The Favor (3 page)

“You're here alone?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I saw the smile grace her lips at my response. When she turned her head to look at me directly, I averted my eyes to my bare feet.

“You fascinate me, sub. I can't get a read on you. That's... rare. What's your name?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and rubbed my sweaty palms on my dress. Most Dominants had the ability to make me come to heel, but this woman was something else. Her mere presence demanded submission, and my body and mind wanted to comply.

“My name is Katherine, Mistress.”

“Hmm, Katherine's too long. I think I'll call you Kit. Come with me.”

I heard a small gasp from a sub I'd been standing close to. I wasn't sure if I'd done something wrong or if this was just unprecedented, but I felt my stomach flip. For whatever reason, this woman had demanded my attention and I was more than eager to give it to her. I could feel the tension crackle between our bodies as she stood and waited for my response, while the only thing I could do was shuffle from one foot to the other as two sides of me warred against one another. There was an undeniable connection between the two of us, one that made me breathless, but there was another part of me, a shadow of the person I had been, who couldn't get past the fact that she was a female.

“Kitty, I will not force you into something you don't want,” she said sternly, stepping closer. She leaned in, her mouth blowing cool air against my earlobe as her perfume wrapped around me like an embrace. “But you and I both feel this. I can read it in the rise and fall of your chest. Will you deny yourself?”

I couldn't. I wouldn't. Everything in me seemed to lean toward her. My body sensed hers and my stomach tightened at the lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. She was a force of nature, and I would have been idiotic to turn her down because my own sexuality confused me. I felt alive just listening to her, and she knew that as well as I did.

“No, Mistress.”

“So polite,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down my cheek. “Now, come and talk with me. I want to know you better.”

My feet finally moved after that and I followed her into the basement, which had been cleared at her request. We talked all night. She'd given me the freedom to chatter as much as I liked, and I did. In fact, I didn't shut up until she finally kissed me, five minutes before she left.

Two years later, and I couldn't imagine my life without her in it.

“There you are.”

I blinked rapidly and took in her position. The room was empty of anyone but the two of us, and she was crouched in front of me, her hands stroking down my hair gently.

“I'm sorry, Mistress. I didn't mean... My memories ran away with me.”

“Were they memories of us?”

My smile curled my lips as I looked up at her with hooded eyes, the memory of that first kiss lingering on my lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Then you have nothing to be sorry for.” She stood in one elegant movement and held out her hand for me to take. Rising with all the nimbleness I could muster on my stiff legs, I took her hand and followed her to the door. “And I'm afraid we have plans in the morning… but there's always Sunday.”

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the shower running and an empty space beside me where Mistress should have been. Given that she'd warned me that we had an early appointment the next morning, I hadn't asked questions. I never did, because to do so would be disrespectful and a blatant show of distrust. If she'd wanted me to know who her appointment was with, she would have told me. It was as simple as that.

Hearing the shower cut off, I curled into the blankets with a grin, wondering exactly how she'd choose to wake me up. The last morning she'd been up first, I'd had the blankets pulled off of me and my ass had been reddened. I'd orgasmed four times through the duration of it and spent the rest of the day curled up next to her in bed, watching movies.

Today, however, it didn't seem as though I would be getting a treat for keeping my butt in bed. When she pulled the covers back, her fingers trailed down my spine gently, her still wet hair tickling my sides.

“Naked and willing. You are a treat, Pet, but we're late, and I need you to shower and dress in something soft, loose and comfortable.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You won't be disappointed, sweetheart. I have something of a treat for you. Now, up and at 'em, lazy girl.” She slapped my ass once and bounced off the bed to her huge closet before disappearing inside it.

Just as she asked, I was showered and ready in the appropriate attire by the time she reemerged. I'd also made the bed and was kneeling in the center of it. Brownie points never hurt anyone. She looked stunning in the deep purple dress she was wearing, her make-up and hair perfectly coifed with every strand in place as she pulled on her signature heels. I could have just stared at her all day. She was always gorgeous, but there was something extra about the care she’d taken in her appearance that morning.

She gazed up at me, her eyes roaming over my hair and bare cheeks. With a nod of her head, I was on my feet in front of her, ready for further inspection. She was always meticulous about everything, including presentation.

“Perfect, as always. Have Michael bring the car around.”

My nod of compliance went unnoticed as she floated around the bedroom collecting our things. She didn't stop until we were sitting in the back of the town car.

Her nervous energy was bleeding into me, even though I had no idea where we were headed or why this was different from any other appointment we’d had. My body tingled in anticipation the further we got from the house.

I stayed silent all the way through our ride out of the city and into the swamplands that resided just outside of New Orleans. The Spanish moss-laden branches hung over the roads, their twisted, gnarled limbs reaching to their comrades on the other side of the asphalt, creating a canopy above us. I continued to stay silent as the car took a turn and headed down a live, oak-lined pebble driveway, but I couldn't keep quiet a moment longer when the old antebellum house grew in front of us. It was stunning, filled with character and history as it perched on the edge of a bayou. I could hear the rattling song of the insects that had become the soundtrack to most days since I'd moved to New Orleans in order to be with Mistress, and this was the picture I'd always had in my head when I thought of Louisiana.

“It's beautiful.”

“It is. It's one of my favorite places in the world,” Mistress Kayla said, not correcting me as she lost herself in her own wistfulness. “I grew up just down the road.”

“You did?”

Dragging her eyes away from the house, she smiled over at me, her fingers twisting the ends of my hair lovingly. She didn't need to answer my question; it was written all over her face, as she seemed to relive a hundred memories in the blink of an eye.

The car slowed to a crawl on the pavement near the bottom of the porch steps before stopping completely. The only sounds were the cicadas and the gentle thrum of the air conditioning as we waited for something to happen.

“We're five minutes early. The old warthog is going to make us wait.” Mistress turned in her seat and gave me a look of amusement, her fingers brushing the strands of hair over my shoulder and straightening the strap of my dress.

“Mistress?”

“No questions. I need you to make me proud today.”

I nodded and sat up straight with my hands gathered in my lap as I looked down at my bare feet. This was the first time we'd been out of the city, and I was fighting my curiosity and the need to explore the perfectly manicured grounds of this ethereal house.

Leaning forward a mere inch when the double doors to the house were thrown open, I watched as an older gentleman strolled out with two bloodhounds at his feet. He had white hair, a handlebar mustache and was pudgy around the middle. There was no denying he was handsome, though. Even with the richly tanned skin and the laughter lines, it was clear to see he was debonair and utterly charming.

“Kayla!” he bellowed in an English accent, his arms stretched out as the dogs rushed forward to investigate the driver who was pulling our door open. “I always did admire your promptness.”

“No, darling, you admired my ass.” Mistress Kayla laughed, her British accent suddenly becoming more pronounced. Climbing out of the car, she fell into his embrace. Her laughter was easy as his hand roamed to that very asset of hers and squeezed. “And I see nothing changes!”

I lowered my eyes as they exchanged pleasantries, unsure what to make of her behavior and this gentleman she seemed to know well – a gentleman almost twice her age.

“Kitty, come out here. I want you to meet a very good and old friend of mine.”

“Enough of the old. I still have a good swing in me, you little brat.”

My eyes widened, but I moved anyway, my feet slipping out onto the warm pebbles as I took my place by my Mistress’ side. I lowered my eyes and clasped my hands behind my back in perfect pose. If she'd wanted me to hide my nature, she would have made it clear on the drive over.

“Would you look at that,” the man said, his smile present in his tone. He took a step toward me and away from Mistress Kayla, his hands dropping to his side briefly before brushing my hair over my shoulders, then sliding them along my jaw to grip my chin. His touch was gentle but firm the authority demanding my attention as he raised my head to inspect me. “You've found a treasure, Kayla.”

“And don't I know it, Charles. She's put me to shame.”

Charles snorted and removed his hand, cupping Mistress Kayla's cheek. “You, my love, were never intended to be submissive.”

That my Mistress had been a submissive at all surprised me, but I wasn't about to let it show. From what I could tell, there was a whole world of history here that I knew nothing about. I hadn't known she'd grown up anywhere other than in New Orleans, attributing her vague accent to her heritage rather than location. I couldn't begin to imagine growing up in a place like this. I'd lived in Chicago until I moved here to be with Mistress Kayla.

“Let's go inside. I have every kind of tea you can imagine, including the bloody awful iced stuff you always liked.” Charles chuckled, stepping to the side and sweeping his arm toward the porch steps.

I followed the two of them with my eyes down, trying hard not to turn my head and take everything in. On the outside, it was a southern treat, a genuine antebellum plantation home that had probably seen more change than I would ever see in my lifetime, but inside, it had the grace and elegance of an English manor house.

They moved into a refined and airy living room, and as Mistress Kayla sat, her subtle gesture for me to kneel was given, and I slowly lowered myself to my knees by her right leg. The softness of the Oriental rug was a rare treat.

“I hadn't realized how much I miss having a submissive until now,” Charles said, taking the seat opposite us. He lounged in it regally, his arms resting neatly as his hands hung over the edge.

“I'm spoiled. I have never had a sub living with me before, but my Kitty is special. I couldn't risk leaving her for someone else to swoop in and steal away.”

“Perhaps you shouldn't have brought her here then.” He laughed, lifting an arm and waving it at her as she hissed under her breath at him. “Relax, Kayla. I'm teasing you.”

“Again, nothing new.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

She didn't respond verbally, but his jovial laughter told me she'd made a face at him. As much as I couldn't process the way he spoke to her, their banter was refreshing. Her reactions and humor were genuine, and there were so few people she reacted to that way that I embraced it when it happened. It warmed me in a way I couldn't quite describe.

They spoke for almost two hours before he offered to show us to our room. I hadn't considered that we'd be staying, even though I had noticed an extra bag being loaded with her toy bag that morning. I followed them around the house silently as he gave her a tour, pointing out old haunts and new additions to his large collection of trinkets. I finally relaxed once we were in the bedroom together.

“You have questions, Pet.”

“I do, Mistress.”

“Then come and snuggle with me for a little bit and I'll explain as much as I can.”

I climbed on the bed eagerly, propping myself up against the pillows as she removed her heels and settled between my legs. Her cheek rested on my thigh as she draped a hand over her stomach and ran her fingers up and down the bare skin of my calf, coaxing the goose bumps to rise.

“Where to start...” she pondered.

Mistress Kayla had, as she'd explained earlier, grown up very near to this house. Up until she was sixteen, the house had been a run-down, derelict mess that her parents had warned her away from, but she never paid much attention. On the gazebo, over the water, there had been a swing. When she’d swung high enough, she felt as though she was flying over the water.

When Charles had moved in, nothing much had changed around the house, because he’d been working on the interior. Mistress Kayla had continued to sneak down to her swing when her parents were fighting, which sounded as though it happened more often than not. One evening Charles had noticed her and meandered down to the gazebo and leaned against the pole, watching her before he spoke. He'd startled her, but his accent – the only person she’d ever heard other than her parents that shared hers – had intrigued her enough to make her stay. They became fast friends, and he had a son from a previous relationship who she would hang out with when he came to visit. Slowly, she fell in love with Charles. He was thirty-five, rich and British.

What wasn't to love?

Mistress Kayla discovered his best kept secret accidentally. Their friendship had grown so much over time that she’d let herself in most days at Charles' request. She'd spend full days in his library just reading books, curled up under the blow of cool air. She’d spend evenings on the swing after disastrous first dates, and on the nights that her parents would argue, she'd curl up in one of his spare rooms.