Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) (10 page)

Where these sudden
morals have come from, I don’t know.  Can I say I’m glad they’ve
appeared?  Not exactly. 

Returning to the
bedroom, in the bright light of day, I can see my cases and Nate’s have been
stacked against the dresser.  With my towel tucked between my breasts, I
heave my own on to the bed, because Nate’s nowhere in sight and I couldn’t ask
him to lift my heavy cases in his condition anyway.  Picking out some
clothes and underwear, I place them on the bed.  Almost as if that was a
cue, Nate appears. 

“Do you want me to
put my stuff in here with you, Nate?” I ask, hearing the betraying quiver of
guilt in my voice even if he doesn’t.

He nods and turns
to the armchair.  I don’t know where he’s been, nor do I ask.  I just
watch as he takes a seat and watches me unpack.  Without asking, like a
good ‘little woman’ I unpack his stuff too.

It doesn’t take
long.  Nate’s a light traveler and even though I brought a lot of stuff
with me, it was mostly objects not clothes.  Things I couldn’t leave in
Manhattan just in case the mob thought about torching my building too.  A
photo frame with my grandparents posing on their wedding day, my first glass
sculpture, the ring box housing Jimmy’s and my own wedding rings.  Stuff
that counted.

“You’ll need to go
into Sheridan soon to pick up some more clothes.  You can’t walk around
like a corporate attorney every day.  You’ll make people nervous.”

Irritated, because
he isn’t telling me anything I don’t know, I just nod and go about opening
drawers and filling them like an automaton.

By the time I’m on
his last shirt, my hands are gripping the sides as guilt tears into me. 
With my back to him, I clench my fingers until they knot with pain and I lower
my head as shame floods me. 

Shame isn’t
something I’m accustomed to feeling.  But with Nate, it’s becoming an
everyday occurrence.

“I was going to,
Nate.  I was going to masturbate.  You caught me in time.”

“I know.”

I spin around to
face him.  “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good
enough.  But, you admitted it.  Instead of the three punishments,
you’ll get just the one tonight.  What rules were you about to break,
Marina?”

I stare at him, at
his concerned but controlled face and whisper, “I was about to touch myself
without your permission.  I was about to cum without your say-so. 
And I guess I was defying you too.” 

I hope I’m
right.  I’ve always had an attentive memory, but I was tired and upset
last night.  The rules are there, floating like ghostly apparitions at the
back of my mind.  I guess I’ll need to beat them in there.  Carve
them on to my synapses like a name on a headstone.

Christ, what a
thought!

“Good. 
You’re learning.  I expect you to make mistakes, Marina.  The more
you learn, the more rules you’ll be taught.  It’s the way it works. 
That isn’t to say I don’t demand perfection.  Because I do.  And
every time you fail me, you’ll be punished.  But more than that, you’ll
feel bad about not doing your best for me.  That you felt it so early on,
as soon as this morning is very pleasing.  I’m proud of you, Marina. 
Very, very proud.”

Tears burst into
my eyes like a shattering cloud showering the countryside with rain.  That
guilt, that horrible emptiness inside that came from knowing I’d deceived him, broken
his rules disappears.  And it’s a wonderful feeling.  That and the
acknowledgment that he’s proud of me?  I feel like I’m floating.

It doesn’t escape
my notice that a week ago, the notion of Nate being proud of me would have made
me smile, grin a little and be smug that my man was proud to have me on his
arm.  But this,
now
, I’m walking on air.

I don’t understand
it.  Maybe I never will, but it could be something I’m not supposed to
understand.  Nate said my submissiveness was buried deep down, so entrenched
in my nature that only being with him exposed it.

I’ve never
believed in fate before, or karma, but he’s right. 

God help me, he’s
right.

****

The weird
guilt/shame trip bubbled through me all day, spoiling the tour of the commune
in a way I can’t even describe, because I don’t understand it myself.  I
should have enjoyed seeing the new addition to the laboratories and the
extension to the art studios that now have two walls made from glass to improve
the quality of light in the atrium.  I should have felt pleasure in
knowing that these additions and improvements occurred under my distant
leadership, because these things went with my say so.  I even had
architects draw up the plans in Manhattan and had a local builder and tradesmen
carry out the work.  Instead, I wasn’t interested.

Every part of my
focus was turned inward, to what I’d done that morning.  And the worst
part was knowing only the punishment would release me from the bubble of shame
growing inside me. 

Feeling this way
isn’t my thing.  I’m a live and let live person.  Do or die. 
Shame is for people who like to wear hair shirts for daring to live a
little.  That isn’t me. 

So, making the
introductions to new folk and greeting those I’ve known since childhood
occurred under a rather strange cloud.  I’d say the majority of people
who’ve known me a long time were probably wondering what the hell was the
matter with me.  Had life in the big city managed to separate me from a
personality? 

No, a night in
Nate’s bedroom has done that.

Or, it has for the
moment, at any rate.

It’s strange,
because I was kind of dreading reconnecting with all these people, but with my
mind focused elsewhere, it wasn’t the challenge I imagined.  I’ve too much
to think about at the moment.  What with this Thoroughbred stabling issue…
and even in the Twilight Zone, I haven’t failed to notice Uncle Sam or Jase are
nowhere to be seen ̶ they’re definitely ducking out of the
spotlight.  Ha!  As if their absence will stop my righteous fury at what
Sam has done.  I want to tackle Nate over this idea, but with this new
dynamic between us, I daren’t.  Things have turned so complicated, I feel
like I’m living in a maze and at the moment, I’m very lost and I don’t want to
lose myself even further.

These things can be
dealt with tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.  The commune
can wait, for as always, it’s running like clockwork.  The people here are
too intelligent to let the place that nurtures them fall into disrepair, even
if Nate has been away for a month.  

I’ve chatted,
smiled and greeted most of the people here.  Over the coming weeks, I’ll
have to talk with each of them and make sure they realize I’m here on a
permanent basis.  But as it is, my mind is focused on one thing
only.  Nate.  

I don’t understand
how things have careered so swiftly down this path.  Don’t things like
this take time?  Instead, not even a day after Nate made his proclamation
and I accepted his terms, I’m already feeling like a different person inside.

A part of me is
wailing, wondering if Nate doesn’t like me for who I am.  It’s always the
height of folly to go into any relationship thinking you can change your
partner.  And this isn’t
just
change.  This is a categoric
annihilation of who I am as a person.

Isn’t it?

The question sends
droplets of acid down my soul and I know I’ll have to ask him, before I let
this wound fester away.  As it is, we’re in the mess eating lunch, hardly
the time or place for soul-searching debates, even though tons of questions sit
on the tip of my tongue.

The mess is like a
medieval great hall, where everyone eats, drinks and is merry.  Here
missing links to formulae are debated, inspiration for art is discovered and
conversation reigns supreme amongst the commune’s population.   The
size of three Olympic swimming pools sat side to side, it’s packed to the
brim.  Everybody comes here every day.  Breakfast, lunch and
dinner.  Then, when work is over, they return here and sit
en masse
. 
Some sit in silence, reading a book in a quiet corner, others participate.

As with any part
of the commune, it’s all managed in house.  Everyone is on a
schedule.  Some days, it’s your turn to clean, another to cook in the
communal kitchen.  Sometimes you’ll be out on the ranch mending fences and
others; you might be working in the vegetable and herb gardens.  The ranch
is self-sufficient and every member here makes it that way.

Nate and I are
seated in relative seclusion in two armchairs with a high table in front of
us.  Every seat doubles as a place to sit and relax as well as a place to
eat.  It’s as informal as you can get; something that hasn’t changed since
my childhood.  Only my parents didn’t eat here and neither did I. 
They broke custom to eat in their own home and have a housekeeper who kept the
place clean for them as well as prepare their own meals.  It wasn’t a
popular decision and for me, I missed out on the social aspect of the
commune.  Another way I didn’t fit in, thanks to dear old mom and dad.

As tasty as the
kitchen’s efforts are: roast chicken, fresh crusty bread and a salad with a
zingy dressing, I’m not hungry.  Nate isn’t talking and I’m not in the
mood thanks to my thoughts as well as the constant reminder of this morning’s
spanking now I’ve taken a seat.  I’ve picked at my chicken until it has
disintegrated into tiny flecks but prodding at it with my fork is the only
thing I want to do with it.

“Sam’s
right.  You do need to gain weight.”

From downcast to
head flinging backward in outrage and in two seconds flat, I glare at
him.  “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“You’re
underweight and you know it.”

He cocks a brow at
me and it makes me want to slap him.  “There’s nothing wrong with my
weight.  I’ve always been thin.  I can’t help it.”

He snorts. 
“Amazing, I can’t imagine why if you don’t eat.”  Nate’s eyes narrow down
on my plate.  “You’ve poked and prodded but I think I’ve seen you take two
bites.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“If you don’t eat,
they’ll think you believe you’re too good to share their meals.  Sam told
me what your parents used to do.  It wasn’t good for morale.  I let
the housekeeper go a few years back.”

“She’d been with
us for years!”  Despite my outrage, I’m not particularly bothered at the
idea of Mr. and Mrs. Brownley having to find other employment.  I always
hated the bitch; she used to make me sit down and eat even if I was full. 

I might sound like
I have some kind of eating disorder, I don’t.  I just have a very small
appetite.  Little but often is how I eat.  Three meals, three times a
day is a nightmare for me.

“I think you’re
annoyed I made the decision but not at the fact they’re gone.”

“I’m pissed off in
general
actually
, Nate,” I bite out, clenching my teeth afterward and
turning my head away.

“We already
discussed this.  No cursing.  You just broke a rule.”

Whipping my head
around to look at him, I glare at him.  “I’m not a child and it’s my
mouth.  I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“I think we’ve
already ascertained that in certain regards you are.  I don’t like to hear
you curse.  I never have.  It doesn’t suit you.  Anything worse
than crap and you’ll suffer with a sore butt.”

My stomach begins
to burn.  Where the hell are those antacids when I need them? 

“I’m beginning to
wonder if there’s anything about me you
do
like.  Why the hell did
you keep on seeing me if you don’t like the fact I swear, fight back, defend
myself, have a
voice
.  Why are you trying to eradicate all the
parts that make me,
me
?”

Nate settles back
into his seat, pushing his shoulders back into the rest so as to get
comfortable.  His slight wince has my stomach churning again. 
Another reminder of my failings and what I’ve done to this man. 

“I’m trying to
eradicate those parts, because they’re
not
you.  That’s the
point.  All of those things you’ve just said are defensive
characteristics.  They’re traits you’ve developed to protect
yourself.  You don’t have to protect yourself now.  I’m here to do
that. 

“I like your
voice, very much.  I like your opinions, the way your mind works. 
You’re a very smart woman and that’s attractive as hell to me.  I’m not
trying to change you; I’m trying to make you the woman you’re supposed to
be.  Sam’s told me about your childhood, about most kids’ childhoods
here.  Bullied, teased at school, then you were alone for most of the time
because you weren’t allowed to come to the mess and had to stay in the
house.  That’s why I was so shocked when you told me about your art and
Jimmy...  Sam never mentioned it.”

I huff under my
breath.  “It would seem he can respect privacy when he wants to.”

Nate’s quick grin
has my nipples tingling.  What the fuck is that about?  Since when
could a guy’s smile get me hot?  Christ, I’m losing it.  There might
very well be a rational explanation; after all, for nearly four weeks, the most
he’s graced upon me is a glare!  A grin is akin to a come on!