Seasons, Part 1: WINTER

 

For Jessica Elwood (jessicaelwood.deviantart.com)

By the Muse of Caprice and Whimsy (mocaw.deviantart.com)

 

 

Disclaimer: The “Jessica Elwood” fursona and its distinctive likeness is the property of Jessica Elwood and is used with permission from the creator.  Everything else, including the Starlight setting, all other characters, and their distinctive likenesses are the property of the MoCaW and may not be used without prior consent.  This story may be distributed freely as long as it is distributed in its entirety without editing, and with this disclaimer block intact.  In other words: please give credit where it is due, it’s the decent thing to do.  Thanks.

 

Content Warning: This story includes a depiction of a BDSM relationship, including master-slave play, abusive roleplay, bondage, and domination.  If this bothers you, don’t read any further: consider yourself warned and don’t come to me crying afterwards.  If this intrigues you, PLEASE do your research before trying any of this out on your own.  BDSM requires a lot of trust between dom and sub, and you can hurt someone’s feelings, or worse, if you don’t know what you’re doing.  I’ve done my best to keep this story grounded in reality as much as possible, but certain aspects have been fictionalized, so don’t consider this a how-to guide.

 

That said, enjoy the story. 

 

 

- * -

 

This is the story of two lovers: one the son of a nobleman, the other a chimeric slave created to be his slave, and the love they found in the most uncertain of circumstances.  This is the tale of the year during which their love grew, until the day that it would be tested against violence and betrayal, death and bloodshed.  This is the story of four seasons. 

 

We begin with winter, the season when the trees rest and the world falls into deep slumber, as our lovers search for a warm place in the midst of the white cold. . .

 

 

- * -

 

“I’ve finished my work for today, Mister Hawkins,” I said, curtseying.  “If there is nothing more, then I will be on my way.”

 

 “Mm?  Oh, yes.  Thank you for your hard work, Miss Elwood,” Jonathan replied distractedly, in his professionally-detached-employer-of-a-housekeeper voice.  He was standing at the floor-to ceiling picture windows in his office, looking out at the snow falling on the hushed winter landscape, his hands clasped behind his back in that aristocratic manner that always made me shiver.  I glanced over at his desk for the tenth time today, but was disappointed to find that he still had not taken the little mahogany box from his desk drawer.  It was probably for the best, I decided, given the welts that still stung on my back and the rope burns on my wrists, but there was something darkly addictive about the terrible glory that came upon him during our sessions, the sensation of power as he dominated and controlled me, so different from the shy, reserved, and frankly clumsy man he could be the rest of the time.  For a moment, I considered taking the box out of the drawer myself, but decided against it in the end.  Certain things are best left treasured in the shadows of the heart, saved for special occasions.

 

“In that case,” I said, with another curtsey and a nod, “I shall retire.  Good day, Mister Hawkins.”

 

“Actually, Miss Elwood?” Jonathan asked.

 

I paused with one hand on the doorway.  “Yes, Mister Hawkins?” I asked, my heart pounding with anticipation.

 

“I was just wondering if you had any plans for the winter holidays this weekend,” Jonathan replied coolly, still looking out the window at the falling snow.

 

My heart skipped a beat in excitement or disappointment: it was hard to be sure.  “Not at the moment, sir.  Why do you ask?”

 

“Mm?  Oh, yes.  Sir Remiel Alexandre has invited me to spend the holidays with him at his winter cottage up in the mountains, wonderful skiing area, I’m led to believe.  In any case, he told me that I could invite a friend along if I wished, and given that the Director is spending the holidays with his own family, I was just wondering if you would be interested in accompanying me on such a venture.”  His voice was detached and professional, and he kept his face turned away the whole time, but his ears, I saw, were turning bright pink, and his hands, clasped behind his back, were clenched in tight, nervous fists.  Jonathan could be so cute when he was trying to act like he didn’t want something. 

 

“That is a very generous offer, Mister Hawkins, but do you really think that it is entirely appropriate for a gentleman like yourself to take a housemaid on holiday?” I teased.

 

Jonathan smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “Right,” he said, in his kind-of-dopey-and-rather-shy-man-who-loves-you voice.  “How about this, then.  Jessica, do you want to spend the holiday with me up at Remiel’s winter home?  We can go skiing in the daytime and make love all night and if we get bored of that, we can find something else to do, I’m sure.”

 

I laughed.  “Well, Jonathan, when you say it that way, how could a girl refuse?”

 

“Wonderful,” he said, smiling in relief.  “Well, in that case, we leave tomorrow night.  Pack warm.”

 

“I shall.  Have you packed your bags yet?”

 

“Oh, um. . . not yet.  I was going to do that tonight.”

 

I sighed.  “Better let me do it, Jonathan, or you’ll have your clothes all wrinkled and your ties all crumpled and probably forget to bring socks entirely.”

 

“Yes, kitten,” Jonathan replied affectionately, and I knew right then that tonight was going to be one of those nights instead, one of those quiet nights when he and I lay in the bed on satin sheets and made gentle love to each other, the kind of sex that was less about the pleasure of orgasm and more about simply being close to the one you love.  “Oh, and Jess?” he continued.

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Better pack THAT suitcase too,” he said, his eyes flashing with just a hint of a dark light.  “You never know, it could come in useful.

 

A slow tingle ran through my body at the suggestion of a savage lust in his eyes.  “Y. . . yes, love,” I replied, swallowing nervously.

 

He gave me a wicked smile and waved me on my way.  I walked out into the hallway, took a deep breath.  “I’ve never wanted him so bad in my entire life,” I murmured to myself.  “Focus, Jessica. . . packing.  Right.  Need to pack his bags. . . not in that way, think luggage.  Luggage.  Packing.”  I rested my forehead against the chilly diamond-glass window, gazing out at the moonlit winter night as I tried to cool down and compose myself enough to go on. 

 

I must have been so distracted that I never saw or heard him coming, because the first sign I had that he was there was when his arm wrapped around my waist, and his other hand began roaming over my breasts.  “J. . . jonathan?” I whispered, startled.

 

“Shhhhh. . . “ my lover whispered, kissing the back of my neck, sending wonderful little thrills running down my spine.  “Shhhhh. . .”

 

“mmmmm. . .”  I tried to turn in his arms and return his kisses, but he was holding me too tight, pressing his body close to mine and forcing me up against the window.  I moaned as I felt the cold glass against my forehead and hands, felt the pressure of his growing erection against my hip, felt his warm breath soft against the back of my neck, kissing the mouse-soft fur there as he caressed me so lovingly, his skilled hands stroking my breasts through my clothing, making my heart race.  “I’ve wanted you so badly all day,” Jonathan murmured between kisses, in his oh-so-gentle-lover voice.  “Ever since the moment you walked in this morning, I wanted to make love to you so much that holding it in it almost made me feel like bursting.  I want to make you feel good tonight, kitten.  I want you to know just how much I love you.”

 

“Jonathan. . . I murmured again.  My head was swimming, my heart fluttering in my breast like a frightened bird.  “Tell me.  Tell me how much you love me,” I begged.  “Tell me. . .”

 

“I love this woman.  I love these breasts, this body, this neck, this hair,” he said in a low, dark voice, stroking my breasts, my stomach, reaching up to undo my frilled headdress and let my hair fall in a pale blonde cascade, pushing it aside over one shoulder so that he could nibble at the back of my neck.  “I love this soul, this quiet girl who came into my life one day and changed it forever.  I love how she has always been next to me with a word to silence my darkness, a companion in times of loneliness, and a friend in dark times, and I will show her how much I love her by making her feel. . . wonderful. . . tonight.”  His hands cupped over my bosom, began massaging me gently, and I felt my nipples grow hard and erect under my frock and bra, a little urgent feeling growing between my loins, and I breathed hard in pleasure, could see my breath fogging the diamond-glass and blurring the picturesque winter night before another moment of ecstasy closed my eyes and took away that lovely scene.

 

“Jonathan,” I whispered.  “I’m wearing. . . strapless bra. . . take it off. . . please. . .”

 

“As you wish.”  His hands left my breasts, reached up behind me, undid the buttons on the back of my frock, carefully unhooked my bra and eased it off my body from the side.  Now it was only the thin cloth of my uniform between me and my lover’s touch.  I could feel the cloth straining against my hardened and erect nipples, let out a fresh moan at the wonderful sensation of his hands, my breath quickening, my heart pounding, starting to lose myself in mindless pleasure.  I could almost orgasm just from being touched there, and Jonathan had had lots of practice in pleasing me this way, knew where to stroke and where to pinch and where to tweak and where to just grab and hold on. 

 

“Jonathan. . . !” I moaned, my ears ringing with the pleasure of his touch.  Once again, I tried to turn and embrace him, to kiss him with the kisses of my mouth and taste his warmth, but he was still holding me too close, pushed me even closer up against the window so that my breasts were pressed against the chilly glass, drawing a little gasp from my quivering lips as the cold hit me even through my uniform, made me twitch.  He had one hand on my back now, caressing me over the shoulder blades as his other hand reached down, hiked my ankle-length skirt with its ruffled petticoats and lace trim up and over my waist, quested between my legs for my underwear.  “Side-tie panties?” he purred, and I could hear the hunger in his voice, the desire rising in his throat.  “You came prepared today, didn’t you, kitten?  Strapless bra, side-tie panties, garter belt. . .”

 

“I’ve wanted this as badly as you,” I gulped.  “Jonathan, please. . . take me.  Right here, right now, take me. . . I. . . I want to feel you inside me right now, please. . .”

 

He chuckled at that, then his warm, skillful hands undid the knots on my panties, slid them off past my garter belt and stockings.  The cool night air wafted over my moist sex now, the cold from the floor-to-ceiling windows seeming to radiate over my wet pussy.  “Tell me,” he said again, in his low and dark, dangerous voice.  “Tell me how much you want it.”  I heard him open his fly, felt the head of his dick touch my folds, very gently, rubbing over my clit, teasing around the entrance of my sex.  “Tell me, please.”

 

“Jonathan. . . !”  I tried to push off against the window, to thrust my hips back so that he would slip inside, but he was holding me away, just keeping at the entrance, teasing and playing.  “Jonathan!” I whimpered.  “Oh, please, please!  Fuck me now!  I want to feel your cock inside me, please. . . don’t tease me!  Please, just fuck me, let me feel you inside me, please!” 

 

My cheeks blushed crimson as I realized what I was saying, but the words seemed to excite him, to ignite his lust into an open flame.  He drew away, and I whimpered and begged, would have promised him anything if he would only return and satiate my desperate need, then I felt him slip inside and slide up almost all the way, that moment of first penetration that is almost better than the eventual release making me gasp and arch my back in response, my tail wrapping around his waist and holding him close.  I felt him press even closer then, his hands over my hands, his chest pressed close to my back, his warm breath soft against my cheek as he thrust in slowly, easily, gently, carefully hitting that all-important point, deep inside, that experience had taught him would send tingles of pleasure running through my hot, desperate body.

 

He was very gentle, so different from the Evil Master of our games, who was all dark cruelty and power held barely in check by the rules.   I felt my breath growing ragged, the urgent feeling starting to peak.  My lover thrust into me from behind as I concentrated on tightening my muscles down there so that I could wrap closely around his manhood, heightening both our pleasures.  He was whispering something desperately to himself as he slid in and out with a nasty wet sound: actuarial tables, perhaps, or imaginary annuity calculations, which made me giggle a little, but also feel a warm, gentle sensation deep inside, knowing that he was thinking of my own pleasure, keeping nothing for his own, drawing out his own moment of bliss so that mine could come first. 

 

A third time, I tried to turn and embrace him.  This time, he let me, pulling out just for a moment so I could turn around on the windowsill, pull my skirts up over my hips, wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.  He thrust in again, harder this time, more urgently, kissing my lips, my face, my forehead, my neck, my shoulder, one hand cupping my breast as the other braced himself against the window, closed into a fist, drew clear streaks against the steamy diamond-glass.  I bit down on his shoulder with every thrust, tasted the dry, slightly bitter fabric of his waistcoat on my tongue, ran my hands up and down his back, lost in pleasure, but happy just to be with the one I loved.

 

“Ooooh, kitten,” Jonathan whispered, his eyes half- lidded with pleasure, his mouth open with approaching release.  “Oh, kitten, that’s good. . . oh, god, gonna cum. . . gonna cum.”

 

“’side,” I whispered.  “c’m nnnnnn. . . ‘nside.”

 

“Mmmmmmmmm. . . as you wish.”  Another thrust.  And another.  And another.  Then he had no words any more, just a low, soft grunt of pleasure as his back went rigid and released a shot after shot of hot, white cum unto my body, his hand moving up from my breast to caress the back of his neck.  I reached up and kissed him on his mouth, running my tongue over his teeth, clenched tightly together with the exertion of his release, then I felt a little wave of pleasure roll over my body, not the white-hot, exploding orgasm of passionate lovemaking, nor the flying feeling of detachment that is the submissive’s high, but a quiet, gentle, rolling sensation, almost like an old, familiar friend.

 

He slid out of me with wet, slick sound, sighed happily as he kissed my forehead and cheeks.  “Thank you, kitten,” he murmured sleepily.  “That was wonderful.”

 

“You’re welcome any time,” I murred.  He chuckled at that, then, to my horror, took an expensive, monogrammed handkerchief from the breast pocket of his waistcoat and wiped himself off.  “Jonathan!” I yelled.  “Don’t do that. . . use a tissue instead.  Oh, dear. . . Do you know how hard those kinds of stains are to get out of silk once it sets?” I groaned, grabbing it from his grasp.

 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

 

I sighed.  “I really do wish you would think about these things first,” I said, using the handkerchief to wipe myself off too – it was ruined anyway, and the soft silk against my sensitive sex did feel wonderfully pleasant, I had to admit.  “It is bad enough with you doing it all over my uniform all the time.  The dry-cleaners are already starting to get to know us: I hear they call me the ‘cum-stain lady.’  Don’t laugh, it’s not funny, it’s embarrassing!”

 

“Yes, kitten,” Jonathan said, trying not to smile.

 

I sighed.  “You’d better go change and put some water on your pants before those stains set too.”  Then, because he really did look so sorry and sheepish, I gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, lingering a bit so that he could taste me.  “And thank you, Jonathan.  That was wonderful.”

 

“You’re welcome.”  He kissed me back and gave me a gentle hug.  As he turned away to go change his clothes, I heard him sneeze: just once.

 

 

- * -

 

“You seem excited, kitten,” Jonathan said, as the flivver made its way up the mountainside.

 

“I’ve just. . . never been up in the mountains like this before,” I said, watching the pine trees zip past with my nose glued to the window.  “The last time you took a winter trip like this, I was your slave, and you left me behind to take care of the house while you went off to have fun.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Jonathan replied, scratching the back of his head, seeming distracted.  “Sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t be.  You were different back then.  I was different back then too,” I said.  An image emerged, unbidden, into my mind: a quiet night, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and my master sitting on an armchair by the fire, his eyes dark with pain and angst.  “You say your body is mine to do with as I wish.  I want to destroy it,” he was saying, and I shivered a bit, looked down at my hands tightly gripping my skirt. 

 

Then Jonathan’s hand rested on top of mine, and his gentle touch reassured me, and I knew that he was thinking the same thing.  “Never again,” he whispered, as he had so many times before.  “I swear.”

 

“I know,” I replied, just as I had every other time he had reasserted his promise.  “You’d never really hurt me, Jonathan.  You love me too much for that.”  As I knew they would, the words reassured him, brought the light back to his eyes, and he blushed, coughed nervously and looked out the window because he didn’t want me to see him so in love.  It was the way of Victoria colony, I had been told: a gentleman hides his feelings deep inside, presents a different face to outsiders than the one he allows to be seen by his closest friends in private times, denies himself his own wants.  What others might call hypocrisy, they called discretion.  It was terribly frustrating.

 

My thoughts were interrupted as the flivver pulled up to a massive building with its walls covered in rough-hewn logs and its chimneys made of stone inset with mortar.  “This is his vacation house!?” I gasped.  “It’s huge!”

 

Jonathan chuckled.  “I think he’d spend all year here if he could.  Remiel loves the snow.  Speak of the devil. . . and he’s got a friend, too.” 

 

Indeed, Sir Remiel Alexandre was waiting for us on the driveway outside the massive ski lodge, standing next to a shorter and somewhat chubbier man wearing a turtleneck and jeans.  “You’re early,” Sir Alexandre said, as Jonathan helped me out of the flivver.  “Fifteen minutes early, in fact.  I believe I asked you to be here at 1600.”

 

“I hate to be late,” Jonathan said, smiling.

 

“I know.  That’s why I’m out here waiting.  Jessica, you’re looking lovely, as always.”

 

“And you’re as handsome as ever, Sir Alexandre,” I said, giving the lean, dark-haired man a kiss and a hug.  I had a soft spot for Remiel Alexandre: he’d been a companion and confidante through a very dark time in my life, after Jonathan had forced me to leave his service following some unpleasant business involving his engagement with Christine Walden.  But that’s another story for another time.

 

“Quite right.  Oh, where are my manners.  Jonathan Hawkins, Jessica Elwood, this is Victor LaFontaine.  Victor, this is Jonathan, and his. . . maidservant, now. . . Jessica.  Jonathan is a very old friend of mine.”

 

“Pleasure,” Victor said, extending his hand.  “Remiel has told me all about you two.”  I noted the rather limp-wristed handshake, the slight lilt in Victor’s voice, and the well-manicured nature of his nails.  Oh.  A friend.  I see.

 

“Yes, yes.  Pleasure.”  Jonathan shook Victor’s hand absent-mindedly, then took our bags from the flivver’s trunk, retrieved his credit chip, and sent the little vehicle on its way looking for another fare.  “Wonderful of you to invite us, Remiel.  Jessica has been looking forward to this trip all week.”  He sneezed.

 

“That’s nice to say, but I know for a fact that Jessica didn’t even find out about this trip until yesterday, perhaps the day before,” Remiel said, helping Jonathan with one of the bags.

 

Jonathan halted dead in his tracks.  “How did you know that?”

 

“Simple observation.  Jessica’s snow jacket is absolutely brand new.  Obviously purchased. . . mmmm. . . this morning, I’d say, by the lingering smell of the mothballs, and the fact that she has not yet even filled it out.  Most likely, you sprung this on her last night, so that the poor girl had to rush to get her ski-clothes shopping done today.  You can be a terribly inconsiderate man sometimes, Jonathan.”

 

“I know, he’s awful!” I agreed.  “And he made me pack his bags too!”

 

“Made you. . . you wouldn’t let me pack my own bags!  You said I’d do it all wrong!”

 

“And you would too.”  Remiel smirked, leading us through the front doors.  “I remember taking hunting trips up in the mountains. . . he’d pack fifteen shirts and no socks, most annoying to those of us who had to share.  In any case, here we are.  Jonathan, you and Jessica can take the rooms in the east wing: just find two you like.  Or one, if you prefer to do it that way.  Dinner will be served momentarily: Miss Janet is making roast duck with potatoes.  A most wonderful dish, I must say.”

 

“Sounds great,” Jonathan said, rubbing at his forehead with one hand and loosening his shirt collar.  “Should we dress up or down for dinner?”

 

“Dress casual, of course, my good man.  There are no formal dinners here, and you know it.  Just a place for friends to be together.”

 

“Right, right,” Jonathan said, seeming distracted.

 

“Are you feeling all right, Jonathan?” Remiel asked suddenly.  “You look. . . off.”

 

“Just a little tired,” Jonathan replied, clearing his throat.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

 

“Is that soooo?” Victor smirked, glancing over at me.  I blushed and lowered my eyes.

 

“Nawww, just. . . anyway, yeah.  Dinner.  Right.  Dress casual. . . actually, I’m not very hungry, tonight, think I’ll turn in early. . . ”  He wandered off into one of the rooms, without even asking me for my opinion.  As he closed the door behind him, I heard him sneeze again, very loudly.

 

 

- * -

 

The next morning. . .

 

“I ab do dorry,” Jonathan moaned.

 

“He has a fever,” I sighed, shaking out the thermometer and putting it away.  “Nothing life-threatening, just the flu, but he should probably stay in bed all day, just to be sure.”  I took a cold compress from the tub by his bed and laid it over his hot forehead.

 

“Why in blazes didn’t you tell us you were feeling under the weather, Jonathan?” Sir Alexandre sighed, clasping his hands behind his back.

 

“Did’ wanna ruin da trip.  Dorry.”

 

“Well, it’s kind of ruined now,” Remiel sighed.  “You can’t go skiing in this condition.  We’ll have to cancel.”

 

“Ndo, ndo, ndo!  Id okay!  Oo go on widdout me,” Jonathan groaned.

 

“Suit yourself,” Remiel said.

 

“Are you sure, Jonathan?  Maybe I should stay. . .”

 

“Gdo!  Gdo on, hab fud.  I’d dode wadda ruid your good time.”

 

“Seriously, it’s okay, I can. . .”

 

“Jeddica, id OKAY.  Gdo.”  He waved me off.  “Gdo.”

 

I sighed.  “All right, love.”  I gave him a kiss on the forehead.  “I’ll see you tonight then?”

 

“Okay.”  He curled up in bed and turned over. 

 

I sighed and walked out of the room.  “Miss Jenny?  Please take good care of him.”

 

“Don’t you worry about Mister Hawkins, Miss Jessica,” Remiel’s middle-aged housekeeper said.  “We’ll have him back on his feet in now time.”

 

“Thank you.  You’re so sweet.”  I gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “Well, then. . . we’re off.”

 

We called a flivver to take us to the ski slopes.  I remember turning in the back seat to look at the lodge as we left.  I don’t know why, perhaps I wanted to see if Jonathan was watching us leave.  He wasn’t, of course: he was too ill for that. 

 

It made me feel sad for some reason.

 

 

- * -

 

“You’re doing well, Jessica,” Remiel said.  “Most people take all day just to get the snowplow.  You might be able to get up on the slopes after lunch.”

 

“Thanks.”  I sighed and sat down next to him, stripping off my ski gloves.  “I’m famished, though. . . what is there to eat?”

 

“We’ll go to the lodge and have lunch there.  They make a wonnnnderful beef stew that just has to be TASTED to be believed,” Victor crooned.

 

“Right,” I said doubtfully.  “That sounds good right now.”

 

The lodge was one of those places made of big wooden logs that tries to look authentically hand-made, but doesn’t quite make it.  We found a table near the big windows overlooking the slope and ordered lunch.

 

Victor was right, the beef stew was excellent.  It could have used a bay leaf or two, but that was just my opinion.

 

After lunch, Victor excused himself to use the “powder room” while Remiel lit up a big, nasty looking cigar that gave off lots of blue smoke.  “Well, Jessica. . . what is bothering you?” Remiel asked.

 

“Nothing. . . nothing is bothering me,” I lied.

 

“Oh, please, Jessica, I’ve always been able to read your face like an open book and you know it.  Something is bothering you, and I think I know exactly what it is.  You wish you could have stayed with Jonathan, don’t you?”

 

As always, he’d hit the nail right on the head.  “. . . I don’t like to think of him at home alone while we’re off having fun,” I said softly.  “I feel like I abandoned him.  I should go back and be with him.”

 

Remiel sighed.  “Jessica. . . how long have you known Jonathan?”

 

I counted off the months in my head.  “Almost. . . three years now.  Two of them as his slave. . . one year we were apart. . . and now this is the beginning of the third, I think.”

 

“Three years.  And in all that time you never realized that our friend Mister Hawkins is a suffering martyr?  He’s only happy when he’s miserable, Jessica, it makes him feel. . . dramatic.  And despite all his efforts to be aloof and distant, he really is nothing more than an attention whore.  He can be so horribly exasperating sometimes, it makes me feel ill,” Remiel muttered.

 

“He shouldn’t do that.  It’s not good that he’s always wallowing in his own juices like that,” I said.  “He should try to be happier.”

 

“He is happy, Jessica.  He’s happy knowing that you’re away having fun while he sits at home and does his best impression of a deathly ill heroine from a bad romance novel.”  Remiel’s expression turned serious.  “Jessica, I love Jonathan like a brother, but even I must admit that he is not an easy man to get to know.  There is a lot of guilt in him: part of it might be his own hidden desires, the other thing is. . . something from his past I should not share with you for now, but that he will hopefully tell you about soon.  In any case, he keeps his feelings locked up inside and doesn’t like to share them.  Maybe it makes him feel safe.”

 

“Director Ellsworthy said the same thing to me when we first got together again,” I said, thinking back.  “He told me that Jonathan had a dark side, and I needed to know and be careful of it.  I told him I wanted to help him become more open, but the Director was so angry with me. . . ‘Don’t think that way!  No woman can change a man, not if he doesn’t want to change. . .’”

 

“. . . although a good woman can sometimes be a powerful motivation TO change,” Remiel said, finishing the sentence.  “He told me that too once.  His Grace can be so full of useless platitudes at times.”

 

Silence.  “What should I do?” I asked quietly.

 

Remiel stubbed out his cigar on the ashtray.  “Well, first, you should remember to keep your center of gravity low.  Skiing is all in the legs, not the arms.  And don’t worry so much about falling: it doesn’t hurt as much as you might think.  Snow is usually a very good absorber of energy, you see.”

 

“I meant with Jonathan.”

 

Remiel shrugged.  “With him?  Do what you feel is right.  That is what you’ve done so far, and it seems to have gone. . . maybe not well, but not as bad as you might think.”  Remiel smiled at me fondly.  “I am very proud of you, by the way. . . you have truly blossomed from that frightened little girl who wandered into Lady Harrington’s parlor that day, having just been dismissed from her master’s service.  Love does that to a woman, I think.

 

“Anyway, I hear Victor coming, and we should be off.  Remember: bend your knees and keep your center of gravity low.  And for heaven’s sake, don’t cross your skis, or we’ll be having to explain to Jonathan why his housemaid is all bruised up from falling down the slope.  I don’t know what he’d do to us if that ever happened, probably wouldn’t stop at killing me, that’s for sure. . .”

 

 

- * -

 

“How are you feeling, love?” I asked, walking into his bedroom that evening.

 

“A lot better, actually,” Jonathan replied.  He still looked a bit pale, but he was sitting up now.

 

“Let me see.”  I sat next to him and rested a palm against his forehead.  He closed his eyes at my touch, as if just drinking in my presence, and I smiled, patted his cheek lovingly.  “You are doing a lot better, love,” I said quietly.  “You might be able to get up and out tomorrow.”

 

“That would be lovely.  How was your day, kitten?” he asked.

 

“It was lots of fun,” I replied.  Then, as Remiel had suggested, added, “But you know, I missed you the whole time.  It wasn’t nearly as much fun without you there.”

 

Jonathan turned away, trying not to look touched.  “It’s okay,” he murmured.  “Just because I’m ill doesn’t mean that you should miss out on a good time.”

 

“I’d have preferred to stay.”

 

“I’m glad you went.  You shouldn’t have to worry yourself over me.”

 

“Jonathan?”

 

“Yes, kitten?”

 

I slapped him.  Not very hard, but right in the face where he could feel it.

 

“W. . . what was that for!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with inner flame.

 

“For being a selfish jerk!”

 

“Selfish. . . how was I being selfish!  I was the very OPPOSITE of selfish!  I was. . . I was thinking of you!”

 

“If you were thinking of me, you should have respected my decision to stay!  If you didn’t want me to worry about you, you should have let me take care of you!  But no, you were just a selfish. . . stupid. . . jerk!”  I picked up a pillow and smacked him once with each of the last three words, tears of hot rage squeezing from my eyes.  “You once said your first order to me was to take care of myself. . . how am I supposed to do that when I’m worried sick about the person I love!  I LOVE you, Jonathan, and I need to know you’re okay, or I’ll. . . I’ll. . . I’ll just DIE!”

 

Jonathan didn’t reply. . . which was strange.  Normally, he would have been angry, but something about the fact that I had actually raised my voice to him. . . actually hit him. . . seemed to shock him into silence, force him to listen.  Really listen. 

 

He could be such a stupid man at times, but that, at least, he was good at.

 

“. . . I’m sorry,” Jonathan said quietly.  “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about this.”

 

“I am too,” I whispered.  “I should have told you up front.  And I shouldn’t have hit you.  You didn’t mean any harm.”

 

More silence.

 

“Kitten?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“. . . I do kind of wish you had stayed too.  It would have been nice to have you here.  It got kind of lonely and boring. . . but I did truly want you to go out and have fun.  I wish I could have been there with you, though.”

 

“Well, I’m here now,” I said, sitting up and stroking his reddening cheek, “and Remiel tells me that this wing of his home is pretty soundproof.  We didn’t get to ski today, but we can still do the other thing.”

 

Jonathan smiled.  “Make love all night?” 

 

“Of course.”

 

“Would this,” he said, reaching into the nightstand and taking out a couple of familiar looking items, “be what you had in mind, Jess?”

 

“You read my mind exactly,” I murred happily.  He reached up, put the slave collar around my neck, and I thrilled at the familiar sensation of that leather around my slender throat.  He then extended his hand with its heavy signet ring, and I leaned down, kissed the silver very gently.  It was the same ritual we had used when I had first become his slave: we used it now to signify that we were no longer Jonathan Hawkins and Jessica Elwood, lovers and friends, but the Evil Master and his Helpless Slave, two people whom we kept hidden in the shadows until the time came for them to emerge into the light again.

 

“What is your bidding, master?” I asked.  Once I said those words, I was no longer myself, but his.

 

Jonathan leaned back in his bed, fixed me with a dark glare, his usually gentle expression replaced with a haughty, cruel sneer.  “Your master is annoyed, slave,” he said, in a dark, menacing voice.  “How dare you leave him alone when he is ill and needs you by his side?  You lack dedication.  Discipline is required.”

 

“Yes, Master,” I whispered submissively, keeping my eyes downcast.  He keeps his feelings locked up inside and doesn’t like to share them, Remiel had said.  Maybe this was his way of letting them out, just for a moment.

 

“Remove your clothing,” Jonathan went on.  “All of it.  Leave only your slave collar on.  Actually, no, wait.  Leave your socks on.  Nothing else.”

 

“Yes, Master,” I repeated.  It took a long time: sweater, shirt, pants, long underwear, bra. . . I did it slowly, keeping my eyes downcast the entire time, folding each garment neatly and leaving it on the chair as I did so, knowing that the sight of my willing submission would drive Jonathan wild.  The room was still a bit cold despite the fire, and by the time I’d removed my bra, my nipples were hard and erect in the chilly winter air, the little pink nubs standing tall against my snowy fur.  Jonathan watched me silently the whole time, sipping at his mug of tea, the sheets over his groin slowly tenting with his steadily growing erection.  Soon, I stood before him cold and almost naked, shivering and rubbing myself to keep warm.

 

“You’re cold, slave?” Jonathan asked.

 

“Yes, master,” I replied demurely, eyes downcast.

 

“That’s good.  It gives me an idea.  Here is the first part of your punishment.”  Jonathan took an ice cube from the glass of water by his bed and slipped it up between my nether lips, into my warm sex.  I whimpered and reached down to pull it out, but he slapped my hands away.  “Don’t you dare!” he snapped.  “Stand straight!  And if this ice falls out, there will be consequences, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, master!”  I snapped to attention, eyes scrunched shut, keeping my hands at my side, biting my lower lip hard.  He quickly slipped a second half-melted ice cube in after the first, then a third. . . a fourth. . . a fifth. . . it was getting so hard to hold them in, my muscles felt like they were freezing. . . a sixth, a seventh. . . eight. . . nine. . . ten. . . eleven. . . twelve. . . twelve cubes of ice, the cold so intense they numbed me inside, and I stood there silently, struggling to hold them inside, rubbing my knees together, wishing I could warm myself with my hands, but fearful of the consequences if I did.

 

“This is the first part of your punishment.  If you can stand straight without moving or making a sound until all that ice melts, I will let you go.  Otherwise, we will move on to the second part.  Do not disappoint me, slave,” Jonathan crooned darkly.  “You don’t want to see what I will do if you fail.”

 

“Yes, master,” I whimpered.  The ice was starting to melt, dripping out of my cold-numbed sex as I counted off silently to myself. 

 

One.  Two.  Three.  Four. . .

 

Drop after drop of water fell from my clenched-tight pussy and dripped on the carpet.  I bit my lower lip, concentrated on standing still, my hands and legs trembling with the exertion, fighting the almost unbearable urge to reach in and throw the ice cubes away. . .

 

Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve. Thirteen. . .

 

Jonathan sipped at his tea.  The ice shifted inside me. A thin stream of water flowed from my pussy for a moment over my thighs, and I bit back a whimper, hands clenching into tight fists, driving my nails into my palm and trying to distract myself with pain.

 

Twenty-one.  Twenty-two.  Twenty-three. . .

 

A thin rivulet of icy water was dripping down my thigh, and the tickling was almost worse than the cold, the urge to wipe it away nearly unbearable.  I bit down harder on my lower lip, tried not to think about the cold, tried my very best to hold on, knowing that watching me struggle was making Jonathan excited, hearing him gently stroke his stiff manhood through the sheets very lightly, just to make sure that he was still hard when I broke. . .

 

Thirty-four.  Thirty-five.  Thirty-six. . .

 

There.  That was enough to make him enjoy watching you struggle.  Now you play the disobedient slave.

 

I whimpered and relaxed.  A stream of water flowed out of me onto the carpet, followed by the now nearly-melted ice cubes, making a soft clinking sound against each other as they fell.  Jonathan glared at me with mock fury. “Useless.  Why did you disobey me, slave?” he said, in a soft, dangerous voice, leaning out of bed and pulling me towards him by my collar (not too hard, of course.)  “Couldn’t you keep still for just one minute?”

 

“I’m sorry, master,” I whimpered, rubbing at my nearly numb sex.  “It was just too cold, I couldn’t. . .”

 

“Couldn’t?  You’re going to have to.  You lack discipline, slave,” he said, glowering.  “I’m going to have to drill it into you.  Bring the suitcase.”

 

“No, master!  Not the suitcase, please, I’ll be good, I promise!”

 

 “The suitcase.  Now,” Jonathan repeated, his voice laced with cold anger.

 

“Yes, master!”  I ran from the room and went to the walk-in closet, pretended to rummage around for the silver suitcase sitting right there in the middle of the floor.  It would frustrate him, draw out his dark side further, and it gave me a moment to take a deep breath and remind myself that it was just a game, that he would never really hurt me ever, that he’d put that part of his dark side away with his drinking and his “friendship” with Alistair Brookside.  Remember, Jessica. . . despite his darkness, he is still the man you love and trust, even if he can be a terrible fool sometimes.  You can end this all with a word, if you want.  You have before.

 

“Hurry up, slave!” Jonathan snapped.  “Quickly!  Or I’ll whip your back until you bleed!”

 

“Yes, master!” I took a deep breath, picked up the suitcase, and went back into character.  Holding the suitcase timidly in front of me, I walked to Jonathan’s side, laid it on his lap, kneeled next to him with my hands clasped in front of me.  “Here it is, master,” I whimpered.

 

“Lazy!  You’re slowing down, my little slave!” Jonathan barked.  He snapped open the suitcase, removed a leash from the implements within, and clipped it to my collar.  “A slave obeys her master yes, but she also anticipates his whims, learns his desires, and fulfills them without asking.  You do not.  You are not a slave. What you are, little one, is a pet, an animal.  A pet sits around and is useless and does not do a thing without the master ordering it from her.  Do you understand, pet?”

 

“Yes, master.”

 

“Do not speak to your master, pet.  Animals do not speak, so you don’t speak until you’ve proven to me that you can act like a slave, not a pet.  You will nod for yes, shake your head for no.  Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, master,” I said again.

 

He tugged sharply on the leash once, just hard enough for me to feel it.  “I said, is that clear, pet?”

 

I nodded in reply, keeping my eyes downcast and submissive, trying to hold down the excitement building inside me.  This was a new game that he’d never played with me before, and the anticipation was growing unbearable.  My heart thrilled with the anticipation of newer, darker pleasures, fluttered with fear at the thought of the unknown.  My head was starting to spin, to build into that strange, dreamlike feeling of detachment that was the submissive’s high, where the world starts to swim around you, the self seems to disappear, and the only thing that exists is the desire to serve the master, an almost liberating feeling, like flying.

 

Jonathan poured some of his tea into his saucer and laid it on the floor.  “We’ll start with eating and drinking,” he said.  “Go ahead.  Show me what you can do, pet.”  I nodded silently in reply, reached over to pick up the saucer.  Jonathan tugged sharply at my leash.  “No.  No hands.  A pet does not use her hands to eat and drink.  A pet drinks out of the bowl like an animal,” he said.  “Try it again.”

 

I nodded to him again, dipped my head low over the saucer and lapped up the tea with my tongue, like a cat.  I tasted milk and sugar and was touched: Jonathan preferred his tea black, with a squeeze of lemon.  He’d prepared this cup of tea just for me.  Even when he was playing the evil master, he could be surprisingly sensitive.

 

I licked the last of the tea off the saucer, running my tongue over the smooth porcelain to get every last drop, knowing that there was a little on my nose and chin, but too afraid to wipe it off lest I break another rule.  “That’s enough, pet,” Jonathan said.  He gave my leash a short tug.  “Now, come up onto the bed.  I have a new lesson for you.”

 

On an impulse, I mewed at him and cocked my head to one side cutely as I climbed up onto the bed as nimbly as possible.  Jonathan suppressed a smile at that.  “Adorable,” he murmured.  “But that won’t help you if you can’t learn your lessons quickly, pet.”  He threw the bedsheets aside, revealing his hard, erect cock peeking up through the fly of his pajamas.  “Your master has something new for you to lap up, pet.  I want you to suck this cock until I say otherwise.  Do you understand, pet?”  I nodded again.  “Good,” Jonathan went on, folding his hands behind his head.  “Now get to work.  If you don’t do this well, it will be the direst of punishments for you, pet.  I’ll chain you to the wall and whip you till you bleed and clamp your nipples with clothespins and force my cock into you over and over until you do learn it, do you understand?”

 

Oh, God, please do, I thought to myself, and I was filled with the desperate desire to play the disobedient slave. . . pet. . . again, to make him punish and humiliate me more and more and satiate the shadowy spark in my core that drove me to humiliate and debase myself for my master.  Instead, I took his hard member in my hands and licked at the tip, very gently, like it was an ice cream cone or a lollipop.  Jonathan sighed at that, closed his eyes and lay back, just reveling in the wonderful sensations as I ran my tongue over the tip of his cock, tasting his glistening, clear fluid on my lips. 

 

Sliding up to get a better angle, I slid my lips down over his shaft, felt his meat touch the back of my throat, came back up slowly, letting his dick slide softly between my lips, leaving a thin streak of lipstick behind on his cock, ended with a nice little flick of the tongue that made him arch his back and moan in pleasure.  I took him into my mouth a second time, running my tongue along his shaft this time, stroking that little vein on the underside, knowing that it would send thrills of pleasure up his spine.  His hand pushed down gently on the back of my head this time, so I deep-throated him, closing my eyes and taking myself away for a bit so that I wouldn’t gag on his thick meat, slid all the way down so that my lips were almost touching his balls, slid back up again slowly, running my tongue around his shaft, savoring it like candy. 

 

The chill between my legs was gone now, replaced by a warm, slick wetness, and I knew that I would soon be dripping down there, my love juices flowing from his salty taste, his throbbing warmth between my lips, but mostly from his moans of erotic pleasure, the way his back arched and his hand stroked the back of my neck and the way he whispered, “Ooooh, pet. . . my pet. . . you’re good at this. . . if we unnnnnh. . . keep going you’ll have me oooooh. . . cumming in no time.”  He let go of the back of my neck then.  “Enough, pet.  Something else now.”  For a moment, I thought about going on, making him stop me and punish me for my disobedience, but I decided against it.  Despite his claims, Jonathan was still a bit pale, and he probably wasn’t up for a full-out whipping session tonight, so much more the pity.  Better to obey and save that for another time.

 

I came up for air, gave his cock one last little lick, and sat up expectantly, ears perking up and tail flirting happily.  Jonathan smiled.  “Good girl.  Now.  Your master is a little cold.  I want you to warm him with your body.  His body, really, since your body belongs to him, doesn’t it, pet?”  I nodded happily in reply.  “Good pet.  Now go.”

 

I crawled up next to him, rested my head against his collarbone, pressed my tits against his chest, wrapped my tail around us both, hugging him close to me.  Jonathan was shivering a bit: I guess he really was feeling some chills from his illness, although he looked a lot better than before.  He just held me for a long time, stroking my hair and neck and back, just seeming to drink in my warmth.  The feel of his skin against my fur was strangely comforting.  On an impulse, I reached up and licked at the line of his jaw, was gratified to see him shiver and sigh in response.  “Good, good,” he murmured, leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. 

 

I slid up close against him then, stroking his chest and sides with my hand, sliding my thigh up his body so that I was rubbing his hard cock with my fur, undulating against him so that my tits brushed back and forth against his skin.  Jonathan moaned at that, closed his eyes, so I rolled over on top of him, straddling his stomach so that my dripping sex smeared my love juices on his skin.  I lay down on top of him, kissed his lower lip and his chin, rubbing my tits against his body, massaging his aching bones with my warm, soft flesh, mewing softly with pleasure as the feel of his hot, shivery skin against me warmed us up, chased away the chill of the room.

 

Jonathan was breathing heavily now, whispering something to himself under his breath over and over, sounded like “good, good goood oooooh goood.”  I smiled at his obvious pleasure, sat up and lowered myself onto his hot, throbbing cock, slid down all the way so that my clit was grinding against the rough hair at the base of his manhood.  “Oooooh, good girl!” he moaned, reaching up to take my tits in his hands, to tease the nipples and massage at my sensitive flesh. 

 

“Mew, mew, mew!” I whimpered, riding him gently, easing him quickly to orgasm with skillful tensings of my vaginal muscles.  It didn’t take long, as aroused as he was: just a couple of dozen quick thrusts of my hips, and he was giving out a low “nnnnnnnh!” of release, his hands tightening painfully around my breasts, his back arching against me.  I drew him out nice and slow with little, gentle hip swivels, drawing every drop I could from his throbbing cock, feeling spurt after spurt of hot cum squirt up into my womb until he had released all that he could.

 

“Oh, good girl, Jessica,” Jonathan sighed sleepily.  He reached up, removed the leash from my collar.  “Good girl, Jess,” he murmured, patting my gently on the cheek.

 

“My master is pleased?” I asked softly, laying down on top of him again.

 

“Very good, Jessica.  I was wrong.  You’re not a pet, you’re a slave.  You’re the best slave, and so you deserve a reward.”  He kissed my forehead, scritched me between my tufted, catlike ears just where I liked.  “Your master is pleased, slave.  He has decided that you will be allowed to pleasure yourself all you like.”

 

“Oh, master!” I squealed happily, kissing Jonathan on the cheek.  “That’s so wonderful!”  Of course, what it really meant was that he was too tired for more tonight, but he still wanted to see me satisfied.  As Ellsworthy might say, “it’s the thought that counts.”

 

“It is no less than such a wonderful slave deserves,” Jonathan said, smiling.  He climbed out of the bed, put on his dressing robe, running his hands through his hair.  “Your master will watch from here, slave,” he said, taking a seat on the armchair across from the bed and pouring himself another cup of tea.  “If you do very well, you might get an even better reward.  Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, master.”  I paused.  “Master, is it okay if I imagine myself being fucked by you while I am doing this?  It would make me oh, so very happy to imagine you fucking me with your hard cock as I’m lying here on the bed,” I murred, running a fingertip along an erect nipple, making little circles around the pink areola.

 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow.  “That would. . . that would please me very much, slave,” he murmured, blushing a bit.  He took a sip of his tea to try and hide his pleasure.

 

“Oh, master, thank you!” I said whimsically.  “I shall make you oh, so happy!”

 

“Enough of that, slave.  You may commence at any time.”

 

“Oh, yes, master.”  I began by running my hands down my sides, over my hot skin, licking at my fingertip.  “Oh, master. . . your slave is here. . . she wants you again so badly. . .”  I ran my middle finger between my folds, tracing the line gently with a fingertip.  My left hand reached up, stroked across my breasts oh so gently, then began to massage my tit, rubbing it in circles as I arched my back into my hand a bit.  “She wants you to touch her here. . . and here,” I moaned, stroking my clit with my thumb.

 

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, quietly stirred a squeeze of lemon into his tea, trying to look distant and detached, but not succeeding.  “Oh, master. . . please.  Please touch me,” I moaned, rolling over onto my stomach.  “I want to feel you fuck me right here.”  I slid a finger inside, stroking the roof of my ridged cunt, rubbing my breasts against the bedsheets as I continued to slip a finger in and out, my breath quickening with pleasure.  “I want to feel you push my head down into the bed like this,” I whimpered, lifting my hips, tail turned to one side to give my imaginary lover better access to my cunt, sliding two fingers into myself now, biting my lower lip, lost in pleasure, the ecstasy of my touch taking away my words.

 

“Go on, slave.  Keep talking,” Jonathan murmured, putting down his empty cup of tea.

 

“Unnnnnhhhh. . .mmmmmmm. . . I want to feel you inside me like this,” I gasped, sliding three fingers inside now, working on myself with both hands, one hand inside me, the other working on my clit.  Despite my desire, I felt myself growing a bit dry, so I slipped my fingers into my mouth, licked off the juices and mmmmmmed with pleasure at the taste.  “I want to feel you make me taste myself like that. . . make me lick my juices off your fingers. . . tell me I’m a bad girl, please.  Punish me. . .”

 

I heard a whisper of cloth, then Jonathan was right next to me, putting his hand gently on my ass, then spanking it once. . . just once, but sharply and loudly so that I moaned from the feeling of it.  “You’re a bad girl, slave,” he whispered.  “You deserve punishment.”

 

“Yes, master, I’m a bad girl. . . make me good with your tools, please. . . hurt me, hurt me, please. . .”

 

“The clamps, then.”  He turned me over onto my back, watched me for a moment as I continued to stroke myself, eyes scrunched shut and biting my lower lip.  I heard him rummage inside his suitcase, and then cold pain was clamping down on my nipples: first my left, then my right, and then he was pulling up on the thin silver chain between them, pulling my full breasts up by the tender flesh.  They were cloverleafs, designed to tighten with tension instead of coming off like normal clamps, and I screamed and arched my back, trying to relieve the tension, but he kept pulling, kept lifting, and I was begging him now, little half words and baby talk, to please, please just let me go, let me go, it was hurting, but it still felt so good, the pain seeming to heighten my pleasure, honing it like a steel hones a knife. . .

 

He hit the releases on the clamps just as I started to cum, and I fell onto the bed again, whimpering with pain and ecstacy, my hands drawing out the orgasm into a continuous wave of pleasure.  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANH!!  MASTER!!!!!!” I shrieked, pulling the sheets off the bed with my thrashing, and in the middle of my bliss, I felt something warm and wet hit me on my face and collarbone.  I looked up to find Jonathan, his robe open at the waist, masturbating onto my breasts, his mouth open in a little O of gasping pleasure as he came for the second time in what felt like minutes. . .

 

Then it was over, and we lay next to each other, exhausted from the efforts of our mutual self-pleasure.  “Slave?” he murmured

 

“Yes, master?” I replied, wiping some cum from my tits and licking it off in a way that I just knew would drive him wild.

 

“Thank you.”  He used his robe to wipe the cum off my face and chest, reached over and turned out the lights.  “Come and warm my body again.  You may sleep in your master’s bed tonight.”

 

“Yes, master.”  I lay down next to him, spooned up against him from behind.  Jonathan sighed and snuggled up close to me, kissing the palm of my hand and pulling my arms around him.  I wrapped my tail around us and kissed the back of his neck gently, then began to stroke his face and chest gently, more soothing than arousing.  Soon, his slow, rhythmic breathing told me that he was asleep, although he still shivered a bit from his fading chills.

 

“I love this man,” I whispered to the night, knowing that I shouldn’t, that I was still technically in scene as he had never removed my collar, and not caring.  “I love this face, this body, these eyes.  I love this stubborn and exasperating man who still does the best he can despite his own clumsiness.  I love the dark depths of his shadows, the thrilling, dangerous side he keeps in careful check for my sake, and I will show my love for him by making him feel safe and secure tonight.”

 

I gave him one last kiss on the cheek and fell asleep, still holding my lover close to my naked body.  We would sleep like that all night until the morning shone its pale pink rays through the southern window once more. 

 

 

- * -

 

“. . . I am so sorry,” Jonathan moaned.

 

“Id okay, id okay,” I replied, groaning.  “Id my fauld dtoo.”

 

“Seriously, Jonathan, how stupid can you get?  You should have realized you were contagious,” Remiel groaned.  “And making her sleep all night on the wet spot like that?  How inconsiderate.  A gentleman should always be considerate of his lady.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan moaned again.  “Can I get you anything?  Water, ice, soup. . .”

 

“Ndo, id okay.”  I patted his hand.  “Jud sdtay wid mbe bor a bit.”

 

Jonathan looked over at Remiel, who shrugged.  “Right,” he said, sighing a bit.  “Better tear up my lift ticket, Remiel.  Looks like I’m staying in today.”

 

“Are you certain?  I mean, my household staff can take care of her, just like they did yesterday with you.”

 

“It’s okay, I’ll stay.”  Jonathan sighed again.  “Besides, you never know, I might suffer a relapse.  I do feel bad, though.  You invited me up here to go skiing with you, and it looks like we’re not going to get the chance.”

 

“Suit yourself.”  Remiel muttered something about suffering martyrs and walked out of the room again.

 

Jonathan sighed and kissed my hot forehead gently.  “You’re a lot of trouble sometimes, kitten.  Worth it, but still a lot of trouble.”

 

“You don’ hab to sdtay,” I murred, closing my eyes at his touch.  “You jud wad to becaud you’re ondly hapy whed you’re miderable.”

 

“Not only,” he replied.  “Get some sleep.”

 

I curled up in the bed, wrapped my tail around myself, and dozed off.  The last thing I saw before drifting off to sleep was my lover sitting by the window, reading quietly by sunlight.  I saw him glance out the window as Remiel and Victor drove out to the lift site.  He sighed then and went back to his reading, humming quietly to himself.

 

Like I said, he could be so cute when he was trying to act like he didn’t want something.

 

 

- THE END-