Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 05

"I'm a real lightweight when it comes to drinking. In fact, I tend to do unconscious before I even get to drunk, so..."

His arms circled around my waist. "Can't have that. You'll miss all the good stuff."

I put my arms around his neck. "Well, why don't you give me a sample of this good stuff." Whoa, did I say that? I wondered if some of the voices in my head were starting to leak out.

He smiled and kissed me. Sweetly. No tongue, even. He pulled me closer and I could feel his cock starting to stir. "Um," I said. "Not sure that sample's going to be enough. I think I need a test drive. Is there a bedroom in this joint?"

He was studying me, probably thinking I was moving too fast for him. Hell, I was moving too fast for me, but I was also horny and I needed my fix, as Brunette would say. Whatever he was thinking, he said, "Upstairs, come on."

He took me upstairs into the master bedroom, then gave me another one of those sweet kisses. "I'm just going to duck into the bathroom a sec. Be right back."

I smiled as he turned away, and reached for the top button of my shirt. One of my voices was jumping up and down and shouting. "Wait! Slow down! He's going to think you're some kind of slut," she accused.

"Shut up," I muttered, but I stopped after undoing the first two buttons.

"You're the submissive, remember," she wheedled from inside my ear. "Am not!" another voice argued. "Let him set the pace," a chorus answered. I was rolling my eyes at the lot of them as he emerged from the bathroom. Fortunately he didn't notice. He came over and hugged me, giving me another sweet kiss then backed me to the bed. He eased me down then lay beside me, leaning over me, kissing me gently and slowly roaming along my jaw and neck. My pussy was screaming so loud, I couldn't believe he couldn't hear it. I smiled and kissed back, trying to intensify the passion while still being lady-like. Yeah, right.

Finally, he got around to helping me out of my clothes, then he stood up and began undressing. I lay on the bed watching as his body emerged. He was trim, obviously in good shape, though not as chiseled-in-marble as my -- whatever he was. But who was I to judge. I got up on my knees, licking my lips. His cock was bobbing, not quite at full sail, but I was pretty sure I could fix that. He zeroed in for another kiss though, and pressed his erection and groin against my tummy even as I was reaching for it. Okay, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. He laid me back on the bed and stretched out on top of me, careful to support his own weight. Finally, finally his kisses began to drift downward.

He reached my breasts and applied a gentle kiss and exactly two licks to each one, then drifted lower. When he reached my navel, he asked if he could go down on me. I vigorously nodded, soundlessly yelling, "Yes, yes, yes!" He took his time getting the rest of the way, but when he was situated, I spread my legs wide. He licked my clit. Gently. His finger toyed at my entrance, but never entered, though he seemed pleased to find me wet. Even when I flexed my hips in what I thought was an obvious appeal for more, all I got was a soothing tip of his tongue. Damn it, I didn't want to be soothed!

One voice started in. "If you want it, you have to ask for it." But another voice argued, "No! Nothing more fragile than a male ego. He'll get there. Wait for it." Turned out it didn't really matter, because he was already on his way back up. He gave me a few more of those gentle kisses then rose to his knees, dug a condom out of his nightstand and slipped it on. "Okay, now it will get real," my voices assured me. He smiled at me as he lay back down, again being careful to support his weight. There were some awkward pokes, and I raised my knees to give him a better angle, then he was inside me.

"Okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "You feel great," I whispered, craning my neck to kiss his jaw. And he did. He was probably average in size, but as long as he could reach my sweet spot, that was good enough for me. He began slowly pumping, and I closed my eyes savoring the anticipation. After a couple of minutes, I pulled my ankles up over his thighs, seeking a different angle. Then higher, locking my legs around his hips. It still wasn't quite right, good but in a scratching an itch sort of way. At some point, you realize the itch is still there, even itchier. I arched my back. "Faster," I whispered.

He leaned up and smiled at me, then kissed me. But if he was going faster, it was so incremental I couldn't tell. Then it dawned on me. He was drawing it out, waiting for me to come before he let himself go. I threw my head back, but it was in frustration, not ecstasy. I was never going to get there at this rate. He was nowhere near my clit or my sweet spot, and I was pretty sure if he didn't want to stick a finger in my pussy, he sure as hell wouldn't go near my ass with said finger. I turned to the time old tradition. I faked it, hoping that maybe if he really got going for his own pleasure, then I'd get some, too. How was I to know that my fake orgasm was what he would get off on? It was over almost before it began and he was collapsing next to me, his lips pressed against my neck, murmuring thank you's. Polite to the end, I thought.

As I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, I began plotting. This Steve was a nice guy, just way to PC. I needed to stir his fire up a bit, convince him I could take what he dished out. Because, damn, I really liked the feeling of having a nice guy sleeping next to me, sexual frustration or no. When I rolled onto my side, his arm wrapped around my waist in a most comforting way, and I drifted off.

The next morning, I wiggled my ass against his morning semi-hard on, but he rolled away mumbling apologies about morning breath and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back out, he had pajama bottoms on. I admired the way they hung on his hips, till I remembered my plot and got back to business. "I need a shower," I said, attempting coyness. "Would you like to join me?"

He smiled, but then he said, "No, no. I'll let you have your space. There's extra towels on the rack. I'll go start us something for breakfast." Okay, fine. Scratch non-verbal communication, scratch coyness. I took a quick shower, then dressed, sans bra and with more than a few buttons undone. Unfortunately, on me that wasn't exactly an open invitation. It wasn't like I had cleavage to display, or even to hint at for that matter, but it was a start.

When I got downstairs, he had pancakes cooking. I offered to help, but he refused, so I sat at the breakfast bar and admired the view. When he put the plates down and poured some coffee, I gave him my best smile. "I enjoyed last night, Steve."

"I did, too." He said agreeably.

"I don't want the fun to be over," I hinted.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that!" he exclaimed. "Last night you said you'd never been to this suburb. I thought I could give you a tour, today. We can have lunch down on the pier."

"Oh, um, I don't really have clean clothes..."

"Nonsense, you look great. In fact, I'll give you one of my tee shirts to wear. Save that nice blouse for work."

And so went pretty much the rest of the day. I was beginning to think that the only role I was capable of playing was submissive, because seductress certainly wasn't working for me. But he did ask me to stay another night, and I wasn't ready to give up on him yet. We ordered in pizza and watched football on his big, big screen TV. I snuggled against him, I pulled down the neck of the tee shirt to show off my non-cleavage, and at half-time, I went into the bathroom and took off my slacks. My legs were at least halfway decent looking, so I figured go with your strength. I looked in the mirror. The tee shirt hung just below my ass. Perfect. I started for the door, turned back and removed my panties. Then I headed back to the living room. Unfortunately, my arrival coincided with a touchdown. He didn't look at me. No matter. I snuggled back against him, at which moment he had to jump off the couch in order to help the point after go through the posts. When he settled back down and laid his arm over my shoulder, I pulled his hand down to my bare thigh. Finally, he looked over at me. "I think it's time for bed," I suggested. "Race you."

There was a long pause and I was getting ready to throw in the towel, when he said, "You're on," and practically knocked me on the floor heading for the stairs. Hallelujah, the chorus in my head sang. I raced up the stairs after him. He was in the bathroom when I got to the bedroom. I got on my hands and knees on the bed, letting my bare ass hang out, hoping to give him some ideas. He came out of the bathroom bare-chested, but with his jeans still on. When he got close enough, I settled back on my heels and grabbed the waistband.

"These have got to go," I explained. I kept my eyes on his face. If he had some kind of hang-up about me touching his cock, I wasn't going to push it, but I was sure as hell going to push any other button I could find if it meant getting him to push some of mine. I got his pants undone and slid to the floor along with them, tentatively reaching for his cock. There was a sharp intake of breath when my fingers made contact, but he didn't pull away. He also didn't grab for my head, which thrilled me. That was one of my hang-ups. We all have a few. After a minute of stroking him, I sucked the head into my mouth and gave it a few tentative licks. He was quivering, hopefully with excitement and not from a chill, so I used my hands to guide him into sitting on the edge of the bed. In that position, I could suck him and resume my hands and knees position, still hoping to give him ideas. After just a minute or two, he slid back on the bed, pulling free.

"God, Sky. That feels too good!" Huh? Too good? What guy ever says that? I sat back on my heels.

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Just give me a few minutes." I shrugged and peeled off the tee shirt. No one had ever accused me of being too sexy or too good. I had no idea what to do with that. I climbed back on the bed. He was still sitting with his eyes closed. His cock looked almost painfully hard.

"Why don't I suck you off now, and we can fool around a little later?" I suggested.

"No. I don't want to come in your mouth." I ask again. What guy ever says that? "I want to make love to you. I want to be inside you when I come." Okay, so now we're getting somewhere.

"So let's put a condom on you and get the party started."

"No," he moaned. "I want it to be good for you." If last night was any indication, his foreplay wasn't going to get me there.

"Steve, I'm horny as hell. I have been all day. I'm plenty wet and ready." I didn't want to invade his privacy, but I was pretty sure that if he didn't get some relief soon, he was going to blow a gasket. I opened the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out a condom. "Just let me put this on for you and..."

"No, you touch me with those wonderful hands of yours and I'll come. I don't want to get it all over you." Everyone, all together now. What guy ever says that? At least he took the condom from me and rolled it down over his purplish cock.

"How about doggie style," I suggested hopefully, thinking I could at least help my own clit along.

"No, I love to watch your face." I thought about suggesting cowgirl, but I was afraid I might hurt him, so missionary it was. And once again, I did my best fake orgasm impersonation. And once again, I stared at the ceiling, as he slept cuddled up next to me.

****

The next morning, I slipped out of the townhouse early, and used the fading battery on my cell phone to figure out buses and subways that would get me back to the city. Being Sunday, it took forever, but it wasn't like I had anything else to do. I was so horny, I just wanted to make it home to a hot shower and the highly unfulfilling orgasm offered by my vibrator. And then try to figure out how to explain to the girls that my alleged 'Doctor' had ruined me for plain vanilla.

I drug myself up the steps of the apartment building and greeted the doorman, wearily. If he knew I hadn't been home for a few days -- and he knew -- he didn't mention it. The building was as quiet as a church mouse so I made my way to the mailboxes and collected all the junk mail to sort later. I rode the elevator alone, exited into an empty hall and walked across to my door. I had just dug my key out and was reaching for my door knob when I heard the stair door behind me softly open, then click shut. I didn't turn around. I didn't have to. Every part of my body from my nipples down was clenching or spasming in recognition of potential relief. I rested my forehead on the cool wood of my door.

"How was he? Your Vanilla Man?" a deep soft voice from behind me said. He pressed against me, pressed me against the door. My ass was suddenly on fire with need when I felt his erection pushing so hard against me, so close, as if there were no cloth at all between us. His long fingers wrapped around my hand and he was guiding my key to the lock, turning my hand to turn the key. As the door began to swing open, he looped an arm about my waist, supporting me. I would have fallen otherwise, and he knew that. Even as he knew I was trembling with need and not fear. He knew everything. How could I ever be free of someone who knew my insides better than I did? For the first time, I was asking myself if I wanted to be free of him.

He pulled me into his arms, kicking the door closed, and carried me into the main room, sitting me at the dining table. My ass screamed in frustration. It wanted to be fucked, hurt even, as if all of the dissatisfaction, all of the futility of the weekend demanded penance. A wine glass appeared in front of me. I didn't remember having any wine in the fridge, but then I saw him pull a bottle from his pocket. A real boy scout, I said to myself, and snickered. I knew at least one of my voices was pissed it hadn't come up with that first. He paused, looking at me. So maybe he didn't know everything that went on inside of me. Just the stuff below the waist.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

A question. So I was allowed to talk now. Except I couldn't remember. I shook my head. "I don't think so."

He made that peculiar exasperation noise of his and looked through my fridge. He pulled out a paper tray of chicken, sniffed it and set it in front of me. "Eat."

Then he opened the wine, but he wouldn't pour it until I took a bite of the chicken. I don't like cold chicken, but I didn't have the energy to put it in the microwave, so I forced myself to eat. He poured some wine for me, then unloaded laundry from the other dining chair and sat, almost knee to knee with me. Whenever he decided I was drinking more than I was eating, he took the wine glass and held it just out of my reach. But he did eventually refill it, so there was that. When I had gotten through most of the chicken, he spoke again.

"Do you know why he didn't satisfy you? Your Vanilla Man?"

So he had asked me another question, meaning I was allowed to talk. Did that mean I could only answer the question, or could I change the topic?

"Why do you call him Vanilla Man?" I countered.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You do that with everybody. Give them descriptive names. I guessed that was his."

"Not everybody," I stated, holding out the glass for more wine. He seemed to gauge for a minute, then relented, and poured me some more.

"I know. You don't know what to call me, do you, cherie? That's because I'm more real than anybody else in your life. I'm whole, and not just an aspect like hair color."

"More real? Don't you mean more surreal?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. You haven't answered my original question."

I played the conversation in reverse until I figured out what question he meant. "How do you know he didn't satisfy me?"

"Look at you. I told you, I've explained all this. You feed on your need to obey, to be controlled. You're like a starving woman. Let me tell you how it went. The first night, you kept waiting for him to tell you what to do, tell you what he wanted, to take and demand more. Yes? The second night, in desperation, you tried to tell him what you needed, offer him the chance to give you something, anything remotely like a command, a request, a what if, a maybe. Something you could choose to perceive as a command. And when he didn't, you starved a little more. And now?"

"And now," I repeated flatly.

"And now you are so weak, you have no fight left. It is much more fun for me when you resist. Your eventual capitulation is that much more... savory."

"Then why didn't you do anything Monday night?"

"Fear does nothing for me. Fear is like tainted meat. I told you, I feed on your obedience, on controlling you. Do I take a whip to you? No. Because you would have only fear. What good is that to me? One day, you will accept the whip, because it is what I want and your only desire, your only need will be to obey me."

"No!" I shouted, slamming the wine glass down. He pried it out of my fingers.

"Perhaps not," he agreed with a shrug. "Every sub is different. Finding those differences is part of the treasure hunt."

He suddenly stood and pulled me to my feet. "Come. You have fed your belly. Now let us feed your soul." He pushed me ahead of him, toward the bedroom. I didn't resist.

Once in the bedroom, he reached around from behind and unbuttoned my blouse, pulling it from my shoulders, then quickly undid my bra and discarded it. A moment later, my slacks and panties were down around my ankles and he was pulling me to step free of the pile of clothes. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap.

"Tonight, cherie, these are the rules you will obey." I leaned against his hard chest. I felt like a little girl; I didn't like the feeling, I just couldn't grasp any other image for myself at the moment. "You will be silent. You will not move without my permission. You will not change position without my permission. You will not ask for anything. You will do whatever I ask of you. You will accept whatever I do to you."

"Sir?" I said, so softly I wasn't sure if he would be able to hear.

"Speak."

"May I come?" I almost cringed, afraid he would deny me what I needed right now for life alone.

He kissed my forehead. "Tonight, you may come at will, cherie."

I burst into tears. I wasn't even sure why. Even the voices in my head were astounded into silence. But he knew, and he waited until I had calmed somewhat, even handed me a Kleenex, then he said, "Hush," and his hand brushed softly through my hair. I did a couple of sup-sups, then waited for him to do with me as he willed. His kissed my forehead again, then laid me on the bed and began removing his clothes. I swear I worshiped that marble-hewn chest and that cock that pointed at me with absolute determination and infinite patience.

"Hands and knees," he said. I instantly obeyed.

"You'd better be wet." I wasn't sure how to take that, but since I'd been constantly wet for the last two days, I wasn't concerned. When he slammed into me, his intent became clear. Maybe his cock wasn't so infinitely patient, after all. I didn't care. As long as his balls kept slapping my clit and his cock kept filling my emptiness, I was home. It only took moments before an orgasm rose like a tidal wave in my belly. I bit my lip so hard to keep from making a sound, that I drew blood. Perhaps he realized that, because even as he kept slamming home, he twisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head around until he could lean over me and kiss me, sucking at my lower lip, drawing my blood forth. When his tongue sank deep in my mouth, I knew I was grunting each time he bottomed out in my pussy. Without being able to bite my lip or my tongue, there was no way to contain the sound. I knew I would pay for it later. I tried to care, but I was being distracted by pleasure in the moment. When he straightened and grabbed my hips to slam even harder inside me, I felt the pulsations along the length of his thick cock, and I came again from the sheer thrill of knowing I had given him pleasure. It might not have registered on the Richter scale, but there was a warmth associated with it that I had not felt before. I just knew I wanted to feel it again.