Domesticated Read Free

going to be that man, and I was never going to be that wife, the one that told him what I wanted. Adriana had instilled that into my head many times as well, way before I was even old enough to hear it.
    I can remember what I thought were lectures at the time starting immediately following the marriage to my father. Being a four-year-old, I wasn’t the quietest little girl, not at first anyway. I remember being four that day like the back of my hand. It was my stepmother’s first attempt at her new manipulation game. My father was in his office and I was playing with a plastic car I had gotten from Milo. He was the son of our illegal immigrant maid from Cuba. 
    “What are you doing, child?” Adriana scolded, jerking me from the floor where I was sitting, pushing the car back and forth to Milo. “You don’t show boys your panties. Go away little boy,” she demanded. Milo practically ran from the hall afraid of her.
    I didn’t speak, either. I was always afraid of Adriana. Her small frame and beautiful black shiny hair did nothing to soften the way she looked at me. I used to imagine I was Cinderella and she was the wicked stepmother. She was the wicked stepmother.
    “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
    “I was playing with Milo.”
    “You don’t play with Milo. Milo is beneath you. We don’t want you exposed to nasty children like him.” I didn’t understand at the time why she thought Milo was nasty. I was four and he was six. We were just two bored little kids, playing. I now know after a few more Milo’s, I wasn’t to associate with any of the revolting kids that didn’t go to the same private schools, or who weren’t beautiful and well-appointed like me. They were transmissible and my stepmother was in fear of infecting their precious offspring.
    I ate my supper in a corner alone that night, not understanding what I had done to deserve it. I knew as soon as my father came to the table, I would be in my normal place, sitting in the pink booster seat to the right of my dad. He wouldn’t let Adriana put me in a corner.
    “What’s she doing over there?” my father sternly asked, routinely picking up the USA Today newspaper.
    “She’s in trouble for showing the gardener’s boy her panties today.”
    What?! That’s not what happened at all. It would be my first lesson in the control Adriana held over me.
    “Did you fire the parent?”
    “Yes, the boy won’t be around anymore.”
    That was his response to his only child being singled out. He didn’t stand up for me that day, or any day after that. My father was never the bounce-on-Daddy’s-knee type, but even barely past the toddler stage, I thought he should have said something in my defense. He never did.
    Closing my eyes to rid my horrid upbringing, I continued without the vibration to bring myself to compulsory orgasm before closing my eyes to sleep.

“Good morning, can you call Rob? I’d like him to come and get my things loaded on the plane for tomorrow,” I asked, ordering Olivia to take care of the trivial things I could have done myself.
    “Yes, ma’am, would you like coffee brought up?”
    “That would be fine. Just leave it on the gallery table,” I replied. I didn’t want Olivia to walk in, not yet. Retrieving my little trustworthy bullet from my nightstand drawer, I rolled back to my stomach and moved it between my legs. After pressing the rubber button and angling my right leg a little, I instantly felt the wetness. I never did have a problem with that. The littlest thing could trigger my ability to become vastly wet. My little vibrating ammunition initiated that to transpire. Immediately.
    I closed my eyes, trying to prolong the inevitable orgasm my pulsating mechanism would claim precociously. Being with an extraordinary libido such as myself, this would go on at least two, maybe three more times before I crawled back into the same bed hours later. I heard the two light taps on my door at precisely the same