Mastering Inga (Service & Submission Book 2) (18 page)

He leaned over, whispering to her. “It’ll be a good reminder to behave, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Both of them played on their phones while waiting. Nearly an hour later, their number was finally called. They both approached the stern-looking older woman. Her hair had been pulled back in a severe bun, glasses resting low on the end of her nose. She didn’t look like she smiled very often.

Inga opened her mouth to speak, but Garrett took over, apprising the woman of their situation and presenting the letter that Inga had received.

What happened next utterly shocked her. She would remember it
always
in a foggy, confused manner for years to come.

“Sir?” the stern woman named Wanda asked. “Would you like to ask for an extension for her working visa?”

“No. What we’d like to do is apply for a ninety day fiancée visa. How long does it take for that application to be processed?”

“It would take the customary two to three weeks, sir. However, until it’s approved the deadline for her working visa would be suspended. Let me go find the form and I’ll be right back, sir.” Wanda limped away to get the form.

“Wait! What did you say? You didn’t even talk to me about this. You can’t just decide that you’re getting me a ninety day fiancée visa without asking me? What if I say no?”

Inga was mortified. How did he just decide to do this without so much as talking to her about his plan?

“I didn’t think it was necessary to talk to you. You’re happy, I’m happy, the kids are happy, and we all want you to stay. You want a Master, and I want a slave. We’re compatible and we get along. I think we’ll be very happy. Aren’t you happy? Do you think you’d be unhappy with me? Or with the kids?”

“Well... no. I’m happy with you. And I think I already love the kids. I would love to stay. But you can’t just decide that we’re engaged without talking to me.”

“I already did, my dear. You’ll see that this is the perfect resolution to your visa issue.”

“I don’t want to become engaged as a ‘resolution to my visa issue’! Don’t you see that this is a problem? Don’t you see that this is not romantic? At all?
Du dum kukhuvud!
”

“Hey, what did you just say?”

She froze.

How stupid was that? Your ass is so sore it hurts to breathe, and you just called him a nasty name. Again.

“Answer me. Now! I heard
dum dum
, which I’m assuming means ‘dumb.’ You do
not
want to upset me more today, little girl.” He turned to face her, his hands on both hips.

Her throat constricted in fear, and she swallowed loudly. “I... uhm… I said, ‘stupid dickhead.’” She dropped her gaze, staring at the floor.

“We’ll deal with the name-calling at home. Until then, I want you to agree and sign the paperwork. The ninety day fiancée visa is the resolution to our situation. We’ll discuss this in a rational and adult manner in a private setting. As your Master, you need to trust me. Please. I know what I’m doing. I know how you feel; and how we feel about you. This’ll be what makes us all happy. Please. Trust me.”

She raised her gaze to his. How could someone so smart make such a poor decision? Did he think about this at all? This had to be the most unromantic thing she had ever heard of. Nothing in this plan was romantic. ‘A perfect resolution to your visa issue’ is not how a woman wants to become engaged. If he hadn’t learned this during his first marriage, he’d sure as hell figure it out the second time.

Slave or not,
her Master
would learn how to be romantic.

* * *

G
arrett and Inga drove home quietly, not a word spoken between them since they’d left the Immigration Office. Preston had talked to his friend Dave who had a high-ranking at DHS, and Dave confirmed that they could’ve just requested an extension to the application. But Garrett knew that deep inside, Inga felt the same as he did — they had fallen in love. It made no sense. It’d only been a month, but they fit so well together. She loved the kids, and they loved her. Hell,
he
loved her.

Everything about her was different from Anne. Inga was tall, and Anne short. Anne had been a slave by nature; she’d fallen into the role easily, requiring very little discipline or punishment. Inga had spark and fire, belying her internal struggle. Yes, she submitted beautifully, but if pushed too hard or too fast, she tended to push back. When she did push back though, she would show remorse, apologizing for her poor behavior. Garrett didn’t yet know much about her past, but one thing he was already sure of was that she was a fighter.

Had something happened in her formative years to make her that way? Circumstances changed a person, made them shield their ego, protect their spirit. But when attacked, they fought back with everything they had. Survival of the fittest. His Inga. His slave. He’d mold her, making her into a beautiful slave; but until then he’d treat her with kid gloves, pushing her just hard enough to help her grow — but not hard enough to make her rebellious and defiant.

But right now, he needed to deal with angry Inga. The surprise he expected. Hell, he’d
planned
on the surprise. He thought that she’d be happy... maybe a little. But her anger definitely had not been anticipated. Worse, she’d reverted to calling him names again. He hadn’t ever had to deal with name calling from a slave before, and he wasn’t yet sure how he wanted to deal with it. At least in the silence of the car he would be able to formulate his plan.

As soon as the car came to stop in the garage, she bolted into the house. He chased her down in the kitchen.

“Miss Inga! Stop, right there! Now!”

To her credit, she stopped instantly but didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, her back stiffening in anger.

Interesting. So this is what she’s going with. Defiance.

“We don’t talk until you’re facing me. Turn around.” He tossed his keys into the dish on the counter, taking his jacket off and hanging it up while he waited for her to obey his order. Typically, he didn’t wait for compliance — he expected obedience immediately.

He walked up behind her, close enough that his nose brushed her hair. He inhaled her scent slowly. “Do you need a spanking to help you obey?”

She paused long enough that he lifted her dress and gave her already very red bottom four hard swats, two on each cheek.

“Oooooh!”

She turned toward him immediately with tears in her eyes, suddenly looking miserable.

“You had a choice, Inga. And you chose to have your backside reheated. Now, let’s talk. Tell me why you’re mad. I thought you’d be happy. I wanted to surprise you.”

He moved closer to her but she put her hands up to halt him and shouted,
“Skita i det blå skåpet!
I just can’t believe you did it! How? How did you think I’d be happy?”

“I’m getting worn out with you yelling at me in Swedish. We’ve talked about that too, last time you decided to call me a stupid dickhead. What did you just say?”

Her jaw tightened. “I said, ‘you shit in a blue locker.’ It means you crossed a line or went too far. It’s what we say when someone doesn’t know boundaries. You don’t say an engagement is a ‘resolution to my visa issue’ and expect me to be happy about it. You’re such a
du
— never mind. It’s not worth it. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“No. It’s definitely not worth it. And what the hell does ‘shitting in a blue locker’ have to do with anything?”

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter! What you did was… I don’t want to say it. Never mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring.

“Give me one word.” He held up his forefinger. “Just one word explaining what’s wrong with what I did today?”

“Unromantic.” Her eyes filled with tears and she crinkled her nose in distaste.

What a moron, Garrett. You’re an asshole!

He saw the situation and, like most men, saw the obvious solution and fixed it. He loved her, and he was pretty sure she loved him too. He wanted a slave, and she wanted a Master. It seemed logical and rational.

And that’s the problem. You were logical and rational, not romantic!

Experience had taught him that this was going to be a problem. Now, he not only had to fix the mistake he’d made, but also prove that his action was a romantic gesture… kinda.

Women just saw things so differently. Fixing this wouldn’t be easy.

First, he had to deal with her name-calling at the Immigration Office, and then he’d have to address her defiance. He may have been wrong in the presentation of his solution, but a slave never acted like this with a Master. Deep submission required trusting your Master even when it made no sense — or asking for a time to discuss it openly. He hated punishments. Even though he loved spanking a bare bottom, and he really loved spanking her bottom in particular, he hated having to spank for punishment.

He took a deep breath, realizing that the pout and angry scowl had not receded from her face. It made his task that much easier.

“We’re going to take care of your name calling and mouthiness — right now.” He started toward the laundry room, which meant he needed to walk past her. She backed up, almost flinching from him. He stopped, running a finger from her shoulder to her elbow, grasping her arm. “I’d never hurt you, girlie. You never need to back up from me,
ever.
I cherish the people I love in my life. And you, my dear, are a love in my life. Believe it. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that love gives you leniency. Your submission and obedience will always be foremost in my mind, especially since you’ve told me of your desire to be a slave.”

He went to the laundry room, searching until he found what he was looking for. He returned to the kitchen and a very curious nanny looking to see what he held in his hands. He stood in front of her, quietly looking into her piercing blue eyes until, finally, she averted her gaze.

“It seems like your tongue is an issue. Well, the biggest issue is keeping those Swedish phrases from slipping out. I don’t appreciate being called dumb, or stupid — and I definitely don’t like being called a dickhead or asshole. I spanked you the last time for this, and we’re here again, so today I’m going to try something else.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wooden spring clothespin and held it at eye level, opening and closing the stout jaws. “This little thing is what we call a clothespin. Are you familiar with these? Do they have them in Sweden?”

“Yes, Master. We call them
klädnypa.
”

“Well, this little
klädnypa
is going to be pinched onto your tongue for twenty minutes. I want you naked and on your knees on the kitchen tile. Undress.”

He made sure his voice brooked no disobedience.

She pulled the dress over her head and without being asked, pulled her thong off, standing beautifully and gloriously naked.

Jesus, that woman has a figure.

She had a body that just begged a man to worship it. His cock was threatening to rip its way out through the fabric of his slacks. With no shame whatsoever, he reached into his pants to adjust himself

“On your knees, hands on your thighs.” He waited until she gracefully knelt. “Open your mouth. Head back, and look at me.”

He had no idea how he was going to make it twenty minutes like this, but it was necessary. He walked toward her, reaching out to grasp the soft nipple in his pincer grasp, twisting and rolling the peak until it hardened. He put the clothespin on her nipple, and she gasped as he let the jaws close fully on her sensitive flesh. Pinching and tugging on the other nipple, she shivered.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, sweetie? Tell me what’s happening to your sex with all this manipulation of your breasts.”

She stammered with excitement. “Uhm... I’m... it f-feels like... my clit is throbbing, Master. And my
fittsaft
is dripping. I feel it in spurts when you pull on my nipple and my sex is clenching. I n-need you to touch me, Master. Lick my pussy, please.”

Good God! This is sheer torture!

Garrett opened his belt, her eyes going wide at the sound of the belt’s buckle being undone. She watched him as he drew the zipper down, pushing the denim and his boxers down far enough to free his penis. He toed off his shoes, then pushed his pants the rest of the way down his legs, stepping out of them.

“Don’t get excited yet, girl. I’m just giving myself some breathing room so to speak. You’re not being rewarded just yet. Let’s take this clothespin off and put it where it belongs.” He plucked it off her nipple, and she screeched from tight lips at the rush of blood back into the crushed tissues.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, Inga” She did as requested and he clipped it to her tongue. Once again, she groaned, louder this time with her mouth open. “I know. It hurts. You have twenty minutes.”

He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears trickling from her eyes. Watching her weep was by far the worst part of the punishment as far as he was concerned.

“Let’s discuss your mouth, now that it’s occupied. First, the name-calling is going to end, Miss Inga. I’m tired of being called Swedish names — and bad names at that. Do you understand?”