Signed (17)

The guy who bought his wife had been a friend of a friend. He’d not seen that friend since paying off his poker debt, hadn’t been invited to any more games. That rankled. He had a feeling his shit wife, or the shit guy, had spoken to his poker buddy and told him not to take any more bets with him.

He was fucking Andrew- fucking -Blanford. No one crossed him. Though he was mostly out of debt, he had somehow fallen short on making the mortgage this month.  He’d make it up. But for now, he needed to find his wife, needed to bring her home. She had a great job, and he couldn’t be expected to pay for everything himself, could he?

He found his buddy at Mason’s Bar, hanging around a full brew and a buxom redhead.

“Hey, Joe,” he hailed his friend.

Joe pulled his attention from the tits of the girl leaning against him, while his fingers continued to stroke down her hip, over her round ass.

“Oh. Hey.”

Andrew didn’t notice the lack of enthusiasm in the greeting. He slid onto the stool beside them, ordering a brew for himself.

“I’m wondering about that guy you recommended to help me out of my…situation.”

“Peter?” he said, thinking of the Gambling Anon sponsor he’d recommended a time or two.

“I don’t think his name was Peter.”

“Oh! Ooooh.” Joe blinked, focusing on Andrew. That guy.

Joe looked hard at him.

“I  hope you’re not gonna tap on him again…doesn’t he already have…” his voice trailed off, but the words ‘your wife’ hung unspoken between them.

“No, nothing like that. I just couldn’t remember his name. I’m fine. All set, in fact. Things are going well.”


“Yeah, that was it. Michael….Renthal, right?”

With a sigh, Joe nodded.

“Look, I’m a bit busy here…”

“I can see that,” said Andrew with a leer. Joe turned away, then gestured towards a table. With a last look over his shoulder, he and the girl moved away from the bar. It didn’t matter, he’d gotten what he’d needed. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, then typed the name Michael Renthal into his memo pad. With a faint smile, he chugged his beer, threw a five onto the bar to cover the tab, and slid out into the night.



She leaned against the column on the back patio, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, staring out at the maze. It had intrigued her from the first day she’d arrived here, and yet she’d never found the time to get out there. Three weeks had passed by quicker than she had imagined. She’d been fucked and flogged, tickled and teased, until she didn’t know which way was up. He’d dazzled her.

She hadn’t thought that could happen  It worried her more than a bit that her “Sir” as she was expected to call him,  was coming to mean something to her. She liked him, cared about him, but this need that was growing in her heart as well as her body?

It definitely made her nervous.

More nervous than the way Reg would sneak up upon her silently. He would poke her shoulder while she was doing dishes, just to see her jump. He would blow the hair at the nape of her neck as she read the paper at lunch, and laugh as she yelped. He hadn’t touched her since her first day here. That day, he had spanked her for being a wiseass, which she guessed she’d deserved. She knew that Reg was loyal to Sir, and that they’d been friends for a long time.   Still, it annoyed her that he could skulk around so fucking quietly.  A tap on her shoulder made her gasp. Speak of the devil!

“He wants you.”

With a reluctant glance over her shoulder at the maze, she followed Reggie into the house, and to Sir’s office. He was dressed to impress, was her first thought. The charcoal gray suit fit him like a glove, the deep blue tie a shimmering accent that drew her gaze up to his rugged face. He had shaved, his dark hair tamed. Hadn’t she tugged and mussed those thick mahogany strands as He had tortured her last night? Sadistically, he had kept her on the brink of an orgasm longer than she felt she could have borne. It was a torment that  she had never experienced before. Held, gasping, panting, mewling with sexual frustration, with the clawing need of her belly making her beg and whine for him to please, please let her cum. He’d lain beside her, pinning her in place, unrelenting. His smile was mesmerizing, cruel with a dash of sensual.  At long last he had moved over her again, slid inside her again, fucked her like a fury, again. When he finally released her, pushed her over the brink with his cock buried in her pussy and his finger sliding into her asshole, she had gushed, wetting the sheet below her, wetting her thighs, wetting him. He’d laughed, she remembered, as she’d turned a deep rosy glow.

“Do I pass muster?”

He cocked his head at her as she continued to stand there, staring at him. With a quick shiver as desire filled her, she brought herself back to the here and now.

“I’m sorry…what did you say….Sir?”

He nodded. It had taken three weeks to get her to adjust to using the term but by George, she got it.

“You were staring at me.”

“You’re pretty enough to stare at,” she replied, unwilling to share where her mind had really been.

“Wonder why my ‘pretty’ would make your nipples get hard? Remember…honesty, slut.”

How the fuck could he read her that easily? She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him.

“Fine. I was thinking about last night.”


The grin spoke volumes. He was far too cocky for words.

“Yes, Sir. I had the best sleep ever.”

She turned and would have flounced from the room. He spoiled that plan by grabbing a hank of hair, turning her face up to his. His eyes gleamed in that way she had come to read as dangerous, and exciting. She expected the kiss, the torrid heat, the rough taking of her mouth.

She didn’t expect the hard bite on her bottom lip.

Eyes widened as his teeth worried at the plump flesh he’d captured before he pulled back and slowly released her.

Her breathing was rough, her pulse knocking hard in her clitoris as she stared at him.

“I have to go into the city for the day. I should be home by this evening. Be a good girl and don’t annoy Reggie too much.”

With a quick swat on her bottom, he strode from the room without looking back. Her gaze followed him; she strained to listen as the door blocked her view, until she heard his steps fade away, then the front door opening and closing. Rubbing her finger over her swollen bottom lip, she frowned. She was going to miss him, damn him.


She picked at her salad.

“S’matter kitten?”

Slanting Reg a quick look under her lashes, she scowled.




“I’m used to having full days. I’m a professional woman, you know, and I’m used to coming and going, meetings all the time, things to do.”

“Ah, so you’re bored. I have a cure for that.”

By the wicked grin on his face she wondered if she’d fallen into some sort of trap, but hell, she was bored.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What?”


Her knees ached. Her shoulders ached. Her fingers ached. Added to that, sunburn had painted her back and nose a shade of pink, despite the sunscreen Reggie had insisted she wear. Ugh.

Sitting back on her heels, she looked over the large kitchen garden. She’d weeded perhaps half of it, naked. Who did that?

She did, obviously.

Still, the garden looked great, even if she was sweaty, dirty, and aching from the unexpected physical work. Gardening was not for wimps.

“You know, I thought you were smart.”

She looked over her shoulder. Reg stood there, hands on hips, scowling at her.

“Of course I’m smart. It’s part of my attraction,” she quipped.

“It’s hot out, sunny, and you’re getting a sunburn. Did you not think to come out of the garden and get some water? Or shade. Geezuz, woman, I didn’t mean you had to do the entire garden today.”

He shook his head, exasperated. He flung out a hand, which she took. Tugging her to her feet, he put his arm around her waist as she moaned. Dirt fell in clumps around her feet, from her knees, her hands.

“Oh. Ouch.”

She felt his sigh, but for once he was silent as he guided her up the back steps, marble like the front, and into the house. Small bits of dirt fell onto the pristine floor of the kitchen as he brought her through the kitchen, a trail of dirt leaving a trail all the way up to the Master suite. He pushed her to the toilet, silently bidding her to sit, while he turned the shower on.

“First, you rinse all that,” he gestured to her legs “off. Then a cool bath to soothe the sunburn. I have a jungle trick to take the fire out of that. Trust me, you don’t ever give a sadist something like that to play with.”

For an instant, sympathy slid across his face, was quickly replaced by annoyance.

“You’re a piece of work, girl, I’ll give you that.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Grateful for the rough kindness, she slipped into the shower, and began to wash herself clean.


He drove carefully. He was bringing her back, one way or the other.  A quick glance at the hardware store bag on the passenger seat reassured him. Clothesline, duct tape, his wife retrieval kit.

He smiled, and drove into the sunset.