Calming My Girl

Calming My Girl

Frost E. King

"Daddy!" Bare feet pound down the hall. I look up from my computer and scoot away from the desk.

"Yes, baby girl?"

She rounds the corner, her face red with worry and unshed tears. "Where were you?" she demands.

"In my office, working. Just like I told you." I stand and walk over. I'm just under six feet tall. I look down at my four-foot-tall girlfriend. An adorable, punkish little ball of separation anxiety, worry, and clinginess. I take her in my arms and hold her tight, playing in to the scene. "What's wrong?"

"I thought you were gone again." She wraps her arms around my neck and leans against my chest. For a minute we simply stand there, while she tries to calm down.

"I told you, I had work to do. I can't be your Master all the time at all hours of the day."

"Well, I need you," she whines. She actually whines. For a second, she sounds like a little girl, not a twenty-eight-year-old military brat with a long history of mental health problems.

"I know," I rub her back. "But I really need to get this done. My client is impatient. And the deadline is in two days."

"So, you've got two whole days to get it done?"

"Nope, I've got two hours. If I get it done ahead of time, I get a bonus. My work is first in the pipeline, remember? The sooner I get done, the sooner the other people can get started."

"Uh, huh."

She's not listening.

"Can I get back to work?"

She shakes her head, making a wordless noise against me. At the same time, her grip tightens. I sigh, more annoyed than anything. I feel for her. Really, I do. But my patience is wearing thin. Tonight, my client's needs outweigh my girlfriend. I slide my hands under her armpits. Tightening my grip, I lift her clear off the ground and pin her against the doorframe. "If you don't leave me alone, I'll have to tie you up."

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating. She holds her breath. Beneath my fingers, I feel her pulse rise. Biting her lip, she lowers her chin and looks at me through the curtain of her eyelashes.

"Do you want this?" she whispers.

I suddenly become aware of how close we are. How my body is pressing up against hers. I do want her. I want to take her over the arm of the couch and have sex with her until dawn. I want to tie her up and tease her, even though she hates being teased. I tie her legs apart and take her rough and violent--like an animal--even though she hates that. She likes it slow and gentle.

"Oh, yes. I want this." I lean in and force my lips against hers. She grins and wraps her legs around my waist. I slide one hand under her butt to hold her up while my other wraps around her back. She curls her arms around my neck and drives her tongue down my throat.

"Enough," I pull back. She stares at me with surprise.

"What is it?" She frowns, as if confused.

I like her a lot. And I like playing with her. But I have work to do. And she's not making it easier. Oh well. Time for reinforcement training. I step back from the wall and slap her butt. "Get down."

She releases my waist and slides to the floor. At the same time, her face goes red and her eyes fill with tears. Shoving me, she runs down the hall, sobbing.

Is it rejection? A whirlwind of emotions? That time of the month? Or did I push her away when she was using me as her rock, to calm herself? Women are mystery. That much is certain. What is also certain is that I have work to do. And as much as I love playing with her, I don't think we should tie our sexual play with her reassurances.

If she needs to be reassured, and her anxiousness calmed, I can do that. But I don't think it's a good idea to always include sex. Sex is good. And it can be used to calm her down. But it shouldn't be a requirement. What if we go out somewhere and we can't, uh, 'play'? What if I need to calm her down but have do it discreetly?

"Honey," I call. I walk down the hall. I don't tiptoe. When I get to the bedroom, I just turn the knob. Oh, it's locked. Welp, I've prepared for this eventuality.

"I don't wanna talk to you." Her voice is muffled.

Ignoring her, I pull my keys from inside my pocket and flip through them. Here we are, the skeleton key. The one key that'll fit any lock in the house, no matter its kind. I push it in and turn. The door only opens an inch. She must have wedged a chair under the handle.

"Open the door," I order.

"No." Her voice comes out tiny.

"Open the door, and I'll open it myself. Or punish you for it." I pause to let the words sink in. Then it hits me. "Open it now, or I'll open it myself. And after I'm done opening it, then I'll hurt you. Do you want to be hurt?"

"Go away," she sniffs.

"I don't have time for this, honey." I shove my foot in the crack and wedge my knee against it. Using my body as a fulcrum, I manage to push the door out far enough to pry the chair away. Then, I enter the bedroom proper.

My girlfriend is huddled on the bed with a box of tissues, facing away from me. She doesn't react when I come in. I sigh from deep in my gut. "I'm not mad at you."

I move to sit down on the edge of the bed, but she doesn't move. Undeterred, I move to sit behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. Slowly, I start massaging her. Her head lowers until her chin touches her chest, and she leans forward. Away from me. I hear a wet sniffle.

"Honey," I pull her backward, forcing her head into my lap. "You can't be running off like that. If you're upset, you need to tell me. And you need to tell me why. I'm not a mind reader. I don't know what you're thinking. And if things aren't going the way you thought they would, you need to tell me. If I've got work to do, and your separation anxiety is acting up--which it is--then you need to let me take control. Understand?"

"Mm hmm," she turns her head to avoid looking at me.

"Not good enough. I told you I would punish you if you didn't obey. And you refused. Now, you need to be punished. Once that's done, then I'll take care of you." I let the silence hang in the air for a moment. "Would you prefer to be punished naked, or do you want clothes on?"

"On is fine," she mumbles.

"All right." I slide to the edge of the bed and maneuver her across my lap. "I said when we met that I could take care of you. I knew what I was getting into, how much baggage you have. And I'm still willing. But you need to do a few things for me. You need to contribute something to this relationship. No more of this all take and no give."

I position her rear across my knee. I rest my hand across her lower back to pin her there. With my other I slowly stroke her rear to get her warmed up. On a whim, I reach around and unbutton her pants.

"Hey," she protests, getting up.

"Hush," I shove her back down. Then I slide her pants down around her knees. "You're already getting ten for not opening the door. Don't make it worse, now."

I return to massaging her cheeks. For having a pixie body, her ass is nice and plum. Not as big as I'd like it. And definitely not as big as her last girlfriend preferred. But not skin and bone, either. In other words, her body isn't exactly pleasing, but it could be worse. Besides, I'm not with her because I like the way she looks. I only took her on as a project because I smelled an opportunity. "I want you to count each stroke out loud. After each one, apologize for being a bad little girl and say 'thank you for punishing me, sir'."

I raise my hand and bring it down over her clothed rear.

She grunts. "One. Thank you, master."

"No, you did it wrong. You have to start over. What did I say to do?"

"Count out loud and say thank you for hurting me."

"Nope. I said, 'Count oud loud. Then apologize for being a bad little girl, and say 'thank you.' Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good, what did I say?"

"Count out loud. Say I'm sorry, and thank you."

"Good girl." My hand is descending even before the words leave my mouth. I strike dead center of her ass, hard enough to make her skin ripple.

"One." She sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll try and do better. Thank you."

"Wrong again," I growl. I yank her pink panties down, exposing the curve of her ass. She buries her face in the covers, as if in shame. I force my fingers between her legs down below, sliding them over the flesh. "I'm going to tell you one more time what to say. After that, if you make another mistake, I'll assume you're doing it on purpose. And then I'm going to hurt you."

"Yes, sir," she whimpers.

"One more time, and repeat after me: count out loud--?"

"Count out loud."

"Apologize for, and I quote, 'being a bad little girl'."

"Say I'm sorry for being a bad little girl."

"And say, 'thank you for punishing me.'"

"And thank you for punishing me."

"Good girl." I slip one finger inside. She's warm and wet. My lips turn down. Was she messing up on purpose? If so, I can't ask her, because she'll just lie about it. And I'm a terrible lie detector.

Women are great liars. They can lie to a man with a smile on their face and he can't tell the difference. One thing I've learned is that when men lie to a woman, they look her in the eye. But if they're telling the truth, they're usually looking at her chest. A friend of mine from way back is a grifter. She used to talk about her marks all the time.

Anyway, concerning my present companion, it's prolly a far better idea to just assume she knows better and is messing with me. If she's not, the added discipline will encourage her to do better. And if she is, the punishment may deter her from doing it more. Or it may not. If she wants attention, even negative attention is still attention. Maybe I can instill a phobia for negative behavior? Or use negative reinforcement in some way? Lock her in the basement with a bucket, a bag of food and water and leave her for a day? Use her separation anxiety to reinforce her obedience to me. Good behavior removes negative stimuli meaning if she obeys, she gets rewards. So many options. So little time.

I withdraw my hand and raise it. Without warning, I slap the soft area of her upper thighs with all my might. She jumps and cries out. I drive my elbow into her back to pin her down.

"Shut up," I snap. "I don't want the neighbors to hear. You don't want them to come and take me away from you, do you?"

"No," she gasps. "Oh. Oh, but that hurt."

"What do you say?"

"One. I'm sorry for being a bad little girl. Thank you for punishing me, sir."

"Good girl." Well, that's confirmation she was messing with me, then. Time to reinforce the discipline. I raise my hand again and bring it down with all my might.

"Ah! Two! I'm sorry I was such a bad little girl, sir. Thank you for punishing me."

Swat.

"Mmph! Three! I'm sorry I was such a bad little girl, Master. Thank you for punishing me."

I give her thirty seconds to breathe. Then I slap her again. We go up to ten. By the time I'm done, her butt is a nice pink. I massage it afterwards, while she tries not to cry into the bedspread.

"You can cry, if you want." I roll her over and scoop her up. "It's okay to cry."

"You really hurt me," she leans her head against my cheek.

I take my arm from under her legs and begin massaging her pussy. Her breathing changes at that point, and her eyes close. I keep the pressure on, working her over.

"You know what I think?" I whisper. "I think you like being punished. I think...you're secretly a masochist."

"No," her voice is quiet but firm. "I'm not."

"You're not? Then why are you getting off to being spanked? It's something you've always denied. 'Never a masochist.' 'Hate pain.' 'Not a freak.' So, you say. Problem is, you're soaking wet down her. Which means you're getting off on this. You like being spanked."

"I'm not..." she trails off, squeezing her legs together.

"Relax." I push her knees apart, forcing them down almost to the bed for better access. "Relax," I order. Her breathing changes again, becoming faster. Her eyes have closed and her head is turned away, as if trying to mentally distance herself. I resume my ministrations on her twat, while her knees twitch and shake. Despite her reluctance, she's still trying to obey.

"When it comes, don't force it." I tell her. "Just let it wash over you. Like a wave against the sand." My fingers dive deeper, working at her. "Imagine you're lying on the warm sand, with the hot summer sun beating down on you. There's no one around. You're on a deserted island. The water stinks of fish. Can you smell it? Imagine it's washing up over your feet. It feels nice and cool. Like a lover's touch, massaging your skin. Feel the surf wash over you, the tide coming in. Let the sea foam cover you, as gentle as the caress of a cloud."

Without warning, she gasps. A blush spreads from her face down her chest. I keep at her for a little longer, milking the climax.

"I did this to you." I whisper in her ear. "I did. Not you. Me. Understand?"

She nods. I feel her go completely limp, which is exactly what I want.

"Your body told you to be anxious. And you were. I told you to relax, and you did. Do you understand? If you listen to me, you'll be warm and happy. If you don't, you'll never feel this way again. I made your body do this. I coaxed an orgasm from you. I turned you on and made you feel good when you should have felt pain. Honey, do you want to feel pain? Or do you want to feel good?"

"I want good." She murmurs. "Make me feel good, sir."

"I played your body like a fiddle. If you let me play with your mind, I can make you feel good all the time. Would you like that?"

"I--I would."

"Good girl." I kiss the top of her head. "Then take the rest of your clothes off."

She kicks off her pants and panties. Reaching up, she slithers out of the rest of her clothing faster than I thought possible. "Now what?" She reclines on the bed, one hand draped possessively across my leg.

I get up and go to my dresser. One of the few places she's not allowed in. Instead of opening the sock drawer, I open one near the bottom that houses a few quilts. Remnants from an inheritance. From underneath them I pull two items. One is a stainless-steel bulb with a narrow neck and a flared base with a plastic jewel set in the hilt. The other is a silk blindfold.

Returning to the bed, I sit cross-legged in the middle and deposit the items in front of her.

"What's this?" She picks up the bulb.

"That is the first step for your training. All that anxiety you feel? Those negative feelings that make you unable to hold a job and live your life? I'm going to take those away. I'm going to make you whole again. Would you like that?"

"Duh." She looks at me from beneath the curve of her brow. "How's this supposed to help?"

"It's simple: do what I tell you. Give me those feelings. Let me worry about things. While you wear this, and this," I hold up the blindfold. "And nothing will bother you. I promise, I won't leave your side. I won't leave you alone. I'll be with you at all times."

"So, all I have to do is shove this thing up my ass, and that's supposed to magically take away my issues?"

"Well, no," I admit. "It doesn't work like that. It takes work. This is a symbol. As long as you wear this, you can't poop. If you need to, just come to me and tell me. And I'll let you. But by giving me control over this tiny thing, you're telling your body that it is no longer in control over you. I am. And when I'm in control, everything's all right."

"This metal toy is supposed to do all that?" She wrinkles her nose. "Why didn't anyone tell me about this before? Why the blindfold?"

"No one told you about it because it only works if you have a partner. And not just any partner will do, it has to be me. It's my method. Two, the blindfold is my price. In any healthy relationship, there has to be a give and take. I knew coming in you needed a lot of help.

"I am willing to stick around and help you. But I need some things in return. This blindfold is one of them. Wear it, and the training won't just be in your head. You will truly have to rely on me. I promise, I won't let you go. Literally or metaphorically."

She stares down at the toys, thinking it over.

"Listen, honey. I've got work to do. I am willing to help you, but I need you to make a decision. I'll be in my office." I stretch, feeling all the muscles in my back cramp. The pain feels good. Then I relax and scoot off the bed.

"Don't go," she pleads. She stretches one hand toward me. The tears are returning. "Please."

"If you want me, come to my office naked. Wear that plug. And kneel on the floor at my feet. You don't have to wear the blindfold, but you do need to bring it."