The Chalet

  Her sly smile tickled the edges of her mouth. “I think it’s missing one thing.”

  I had a fairly good idea of what one thing she meant. “Maybe, but I’m not about to get frostbite on my cock.”

  “Master,” she chided. “I didn’t mean that. I was talking about snacks. Did you bring something to eat in that backpack?”

  “I don’t know whether to be disappointed or not.” I took out an apple and tossed it to her. “Good catch.”

  “All that backyard playing with Jackson helped.” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute, did you say that because you expected me to miss the apple? So what, you decided to throw it to me anyway?”

  “Watch your tone of voice,” I said. “Just because we’re not in the playroom doesn’t mean you can act any old way when you’re wearing my collar.”

  She looked abashed. “Sorry, Master.”

  “I know you’ve been playing catch with Jackson. I’m there, too. I was complimenting your catch.” I lowered my voice, “I’m going to let this instance slide because I’m in a good mood. Speak to me that way again while you’re wearing my collar and I’ll double your punishment.”

  “Yes, Master. I understand.”

  We stayed in the clearing for a while, enjoying our snacks and the surroundings. She had told me after Jackson and Felicia returned from their European honeymoon that she had no interest herself in the kind of country-hopping they did. I had felt certain, however, that she would be fine with skiing across borders.

  We spent the rest of the day out skiing and made it back to the chalet after dark. I planned to take her collar off that night. After dinner she went to take a shower and when I finished with mine, she was curled up in bed, sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her up just to remove the collar, that could wait until morning, so I pulled her to my side and fell asleep myself.

  The next few days were wonderful. We spent time skiing and exploring the local area, but there were days we simply stayed inside and enjoyed each other’s company. Honestly, we didn’t have to leave the chalet. With the spa, pool, and library, everything we needed was close by.

  About a week after arriving, we took a taxi into the village for our first fondue.

  “I can’t believe we’ve been in Switzerland for a week and haven’t tried fondue,” she said once we’d sat down.

  “Shh,” I said, looking around at the other diners. “Don’t say that too loudly, you’ll have us kicked out of the country.”

  She laughed. I couldn’t help but smile in response. She was always beautiful, but her laugh warmed me from the inside out.

  I stood up when she pushed back from the table.

  “I’ll be right back. I think I saw the ladies’ room on the way in.”

  I sat back down and looked over the menu. It was written in French and I thought with a chuckle about suggesting to Abby she memorize it. Next time she was trying to hold her orgasm at bay, a French menu would be more entertaining than hearing the German alphabet backward.

  “Can I take your drink order?” the waiter asked, interrupting my thoughts about Abby and the playroom.

  “I’ll have a Trois Dames Oud Bruin and my wife will take a glass of your house red.” I probably didn’t hide what I knew was a silly grin. I couldn’t help it, though; it was the first time I’d referred to her as “my wife” out in public.

  “Did you have a chance to look over the menu?” Abby asked when she returned and I’d helped her back into her chair.

  “Yes, and it’s in French. A shame we didn’t decide on a German restaurant.”

  She kicked me under the table.

  “What?” I asked. “Just trying to expand your foreign vocabulary.”

  She sighed and leaned back into her seat after we ordered. “Only one more week.”

  I didn’t want to think about returning home just yet. Didn’t want to have to think about the reality outside of our honeymoon haven. “It’s going by so quickly. Is there something you specifically want to do next week?”

  “You mean as in places to go, or things we could do in the chalet?”

  I nearly choked on my drink. “I was talking about places to go, but if there are things we haven’t done otherwise I’m open to those as well.”

  She looked over both shoulders. The restaurant was at capacity, but the tables were arranged to give privacy. We wouldn’t be overheard.

  “I’ve worn your collar two days so far. I’d like to wear it more.”

  I swirled my drink. “I can arrange that.”

  “Maybe another two days?”

  “Monday and Tuesday?”

  “I think that would work perfectly.”

  Playing early in the week would work out well since we’d be traveling home the next weekend and, as such, I probably wouldn’t collar her.

  “There’s actually something else I wanted to talk about,” she said. “But I’m not sure this is the right place.”

  “Something private?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re probably right. This isn’t the best place to discuss those types of things. Can it wait until we get back?”

  She agreed and we spent the rest of the night eating, drinking, and laughing. After dinner we walked around the village some. From one spot, if you stood the right way and held your head just so, you could see our chalet. I pointed it out to Abby and wondered out loud if anyone had a telescope. She punched my shoulder.

  Late that night, after we returned, I found her propped up on pillows in front of the fireplace. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower and she held a mug of coffee.

  “This looks comfortable,” I said, taking a seat beside her. “What are you thinking?”

  “Remember a few nights ago when I called you ‘Sir’ and didn’t remember doing it later?”

  It was suddenly very clear why she didn’t want to have this conversation at the restaurant. “Yes.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. How I like it when you take control during sex, even when I’m not wearing your collar, and what that means.”

  “And what do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it. I know I don’t want to wear your collar every day.”

  I loved the fact that our relationship was strong and open enough for us to talk about things we didn’t want. Loved that we felt comfortable enough to simply talk. Especially when we didn’t know something.

  “I don’t want you to wear it that often, either,” I said. “So we both agree on that.”

  She had her robe on and was sitting facing the fireplace, hugging her knees. She was gazing into the fire with a look of utter concentration, as if she could find the answers she was looking for in the flames. I decided to take a different approach.

  “Look at me, Abby.”

  She didn’t even hesitate in shifting her focus from the fire to me.

  “That right there,” I said. “Why do you think you turned your head so quickly and without stopping to think about it?”

  “I know you want me to say because I’m a submissive, but I don’t think that’s the whole reason.” Her head lifted just a bit. “I think most people would react the same way.”

  “Good point. You’re right on that one.” I thought for a second on how best to make my case. “Let’s try this.” I scooted closer to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s say we’re naked.”

  She pulled back slightly. “Are we just pretending or are we actually getting naked? Because if we’re actually getting naked, I don’t see this conversation lasting very long.”

  I bit her earlobe. “We’ll just pretend for now. So in my scenario, we’re both naked—”

  “Am I wearing your collar or not?”

  “You’re not. And I’m kissing you kind of like this.” I turned her to face me and I stopped whatever words she was about to say by crushing my lips to hers. I framed her face and kissed her long and slow and deep. When I pulled back, she was pan
ting.

  “I like this scenario,” she said.

  “It gets better.” I inched a hand inside her robe and cupped her breast. “While I’m kissing you, I start to caress you like this.”

  “I’m torn between telling you to get to your point or to simply relax and let myself feel.”

  “Just relax and feel. I’ll get to my point.” I ran a thumb over her nipple. “Eventually.”

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes and I took the coffee mug from her and placed it on the end table next to where we were sitting.

  “Let’s say we’re standing together and I’m kissing and caressing you, and I lean over and whisper in your ear, ‘Touch my cock, baby. Stroke me and make me feel good.’” I took her free hand and placed it on my growing erection.

  “I’m sure vanilla people say stuff like that all the time.”

  I didn’t reply. “So you’re stroking me and I’m telling you how good you feel and how I love having your hands on my body. And then I look at you and say, ‘Get on your knees and suck me off.’”

  She kept stroking me.

  “Suck it,” I commanded. “Fucking do it now, Abby.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She moved to undo my pants, but I stopped her. “There. Right there. In that second before you moved, how did you feel?”

  “My heart started racing and I grew aroused.” She narrowed her eyes. “So I get off when you get bossy. That still doesn’t mean I want to be submissive all the time.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “My dominance turns you on. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing my collar at the time or not. And it turns you on because you’re a sexual submissive. It’s the way you’re wired. It’s not something you can turn off and on.”

  “I get that partially.” She’d moved so her back was to the couch. “I guess I just thought if we did it over the weekend, the need wouldn’t be there during the week.”

  “The need will always be there because submitting will always be what turns you on.”

  “So what do we do with that?”

  “What do you want to do with it? We’ve already established neither one of us wants you in my collar all the time.”

  She was quiet for several minutes, silently thinking, I supposed. I reminded myself how relatively new she was to the lifestyle. I could give her my opinions and advice, but the truth was, she needed to come to her own conclusions.

  “I think there’s a lot of truth to what you’re saying,” she finally said. “Looking back over our weekday times, it’s always been more intense for me when you’ve been more dominant.”

  I recalled vividly how strongly she’d react whenever I took control during sex. I supposed knowing how she’d respond had always been a given to me. Then again, I’d been a dom a lot longer than she’d been a sub.

  “I would wholeheartedly agree with that,” I said.

  “But you never said anything.”

  “It’s something you had to figure out for yourself. And,” I added, slipping my hand back inside her robe. “I showed you with action, which I think is always better than words.”

  She playfully swatted my hand away. “Wait a minute, I can’t think with you doing that.”

  I moved my hand and silently hoped she didn’t need much longer to think. The way the robe was hanging from her shoulders . . . just a mere touch and it’d slip off completely.

  “What if you exerted a little bit more control in the bedroom on weekdays? I think that would work.” She tightened the robe around her body. “It would only be in the bedroom, so it’s not like it is when I wear your collar.”

  “I could definitely get behind that idea. And since you wouldn’t be collared, you wouldn’t call me ‘Master.’ That’s only for when you wear my collar.”

  “Can I call you ‘Sir’?”

  “If you’d like. But I don’t want to set up a lot of rules for our weekdays.”

  Her body shifted so she was facing me more and excitement danced in her eyes. “Can we start now? Like this week?”

  “I don’t see why not. In fact.” I stood up. “You’re going to suck my cock, Abby. But first, take the robe off.”

  Chapter Ten

  Abby

  When he collared me that Monday, he gave me a writing assignment to complete in the afternoon. So for part of the day, I sat in our sunroom, surrounded by mountains and writing about ways to incorporate sexual submission into our everyday lives.

  “Of course,” he’d said with that wicked gleam in his eye as he gave me the assignment, “that means you first have to decide on your definition of sexual submission.”

  I’d spoken with submissives in our local group who thought writing assignments were punishments, but they’d never felt like that to me. I’d always felt that sometimes it was easier to think on paper.

  When I picked my pen and journal up, it was as if the floodgates of my mind opened and allowed me to put into words what speaking and thinking alone couldn’t do. Nathaniel, of course, noticed this right away. As a result, whenever there was a subject he saw I needed to come to terms with, he’d have me write about it.

  He also knew that writing sometimes felt easier to me then to talking to him. When I put my thoughts in my journal, I knew he had the right to read what I’d written. But he’d assured me that nothing I ever wrote would be used against me, so his eventual reading of what I wrote didn’t worry me. I knew we would end up discussing it. But sometimes it was easier to start that conversation in writing.

  He walked into the sunroom that Monday as I was finishing up.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, handing me a cup of hot chocolate.

  “Thank you, Master.” I took the mug and had a sip. He’d been making me the best hot chocolate since we’d gotten to Switzerland . “Mmm, this is so good. I’m almost finished with my writing.”

  He nodded and took a seat opposite me. “Will it bother you if I sit in here?”

  “Probably not, Master. As long as you’re quiet. Though if you’d like to distract me or if you want me to distract you, I won’t complain.”

  “No distractions for now,” he said with a soft grin. “I want you to finish.”

  I gave a mock sigh. “If you insist.”

  For the next thirty minutes, we sat in comfortable silence. I wrote and he read something on his tablet. When I finished with my assignment, I gathered my journal, placed it on his lap, and knelt on the floor at his feet.

  “Finished?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Did you find the exercise useful?”

  When he asked me such a question, I was to answer honestly. If I hadn’t found the writing useful, I was free to tell him so. At such times, only my dishonesty would be a disappointment to him. My answer today was a truthful, “Yes, it was very useful.”

  He took the journal and placed it on the end table. “I’ll read over this later. For now, tell me one thing you learned while writing.” He knew that after I’d written about a subject, it was usually easier for me to articulate my feelings to him.

  “As I wrote, I came to realize that sexual submission takes on many forms. And it can be played out and incorporated in a lot of ways. Whether one is a collared submissive or not.”

  “Sounds strikingly similar to a statement I made not so many nights ago.”

  “Yes, Master, but like you also said, it’s a conclusion I had to come to myself.”

  He stroked my cheek. “And have you?”

  We had been together, living a dual relationship for over six months. In that time, we’d come together numerous times as both dominant and submissive and just as Nathaniel and Abby. I loved both parts of our lives, but looking back, the intimate moments I’d