This Sweet Surrender, Ep. 5
Rating: 🔥 | There was something profoundly comforting about his assertions, and he didn’t come off as controlling or domineering. That was nice.
This Sweet Surrender
Copyright © 2025 Linn Rhinehart - All rights reserved
NSFW: Content warnings
Quick Recap: Gianna woke from her much-needed nap to find a surprise delivery at her door. Joe had sent a basket filled with ready meals, a cashmere throw, and a small wolf plushie to watch over her. As they texted through the evening, Joe began establishing new routines: daily honest health reports, small tasks to make space for him in her flat, and early bedtimes when her body needed rest. She was surprised to find saying “Yes, Sir” came naturally to her and that feeling cared for may not be the same as giving up her freedom and independence.
Episode Five
The next morning, Gianna woke to find her body a little less rebellious than it had been the day before. She was still aching all over and feeling heavy, but it wasn’t too bad. On the grand scale of things, this was like a normal Thursday.
Thinking of Joe made her smile, though, and before she’d even tried to sit up, she reached for her phone to begin their new routine.
Morning health report, as promised: Pain 4/10, mostly in my lower back and shoulders. Energy: 45-50% I think. Brain fog: A bit lighter. Sleep: Deep. I don’t remember waking up at all before the alarm.
His response came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her message:
Good morning beautiful.
Glad you’re feeling better.
Do you have work today?
Gianna:
Just some paperwork I can do from home. No meetings until tomorrow.
Joe:
Perfect. Then I want you to eat a proper breakfast and rest until noon. Only two hours of work after that. No more. Even if you haven’t finished what you were doing.
Huh? She raised an eyebrow at her screen.
Gianna:
That’s... oddly specific.
Joe:
It’s called pacing, isn’t it? I’m reading everything I can find about ME management. It says your instinct may be to push through when you’re feeling marginally better, but if you do, that will trigger another crash.
So he was doing his homework, was he? Gianna had to laugh, but the thought of him scouring the internet for information about her condition... It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Gianna:
Yes, it is called pacing and it does help but it’s not as simple as it sounds when there’s always more work to be done. And it’s just management, really. Not a cure.
Joe:
I understand. I think that’ll be an important part of my role, helping you enforce the boundaries you struggle to set for yourself. If there’s a vicious cycle making you feel worse, I think we need to find a way to break it. Together.
Hmm… There was something profoundly comforting about his assertions, and he didn’t come off as controlling or domineering. That was nice. She liked the idea of having a shield between her and the demands that constantly pushed her beyond her limits. She could probably get used to that. But then there was that little rebel within who really disliked the idea of being told what to do.
Gianna:
Okay. Two hours. I promise.
Over the next few days, their new habit was taking shape. Each morning, she gave him an honest health assessment, and he followed it up with some simple rules to help her structure the day. He wasn’t trying to dictate her every move – he simply prioritised her wellbeing in a way she’d never managed on her own.
On Monday, after a whole week off, she returned to work. Still wiped, but dead set on making a dent in the pile of tasks waiting on her desk. The calendar was filled with meetings all morning, and by noon, she was already flagging. As usual, the fluorescent lights and the constant noise combined to wear her already depleted system out.
Gianna:
Hitting a wall. One more hour to go, then lunch and office hours for the rest of the day. Not sure I'll make it, though.
Joe:
Can you cancel office hours?
Gianna:
Not really. Students are counting on me, and I’m already behind as it is.
Joe:
Then we compromise. Lunch in 30 minutes. Use your wheelchair instead of the walking stick for the rest of the day. And you’re taking a taxi home. No tube today.
As nice as it was to have Joe actively learning more about ME and trying to help her manage her load, this would take some getting used to. Sure, his suggestions were practical, reasonable even, but he was asking her to be more open about her condition. That took her way outside her comfort zone.
Gianna:
I don’t really like using my wheelchair at work.
Joe:
Why not?
Gianna:
Because they treat me differently when I do and I hate it.
Joe:
They’ll treat you even more differently if you collapse and they have to call an ambulance. Your health has to come first, babe. Always.
She stared at his message. The rebel in her squirmed at the demand beneath his concern. She hated it. Okay, maybe hated was a strong word, but the urge to flatly refuse was strong. But Gianna also recognised it for what it was – part of what she had agreed to. Part of what she wanted.
Gianna:
Okay. I’ll use the chair.
When she wheeled over to the staff room to eat her lunch, she saw a few curious glances from students, but no one commented. Her colleagues who were accustomed to her fluctuating health barely noticed. So, for all her unease, the world didn’t stop spinning because Gianna Ranieri listened to her body and acknowledged her limitations.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
By the end of their second week apart, Joe had nailed down what he called Gianna’s Weekly Protocol. It included her honest morning health reports, structured rest periods between all activities, ready meal plans that combined nutrition and convenience, a non-negotiable ten o’clock bedtime on weeknights, and weekend schedules that prioritised her recharge and recovery.
What surprised her the most about it was how much she enjoyed following his rules. It wasn’t easy, but she could get used to this. She wanted to get used to this.
By Sunday morning she was dying to share her thoughts and feelings with someone who might understand.
Gianna:
Sorry I’ve been AWOL. Been a bit overwhelmed to be honest. There’s so much to take in and wrap my head around. It’s all good though. More than good. These past two weeks have been amazing.
Linn:
I’m so happy to hear that. Do we think he’s a keeper?
Gianna:
I think he might be. He’s never controlling or demanding, just... clear. He wants me to be honest about how I feel and what I need, even when I don't want to admit it. It’s scary in a way, but really nice too.
Linn:
Oh, we do like that! So, when do I get to meet him again? Properly, I mean. Without the awkward first-date vibes.
Gianna:
Soon. I promise.
We’re still figuring things out.
Now, that was an understatement. Joe had called her each night at her new ten o’clock bedtime and they’d been talking until she was drifting off to sleep. The calls had evolved from casual check-ins to deep conversations about what they each wanted from life and a serious relationship.
“I need you to understand what submission means to me,” he’d explained one night. Gianna had noticed how his voice always got low and measured with a slight roughness to it every time he spoke about dynamics. Just thinking about it made her all hot and bothered.
“I don’t want to boss you around,” he said, “and I would never want to make you feel smaller. I just want to create a space where you can let go of the control you cling to so desperately.”
“But what about you? What do you get out of it?” she asked, curled up on her side with the wolf plushie pressed to her chest.
“Peace,” he said simply. “There’s something peaceful and settling in taking care of someone who truly needs and appreciates it. Being trusted with their wellbeing, their pleasure, their fears… it grounds me in a way nothing else does.”
“That sounds more like being a parent to me. Or a pet owner.”
“There are similarities, and some dynamics lean more into those sides. That’s where you’ll find the Daddy/little and Master/pet couples. I could do that if you wanted to explore it, but it’s not my thing.”
“Okay, that’s good to know. Each to their own and all that, but I could never see myself calling you daddy or master. It wouldn’t make me feel the way I do when I call you Sir. But what about the other… aspects?” She couldn't quite bring herself to mention the more physical dimensions of the kind of relationship they were discussing, though the links he’d sent her to read had been explicit enough.
His chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “Yes, I enjoy those too. But we’re not there yet. We’ll have to discover that side together, at your pace and within the scope of what’s possible for you. The physical is just an extension of the trust we’re building between us.”
“But what happens if I can’t be what you need?” That was the fear that kept haunting her, despite his constant reassurances. “If my body can’t...” Nope, she still couldn’t get the words out.
“Hey, baby girl,” he interrupted her intrusive thoughts. “We’ve spent the past three years getting to know each other, haven’t we? I know your mind, your heart. Our connection transcends the physical. Yes, I want you. I want to touch you, taste you, feel you surrender to me. But that’s not contingent on any specific acts or abilities.”
His words helped soothe the thought that had been gnawing at her. That the kind of relationship he wanted would demand more of her body than it could give.
As the last week of their waiting period approached, Joe began sending her small gifts alongside his daily texts. A bath oil infused with lavender and eucalyptus to ease muscle pain. A weighted blanket. A silk pillowcase that wouldn’t aggravate her sensitive skin.
Yes, her inner rebel whined and squirmed, unused as she was to this kind of attention, but each gift was thoughtful, practical, and clearly chosen with her specific needs in mind. And each one came with instructions. Not suggestions, mind you, but explicit directives that made it clear he cared for her, even from a distance.
Joe:
Use the bath oil tonight. Twenty minutes minimum. Water as hot as you can stand it. Then straight to bed. No screens, no reading.
The bath had been lovely. When she texted him afterwards to say thank you and report mission accomplished, his response was simple:
Good girl. I’ll be thinking about you warm and relaxed in bed. Sleep well, baby. xx
Gianna spent the week seeing to the adjustments Joe had asked for. She cleared a drawer in her dresser for his clothes, and made space for him in her small closet. She stocked the kitchen with ingredients for some of her favourite dishes they could cook together. In the bedroom, her cheeks burned as she changed the bed linens to the softest ones she owned, just as he’d specified. It was crazy to think she’d agreed to have him come sleep in here with her on their first day together!
Crazy, yet somehow it felt just right.
She was also sending him the pictures he’d requested. A shot of her living room with the morning light streaming through the windows. One of her small balcony with her sad excuse for a patio garden. The view from her bedroom window, and some pictures of her kitchen and bathroom. It was nothing spectacular, but she loved the intimacy in the sharing.
In return, Joe sent her glimpses of his world. Some, like his pristine and barely used kitchen she had seen before. Though to be fair, she hadn’t really been paying it too much attention then. His flat was much larger, and more elegant then hers but she felt cold just looking at its minimalist furnishings.
“I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel like a home,” she commented during one of their evening calls.
“It’s not, really,” he admitted. “I’m only there to sleep and, occasionally, to eat. The rest of my time is spent working.”
“So what do you do to relax?”
“I talk to you.”
His words made her heart flip in her chest. Surprisingly, for all his wealth and success, there was a solitude to Joe’s life that mirrored her own. Different causes, but similar results. They had both built careful walls around themselves, and now they were cautiously trying to dismantle them one brick at a time.
On the Thursday before Joe’s arrival, Gianna had her first significant setback. It had been a hectic day at work, with a faculty meeting that ran hours longer than scheduled, followed by an unexpected deadline and a number of other things that pushed her far beyond the careful energy management routine they were trying to establish.
By the time she made it back home, she was in full crash-out mode. The pain was radiating through her body, and her cognitive function reduced to the most basic levels. Beyond exhausted and feeling like she was drowning, she fell into bed where she barely managed to send Joe a quick text before she collapsed.
Bad crash. Need sleep. Tomorrow xxxxx
When she woke on the Friday, she had three missed calls from work, six from Joe and at least a dozen increasingly concerned texts. She could barely focus her eyes enough to type a response:
Still here. Too wiped to talk. Sorry.
Joe:
Okay, I’m coming today.
Panic surged through her despite the fog.
Gianna:
NO. Not like this. Please.
Joe:
Baby, you need help.
Gianna:
I’ll call Foxy. Please wait as planned. Please, Joe..
It was the “please” that had convinced him, she found out later. The desperation in her plea to not have their first real time together be like this, with her at her absolute worst, unable to even shower or change her clothes.
Joe:
If Foxy is coming, I’ll wait. But I want updates every two hours. From either of you. If you don’t respond, I’m coming.
Gianna:
I promise. Thank you.
Foxy arrived an hour later with groceries, fresh clothes, and her usual no-nonsense efficiency. She helped Gianna shower and change, brought her medication and water, and settled her back into bed before texting Joe as promised.
Foxy to Joe:
Got your number from G. She’s wrecked but not hospital-level. It’s just a typical crash from pushing herself too hard. She’s clean, medicated, and resting now. Steph is staying with Anna, so I’ll stay here overnight. /Foxy
Joe to Foxy:
Thank you. Keep me updated, please. Anything she needs, anything at all, just ask.
For the next two days, Gianna drifted in and out of sleep. Foxy handled her care, kept Joe in the loop, and held the world at bay while she recuperated. On the Sunday, Gianna was able to sit up to use her phone briefly, and she ate a few light meals.
Joe had been uncharacteristically quiet during while she’d been out of it, only sending her sweet but simple messages of support. When she felt strong enough to text him properly, she was so nervous she kept deleting the words to start over again. What if seeing the true face of her condition, even if it was second hand, had changed things between them?
Gianna:
I’m so sorry I upset you. This was not how I wanted this week to end.
His response took much longer than usual, and each minute of waiting made her anxiety flare.
Joe:
Don’t ever apologise for being ill, Gianna. That’s a non-negotiable rule between us. I'm not upset. I’m concerned. And I’m adjusting our plans for the next three weeks.
Gianna:
What do you mean?
Joe:
Foxy says you’ll need more recovery time, so I’ve cleared my schedule for three weeks instead of two. The first few days, we’ll just rest and talk. Nothing more demanding than that.
The relief that flooded her was so profound tears sprung to her eyes. He wasn’t backing away. He was moving closer.
Gianna:
You don’t have to do that. I’ll manage.
Joe:
I know I don’t have to, but I want to. That’s what it means to care for someone. We adapting to what they need, not what you planned.
On Monday morning, the day of Joe’s scheduled arrival, Foxy returned home to Anna. Gianna’s energy levels were still depleted, but the worst of the crash had passed. She could manage basic self-care and short periods of activity before needing to rest.
“So,” Foxy said as she gathered her things, “are you sure you’re ready for this? For him to see you as you really are, not just the sanitised version?”
Gianna sat on the couch, wrapped in the purple cashmere throw that had become her constant companion. “He already knows the truth, and he’s still coming.”
“That’s not the same as living it, hun. There’s a difference between knowing someone’s disabled and watching them struggle to brush their teeth on a bad day.”
“I know,” Gianna hugged the small wolf plushie tight, “but I think... I think he might actually be able to handle it. He’s been so calm about everything. So practical. Like you.”
Foxy studied her face. “You’re really falling for him, girlfriend.”
It wasn’t a question, but Gianna answered anyway. “I think I fell for him years ago. I just didn’t let myself admit it, because I couldn’t imagine someone like him wanting someone like me.”
“Good point. Why would someone who’s successful want to be with someone who’s brilliant? Can’t think of a single reason.” Foxy’s sarcasm was softened by her affectionate tone. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s fallen just as hard as you have. The way he took charge when you crashed, the way he’s going out of his way to learn about your condition and your care needs – that’s not casual interest.”
“No, it’s more than that,” Gianna admitted, her cheeks burning again. “We’ve been talking about... different kinds of relationships. Dynamics that might work for us.”
“Oooooh…” Foxy’s eyebrows shot up. “Do tell.”
Gianna hesitated, but if she couldn’t tell Foxy, who could she tell?
“He’s dominant. Not just in personality, but in... preferences. And I know it sounds weird, but I think I might be naturally submissive with him. We’ve been talking about how that might actually help with my health management.”
To her relief, Foxy didn’t laugh or dismiss the idea. “It makes perfect sense to me. You spend so much energy fighting for control over your body. Having someone you can trust to take that control, and help you manage your energy? Anna says that it’s tremendously relieving. Give her a call if you want to vent with someone who knows what it’s like.”
“Will do.”
“And what about the other aspects of a D/s releationship?” Foxy asked with a knowing smile. “You know, the more intimate dimensions? How do you feel about that?”
Gianna’s blush deepened. “We haven’t... I mean, we’ve talked about it, but not in detail. He says we’ll explore that together, when I’m ready.”
"So, he’s done this before?”
"Yes, But he says each relationship is unique. That we’ll create our own version of whatever this is.”
Foxy reached out to squeeze Gianna’s hand. “Just promise me you’ll communicate clearly. No martyring yourself to meet his needs if something doesn’t work for you, okay?”
“I promise. He’s actually a stickler for protocol when it comes to honesty and clear communication. He’s constantly checking in, asking for feedback, making sure I understand I can say no at any point.”
“Good man.” Foxy stood to leave. “One more thing – you call me if you need help, okay? Day or night. No matter what’s happening between you two. We’re family.”
"I promise.” Gianna accepted Foxy’s hug, drawing strength from her unwavering support. “Thank you, cara. For everything.”
After her friend left, Gianna was all alone for the first time in days. Her flat felt strangely empty, but Joe would be there in the evening. And not just for a brief visit. He was coming to stay. To see her messy reality.
It was really happening now. They were going to start the next chapter of their relationship. Shivering, she reached for her phone.
Gianna:
Foxy’s gone. It’s just me now, feeling nervous…
Joe:
You and me both, babes. Not long now.
Gianna:
Why are you nervous?
Joe:
Wondering if I can live up to your expectations. Be what you need. Get this right.
Aww… His vulnerability touched something deep in her. For all his confidence and control, he was perfectly human too. Uncertain. Hopeful. Afraid of failure. It was both endearing and empowering.
Gianna:
I think we both need to accept that there’s no way we can “get this right" from the start. We’ll have to learn together.
Joe:
Wise words, baby girl. This is why I need you.
Gianna:
You need me? Not want?
Joe:
Both. Want is desire. It’s fleeting and changeable. Need is essential. Of course, I want you, but I need you in a way I’ve never needed anyone.
Gianna:
I need you too. I think I have for a long time.
Joe:
Tonight, baby girl. Then we’ll have no more screens between us. Just you and me, figuring this out together.
Smiling, Gianna hugged the phone to her chest before she replied:
Tonight, Sir. I’ll be ready.
[Last updated: 16 July, 2025]
Hi, Linn here. This story touches on something deep. If you’ve ever wrestled invisible illnesses and hidden desires, you’re not alone.
Wanna talk about it? Message me or drop an email to linnea@aswewrite.com
Gianna and Joe’s story continues next week. Subscribe or upgrade to get the next chapter straight to your inbox. And if you’re already swooning, consider telling your favourite bookish spoonie about it.
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🏠 This Sweet Surrender
⬅️ Chapter 4
➡️ This Sweet Surrender, Chapter 6 (Coming soon)
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