Mother Lie

“God damn it!”

I jumped, knocking my sour gummy worms into the couch cushions. I looked toward the bathroom; the door was shut, but the shower was off. I only had a couple of seconds, “Shit, shit. Fuck.”

“lola!” he bellowed through the thin layer of wood, slamming the shower door behind him. I brushed away the sour sugar as quickly as I could and shoved the remaining gummies in between the cushions.

“Y-yeah, baby?” I called, trying to sound calm. The door opened and he stepped out of the bathroom, soaking wet and fully naked. He glanced around the room and I stood up, locking my hands behind my back and smiling at him.

“Where’s my towel?” he asked, running his hand through his wet hair and scowling at me. I smirked and then shrugged.

“How the fuck should I know, baby?” I asked, my eyes scanning painfully slowly down his naked frame, pausing on his cock, beads of water in his dark wreath of hair and dripping from the tip. I licked my lips. He snapped at me, two fingers slipped together loudly, then pointed.

“Watch your mouth, girl,” he warned as my gaze shifted back up to his face, “Where the fuck is my towel? It’s not in there. You’re in charge of the laundry. There isn’t even a spare one in there! Am I going to find it in the fucking bedroom, lola?”

I closed one eye and squinted at the ceiling, thinking hard and fast. Shit. Maybe I had taken his after my last shower. Mine is never in the bathroom when I need it. Fuck!

“Um, maybe?” I asked, looking apprehensively at him. He seethed, drawing his hand up to his eyes and squeezing his temples.

“What did I tell you about taking my towels, lola?” he asked, his hand moving down to his mouth while he glared at me. Fuck, this is not good.

“Um, um…I’m sorry, Johnny…I was just…all wet…and I needed a towel, and I meant to put it back, I swear, I just had—” he put his hand up, then motioned to the bedroom. I shut my mouth and dashed past him, into the bedroom, and returned with his towel.

He was not smiling when he took it from my hands, and his frown deepened when he started to paw it, more and more quickly. He threw it hard back into the bathroom and turned to me, “It’s fucking all wet. How the fuck am I supposed to use that?”

“It’s not that wet, Johnny. Maybe a little damp, but because it was sitting under some clothes, not bec—”

“I didn’t ask WHY it’s wet!!” he yelled, grabbing my arm hard and pulling me into the living room, stomping dripping feet along the carpet the whole way. I followed, trying hard to keep up, dodging the coffee table and making little protesting sighs.

“Johnny, Johnny, wait! I’ll get you a new one…it’s fine…no no, wait! It’s not a bi—” I shut my mouth when he turned to me, his mouth dangerously close to mine. I could see the water dripping down the side of his face, trickling through his dark stubble, his shoulder flexing as his grip tightened.

“Are you,” he narrowed his eyes as he spoke, “seriously about to tell me that it isn’t a big deal, little one?”

He shook my arm gently, and I could feel his nails dig into my skin. I swung my head back and forth quickly, and stammered, “N-no S-ssir. I’m s-ssorry, Sir.”

“Mm hm,” he nodded, grabbing my hip and turning me around, yanking my skirt up briskly. I could feel his voice behind me, his breath on my hair, “You know better than that. I’ve told you before that you’re not to take my towels.”

He pulled me back around, my skirt flipped up. I crossed my legs, anxiously, my face pulled into a little pout. He continued as he sat, “You never put th—what the fuck!?”

He stood up and pushed me back, running his hand quickly over his ass and thighs. I could hear the grains of sugar hit the coffee table as his whisked them away from his body. He was cursing in strings now, trying to brush away the sweet and sour mess that was drying on his damp body. He looked at me.

“What the fuck is all this?” he demanded, still trying to rub away the mess. Fuck, I thought, what do I say? Shit, shit. I’m in so much trouble now. I was tongue-tied. I hoped he would mistake my silence for bewildered innocence. He grabbed the cushion to shake off the crumbs and my bag of gummy worms fell onto the ground, spilling the last of the sugar granules onto the carpet. Majorly fucked, now.

I thought he was going to scream. He was turning a different color, his face twitching with fury. I saw his chest flicker, blush red and his arm tighten until I squeaked in pain. Then, he let me go, pushed me away, took a few breaths.

“Corner. Now,” he said, his voice low and taut, stretched with anger. He was chewing on what he wanted to say, his jaw tense, flexed. I was not about to argue. I turned quickly and headed for our bedroom, unbuttoning my skirt as I went, and not once, not once looking back at him.

I didn’t shut the door to the bedroom; I wasn’t allowed to shut doors. Instead, I stripped off my skirt and moved quickly to the empty corner beside the bureau, spread my legs shoulder width apart and put my hands on the back of my head. I laced my fingers tightly together and stared at the wall. My stomach was flipping over and over, the gummies in my stomach were acid sour. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to peek out around the hall corner, apologize and hear him tell me to come sit in his lap, that it was okay, it was a mistake, that he forgave me.

Somehow, it didn’t seem like it was going to go that way this afternoon. I leaned onto my hip and scratched the back of my left calf with my right foot.

In the background, I heard him open the hall closet, fumble with the vacuum cleaner, drag it heavily into the living room and flip it on. I heard it roll over the sugar mess; I heard him pull out the hose and go over the cushions. I wondered if he was still naked.

My arms were starting to ache. He hadn’t come back for me and I hated waiting. I deserved to wait, but I hated it. I heard the shower flicker on again and the glass door close. I wanted to shake out my arms so badly, but I was terrified he might look in at any moment. So I waited, ticking off the time, wishing we had a wallpaper with some intricate design because the sage green walls were so damn boring.

I shook my head at any thoughts of the impending punishment. I could feel the hot blush spreading across my ass, traveling quickly down my thighs as I shut my eyes against images of belts and hairbrushes, of crops and straps. Groaning, I thumped my forehead against the wall. In that second, the shower flicked back off.

My heart jumped into my throat, pounding hard and making it impossible to breathe properly. I straightened instinctively; the last thing I wanted now was for him to come into the bedroom and find me slouching or out of position. My arms were heavy and weak, my fingertips numb, but I couldn’t think about that now. I heard him sigh, then seconds later, emerge from the bathroom.

I didn’t turn around when he filled the door frame. I was whimpering to myself, but I stayed in the corner when he crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, the footboard. I heard him clear his throat, then, “Arms down, turn around, baby.”

I tried not to well up, but he sounded so disappointed. Somehow that hits me harder than anger. I was reluctant, but not in the mood to be more disobedient. I lowered my arms and shook my wrists a little, turning around slowly. He wasn’t looking at me but off to the side, his hands catching the edges of the footboard and the damp towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’msosorry,Johnny,” I blurted out, my voice cracking a little as I twisted my hands in my lap. He looked up at me and shook his head, motioned for me to come closer. I inchstepped forward until he grabbed my hand and tugged me in front of him, jerking me to my knees between his legs.

“What did I tell you last time you took my towel?” he asked, letting go of me while I found my balance.

“You told me that I would be punished so that I never forgot again,” I whispered, and then as his look intensified, “Sir.”

“Mm hm,” he nodded, “And why did I tell you that you couldn’t have my towels, little one?”

I chewed my lip before answering, “Because you said I never put them back, Sir.”

“Did you take my towel without asking?” he continued, crossing his arms and looking down at me steadily.

I nodded.

“Answer out loud, please,” he added briskly, reaching forward and pulling my face up to look at his.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir, I took your towel without asking.”

“Is my towel now wet? Was it where it was meant to be?” he continued, driving the point home over and over. I hated being treated like a child. I narrowed my eyes a little, but he leaned forward and slapped my cheek lightly, scolding, “None of that.”

I swallowed and looked down again, “No Sir, it was not where it was meant to be.”

“Right,” he said simply, closing his hands together then folding his knuckles back until I heard them pop, “Go get me the wooden paddle from the chest, then.”

I paled. I hated paddles almost most of all. No sting, all thud. They hurt for a long time, deep bruises on my bottom and made it hard to sit at all. But it would be worse if I opened my mouth to protest or negotiate. I stood up and went quickly over to the deep mahogany chest in the corner, opened it and dug through until I found the wretched thing. I was quick to return it and place it in his hand.

I was surprised when he set it on the bed and motioned me back to the floor. Maybe he could see that on my face because he said, “No, we’re not done yet, baby.”

I found my place on my knees again and he continued, “What were you doing while I was in the shower, lola?”

I knew immediately. How could I have forgotten the gummy worms? I nodded, sighing to myself, “I was reading a magazine and eating sour gummies.”

He ground his teeth together, looking away for an instant, then back to me, “Were you allowed to have those?”

“No…butIboughtthemwithmyallowanceandsoyoudo—” I talked as fast as I could, but he slapped my face again, harder this time.

“WERE THEY ALLOWED?” he yelled, leaning close to me so I could feel his breath.

I shook my head quickly, “N-no, noSir.”

“Why am I angry, woman?” he persisted, forcing me to relay my crimes out loud.

“Because they weren’t allowed, Sir. Because I have to have permission to put anything into my body, Sir. Because it’s not mine, it’s yours. I’m sorry, Sir. I just didn’t think it—”

“Oh, I know. I know what you thought,” his anger was back and he was gripping the wooden footboard tighter, his teeth clamped shut, “You thought that while I was preoccupied you could do what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“No, Sir,” I replied, leaning back against my feet, afraid of what he might do.

“Oh? OH? Well then, why were they HIDDEN IN THE CUSHIONS?!?” he yelled, his voice louder, building. He was breathing harder, faster. I had no choice; he was right.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, quietly, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He slapped my face again, hard, “Don’t ever lie to me again.”

I cradled my cheek and shook my head, tears in the corners of my eyes. He sat back down on the bed, took a breath, growled in frustration, then, “Go get the blue plug out of the chest.”

I looked up quickly. It was big, not the biggest, but on the uncomfortable side of big. I was totally unprepared. I almost shook my head, except for the thought of the black plug. He was being generous. I got up slowly, my knees feeling weak and a cold sweat on the back of my thighs.

My fingers weren’t working properly and I couldn’t seem to find it in the large wooden box. He grunted as the seconds ticked on. I had to find it. I took a breath as my pulse fluttered. There. There in the linen sack behind the soft cuffs and the pony bit. I closed my fingers around it. Barely, feeling a wave of nausea. I blinked hard and then started to cry. My eyes were red and tears were collecting under my chin when I brought it back to him.

He took it, then closed his hand around, my wrist, looked me in the eyes, asked, “Why are you crying, little one?”

Compassion; it made me cry harder. He pulled me to his chest, wrapped his arms around me and petted the back of my hair, making little shushing noises.

“Hush, baby,” he said, stroking my back, “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m scared,” I whispered, pulling back and wiping my eyes with my sleeve wrists, looking at his mouth.

“What are you scared of, baby?” he asked, his voice comforting and smooth. His hands slid down my arms to my hips and rested there while he watched my face.

“You,” I said, softly, chewing on my lip again. He smiled.

“You’re not afraid of me, little one,” he said, “You’re afraid that I am angry with you and that I don’t love you, but you know that’s not true. I always love you. I have to punish you because you are disobedient, but I still love you. You’re afraid that it’s going to hurt, too, and it is, because you have to learn to be a good girl. But you’ve been spanked with this paddle before, little one, and you’ve had this plug in your bum before. And you’re still in one piece. Right?”

I frowned, my lip trembling slightly, but nodded.

“Good girl,” he said, sliding his thumb across my cheek and pulling me down to kiss my forehead, “Now, go bend over your side of the bed. Leave your panties on for now, but spread your legs.”

I stomped my foot a little and he frowned, “Now.”

I breathed in deep and nodded, “YessssSir.”

Pulling my tee shirt down as low as it would go, I found my side of the bed and crawled across it until my thighs hit the mattress side. I opened my legs and tucked my face into my arms, squeezed my eyes shut tight. I felt him get off the end of the bed, pick up the heavy paddle and move around behind me.

There was no warm up spanking. This was going to hurt. My panties weren’t even a laughable shield. The first one hit me so hard that my shins smacked into the bed frame. I howled, my head snapping up and spinning around to him. The look on his face was different, focused. He pulled the paddle back far and I braced for a second swing. My bottom tensed; I couldn’t help it. I gasped for air when it slammed against my ass.

“Ow, ow ow owwww, Johnny!” I shrieked, kicking my legs. I could feel the imprint of the paddle burn hot on my skin.

“Quiet,” he commanded, with three quick, successive slaps of the wooden board. I was moaning into my hands, my hips digging hard into the mattress. He was relentless, methodical, plastering my aching backside with a volley of slaps. And it seemed effortless for him. SMACK, SMACK, SMACKSMACK.

I hiccupped through my tears, grunting as the paddle slapped against my skin. My bottom red was deepening and I began to make promises, “Please Sir, please, I’ll be a good girl, owww ow ow, I s-swear. Mmmowch! I w-won’t, w-w-won— OWCHH, won’t touch—ow, mmm, I won’t touch your th-thingsssss, pleeeeease, owwww ow ow ow.”

He yanked down my panties. He wasn’t answering me. The paddle was mean, cruel, punishing my aching bottom with no truce in sight. I felt it whipped along the top of my thighs, and I moaned into the coverlet, yanking the cotton into my mouth and biting down hard.

Thirty consecutive smacks on my skin and I was sobbing like a little girl, chewing on my pain. I twisted, clenching against the throbbing ache. I could hear him panting softly, while he waited. My body was shaking hard and I shifted my hips.

“Half done, my girl,” I heard, the groan escaping my lips loud and low. I turned around, my eyes puffy red and wet with tears.

“Please, no more, Sir?” I asked, hopefully.

He tilted his head to the side, and crossed his arms, “Do you think that that was enough, little one?”

I shook my head slightly, very repentant, my thoughts shifting to the plug that he would very soon be pushing into my tight, unwelcoming asshole.

“You took my towel, used it, left it in a heap in the bedroom so that when I got done with my shower I had to drip dry in the hallway. You had the nerve to laugh and say you had no idea where it was. You have been warned about this repeatedly because you habitually leave me without clean towels. Do you think that that is the behavior of a good girl, of a loving wife? Do you think I should allow that to continue?” he asked, turning the paddle over in his hands.

I groaned and sunk my head back into the comforter, kicked the mattress with my thigh.

“Do you?” he repeated, dropping the paddle to his side.

“No,” I said into the blanket, twitching irritably. I wanted it over, but I knew that I deserved the rest of the spanking.

“Then ask me to finish, like a good girl, and stop pouting,” he said, dismissively, flexing his fingers around the handle.

I thought about this briefly. If I said nothing, or worse, if I refused, I was sure he would dig through that horrid chest and come up with something more painful for my show of insubordination. And really, I just wanted to be forgiven. Even if it meant more punishment first.

I turned around and brought my gaze up to his mouth, rubbing my eyes quickly with the back of my hand, “Will you please finish my spanking, Sir?”

“Yes, I will, little one. Scoot back and raise your bottom up higher,” he said, leaning into his rear leg and lifting the paddle again. I groaned to myself, but moved back into position.

The spanking continued, faster, harder. I was wailing after the sixth stroke and squirming wildly. When he caught my hip with the eleventh, he paused again, “I’m going to have to start all over if you don’t stop moving, girl. Do you want that?”

I shook my head furiously and tried to calm down. He slapped my bottom so hard with the next one that it rang in my ears. He was testing me and I promised myself I wouldn’t move. I gave up begging and cried, groaning as the wood collided with my beaten skin.

And then it was over. I felt the paddle land heavily beside me and tried to look up. I was still convulsing with sobs though, and my legs felt weak. I felt his weight next, sagging into the mattress next to me. His hand was on my back, caressing over my bottom, my thighs. He felt good. My sobs slowed until I was breathing jagged, damp breaths and shuddering intermittently.

“Good girl,” he cooed, petting between my thighs and then giving me a light squeeze. I winced, sucking in a breath, sharp needles of pain climbing my spine, “Take off your panties and climb over my lap now.”

I saw him reach for it and my heart sunk into my belly. I really wanted to run away, fast and far, but I couldn’t. The spanking done, I wanted to be a good girl again. I wanted to finish my punishment so he would cradle me in his arms and tell me that I was a good girl, that he loved me, that he forgave me.

I stood up while he leaned over and pulled open the drawer in the night stand. I closed my eyes and kicked off my panties, determined not to see him preparing to open me with that horrible plug.

My eyes were still stubbornly clenched shut when he said, “Come here, baby. I’m going to finish your punishment.”

I heard him pat his thigh with his free hand and I opened one eye, darted across his lap and tucked my arms underneath my chest, whimpering to myself already. The towel underneath my thighs was damp and made me feel itchy; I squirmed in anticipation, groaning a little.

“Open up,” he said, running his palm along the inner edge of my ass, pulling my cheek to the side and tapping his thumb on my tensed little pucker. I leaned up, flinching as he dripped the cold lubricant on my bottom, my cheeks clamping together instinctively.

He put the plug down and ran his hand up my vertebra, to the back of my neck, closed his fingers around it and held me for a second, saying softly, “You need this punishment, little one. You disobeyed me and that is not acceptable. You will remember that in the future if you have clear consequences. Do you understand?”

I was hot all over, then cold, but I whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. You need to relax, though. It will hurt a lot more if you don’t. Do you trust me, baby?”

I nodded, but he said, “Out loud.”

“Yes Sir, I trust you… I really don’t want this, Sir—it’s going to hurt a lot. I promise I’ll be a good girl and I won’t forget why I was punished, I promise. Please don’t do this, Sir?”

He sighed, “Enough, baby. You are getting this plug in your bum and it is staying there until you go to bed. If you are a good girl, I’ll take it out then. If not, you can sleep in it. No more discussion.”

I began to moan and kick my legs, wiggling my hips angrily, protesting, “All daaaay?”

His hand landed hard twice, three times, on my bright red and very sore bottom, then, “Enough, lola. Open your legs a little wider and calm down, or I can do this without lubricant. You really won’t like that.”

I bit my lip and pulled the covers all around my face, crying about how unfair this was for some stupid gummy worms. I felt the tip of his finger first, sticky wet and just testing my resistance. Then with little effort, he pushed it into my asshole. I gasped, my thighs flexing quickly, but took a deep breath.

He didn’t take his time like he did when we were fucking or when it was done for pleasure, but he wasn’t cruel. He opened me slowly, a second finger sliding in and out steadily as my hole relaxed, as it bloomed for his touch. My cunt was swelling and I pressed my lap against his. He allowed it; but then, too soon, the cold rubber of the plug rimmed my delicate opening.

I groaned and felt my belly turn icy. He was firm, pressing it against me and saying, “Raise up, higher. Now.”

I pushed my hips up and swallowed hard, the plug sliding neatly in a third of the way, then I felt it stretching me wider than I had gotten with his fingers. I hated the cold stickiness of it and it made me tense up; I wriggled until I heard him clear his throat in warning. Halfway. It was halfway and it hurt.

“Please, wait, Sir,” I gasped as he pushed it farther, my shoulders knotting and my forehead furrowed in pain. He slid it back down to one third and I breathed out loudly. But as I breathed in, he pushed it farther, farther than before. I squeaked, kicking my foot against the bed and then moaned.

“Hush, now,” he said, working it in and out of my bottom. I liked it when he did that; I liked it when he fucked me with the plug. Whimpering, I pressed my cunt down on his lap, the towel stretching between us as he stroked into my tight hole. I could feel him beneath me, hard, his cock poking at my belly and hips while I writhed against him. Fuck, it feels good. I wished he had been fucking my pussy instead, driving his beautifully veined meat into my slit. I moaned.

He pushed the plug all the way in and I blinked back stars of pain. I couldn’t even make a sound, my breath gone. Then I yelped, cried, my asshole pushed open wide and flinching against the rubber.

“Please take it out, Sir! Pleeease please,” I begged, my bottom tensing hard around the foreign body. I turned to him, grabbed his neck, “Please, it hurts, please!”

He shook his head at me, pushed me back down, then ran his hand over my punished backside. Prickles of heat rose against his palm and I cried harder. He let me, sobbing over his lap until it became crying, soft moaning, and then nothing.

I jerked my hips and pressed them against his lap. It was big, but my body was adjusting to it. When he tapped the base, a shiver of desire ran electric through my body. I groaned, bouncing my cunt against his lap. I felt him there, hot, hard, waiting for me.

“Sir?” I asked softly, my thighs flickering against his. He grunted, and I continued, “Can we fuck, Sir? Please?”

I looked at him with my sweetest face. I had already been punished for both indiscretions; maybe he would let me have his cock in my pussy. I moaned loudly and punched the mattress when he shook his head.

“You haven’t earned that, slut,” he said, pressing on the plug again until my pussy dripped onto the towel and I was shaking with lust, as he went on, “But, I want to fuck something, so you’re in luck.”

I perked up and turned around again.

“On your knees, then,” he said, pushing at my hip. It is lucky. I would take it anyway I could get it. I grinned eagerly and slid between his legs, peeled the towel away from his lap and caught his hard, throbbing dick in my hand, to which he said, “No, no no.”

I looked up at him and let go, frowning slightly. He took his cock into his own hand, then with the other ran his palm over his balls, kneading them slightly, working a drop from the tip as he stroked. I lapped at my mouth and looked up at him, shifting on my knees as the plug held my ass open.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed, pushing his foreskin up and then back down. My cunt was dribbling juice and my thighs were soaked. Fuck, I want that in my pussy. I locked my fingers behind my back and chewed on my lip, my gaze darting between his eyes and his pulsing cock.

“Come closer, cunt. I want to feel you between my thighs,” he said, working his shaft faster now, “You aren’t going to touch me. You’re going to relax your neck and throat like you did your slut asshole, and I am going to fuck your mouth until I cum.”

I nodded, pushing myself between his legs, forgetting the burning feel of my backside.

“If you gag, I’m going to keep going. If you choke, I’m going to keep going. If you throw up, I’m going to keep going. You are a hole for me to fuck, and you will keep it open for me until you feel my cum in your throat. When I’m done, you will lick me clean. My cock, my balls, my asshole, my thighs. Everything. Do you understand, cunt?”

I shook my head over and over, whimpering to have him on my tongue, “Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

Without another word, he grabbed the back of my head and pushed me down his cock. My slippery throat had no problem swallowing him until I gagged. But he was true to his promise and he fucked my mouth through it, pushing hard against my tongue, past my teeth, into the tight tunnel on my throat, using me relentlessly, crushing my face to his lap while I gasped his cock into my swelling throat.

He pushed hard against me and I fought for air, my saliva leaking from my lips, spraying across his thighs as he pumped into me, grunting rhythmically with each thrust. I could feel his tight balls slapping against my chin, wet and cool against my hot skin. My cunt was throbbing and I pressed my legs together, my ass closing around the rubber plug and making me shiver.

I coughed as he fucked deeper, wetness frothing my lips and cheeks, but he pushed my head down, lifted his hips from the bed and bucked hard against the back of my throat, exploded hot, thick syrup into my mouth. I coughed again and swallowed, struggling alternately to get him in my belly and out of my mouth. I could hear him panting, felt a tremor run from his feet through his hips, his arms.

He swore and fell back on the bed. Without needing to be told, I began to lick him, tenderly absorbing my own spit and droplets of his cum back into my mouth, sponging my lips around his shaft, his balls, spreading his legs to lap underneath.

My tongue sought the dark crevices below where I could taste his soapy clean body, flicking around his thighs, plunging between his cheeks, lapping diligently at his asshole, fluttering my tongue just inside. Then, slow long licks, gentle nibbles on the tender inner flanks and taking his whole cock back into my mouth. I wrapped it with my tongue, my breath evening as he moaned softly, reached down to caress the back of my head.

“Good girl,” his voice blurred and he let me adore his cock a little bit longer. My cunt was crying out to be touched, handled, licked, lapped, fucked. But I kept my hands away. Maybe if I was a good girl, he’d change his mind and fuck me later. I crossed my fingers.

He sat up, helped me stand. I was shaky, my cunt swollen and glistening wet. He ran his fingers over my petals, slipped them inside to tease my button. I almost sunk to the floor again, but he held me still, then pushed me away with a soft, “No, no baby.”

I groaned, pressing my thighs together and stomping my foot gently. I pouted till he slapped my butt, making me clench around the plug and wince. He smiled, “No panties, no skirt. I’m going to have fun with that today.”

I shook my head, trying not to frown, “Yes Sir.”

“What do you say, baby?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Sir, that I used your towel, and I’m sorry I disobeyed you and ate what I wanted. Thank you for punishing me. I’ll be a good girl, I promise,” I said, chewing on my fingernails.

“Once more. Hands out of your mouth,” he said, firmly. I dropped my hands and repeated it, trying very hard not to sound frustrated.

“Good girl,” he said when I was through, and pulled me to his chest, closing his arms around me. I breathed him in deep and thought, I love you, Johnny.