Mexican standoff: a confrontation amongst two parties in which no strategy exists that allows either party to achieve victory. Thus, all participants must maintain their strategic position which will remain without change until some outside influence resolves it.
The bitter standoff between the new Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Williams continued for a week. Lauren practiced for several hours a day, only leaving her fourth-floor conservatory when she knew Thomas was gone. He would fall asleep at night hearing her furious movements over and over on her cello. Sometimes when he was in his office and the surveillance cameras were on, Thomas would unconsciously relax, leaning back against his leather chair as he watched his wife play her violin, or grinning slightly when she amped up her bass guitar. God... his head lolled back on the padded seat, a vision of his demure bride in leather pants and wailing out something by Paramore... angrily pushing down his sudden erection, Williams rolled his head, making his neck crack and getting back to work.
Coming home later one night after a "meeting" that Numbers One and Three had insisted be conducted at a Corporation brothel, Thomas strolled into his house, a little drunk and unreasonably furious at his elusive Lauren. How could the stupid girl not appreciate what he'd done? Saving her worthless father, keeping her from having to select yet another coffin for a parent... He strolled into the living room and poured himself another drink, idly loosening his tie and hearing the girl viciously saw through "Orlando Furioso" by Vivaldi. Smiling sardonically, he soundlessly walked the stairs to the third floor, deliberately letting the bedroom door bang open, hearing the music abruptly stop.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."
Lauren's head dropped back, shuddering suddenly as the music of her husband's beautiful voice poured through her. She could almost not miss the melody he played on her body if she didn't have to see him. Or better, not hear him. She'd stayed hidden on the fourth floor for most of the week, even curled uncomfortably in that damnable chair, knowing her husband better now she was quite certain had been selected for its supreme discomfort.
"Lauren. You will answer me." The light humor was gone from his tone, the commanding chill spreading through her spine.
Clearing her throat, she realized she'd not spoken for a couple of days. "Yes?" Looking around her, Lauren attempted to tidy up a couple of empty wine bottles and a half-gnawed wedge of Camembert.
"Come down here."
Groaning under her breath, she blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and wiped her damp palms on her skirt, ascending the stairs as ordered. Stiffening her spine and lingering on the landing of the third floor, Lauren eyed the cold, beautiful face of her husband. He was leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, arms folded as he watched her. When she attempted to raise an inquiring eyebrow, he angrily gestured her closer with two beckoning fingers. The girl was trying to obey without actually getting close enough for Thomas to grab her.
"You called?" Her attempt at light and breezy came out in an anxious croak.
He stepped forward, looking down at her, the dim light from the bedroom slanting across his sharp cheekbones. "I believe you've hidden upstairs, sulking long enough. You will put your instrument away and come to bed." Her eyes were wide, the violet shade that showed that his bride was anxious. Thomas had enjoyed learning her moods more than he'd anticipated. But then Lauren stiffened, her nostrils flaring.
"Why?" she seethed, "It's clear you've been finding alternative entertainment. Whoever she is, maybe suggest she doesn't hose on that godawful perfume next time." Thomas's brow rose as he registered hurt and fury fighting for prominence on Lauren's pretty face.
Despite himself, a cold grin curled his lips. "I don't believe that's a concern of yours, darling. Particularly when you find your marital duties so distasteful." Thomas was surprised to see Lauren stumble back a step, pain twisting her full mouth.
She was humiliated to feel how much his admission hurt her. That she felt stupid for feeling... special? Like Thomas might have been as aroused by her as he'd... well, what he'd made her feel? "Whatever," Lauren finally hissed. She tried moving past him into the bedroom, but her confusing new husband grabbed her arm.
"Another American vulgarity you will remove from your speech," Williams snarled. Leaning in to sniff her neck, he chuckled coldly. "And go wash off the stink of all that wine. Do I need to put a lock on the pantry?" Her hand came up so quickly that Lauren didn't even register it until he gripped her wrist harshly. "I told you, you willneverhit me again." Without another word, he pulled her closer with an arm around her waist and carried his stunned bride to the bed. Lauren suddenly gathered her senses and began kicking and struggling against him. He laughed harshly, seating himself on the mattress and throwing her over his lap. "Not to worry," Thomas sneered, "I have no interest in your tasty little pussy tonight. It's your ass that requires my attention."
Lauren struggled harder as she felt the cool air of the room on her suddenly bare bottom as he flung up her skirt and ripped her panties down her legs. "Don't you dare, Thomas! You- OW! Stop it!" But she felt one muscled forearm come down hard over the small of her back as one leg pinned her two kicking ones under it. And then the next slap across the unprotected skin of her ass. There were three more before her horrible spouse paused for a moment, lean muscles in his thighs shifting as he reached for something on the table next to his side of the bed.
"I will not require you to count these strikes," Thomas said with terrible, good humor in his voice. "You won't have the presence of mind this time. But in the future..."
The next impact made the girl scream in shock. It was not as if this hit against her already red ass was more painful, but the chill and the wideness of the instrument he was using against her was overwhelming. It took another blow for her to recognize it was the silver-backed brush Thomas had used on her hair in a more tender, comforting time. And that was what made her heart break. And made her fight even harder until the next swat made her scream again.
"Hold still, little girl." The sonorous voice of the monster she'd married still poured over her shattered nerve endings like a balm, even though the brush came down again. And again, and again, until he'd spanked her ten times, enjoying how the raised "P" engraving on the back made such an enticing corresponding mark on Lauren's pale bottom. "Lovely..." he mused, running a cool hand over the heat of her, tracing the marks with one long finger. Feeling her body heave against his legs as his bride wept, Thomas sighed and lifted her upright and against one shoulder, rocking her until she stopped feebly swatting at him and allowed his comfort against her will. His stubborn, beautiful girl refused to say another word, even as he bathed her, gently rubbed a cooling lotion into the bright red skin of her ass, and pulled her into his long arms back on the bed, feeling her breath even out as she fell asleep. Thomas stayed awake until dawn began lightening the horizon, trying to understand this confusing, infuriating creature.
Giving up on going to sleep, Thomas went running that morning, unreasonably angry at Lauren for not being there, running alongside him. Of course, she wouldn't be, even if they were back on good terms, her shapely ass would be in no condition to do so. But sheshouldbe. He'd enjoyed the few times they'd run together before the Mexican Standoff that kept his bride hidden on their fourth floor. Then, of course, Thomas was angry for being angry.God!he thought furiously, picking up his pace,Why does anyone get married? This is ridiculous!
Meanwhile, his exhausted wife was dragging herself out of their sumptuous bed, equally furious at Thomas. Raising her nightie to look at her reddened ass, Lauren gritted her teeth in rage. Her first season performance with the symphony was tonight- she'd been practicing obsessively and now simply sitting down would be a challenge, much less concentrating on playing her best. "Bastard!" she snarled, "Selfish, horrible, condescending son of a bitch-" Pausing for a moment, Lauren's fair brow raised. Speaking of family - though certainly in the most disrespectful way - she realized that she didn't know a single thing about Thomas's family. For Christ's sake, the man couldn't have been hatched from an egg! They certainly weren't at their wedding, but did Thomas have parents? Human beings he called "mom," and "dad?" Cautiously, she went through his exquisite closet, gingerly opening drawers and looking for photos and kind of memorabilia. She'd not seen any photos anywhere in the house. Hands slowing as she closed the last drawer, Lauren slumped against the wall. Did gangsters just not have a family? Cutting down on the potential liability of loved ones? So... what was she? The girl's lip hovered between a sneer and a tremble. Someone that wouldn't cause much of a stir if she disappeared? Idly walking through the house, Lauren poked through books in the crowded shelves in the living room, looking for photos. Kitchen drawers, the pantry. Nothing. Leaning against the beautiful stone counter in defeat, the girl finally shook off her curiosity and fetched another bottle of Chardonnay from the pantry, making herself a sandwich to accompany it. Hearing her phone buzz in her purse, Lauren sighed and defiantly took another swig of the rather nice white wine. It would be Thomas. Because no one else called her anymore. The phone buzzed angrily again as if her horrid husband somehow knew she was ignoring him.
Finally, the blonde stalked over and yanked her shiny new phone out. A text. Curt and to the point.
"There is a season opener soiree The Corporation is hosting before the performance tonight. You will be required to mingle and chat with our more prominent donors before going backstage. I'll pick you up at 6 pm. Be ready."
Lauren's fist tightened on the phone, wanting to throw it across the room and hear the satisfying shatter as it hit some no doubt expensive item in Thomas's high-tech kitchen. Bastard. Autocratic asshole! Looking at the time, the new Mrs. Williams growled as she realized she only had an hour to get ready. Abandoning her sandwich but dragging along the wine bottle, Lauren angrily stomped up the stairs like a child, trying to make as much noise as possible.
Nonetheless, Lauren was ready at 6:02 pm, hair up in an elegant twist and looking calm and collected in her off-shoulder black, velvet dress. Fortunately, the costumer for the LSO had excellent taste, so the female musicians had a universally flattering dress- full, sweeping skirt, tight bodice, and a v-cut neckline that gracefully showed off a woman's collarbones and not too much of the bosom. Sweeping majestically out the door after keeping Thomas waiting for exactly three minutes, she handed her cello case to him to stow in the back of his Jaguar, which took a bit of effort in the sportscar, Lauren noticed with some malice, and seated herself, stiffening as he bent over her as usual to fasten her seatbelt. They drove in silence for a short time until Williams used his most infuriating, condescending drawl. "Do you understand your responsibilities tonight?"
Lauren rolled her eyes, "Of cour-"
"That's one." Williams's eyes were still on the road, but there was a certain set to his jaw that spelled trouble.
"One, what?" she asked in spite of herself.
This time, her dark husband side-eyed her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "Your insolence will be dealt with after the performance tonight."
"My insolence?" Lauren protested angrily, "You- dude, you couldn't even see me roll my eyes, so-"
