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2
Cole
Breakfast was subdued. Annie sat across from me in a simple sundress which I ordered her to pull up to her waist. The tablecloth on the showily long table in the dining room hid her from view, but she could feel the cold hardwood chair under her punished ass and I saw her twitch every time the new cook came into the room. I sat at the head of the table, with Annie to my left. The wall behind her was mirrored and between the seat back and chair seat I could see her red, punished ass.
After the run and her poor performance, after her bratting and assumptions, I'd taken her in the bathroom. I'd found a routine I considered healthy for her, which she hated. Or maybe loathed would be a better word. It put her directly into submissive behavior most of the time, though this morning it had mostly made her seethe.
On days when she needed a reminder of her submissive state and the not-quite-a-contract between us, I made her kneel over my lap in the bathroom while I slowly inserted suppositories, alternating between vitamins that got left in place to dissolve slowly, and those that cleaned her out. Sometimes I gave her enemas, commercially prepared Fleets, or with a special attachment on the shower head, or over my lap again with a red squeeze bulb.
Most of the time she fought like a wild cat, hissing and growling and trying to throw herself off my lap. I'd finally had an O ring and restraints installed in the bathroom. Because she hated that most of all: Being held in place, facing the mirror, ordered to keep her eyes open and watch what I did to her.
I smiled to myself over my whole grain toast. She hated every minute of that routine and it wasn't getting any easier for her, which was good. It humiliated her and hurt her at the same time it was safe.
And then as a "reward," I gave her fish and broccoli for breakfast.
"Stop playing with your food." I didn't look up from my tablet where I was researching the next of the judges in the trafficking ring. Despite what we were doing being good and necessary, despite Annie's job in her "other life" being that of deep cover narc, I hated risking her like this.
What if someone truly hurt her? What if someone killed her? What if something happened and she never came back to me?
Unfortunately, none of that was paranoia. So far we didn't even know where the girls were being taken. Despite the tracker inserted deep inside her, I had no proof I'd always be able to follow her.
"You're not eating either, Sir," she said, her tone just far enough flat out sulky that I didn't order her up to bend over the table.
"I'm thinking and working. You're sulking. Those things are different."
I didn't have to look at her to know she was smiling at that. She pushed the fish around some more.
"I can have cook blend that and give it to you as a smoothie. Maybe with some cod liver oil?"
Her knife and fork screeched across her plate. "I'm not eating it. Get a feeding tube. Get a blender. Let it sit for three days and give it to me. I'm not eating it. What have you found out about Grogan?"
I looked up then. She had pushed the plate aside. Her chin was in her hands and she leaned toward me as if determined to capture my attention.
As if she didn't do that automatically just by being in the room.
"You are dangerously close to punishment."
She met my eyes. That wasn't allowed. During the new dynamic, she was submissive first. This was a learning period, while we both figured out what made her tick. I wanted to keep her off balance. I always wanted the things I did to her, sexually, as punishment, as pleasure – I wanted those things to hurt and surprise. I wanted her to fantasize about them on the nights she spent alone, maybe strapped to her bed, maybe chained to mine. I wanted her to want and to dread them. I didn't want her getting used to anything. I didn't want anything to feel less than major.
I still both wanted her defiance and wanted her to obey.
But this was off the table.
"Annie." My voice had every bit of warning I could imbue it with.
"No." She said it angrily, one hand tightening into a fist beside her plate. "I'm a grown woman, Cole. I'm not playing a game right now."
My hand tightened automatically into a fist of its own. That meant she thought what we'd done in the desert this morning was play.
It was not. I meant to have her as my submissive, I meant now that she'd admitted to me she was a masochist, that she would keep coming back, to not break her but to force her over and over to bend. To accept. To admit.
Not this.
"What did you call me?" My voice was low and dangerous.
Annie bulled onward. "I called you Cole. Because that's your name. Cole St. Martin. Billionaire CEO of St. Martin Pharma. Cole – "
She emphasized my name.
"I'm not playing right now."
"It's. Not. Play."
She heard the change in my voice one beat too late. She'd been ready to ask about what I'd found out about Judge Grogan. She'd been ready to start making plans, back long enough from her last undercover run at breaking the trafficking ring to try it again.
I'd been ready to share what I had on him. My tablet was filled with reports my IT and research people had turned up. Accusations of misconduct buried so deep it took a lot of digging to drag them into the light. Rumors and innuendos. Newspaper articles that tentatively connected the good judge to something just a little shady.
But I had no intention of sharing any of that right now. Not with her. She'd been pushing me for the last couple of days and it was time to take her through her paces.
