EXTRACT FOR
Brought To Her Knees
(Fiaine Cluiun)

"I really don't know what the problem is." Ivy followed her husband into the dark wood paneled room. Light flickered from the fireplace, casting shadows in writhing forms across the walls and floor. "I had no interest in attending your little gathering, but I went." Why would he believe she'd enjoy such things? A bunch of men, all far older than herself - unless you counted the delightful servers - talking about how they wanted to retain control over the board, county, or country. They'd all been far too happy to drone on about the terrible way things had turned in the past few years.

As if they had nothing to do with how things had changed?

It had been all she could do not to laugh in their faces.

She hadn't been the only wife there, nor even the youngest, there'd been others in their expensive dresses, and oh so correct behavior, but even the others close to her age had hung on their husband's every word. Or shot her looks that made it very clear what they thought about her.

Ignorant bitches. They were just like her except she'd been smart enough to keep a tight hold on the money she'd brought into the relationship. They'd married for the money, status, everything that came along with marrying a wealthy man. Not one of the women there had power or standing in their own right besides herself, and perhaps they'd been foolish enough to think they'd be treated as more than eye candy? Not that it mattered, they'd chosen their paths, made a decision on how they'd handle their husbands, or rather be handled by them, and if they were kicked to the curb for a new model in the months or years ahead, it would be their own fault.

"And you made it clear to everyone you were there under sufferance. Don't pretend otherwise. You barely acknowledged those I introduced you to. When you did respond to them it was with barely veiled insults. Do you have any idea how that made me look?" He didn't turn to look at her as the door closed behind her. 

"Like a man with a strong-willed wife who doesn't suffer fools lightly?" She watched him, letting her gaze linger on her husband. "You enjoy my strength, my purpose." They'd been two of the things he'd told her he admired.

"I did. Once. When I thought you could be taught the right way to use it. I saw something in you, more than your body, fool that I am."

"Not a fool but perhaps misguided if you ever believed I would become one of those simpering pieces of arm candy. That was never a part of who I am." She tapped her toe on the gleaming wooden floor. Had she ever given him a hint that she was that type of woman? She didn't think so, but it didn't matter, she was who she was, and he'd have to learn to deal with it unless he wanted a divorce.

"Must you wear those in here? The floor, I've asked you a hundred times not to wear heels if you must enter my study. I've already had to pay someone to buff out the damage, they're arriving tomorrow." He glanced back at, his gaze fixed on her heels. 

"If you've already paid them then what's the issue." She rolled her eyes and made no move to step out of her six-inch heels. Workmen coming into the house, fine she now had an excuse to leave for the day. 

There were always places she could go, people to visit. One of the few men she'd found interesting at that dreadful event had mentioned his wine collection. Had she collected his card? No, she hadn't taken a clutch with her, so there'd been no where to store such things. That had been something she'd learned not to do after Harold had discovered a handful of cards in her clutch after a particularly interesting event, a rare get together she'd actually enjoyed.

Harold dropped into his high-backed leather chair at the left of the fireplace, his fingers gripping the arms, knuckles white. "Take those damned things off. I won't have you adding to the damage." 

"My home as much as yours, so I'll do what I like, when I like." She shrugged though she knew he hadn't seen it. Even if he was looking at her, which he wasn't, he wouldn't say anything. Nothing she did mattered to him, unless it was about his precious floors, his cronies, whatever was upsetting his current circle of friends.

"This place has been in my family for generations. You, like the others who've come before you, are nothing more than temporary residents." He lifted a hand, waving it in her general direction.

"Others? Ah, you mean poor wives number one and two. Keep this up and you'll lose me the same way you did then." Pathetic, when would the old man realize she wasn't some child to be told what to do, what to wear, how to act around his friends. "I don't think I'd have to look long for a new husband, especially with my share of the family fortune." Unlike the previous wives she'd been careful not to sign any prenups. Making it a lot harder for Harold to be rid of her without also having to surrender a substantial part of his wealth and property. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "That's been a part of your plan the entire time, hasn't it? Get in, establish yourself, then take off with whatever the courts would award you."

"Of course not, but I'm also not a fool. If you're truly unhappy with me, file for divorce." Her plan? Not entirely but she liked to have backups. It had been an interesting two years with Harold. She hadn't cheated on him, not fully. The occasional kiss and grope, but she'd been faithful enough to turn to Harold for sex. And he'd enjoyed it. Having a young, attractive, sexually hungry wife had been one of the benefits he'd gained after they'd married. Perhaps he didn't like it as much when she took control in bed, but she'd kept it interesting for him, never fully dominating him, merely riding him like the living toy he was. 

"Are you going to take those heels off?" His voice more a tired plea than demand. 

"Ask nicely." She lifted her chin and walked slowly over to him, letting her hips fall into the sensual sway she'd perfected years ago. It didn't matter that he refuse to turn and look at her. She had her habits and kept to them, enjoying the way her body felt beneath the silk sheath of her midnight blue dress. The material clung to her curves, outlining her breasts, allowing others to see her nipples through the thin material. Wearing a bra might have been a choice for others, but she didn't care that her breasts moved with each step, or her nipples tightened under the erotic caress of the expensive material. 

"Please, take them off." 

"See, was that so hard?" She stepped out of her heels, leaving them on the floor as she made her way to his chair. She leaned in and traced the line of his jaw. "I'm not hard to get along with, you know that." She pressed a barely there kiss to the top of his head before settling in the chair facing him. "You simply have to remember to ask, not demand." She took her time as she crossed her legs, allowing him a glimpse, enough to confirm she wasn't wearing anything under her dress. 

His eyes widened. "You attended a function with me, without-" he gestured at her crotch. 

"Yes."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"Lines, darling. Panties and bras leave lines easily seen in this. I saw no point in spoiling the look." 

"You mean others knew? They could - no, of course, it's the real reason you do things. Attention. Yet you can't bring yourself to show me the basic respect due your husband. Regardless of what I give you, how I treat you, the gifts I've given you." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair. "They warned me I was making a mistake in marrying you. That you'd never accept the role of wife, not in the way I expected. I told you what I wanted in a wife. Never hid my preferences in desiring an obedient, submissive wife. I didn't want a doormat, just a welcoming, gentle, loving spouse. I thought you would find a way of granting me that."

"And I've been loving and welcomed you into my bed whenever you've asked." Her lips twitched into a smile. He wasn't terrible in bed, but only when she took control, riding him, taking what she needed, had she ever enjoyed sex between them. Perhaps she should have taken him for a full test drive before they'd married, but part of the way she'd snared him had been by taking a leaf out of the history books. 

Like the stories of Anne Boleyn, one of her favorite female historical figures, she'd kept Harold at arm's length, teasing him with the promise of more, helping him with the occasional orgasm without ever allowing him into her body. Though unlike Anne, she'd kept him panting and wanting her until their wedding night. Poor Anne had been pregnant when she'd been crowned as Henry's second queen, not an error she'd had any desire to replicate. 

"Not. Submissive."

"No, not that, but I never claimed to be. You knew that from the start. Strong willed, remember?" Ivy sighed as she relaxed in the chair. Out of all the places she enjoyed relaxing, here, in front of the fire, in the elegant, expensive, and surprisingly comfortable chair. She didn't always follow her husband into the room but took advantage when he wasn't around to use the chair to relax and go over her plans. "Harold, I never said I'd be submissive. Whenever you mentioned it, I made it clear that wasn't me." Suggested through her actions that she might play the role from time to time perhaps, but never said it. He couldn't claim otherwise, despite what he might want.

"Yet you married me knowing that is what I expected."

"And you married me knowing I wasn't the type to roll over and bare my throat." 

"Then, my dear, I'm very much afraid you've left me no choice." He reached for his phone and touched the screen as he lifted it to his ear. "Yes, I believe now would be the appropriate time. If you would be so kind as to join me."