Disclaimer: The Characters are entirely Meyer's, the naughty is mine.
Carlisle came home from the hospital after the quintessential long day to a house full of overgrown children playing video games, another sofa destroyed and a request for him to mediate. While a day of trauma was far from unusual, today left him feeling on edge. They would need to consider relocation soon; another high school graduation was around the corner and documents needed procuring. His nature did not allow him to feel fatigued but instead left him over-stimulated and in a constant mode of fight or flight. It was in this state which Esme found him staring out the wall of glass at the rear of the house, cringing infinitesimally at every noise.
"Let me take care of you Carlisle," she whispered softly as she approached him from behind, "I know just what you need." A sigh escaped him. Carlisle required no elaboration of her plans and so he kissed her once, along the curve of her collarbone, and whispered into her skin, "Yes my love."
He climbed to the stairs quickly to their bedroom, and was already in a state of semi-undress when he arrived. He completed the process and upon hearing footsteps reach the top of the stairs he moved to stand at the foot of the bed. The door opened behind him and he resisted the urge to turn and look at her despite his overwrought nerves which demanded that he do so.
"Kneel." Esme's voice rang out clearly.
Carlisle did as he was told, and was rewarded by the feel of cool satin wrapped firmly across his eyes. He immediately relaxed at the removal of a stimulant to his senses, even as his others sharpened to compensate for his loss of vision.
He loved it when Esme took control. Carlisle spent so much time with life's reigns wrapped firmly in his hands. He had to carefully orchestrate and plan so many aspects of their lives in order to keep his family safe. It was responsibility under which he thrived, proud to be the father and husband who could provide for them. Ironically, his greatest pleasure came when he relinquished his control entirely to the woman he trusted to give him what he needed.
He tried to shut down the stream of thoughts from his day which continued to invade his conscious. Instead, he concentrated on the sound of his beautiful wife moving around the room as she gathered what she needed. He was taken in by the smell of leather and steel. She would use the paddle today.
The anticipation alone began to center his thoughts. He knew that with each strike he would become more present, his focus sharper. Life's complications would slip away one by one with the snap of the leather against his skin until the only thought left was the woman who owned his heart and what he could do to please her. It was a blissful and single-minded pleasure; there was nothing except this moment, this woman and the feeling of arousal which she created for him.
Esme ran her fingers through his hair and began to knead his neck and shoulders. "Shall I make you feel good darling? Answer me."
"Yes. Please my love." was his reply.
Esme relished the feeling of control and the trust placed in her by her husband. She generally deferred to his leadership in their daily lives because he was an incredibly intelligent and inherently good man. She enjoyed the maternal role she played to counter his paternal nature. When they were alone, however, she could allow this side of herself to take hold. She loved to see him kneeling submissively in pleasure before her and the feeling of power it evoked in her. When he gave himself over completely, their passion was primal.
Carlisle is a beautiful man. Esme didn't need any special gifts to know that many women coveted him. The knowledge that only she would ever have him this way, vulnerable and waiting to please her, was thrilling. She would never abuse his gift of submission. She knew what it was to be mistreated and this was nothing of the sort.
She would, however, take him to his limits. That's what Carlisle needed from her tonight, and it felt so good to give it to him.
"How many things are troubling your mind?" She demanded.
"So many, my love. Twelve at least." He replied in a low groan.
Esme's lips curled slightly in anticipation of his pleasure and her fingers tightened around the leather-wrapped handle. "Okay darling. We'll start with twelve then. Count for me. Out loud."
This was written as part of the WitFit Fictionista daily prompts:"heavy lies the head that wears the crown". It is an excellent program and I'm grateful for the encouragement and support provided.