“What is that?” she enunciated each word clearly as he continued to try to contain the pup at the same time figure out what was going on behind her blank green eyes. “The breed,” she finished.

“Mutt, but they say mostly Labrador.”

He watched her green eyes instantly round huge.

Then they squeezed tightly shut as she burst out laughing.

He stared stunned as she clapped her slimy hands, catching the pup’s attention, his ears flying out as he looked to Liv, and she stumbled—actually fucking stumbled—gracelessly to the sink.

She did a shit job washing her hands and they were still half-wet when she came back to him, still laughing, eyes on the puppy, hands up.

She tore the dog right from his grip, cooing, “Come to Momma, baby. That’s it,” she stretched her neck as the dog bathed it with her tongue, “give Momma kisses.”

Nick stood still as she wandered away, a princess with shining black hair in designer jeans and high heeled boots in a rustic, old house in the mountains of Tennessee being lavished by dog spit, still cooing and doing it nonsensically as she walked out of the kitchen into the living room

“At least he didn’t take us to a trendy country setting that’s really a suburb. We are firmly in a country setting that is not trendy,” she assured the dog absurdly. “But there are no horses to be raised in sight.”

Nick still didn’t move as she disappeared into the living room but he heard her go on.

“Ooo, you’re a boy. We need to name you.” Her voice rose. “Nicky! We need to name him. Come in here and do not touch the food. I’m cooking dinner and I’m not taking your shit.”

Nick continued to stand still until, slowly, he turned his head to look to the door to the garage. He then turned back to look into the kitchen.

“Whiz.” He heard her say. “You move like lightning. No, Punk.” He heard the dog whine. “You don’t like Punk? Okay, but you can’t be Spot, you’re not spotted.”

He looked back to the garage door.

“Nick!” she called.

He stared at the threshold at the bottom.

Fuck, he hadn’t noticed.

“Sweetheart.” He heard her again and knew she was back in the kitchen. “Our dog needs a name.”

He looked to her to see she was bent over, ass in the air looking fine in her jeans, putting their new puppy on the floor.

It jumped back in her arms.

Now, he noticed.

There he was.

He’d made it.

He’d fucking made it. With his own hands, sweat, balls, gut and brains.

He’d made it and he’d earned it and there he was…

Living it.

His perfect world.

* * * * *

The Next Day

He didn’t gag her. He wouldn’t ever gag her. He liked the noises she made too much.

But he did blindfold her.

And he strung her up.

She took it all, his Livvie. Even if he’d intended to break her in slowly, she writhed against the leather straps around her wrists hung from the hook on the wall, her naked body arching, seeking, inviting, the noises she made telling him where she was.

That being that she wanted more.

And more.

And more.

He gave it to her, his cock pulsing with each fall of the crop, his balls tightening with each red welt that rose against the beautiful skin of her ass and thighs.

She even rode the handle of the crop like he ordered.

His princess at his command.

He watched her work the crop in and out of her wet cunt, her teeth sunk into her lower lip, her tits bouncing, the nipples he’d worked first, taking his time doing it, hard and straining.

So fucking pretty.

She gave him that, he gave her what she’d needed and never been able to have, he’d give it to her again.

Now, enough was enough.

So he pulled the crop out of her, tossed it aside, wrapped an arm around her belly, cupping her pubis with his other hand to tip her back for him, and he drove his cock home.

Her held fell back against his shoulder, her lips whimpering, “Nicky,” she came for him the instant he filled her.

He fucked her strung up, holding her tight to take it, after she came down going after her clit to make her come for him again.

She did.

Then he did.

He didn’t move, stayed buried, his arms wrapped around her as she hung for him, filled with him, her head still back, turned, her forehead in the side of his neck.

“You good?” he murmured.

“Yes, Nicky,” she murmured back.

“Good they had a decent hook at the hardware store,” he teased.

He felt her smile against his skin but she only replied, “Mmm.”

He slid a hand up to her breast and cupped it.

“Who do you belong to, Livvie?” he asked.

“You, Nicky,” she whispered, pressing her forehead in harder.

“Who do you love?” he asked.

More of her whisper, “You, sweetheart.”

“Whose heart do you own?”

She shifted her head back and he tipped his chin down, lifting his hand from her breast to pull the blindfold away so he could catch her eyes.

Her beautiful voice wrapped sweet around the word, “Yours.”

That was when he kissed her, slow and wet.

He’d barely broken their kiss, his lips still to hers, when she murmured, “You forgot my plug, master.”

Nick caught her eyes.

Olivia, naked, strung up, red-assed from his crop, still full of his cock, he couldn’t hold back.