02 – The Lion & The GazelleA Devil's Hope
With all the business in order, I gather up my kids, and we make the trek home. I dread the conversation with Magellan. When we enter the building I let Jimmy, the day doorman, spend a few minutes with Castian while I sign for the mail.
Our apartment is in decent order. The mess bothers Magellan. I get the kids nestled in their cribs to finish their naps, and I turn into a whirling dervish of cleaning. I pick up all the toys and toss them into the basket, wash the dishes, and start the laundry. I even dig out all the ingredients to make rock soup sans rocks, snails, or anything of that other gross seafood. By the time Magellan comes strolling in, the table’s set and I’m setting up the highchair.
“Mhmm, smells good,” he coos as he kisses me on the cheek. He’s tense and he quickly parts from me to head into our bedroom. I barely have time to dwell on him as I’m summoned by an angry, hungry Castian, soon followed by the as demanding Helena.
I duck into their room to deal with diaper changes and defer screaming with pacifiers until Magellan swoops in to take Helena from me. We head back to the dining room, and I get our little lion into the highchair with his bib firmly attached.
Magellan coos down at Helena as I grab dinner from the oven and set it on the table.
“You feed his highness, and I’ll take care of our princess?” I say as I reach for Helena.
As I work myself free to feed our daughter, Magellan’s eyes twinkle and drift from mine down to my breasts. He quirks a brow with the silent question of whether I’ll remove my shirt.
My cheeks blush as I remember when I could be that obedient. He would command I go topless when I fed Castian this way. With Castian awake, and older, we don’t feel comfortable playing our game that far.
He sulks when I shake my head no and turns to feed our son with great reluctance.
I make quick work of Helena’s meal and deposit her back in the crib to come and enjoy dinner.
“With your right hand,” he says without looking at me, as he zooms a spoonful of baby-food into Castian’s mouth. “Then tell me what it you want since you cleaned, and cooked my favorite dinner.”
“Yes, Sir.” I serve our food using my off-hand. I’ve gotten adept at performing this task. It’s still awkward and requires me to focus. We eat quietly while Castian plays with the few Cheerios I left on his tray for dessert. “Harold’s flying us to Kansas City and to Spain for the holidays, He wants me to work Christmas.”
I stuff food into my mouth before he can make me repeat myself, offering a sheepish grin.
“Are you fucking kidding me? And let me guess, you already agreed. Fuck. Do I even get a say in the matter? How long? When? You know I have to fucking work. You said you weren’t going back to work until Le Salon was ready.” He’s white-knuckling his fork as he growls at me.
I swallow the food and frown down at my plate, pushing the paella around.
“He wants me to do a soft open for Le Salon. We’re bleeding cash and the Scapelli Christmas—”
“No! He doesn’t own you. You’re not doing it. You’re fucking going to be with me on Christmas.”
“Yes, I am. You know how important Le Salon is to me. It’s not Harold asking me to do it. It’s me wanting to do it. We both know I get my way with him. We need the money, Mick. You told me to find a way to fix it. Working is fixing. That’s how I make money, remember?” I look Magellan square in the eyes in my defiant anger the beast flares to life as he stares back at me.
It doesn’t matter. I’m sleep deprived, my boobs hurt, my ass is sore, and I’m fat. I inhale sharply to provide the grand finale of my tantrum. “Fuck you and your fucking suit and perfect fucking hair with your awesome fucking car where you get to go talk to grown-ups all day and I have to fucking toe the fucking line to make your fucking parents who aren’t even here happy!” I snatch our plates as I stand, regardless of him being finished, and I storm over to the sink and clank them into it without care.
I follow this display with stomping back over to Castian, who starts to blubber. I unclasp his highchair, wipe his face with the bib, and toss it onto the table like a gauntlet thrown in challenge. My display completes as I scoop up Castian and escape to the kids’ bedroom with him; not looking back to see Magellan’s reaction.
Bedtime is a few hours away, so I plop down on the floor to play with Castian until he gives me sleepy yawns. When the shower kicks on in the other room, I puff like a dragon snorting and purse my lips. I refuse to cave and apologize. I don’t care how much trouble I’ll get in. While I’m his submissive, I’m also his wife. There’s a time to roll over and take punishment, and a time to tell him to go fuck himself.
In the time it takes me to get both the kids put to bed I’ve cooled down and am mildly fretting walking into our bedroom. I decide to weasel out of punishment by digging into the closet in the kids’ room for the “accessories” I wore on our wedding day. Several minutes of quiet shuffling and rummaging in the tiny space wins me getting all the items I want. The clasps around my already tender nipples brings tears to my eyes and mildly arouses me, knowing he will be tempted to play with them. I follow this with fishing out the matching lingerie. After inspecting the frilly piece I’m not convinced I can get it on., I pull the closet door to and strip down.
I wriggle, and squirm, and wriggle some more. I work and work until it happens, the terrible Velcro-like sound of me tearing the lacy fabric, because I’m no longer the size I was on our wedding day. Even though I was pregnant at our wedding, I was smaller. “I really am a fucking cow.” This is where the dam breaks. My sobs are muffled by my hand over my mouth, and I sink to the floor, half-naked. No longer looking forward to making up with Magellan, I pull the closet door closed. Pulling knees up I allow myself to ugly cry.
My mind races about all the food I need to throw out, how many days can I go on only water, and sleep an hour less each night to get an extra workout in. I can’t make the tears stop and I hug my knees tighter. I’m convinced Magellan no longer finds me beautiful and wants to leave, which is why he’s being such a dick.
There’s a gentle rap on the door, “Can I come in?” Magellan asks quietly.
I wipe my cheeks with breakneck speed and try to get myself under control. I’m humiliated and want to find a cave to hide in, because I’m convinced that I look like a troll. “No, go away.” I reply like a petulant child.
The door opens and I scrunch up my face as Magellan steps into a closet that isn’t large enough for me, my wedding gown, and him. He pulls the door closed behind him.
“I told you to go away,” I mutter at him and cross my arms like a petulant child.
“Uh-huh, and now we’re in here.” He shimmies around me and does this weird catcher’s squat until he forces me forward, allowing him to sit. He wraps his arms around me to pull me into his arms, holding me against his chest. “What’s going on, Hope-Marie? Talk to me. I’m here for you”
“No, you’re not. You’re angry and hate everything I do. How I look. I’m a fat cow and can’t do anything to make you happy. You’re mad at me because I wanted to work and feel beautiful again. I broke the lace because I’m still a fat cow.” The tears come harder and faster as I can’t speak without hiccupping between the words. His arms tighten around me and his fingers dig into my soft skin.
“You,” he pauses, “are an angel. You are perfect. You are beautiful. You are amazing. If anybody’s a monster here, it’s me. I know I shouldn’t let those fucks at the office get in my head like that,” he sighs.“I’m sorry.”
“You’re just saying that to make me come to our bedroom to dominate me. The cuffs won’t fit either. Mooooo.”
His body stiffens, and he shifts me around to pull me into a passionate kiss. Once he releases me, his lips brush against my earlobe before he nips it. “If you are such a fat cow, could I do this?”
He hoists me off the ground like I’m no heavier than the lingerie I tore, presses me against the wall and reaches down between us to push his pajama bottoms to the floor. His lips find mine again, swallowing any protest I might have had as he thrusts into me.
His hands cup my ample ass until he’s satisfied with spearing me onto his cock. He reaches between us and twirls a finger around the chain to give it a firm tug, causing me to moan, and my toes curl from the mix of pleasure and pain.
“Silence,” he commands. “You’re not allowed to speak until you can praise yourself.” He bites my earlobe as he thrusts harder. “And I’m going to keep teaching you how perfect your body is until you praise yourself.” He devours my lips again in a forceful kiss while he pounds into me.