap-ass one and at least have decent coffee.

Yes, he was spoiled, he’d admit it. One of Shayla’s jobs was making coffee every morning and having his ready for him, bringing into the bathroom with her on weekday mornings where they showered together.

Bringing it to him in bed on weekends.

He went through his personal e-mail on his phone and paused at one that had been sent late the night before by someone he hadn’t even thought about, much less had contact with, in over ten years.

His ex-brother-in-law, Dennis.

Short, direct, and ominous in its brevity.

Tony, I know this is out of the blue, but I need you to please call me as soon as you read this, no matter what time it is. 941-555-8192. It’s urgent.

He still had a few minutes before he could call Shayla. While he hadn’t had any contact with his ex’s family in over ten years, he hadn’t left on bad terms with them. While his ex had driven him crazy, especially toward the end, he didn’t even really harbor much in the way of ill-will for her, especially this far out from the event. She’d wanted kids, he did not. He’d made it clear from the start, and she’d decided to ignore that and try to talk him into it anyway.

Plus, she’d been vanilla and he’d found himself really holding back who he was, increasingly unhappy and knowing there had to be more to life than he was seeing.

Tony punched the phone number into his contacts and then called it.

It rang twice before he heard a man’s nearly desperate-sounding voice answer. “Hello?”

“Dennis, it’s Tony Daniels. I just read your e-mail.”

“Oh, thank you. Look, I’m sorry to contact you like this, but have you heard from Christine?”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah.” He sounded choked up. “I mean, I know it’s a long-shot, but I was hoping.”

A wave of gooseflesh swept over him. “No, I haven’t talked to her since the divorce. What’s wrong?”

It took Dennis a long moment to answer, and no matter who it was, Tony wouldn’t have wished the desperation or near panic he heard in that man’s voice on anyone’s family. “We think she’s…” He sobbed. “We think she’s going to kill herself.”

ADULT EXCERPT

Shayla tried not to pester Tony to talk, didn’t want to stress him out or make him have to think during dinner. She could see the exhaustion lining his face and had, quite honestly, figured he’d likely fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow when they returned home. She volunteered to drive them home, and he even dozed off in the passenger seat, his left hand resting on her thigh.

But he was home. At least for a few days.

Not that she was a praying kind of person, but she prayed he was able to at least rest while he was home because now having him before her, she could tell how desperately exhausted and wrung out he was.

What she wasn’t counting on was when they returned home and she brought his carryons inside for him, while he wrangled his luggage, he set everything down in the foyer, fisted her hair, and kissed her in a way that totally melted every thought right out of her brain. Before she could even strip and don her cuffs and collar.

“Greeting, pet,” he whispered.

She folded, down to her knees, formal bow, and kissed the top of his left sneaker, the right. The back of his left hand, the right.

When she nuzzled the front of his jeans, she felt a very rigid, solid bulge awaiting her there.

He stroked the top of her head. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Up. Naked, cuffs, collar, bedroom. Now.”

She jumped up to do it while he paused in the living room and petted Bagel and Cream, who were loudly meowing at him from where they’d jumped up on the sofa.

He’s home!

He’s home!

* * * *

Tony wasn’t sure how much energy he’d have in him tonight, on top of the headache that still wasn’t going away. He stopped by the kitchen after petting the babies and drank a glass of water.

Probably dehydrated. And stress.

He hoped. Because if it turned into a migraine, it would make the next day or so absolutely fucking miserable.

Then he detoured through the playroom to grab a light, stingy paddle. He just wanted a little assist tonight, and his hands were aching and covered in countless scratches from running wires and assembling racks. He’d save striping her ass for tomorrow night.

Then he headed down the hallway, toward their bedroom.

She was already kneeling on the bedroom floor, at the end of their bed, waiting for him.

“My beautiful pet,” he softly said. “Such a good girl for me. You’ve been so brave and so sweet, and I know how hard this time away’s been for you, because it’s been miserable for me, too.” He tossed the paddle onto the bed and then walked over to her. Part of him wished he’d taken his boots with him to Denver, and he would have worn them home today.

Except he couldn’t work in them, they didn’t have arch supports, and would have been miserable to wear all day. He’d kept his packing down to a minimum, knowing he’d have enough shit to keep track of as it was.

Stopping by the closet door, he toed off his Asics sneakers, leaving them tied, and yanked his socks off to drop them on top of them. Then he walked over to her, standing in front of her.

He tapped his left foot once and she practically levitated, her entire body nearly vibrating as she struggled not to wiggle in glee that he was home as she once again pressed her lips to the top of his left foot.

Tony took a deep breath and smiled. Maybe he had a headache, but dammit, he was going to love up on his wife tonight. She’d damned well earned it.

He tapped his right foot and she repeated it.

“Up,” he quietly said, raising his arms to the side.

She immediately tugged his shirt out of his jeans and started unbuttoning it, smiling up at him, her sweet hazel eyes looking more brown in the dim light. He never broke eye contact with her as she unbuttoned his short-sleeved shirt and pulled it off him.

When she started to fold it, he made a noise. “Just drop it,” he hoarsely said. It’d been the better part of two weeks since he’d rubbed one out during phone sex with her, and now that he was home, his cock had decided, headache or not, the little head was getting some action tonight.

She dropped it and tugged his undershirt free, lifting it over his head and dropping it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, warm, bare flesh pressing together and peace filling his soul.

Saying she was the center of his universe was no exaggeration—she was. He’d lived over ten years alone and lonely and while he had no problem being an independent person, life was undeniably sweeter with her beautiful soul twined around his.

He kissed her, catching her right hand and pressing it against his belt. She took the hint and didn’t break their kiss as she unfastened his belt, his fly, eased the zipper down and he bent with her as she started pushing them down his hips.

He wiggled and kicked them free, stepping out of them as she reached for the waistband of his briefs and practically yanked them down his legs.

Now freed, his cock tightened in the cool air and he had to catch her by the arms when she tried to sink to her knees to go down on him.

“Not yet,” he hoarsely said, backing her toward the bed. “I think I only have one in me tonight, and I want it inside you.” He turned them and sat on the end of the bed.

Shayla needed no prompting to get into position, stretched out over his lap, head to his left.

He reached behind him to grab the paddle with his right hand as he stroked her back with his left.

“This is going to be hard and fast, baby,” he warned. “No counting tonight. But this also counts as your punishment spanking, okay?”

She squirmed on his lap. “Yes, Sir.” From the fuzzy sound of her voice, he could tell she was already sinking into subspace for him.

“Once we finish this, the board’s reset and my good girl starts at zero. Understand?”

More happy squirming. “Yes, Sir!”

Okay, so that was two birds, one stone. Usually punishment was something completely separate, not part of play, and done only when he was clear-headed and calm.

Except he hadn’t wanted to punish her for forgetting her cuffs and collar. She expected it, though. And with her so happy to have him unexpectedly home, she was apparently happy to not have it be a cane.

Win-win.

Clamping his left hand around the back of her neck, he didn’t bother with a warm-up. He started off light the first four strokes and then laid into her, ass and the backs of her thighs. Hard, lightning-fast, alternating impact points with every smack, so that a few minutes later she was squirming in that almost too much kind of way and her moans had turned into whines that meant she was trying to decide if he was close to giving her a break or if she needed to yellow.

Except, usually, he took safewords off the table for punishment, conducted them very ritualistically, with her voluntarily holding still for them and taking them, never restrained.

He tossed the paddle aside, his cock throbbing from her flesh rubbing against his. “Good girl,” he said. “Sir’s pet is all better. Get your ass up on that bed.”

He fought the urge to laugh as she scrambled up and off him, on her back in the center of the bed, hands expectantly held over her head, thighs spread wide.

“My beautiful pet,” he whispered. And he meant it. He knew she wished she wasn’t as rounded in the ass and hips as she was, but he loved her curves. She hovered between a size 14-16 and she was absolutely perfect, in his eyes.

Grabbing her at the knees, he shoved her legs farther apart and shouldered in there, no hesitation. He dove for her pussy and tried not to hump himself against the sheets as he eagerly ate her out. Her sweetly salty taste filled his mouth, making him unleash a growl of pleasure into her cunt and drawing a moan of response from her.

His tongue traced the shape of her shaved pussy—yes, his excellent pet to keep herself the way he loved, even though he wasn’t home and she hadn’t been expecting him home when she showered that morning—every curve and fold, avoiding her clit until she was begging him.

With the tip of his tongue, he teased the pearl under the hood, her moans changing to needy whines. Every flick of his tongue made her shudder in his hands, under his mouth.

This. Her.

How could any straight man not enjoy this with his woman?

Kept from her body for too damn long, he couldn’t drag it out. He wrapped his lips around her clit and light sucked, triggering her first orgasm. As she undulated beneath him, he hooked his arms under and around her thighs to clamp her securely in place.

No, his headache could just wait a little while to dig in and torture him. Her sweet sounds were the balm his soul needed and had longed for. Hearing her come over a phone, or watching her on a computer screen during a Skype call, was not the same as her juices coating his face and running down into his goatee, his lungs filled with the scent of her.

His.

All his.

Of all the hell this experience had been, his heaven lay right here before him, right now.

The only thing that kept him going and fighting the urge to say fuck it all and quit for something less stressful.

Her.

If you did things right, Sirs lived to keep their pets happy every bit as much as pets lived to satisfy their Sirs.

And if anyone thought he was “Mastering wrong,” they could go fuck themselves right the fuck off on a rusty pitchfork.

Repeatedly.