Chapter Seven

"So, when do you want me to send the moving company over to box up your things so you can move in?" he asked casually.

At first, he'd begun throwing out things like that—that he knew were going to be provocative to her—almost carelessly. But he couldn't quite manage that tone, when it was something that he wanted so much, into their dinnertime conversation. She'd done several spit-takes, especially since he'd started doing that less than a week or so after he'd gotten back from that trip to the back of beyond.

Honey had told Sabin then that she thought it was much too soon for them to do that, and he'd agreed—however reluctantly. But he'd asked her exactly that question at least once a week—sometimes more often, whenever the opportunity presented itself—since then. She'd held to her original objection, although she acknowledged that he had valid points.

Since he had evilly manipulated her into agreeing that she wanted to have a deeper relationship—what he termed as an extension of what they'd begun that first night they'd slept together—she had rarely slept in her own bed and had rarely been in her own apartment for longer than it took to fill yet another suitcase full of things she needed to bring over to his house.

Eventually, she was going to run out of suitcases. She had no idea she'd amassed as many as she had, until she'd started excavating her closets—valises, roller bags, even tote bags were pressed into service, brought over to his place, and emptied out. From there, they disappeared. She had no idea where they were ending up, but she had a feeling that he was secreting them somewhere so that it would be that much harder for her to leave, if she ever decided to do that.

And, although she had her reservations—as always—about everything, he was acting as if there was no question about the idea that she should move in with him, as if it was something that she should have done years go. Hence him pestering her, every once in a while, about moving into his place permanently.

But she was her usual cautious self, and as much as he wanted to remove the choice from her entirely and send someone to clean out her apartment while she was with him one day so that he could present it to her as a fait accompli, he knew her well enough to know that she would consider that to be overstepping the mark quite considerably.

In times like that, the idea of being her Master seemed like a much better idea—there would be no choice involved. Sabin would have told her that she was moving in with him as soon as he got back from his trip, and that would have been that. He really didn't want that kind of relationship, though. He liked her strong will and independence; it got her into a lot of trouble sometimes, when she pitted it against his.

But that day was coming, probably sooner than he could convince her to acquiesce to him, he acknowledged to himself. He knew how stubborn she could be sometimes, even to her detriment, although he certainly wasn't going to let it get to that point, now that he was her Dom.

They were at the end of their delicious dinner that evening when he'd made that comment to her yet again.

"S-Sir," she began, and he delighted in the fact that she was still having a hard time remembering to call him 'Sir'. That bit of naughtiness—not when she had stuttered a bit over it, but when she had forgotten herself entirely and called him by his first name—had already resulted in her being taken over his knee several times for short, sharp spankings to try to help her remember. Honey had tried to rub her own bottom to find some relief from the horrible sting that only seemed to worsen as time went on, somehow, prompting him to institute a 'no rub' policy that often saw her getting a second spanking seconds later for ignoring or 'forgetting' that rule.

But she continued to stumble cutely over his title at the beginning of most sentences, so he wondered if he needed to amp up the punishments a bit to help her over the hump. He did love to see her blush and correct herself, though, so no, maybe, not for a while at least.

"I think we might be jumping the gun a bit. We just got together, really. We've always lived apart."

Sabin took possession of her hand, kissing the backs of her fingers as his eyes caught hers with a potent look. "Yes, but I'm thinking that I need to keep a close eye on you. You definitely need a keeper, someone who can make certain that you toe the line."

She squirmed at that, sitting, as she was, as she had been since he'd gotten back, on a very sore bottom. And on a very hard, wooden chair that was hers and hers alone amongst the much more comfy and cushioned set, so that her bottom had long since begun to tingle when he said things like that to her.

"Yes, but we live very differently. I'm a night owl, and you're not. You're neat as a pin, and I'm a slob." She lowered her voice quite a bit and muttered, "You're rich and I'm poor—"

"What was that?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he took a sip of his wine.

"Nothing." She smiled falsely. "I was just listing our differences, which might make it hard for us to live together."

He leaned back in his chair, pinning her with his gaze. "I know. I heard the first two things you listed. I don't care that you're a night owl, as long as you're getting the sleep you need. I'm not going to try to change you, although I am going to try to help you be healthier, and thus, happier."

"Must you?" she asked under her breath while fiddling with the napkin in her lap.

"Yes, Miss Honey, I must," he answered sternly.

Damn his Vulcan hearing!

"And you choose to be a slob. I will help you choose not to be."

"I thought you weren't going to try to change me?" she pounced, leaning towards him triumphantly.

"Are you saying that you like it when your clothes end up wherever you take them off, rather than in the hamper?"

"I'm saying that I don't care where they end up. They're all going into the washing machine eventually, anyway," she answered back.

That particular smile of his was never a good thing for her, and she was wary of what he was going to say next. "Good. Then if it doesn't matter to you where they end up, then making sure that they end up in the hamper won't make any difference to you, will it?"

She had been neatly outmaneuvered, yet again.

"And the same thing goes for dishes in the sink rather than the dishwasher. You're a very smart girl, and I'm sure you can extrapolate from there."

Honey frowned at him. "I don't want to extrapolate from there."

He just grinned at her. "And I am sure that you will decide to do so anyway, in consideration of the health of your backside and the fact that you don't want me to ex-strap-olate it."

Her face darkened. "That is not the correct use of that word."

His chuckle was purely evil. "It is in this household, my dear." But then he looked more serious. "I heard that last thing you said, too, Honey."

She was back to fidgeting with and staring at her water glass. "What last thing?"

"That I am rich, and you are poor."

Her eyes bravely met his. "Well, it's a valid concern."

"No, it isn't," he replied calmly, reclaiming her hand and leaning his forearms on his thighs as he did so. "It never has been. What's mine has always been yours—"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he frowned and put his finger over his lips, and she closed it again wisely.

"—whether or not you saw fit to take advantage of that fact. But when you live under my roof, I will provide for you as I see fit. I will do whatever is necessary to take care of you, and if I hear one word of protest from you about that, I will see to it that you don't sit comfortably for a month."

Her eyes went round.

He continued to look at her through drawn brows. "I want you to know that I'm not playing, Honey Beth. Not one word, baby girl, or I promise you, you will be crying yourself to sleep in my arms every, single night for thirty days—and that's not accounting for any other times that month that you'll inevitably get yourself into trouble." Sabin bent over and kissed her still shocked and alarmed face with infinite tenderness. "So I suggest you think before you speak in regards to money matters, my dear."

She was looking too serious for his tastes, although he was glad she understood the gravity of what he had said to her.

Eventually, though, despite her concerns, he was likely going to take the decision about whether or not she moved in with him entirely out of her hands. As much as he wanted to wait until she came around, he wanted her here with him, under his roof, much more than he worried about her reaction to him doing that. Sabin thought he knew that she was going to end up where he wanted her to be eventually. She was just being overly cautious, which was usually his bag.

But, for now, he just wanted to wipe that truly unhappy expression off her face. Being unhappy when faced with a punishment was one thing. Being unhappy about something about which she needn't worry was something entirely different.

"What did I tell you was going to happen after dinner, little girl?" he asked gruffly, watching her face change slowly until her eyes began to dart hesitantly to his, and he knew that she was no longer thinking of reasons they shouldn't live together.

She whispered dutifully, "An inspection."

Damn, he loved how surprisingly—and deliciously—shy she was about such things, and it seemed to come very naturally to her to be that way with him. If he'd felt she was just trying to entice him by acting that way, it would have been a turn off, frankly. But he knew her well enough to know that that was how she was really feeling about these new aspects of their relationship, and he loved it.

He loved her, in a much deeper, much more profound way than he had before, although he hadn't mentioned that to her yet, and he wasn't sure if he would for a while. This seemed to be a harder transition for her, overall, than for him, and he didn't want to add to it.

He wanted to relieve stress for her—hence the bit about his money, as opposed to hers—not create more. Sabin felt that worrying about her likelihood of being spanked by him was a much less stressful thing than worrying about whether or not her book was going to sell, or if she'd have enough money for rent, or all of the zillions of things he knew his little worrywart worried about much more consistently and constantly than he would like.

"Yes, an inspection." He pushed himself back from the table and went into the den, only then turning back to realize that she hadn't followed him. So, he lowered his chin and crooked his finger at her.

Honey had twisted herself into one of those knots that only women can get themselves into and out of on her chair, slowly unwinding herself to come stand by him.

"Go get the chair that's in the corner," he said as he gestured towards it.

It was an old-fashioned, black, straight-backed chair, not unlike the one she was required to sit on at the table.

It was solid wood, strongly built—it would have to be, to support him—and she could barely lift it, but she brought it to him.

"I think we're going to have to find a different chair for me, hmmm, Miss Honey?" he asked as she huffed and puffed it towards him.

Being the gentleman pervert that he was, it went against everything in him not to help her with it, but he felt that was an important part of the ritual—for her to bring him the chair he was going to sit in while he inspected her, and the one that she was quite likely to end up sitting in by proxy when she was inevitably placed over his lap.

"Why?" Her question sounded genuine, and when he caught her eye, he knew it was a real one and had to chuckle at her. "Because I don't want you wearing yourself out at the beginning of an inspection, when I'm supposed to be the one wearing you out at the end of it."

She took a few steps away from him at that, looking genuinely confused. "Do what, now? It's an inspection, not a punishment, isn't it?"

He lowered himself onto the chair, noting that she was much farther away from him than he wanted her to be, and he ignored her question.

"What did I tell you that you should be wearing to an inspection, Honey B?" he asked, hoping to distract her.

It worked, for a while. She looked down at her t-shirt and shorts and began to slowly divest herself of them.

He'd made love to her countless times since he'd come back. He'd seen—and worshipped, in one way or the other—every inch of her body. And yet here she was, bright red, and very slowly, reluctantly taking her shirt off as he watched her every action eagerly—and very hungrily.

That fresh shyness each time was something he hoped she never lost.

Honey even tried to turn around when she took the shirt off over her head, but he stopped her. "Did I say you could turn around, little one?" His tone was deliberately not sharp or even scolding, really. He just wanted to point out to her that, with him, she was not allowed the modesty she sought.

Her "no" was quite tentative.

"Then don't, dearest." Again, soft but firm.

He was ever intrigued by the dichotomy of the face she showed the world—brash, capable and self-reliant—which she had also mostly shown to him. But now, as his submissive, she was tentative and hesitant, with only an infrequent spark of naughtiness that he was sure would grow as she became more comfortable with him in this new role in her life. She delighted him on absolutely every possible front and was a real threat to his productivity. But he'd worry about that later.

"Now your shorts," he prompted, just slightly sterner, almost smiling at her soft, "Yes, Sir."

The two garments were in a heap on the floor, even though they'd just discussed that very thing as being something that was not acceptable behavior. "What do you think I want you to do with your shirt and shorts, Miss Honey?"

She immediately bent down, folded them both neatly, and put them on the couch.

"Very good, very good."

He didn't think he'd ever seen her beam quite as brightly as when he praised her now, but then he had to ruin it. "But you should have known better than to do that, when we just talked about that very thing not five minutes ago, shouldn't you?"

She tangled and untangled her fingers in front of her nervously. "Yes, Sir."

"Stand in front of me." Sabin laid his hands on her hips and positioned her not more than a few inches from him. "Hands laced behind your head. Feet well apart. And don't move either of them until you're told you may. Yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

She was standing before him in just her underwear. She hadn't known that he was going to require this of her until just before dinner, so she'd had no time to make any different arrangements. Honey was wearing a plain, gray bra, built for support rather than enticement, unfortunately, although she didn't have many of the latter anyway. And, since she was getting to the point where she needed to do some laundry, she was wearing serviceable, gray briefs for underwear.

Hardly what she would have chosen if given the chance.

Sabin reached out to touch her breast, and she looked down at his hand as it came towards her.

"Eyes front, Honey."

That was a very hard edict to obey, especially when she felt fingers catch each nipple and begin to brush over them while they were still in her bra.

"Are you cold?" He frowned. "Should I turn up the heat?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"I ask, because your nipples were hard even before I touched you."

She shrugged. "Nervousness, maybe."

He preferred to think that she was aroused, but still, Sabin nodded. "Well, it's understandable that you would have butterflies in your stomach when I inspect you, since it's very likely that you're going to earn a spanking—or worse—every time."

"What?" Honey actually shied away from his touch, and he tsked at her even though she moved back immediately.

"That's a good, hard hand spanking right there, I'm afraid. Stand still. You mustn't move away from me when you're being inspected. That's naughty."

He barely caught her whimper of protest, but he was glad he did.

Then he leaned forward, following the line of her slightly rounded stomach down to the top of her panties and feeling her shiver as he did. "These are very demure in comparison to some of them I've seen you wear. I like them that way, frankly. I like you being covered. Thongs make the parts of you that are mine much too accessible to you." He looked up at her. "Do you have a lot of these briefs?"

"Some."

"We'll get you more, then."

Honey automatically opened her mouth to protest the idea of him buying her anything, and he caught her doing so, looking up at her in warning. "Do you have something you'd like to say about that, little girl?"

She closed her mouth. "No, Sir."

"Smart girl."

He slid his finger beneath the waistband of her panties, following it around the front, one way, then back again. "Of course, as perfect as these are, I'm going to take them from you in a moment or so," he mused out loud, "along with your bra. Just like spankings should always be administered on the bare, so submissives should always be naked for their inspections."

He heard her gasp softly at that pronouncement and had to hide a smile.

Sabin reached around her, not touching her—his arms were more than long enough for him to do that—and released the catches on her bra, folding it neatly and leaning back to put it on the pile.

Honey had hunched over some, as if to hide from him the charms he'd just revealed.

"Stand up straight, my dear. Stomach in, chest out, eyes forward," he reminded, somewhat sharply. "Spread your legs further apart. That's it."

She was so embarrassed, she thought she was going to faint, and yet, at the same time, she was incredibly turned on by what he was so expertly putting her through.

Each breast was captured by a big hand and squeezed just short of painfully, bringing her nipples into further prominence then pinching those nipples—and rolling them—very hard, until she squealed and tried to dance in place. But when her feet were as far apart as hers were, she really couldn't dance.

"Stay still, young lady," he chided, slightly sharply.

She stopped moving immediately. "Y-yes, Sir."

He worried her nipples for quite some time, thoroughly enjoying the sounds she was making as he did so, as well as her constant struggle to comply with his order to stay still.

When he left them, his hands claimed her stomach again, before pulling her panties down to her mid-thigh in one swift movement.

Somehow, him doing that, leaving her panties to cling to her well spread legs, made her feel just that much more exposed.

And his tone, as he spoke, sounded so disappointed when he reached down to touch them and said, "Honey! Your panties are sopping wet! That's very naughty and, also, a spanking offense."

"But, Sir, I can't help it!" she pleaded.

"But I'm sure you can, Miss Honey Beth, if you try hard enough," he outright scolded, tsking more at her and shaking his head as if despairing at her behavior.

Sabin knew he had more to do with her, but—hypocrite that he was—he was soiling his own underwear behind his zipper and hoping he could make it through what he wanted to do.

"And you have a hole in those panties, too! Right at the front, too—how convenient!" He looked up at her. "Eyes on mine." When she'd complied, he scolded, "Have you been secretly touching yourself, Honey?"

Even though she was in her mid-forties and had been masturbating forever without feeling the slightest amount of guilt or shame, he managed to make her incredibly embarrassed by suggesting that she would do such a thing. She knew her cheeks were bright red at that very moment. "No, no, Sir."

"I should hope not! You should pray I never find you touching down there without permission, missy. That area is mine and mine alone. I expect you to keep your hands away from it at all times, unless told otherwise. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir." Of course, him having said that just made her want to touch herself that much more.

"Eyes front, young lady. Arms back. Not maintaining position is another offense. They're piling up, aren't they? You're going to get a thorough spanking out of this, I can see."

It was almost worse that he never raised his voice and never yelled. He was always calm and measured and steady, always in control, of himself and of her. And that made her feel, at once, safe, and yet very chastised, too, at the same time, as if the punishment she knew she was going to receive at his hands represented some form of safety to her, too.

One big hand reached behind her to splay itself at the small of her back and pull her a bit closer to him, as the other hand cupped her right there, and she could feel his finger not penetrating her but gently opening her lips.

"Honey Beth Jacobsen! You are drenching my hand! You're like a leaky faucet down here! There's going to be a puddle beneath you soon. I might have to go get a towel to save the carpet from a big, damp stain that you will have caused with your continued naughtiness!"

Honey bit her lip, close to tears, and he'd barely touched her.

Then that slick finger made its way to her clit and began to rub it insistently, using her own slippery against her as he continued to brush and rub and fondle that incredibly sensitive spot, all the time scolding her every time she moved in the least, which was nearly impossible not to do.

"And don't you dare come, Honey," he warned sternly, loving her desperate groan. "That's not what inspections are for."

Yet he continued to tap and swirl and flick his finger over her, even reaching up to tug at a nipple at the same time, alternating between the two.

Seconds before she was going to have to confess to him that she thought she was going to explode, he stopped, withdrawing all contact from her while she shook and shuddered and tried to stay in position, with varying degrees of success.

Suddenly, he leaned back in the chair, brushing her panties down her legs and off.

"Go into our bedroom and get your hairbrush."

She did not want to do that. He'd given her a beautiful, undoubtedly expensive, solid wooden hairbrush years ago, not knowing that he had imagined paddling her bare behind with it, even though she'd imagined him paddling her bare behind with it! It had only been put to use one time previously in that capacity, and Honey was not at all eager to have it used that way on her again!

As she stood there, making no attempt to obey him, Sabin didn't wait more than a few seconds before he warned in a dangerously soft tone, "Don't make me have to say it again, sweetheart."

That twisted combination of a very stern warning, coupled with that heartfelt endearment, had her stomach—and lower parts—clenching. Still, she was gone before he finished his sentence and back just as quickly, handing the implement to him.