Make Me

You sit quietly, listening only part of the time the conversation around you. You look around at those sitting around the table. Anne catches your eye, seeming sympathetic to the boredom she must sense in your expression. You cross your legs and smile back, looking down at your hand running across the napkin in your lap.

He seems intensely interested in the subject at hand. He's not given you as much as a single glance for what seems like ages. You find yourself wishing you had stayed at home. Why bother? These are his friends. Anne is nice enough, but the other couple...you can't even remember their names.

You excuse yourself and walk slowly to the restroom, lingering in front of the mirror, checking your lipstick and pulling at your sweater. You stand there, waiting. A group of women walk in, laughing and talking excitedly amongst themselves, and you push your way out the door as they take over the small room.

You sit back down at the table, and are surprised to see that everyone is saying their goodbyes. Usually they sit for an hour after dinner drinking their wine and telling stories that mean nothing to you. Friends long before you came on the scene, they leave you feeling like an outsider. You sip at your wine and smile back as Anne leans in and gives you a quick hug. A few more words, and they are gone...leaving you alone with him.

He says nothing as he finishes his wine and signs the credit card slip. A quick movement, and his hand is beside you, helping you out of your chair. His hand against the small of your back ushers you through the door and out into the cool air. You now are at the car, and he opens your door and helps you in. You lean your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Sure that he'll be unhappy with you, yet again.

The drive home is silent. You reach for the radio, and he pushes your hand away. As he pulls into the driveway, you reach for the door handle, ready to hurry inside. You want nothing but to get away from him, as quickly as possible.

He doesn't try to stop you. You pause to take your shoes off as you start up the steps, sure that you'll fall in them, unused to their height. He catches up to you at the top of the steps, a dark look in his eyes. He unlocks the door, and you rush past him and up the stairs. In the bathroom, you shut the door and lock the knob, eager to avoid him for the rest of the evening.

You turn on the water to fill the tub and add a capful of bubble bath. Pulling off your sweater and skirt you drop them on the floor. You step on them deliberately, smiling to yourself, knowing he hates to have a mess, hates to see the clothing he buys "mistreated" as he puts it. You slide into the tub, turning off the cold tap completely, sliding back so your body is covered by the bubbles. You close your eyes, trying to forget the horrible evening.

Even as you drop below the surface of the water, you can hear him moving around downstairs, the sound of the television emanating through the ceiling. You are determined to stay in here until he falls asleep. Knowing you're being immature...but still so angry with him for acting like he did at dinner. All night, he never said a word to you, letting you sit there feeling like an idiot. Next time he can go alone.

You lay there for half an hour or more. The water grows cool over time, and you decide you may as well get out. Maybe he won't even notice you're done. You wring out your hair and climb out, wrapping a towel around your head, and another around your body. You stand at the mirror, procrastinating, trying to decide whether you should go straight to the bedroom and avoid him, or go downstairs and tell him what an ass he really is.

Deciding that avoidance is your safest tactic, you turn off the light and step into the hallway, your hand along the wall so as to find your way in the dark. You breathe a sigh of relief to hear nothing but the sound of the television chattering away in the downstairs. You step into the bedroom and push the door shut.

Your relief turns to surprise as you see him push the door open and move toward you. You climb onto the bed and start to crawl quickly to your side. He grabs your ankle and pulls you back toward him. You end up on your stomach, your breath knocked out of you. He leans over you, his body pressing you down, and grabs your chin, twisting your head around so he is looking right at you. "Why do insist on acting like a spoiled child?" he says quietly and deliberately.

Pushing his hand away, you try to roll away, but his body weight against you makes it impossible. "You aren't going to answer me?" he growls. You glare back at him, which only angers him more. What does he want you to say? He stands up, and you hesitantly roll over, pulling the covers down and starting to climb under.

"Stand up." An order, harsh and unyielding. You look over at him, and even in the dim light from the streetlights, you can see that he is serious, as serious as he's ever been. You hesitate, and then decide it's in your best interests to listen. You stand up on trembling legs, trying to make your expression strong and stoic. You won't let him think he's gotten to you.

"Take off the towel." You smile as you drop the damp towel to the floor. "Really, shouldn't I put it in the hamper?" you say in your most sarcastic tone. "Be quiet." Again, cold, and not at all amused by your comment.

"Turn around and get on the bed. On your knees." You stand still, considering his request, trying not to let any indication of your growing fear become evident to him. You follow his direction, on your knees, palms flat on the bed, looking straight ahead.

"You don't listen to me. I get tired of your silly games." A sharp slap lands on your ass, and your sharp intake of breath is almost involuntary. Another, and then another rain down on you, and you begin to lose your control. You grit your teeth and close your eyes, the heat and humiliation taking over your thoughts. You keep your back straight and keep your head up, though, hoping to stay strong and hold the tears back.

Just as suddenly as it started, the beating stops and there is nothing but silence. Focused, you listen for any change in the room, trying to guess at his next move. Frozen in time, afraid to move or change position, you feel panic within. Minutes pass. You stay still, willing yourself to breathe in slowly and calm your beating heart. Nothing more comes, and you start to relax, yet stay where you are, too afraid of the consequences to move.

"Are you ready to apologize?" You start at the sound of his voice, wondering to yourself where he's been. Had he been standing right there the entire time? You try to formulate a response, but your head is fuzzy and your mouth dry. "I...I didn't do anything wrong!" you blurt.

"Wrong answer." The hard, harsh slap of wood stings your ass, and before you catch your breath, another blow hits your thigh. He alternates sides, moving quicker than he did with his hand alone. Your head drops and you clutch at the bedcovers, trying to scramble away from the pain he's inflicting. Your skin burns, and the pain overcomes your conscious thought. You hear your voice, but it doesn't sound like you, more like the sounds of a wounded animal. You drop to your stomach, trying anything to avoid the blows. Finally, you lift your head and answer him. "No, I'm sorry! Stop, please!"

His hands grab at your tender flesh, and you feel him turning you on your side. The heat of his body adds to the heat on your skin, as he lies down beside you and presses himself into you, as you curl away, unsure of what to expect. His lips brush against your neck and shoulders, and his arms wrap around you, gathering you closer to him. Somehow his tenderness is more alarming than anything else he'd done to you tonight. You struggle with your inner fears, and eventually relax against him, willing to accept what he gives.

His hands press into your breasts, along your stomach, and across your thighs, before his fingers find your wetness and push into it. You inhale and can't help but let your legs fall apart, ignoring the pain that still heats your ass, as you lean back into him. His fingers are gently but insistently finding their way...exploring you, and you can tell that you are shockingly aroused by what he's been doing to you tonight. He knows that for you, pain mixes with pleasure in a way only he understands.

As his fingers move inside you, you close your eyes and focus on the sensations building inside you. His hands help you onto your back, the pain a sudden surprise as your still-aching flesh contacts the bed. His palm on your forehead calms you, and he leans in to kiss your cheek, your lips, and as he moves down your body, you shudder at the intensity of it all.

"Are you ready?" he asks quietly, his voice soft now. You nod, and you feel his cock pressing gently but insistently against your wet opening. You spread your legs wider and wrap them around him as he pushes into you and pauses. "No, don't stop now," your voice sounds foreign in your own head. He begins to move inside you, slowly at first, and then building in intensity. You cry out as you feel him come inside you, and you hold him tight against you as your own orgasm overtakes you.

He pulls out of you, pressing your legs together and sitting beside you on the bed. "You need to learn to listen to me. You know that I treat you as you deserve to be treated." You look at him thoughtfully, and after considering your many possible responses, you smile widely. "Make me."