Yes, Justin

Copyright © 2011 by Michele Zurlo

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Editor: Tamzin Mitchell

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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Case

I want to be the only thing a man thinks about. I want him to master my body and my soul.

Justin rose early, as he always did, and watched the woman sleeping next to him. Trish, his wife, didn’t stir even though shafts of soft light penetrated the cracks in the curtains. He wanted to lift her nightgown, pin her hands over her head, and wake her up by thrusting deep into her sleep-soft body.

Her eyes would be bleary and dark in this half light. She would stare at him in wonder for a second, and then she would surrender to his will and his passion. It would be like it used to be when they were first married and they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Over the past two months, he’d frequently entertained this fantasy, and the blame lay solely with her. Perhaps the idea of holding her down wasn’t new, but the idea that he could wake her up and take what he wanted hadn’t crossed his mind in more years than he could remember. Given the number of times she’d pushed away his questing hands, it just didn’t seem consensual anymore.

That was before he saw her questionnaire.

In it she had clearly stated that she didn’t want him to ask for sex. She wanted him to remove the choice. Though why she would turn him down when she wanted it too presented a paradox he was only just beginning to understand.

Rolling from bed, he took his morning wood into the shower and entertained himself with the fantasy of fucking his captivating wife of fifteen years. This would be the last morning he let her sleep undisturbed. She wanted him to let loose his dominant nature. He would do it for both of them.

A half hour later, dressed in comfortable jeans and a cotton shirt, he headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. He broke out eggs, milk, cheese, and bread. Mikayla, their oldest, loved the way he made cheesy scrambled eggs. She would whisper that she liked them better than Trish’s, but he knew the truth. Trish hated eggs and refused to make them.

Bacon sizzled, and the toaster let out a
ding
. A small tug on his shirt caught his attention. “Where’s Mommy?”

He ignored the twinge of guilt in his gut. Of course she wanted Trish first thing. Trish got them up each day, snuggled them until they were awake, bundled them off to day care, and then picked them up after a full day teaching music to six hundred elementary students. She made dinner whether or not he was there to dine with them. And when he worked really late, she tucked them into bed at night. She’d tucked them in last night while he had been at his last Oasis class.

Of course, she thought he had been working late.

“Mommy’s sleeping. She has a big day ahead of her, so we’ll let her sleep and surprise her with breakfast.” He crouched down and held his arms open for a hug.

Mikayla blinked at him, and then her sleepy brown eyes opened a little more. She smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. He lifted her and stirred the eggs.

“I made your favorite, baby.”

“Daddy, I’m not a baby. I’m going to kindergarten next year.”

He grinned at her indignant tone, which conflicted with the way her entire body relaxed into his hold. “You’ll always be my baby, Kay-Kay.”

“Hannah’s the baby.”

Every inch her mother’s daughter, Mikayla wasn’t going to cede the point.

“Yep.” No sense in arguing. She’d realize sooner or later he’d never change his mind.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. His family was waking up. Trish appeared, still clad in her rumpled nightgown. Hannah hung from her neck like a baby koala.

He smiled, but he wondered if it reached his eyes. “Good morning, ladies.”

Trish frowned. “I thought you had a trip today.”

She was pissed at him. Though she didn’t say anything about all the late hours and business trips, they grated on her nerves and wore down the foundation of their marriage. He’d learned a few things from reading her questionnaire, both things she’d disclosed and things he inferred. She had all but come out and said she felt like a single mother, not the sexy, desirable women who occupied his fantasies in the shower every morning.

Negotiation
. The introductory BDSM class Oasis had required him to take for the past six weeks—part of the fantasy-fulfillment process—had emphasized negotiation as the solution for every problem. Want a quickie in the morning? Negotiate terms for when that would be acceptable. Want her to not wear underwear to bed? Negotiate terms for when that would happen. Want her to stop pretending like nothing was wrong with their relationship? Negotiate terms for conversation.

They never talked about anything. Even when he’d told her he had a conference to attend this weekend, she hadn’t shown much of a reaction. She hadn’t even pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide annoyance.

Sometimes, learning to dominate and discipline seemed like marriage counseling. Talk it out, talk it out, talk it out. In a scene, he had to know what she did and didn’t want. He had to be in tune with her desires without asking to make sure.

That was where his confidence wavered. Sometimes Trish seemed like a stranger in his bed, a woman who mothered his children and made dinner. He often left before she woke up and came home after she had already been there for hours, an incidental character in their family dynamic.

Ten years ago, he knew how to touch her. He knew how to look at her to make her blush. He could get away with fingering her in the movie theater, her soft moans disguised by the loud cacophony from the action flick he’d chosen for just that reason.

Now, he wasn’t certain he would be allowed to hold her hand in the theater. He didn’t even know if she liked action movies anymore, much less if she liked to get action at the movies.

She frowned and turned her attention to the kids, a sure sign of displeasure. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t listened to her question.

“I don’t have to leave until ten. I wanted to let you sleep late. You won’t be able to tomorrow.” He didn’t mention that she wouldn’t be sleeping late because he would be waking her up for sex. That definitely wouldn’t go over well. Hopefully, this weekend would change both their attitudes.

She turned away, but not before he saw the guilt in her eyes. He doubted she would get in the car with him later. Her fantasy began with being blindfolded and kidnapped by a stranger she didn’t get to see. Not the safest way to start a scene, but he didn’t care to argue that point, either. He would be the one kidnapping her, so she would be safe.

“My parents are taking the kids for the weekend.” Her attempt to fling that as a challenge didn’t quite make it over her shoulder. He heard the subtext. A good husband would clear his schedule and spend some quality time with his wife.

Just wait.

After breakfast, he headed to the bedroom to double-check his bag. She wouldn’t follow him. That would open her to the possibility of an intimate moment, and she had long ago stopped taking emotional chances with him. If he wasn’t so absent, she would feel closer to him. If he felt closer to her, he wouldn’t be absent so much. One problem fed the other, and it was ruining their marriage.

He sipped his coffee and made sure his overnight bag had all the things Oasis had told him to bring. They would provide many items, but he wanted to make sure he had the flogger he’d used in practice all these weeks.

Training on the leather-covered mannequins with sensors that provided digital feedback hadn’t been nearly as nerve-racking as practicing on a real person. Men and women, attending the Oasis class so they could fulfill their fantasies and the fantasies of whomever they were matched with, had offered their bodies as fodder to help the doms in the class hone their skills.

Of course, he’d spent some time under the lash himself. It made him seriously question whether or not Trish knew what she had been asking for when she filled out those detailed questionnaires describing what she wanted in a dom and what she expected in a scene. After those sessions, talking with submissives had opened his eyes to what they gained from the experience.

They found it sexually exciting, but more than that, they hungered for the peace that came afterward. They craved knowing someone cared enough to give them the pain and pleasure they needed. They basked in the closeness it generated.

Justin wondered why they couldn’t make one of those questionnaires for a marriage. Check the box if you expect your husband to take out the trash, make enough money to take an expensive vacation twice a year, attend every one of the kids’ soccer practices, spank you before sex.

The instructor-counselors at Oasis had assured him that she wanted this. She had initiated contact and detailed her fantasy. Part of him hated that she hadn’t shared her fantasy with him.
“Communication often breaks down this far into a relationship when people are in the habit of taking one another for granted. Talk it out.”

Next he triple-checked to see if he had a butt plug. Never in a million years would he have considered using her ass for sexual purposes. Perhaps he lacked imagination, but it had never seemed like an option. The answers on her questionnaire made it clear she not only considered it an option—she demanded it be exercised.

And now that he knew it was on the table, he fantasized about the experience. That part of the class had contained a theoretical discussion and a demonstration that made him want to go home and try it on Trish right then and there. But he hadn’t, because it would blow the surprise of the scenario she had so painstakingly crafted.

He brushed his teeth and steeled his nerves. She wanted this. He wanted this. Finding that invitation from Oasis in his in-box had changed his life. He didn’t know how they came up with the idea to contact him, but he thanked his lucky stars they hadn’t paired her with another person whose wish happened to match hers. While he would never have thought to contact a place like Oasis—or do half the things she’d put on the questionnaire they’d handed him at that first training session—his wife had. Someone there had recognized her cry for help and sought him out.

At first, he had been upset that his wife wanted to cheat on him. Then he realized her description of the guy she wanted to dominate her matched him perfectly. Reading her answers, he had been surprised she didn’t ask for someone with a scar on his left knee and a right earlobe that was a little smaller than the left. She didn’t want some nameless, faceless stranger. She wanted him.

Well, she was going to have him. And he was going to have her.

He kissed his girls good-bye and stifled a growl when Trish turned her cheek to him, denying him the pleasure of her lips. That was the last time he would allow that kind of behavior. Knowing she wanted him to push her on these issues gave him all the permission he needed.