Midlife Correction Ch. 03

She sat in the car with the collar on the seat next to her, staring out the windshield at the Christmas decorations hanging from the streetlights. She was terrified of going home and facing the girls. Her ass burned from the whipping. She was humiliated. She was horny.

She brushed her hair back and took several deep breaths, then took out her cell phone and hit number one in speed dial. Beth answered.

"Hey, baby," Her voice sounded okay but her tone was wrong—high, worried.

"Mom? You okay?"

"Oh, I just remembered I left something in the office," she lied. "No big deal. Look, I'm going to stop and get some tacos. What do you and your sister want?"

She sat in the drive-through of the taco place looking out at the highway, waiting to pick up her order. What an ugly place she lived in. Strip malls, drive-in businesses, half-hearted landscaping, bleak, lurid neons. No trees, no people, nothing human. Cars driving by in the slushy highway.

She had a vision of herself trying to find value in this, trying to find human connection. It was a vision she had a lot lately, a vision she had when she thought of her life, when she tried to conceptualize the idea of 'life". She thought of herself in the hospital when Beth had been born, she thought of her and the girls in the kitchen at home, and she thought of this strip of malls and fast food joints near her house, with a few cars driving by in the ugly winter dusk, unconnected and aimless. Surely there was more to it than this?

Her ass hurt. That counted for something. Her clothes still had that unfamiliar feel of having been recently put back on. She had let a man whip her tonight and take her to orgasm and nothing was the same.

"Hi girls," she announced as she walked into the house. She put the bag on the kitchen table. "Here's the food. I've got to make a call. I'll be right out."

She threw her coat on the chair in the living room and went into her bedroom. She picked up the phone and dialed Miles' shop. He picked up on the second ring.

"It's Julia. I'm really pissed."

"I imagine you are. I was hoping you'd call."

"I'm home. I can't really talk. The girls are here."

"I don't need you to talk. I need you to listen."

She pulled off her scarf and sat on the bed. "Alright."

"I owe you an explanation, I know—an apology even—for leaving you like that last night, and believe me, it wasn't easy. It wasn't something I wanted to do. It would have been easier to just take you to bed, Julia, and give in to what we both wanted, and I wanted that just as much as you did, even more. But sometimes what's easiest isn't best, and had I just slept with you last night, what would we have today? Who would I be to you today, Julia? Just your new boyfriend-stud, wouldn't I? The latest guy you're fucking. Maybe with some whips and chains thrown in, but that's what I would be: your kinky new boyfriend, Miles. That's not what I want."

"Miles—"

"Let me talk, Julia. You came to me because you wanted to find out about the cuffs and the collar, why they excited you so much. What you really wanted to know about was bondage, and dominance and submission. Whether you knew it or not, that's what you wanted, and that's what I'm going to teach you. And what happened tonight was a first lesson. The first lesson is, this isn't like a regular affair. This is special. The things we do are special, Julia.

"I still want you. Everything I said to you before is true, the things I want to do to you, the way I want to fuck you and take you over, the way I want to possess you. I just need you to know that it's more than everyday sex."

His words made her pulse pound in her ears. Through the door, she could hear the girls squabbling over the tacos. This was insane. This man was talking about fucking her on a phone in her own house.

"Alright," Julia said. "Alright. So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to have dinner with me. Tomorrow night, at the Fireside Inn on Washington Street and Fifth at seven forty-five. Then I want you to come up to my apartment with me. I have something to show you. I want you to bring your cuffs and collar, Julia. I want to finish what should have been finished."

She felt dizzy, weak and flushed, and she resented it. She was too old to be made to feel this way, hot and giddy with desire like a teenager.

"I don't know if I can," she lied. "The girls..."

"Get a sitter for the girls," he snarled. "I'll pay. This is more important than that."

"I'll see."

"What's your number, Julia? I need your phone number. I don't have it."

She hesitated. Did she really want him to have her phone number?

"Come on," he said. "Don't be juvenile. We're past that, don't you think?"

"Yes. I suppose so. All right." She gave him her number and she told him she'd meet him, trying to sound reluctant, but in her mind there'd never been any doubt. She'd never known anyone like Miles Bernard, and yet it was like she'd known him always, or been waiting for him, and she clung to the phone, asking him again for the name of the restaurant just to hear his voice.

He seemed to be aware of it too, because he said, a teasing note in his voice, "You're wicked, Julia, you know that? You know what happens to wicked women?"

"Wicked? What?"

"Maybe you'll find out."

* * * * * *

She didn't have to worry about the girls because Ryan was taking them that weekend, and he picked them up on Saturday afternoon to take them shopping and then into the city. That meant Julia couldn't get her hair done before she met Miles or Ryan might get suspicious and she didn't want to get into that. It was probably just as well, because Julia didn't want to make too big a deal out of this, and new hairdo was probably the worst thing she could have done.

She was determined Miles wouldn't ignore her this time and she had to be a knockout without looking like she was trying to be one, and that called for some finesse. She chose a pleated skirt and low cut tee under a nice cardigan with a necklace that would be snug enough to remind him of a collar without being blatant about it. If she wore her glasses too, she'd look both deceptively innocent and tough enough that she could pull it off, and she wouldn't appear to be as much of a pushover as she felt.

Of course, if he got to see her underwear, he'd know she came ready to put out, because she was wearing things she'd bought years ago when she thought she might be dating again and then had never worn, things that had embarrassed her last time she'd encountered them in her drawer and that now filled her with a wicked sense of anticipation.

She was ready way too early, and sat around the house in a state of high arousal, trying not to think about being the target of a man's lust, but with the girls gone she felt strangely perverse, something like the way she used to feel as a teenager in her parents' house when they would leave her alone, and she was glad when she could get in the SUV and head towards the Fireside Inn.

He was seated in the back when she came, in not far from the massive fireplace that gave the restaurant its name, and he saw her as the hostess was taking her coat. He immediately sat up. There was a drink in front of him, half gone, the ice cubes almost exhausted, and a crushed swizzle stick.

It was the first time he'd really seen her dressed, and she reveled in the look in his eyes. He stood as the hostess led her to the table, and he held the chair for her.

"I'm so glad you could come," he said.

"Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"Why not? I don't own you."

She smiled and the waitress took their drink orders. Around them were similar couples, but she wondered how many were truly like them. He'd chained her and whipped her and made her come, showed her things about herself she'd never dreamed, done everything to her except consummated their relationship, and that uncompleted piece of business hung like a cloud over the table. It was like a veil between them, a lens through which they viewed each other, an unspoken conversation. Her body was waiting for his to enter her and compared to that, everything else was of minor importance.

He made small talk for a while—the weather, how nice she looked, how glad he was she could make it. He was handsome in the candle light. His eyes glowed when he spoke to her.

"I owe you an apology," he said. "I don't know if what I said on the phone was enough. Above all, I didn't mean to insult you last night."

"No. I wasn't insulted. Shocked, maybe, but not insulted."

"You understand why I did it? Does it make any more sense to you now?"

"It's a little clearer to me now, yes. But please, there's no need to speak of it. Yesterday was yesterday." In truth, she didn't want to think of the image of herself naked and in the chains being whipped by him. It shamed her, and at the same time it set off alarms of unwelcome arousal.

"I'm sorry, but I have to talk about it. This thing between us is complicated, Julia. It's more than just a matter of taking you to bed and our being lovers. I mean, if that's all you want it to be, we can arrange for something like that, but we stand to gain so much more by doing things my way. We already have so much more. We have this fantastic opportunity, and I don't want to throw it away."

"You make it sound so involved, Miles."

"No. I don't mean for it to sound complicated. It's simple, really. It couldn't be simpler. But it's—what's the word?—profound. Important. It matters, Julia. It's not just fooling around. For some people, the kinds of things we do are just that—a game. For us I think it's different."

The waitress brought their drinks and Julia took a sip and put the glass down. Miles reached over and took her hand. He caressed her, and then, looking directly into her eyes, slid his hand over hers until he was gripping her wrist. He squeezed, simultaneously twisting her arm so her palm was up and pulling her subtly toward him. Julia felt a jolt of sexual excitement at his strength and easy mastery of her. He easily contained her wrist in his hand, easily pulled her where he wanted her to go.

He relaxed his grip and ran his thumb over the palm of her hand. Julia felt hypnotized. She was aware of the music playing in the background—some string quartet—and the quiet, sedate sounds of a restaurant at dinner hour, but all she could see was Miles. All she could feel was his hand holding hers.

"All your life you've given yourself, haven't you?" he said. "It's a different experience being taken. You're not sure about it."

"No," she said. "I'm not."

"Well tonight we'll find out."

He let go of her and picked up his menu and Julia looked at her hand lying on the table. It seemed alone, abandoned.

"We should order," he said. "The seafood here is very good."

The food was excellent but they were both too aware of one another to eat, and half-way through the meal, Miles asked, "You brought your cuffs?"

"Yes."

"I want you to go into the ladies' room and put them on. No one will see them under your sweater."

Julia hesitated. It was true. The sweater she wore was thick, the sleeves doubled back, but still. Not only was there something obscene about wearing her cuffs in public, but she bridled at the idea of taking a direct order from Miles. She bridled at it, and at the same time she found it oddly thrilling to be told what to do. She would play along.

"All right."

She took her purse and went to the ladies' room and let herself into a stall, removed her sweater and retrieved her cuffs from her bag where she'd wrapped them in red tissue, as if they were a gift. It was quiet in here. Pachelbel's Canon was playing on the sound system.

Immediately when she buckled them on she felt a tightness in her breasts, a longing. She took a deep breath to calm herself, closed her purse and put on her sweater and arranged the sleeves, then stood awhile with her hands raised to her mouth, her head bowed, almost as if in prayer, just savoring the feel of the cuffs on her wrists. She wanted to believe what Miles had told her, that what they were doing was important and profound, but inside it was hard to escape the feeling that she was just twisted, sick, somehow diseased. A fetishist. She had second thoughts about going to his apartment with him, about what might happen.

She wouldn't think of that now. He'd told her to do this so she was doing it for him.

It was true. She liked the idea that he was taking something from her, that he found something in her valuable enough to want to take it.

She went and washed her hands well, being careful to keep her cuffs dry, then walked back to their table, her head high, aware of the color in her cheeks. She saw his eyes following her as she approached.

"Show me," he said.

"Miles..."

He took her wrist as she stood by the table and peeled back her sweater just an inch or so, just enough to catch a glimpse of the gleaming black leather, and Julia felt exposed, as if she'd lifted up her skirt to the entire restaurant. She felt flushed and aroused, like Miles' dirty little secret, and when he stood to hold her chair for her, she felt like Miles Bernard's whore.

"You're not eating," he observed after a few minutes.

"No. Suddenly I'm not hungry."

"I'm sorry."

She watched him for a while, her heart beating in her chest, then she said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She paused nervously. "Why do you do this? What do you get out of this?"

He swallowed the bit he was chewing and dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and when he looked at her his eyes were thrilling and dark.

"I've thought a lot about that. I don't know if I can really explain it. It has to do with possessing something beautiful, or trying to possess it, trying to grasp it and hold onto it and say things about it that can't be said any other way. So the ropes, the cuffs, they're all symbolic. They're my attempt to possess you, Julia, to make you mine."

She felt at that moment as if his hands were already on her, as if the cuffs she wore were his grip on her wrists, and she tried to take another bite of her fish but she was simply unable to.

"I'm afraid I can't eat another bite," she said.

"Good. Let's go then."

"Miles, I don't know if I can do this."

The import of his words had seemed like too much for her. The things he wanted seemed more than she could deliver.

He looked at her. "All right. If you can't, you can't. Just come up and see what I have to show you. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

He paid the tab and got their coats, and he was solicitous as he helped her on with hers, closing it around her protectively and inadvertently brushing his hands over the sides of her breasts. Julia was almost dizzy with wine and excitement. She felt captured and controlled. It was silly. It was just a restaurant, just dinner, but everything seemed to be happening so fast.

"Where are you parked?" Miles asked her when they stepped out into the street. The night was cold and windless. "I live just a block away. I suggest we leave your car where it is and walk."

"Yes. All right."

He took her arm and they started down the sidewalk past the darkened storefronts, skirting the patches of ice and packed snow. Julia kept herself pressed against him for his warmth and support. She felt weak and flimsy, as if she might blow away if he didn't hold onto her. She was aware of his hand on her wrist, working beneath her coat, pulling the sleeve of her sweater back and gripping the leather cuff she wore against her skin.

"Come here."

Without warning he pulled her into the entrance of a store, out of the lights of the street and into the shadows, and took her in a sudden embrace, kissing her deeply, shocking her with his unexpected passion. He was hot and intense, his lips warm while the winter air was cold on her face. Julia yielded to him, surrendering to his kiss as he pulled her body against him and she felt the hard bar of his cock against her thigh. He was already erect, already prepared for her and he hadn't touched her yet.

A set of car headlights swept over them and Miles broke the kiss. He pulled her hands in front of her and pushed her sleeves up far enough to expose the rings in her cuffs. Pulling off a glove, he slipped a forefinger through them, binding her two wrists together and raising them in front of her face, making her look as though she were manacled and pleading with him. He stared into her eyes as he held her with the one finger through her cuffs.

The way he controlled her made her weak. The way she loved it embarrassed her and made her ashamed. She wasn't supposed to feel like this. No one was. He pulled her by the wrists and she followed him, then he let her go and put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back out onto the street.

"Miles, I won't be your slave."

"I'll never ask you to be. That's not what I want at all."

He held her close as the walked the rest of the way to his building, and when they were in the elevator he embraced her again, putting his arms inside her coat and opening it up so he could feel her body against his. His hands traveled up and down her back and she could feel how he drew strength from her, how he fueled his lust from the feel of her surrender and she felt like she was dissolving in his kiss, evaporating under the heat of his desire.

When they reached his floor, she was dizzy and disoriented, and she let him take her wrist and pull her down the hallway to his apartment. She waited nervously as he unlocked the door and took her inside.

The apartment was done in a modern, eclectic style, with occasional antiques, everything expensive and very tasteful. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave a stunning view of the city, but Miles didn't stop to let her admire the view. He remopved his coat and then hers, and threw them in a chair. He peeled off his suit jacket.

"Where's your collar?"

"In my bag."

"Get it."

Nervous with excitement, Julia brought it to him and Miles slipped it on her and buckled it in place. As soon as it was on, something changed. She was no longer afraid of him. Whatever happened between them was inevitable

"I won't lock it. But maybe, if things go well, you'll have me lock it next time."

He took her arm and led her down the hallway to a locked door—a spare bedroom, she supposed. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights and led her inside and Julia stared.

It might have been a Victorian bordello, or perhaps some bizarre torture chamber. Thick carpets were on the floor, curtains and tapestries on the walls, the windows were covered with heavy draperies. The room was done in velvety reds and blacks and gold with a large brass canopy bed and a massive oak chair fixed with cuffs for ankles and wrists. There was other wooden furniture of strange design, items Julia couldn't identify but whose use she could guess at.

"Oh my," was all she could say.

"This was what I wanted to show you. It's been waiting for someone like you, Julia."

Has it come to this? she wondered.This kind of garishness and grotesqueness? This elaboration? But then Miles took her in his arms again and she forgot all thoughts of interior decorating incompetence or bad taste. If the room looked like a Barbary Coast whorehouse, no doubt he had his reasons for wanting it to look that way, and for now all she cared about was the feel of his arms around her and the heat of his lips against her mouth.

The cuffs were on her wrists and the collar around her throat and Miles was guiding her back to the bed, stripping the sweater down her arms as he did, giving her no time to object or even think about what he was doing. And then her tee shirt was lifted over her head and his hands were at the zipper of her skirt and that was sliding down her legs and she was in her bra and panties, crushed in his embrace.