Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hadrian
Waking up next to Juliet is surreal. She’s curled up on her side, hair sticking out in every direction, covers tucked up tight under her chin. She made it halfway through the movie before she fell asleep.
My plan for bringing Juliet out into the Compound is shot down, dead and buried. It was supposed to be gradual, interspersed with long stretches back in her cell. Treats like the bath were supposed to be earned by good behavior, and strict protocols were meant to apply at all times.
We both needed a mental break last night, and Juliet is never sleeping anywhere but beside me from now on. But today, I need to show her I can be her master out in the real world as well as locked in a cell.
But first, breakfast.
I relented on Juliet’s prison food after the first couple of weeks and started giving her some more interesting, healthy options that weren’t included in her game, but I never went so far as to include her favorite things.
It was Juliet who introduced me to the full Scottish fry-up; we used to make one every Sunday.
Today is Tuesday, but I don’t give a shit.
Days don’t mean much here in the Compound anyway.
We crashed out without dinner last night, so she’ll be starving, and I’m happy to deliver.
Sausages, eggs, bacon, baked beans, and fried bread, paired with orange juice and coffee.
Juliet hasn’t had coffee since I took her. She’ll be bouncing off the walls.
The smell of the sausages cooking must pull her from her sleep, as a couple of minutes after I begin, she appears.
She’s made an attempt to tidy up her hair—I left a brush for her in the en suite bathroom—but she still has that adorable sleepy look that makes me want to shoo her back to bed and bring her breakfast on a tray.
But no. She had the nice side of me yesterday. Today, she needs her master, at least for a little while. And she’s wrapped the bath towel around herself in direct defiance of what I said yesterday. Did she just forget, or is she pushing me to see if I’ll react?
Either way, breakfast will have to wait a bit longer. I switch off the gas.
“Good morning.” Her voice has a high nervous edge, and I can’t blame her. This must be as weird for her as it is for me. In the cell, there was a level of disconnection that made everything easier. Now, this is our real life.
I can’t screw this up.
“Good morning, doll. Did you forget what I said about covering yourself?” I use my stern voice and see the change in her immediately. Her eyes widen, and black creeps to the edges of her irises, edging out the pretty green.
She was testing me. And by the look of the pink spots in her cheeks, she’s glad I picked up on her crime. This is all so new to me; it’s easy to forget that it’s a long-term fantasy for her. More than a fantasy—a need, which she’s never had met.
“Drop it,” I snap, and she complies straight away, flinging her towel down. My wife is naked in my kitchen, looking at me like a deer in the headlights. Jesus Christ. It’s almost too much before I’ve even had my coffee.
This is your life now. Get it together.
The thought strengthens me. This is my life. Our life, even though it might take Juliet a while to accept it. And day one is going to start with a punishment.
Nothing complicated today. I’m starving, and I’m sure Juliet is too. I just need to drive home that she has to do as I say. “Bend over the table.”
She draws in a sharp breath and glances between me and the sausages still crackling as the pan cools. Poor thing. She must be really hungry. “Do it now, or you get oatmeal for breakfast.”
It’s probably the worst threat I could have made.
She flattens her body onto the wooden table, and God, she’s a beautiful sight.
It’s a good thing I never have guests over; I can’t imagine sitting down to eat at that table with friends now.
I’ll always be able to picture the exact spot Juliet’s breasts press against the wood and where her cheek rests.
Thank fuck I already dressed in jeans with a belt this morning. I should always keep one handy. Juliet watches, eyes almost black now, as I take my time unbuckling it. A thrill rushes through me as her body gives a little tremble. She’s excited, even though she stammers, “Sorry…Master.”
“Good.” I snap the belt free. “Perhaps you won’t forget again.”
There’s something primal about this, and my blood rushes as I take up position behind Juliet. She broke a rule. She takes her punishment. Simple. I fold the belt in two.
It’s been a few days since I left any marks on Juliet, and her skin is a smooth, pale canvas. I raise my hand and, with a movement that feels more natural every time I do it, bring it down hard.
Juliet jerks as the crack rings out. Her hands fly to her ass, and she yells, “Ow! Ow, that’s too—”
“Hands back on the table. Right now.”
She whimpers as she obeys, and oh God, that sound. It’s lightning to my cock. My free hand strays to my jeans, stroking along the growing length as I raise my hand again. I land five more strikes in quick succession, layering them across her ass.
She yelps and twists as they land, though she keeps her hands stuck to the wood. “Please…. That’s… Please…”
If I’d given her a safe word, I’m sure she’d use it, but we both know that doesn’t work for her. Juliet needs to be owned, and that means I decide when she’s had enough.
My belt marks are bright red welts on her skin, and I trace the edge of one before moving on to her thighs. I need to make sure she’ll be squirming right through breakfast. As I work, Juliet’s yells turn into quiet, pained whimpers. She must be slipping into her dopey, blissed-out zone.
I pause to run an experimental finger over her pussy, and of course, it comes back wet. It’s too good of an opportunity to miss, so I coat my fingers and move to her clit, circling it as she trembles. Juliet moans, wriggling herself against my hand as if she’s in heat.
My poor doll. She should know by now that I don’t hand out rewards for broken rules.
I tease her, rubbing her clit, then pulling away.
It has to be driving her crazy, if the way her hips are moving is any indication.
She’s practically humping the table. It would be fun to watch her get herself off like that—and really cement my ban on dinner parties—but what sort of message would that send?
I press my hand against her clit, let her grind herself on me for a few more seconds, then pull away. She groans, and my cock is an iron bar, fed by the frustration in that sound. I regrip my belt. “Halfway there, doll.”
“What? But—”
I start at the top, landing the first strike on her already sore ass.
By the time I’m done, her whimpers are almost sobs. The part of me that snuggled up in bed with her last night wants to comfort her, but that’s not the version of me she needs right now.
Show too much mercy, and she loses interest.
Right. That’s true.
I drop the belt and snap, “On your knees.”
She’s slow to obey, but we’re in no rush, so I just watch as she starts to move her limbs. Inch by inch, with a lot of hisses and squeaks, she shifts herself off the table and onto her knees, staring up at me through teary eyes.
Right here. In my kitchen.
Christ.
She’s almost too beautiful to look at, and I spend far too long drinking her in before I manage to say, “What rule did you break?”
She licks her lips. “I covered myself, Master.”
“That’s right. Your body belongs to me, and I want it on display at all times.”
I unzip my jeans and pull out my cock. Her eyes widen as she stares at it, and her lips part. It almost tips me over the edge, and I haven’t even touched myself yet. If she’s as worked up as I am, she’s going to be desperate by the time I let her come. Maybe later today, if she’s well behaved.
I grip my cock in my fist. It’s tempting to use her mouth, but this will drive the point home better. She’s mine to use however I want, and there’s something especially demeaning about this. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes locked on my hand as it works my cock.
I’m almost there before I've even started. No need to draw this out. I grind out, “Mouth open,” and she does just as she’s told, spreading her lips wide as I explode all over her.
The orgasm is quick and rough. Not as satisfying as being inside Juliet, but the sight before me more than makes up for it.
She blinks, painted in my come. Perfect.
Fucking perfect. Never mind dinner parties.
I’m not letting anyone else into this apartment ever.
I’m going to keep Juliet naked and on her knees until the end of time.
The high from my orgasm fades, but the deep sense of satisfaction doesn’t. I tidy myself up, re-buckle my belt, and take my time getting myself together before I say, “You can stay like that and think about what you did whilst I make breakfast.”
It takes around twenty minutes.
I might have dragged things out a little.
Juliet watches my every move, and by the way she shifts her thighs together and lets out pathetic little moans, she’s enjoying the degrading position as much as I’m enjoying pretending to ignore her. It’s hard not to talk, but I feel like words would just ruin things. I’ve made my point.
Just as I’m starting to plate up, I say, “You may go and clean up. Don’t take long.”
She scurries away, and I pile the greasy food onto both of our plates. My stomach is doing cartwheels. That worked up an appetite.
She comes back—still naked—and her eyes lock on to the food. I wave a hand at the table. “Sit. Eat.”
She flashes me a quick grin. “This looks amazing.”
Then she sits down—still very much naked—-and tears into the food.
Maybe I didn’t think the whole “no clothes” thing through as well as I should have. It’s going to be distracting as all hell. How am I going to concentrate on anything normal? It wasn’t a problem when I was dropping in for a visit twice a day.