Domesticated (3 page)

“Huh?”
I asked, still not getting it. She slapped me right across the face.

“Huh… Is not part of our vocabulary. I have spent the last four years of my life, trying to teach you some manners and this is what I get? Huh?”

“I’m sorry,”
I apologized. I knew not to say that word. I always did something to displease her. Why couldn’t I just be like Katie and Paris? She loved them more than me. She wasn’t mean to them like she was me, not at all.

After a good spanking, for I’m not really sure what, Adriana made me clean her bathroom floor with my own toothbrush. Crawling around on my hands and knees, I scrubbed every inch. Four-year-old Katie sat on the toilet, mocking me while supervising. It didn’t take her long at all to figure out that she, too, had control over me. Either I listened to her orders or she would tattle to Adriana.

“You missed a spot, Sewer Rat,”
she laughed, kicking her feet and sucking on a grape sucker.

“Where?”
I asked.

“There,”
she giggled, spitting purple saliva on the white tile. I, of course, cleaned it up.

“Do you have siblings?” I asked the unimportant question. Olivia needed to occupy that part of my life. I tried not to think about it.

“I have an older brother. He works with my dad.”

That’s what I mean by Olivia knowing me better than anyone else. She didn’t say a word when I turned my attention to the radio, turning up the Katy Perry song and not responding to her answer at all. Eccentric? Yeah, probably.

I wasn’t surprised by the neighborhood Olivia resided in. However, I was a bit taken back. I expect it wasn’t the poorest place to live, conversely I still couldn’t imagine living in a home like hers.

“Is this a middle-class community?” I bluntly asked, looking at the brick ranch with the close houses and perfectly manicured lawns. I called it the Kendra way. If there was something I needed to say, I said it. I hated beating around the bush about stuff. The anxiety was unnecessary.

“I guess so. I mean, we have what we need.”

“But you don’t have what you want,” I stated. That wasn’t a question. I said it as I meant it, as an unbiased statement.

“I have what I want. You mean Gucci sunglasses? My five-dollar department-store glasses work just as well as yours. I’m sorry,” Olivia immediately recanted her outburst.

“They’re Oakley glasses, not Gucci,” I informed her. “I’ll call you when I’m back in town.” She was the twenty-something-year-old still living at home, and she was under the assumption that she could judge me? I don’t think so. Maybe I wouldn’t call her back.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I hope you have a great time on your vacation,” Olivia ass-kissingly replied.

“I’ll call you,” I repeated, dismissing her from my car.

I looked up to see an older-than-her young man walk to the car to help with her things. I rudely waited in the car, watching him hug her and exchange greetings. He was wearing dark tan faded jeans. My eyes went straight to his crotch. He was well encased, sporting a package. I snobbishly nodded when he waved, taking his sister’s things from my trunk.

Not giving either of them a second look, I backed out of their driveway. Okay, maybe I checked out the brother’s ass a little.

“Hello,” I answered Garrison’s call through my car speakers.

“Hi, I’ll be done around six. Do you want to meet me for supper? I was thinking we could go to Hanson’s before you head out tomorrow.”

“Sure, you can’t pick me up?”

“No, sorry. I don’t have that much time, but I’ll be out of here by six. I made a reservation for six thirty. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you there.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

Well, that would tie up the rest of my evening. That made me happy. I was just wondering what I would do until Garrison made it home.

I took extra care on my long blond hair, curling it just at the ends. My red Allie Page cocktail dress was a little shorter than I normally wore. Garrison preferred conservative over sexy. I wasn’t sure when he was going to make it to California. If I couldn’t seduce him with my words, maybe I could do it with my looks.

Or… Maybe I couldn’t. I had already had two glasses of wine before he finally got there a half hour late.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he apologized, kissing my cheek. “I got tied up in a briefing. This case is going to be the death of me.” I knew that was a lie. Garrison thrived on big cases like this. I had heard enough in the background with him on the phone, talking about it for weeks now. It had something to do with one of the biggest oil companies in the US and middle east. He wasn’t at liberty to tell me who, but I had the same education as him. I knew who it was, I just didn’t care.

“It’s fine. You look tired,” I sympathetically said, sliding my hand over to his. He smiled and moved his hand, pretending to need it for the wine menu. He didn’t need it for that. He was going to order the same Challis-North white wine he always ordered. I was right, but I did notice the eye contact with my cleavage. That was something. I hoped.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked after ordering for both of us. I agreed, wanting to rub my body against his in some sort of seduction attempt.

Garrison wasn’t what you would call gorgeous by any means. He was nice-looking, in a geeky kind of way. He kept himself well groomed and always smelled amazing. And like I said, he was a hell of a nice guy. We had never in the almost nine years together had so much as one argument. Garrison didn’t have that ticker. There wasn’t an angry bone in his body, not even in a courtroom. He won his cases by killing them with kindness and evidence.

I knew he wanted to say something about my short dress. He didn’t like it the way I wanted him to like it. He thought I looked slutty. Which is sort of what I was going for. Other guys in the restaurant watched me. Maybe that’s what he didn’t like about it. I don’t know, he never mentioned it and we danced like a first date couple. I felt his girth on my hip one time. He pulled away from me.

We talked about the beach house during our meal, and then the monotonous conversation of conceiving again.

“I talked to Angelica today. She said you were seeing that specialist in Malibu,” Garrison implied.

“Yeah, I see her next week,” I lied. I wasn’t seeing a fertility specialist. I knew what the problem was and I had no desire to have it fixed.

“You know we could look into adopting, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I retorted, pushing the food from one side of my plate to the other.

“I can get some information if you want. I could probably get us pretty high on an adoption list. Or maybe a surrogate. We could do that.”

My fork clanked loudly on the fine china. “Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re the one shooting blanks.” Dammit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Maybe if my husband fucked me more than once or twice a month we’d already be parents… No. We wouldn’t be parents. I would never bring a child into this cycle of madness. He didn’t know that fact about me. How the hell did he expect us to have a baby when he never had sex with me?

Of course, Garrison was more concerned with spectators overhearing my outspokenness more so than my plea for intercourse. “I’m sorry,” I instantly apologized.   

“It’s okay. I’m sure this is frustrating for you. I can imagine how it makes you feel when you’re out with your friends and they speak of their children. It’ll happen for us.” He smiled encouragingly and patted my hand. I smiled back. What else was there to do? I didn’t want it to happen for us. I wanted him to argue with me, get mad, fuck me, anything, just show me some sort of emotion. Garrison was more like my father than I ever admitted. My father never showed emotion, either. Not when my mother left him, and not when I tried to tell him about Adriana. He didn’t have emotions.

Garrison showed me his lackadaisical affection later that night in bed. Just like the lack of emotion, Garrison also had a passion deficiency. Habitually, he crawled under the covers and removed his underwear. I think I have seen Garrison completely naked one time. I walked in on him when he was exiting the shower when we were dating. I tried to go about my business, brush my teeth and let him know that it was okay if we were naked together. He asked if he could have some privacy while staring at me in utter disbelief. I never tried that again.

I closed my eyes and pretended things were different. Garrison commented on how wet my pussy was while his dick slid in and out of me. I pretended that his average size of six inches was actually more like eight. I loved the way his cock felt sliding in and out of me. I wanted to moan and thrust my hips into his while I imagined everything that he wasn’t saying to me. Garrison wouldn’t understand that, either. He would stop and make me feel dirty. That was a lesson learned long ago, too. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to tell him faster and harder. I did do all those things…in my mind.

Pretending that my nipples were between Garrison’s lips, I tried like hell to come before he did. I would have, had I had a little clitoris stimulation. My fingers would have done the job, but I was afraid to do that, too. It wasn’t his duty to get me off. That was my duty. His only duty was to impregnate me with his sperm. I lay there, stiff as a board while Garrison perfunctorily ejaculated into my toned pussy.

Almost immediately, he rolled off me and I headed to the bathroom with my phone and André McPherson. Rubbing the white substance around my pussy, I watched André ass-fuck a little Asian woman. Spread eagle, I rubbed my pussy while watching my fingers do what my husband couldn’t through the mirror behind the tub. Having his cum saturating my already eager sex intensified the mind-blowing orgasm brought on by myself.

Using the end of my pink handled hairbrush, I shoved it deep into my core while three fingers frantically assaulted my zealous little nub. Aahh. Yes. That’s it. Ohhh, that felt amazing.

I never saw Garrison again, nor did I speak to him. He was asleep, or pretending, when I emerged from my private party of one. When I woke the following morning, he was up and gone. I did try to phone him before going to the plane, but naturally, he didn’t answer.

I was settled into the tan leather seat by ten AM, dreading the six-hour flight. I wondered what movies Raphael had for me. He was normally pretty good about picking chick flicks I would like. He was quite a bit older than me, but it didn’t stop my eyes from drifting to the bulge in his white pants.

“
This is 40
and
Friends with Kids
,” Raphael announced with a smile. “Mildred picked them for you.”

“Thank her for me.” I smiled back, trying to tell my eyes to focus on his face, not his dick. He had a big dick. I could tell. I bet Mildred was a happy woman.

“There is wine and snacks in the refrigerator. You sure you don’t want a flight attendant? Mr. Ashby paid for it. She could take care of your movie and wine for you.”

“No, I’m fine. I like flying solo,” I teased.

“Me, too,” he agreed and left me to my own company.

I stared out the window for the first hour or so, not really thinking about anything, just watching the puffy white clouds below. I poured myself a glass of wine and watched a movie, only it wasn’t one of the romantic comedies. I was running a little late and didn’t have time to think about my need to climax. I tried to talk myself out of it a few times before giving in to the temptation.

I chose the
Friends with Kids
movie as a decoy and then logged onto my tablet. Going to my own personal movies, I chose a girl on girl porn. I watched the dominating female spank the submissive one over an ottoman with her bare hand. I could almost feel the sting with every loud slap to her toned little ass.

The girl was being punished for flirting with another girl at an earlier dinner party. I streamed past that part. I wanted to be punished for being naughty, too. That would never happen. Garrison would have me committed for suggesting it again. I wouldn’t anyway. It would just cause unwanted turmoil. I would be submissive, too, just like Adriana taught me to be, walk on eggshells and keep my Paraphilias Disorder to myself. I wasn’t hurting anyone and I never expected anyone to act out my fantasies with me, therefore, I would keep my mouth shut and do what I did.

I say Paraphilias Disorder lightly. Of course, I have never been clinically diagnosed with such a thing. I read about it in one of those religious Guide Post pamphlets at the baby doctor’s office once. All the symptoms fit perfectly with me. Of course, I would never logically mention it to anyone.

I squirmed a little, trying to engage contact from the seat to my aching nub. I knew I was wet, I could feel it on my panties. This was exactly why I chose the maxi dress today. Propping my feet to the seat beside me, I slid the hem above my knees. I touched myself through the cloth and looked down. The pink satin showed a darker shade of pink, almost red, in a straight line. I was so wet.

I tugged on the crotch, feeling the thong make contact with my back passage while I fantasized about being the bad girl bent over the stool. An erotic shot of wildfire was sent through my entire body when I moved the elastic and ran my finger up my sweet, wet pussy, just like the authoritarian on my tablet. I wondered briefly how she would feel. Was her pussy as wet as mine? I closed my eyes as I felt the leader run her tongue over my asshole when she licked her submissive, holding her cheeks widely apart. My fingers assiduously spread my liquids over the area where her tongue was now violating my hole.

The compliant one was rolled to her back with her head hanging from the side in an uncomfortable position while the girl in control spread her wide. I did the same with my own legs, feeling everything she did. I wondered again how the girl’s pussy would feel with my own fingers, and then I wondered whose wetness I was hearing, hers or mine. Then I stopped wondering about anything but the acute pleasure, transmuting almost immediately. Oh, sweet mother of pearl. Wave after wave engulfed my entire body, sending volts of lighting through my pussy. I cried out involuntarily, lost in my post-orgasmic state.

And just like a light switch, it was turned off. I slid my wet panties back over the curly light hair and patted it twice, thanking it for an amazing O. Pulling my legs beneath me, I straightened my skirt, smelled my delicious fingers, and rewound the movie.

I managed to drink almost a full bottle of wine by the time I finished both movies, ate a few crackers with cheese and played with myself again before landing. I didn’t get off the second time. I was just touching it more or less. I liked touching myself.

Raphael landed us just after four in the evening. I was a little tipsy and extremely hungry. The snack food didn’t go far. I took Raphael’s offered hand for support and walked down the steps. The weather was perfect. My phone said it wasn’t quite eighty degrees, and the sun was warm.

An older gentleman met us below to take me to my summer home. The beach. I couldn’t wait to be sitting out on the deck with the Pacific Ocean acting as my front yard. I felt giddy with excitement.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Carl. I’ll be escorting you to your home. Everything is ready for your arrival. Is there anything you need until your car arrives?”

“Food. I’m starving. Do you mind if we stop somewhere? I would love to have some fresh seafood.”

“I know the best place.” The kind gentleman nodded. I thanked Raphael and followed my chaperon.

I rolled my eyes when the old man wanted to carry on a conversation the entire ride. Like I gave a shit about his award-winning gymnastics granddaughter. I responded with ummhmm’s and yeah’s, trying to throw a hint that he wasn’t catching. An hour in the car with this and I would be drunk by nine. I hoped they stocked the house with wine. That’s what I was looking forward to the most, watching the waves, the yachts, and most of all, the sunset with a nice glass of wine.

“Patio Palace, best seafood joint from here to Malibu,” the man, whose name I’d forgotten, announced, pulling to the curb. “You won’t find any better white bass than right here.”

“Thank you. I’ll be having the calamari,” I rudely responded. I didn’t need advice on how to eat in California. I had been going there for five years, a couple times a year, just not this place. I kind of got the feeling Mr. Whatever thought he was going to dine with me. I quickly walked away from him, letting him know I would be out in forty-five minutes. I didn’t look back to see the expression. I didn’t need to. Who did this guy think he was anyway? Did he really think he was going to sit at the same table as me? As if.

I ordered the calamari, which was not what I’d call plentiful, but it was fresh and crisp the way calamari should be. I wasn’t a fan of the cocktail sauce, but that didn’t deter me from eating the whole order. The clam chowder was nasty, like something from a can. I wasn’t impressed with the old man’s recommendation at all, but at least I was full.

Flipping my hair, I slid into the backseat of the car and dialed Garrison right away to keep from talking to the man again. Thank god he answered.

“Hello, you made it okay?”

“Yes, I’m here. Are you coming?”

“Maybe in a few days. I don’t know how much time I’m going to be able to spend there. It’s so far away from Chicago. I really need to be there as much as possible. How was your flight?”

“Amazing,” I truthfully replied. It was amazing. It even gave me a little jolt down below, remembering how amazing it was.

“That’s good. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, talk to you later.”

Garrison never said he loved me. I never said it, either. I guess that was another emotion we were both uncomfortable with. I don’t remember anyone ever telling me they loved me. I remember Adriana telling Paris and Katie she loved them, but she never said it to me. I never heard my father say it to her or my half-sisters, either. I couldn’t remember my own mother telling me she loved me. She didn’t even want me most of the time. Sort of like Garrison now. He was too busy for me.

The few times that I did receive my father’s attention, Adriana was right quick to stop it. Even when she first came in to the picture, I knew she was jealous over my time with my father. I never understood why I was different. Adriana wanted him to give Katie and Paris attention, just not me. I used to think it was because of my hair color. Adriana and both her biological daughters had the same dark shiny hair. Mine was blond, but a lot shorter than theirs.

Staring out to the ocean coming into full view, I recalled that awful time in my life. It wasn’t long after the toothbrush incident. Katie was turning into a carbon copy of her mother. She loved telling me what to do. That became another one of Adriana’s rules. I had to listen to my younger-than-me sisters or pay the price. I normally just sucked it up and played the role of the punching bag. I had to. It wasn’t like my mother was going to come and save me. I dreamed about that every night.

The image was always the same. They would all be mean to me and treat me like a sewer rat. I would be standing in the corner, looking sad, and my beautiful mother would come storming in with her long blond hair. She would punch Cruella de Vil right in the face and push both Katie and Paris, sending them to their butts and crying. She never came. She never saved me. Anyway, I was brushing Katie’s hair after her shower, not by choice.

“Mom, I want my hair the color of Kendra’s,”
Katie decided. She had beautiful hair. I loved her long, straight black hair. I always wanted her hair.

“Why on earth would you want that mop?”
Adriana questioned. My head jerked a little when she pulled my uncombed, wet hair. It didn’t matter if mine got brushed. I wasn’t the pretty one, they were.

“It’s pretty,”
Katie replied. I wiped the smile off my face when I looked up to see Adriana’s scowl. Uh-Oh.

“It’s not pretty. It looks like horse hair, just like her wretched mother’s.”
That was true. Just like the two girls she birthed, I, too, was a carbon copy of my mother. Nordic, classically blond with long legs, light blue eyes, and strikingly beautiful. Sadly, that was the extent of our resemblance. It ended with appearance. She didn’t care about me and I didn’t care about her, or at least I tried like hell to make myself believe that I didn’t. I guess I longed for her to care as much as I did. That never happened. But hey, she got what she wanted. She is now a New York Supreme Court judge. Why would she need me?

I continued to brush Katie’s hair when Cunt Face Adriana stormed out of the room. She was back in less than a minute. I scurried from the bed, trying my best to get away from her. I knew what was up. I didn’t want my hair cut. I liked it. It was like my mom’s.

“Hold these, Katie,”
she ordered, handing over the scissors.

“Please don’t,”
I begged. I normally didn’t cry. I didn’t want her to think she had that control over me. She couldn’t make me cry. I cried that day. Adriana held me down while she let my sisters take turns cutting my long hair. It was horrible. They chopped it in places clear to my scalp. All I could think about was having to go to the all-girls school the following day. I knew I would be subjected to being the laughing stock, a spectacle singled out and duped.

“Clean this up,”
Adriana ordered, rallying her troops and leaving me to cry. Life couldn’t be this cruel. I cleaned up my hair, spilling tears with the long locks. I wanted out of there so badly. I didn’t want to stay there anymore. Why couldn’t my mom just take me? I would stay all by myself and not get into trouble if she would just get me out of there. I finished the job myself, straightening my once beautiful hair as best as I could. I looked like a boy with a bad haircut.

My father scolded me at breakfast, telling me how ridiculous I looked. He couldn’t believe that I did that to my hair. It wouldn’t have done an ounce of good to tell him the real story. He would believe her.

“I think you should do the punishing, Daron,”
Adriana declared. My eyes snapped to her and that was the first time in my life I wanted to snap. The blood in my veins boiled to a dangerous temperature. The smirk she wore on her face was as evil as I had ever seen.

“What do you want me to do? I’m busy. You can’t take care of the discipline around here?”
my father questioned and the smirk got even bigger. It was telling me she owned me, nobody was going to save me, and I would always be at her mercy.