How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (8 page)

“That was incredible.” I extended my hands to him, and I helped pull him to standing. His knees were dusty, so I handed him a napkin from the pastry cache. He cleaned himself off, then moved to re-dress.

“I’m tempted to make you drive all the way to Niagara naked,” I said, watching his fine body and taut muscles. “But I’m a nice Mistress. Especially now that I’m satisfied.”

He chuckled. “I’m starting to wonder if we’ll get slapped with some sort of public indecency fine before this trip is done.”

I shrugged. “It may be worth it.”

“You may be right.”

“Rise and shine, Retro Girl! Today’s your first day of Sarah’s patented Dommercize—whip yourself and your subbie into shape! Ha. You like that, don’t you? Anyway, today’s tip of the day is to see where your desires take you. Sometimes, you may not want to be in complete control and that’s fine! It’s a new relationship, so learn to read each other before trying to teach him anything. Now, let’s whoop YOUR ass! The move for today is the weighted jumping jack. Take a weight, or something that’s roughly between three and five pounds, and do jumping jacks with it. The added resistance will make you work twice as hard. Just make sure your subbie is working twice as hard, too! Love you, girl.”

Sarah had sent a little video to my phone on the drive, but I only opened it while Aston was taking a bathroom break. It totally cracked me up and set the tone for the rest of the day. This was going to be fun.

The drive to upstate New York was somewhat uneventful after our little excursion. After I-90, we ended up on 62 North. The road was two lanes per side, so we were able to zip by the occasional slowpoke. There was a ton of roadkill, possibly from the acres upon acres of woods and farmland we passed, so that helped quell my appetite. I didn’t want to eat after seeing and smelling the fifth dead skunk. We played a bit of license plate bingo, but for the most part we just listened to tunes and watched the world go by as we talked. Aston offhandedly mentioned we could see Cooperstown’s National Baseball Hall of Fame, but neither of us were that interested. We were more interested in actually talking, learning more and more about each other with every mile that passed. Aston told me about his nieces and nephews and spoke about them as though they were his own kids. I learned he was an avid Patriots fan. I had no interest in football, but Aston’s excitement was so infectious that I actually considered seeing if we could get some tickets once the season rolled around.

He was a really cool guy, I began to realize. My heart warmed to him a bit and he became more of a real person as the pieces started to fit together.

As the day dribbled into night and the sky darkened, we started to plan.

“Should we stop somewhere nearby or just keep going until we get to Niagara?” I asked.

“There are probably nicer hotels closer to the touristy stuff, so maybe we could just keep going.”

I tapped my chin, then looked at the GPS on my phone. “It’s still two hours away. I think I’d rather stay somewhere around here, grab a bite, and head out early tomorrow to see the Falls.”

Aston’s lip curled a bit as we passed a Howard Johnson and other low-priced hotel chains. “Whatever Mistress wants,” he said, but I knew he wasn’t happy about it.

“You’re not going to get bed bugs, you snob,” I joked, punching his arm.

“I guess,” he said, brooding.

We happened to be on a stretch of road that was populated with plenty of restaurants and hotels, and after about a minute, Aston pulled into a DoubleTree Suites that was adjacent to a grocery store.

“Do we need a suite?” I asked.

Aston drove into a spot and smiled. “Suite means kitchen. I’m cooking for you tonight.”

“Make it light,” I said. “Don’t forget I need to squeeze into a wiggle-dress in two weeks.”

He nodded and grabbed our luggage. “Do you need all of it tonight?”

“Just the smallest one,” I replied. “The other suitcases have my pinup stuff.”

He shook his head. “Damn, I should have been a photographer.”

I gave his ass a pinch. “Maybe I’ll let you do a photo shoot some time on the trip, if you’re a good boy.”

Aston pulled our luggage and we checked into the hotel. The room wasn’t bad and had a big open kitchen that led out to a living room. The bathroom wasn’t spectacular, but it was updated and had a nice big tub. One bedroom had two queen beds and the other had a king.

I paused at the choice. I mean, we were sleeping together, but were we going to actually sleep in the same bed on the trip? Sleeping in the same bed implied a relationship that was more than just D/s, but sleeping in separate beds in the same room seemed sort of creepy. Maybe I should take the king to myself, invite him in for a spanking, then banish him to the other bedroom if he didn’t perform to my standards?

Aston had left both pieces of luggage in the living room while I explored. I decided that it should stay there, for now, until I decided where it should go.

“I’m going to hit up that grocery store,” Aston said, glancing down at his phone. “Any food allergies or preferences?”

“Um, keep it under five hundred calories?” I asked with a nervous laugh. I didn’t like talking about dieting with Aston, but this was a model’s way of life.

He frowned. “Mistress, you know I’ll obey, but how about you just try what I make tonight and if you think it’s too heavy, just take a smaller portion. I really want to wow you.”

I walked toward him and put my hand on his chest. “You already wowed me,” I reminded him.

He spread his hands wide. “You have a submissive with many talents,” he said in a low voice. “Why not explore them all on this trip?” He ended the question with a wink and my knees turned to pudding.

“Oh, why not,” I said, crossing my arms. “But this better be good.”

“It will be mind-blowing,” he promised.

“Consider this
Iron Chef
,” I said with a waggle of my finger. “If it’s not good enough, you’ll get punished.”

“You obviously have never watched the show, but I understand your point. I consider myself warned.” He checked his phone one more time, then headed out the door.

I pulled out my iPad and started Googling the contest, something that had been on my mind all day, but I’d pushed it to the back burner. It was nerve-racking, imagining myself competing. Typically I just posed, took pictures, or modeled at events. I was never up against anyone. I’ve never had to compete. Now I had to think about other people being better than me, something I hadn’t really done. I’ve always liked the other pinups I’ve met—we were mostly a friendly group, whether it was because of the more alternative nature of our jobs or what. Some were tattooed, some weren’t. Some were curvy, others more on the waifish side, but we all embraced the vintage look and clothing we all loved. It was a sisterhood.

But now that I was scanning through pics of former winners and contestants, I began to sweat. These girls were real knockouts and seemed to ooze a confidence I’ve never possessed. I knew how to pose properly, but these girls made it look like second nature. I undid my kerchief, which had held my hair in place all day, and fixed my rolls. There was a mirror on one of the doors to the bedrooms and I quickly struck a cheesecake pose. I was a mess. My hair was out of place and my legs were wonky from sitting in the car all day. Would I lose muscle tone from this trip?

Wait, Sarah’s tip of the day. Now I just had to find a weight.

I could pre-burn off Aston’s dinner this way. I found a small but heavy pan in the kitchen, and it felt between three and five pounds so I started to do some jacks. She didn’t specify a set number, or anything else to do but I knew I’d have to do a little more. So I busted out some squats, crunches, and did some air-bike moves on the floor. Maybe if I did this every day I’d still be in show-ready mode.

And as for her other advice, I suppose what we did in the garage yesterday was like that. Feeling the situation out and letting it go somewhere. But I sort of sabotaged it by forcing the BDSM element when it clearly wasn’t what was taking us in the direction of lust. It was forced. Tonight we’d do . . . whatever.

I showered off the road dust and workout sweat, and conditioned my wind-blown hair by the time Aston returned to the hotel. I was wearing nothing but a bathrobe and his entrance startled me, but his expression as he admired my body gave me a boost of approval.

“So, what’s on the menu?” I asked as I wrung the wetness out of my hair.

He covered the bag’s contents with his hand. “It’s a surprise, Mistress. If you don’t mind,” he said, backpedaling.

I stepped away, hands in the air. “Fine, but I’m standing by my threat. It better blow my mind.”

Aston laughed and began to unpack the bags, and I turned toward the living room and put on the TV. There was a car restoration show I liked on the History Channel and I lost myself in the cool hot rods, but soon delicious garlicky smells began to invade the space. I sniffed. Wow, it smelled amazing. And fatty. I grimaced, then realized I could just take a small portion. If I had enough self-restraint.

And right now, the only restraints I had were in my bag.

I turned the show’s volume up as the sizzling sounds grew louder, and the clanging of pans and the noises from boiling water grew. “You okay in there?” I called out.

“Couldn’t be better,” he said. “I can’t wait for you to try this.”

I turned back to the TV, steadily becoming more anxious about dinner. It had been so long since I’d eaten regular food. Back when I was with Derek, he’d always make me feel bad about it. Like, one time I stole his fries and he said I’d be working them off for a week. I didn’t want to think of food like that—costing me workout time or pounds. It was another way of saying what Sarah was always telling me. Maybe that was why I resented her for it—it wasn’t in her delivery, it was in the subtext. I wanted to turn off the little voice in my head that said
Don’t do it
, but I didn’t know how.

“Dinner is served, Mistress,” Aston called out. I stood, turned around, and saw that he’d lit candles. There were two place settings at the open kitchen’s raised granite bar. I walked up to one of the stools, impressed by the atmosphere Aston had so quickly created.

“While I finish the salad,” he said, pushing a bowl of bread between the two plates, “I’ll serve you some focaccia and olive oil.” He procured a bottle of extra virgin olive oil and a plate, swirling Parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes onto it with a flourish.

I gingerly tore off a chunk and smiled at him. He was clearly anxious, the way he watched me. I gave the bread a small dunk and placed the bit of food in my mouth.

It was really, really good. “Fantastic,” I said, chewing. I wanted to spit it out just so I could spend the calories on something he’d prepared, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. I swallowed and had a sip from the white wine he’d placed at the table.

He tossed a few garnishes in a bowl, and pulled out a pair of tongs, placing a pile of the salad onto my plate, then his. “Baby arugula with shaved Parmesan and lemon-tarragon vinaigrette.”

I blinked. “That sounds . . . amazing.”

Aston shrugged and sat down with me. His face watched mine as I dug in. It was incredible—the lightness of the dressing paired with the spark of spice from the arugula was really quite tasty. Then, add the tang and creaminess from the Parmesan and it was perfect. “Okay, I want this every day,” I said with a moan, taking another bite. Lemon, greens, and a little bit of cheese? I could do that.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, straightening proudly. “Wait until you try the next course.”

My fork paused. “This is a big salad,” I said. “And it seems light. Can’t I just throw some protein on this and call it a night?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I frowned.

“Nope, Mistress,” he corrected himself. I jabbed him in the ribs as he stood and readied the next dish. I finished up the salad and he replaced my plate with a steaming heap of pasta, dripping with cheese.

“Italian baked mac and cheese. Fontina, Asiago, and truffled Gouda. There’s pancetta in there, too.”

Oh dear lord in heaven. The smells from the cheesy pasta and smoky pancetta wafted upward straight into my nostrils, giving me a high. “I can’t have all this,” I admitted.

Aston filled his own plate. “As you wish. Just please try it.”

He sat down and I dug my fork into the cheesy goodness. I pulled it up, strings still hanging to the forkful that was in the air, and blew. Once it seemed cool enough, I placed it in my mouth.

I let slip an involuntary groan, and Aston put his hand on my thigh.

“Wow,” I said, chewing and then swallowing. “This should be banned in most states.”

“Hopefully not Nevada,” he said, blowing on his own meal and then taking a bite. “I’m thinking this could be a signature dish on the menu. But of course out there I’d use shaved white truffles and maybe do a little gremolata on top.”

“You have a menu already?” I asked.

“It’s part of my pitch document. A lot goes into making a restaurant—the concept, the aesthetic, the mood—not just the dishes. But yes, I always put together sample menus.”

I took another decadent bite. “So you’re not just a cook?” I asked.

“I want to be more of a concept guy. I like putting together all the things that make a restaurant and seeing if it works. I’ve pitched three concepts to my family and they didn’t go with any. And yet when I cook for the holidays, they all rave.” He shrugged. “That’s why I’m doing this. I think I have good ideas, and ideas are really the heart of a successful restaurant.”

I pointed to my dish. “This is a good idea right here.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, taking another bite with his right hand and using his left to caress my leg.