Is that how you speak to your dom, Butterfly?”
“Sir…” I clear my throat. My dominant is not used to waiting for my responses to his questions. Not anymore. Not after a year of training. He is also not the type to plan surprises. He has never so much as surprised me with flowers or chocolates, written me a love letter, or taken me dancing… let alone planned an entire week long get away together. His lack of romantic gestures is one of the things I learned to lower my expectations about. After all, he checks off all the other boxes on my list, so what is one little thing compared to all of the ones that he does?
Tall, dark and handsome. Check.
Employed. Check.
Financially secure. Check.
Attentive. Check.
Dominant. Check.
I am also appreciative of the fact that he isn’t two decades or older than me like most of the other dominants at my local BDSM club who look my way are.
After experiencing a long term power exchange relationship, I wouldn’t settle for a vanilla boyfriend; it leaves too many voids in my life. I am simply not satisfied. I tried. I tried so damn hard to settle for a regular old Joe, and be happy. The problem was, I was trying to force a round peg into a square hole, and no matter how hard I tried, it just didn’t fit. I made up my mind. All or nothing. Unfortunately, the pickings were slim until Bentley mysteriously arrived a year ago. What started with him being a one night play partner turned into a long term, monogamous relationship. He is the square hole I was looking for. Or, maybe he is the peg, he fits perfectly inside of me. I hold back my laughter at the thought.
“I believe the words you are looking for are, yes Sir,” he prompts me, bringing me out of my wandering thoughts and back to the conversation.
“I want to, I really do, but I don’t know, Bentley. I mean, an entire week?”
“Bentley?”
Fuck again.
I know better. He’s trained me better. We aren’t in public or at a work event. I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous? I should be way past the nervous stage with him.
“That’s two, Butterfly.”
Triple fuck.
Two punishments. I am on a roll tonight. “Sorry, Sir. A week is a long time on a couple hours’ notice.”
“Did you not tell me that you have an abundance of vacation time built up?”
“I did, Sir, yes. But—”
“And did you not tell me that you wanted to spend more time together?” he continues over me.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is. I arranged for us to spend the week together. All you have to do is let your boss know. Is that going to be a problem, Butterfly?”
He is right, I do have a lot of vacation built up. I’ve worked for the newspaper for a decade, and have only taken vacation twice. Hell, Hank was just in my office a few days ago, asking me to take vacation. He seems to think I need one after I put the senator’s aide in his place.
“Butterfly?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m waiting.”
“I’ll call my boss now.”
“Good girl. I was going to pick you up at nine but now we have some unfinished business to take care of. I expect you to be waiting for me in the corner when I arrive at eight.”
“Yes, Sir.” I sigh in frustration. He knows I hate the damn corner.
“I would get rid of the attitude before I arrive, Butterfly.”
I will never understand how he can possibly know me this well, it is almost like he is reading my mind. We hang up, and I glance down at the clock. Crap. I have a lot to do and very little time to do it.
I hate standing in the corner. I do. I really, really hate it. It is ridiculously boring, and for someone whose mind runs nonstop with a list of things they could be getting done, it can be almost torturous. Which is exactly why Bentley uses it as punishment. Sadist. I lovingly curse him a few times while I wait. I have every damn crack in this wall memorized. Every last one. I’ve spent more than a few minutes standing in this exact spot. A cold breeze rushes over me as the door opens and closes. Stealthy. The military trained him to be. I feel his eyes on me, studying me. No doubt he is inspecting my position.
I have taken my time to make sure I