Give and Take, Part 2 [F/M] [Pegging] [Mature]

Warnings: This part has M/F. Questionable consent. This is part 2 of 4.

Tom accepted a new client the very next day, a commercial one, which kept him busy from dawn until dusk. He did not enter the house for a week straight.

Natalie’s health recovered, slowly but surely. She took two more days off work, then a half day, then slid back into her regular working schedule. The baby was sleeping now, and she could hear the relief in her son’s voice through the phone. She slept in her own bed and luxuriated in a few free nights, needed by no one.

Then, she turned her attention to the Tom problem.

That Friday, she picked up a roast, one of the suggested pairings of wine, and some local organic in-season vegetables from Whole Foods on the way home. She texted Tom the menu and invited him to join her for dinner at the dining room table.

He texted back a terse message stating that he was finishing up at the job site, and didn’t know when he would get home.

Give and Take, Part 1 [F/M] [Femdom] [Pegging] [Mature]

WARNINGS: Includes homophobic/transphobic language. This is Part 1 of 4.

Two days ago, Natalie had woken up with a pounding headache and chills, fully in the grip of the flu. The timing could hardly have been worse.

Granted, she had plenty of PTO left at work, no upcoming appointments she couldn’t reschedule, and her son and his wife had finally decided to sleep train the baby—yes, *they* had been nothing but gracious about the news—had even sent her a bouquet of flowers, thank-you note attached. They sat wilting in a vase in the hallway.

In other news, Tom had been sent to the store that afternoon to restock on Nyquil and honey lozenges, and come back with two bottles of wine. He plunked them down on the coffee table–littered with the corpses of several dozen Kleenex–and spoke first, with an air of forced casualness. “Want a glass?”

Natalie did not, in fact, want a glass. Her head was pounding so hard, it felt like her skull was forcing its way out of her skin. She’d spent the last 48 hours wrapped in several blankets on the family room couch, drifting in and out of consciousness while marathoning the Great British Baking Show. *Must it* really *be now?* she asked the universe, but pasted a smile on her face anyway. “Sure, dear. Just a splash.”