KINK, BDSM, MALE SUBMISSIVE, FEMALE DOMME, ROMANCE

Belle By Night (Part I)

I don’t want to have phone sex anymore!

Annabelle Stevens punched her pillow as the phone rang again. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have phone sex ever again, but damn it, tonight she was tired. Her throat ached; her voice was hoarse. She wanted to go to sleep. Instead, she pushed the button on her wireless headset.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, sweetie, got a caller who sounds a bit mopey and real nervous. Think he could benefit from your special brand of TLC,” Lainey said.

Belle couldn’t keep from smiling. Lainey, their HBIC — Head Bitch in Charge — ran 1–800-By-Night. Along with the other operators under her command, Lainey oversaw the nightly goings-on of the business. Together, they fielded callers and assigned them to the female Dommes around the country who were waiting for their next customers. Lainey could always tell when a new caller needed Belle’s certain form of sweet, harsh punishment. Usually it was men she’d identified as nervous or unsure of their first call. Sometimes they became regulars, sometimes not. Either way, Lainey was never wrong, and she knew her workers’ preferences better than anyone else in the company. It was the reason she still had such an active role in their basic operations, even though she could have delegated those responsibilities to someone else.

Belle gave a throaty laugh, her aching vocal chords making her voice sound even deeper than it usually did when she was in her phone-sex persona. “All right, put him through.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid this will have to be my last call. I know that ends my shift short, but too many more and I won’t have any voice left.”

“Oh, all right,” Lainey said with mock exasperation. “We’re kind of slow tonight anyway. Have a good one, darlin’.”

“Thanks.” She took a deep breath, waiting for her new boy toy to come to the phone. She lounged back against her mountain of brightly colored pillows on her king-size bed. Her room shouldn’t have looked like a sultan’s harem since she was a grown woman, but it did. Honestly, she didn’t give a shit. This was where she worked the phones best. The deep purple and burgundy walls, large bed, and plush carpet helped her transition from her normal Anna world and put her in the Domme Belle mindset. She had a corner of overstuffed beanbags and ottomans as well, so if she got tired of being in bed or pacing the room to accelerate her breathing and heart rate, she could lounge on the pillows. Accent colors of bright pink and orange throughout the pillows and thick drapery helped add to the feel of boudoir rather than bedroom. The rest of her house didn’t match this kind of bold decorating, but she didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing this part of her small two-story home.

A moment later, the audible click indicated her caller had come on the line. “Uh…hello?” he said.

A shiver ran through her, and she shifted against the soft, lightweight blanket beneath her. Oh, yes. There was that delectable unsure voice. “No one gave you permission to speak, pet.” She held her breath, waiting to see how he would respond to commands.

A beat of silence passed, and then she heard him exhale slowly. He stayed quiet.

“Good boy,” she soothed. She’d been doing more boring vanilla calls all night, even though this was Dommes by Night. Some callers just wanted a small taste of dominance, and others, for some reason, didn’t realize that they’d called a phone sex line run by professional Dommes. Now that it was almost midnight, her heartbeat finally picked up.

“What are you wearing, pet?” She didn’t ask his name. She didn’t want to know it. Chances were he’d give her a false one anyway. Lainey had taken his credit card information, and certainly his real name was attached to it, but Belle didn’t need to know that.

“Um…boxer shorts,” he said breathily.

She could practically see him twitching, picture him squirming in his underwear. “From now on, pet, you will call me Ma’am, Mistress Belle, or simply Mistress. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.” His response was immediate.

“Good boy.” She made her voice smooth as silk, dark as chocolate. “What color are your boxers, my sweet?”

He cleared his throat. “Green, Mistress.”

“Very good. Are you hard for me already, pet?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He swallowed loudly.

She licked her lips. This is going to be such fun!

“Stroke yourself for me, pet. Right through your boxers. Nice and slowly. You are only allowed light touches for the moment. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He hissed.

Belle relaxed against the pillows and enjoyed the delicious sounds he made as he stroked himself. After a few moments of listening to his soft moans and quick breathing, she felt her panties growing damp. It had been some time since she’d had such fun on a work call. Far too long since she’d attempted to play Mistress in real life as well. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Stop!” she ordered and dipped her hand between her thighs.

He sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for her further instructions. “Such a good boy,” she praised. “Let go of yourself.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He groaned, making her sheath spasm.

“Pull your boxers down to your knees, but leave them there. You are not allowed to take them off.” A soft pant escaped her. She couldn’t help it. Her heart beat double time, and with each command, her desire wound tighter, making her ache.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, the heat in his voice clear.

Belle nibbled on her bottom lip. “What a good boy you are, pet.”

“Mmm, thank you, Mistress.”

She squirmed. Heat suffused her body, bringing a buzz to her skin, a woozy feeling to her head. She took a deep breath, intent on keeping her cool. She could allow herself some enjoyment while being in command of him, but this was her job, and she needed to make sure she did it. Her earlier exhaustion had quickly become nonexistent. “You may use some lubricant and go back to stroking yourself.”

She waited a few moments for him to comply, and couldn’t help trailing her fingers down her body to gently stroke her clit. She gasped at the contact, growing wetter.

“Am stroking myself now, Mistress.” The dark edge in his voice made her shiver.

“Good boy. Now, I want you to imagine just what it would be like if you were tied to your bed, your wrists and ankles bound, unable to move as I stroked your cock up and down, hard and fast, until you were straining against your bonds, begging me to come, and just what my mouth would feel like around your cock.” She stroked herself faster, using the pad of her finger to tease her clit. Every time she issued an order, she got hotter. Every time she listened to him comply, she climbed higher toward the edge of orgasm.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. She could hear the wet smack of flesh against flesh.

A moan rumbled through her sore throat. She was getting closer. By the sounds he was making, so was he. She needed to make sure he didn’t finish without her. “You are not allowed to come until I tell you to, pet; do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress.” His voice was tense.

Her muscles quivered, straining. She kept herself in check. “I am going to count to ten. You stroke yourself harder and faster until I get to ten, and then you are to stop. You will let go of your cock and massage your balls gently three times, then lie back and put your hands behind your head.”

She didn’t ask if he understood this time. He was completely pliant under her command.

“One,” she counted, increasing the pressure on her clit. She was so close. She might not make it to ten.

“Two.” She panted. “Three.”

He groaned. She barely held her orgasm at bay as she stroked her swollen clit over and over while counting. By the time she reached eight, she could barely stand it any longer.

“Ten,” she said, her voice a demanding purr.

He cried out, the sound a deep guttural plea of frustration. Good boy.

His dark voice whispered, “One, two, three…”

So close. She arched her back, her muscles clamping down. She let a whimper escape.

“Please,” he begged.

“Please, what, pet?” she demanded, using his new title like a weapon. She was in control. And she was sure as hell going to let him know it. If he wanted to be granted release, he would plead for it like a good boy.

“Please, Mistress, I can’t stop. I need to come. Please let me come.” The ache in his voice made her quiver.

She moaned. She was going to come any second. “I’m going to wrap my mouth around the head of your cock and suck hard. Slide your cock deeper into my mouth and until you hit the back of my throat. I want you to hold still while I fuck you with my mouth.” She kept stroking, then ordered, “Hold tight to your shaft and come in my mouth. Do it now, pet. Come for me.” She cried out as the orgasm rolled over her. She bucked uncontrollably against her hand, pleasure shooting through her.

He gasped and groaned in her ear, breath shaky. She gently stroked her clit, bringing herself down from the high as she listened to him squirm and pant. After a moment, she collected herself and remembered she needed to wrap up their call. “What a good boy you have been, pet. Now go get yourself cleaned up, and put yourself to bed. You can call me anytime.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She disconnected the call and slumped, spent, against her pillows. Always leave them wanting more. It was Lainey’s motto, and Belle knew that cutting him off just after allowing him release would leave her pet aching for more. She looked forward to their next call.

Chapter Two

Anna opened the door to her classroom and ducked inside. She had exactly five minutes to compose herself before her afternoon pre-K class started arriving. She took a few deep breaths, still trying to shake the nerves she’d been feeling since last night’s call. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d been a first-time caller, and that he was inclined to be submissive. She’d been so cruel to him, denying him orgasm. She shivered, remembering just how compliant he’d been, just how delicious his release had sounded while she pleasured herself. It had been so long since she’d actually masturbated on a phone call.

She took a gulp of sweet iced tea and tried to center herself. She needed to put her Domme half, her Belle side, back in its box and get her teacher-Anna hat on. She pulled her mess of red curls into a ponytail and adjusted her kid-friendly shirt and sweater set. Today, she was Miss Anna, preschool teacher extraordinaire. Not Mistress Belle, the whip-wielding, ball-stomping Domme. She was only allowed to be Mistress Belle on the phone, only for clients, never real people she knew. She’d gone that route before. Never again.

Freak.

The word echoed in her head, threatening to send her thoughts into an even darker spiral.

A knock on the door made her jump and pulled her out of her obsidian past. Thank goodness. She turned and smiled at Eli and his mom, Grace. Eli ran into the room and put his spring jacket in his cubby. Luckily, though it was only the first week in April, the weather had warmed considerably, and all the snow had melted. Unusual for eastern New York, but she’d take it. The kids were loving extra outdoor playtime in the afternoons, and so was she.

“Morning, Miss Anna!” His bright smile warmed her heart and helped chase away the last vestiges of her darker side. Her class made her happier than she’d ever imagined.

“Good afternoon, Eli. You can start with Purple Shelf center.”

“Yes!” He ran to the corner shelf of books, coloring pages, crayons, and other craft and fine-motor-skill toys. Each day she started her students with a different center. It kept things from getting too boring, and since she swapped out the stuff in each center once a month or so, creating a dynamic and challenging room, her students loved to see where they could play each day.

Grace moved closer to Anna, and her smile became harder to maintain. Oh, no. That was never a good sign. Parents generally didn’t pull her aside at drop-off with good news. “What’s up?” she asked.

Grace took a deep breath. “We… Um, well, we’ll be leaving at the end of this week.”

Anna’s spirits plummeted. Grace was the third parent this month. At this rate, she wouldn’t have a class left come summer. She tried to put on a brave face but was sure her disappointment showed.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ll be sad to see Eli go.” Sad didn’t begin to cover it. Heartbroken was more like it. Crap. Every year she had kids come and go from her class. Every year she got a new batch, and at the end of the year, it was always a mix of pride and depression that plagued her as she watched them graduate preschool, ready to go on and face kindergarten all on their own. Her babies, all grown up. Most of them were old enough by fall to go straight from her class to kindergarten. If not, they usually rolled into the next class at Little Lions, but on occasion, Anna was lucky enough to keep them longer.

“He’ll be devastated to leave your class. So will we,” Grace said. “But Tom and I…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well, to be honest, we just can’t afford to keep Eli at Little Lions any longer. With the baby coming, and needing to get them both in a center, there’s just no way.”

“I understand,” Anna said automatically. Inside, she was raging. Helen had raised the rates in January, and then again at the start of spring. No wonder parents were dropping like flies. “Will you be going to a different center?”

Grace shook her head. “We’re going to keep him home until he can enroll in full-time kindergarten in the fall. The baby will be here shortly after that. I’m just going to take the rest of the year off from school and start again in the spring semester when I can send the baby to day care.”

Anna was gutted. This was why she needed to get her rear in gear. Right here. Because parents deserved affordable, excellent early childhood education for their kids. Anna was determined to provide it for them, no matter what. Just a few more weeks and she’d have her degree.

Anna squeezed Grace’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you guys. Especially my little man.” She pushed her own feelings aside. It wouldn’t make Grace feel any better to know that Anna was destroyed.

“Yeah.” Grace sighed. “You guys have a good day. I have to get to work. They’ll kill me if I’m late during my last week.” Grace looked as crushed as Anna felt.

Anna said good-bye and turned her attention to Eli. She sat next to him at the table and ruffled his blond hair. “Hi, Miss Anna,” he said and grinned at her.

Her heart broke. Universal, low-cost or free preschool. That’s all she wanted in her life. To provide a good base for children to support their later years in a traditional school setting. Was it really too much to ask for? The first five years of childhood were the most important. They laid the foundation for the rest of a child’s life. Trying to get kids the right support, the right foundation, came at too high a price for most families to afford. She was determined to give them another option.

“That’s very pretty,” she told Eli. “So many nice colors you’re using. Can you find Miss Anna’s favorite?” she asked.

He smiled up at her. “Of course I can!” He pointed to the blue sky he’d colored.

“That’s right. Good job. Now what’s your favorite color?”

“Orange.” He pointed to the sun he’d drawn in the bright blue sky.

“Oh, that’s right. Now I remember.” She grinned, then stood, letting him get back to his masterpiece. Tears burned the back of her throat, but she wouldn’t let them out. She would put on her brave face for her class. They deserved her utmost concentration and help. She’d teach them as much as she could, as best as she could, and as fast as she could. Running footsteps in the hall told her more students were on their way.

Stacey and her daughter, Jacqueline, came in. Great. Just what she wanted to deal with now — the Perfect Mommy Brigade’s head honcho. She plastered her best smile on and went to greet Stacey. Her blonde hair was always expertly coiffed. She always had the most put-together, stain-free outfits, the brightest teeth. Jacqueline was like the mini version of her mother. Never wanted to take chances in the classroom. Never wanted to get dirty. The first time Anna sent Jacqueline home in clothes that had a bit of paint on them, she’d gotten blasted by Stacey.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said, her voice overly cheery. While trying to block out her negative emotions over losing another kid and also tamping down her distaste for Stacey, she didn’t want her tone to be saccharine sweet.

Stacey’s tight smile made Anna’s gut flip. No doubt she was in for another whopper this morning. Suppressing a groan, Anna crouched and greeted Jacqueline. “Purple Shelf this morning, please. Why don’t you put your stuff in your cubby and get started?”

Jacqueline smiled. At least hers was genuine. She had adopted her mother’s cool exterior and distaste for getting dirt under her fingernails, but she was a lovely girl with a good heart.

Wonder how long it’ll take her mother to turn it to ice.

Oh, that was mean. Anna took a deep breath. She didn’t wish Jacqueline anything but the very best. Though she didn’t have high hopes that the girl would get to keep her spirit intact much longer. Her mother hovered over her, constantly trying to keep Jacqueline safe like a precious porcelain doll. Jacqueline scampered off, and Anna rose to face the Ice Queen herself.

“How are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice pleasant.

“Well, honestly, Anna, I’m a little irate. Jacqueline came home with a scrape on her knee yesterday. I heard nothing about it from Al.”

Perhaps because he’s divorcing you, Ice Queen!

Or perhaps it was just because he had been in such a rush to grab his kid and run out the door, he hadn’t troubled himself to check her folder, ask about the knee, or inquire as to how her day went. Anna smiled right through all the insults running through her head. Oh, how she wished she could say them aloud. But Stacey was on the board of directors for Little Lions, which meant if Anna wanted to keep her job for the time being, she’d better keep her mouth shut.

“Did you even bother to tell my husband? I see there wasn’t an incident report written out.” Stacey’s voice was venomous, daring her to argue.

“Actually, I have that for you, right here. Just give me a moment.”

Everyone knew Stacey and Al were in the midst of a nasty divorce, but they both pretended it was fine and that they were amicable. The two couldn’t even be in the same room together. That’s why Stacey dropped off and Al picked up. They could trade off the kid like stock shares, using the center as the buffer, so they never had to see each other again. Word was that Al would be leaving the board as well, since they couldn’t agree on anything. Obviously, Stacey wasn’t going to give up her power seat on the board.

Anna went to the counter where her sign-in book was and opened Jacqueline’s folder. She handed the incident report to Stacey. “I think Al was in a hurry last night and forgot to check it. She fell on our walk. We cleaned it up and put a bandage on it. Very minor scrape; it didn’t even bleed.”

Stacey opened her mouth to speak again, but another parent zoomed into the room, carrying his son over his head. Anna’s heart lifted. Dean swooped his son up and down, finally letting him land, all the while making airplane noises. From the corner of her eye, Anna spotted Stacey’s mouth pressing into a hard line. A moment later, Stacey spun on her heel and gave Dean a dazzling smile. The witch.

To his credit, Dean smiled politely, but it failed to touch his hazel eyes in his chiseled baby-face. Even with a bit of stubble on his chin, he looked barely old enough to drink. He towered over Stacey by almost a foot. Tall, broad-shouldered, and a wonderful father. If Anna were the marrying type, he’d be top of her list. Too bad she’d never be going down that road, or that aisle, again.

Anna stepped around Stacey to say hello. “Good morning, Dean.” She looked down at Preston, her heart light. “And a very good morning to you.”

She grinned. Preston was her favorite kid this year. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have favorites. She did love all her students; really, she did. However, in every group, there was one special kid she got attached to. One more than the others that connected with her. Usually it was the most challenging kid in the group. The one who was hardest to teach, hardest to direct, easiest to get frustrated with. Preston was no exception to this rule. When he smiled up at her and those chocolate-brown eyes of his lit up, all the work was absolutely worth it.

Autism Spectrum Disorders could set a child back his entire life in a school system and a society that tailored itself to homogenized teaching and behavior standards. She refused to let that happen to Preston. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Purple Shelf this morning, buddy. Go ahead.” She didn’t bend down to his level. She didn’t get in his face, and she didn’t force eye contact. His therapists had stressed trying to work on those social skills, getting him to interact on that kind of level, but she wasn’t going to force it. Preston understood and interacted with her just fine without looking her in the eye.

Dean leaned over to kiss Preston on the head, and Anna’s heart melted. His loose scrubs couldn’t hide the strong muscles beneath, and she couldn’t help but appreciate them. Sheesh, that call last night really had her revved up. She needed to get her head in the game, not ogle one of her student’s parents. That kind of fraternization was strictly against policy at Little Lions. Not that she would ever seriously consider getting involved with Dean.

Stacey’s blue eyes sparkled at Dean, and Anna suppressed a gag. Ew. Something dark burned in her belly at the thought of Stacey and Dean. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she didn’t like it. She had no claim to Dean. Maybe the dark feeling was because if Stacey went after Dean, the only single dad from the class, it meant she’d get close to Preston. The idea of Stacey anywhere near her little Preston made Anna’s blood boil.

Dean Wellington’s heart sank as Preston wandered across the classroom toward Purple Shelf. Every day it got a bit harder to drop Preston off here. He’d wished for years that he could be a stay-at-home dad. Wished he could be the one to help his son through meltdowns and give him the solid, stable schedule he needed. Preston deserved the world. And Dean was determined to give it to him.

He loved Anna. No, Preston loved Anna, he corrected. If Dean couldn’t be home all day and night with his son, at least he knew Preston loved his school. As a parent, Dean had a deep appreciation for his son’s favorite teacher. Anna was patient, kind, and amazing. She had a way to connect on Preston’s level. She knew when to push him, when to back off, what to say to get through to him, and always found creative ways to engage him in the classroom, even if that meant doing something crazy that no other teacher had ever bothered to do, that most others wouldn’t even think about doing.

Her bubbly personality was infectious, and it matched her fire-red hair and blue eyes. Everything about her was bright. She wore bright yellows and reds that suited her perfectly. She laughed more easily than anyone he’d ever met, and she loved children. He didn’t know her enough to ask if she had kids of her own, though she’d never mentioned them. All the photos in her room were ones of her students, most of them taken in her classroom, which was just as shiny and colorful as she was.

Preston behaved better in class than he ever did at home. Dean often wondered if he was selling the kid short. If he wasn’t as on top of this whole parenting thing as he ought to be. He turned his attention to Anna, eager to talk more about Preston and how he was doing, but Stacey was still hovering around him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his son with her around. She was the definition of vapid. He couldn’t stand her. Luckily, her daughter, Jacqueline, seemed to be a wonderful kid, despite her mother’s crazy helicopter parenting skills. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then finally said, “Good morning, ladies.”

Stacey’s wide smile was bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Anna’s, on the other hand, was genuine. Beautiful. He shoved that thought right out of his head. Inappropriate much? She was a wonderful person and a great teacher, and Dean would do whatever he had to, to keep Preston in her class, but that was all he could feel toward Miss Anna. Gratitude and a father’s affection.

“Good morning, Dean,” Stacey said, her voice dropping lower than normal by half an octave. She batted her eyelashes.

Was she attempting to be seductive? He coughed, trying really hard not to laugh.

“Morning,” Anna said. Her voice was bright, but her tone was distracted. She sent Stacey a sidelong glance. So, she’d noticed the voice change too.

“Have you got a few, Dean?” Anna asked.

Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. He didn’t actually, but he’d make time. For his son. “Yeah, sure.” He turned to Stacey. “Have a good one.”

No matter his struggles, he would not give up on keeping Preston in this class. In fact, he was thinking of asking special permission from the director and the school district to allow Preston to stay in Anna’s class until he was almost five next fall, instead of letting him progress into the four-year-old room here or the full-day pre-K at the district. Anna had made such leaps and bounds with him in the past seven months. He was eager to see how Preston would bloom under her tutelage if he stayed with her another year. Maybe he could broach the subject with Anna now.

Clearly flummoxed, Stacey let her smile slip a bit. “Yes, you too.” She knew she was being dismissed.

Dean tried to spare a moment to feel bad about that, but really, he didn’t give a shit. The less time he spent in that woman’s presence, the better. She was on the board of directors at the center but didn’t spend much time in the actual classrooms. Thank God. If she did, he wouldn’t be leaving his son at Little Lions. He wanted nothing to do with Stacey on a personal level. The idea of her spending time in this room with his son brought a dark rage to the surface. No way would he let her sink her clutches into Preston. He would do whatever it took to protect his son. Period.

Stacey disappeared out the door, and Anna led him farther into the classroom. She leaned against the counter, her gaze on the students. In other circumstances her split attention would be rude. Here, though, he wanted her focus on the classroom, not him. He didn’t need her attention.

“What’s up?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

“We had another minor incident yesterday. I know you were in a hurry last night at pickup, so I didn’t mention it.”

“Oh, man. What happened? I’m so sorry I didn’t even have a chance to ask how his day went. I was running late. Again. His normal evening babysitter said things were good last night, so whatever happened didn’t carry over into the night. He was fine with me too.” Great. Now he sounded like he was defending his son, denying that anything had happened, or that he’d had a bad day yesterday. He didn’t want to be like that. Damn it. Why hadn’t he asked about Preston’s day last night?

“Just a little biting incident. Nothing huge. He was frustrated with me. We were working on our word and sentence techniques, and I kept getting in the way of what he wanted, and not moving until he could verbalize what he wanted, and, well…” she held up her hand, showing him a nice oval bruise on the back of it, teeth indents still evident.

He barely stopped himself from saying shit aloud. He remembered at the last second he was in the classroom. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged and lowered her hand. “Wasn’t a big deal. He got frustrated. Three months ago, after the biting and being told no, he would have spiraled out of control and had a total meltdown. Yesterday? He got mad, but we worked through it together, and after a few moments, he was able to move on to a new task. That’s huge.” Her voice was firm. “Which is why we’re talking about it. A small biting incident isn’t a big deal. It happens. It’s pretty normal in the two- to three-year-old range.”

“Preston’s almost four,” he felt compelled to point out.

“Yes. That’s true, but for a child with an Autism Spectrum Disorder, even as mild as Preston’s, physical lashing out is very common well into teen years, when other coping mechanisms don’t help them enough. I’m confident that he won’t be like that when he’s older. He’ll be able to cope then in a way that he can’t yet.” She reached out and touched his hand.

Dean tensed. Her fingers were cool, delicate, barely there on the back of his hand. Her soft touch tickled, and he fought the urge to squirm or pull his hand away. She finally looked away from the kids playing at the table, and her clear blue eyes were electric. Where Stacey’s blue eyes were a cold, removed blue like a distant planet, Anna’s were a crisp blue like the horizon of the arctic sky. Cold enough to burn, if you were exposed to them too long. But beautiful enough that you didn’t fucking care.

He nodded, trying to remember what the hell they were talking about. A faint blush colored Anna’s porcelain cheeks, and she smiled, disarming him further. It wasn’t like him to react to a woman this way. He sighed and pulled his hand away. His libido was dead. It had died with Nicole, and that’s where it would stay forever. And yet there was something about Anna… How the hell could he have let himself react like this? Guilt slithered through him. His wife was dead. Eventually he would get over it. Or so the grief counselors had told him.

“Right. So it was a good biting then?” he said, trying to redirect his thoughts and lighten his suddenly leaden heart.

Anna laughed, and something stirred in the back of his mind. That laugh sounded so familiar…

“Well, yeah, kind of. Anyway, I’m fine. And I thought it was a pretty big breakthrough for Preston. I’m really impressed with the amount of progress we’ve made. Have things been consistently better at home too?”

The moment was gone, and he couldn’t place where he’d heard that laugh before. Sometime in the past seven months he was sure he’d heard Anna laugh, so that must be what triggered the feeling of déjà vu. “Yeah. Not as consistently as here, though, I think.” He sighed. It was his fault really. Not being able to be home every night for Preston wasn’t fair. Preston needed as much structure and consistency as possible. Dean was failing him. He was drowning in this whole parenting thing. “Which brings me to another point. I haven’t been great at giving him consistency at home. Here, you’re excellent with him, and he adores you. I was wondering is there any way we could talk with your director and see if he could stay in your class longer? I know he’s due to move into the next class in a few months, but I’d like to delay it as long as possible. I’d like to contact the district and see if he can start kindergarten late, because his birthday is just about the cutoff age…” He was babbling. More than that, the longer he talked, the more strained Anna’s smile got. Did she not want Preston in her class longer? Was she just so good with him because it was her job, and she was putting in her time as his teacher until she could shuffle him off to the next class? Dean had never gotten that impression from her, but maybe he was wrong.

She cleared her throat. “I can speak with Helen about it next week after she’s decided who’s going to still be here in the fall and who is leaving. I can understand why you’d like to keep him in the three- to four-year-old room after his birthday, and there is probably a good argument to be made for it. I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. You actually might be better off asking for an official meeting with his occupational and speech therapists, along with Helen, to go over the best game plan.”

“I don’t just want to keep him in any three-year-old room. I’d like to keep him in yours, if at all possible.”

This time her smile was completely false, leaving her eyes almost as frigid as the Arctic Ocean. He fought a shiver. What the hell? Could he have really read her that wrong all this time?

“I will see what I can do.”

Even her voice was strained. Suppressing emotion, but he wasn’t sure what kind. He couldn’t be any later to work than he already was. He would have to let it go. For now. But he wasn’t giving up the best teacher his son had ever had without a fight.

Chapter Three

Come on, damn it. Dean watched the monitor closely. The boy on the bed was barely five, and he’d slipped into V-fib, his body shutting down after the trauma of the car accident. The monitor on the side of the hospital bed beeped frantically with the ventricular fibrillation rhythm. Come on, kid.

“Charge to three hundred,” Dr. Schuyler demanded. Dean turned up the volts, and Dr. Schuyler called, “Clear.”

She charged their patient again. The young boy’s muscles clamped down, the heart stopping for a millisecond, then tripping back into normal rhythm.

“We’ve got sinus,” Dean announced. The line on the monitor evened out into normal sinus rhythm, and Dr. Schuyler handed him the paddles. He turned off the electricity and placed the paddles down as she focused on assessing their patient. He moved the crash cart off to the side a bit to give them more room to maneuver around the small emergency bay.

A scream behind him made him spin. A woman lunged toward them.

“Nurse!” Dr. Schuyler yelled.

He cut the woman off and blocked her with his body. She didn’t want to see this. He placed a hand gently but firmly on either of her shoulders. “We have to let the doctors work now.” He slowly took a step forward.

The woman’s gaze stayed glued to the scene behind him as they worked on her son. His heart might be beating on its own now, but the kid hadn’t revived just yet. He certainly wasn’t out of the woods. As they tried to control the bleeding from the gash in his head and get him conscious, the best thing Dean could do was get the mother out of the way.

She looked like she might fight his hold. He understood the parental instinct to do just that. He lowered his head until they were almost nose to nose. “Let’s go into the hallway. Come on. They’re going to help your son, Mrs.…”

“Lancaster,” she answered automatically. Her brown eyes were glazed, looking right through him.

He gave her a gentle shake and moved closer to her until she stepped back. “Okay, Mrs. Lancaster. They’re helping Joey. They can’t do that if you’re in here. It’s time to let them work,” he repeated, keeping his voice calm, his tone level but firm.

She nodded and stopped resisting. He gradually urged her from the room and closed the door behind him. Dr. Schuyler had enough help. The curtains were pulled closed a second later, and Mrs. Lancaster finally focused on him. “Jackie’s a good driver. She’s a good driver.” Her voice broke. “I wouldn’t have let him go with her if she weren’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t have. Accidents happen. Sometimes they’re not anybody’s fault.” He kept a hand on her one shoulder and offered what comfort he could. He knew what it was to be a concerned loved one when someone was in the hospital. And he knew the fear every parent faced. This woman was facing his worst nightmare.

The pileup on I-87 had brought in seven people. Three DOAs and three in critical condition. Only one with minor injuries. And Joey Lancaster was quickly moving from the minor category to critical. “Let’s have a seat,” he said, ushering her toward the waiting room. She let him move her away from her son, though he knew just how hard it must be for her right now. He grabbed a cup of water on their way, and when she lowered herself into a seat, he handed it to her.

“How bad is it?” she asked, her voice hollow.

He hated delivering bad news, especially when the patients were so young.

Dean slumped back against the pillows, defeated. What a fucking night. He’d shut down all other thoughts and emotions on his shift. But now…he could feel them threatening to overwhelm him. In the end, two other patients had died, bringing the death toll from the crash to five. Only Joey and his babysitter, Jackie, survived. Now that Dean wasn’t working to save lives, the impact of the losses hit hard, reminding him once again just how precious life could be. Some days his job fucking blew. But when he helped his patients, when he eased their pain and made their suffering less, there wasn’t a feeling like it in the entire world. Losing people sucked. Hard. Coming home to a quiet house after a night like tonight was almost unbearable. He barely resisted the urge to wake Preston and wrap him in his arms, just to remind himself his son was safe.

To make a horrible night even worse, a memo had been waiting in his locker when he ended his shift. The hospital was going to screw up any semblance of a set schedule he had. The nurses at Upstate Hospital didn’t have a union, unfortunately, so there wasn’t shit all he could do about the budget cuts that would lead to fewer hours. If he wanted to keep his job, he would take the hours they gave him and like it. Keep his mouth shut. Oh, how he wanted to tell those administrators to go fuck themselves.

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do, but he needed to figure it out. Fast.

He reached for his phone, desperate for some kind of escape. But he put it down again quickly. He wasn’t yet ready to examine too closely his call with Belle last night. The things she’d done to him… He shivered, pushing the thoughts aside. No. He wasn’t going to call her again.

He was beyond exhausted, but his thoughts just wouldn’t stop whirring. What he needed was a game plan to get his life back on track. It was already past midnight. He’d been home almost an hour, racking his brain. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t think of a decent plan. He could nurse somewhere else, but Upstate was ten minutes from the house and five from Little Lions. The other hospitals were at least twenty to thirty minutes away.

He didn’t have enough emergency backup in the area to help cover babysitting hours, or to be close by if something happened. His parents were several hours away. Nicole’s mom was getting quite a bit older now, and Preston was too much for her to handle for any length of time. He didn’t have other family in the area. Which was probably why his parents had begged him to move back to the other side of the state when Nicole died.

But this had been her home. Their home. The thought of leaving it behind broke his heart. He had happily picked up and moved to Albany when she got the job at the university. He’d gotten a job almost immediately at Upstate. That was eight years ago. He didn’t want to leave, but he might not have a choice in the matter.

He crept down the hall to Preston’s room and cracked the door. He took a moment to enjoy watching over his son. He’d had some rough parenting times in the past, especially when Nicole first died. He shied away from those memories, refusing to remember just how close he’d come to not being a father at all. To not being anything at all.

He shook those thoughts aside. He couldn’t worry about the past anymore. All he could focus on was now. And right at the moment, he felt awfully inadequate as a father. He’d been feeling that way a lot over the past few months, constantly questioning if he was doing the right thing for his son. As Preston got older, as Dean got older, and their lives got more complicated, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what else he would be able to offer his son if he had a little more help, if he could give Preston a mother. How could he weigh his son’s needs for a mom against his own guilt at betraying Nicole’s memories?

With a sigh, he slowly closed Preston’s door and headed down the hall to the kitchen. He couldn’t solve all these problems tonight. After peering in his fridge and deciding he wasn’t hungry, he grabbed a beer. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying to last night’s call. How could he have been so turned on by her? So ready to obey her every command? That wasn’t like him. Outside of following doctor’s orders at the hospital, he’d never considered himself the type to let people boss him around. Okay, well, almost never. But his exceptionally bossy sister, Lorelei, didn’t count.

He took a few swigs of beer, trying to calm his nerves.

He’d been without a woman for ages. Ever since his wife passed. He’d tried to date on a few occasions, but they’d all been disasters. He’d seen an ad for the phone sex line a few months back but hadn’t had the balls to call. Until last night. He supposed he should have known what he was getting by the name of the company, but he’d never really heard Dommes used to refer to female dominants. Maybe that made him clueless, but whatever.

He didn’t know what finally pushed him over the edge, but he’d called and gotten Mistress Belle. And somehow, Mistress Belle made the rest of the world fall away. His troubles, his stress…everything had disappeared under that sultry voice he’d wanted to wrap himself up in. She’d ordered him around, and he’d liked it.

He reached for a bag of nachos and grabbed the salsa from the fridge, deciding he was hungry after all. A few bites later, he still didn’t feel satisfied. He finished his beer and grabbed the queso instead. Heating some in the microwave, he opened his computer and pulled up his search engine du jour. The microwave beeped, and he removed the queso. After opening another beer and digging in to his chips with gusto this time, he entered submissive man in the bedroom into the search box.

He almost spit beer onto his laptop at the results. Okay, then. Bad idea. Seriously bad fucking idea. He might never get those images out of his head. He deleted his search history and closed the computer. Clearly the Internet would be no help to him in deciding what the hell was going on inside his head.

He didn’t know how, but Belle transported him out of his slate-colored bedroom in his house to another world of bright colors and intense sensations. He wanted to feel that again. Wanted to let himself get lost in that world of sensation and keep his stress and the horrible feelings of grief and loss at bay.

Yeah, she’d make a suitable mother for your son.

He took a few swigs of beer and finished the chips, debating with himself. To hell with it. Tomorrow he could start the search for a wife. Tonight… Well, tonight would be for him. He cleaned up and then headed back to his room.

After sliding in his wireless earbud, he took another few sips of beer. As he dialed the operator for Dommes by Night, he wondered what would happen if Belle wasn’t on call tonight.

The operator picked up and asked if he was a repeat customer. He confirmed he was, and they asked him to hold for a moment. Anticipation tightened his gut as he finished off his beer and walked into his bedroom.

The operator came back on the line. “Do you have a preference this evening, sir?”

“Um, yes, please. Is Belle available?” He felt so dirty. Calling a phone-sex line. He should be ashamed. Really. Instead, pleasure built within him. He decided he wouldn’t question it. Not right now.

“Yes, she is. I’ll put her right on. Please hold.”

Soft sultry voices played in his ear as he waited, telling him that someone would be with him shortly. He tensed, his muscles flexing. He wanted to talk to her so bad. She’d made him feel free for the first time in longer than he could remember.

He held his breath, waiting for her to come on the line. He knew better than to speak unless he was spoken to this time. After another moment, the recorded voice disappeared, and he slowly let out his breath.

“Is that my lovely pet again?”

His balls clenched. “Yes, Mistress Belle, it is.” Her lovely pet. The title was so possessive. So odd. He should hate it. She didn’t know him at all. Yet, he felt like she knew the deepest part of him. The part he’d never shown to anyone else.

He was a man. Society said he should be in charge. He ought to be used to society seeing him as weak or as feminine; he was used to the scoffs, especially from other men but also from women, for being a male nurse. Something about the nurturing part of him that he was supposed to hide made people uncomfortable. He decided he didn’t care any longer.

“How nice to speak with you again.”

He heard a loud whistle followed by a thwack. His pulse spiked. He wanted to ask what the noise was, but he didn’t dare. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. Or maybe he did. And that’s what scared him into silence.

“You as well, Ma’am.” His voice had gone hoarse, his throat dry. He was out of beer, but he wasn’t going to get more. He was glued to the bed. As if she’d tied him there. He licked his lips.

She chuckled, and he suppressed a moan. How he wanted to bathe in that warm, honeyed sound. The whistle and thwack came again. She said nothing. Was she teasing him? He couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe so.

“Do you know what that sound is, pet?”

“No, Mistress,” he whispered, his voice almost gone. His pulse pounded so hard in his throat he could barely breathe, let alone speak.

“Oh, my sweet, you are innocent, aren’t you?” she taunted.

Since he felt about the farthest thing from it, he didn’t respond.

“When I ask you a question, pet, I expect an answer.” Her voice was hard, punctuated with another loud thwack at the end.

He shivered. “Yes, Mistress. I apologize. I suppose in the way you meant, yes, I am new to this whole being-obedient thing.”

“Mmhmm. Yes, pet, that is quite apparent. The noise you are hearing is from my handy little riding crop. Do you know what a riding crop is, pet?” Another thwack.

He swallowed hard, trying to bring moisture to his mouth. Trying not to let his imagination run wild. But it plagued him with images of being under her complete control. Of her using that crop on him. Of the small flap of leather at the end impacting his skin with sharp stings. He groaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, her voice full of mirth.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Have you imagined yet what this soft leather head would feel like against your skin? How it would tickle and tease when I wanted it to, and how it would bite when you were a bad little boy?”

He leaned back against his pillows, his cock aching, already begging for release. “Yes, Mistress.” Desire coursed hot through him.

“Take off your clothes, and kneel on the bed for me, pet.”

“Yes, Mistress.” His fingers shook as he pulled his scrubs off. His boxers were last, and as soon as he was free of them, his cock burned in the cool air. He got onto the bed and knelt, his bare ass resting on his feet and his cock almost reaching his navel. He was already leaking precum. Fuck, what this woman did to him. She wasn’t even in the same room with him.

“Are you in position, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Start with teasing strokes. Gently rub your thighs, slowly getting closer and closer to your cock, but do not touch it until I tell you you’re allowed.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He began caressing his thighs, the thick hair on his legs tickling the pads of his fingers. The slow, erotic slide of skin on skin drove his temperature higher, and soon he was panting.

“Oh, do you like that, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned.

“That’s good. And how do you feel about pain, pet?”

“I-I don’t know, Ma’am.” It had never occurred to him.

“Squeeze your balls for me. Put them both in your dominant hand and start with light pressure.”

He obeyed, hissing when his balls were cupped in his right hand.

“Slowly increase the pressure. Until it’s too much. Play with just the edge of too much. I don’t want you in any real pain, but sometimes toying with that razor’s edge of pleasure and pain can be quite fulfilling.” She sounded almost greedy for him to explore. To teach him that he might like this. He squeezed a little bit more and found that he did like it. He liked it very much. He moaned again and held his balls just a bit tighter.

“Yes, Mistress. This is…” He spasmed. His toes curled.

“Don’t. You. Dare!” she scolded.

He held his breath, releasing the pressure on his balls just a bit. He almost came. Almost.

“Yes, Mistress.” His gritted voice in her ear was the most erotic sound she’d ever heard. He was growling at her through his teeth. She could hear it in his words. He had almost come without permission. Not allowed. The naughty boy.

“Let go now, pet.” Some more torture was in order. She couldn’t allow that transgression to go unpunished.

He hissed. She could practically see him, kneeling on the bed, head bent in contrition. “Good boy,” she praised. “Though I do believe some punishment is in order after that slipup.” She swung the crop again. It landed on the bed beside her with a delightful thwack. Oh, how she loved that sound.

For a moment he didn’t respond. Finally, he whispered, “Yes, Mistress Belle.”

Her brave little pet. She shifted on the bed. Her panties were already wet. She’d worked three calls already tonight, killing time, hoping he would call her back. None of the other calls had even made her pulse spike. A few minutes on the phone with this man and her thighs were in danger of getting drenched.

“Hmm,” she mused aloud, “what ever shall I do to punish you, pet?”

Another beat of silence.

“I don’t know, Ma’am.”

“How does my pet feel about bending over and giving that fine ass a few swats?” She was pushing her luck. She knew it. But the thought of sitting here and orgasming to the sounds of him spanking himself almost made her come on the spot. She reached for the vibrator in her nightstand while she waited for him to decide just how far he was willing to go, to see just how submissive he was.

“I…”

Her heart sank. Damn, she’d really wanted to enjoy that.

“Think that would be okay,” he finally finished.

Yes!

“Very well,” she said, trying to keep her voice hard. A Domme didn’t lose control in the middle of the scene. Especially while this particular Domme was also being paid to be so naughty. “I am going to masturbate now. And you are to get on the bed on all fours and stay there, doing nothing while you listen to me writhe and moan. When I am about to come, I will instruct you to spank yourself, twice on each cheek. You will count the strikes, pet, and I will come to the sound of you spanking yourself. When I am done, if I have decided you have performed admirably, I may allow you to come. Maybe. Do you understand, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.” His voice was deliciously strained. She heard a slight ruffling, and then he said, “I am on all fours as instructed, Ma’am.”

“Good boy. Don’t move until I tell you to.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She turned on the vibrator and pulled her panties down just slightly. She pressed the vibrator tight against her wet clit and settled the panties back into place. Moaning loudly, she reached for the crop with one hand. “Oh, pet, that feels wonderful.” She swung the crop. He made a strangled sound. She thrust against the vibrator. She wanted to drag this out, wanted to make this a thorough punishment, but she wouldn’t be able to hold off her orgasm for long. She gasped and swung the crop again.

His breathing deepened more, the sound loud in her ear, egging her on. She grabbed the vibrator with her free hand and pressed it so hard into her clit she cried out.

“Such a good pet. Spank yourself now. I’m going to come, and I want to hear those smacks of your hand against your ass.”

A loud smack made her jump. Her sheath clenched hard. She bucked against the vibrator. Another smack and groan. “One.” His voice was so strained.

The orgasm sucked her under as she heard the next impact. She screamed as her body spasmed. She didn’t even hear the last spank.

“Two,” he said, panting.

“Good boy,” she managed, her own breathing ragged. Her body sang with pleasure, the waves still crashing through her. “Lie back on the bed now, pet.” She released the vibrator so it rested gently against her mound instead of so harshly against her clit.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he said.

Was he thanking her for the release because he was sure she was about to give it to him, or thanking her for the punishment? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t care to check as the endorphins rolled through her. She might have another orgasm right along with him at this rate.

“Stroke yourself now, pet. Hard and fast. Cup your balls, squeeze them if you like. I want you coming in the next two minutes.”

He groaned, and she heard the distinct slap of flesh against flesh. Oh, yes. She swung the crop again, then again, listening to him groan loudly.

“Are you going to come for me, pet?”

“Yes. God, yes, Mistress. Please.”

She bucked against the vibrator, pleasure shooting through her. “Yes, pet. Do it. Come now for your Mistress.”

He cried out, and she groaned as another orgasm pulled her under.

They both said nothing for a long time, just waiting for their breathing to return to normal. She finally had enough sense to take the vibrator out of her panties and then lay back on her bed, spent, exhausted. And more fulfilled than she’d been in a very long time.

Keep reading Part II Here: https://medium.com/dommes-by-night/belle-by-night-part-ii-5e6a53dbd8e9

Thanks for reading. Be sure to follow the publication for the rest of Belle and Dean’s story. https://medium.com/dommes-by-night