Bedroom of a Salesman

"Save it for work, baby," she giggled kindheartedly. "Your arguments won't work on me."

"I know," he grinned.

"By the way—" she flipped her head and crossed her legs high, sitting next to him "—I was thinking of opening that Chardonnay bottle John and Bella brought last month.

"What do you think?"

"I don't see why not," he offered her the most reassuring smile he could muster. "You can enjoy a glass or two, without..."

"We can enjoy a glass, together. That's what I meant."

"I...I'm not sure if I..."

"Don't worry, baby," she leaned on to him and sucked on his neck—he tensed up, when she grabbed his still erect prick. "Well, the cuffs are doing wonders, huh? Still hard, despite watching reruns of silly comedies."

"Yeah," he groaned. "Do you think..."

"Oh, no," she shook her head, her wide, bright smile revealing her perfectly white teeth. "Especially if we're to have some wine, baby. I need something with which to control you."

"Right," he lowered his head.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not that much, no..."

"Good," she said sharply and leaped up from the couch. "Well, I'm gonna get dressed; why don't you start on dinner, huh?"

"Sure thing, honey," he smiled.

While he sliced up some tomatoes, an onion, and the garlic— which he then threw in a frying pan and stirred with some olive oil—he kept on stealing glimpses of the refrigerator, the image of the two Guinness all too vivid and inviting in his head.

"How's it going?" She asked chirpily, as she sauntered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a short negligee.

"Five more minutes," he said, still eyeing the fridge. He threw the pasta in the boiling water and added a healthy splash of salt.

"By the way," she said, after she had opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, "I got a call from my agent this morning."

"No kidding." He cleared his throat, wishing to clear the rust off his voice, while his heart immediately sank down to his stomach.

"Yeah. Apparently, two publishers responded positively to my manuscript and made him an offer."

"That's...good." He forced himself to smile.

"Soon enough, I'll be the breadwinner of the house," she winked.

"The offers were that good, huh?"

"Nothing too extravagant, but...it'll certainly improve our economy."

"Great." He threw the pasta in the boiling tomato sauce, stirred, and took the pan off the stove. "Dinner time," he announced, serving the pasta in two plates.

"Smells great," she said cheerfully.

"Yeah." He picked his glass of wine up and for a moment, which to him seemed a goddamn century, just stared at it. "To your literary success," he toasted.

They clinked glasses and both had a tiny sip; David took a second one, out of habit, but, then hurriedly put the glass down on the table and pushed it slightly away.

"Are you okay, baby? I mean...I realize I shouldn't...you know, I..."

"It's perfectly all right, honey," he said, picking on his pasta indifferently. "That's all behind me now, that...now, I've got other dreams." He drew a deep breath and offered her the best smile he could. "I'm happy with our life, with...how things turned out."

"You know—" she reached over the table and took his hand into hers "—I'd never have written that book, if it wasn't for you. It's your success, as much as it's mine. If it ends up a success, of course."

"Sure, yeah." He stared at his pasta, while stealing glares of the wine. "I guess, you may have a point."

"Of course I do, baby, I..." She squeezed his hand tenderly. He lifted his gaze and met her kind eyes. "I wouldn't have done it, had it not been for you."

"I...thanks. Shall we eat now?"

"It tastes heavenly," she smiled and wiped her mouth on a napkin. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Yeah, I..." He stuffed his mouth with a forkful and munched real slow.

"It really hurt you, didn't it?"

"Nope," he shook his head and washed the pasta down with a generous swig of wine.

Immediately, a fire was lit under his skin; a magnificent sensation he'd almost forgotten. He drew a deep breath and forced himself to finish his plate, before allowing himself another sip.

"Well—" Peggy removed the testicle cuffs "—I guess, it won't be needed any longer today, huh?"

"I didn't mind," he said, yet unable to stop a sigh of relief escaping his mouth.

"Sure you didn't," Peggy nodded with a faint curl of her lips—the sadness in her eyes made his heart sink down to his stomach.

* * * *

Late at night, David sat in the small room he called office; it was pitch dark but for the bright blue light of the computer screen showering his face. He dug up an old pack of Marlboro from the bottom drawer and lit one; the first cloud of blue smoke he blew out seemed magical, as if withholding the answers to all the hard questions of life.

He cracked the sweating Guinness can open and had a long swig, which he accompanied with another drag from the stale, hay-tasting cigarette. Momentarily, he burst into violent coughs, but, when he settled down and his throat stopped burning, thanks to another generous sip, his mind felt liberated in a way he hadn't experienced in three years.

Then, he crushed the cigarette in the metal box (formerly containing candy) which also was hidden in the bottom drawer, underneath piles of white papers, and placed his fingers on the keyboard:

it feels as if I'm going insane; sometimes. I mean, I am happy with my life, with Peggy, with...up until today, I hadn't thought of my life before her—except, perhaps, from a few dreams/memories (the lines can get pretty thin there). either way, though, I am (or should be) happy for Peggy, for the changes she's instilled in my life.

I still recall how we met; that small, stinky dive bar wherein I spent most of my days and nights, drinking the world away one bottle at a time. being a pure bastard fueled by high octane rotgut whiskey and well tequila,

there were different dreams back then; dreams that Peggy's realizing and I can't possibly live vicariously through her. I mean...that's what got me today, that's what...yeah, my work sucks donkey ass, but, at the very least, it pays the bills and it beats day labor and poverty.

I mean, do I truly miss the days I washed onion sandwiches down with fortified wine? No...and yes. in some bizarre way, I actually Do. now, I'm sitting in this small office in a nice little house in the suburbs, with enough money not to worry about the bills, about bill collectors, about the next proper meal (or, even just the next candy bar, or onion sandwich)

and, of course, I've got Peggy; she loves me, I love her. she offers me a completely different sexual satisfaction than what I knew before I met her. back then...just sitting down, choking down beer and smoking stale cigarettes, while writing reminds me of those days in tiny, dirty apartments, where I wrote meaningless stories and poems about my life in the gutter, while some stranger of the night slept her buzz off on my bed, and my unwashed for months sheets.

but, it's different, too. I'm not drunk, I haven't drunk two fifths of rotgut bourbon, I haven't drained a whole case of cheap beer. I'm just trying to figure shit out, trying to understand where I want to be, what I want to do.

just this morning, I'd have said "I want to do what I'm doing now. be with Peggy, letting her control various aspects of my life, allowing her to dominate and humiliate me in sex, being the dominant partner of this relationship, assuming control of everything, economics, sex, social life..."

yeah, even when I was at the grocery shop this afternoon, picking tomatoes while wondering if anyone knew I was wearing a goddamn thong, I'd have said I wanted all this.

but, now, that Peggy's about to live my literary dream, I...don't know. maybe, the hopeless living in the gutter was a better alternative. at least, back then, I knew I was hopeless, but, I also had the freedom to dream.

no, I'm talking damn crazy. I want the life I've got. sure, I wouldn't say no to trading my current job for something better, but...I guess, I was always weak, always wanted a strong woman to take over, to help me focus and keep me on a straight pathway.

being clean and sober...sucks. I have to be honest to myself. but, at the same time, Peggy helped me keep my focus, helped me with finding a job, and keep it. back in my college days, I'd show up drunk for most lectures. I defended my master's thesis after a two-week bender and was probably half-baked during the defense. still, I passed.

I wonder if all those meetings at work would go better (for me), if I showed up in that mean drunk spirit that characterized me for so damn long...I'd sure be able to tell my boss, and that stupid cocksucker Jack, to go fuck themselves with their aggressive policies and their sacred statistics and success rates...

beer's over; one more in the fridge. then...what? there's a liquor store down the street, but, making a dash to it isn't exactly an option anymore—once, I didn't have money to justify late night runs to the liquor stores, now, I can afford it but can't justify it to Peggy.

always something missing; always something...I've been going on and on for far too long. I'll close this thing down, go enjoy the second, and final, Guinness on the porch. let the fresh air hit me, maybe, it'll sweep off the clouds in my mind and let me go back to the simpler times of knowing what I wanted.

* * * *

"Well, I'll be damned!" Jim, the tall, robust bartender, exclaimed, dropping his towel on the counter which he was wiping, as soon as David stepped into the dim-lit dive.

"Hey, man." David gave him an exhausted smile and sat on the same barstool he used to sit on before he met Peggy.

"Been a while, huh?" Jim grinned. "You're looking sharp! So, what can I get you?"

"Just a Bud."

"No whiskey today?" Jim raised his eyebrow, as he popped the cold, already sweating bottle.

"No...not yet," David downed half the bottle. "Shit, I needed that."

"Shit going tough?"

"Yeah," David shrugged. "How're things around here?"

"Like always; well, plenty of new faces."

"I don't see any," David chuckled, as he theatrically glanced about at the empty dive, bar a lonely old man sitting on the corner booth.

"They're night drinkers," Jim explained. "After you were gone, I've got almost no day drinkers to serve."

"Always here, huh?"

"Always, man. Someone's got to run this place and I don't trust these young kids coming here with their fancy mixologist degrees to be able to handle the regulars."

"Yeah, I'd imagine Tom and Gary would eat a bartender calling himself a mixologist alive!" David laughed heartily.

"You haven't heard?" Jim's face darkened. "They're both...shit, man, I hate being the bearer of bad news, but..."

"You're kidding me," David's jaw dropped. "How'd they die?"

"Tom got hit by a car; he was drunk, crossed the street at the worst possible moment." Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Gary...cirrhosis. He always used to say he'd one day shit his liver out, remember? Guess he came as close to it as biologically possible."

"Fuck," David mumbled and drained his beer.

"Want another?"

"I..." He checked his watch and swept his hair off his forehead. "No, man, I think I better...got a woman waiting for me at home, and I guess...shouldn't be late, you know? She'll get worried and all." He almost tripped, as he hastily jumped off the stool.

"Nice seeing you again, man!" Jim said with a sad twitch of his lips.

David waved at him from the doorway, while he glanced about the dive that for years had been his only true home for one last time.

One last time; it was what he firmly said to himself, still tasting the cold beer in his mouth, feeling the alcohol working on his brain. A small, pleading voice rang in his head, begging him for another beer—just one more.

In the corner, he saw three guys standing around—drug dealing. Watching a young man slumbering toward the tallest of the three, his head hanging low, then leaving away, with hastier steps, after a brief handshake, brought back way too many memories.

He clenched his fists to stop the wild trembling and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. He walked fast down to the main street, in search for a cab. All the while, he kept his head low, in fear of any of his former acquaintances recognizing him.

No matter how determined he was to return to the life he had built with Peggy, he knew he was just one "hey there, man" away from abandoning the wagon for good.

When the cab took him away from skid row and toward the decent suburbs, a piece of his heart withered away, forever. His former drinking buddies were dead; the barflies with whom he drank years away were forever gone. A fate that would have been his, too, had it not been for Penny entering that same dive, for reasons unknown, three years earlier.

And so, both happy and sad for still being alive and not having followed his former friends to Hell, David paid the driver and sauntered through the front yard and into his home.

"Hey, honey," Peggy rushed to him, as soon as he walked through the door, and fell in his arms.

It took him a moment to wrap his arms around her, stunned by her plain appearance—just sweatpants and a tank top—as well as the warm welcome; he kissed her reluctantly on the neck.

"Everything all right?" He asked, cupping her cheeks.

"Yes, I...you?" Her lips trembled faintly.

"Sure, I...guess." He lowered his gaze, suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions and thoughts of the past few days.

"You got me all worried last night," she sighed. "Stayed up late, I saw the two beer cans on your desk, the ashtray..."

"Yeah, forgot to...sorry," he nodded.

"It's the whole...you also came home late."

"I...had to stay up a bit late at work, that's all."

"Another meeting?"

"Yeah." The corner of his lips twitched.

"By the way," she cleared her throat to break the momentary deadly silence and lifted his chin with her finger, staring straight, and lovingly, into his eyes, "today something I had ordered for us finally arrived...though, I'm afraid it's...it was the worst possible day for it to arrive, isn't it?" Her crooked smile sent freezing shivers down his spine.

"I..." He offered her the brightest smile he could muster up—after all, what he needed the most was a return to normalcy, to the new normalcy that had saved him from early death and/or insanity. "Show me."

Warmth swarmed his heart and soothed his tormented brain, when he noticed the brightness that shone in Peggy's eyes.

Eagerly—and hopelessly willing to succumb to whatever new sensations she had in store for him—he dropped on all fours and, with his tongue sticking out of his half-open mouth, followed her down to the basement.

He undressed and climbed on the wooden bed; his heart beating fast, he observed Peggy searching in a quite big box, getting an erection just by staring at her bent over ass, looking magnificent even under the saggy sweatpants.

"Not on your back, babe," she instructed him with a smile, briefly glancing at him. "That's it," she nodded approvingly, "stick that lovely ass up in the air."

"Okay, Peg...Mistress," he was quick to correct himself with a deliberate cough.

He rested his head on his hands, his knees already getting a bit sore from the hard wood.

"Don't move, babe," she said sternly, when she walked to the other room of the basement, and out of his sight.

"Yes, Mistress," he said, mechanically.

His heartbeat increased exponentially, as countless thoughts raced through his mind—yet, they were all related to Peggy's new plan and his palpitation was caused solely by excitement.

He gasped, when she returned, butt-naked but for her knee-high boots, and with the harness of a strap-on dildo tied around her waist.

"Well," she winked, as she approached him with slow, steady steps, "what do you think, babe?"

"It's..." He gulped, his gaze fixed on the quite big plastic cock. "Pretty damn big, Mistress; I mean..."

"Oh," she giggled, "you think this one's big? Wait till you see the other two!"

"What?"

"This is just the warm-up, babe." She stood next to his face and stroked the fake dong, bringing it within an inch to his wide open mouth. "The biggest one dwarfs your forearm."

Before he could respond, he felt the thick, silicone dong entering his mouth; he gagged almost immediately and his whole body jerked.

"Well," she laughed heartily, while she slowly pushed the dildo down his throat, "now you know how it felt for me, when we first started dating."

He sniffled and clenched his fists; his eyes bulged, when she put both hands on the back of his head and pushed.

His throat expanded to accommodate the thick dong and gradually he was able to suppress his gag reflex; his heart banged hard against his chest and the faster she pounded his throat, the more liberated he felt.

It was a sort of freedom he hadn't experienced even during his wildest (drunkest) days. His exhilaration increased by a hundredfold, when his asshole was violated by her index finger.

His eyes almost popped out of their sockets, as she moved her finger in a "come on over" motion, tickling his prostrate. And while it wasn't the first time she had done that, the knowledge that this time her finger would be followed by a fake cock that was bigger than his made his prick throb.

He squirmed, when she buried the dildo deep in his throat and leaned forth, slipping a second finger in his ass, while jerking his prick with the other hand. His moans and grunts were muffled by the dong stuffing his mouth, but, he squirmed—to Peggy's giggling delight—when he lost control and came hard all over the bed.

Several streams of thick cum shot out of his pulsating cannon, as the tension building up for weeks was finally released; he heaved, when she pulled the dildo out of his throat and his whole body trembled.

"You made a big mess, babe," Peggy scolded him, albeit with a wide grin. "You know what to do, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he panted and, always on all fours, turned around and licked the spunk off the bed—his drooling mouth quickly filled with the strong, salty taste.

With the corner of his eye, he caught Peggy climbing on the bed; he didn't stop licking his own cum, but, his buttocks instinctively clenched, when she slapped the dildo on his lower back.

A hard spank on his asscheek made him squirm; he bit down his lips hard, both copper and salt assaulted his taste buds, and dug his fingertips on the wooden planks.

The thick head of the dildo, still dripping with his saliva, stretched his asshole wide open—a loud scream escaped his mouth, when in one hard thrust Peggy buried the fake dong in his ass.

The initial burning sensation did not let him thoroughly enjoy it from the get-go; however, Peggy's soothing whispers of nothingness in his ear, as well as her soft kisses on his cheek, as she leaned over him, not only soothed the pain, but, also made it a lot easier for him to accept his place in the relationship.

Gradually, the pain subsided and was replaced by a wonderfully satisfactory sensation of being filled and excited. And as his moans grew deeper, she commenced pounding him, increasing her rhythm the deeper and oftener his groans grew.

He bit his forearm to drown the screams that filled his throat, as the pounding his prostate sustained not only got him hard all over again, but, once more on the verge of climaxing.