I bet you like doing homework, good girl, so here’s a Tumblr account I’ve set up for us. You’ll go through the feed and reblog at least five posts every day that you like. What turns you on. Stuff you want to try. Things you want me to do to you. I’ll watch your posts and we’ll discuss nightly.
Joseph
Holy hell. I’d thought his request for my email was strange, but he explained that as his submissive, I was supposed to give him access to all parts of my life. I’d never been on Tumblr before, but it’s not like I lived under a rock. I knew what it was about. I clicked on the link, installed the app on my iPad, and let the feed load—
Holy shit.
The stepmom had caught me touching myself once when I was watching the hottest porn I had on my laptop, and it was one of those ‘we’ll never speak of this’ moments. Just remembering it made me flush warm and filled me with shame.
That video wasn’t anywhere near as hot as this. The screen filled with short clips, looping over and over. Men and women having sex, going down on each other, or touching everywhere. As I scrolled, some clips were more hardcore, featuring bondage, spankings, or riding crops. Occasionally there’d be a gorgeous, erotic black and white still shot.
Good God. It was overwhelming, and I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
My father’s meeting was running long. I sat in one of the oversized leather chairs opposite his desk and surveyed his office. Little touches of his life were scattered amongst the workspace, more reminders of me than anyone else from our family. Part of that was probably an impending divorce; the picture of Grace was missing. But the other part was my father had let me redecorate his office last year, and deep down, Becca and I had each gravitated toward one parent. Grace had never been rude to me, but her lack of effort or concern about my feelings left me cold.
I was my father’s daughter, all the way.
The afternoon sunlight warmed the office that was done in glass and dark wood. My gaze floated over the bookshelf on the side, which was cluttered. I set about rearranging the books and knickknacks while I waited. If I sat too long, I might nod off, and who knew how long his meeting might go?
I’d tackled two shelves when he rushed in and squeezed me in a quick hug. “Sorry you had to wait.”
“No problem. Who were you meeting with?”
“Programming department head.”
“Oh. Yeah, those always seem to run over.”
My father smiled and sat at his desk, moving his mouse to wake the computer up. “It’s because that man can’t ever stay on topic.” His expression was amused. “Redecorating?”
“Just rearranging.” I continued to shift the accent pieces around to find a better display.
“Before I forget,” he said, “I’ve set your summer internship up. You’ll assist Evans’ group.”
My hand paused on the glass award my father had won years ago for his newspaper. “Do I know Mr. Evans?” I asked.
“Maybe. He oversees customer service. He’s a good manager you can learn a lot from.”
I turned to face my father, who scanned his email, indifferent. Customer service wasn’t where I wanted to be, and it wasn’t what we’d discussed. “What happened to accounting?”
“This is a better position for both of us. You’ll get experience you can’t get elsewhere, and people are less likely to cry nepotism if I put you in a department that’s desperate for help.”
It was desperate for help because the department was a revolving door. Handling customer complaints was hard and thankless. I was staring at a long, unpaid summer.
“Is that okay?” he asked casually.
It wasn’t, but what good would saying so? My mouth filled with the taste of disappointment. My father thought this was best, and it would be hard to convince him otherwise. Maybe I could go somewhere else and search for a paid internship in a department I was happy to work, but it wouldn’t be for the company I wanted to run.
“Okay,” I sighed.
“Great.” He shut down his computer and stood. “Did you decide where we’re going for lunch?”
If I had, would I have been overruled on that, too?
I sat at the empty table, my eyes burning with exhaustion and a headache from the musty books of the university library. I’d met with my study group in one of the quiet corners earlier this evening, and chose to stay after they’d gone to finish my assignments. The temptation to go to bed would have been too great if I tried to study at home, and I’d gotten my work done now, but I wasn’t looking forward to the commute home.
There’d been immense pressure on selecting the five clips to repost on Joseph’s Tumblr account. What if I picked something he didn’t like? How would he judge my choices?
There’d been a clip I’d watched over and over last night, mesmerized. It was shocking, but in my sick fascination, I couldn’t look away. The pretty girl, maybe my age, stood with her back against a wall in the black and white video, her eyes turned up to someone out of frame. She had perfectly-shaped breasts and metal clips fastened to each nipple, a thin silver chain draped between them. As the camera moved left, a man stepped into view and wrapped a fist on the chain, lifting and tugging. Her face twisted like it walked a line of pleasure and pain. Her jaw clenched, stifling back her cry or plea.