Angel Baby

Angel Baby

Jennifer Juan


Discover the adventures of Angel Baby, a typical girl, toiling in an unusual love affair with a man she refers to solely as “Him”.

New updates every week.


Chapter One – Morning Routine

It was six AM. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains as he slept beside me. His breath was heavy, melding with the birdsong outside to create my morning melody, and reluctantly, I rose from the soft sheets.

Past the paintings on his walls and the rulers on his dresser, I reached the door, crossing over and closing it quietly, so he wouldn’t wake, before I was ready for him to see me. I had decided, long ago that it was my duty to impress him as dawn broke, and it was the beginning of my daily joy.

My days were joyful. I always thought about that as I sat at his desk every morning, by the window, writing poetry about the plants on his windowsill and smoking the cigarette he had left for me the night before. And then, breakfast. I’d make breakfast for myself, something light, maybe some toast, maybe some strawberries. Today, it was four caramel digestives, because I had a feeling I’d be good for the rest of the day, so a harmless bit of morning misbehaviour couldn’t hurt.

Back to his desk, and back to the routine. Medication. Every day, around 7AM. I would count out one of each tablet. Contraceptive. Vitamin D. Vitamin C. Zinc. That fancy pink one that keeps my hair soft and shiny. Vitamin B. Vitamin E. The multivitamin jelly that comes in a little jelly sweet and reminds me of my childhood. All down in one, like a good girl, with the exception of the jelly, which I always save until last, as a treat.

Jojoba, vanilla and almond oil shower gel was all across my skin as the water wept down from the shower head. I wanted to be a clean confection, dazzling and delicious for when he woke up. The shower gel came in a little pink bottle. Pink was my favourite colour, and I’ve always liked to think he bought it for that reason, and not just because it was Valentine’s Day, and everything available to purchase for your lover was pink. All the same, it had become my favourite. Sweet, with just the right amount of sensuality, it settled into my skin and left me clean and confident.

I moisturised, making faces in the mirror, trying to see myself through his eyes. “Gorgeous.” He called me, every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and as I gazed into the glass, I wondered if I would ever agree. Mint toothpaste and coconut lip scrub, before I dressed, and then, back I went to the mirror, the same old halter neck dress, with a petticoat and a bow around my waist. Today’s dress was black and white, because it was a Sunday, and though he was the one I worshiped, I always tried to keep the other powerful man in my life happy, on his special day, so Sunday meant a modest dress. White ribbon in my hair, like I used to wear for church. Sometimes, as I placed it diligently atop my ponytail, I wondered if my devotion to God had been the dawn of my devotion to him. After all, I’d never known another way to love.

I could hear him stirring next door, in the bedroom, as I tried my best to put on mascara without making a mess. A soft clear gloss on my lips, and perfume on my wrists and I was ready for him. The soft nylon of my stockings crept quietly down the wooden floors of the hall, and I returned to his room, sitting at the edge of the bed, hoping and yearning that I would be enough, as he awoke.


Chapter Two – The Punishment Game

His typing was relentless. Beautiful blue eyes barely leaving the screen as he worked, the sounds of his fingers on the keyboard seemed not to distract him, so I decided I should do so instead. It’s a little game I like to play, where I promise at the beginning of the day that I will behave myself and let him work, and for a little while, I am true to my word, working on my own things and keeping out of his way, but dear reader, that’s no fun.

It started off small. Simply relocating to the room he was working was my first move. Sitting on the sofa with my laptop, and a sweet smile, as if I didn’t intend to drive him right to the brink of insanity, and then push him off. I had a manuscript overdue, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. There would be plenty of time to write, when I was done toying with him. Besides, what was my editor going to do? Spank me?

No, that would be him, but not yet, there was more madness and mischief to be made before I got what I wanted. Placing my pen between my lips, in the most phallic fashion I could manage, I shoved my laptop from my knees and stood from the sofa.

Without even looking away from his work, he calmly said “Sit down.” I wanted him to look at me. I needed him to look at me, and so, I took a few brave (and stupid) steps closer to his desk, staring intently, willing him to tear himself from his work and tear my clothes off instead. “Now.” He was still glued to the screen, much to my dismay, so more brave and very stupid steps were required. I knelt beside him, looking up at him expectantly. My mischievous fingertips found their way into his lap, and I played innocent as he relented, stroking my hair gently as I slowly moved my hand towards his zipper.

Five minutes.” He promised. I ignored him, pleased at the slight hint of hunger in his voice. He continued typing, as I took him in my hand. Soft and slow, still with an innocent smile, that grew into a satisfied smirk as I heard him moan my name above me.

That was all it took. There was absolutely no justifiable way he could leave me able to sit down without significant discomfort after that, and so, out from under his desk I came, and off to the bedroom, where his many rulers, whips and fancy paintings lived, and it was about time.


Chapter Three – Penance

It would be the wooden ruler first. The softest option but still harsh in his hands. As I lay motionless on the bed, I remembered handing it to him for the first time, knowing exactly what he intended to do with it, but handing it over all the same. I handed myself over too. I wanted to belong to him, truly devoted, and as my shaking fingers handed him the wooden ruler, I just hoped he would accept.

He did. Now, many months later, it was time to accept the consequences of belonging to him, and that meant that the wooden ruler was first. He slowly pulled down my underwear, the lace soft against my legs as they fell to the floor, and then it came, the first of many, quick and loud against my skin.

Wooden ruler first. A gentle sting that got stronger with each stroke. He was so strong. He warned me about that once, his voice halfway between cautious and excited as he told me that he was a lot stronger than me, so my idea of a hard spank would be remarkably different to his. He was right of course, but I had no complaints. A few breathless moans as I dug my fingernails into his duvet cover, but no complaints.

Again. Wood on skin. Wood on skin. Wood on skin. At first, I would always try to count each one, but after five or six, the pace always quickened, and my mind was a tempest, so all I could do was lay there and allow him to do as he wished. I was his plaything, all of the time, but especially when he punished me. It was a confusing cyclone of feelings. I melted at his touch, but my body radiated with shame for disappointing him and bringing the situation on in the first place.

Again. Wood on skin. Wood on skin, but then, a new sensation. I wasn’t sure how many it had been. I had lost count, as always, and now, he was kissing me, soft and gentle, his lips, lining my spine, and then across my shoulders and my neck.

Good girl.” It would be his hand next. A little respite before the next stage. He wouldn’t be soft when he spanked me, but with his hands, he couldn’t resist kisses and caresses between strikes.

It begins. His skin. My skin. His fingers, gentle with me for a few seconds, and then back to the beginning. His skin. My skin. I call out his name, my fingers, rough with the duvet cover. I felt it tear in between my fingertips, and I knew I would be bruised by morning.

I recited his name quietly, like a prayer, occasionally screaming, until we were both still. His kiss, tender on the back of my neck. “Good girl.” It was almost over. Just one more step and then I would have atoned. Just a little more pain and pleasure until the road to penance had been completed. Metal.

I had given him a metal ruler as a gift. My own little way of saying “I trust you.”

It was the hardest of all my punishments, but every stroke with the devil’s material, as I had come to calling it in my head, was another reminder that I was right to trust him. He never gave more than I could take, and I was always rewarded for seeking absolution.

Metal always seems to go faster than wood or his own hands. I didn’t even try to count, I just lay beneath him, writhing and whispering his name, as the sharp pain sank into my body and became a kind of sweetness. I could hear the ruler moving through the air and then the impact with my body, over and over. Metal on skin. Metal on skin. Sweet kisses as he moaned my name softly. Metal on skin. Metal on skin. Then stillness. It was over. I was free, for now…


Chapter Four – The Roast Dinner

The silver was cool against my skin. It was small and subtle. A simple chain, linked with a circle, that contained our little secret. Nobody would know. What they saw as a simple, sweet little necklace was a promise. It was devotion. It was a reminder to him that I would always be his, and a reminder to me that he treasured my loyalty.

I was ready to leave the house. Lips glossy, hair neat and devotion dangling from my neck. I smiled into the mirror, repeating the same thought in my head. “To belong to someone is to be truly happy.”

He was waiting, outside the bathroom, an impatient look on his face that indicated I would be in trouble later, but not then. Later, when the day had been done, and he had a fair idea of just how much trouble I had coming my way.

Dazzling in my day collar, I kissed him, deeply, and then, his hand in mine, we left the apartment.

We were going for dinner. A little restaurant, on the river. As we arrived, I stared from our table at the sunset, while he got us drinks. He knew what I liked. Apple cider, just a little ice, in a glass, with a straw (always pink). He held my hand under the table, as he glanced over the menu.

A waiter approached. Under the table, his grip was tight and I gently squeezed back. He ordered for himself, before glancing back at the menu. “She’ll have the roast chicken.” His eyes met mine. “Lots of broccoli.” Some might see that as a punishment, but not me. I love broccoli.

We had a quiet dinner. He asked me about my writing deadlines, and I smiled, giving a reassuring answer that neither of us believed. He didn’t ask if I wanted dessert, but he ordered me a toffee sundae, and told me not to leave a single bite, with a smirk that indicated that it was an order, not a request.

The broccoli wasn’t a punishment, or the enforced ice cream, and perhaps, when we arrived home, there wouldn’t be one either. His mood was jovial, and his left hand, friendly under the table. Maybe, just maybe, I was in the best kind of trouble. The kind where he looks at me, and adores me, so deeply, that he cannot bear to correct my bad behaviour.

Alas, it was not to be. As we returned to the car, he opened the glove compartment, and a familiar, wooden friend smiled up at me. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a loud and painful time, in a darkened car park.


Chapter Five – Restraint

My wrists itched. They weren’t sore, but sleeping in restraints made my skin a little bratty the morning after, which was fitting, I suppose. They just needed a little moisturiser, and they’d be fine, but my moisturiser was in my bag, in the living room and completely inaccessible to somebody who was unable to move more than a few feet.

“Good morning.” I felt exposed. I wasn’t dressed. I wasn’t showered. I had no make up or perfume on. My wrists itched and my lips felt dry. Not one part of my morning routine had been completed, primarily because I was tied to the bed by my irritated wrists. He didn’t seem to mind, though. “Good morning.” He repeated. I got the feeling I should definitely answer.

“Hi.” He smiled as I replied. Sitting up and leaning across to the window sill, he returned a moment later with my lip gloss. Our eyes locked as he unscrewed the top and swept the gloss covered wand across my lips, in a gentle, hypnotic motion, as if he had read my mind.

He didn’t speak, as he stood from the bed, kissing my forehead and then disappearing out of the bedroom. I sank back into the pillows, waiting for his return, wondering what he thought of me, first thing in the morning, when I hadn’t had a chance to become beautiful for him. I felt exposed, but his tender treatment of me left me with a warm flicker of confidence that grew brighter as he returned, my moisturiser in his hands. Again, he had read my mind.

There was a flurry of kisses as he released my cuffs. “Stay still.” His hoarse whisper was just the right mixture of soothing and sensual, and I lay, still, beneath him, staring into his soft, beautiful eyes as he rubbed my wrists gently, until they too felt soothed.

Then, we kissed. Slow and sweet, at first, but then his hands were across my reinvigorated wrists, holding me to the bed as his kiss became more passionate, possessive and I could do nothing but surrender and belong to him. My body was electric, warm and waiting desperately for more, but more would have to wait. His kisses became softer again, and then slowed to a stop. It was just the beginning of the day, and I had a lot more work to do to earn something more. Admittedly, I was disappointed, but the way he lingered ever so slightly before pulling away showed he was a little disappointed too, and that was delicious.

He laid down next to me, holding me tightly in his arms, another soft kiss on my forehead, and for a moment, I felt like it didn’t matter so much that I didn’t look picture perfect, or even all that pretty, first thing in the morning, because the way that he held me let me know that he was quite satisfied with all that I was in that moment. Just like Mark Darcy and my personal heroine Bridget Jones, he liked me just the way that I was, and the feeling was definitely mutual.