OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II Read online

  Fuck me, Rob.

  No, she plunged her fingers into her hungry, bewildered cunt. Fuck you, Rob. Tossing her head back against the headrest, she began moaning, not caring if the neighborhood heard her or if anyone called the police. She was going to get herself off, as much and as loud as she liked.

  Then she was going to get even. With her no good, double dealing husband. He would never see it coming, either. It would blindside him, just like those photos had blindsided her. Then he would know pain, too. And suffering.

  Lots of suffering.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rob woke up about half past five. Miranda was home, sleeping heavily on the other side of the bed. He had lain down around midnight, falling asleep without her. Her hair was a mess on the pillow and she was nude, not having bothered to put on a nightgown. He watched her for a little bit, noticing how she breathed, the tiny breaths, the little movements of her lips, the way she twitched her button nose. Miranda was still so fucking beautiful, and when she was unconscious like this, and totally open, he wanted her, as much as the first time he'd laid eyes on her.

  How simple it had been back then. When she was just a pretty, flirty waitress and he was a cocky law student. From the beginning he had seen something in her others hadn't. They'd seen the long, beautiful hair, chestnut brown, and the lively eyes; they'd noticed how she made conversation with everyone, and how she made everyone smile. They saw in her someone they could get into bed, but Rob knew she was deeper than that. She wanted to please, and that meant more than sex.

  From the beginning, he took the helm, playfully but firmly.

  "So which do you like better?" He came up and asked her one night, as she was changing out the sugar bowls at the end of her shift. "Chinese or Mexican?"

  "Better for what?" quipped the little woman in the pink uniform that showed off her figure so well.

  "For eating."

  She thought a moment. "Chinese, I guess."

  "Good," he nodded. "I'll pick you up at your place at eight on Saturday."

  With that he left. The next day she took his order for coffee and toast at breakfast. "I'm not going out with you," she said.

  "Sure you are," he put his elbows on the seat.

  "I hardly know you, for one thing."

  "Ask me anything you want."

  "Okay," she nodded. "Here's a question. Are you crazy? What do you know about me? You've never even talked to me before. And how would you pick me up? You have no clue where I live. Or have you been following me around?"

  "Not yet, but once we go out, I'll probably start. I'm pretty jealous as a boyfriend."

  "Boyfriend? Okay, now I know you're crazy. I haven't even agreed to a date and you're trying to make me your girlfriend."

  Rob grinned. She was arguing, but she wasn't running away, and she hadn't told him to take a flying leap, either. From then on he knew his hunch was right. The two of them could work out.

  "I don't know what the big deal is," he said innocently. "It's not like I asked you to marry me."

  She made a noise of sheer exasperation and walked away. The hunt was officially on. For the next two days she did her best to avoid him, trading him out with other waitresses every time he came in. If he approached to talk, she ducked back into the kitchen. But he kept on coming, morning noon and night – to the point of risking sleep and the quality of his studies.

  But he knew it was worth it. He was obsessed.

  The third night, when he was slumped over coffee and a burnt bacon sandwich at one a.m.; she came up to him, arms folded over her pretty breasts. "Don't you have any place else to go?"

  Rob yawned. "Sure. Lo's Chinese, Saturday, with you."

  She continued to glare. "Do you know how completely impossible you are?"

  She rolled her darling eyes.

  "Is that a yes?"

  "Will it get you out of my hair?"

  "Sure. Until Sunday, at least."

  Miranda had looked absolutely ravishing for their date. She had her hair up, with these little curls, coming down on each side, just in front of her ears. Her dress was midnight blue, a soft, clingy material that made him want to put his hands all over her svelte body, right there in the doorway.

  "Why are you looking at me?" she asked. "Did I sprout a second head?"

  No, but Rob had. It was the first of many erections he would fight throughout the evening – although he was just as passionate about her mind. Never had he been so completely captivated. Never had he wanted to be with a woman so much in his life.

  It took three more dates until they finally made love. When they did, the heavens parted.

  Seeing her now, looking so sweet and pink-skinned, he was tempted to wake her, covering her angel face with soft kisses. Or maybe in that other way he used to when they were newlyweds – with a hard cock, nudging open her thighs.

  She had always been wet for him, always ready.

  But that was the past. He was kidding himself. People changed, at least Miranda had. She was into her real estate, and god knew whatever else. For a split second it occurred to him his wife might be cheating on him.

  Rob brushed the idea from his mind. Not Miranda. She wasn't built like that. Once again he felt the ache in his heart, the groaning from that empty place that had once admired and loved her so much. Where the hell was she? Where was he?

  He took a quick shower, dressed and headed off to the office. He might have masturbated again, but he wasn't in the mood. Jerking off last night had been a real disappointment. After five minutes of hard grunting, running his hand up and down his shaft, he'd ejaculated with a resounding anti-climax as he watched the twisted, disinterested bodies playing pretzel on his rented cable movie.

  Nothing made sex less appealing than watching two people do it for money.

  Rob was backing the car out of the driveway when he heard a loud crunch under the back tire. Fuck. It sounded like the garbage can cover. He pulled forward and got out to investigate. Sure enough, there it was, flat as a pancake.

  He looked at the garbage can, still upright. Strange. An animal would have knocked it over. But why would a person take off the top of his garbage?

  For a split second, he thought about the photos. There's no way Miranda could have been messing with the trash, could she? No, she was too drunk last night. He could tell by how she sounded when she came to bed. She probably hit the can, ran the cover over and left it.

  A bit of white silk caught his eye. He plucked the tiny garment from where it had been poorly hidden. Suddenly, all thoughts of the photos were gone.

  He'd just found a pair of panties! Miranda's. With sex stains on them and looking pretty roughed up.

  Well that answered the question about why she needed to stay out so late showing houses.

  Turning the can right side up, he put the bags back in, along with the panties. He didn't want her knowing he'd found out her secret. Not just yet. Not until he had a chance to think through his options.

  Fuck it. How could she be so cruel? Not to mention so stupid for hiding evidence out in the open like this, practically under his nose. How long had this been going on? And who was the man? Or men?

  Questions poured through his brain. The only thing he knew for sure at this point was that he needed to talk to Mark. If anyone would know what to do, it would be him.

  * * * *

  Miranda had the alarm set for seven thirty. She didn't want to get up. Three times she hit the snooze alarm, trying to hold onto the dream she was in. It was a good one. She and Rob were back in the diner, only it was on board a cruise liner. He was the captain, wearing a sort of pirate costume, and she was a waitress/wench, barefoot in a revealing, ragged dress. Rob was having her serve him and some of his pirate friends. She was trying to pour the coffee, but they kept distracting her, trying to put their hands all over her body.

  Rob warned them away, telling them she was his.

  A discussion commenced, graphic and intimate, about her qualities in bed and overall
responsiveness to male domination. Miranda got wetter and wetter as he lovingly described what a good and obedient slut she was for him.

  "I hardly have to beat her," he said. "Except when it pleases me."

  "How is she with her mouth?" asked a balding pirate, who looked just like her boss Jeff.

  "She sucks like a dream," Rob assured. "Swallows, too, if she knows what's good for her."

  "Can I give her a try?" he asked.

  "I don't like to share," Rob shook his head.

  "Come now," said a tall pirate, who was the spitting image of John, only with an eye patch and a loose, white shirt in place of the black turtleneck. "Don't be stingy. She's just a cunt. It's not like the man is asking for your gold."

  "I'd rather part with the gold," he said sternly. "The cunt, as you call her, is my prize possession."

  "All the worse for you," said Jeff. "Wench," he ordered, unfastening his breeches, "get down here and affix your lips, or I'll skin you alive."

  Miranda looked pleadingly at Rob.

  Rob was stone cold. Expressionless. "You're making a mistake," he told the pirate.

  "To the devil with you," he snarled.

  Rob stood from the table, sword drawn. "Miranda," he pointed imperiously to his feet. "Come here."

  Miranda dropped happily to her hands and knees, overjoyed to be under the man's protection. Humble and eager she crawled to him. Once there, unbidden, she kissed his leather boot.

  Rob pointed the tip of his sword at the back of her neck. "The woman is mine," he told the others. "She lives and dies at my whim. She fucks and sucks only me."

  "You would fight over a mere bitch?" the bald pirate exclaimed.

  Rob growled, reaching down with a gloved hand and grabbed a fistful of Miranda's hair. He yanked her to her feet so hard she had tears in her eyes. "Mine," he growled, raising her to tiptoes, her body facing the still seated pirates.

  "Master..." she sighed, turning her head toward him.

  Rob reacted fiercely, shredding her flimsy covering with his other hand. She was naked now, at his mercy. One look in his eyes told her what was to happen next.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  He put her back on her knees. Her small hands worked feverishly at the opening, baring her Master's cock. At last it sprung into view and she was able to take it inside her unworthy mouth.

  She did so straight to the back, in one smooth, wet motion.

  Rob groaned, holding the sides of her head. "Yes," he pumped her mouth. "God, yes."

  He was on the verge of coming when the dream ended, thereby cheating her of the experience of satisfying her husband.

  Much like in real life, she thought, the memories flooding back to her from the night before. Of the pictures, stuffed in a bag in the trash can. The ones that indicted Rob and ended forever any chance for reconciliation.

  He'd made his bed and he'd lie in it.

  If he wanted Erin Wyatt to swallow his come, to take his cock, to humiliate herself for him and act like a total slut, that was his business. She would make her own way in life, and that meant finding her own sure source of income; and a steady sex supply, too.

  The night's sleep had sharpened her thoughts, intensified her determination. The alcohol haze gone, she hardened into cold resolve. It was really true, this was really over.

  Actually, it had been over, she was just too dumb to realize.

  That was not a mistake she would make again.

  From now on, she would look out for herself and fuck Rob the way she fucked him.

  To begin with, she was going to become a "special girl" for Jeff, selling the expensive properties like Cammie – and she was going to be good at it. She would do what she had to, up to and including fucking. Why not? She had nearly done it yesterday. The only thing to be sure of was her limits. She wasn't as young and adventurous as Cammie, so she would have to make sure Jeff and clients knew she intended to play it a little more conservative.

  She was sure she could work out the details. All she needed was to do this for a year of so, then she would have enough money to get away. Maybe open her own diner somewhere.

  Miranda was surprised with how good she felt as she left the house, an hour later, freshly showered and groomed, in one of her navy blue skirt suits. Could it be that divorce was really such a simple thing, or was she still in some kind of shock?

  Would it be hard when she had to see Rob face to face again? Maybe she would be lucky and he would move out.

  She did a double take when she saw the trash can. What was wrong with the cover?

  She lifted it off the can. It was flattened. Like somebody ran over it. That was weird. Miranda thought about the panties. The garbage men were late this morning, which meant the panties had been here for Rob to find on his way out. Shit. Had he been in the can? Rummaging quickly, she said a prayer. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found them, still in the can, under one of the trash bags where she'd left them.

  Maybe she had just left the top off by mistake and Rob had driven over it. She was a little drunk, after all.

  Sure, that must have been it. Anyway, he hadn't found the panties, so what difference did it make?

  She wondered if he happened to notice his photos were missing. Probably not. Miranda smiled. He would see them again, but it would be on her terms – in a divorce court.

  Humming a little tune, sashaying her ass, she got into her car and headed for work. On a whim, she called Cammie on her cell phone to tell her the good news.

  There was about to be a new "special girl," and she was going to be the best one ever.

  * * * *

  Mark sat across from Rob at a back booth in a small diner, not unlike the one where he met Miranda. They were drinking coffee, sharing in a moment of silence following Rob's revelation about finding Miranda's soiled panties.

  "One thing's for sure," said Mark, sipping from his mug. "Miranda wants to get caught."

  "It was a damned fool place to hide them," Rob agreed. "But why a trash can? Why not ... I don't know, in the bathroom? Hell, I might have missed it altogether if she hadn't left the top off."

  "Well there you have it. She left you a clue too big to miss. As for not bringing them back inside, she's ashamed. Imagine a dog that's done wrong, cowering and whimpering, half concealing itself, awaiting your discovery of its indiscretion. The dog could hide in a much better spot, but it chooses a place practically under the master's nose. Do you know why the dog does that?"

  Rob shook his head.

  "Because it needs the punishment. It needs to be whipped, so it can be forgiven and loved again."

  "Are you saying Miranda actually thinks like that? Like an animal?"

  "Consciously, no. Obviously a human female is a good deal more sophisticated than a dog. But she is driven by the same biological urges and patterns. She wants to please her master, but she is also willful and selfish. If the man isn't strong enough with her, she is going to misbehave. To a certain extent, Robert, this is a cry for help on Miranda's part."

  Rob was feeling confused again. "So what, I'm supposed to just fluff the whole thing off? Chalk it up to psychology and take her back?"

  "You can't blame a pet for being what it is," Mark said. "You took her as your wife and that gives you a certain responsibility. If you love her, and I assume you do, than you have to step up to the plate, and I'm talking about giving her a free pass. She deserves punishment, swift and severe, and after that a more structured environment in which her mind and body can be kept properly focused on serving you."

  "You're talking about slavery. Like the arrangement you have with Erin."

  "No two marriages look alike, and no two master-slave relationships can either. Erin must be handled in a certain way, according to her specific temperament. What works with her would never work with Miranda and vice versa. In Erin's case, she works well when given general guidelines, lists and expectations which she can follow on her own. Too much micro-management and she freezes up. Th
e biggest punishment in the world for her is displeasing me. A frown, a curt word is like the lash of a whip. As a matter of fact, I save the whips and canes mostly for the foreplay, to build the erotic thrill of her helplessness. Though she knows I can and will discipline her hard. She tests her limits, like any female. As you saw from her pictures, she must be reminded of her place from time to time."

  Rob pursed his lips. "About those photos..."

  "I hope you enjoyed them," Mark interjected. "You're more than welcome to more. Or, as I said last night, you can have the real thing. I share her frequently with friends."

  "And that doesn't make you jealous? Seeing other men with her?"

  Mark smiled. "You've a lot to learn, Robert. Jealousy only occurs when you feel a woman playing your emotions off against another man's. Erin is my property. I give her out to be fucked because it pleases me to exercise that level of control over her body. I must admit, also, that I enjoy the envy I cause in other men, when they realize what an incredible possession she is. It would be the same if I loaned them one of my prize automobiles, though Erin is infinitely more precious to me."

  Rob found himself forgetting his own troubles for the moment. "But if she's property, how can she feel special or loved? I can't believe she doesn't resent this at some level."

  "Erin is a slave at heart, Robert. Most women are. You can ignore their nature and make them miserable, or help them thrive. The choice belongs to the man. Erin is free to leave at any time, and I assure you, she would be well provided for, with equal access to the children."

  "Yes, now that's something I have been wondering about, too. What do you tell the children?"

  "We are discreet, of course. The children are minimally involved in the power aspects of our relationship. Although Erin did cross the line once, forcing me to bring her up short. She got surly with me one time, when the kids were small. She had been home all day with them. They were both sick, and I knew she was tired. I was fully prepared to help, but she did not handle it in the right way.

  "The minute I came in the door, she was all over me frantic. I told her to compose herself and make a proper request, as befitting her station. She had only to apologize and say 'please, Master,' and I'd have been by her side for the night. Instead she walked off in a huff.