Changing Tide Ch. 02: Drowning Man

It was inevitable. No matter how thoroughly I tamed you the first time, it was just a matter of time before you started acting up again.

I'm at a bar down the street, pounding straight whiskey at eleven in the morning on a Sunday. And you're at home, in our bed. Today you'll probably get up around 1PM and shower, get dressed in a tiny bikini and head off to a hangover brunch by the pool with your stupid, slutty girlfriends.

I don't know what kind of dudes show up to those little gatherings, nor do I want to know. I am very aware that guys pretty much wait all week to head over there. I'm sure they're all ex-fratboy types, the truest type of assholes. And I'm sure they pound beer or vodka and Red Bull, making them hornier as the afternoon unravels.

Juiced-up UFC wannabes, staring at your huge tits as you sunbathe and get tipsy on mimosas.

It makes me so fucking pissed off, but I keep it to myself. I know the rules to this stupid game.

But Sunday is when I'm supposed to have you all to myself. Couple time. Quality time. Isn't that what girls always say they want?

I order another whiskey, surprised that the first one has hardly gotten to me. I'm feeling pretty worked up, so I dare myself to pound this next drink down. I do. Easily.

My brain spins a little bit now...

I showed you the demon, didn't I? Maybe it was always there, but you brought it out in me.

Symbolically, I left my "Dom" items that I ordered in your closet and not mine. The ball gag, all those restraints of varying sizes and materials, the blindfolds, the paddles and even a whip, something called a "spreader bar" which I've not even educated myself on just yet, the buttplugs...

They're all up there, next to your ridiculously large collection of shoes. Waiting to be used, yet they never have.

They scare me, probably more than they should scare you. As hard as I've gotten thinking about them, I've left each one untouched.

Hoping. Hoping you'd help me keep the demon restrained. Because surely you must know how crazy things will get if that demon gets out, if you allow him to come play with you.

For a while, you were good. Very, very good. Sweeter to me than I could have hoped for, kissing me in the morning before I headed to the shower. Kissing me again at night when I was done in my studio.

Cooking dinner for us. Not going out without at least telling me first. Dressing less slutty on those weekend nights when I couldn't go out to the clubs and parties with you.

Coming home to me much, much earlier and tenderly cuddling up to me in bed when you did.

Sucking and fucking me regularly again, and I'd love every second of it of course. I'd get a little rough, but not very and not often. Even when I wanted to VERY badly, I held back. I pushed the demon down, kept its claws retracted.

Against my better judgment, I didn't throw your damn toys away. And even though you knew that you weren't to play with them without my presence and without my permission, I admit that I wasn't very strong in my enforcement of the rule.

Now you're partying too much, often without me. And taking those fucking pills again that I don't want you to take.

There's only one thing worse than the pills... I'm afraid you're fucking around on me. Even if it isn't a full-on affair, you're probably thinking about it. I have a feeling that if I went through your phone, I wouldn't be too happy with what I saw.

It shouldn't be this hard. I'm a man in love, sure, and therefore lost in helplessness much of the time. But I'm also me, right? There's plenty of things about me, on paper, that should ensure that a girl won't do these things to me. I'm tall, I'm handsome, I have money, I have a big dick. But you don't care, do you?

You. Drive. Me. Insane.

When I get home, I'm a little bit more than tipsy. Not quite drunk, but definitely not sober either.

I can smell you in the entryway. Either you have just gotten home or you just left. Standing here, I am aware of each milliliter of my blood; it's as if I can feel all of it pumping in and out of my heart with a frantic ache.

My head isn't spinning like it should be, considering how much I have had to drink. My thoughts are just blurred a little. Slowed. Dreamy.

I walk to the winding spiral staircase, and as I climb the steps I smell you stronger and deeper in the air.

Then I hear you. You're talking to someone on the phone. Giggling.

Following the sound of your voice, I pass our bedroom and keep walking to the little den that's nestled in the upstairs corner of the loft. There I find that you're hanging upside down off the love seat, high heels up in the air, cell phone in hand. The odd ways you position that body of yours never cease to amaze me. You look like a carefree, dumb little sixteen year old.

Engulfed in your conversation, you don't notice my footsteps on the wood floors. But I use this to my advantage. I lean against the wall and just watch you, smiling.

You're talking to a friend back home in Phoenix, that much I decipher quickly. The dress you're wearing clings tightly to your body; gravity causes the hem to fall just above your inner thighs.

Your cleavage is obvious, your tits spill upwards. Your hair cascades around your face too, creating a platinum medusa look.

How long has it been since I fucked you? Probably only a week or so, but it feels like so much longer. Lately I've been going through the motions in bed with you, just trying to satisfy the incessant craving without letting the demon off the leash.

Something knocks my brain hard as I stand here watching you. A notion, a realization, whatever the hell you want to call it:

You. Need. The. Demon.

I'm sure that I have known this for the past seven months, probably even before that. At this moment though it is so fully clear to me.

You need me to be that way with you. You need me to dominate you. Need me to take you, to discipline you, to claim you roughly and remind you that you are mine. You're the kind of girl that needs structure and rules, if only to have your fun shattering them and be punished for it later to learn a lesson.

I'd never seen such adoration in your eyes as I did that night and the morning after. I'd never felt and seen you cum that hard. You haven't looked at me quite that way since, haven't gotten off like that since either, so why the fuck have I been ignoring the truth?

It does scare me, my own "Dom" potential. I'm so new to all this, I admit it. I'm a rookie. But I like it. A LOT.

But I must maintain full control at all times. And I don't know if I'm capable of that, but here goes nothing.

And GOD, it turns me on. My cock throbs just allowing my mind to think about it, the things I want to do to you. Taking back all the control that you take from me emotionally, and then some. There's at least one place where I can run the show, right? You need to be shown that again.

The paddling, the gagging, the choking. Restraining you roughly, torturous teasing, making you beg me with tears in your eyes for an orgasm.

FUCK.

I push myself off the wall and take quick, long steps towards the love seat. The second you see me hovering above you, I kneel down on the floor and grab your hair and face. Upside down, I kiss you like I haven't seen you in months. You squeal a little bit with surprise into my mouth.

You pull away and say into the phone: "Sorry. Tyler's here and he's being a weirdo."

"Hang up the phone," I tell you. Softly but with my voice flat and strong. This is not a question or a request. This is an order, and it's up to you to understand that and obey.

Maybe a decent re-start for a newbie Dom. That's all I can hope for at this point.

"What? Why?" you ask, smiling dismissively at me before going back into your conversation.

I move my hand to your hair, picking a large section of it from off the wood floor. I pull on it, just a bit.

"Ow! Tyler what the fuck? I'll be off the phone in a second!"

My hand turns to a fist and I pull much, much tighter. You gasp with pain and wince as I move my lips down to one of your ears and harshly, quietly tell you "Hang up your fucking phone right now, slut, or I'm going to spend all night wrecking you."

There's a strong second where our eyes meet; yours are narrowed, in obstinence, because you're a fucking brat and this is the type of thing that brats do.

"Yeah, Becca, I'm still here," you answer to the questioning, muffled voice coming from the cell phone in your palm. Then, a pause where we keep staring into each other's eyes.

The blood roars as heart pounds. This is it...

"Oh, nothing," you add, speaking into your cell, "he's just being annoying right now. Anyway, what were you saying?"

Before I can register the actual movements I'm making, my hand reaches down and grabs your phone. I tear it from your ear and calmly push "end" before you can stop me. I then hold it tight in my hand as you flail your legs down and toss those skinny arms up at me. You're raising your neck and engaging your abs so you could sit up. Unfortunately, I go ahead and sit down ontop of you before you can right your body.

I squat on your upper torso, resting on you like a stool. Your tits are squashed nicely beneath my knees, my thighs strongly keeping you in place.

"What in the fuck is wrong with you?!" you yell, still trying to thrash under me.

"I asked you to do something and you didn't," I say matter-of-factly.

"So fucking what?! Do I ever ask you to get off your phone calls?"

My hands wrap underneath your body. I'm rubbing the small of your back and your hips with my palms.

"I would," I tell you softly. "I'd do a lot of things you asked me to do. That's the difference between you and I, princess."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes, "give me back my phone. And GET OFF ME!"

I throw your phone and hear it hit the wall, then the hard floor. Before you can react I lean down and wrap your face with my hands. Gripping you lightly. With tenderness, I bring our faces together and kiss your cheek. "I need to talk to you about some things," I say, close to your ear.

"There's better ways of initiating that, dumbass," you bark.

"Not with you there isn't."

I take both your wrists in one of my hands and pull your arms down, away from the sofa as I guide you off of it.

I'm pulling you back until you're on the wood floor, on your back, with me spread flat on top of you. I pin your slight frame completely with my entire body, draping it over you.

You don't try to wiggle around or fight much. Even you must realize that it's going to be nothing but a waste of energy to do so.

"Tyler, this is retarded."

With your tiny wrists still held tightly in my right hand, I lean down and start kissing the side of your neck. You flail a little bit beneath me, trying to push some momentum into my torso.

"Just stop," I breathe. "Stop."

My heart is still pounding. In my jeans I can feel my dick stirring, but I'm pretty pleased with myself that I'm not at full or even at half mast.

The smell of you is overwhelmingly sweet and sexy as I nuzzle your pale, thin neck. I move my lips along your shoulder and then along your collar bone.

"Now you're being a creeper too? Great, yeah, that's a huge turn on," you say cruelly.

To which I bite down on your shoulder, hard enough to make you yelp with pain. Immediately after the bite, I grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head off the ground. You are forced to look right into my eyes.

"Slut? I know what turns you on better than you do," I growl. And the sheer sound of it coming from my throat surprises even me.

Your eyes go wide with some degree of shock. Still holding your hair, I shove my now half-hard cock down into you. A rough and hard dry fuck. It makes you cry out a little bit.

So I do it again: hold onto your hair and sharply push my growing groin into you.

Another nice little sound comes out of you. Like a gasp, but louder and higher pitched.

"Yeah?" I ask you. "You like that?"

Your face is flushed, your eyes wild. "No," you whine, "you're hurting me!"

I feel a smile creep across my face. "I'm sorry, baby," I purr and release my grip on your hair. Just a little.

I place soft, slow kisses all over both sides of your neck, still gripping you tight with my left hand. I thrust myself into you again, and this time I'm impossibly hard.

You make another sound, one I'm a much bigger fan of: a horny whimper that makes me throb.

"That does feel good, doesn't it baby?" I ask you softly.

You nod your head, just a little. Your eyes look up at me with a fresh brightness, a gloss in them. A light. I haven't seen that look in a while, so I cherish it as I smile.

I bury my lips into your neck again, kissing the skin there harder. My tongue flicks out of my mouth repeatedly as I taste your flesh.

You moan. Maybe you're trying to hide or stifle it, but you moan nevertheless. I start to grind into you more and you moan for me even louder. I release your wrists and grab your waist with both hands as I kiss you. Your tongue flickers in my mouth. It's a slow, deep kiss that makes my head spin.

Then I pull away. "Get up," I tell you as I start to do the same.

Once you're on your feet, I clutch you and lead you down the hall to our bedroom.

In the threshold I pick you up and carry you to the bed, where I position us so you're sitting in my lap. I cup your lower back, my other hand I rest lightly on the nape of your neck.

"So we gotta talk," I tell you quietly, leaning my face into yours.

"About what?" you ask, sweetly. Your bedroom voice. The voice that always distracts me, always makes me weak.

But not today.

"You were going to run off to Kim's house today weren't you?"

"Maybe. I hadn't decided yet."

My hand goes to the hem of your tiny dress and I pull it up a bit until I can feel your upper thigh and then your waist. I explore with my palm until I find exactly what I'm looking for: the tell-tale tie strings of a bikini bottom.

I grab the side strap, pull it out and then snap it hard against your skin.

"See, baby, this is just the type of thing I'm talking about..."

"What's the big deal?" you ask me, oh-so-innocently.

I pick you up, spin you around in the air and lay you out on your back. Again I'm pinning you down, looking at you as I loom above your face.

"Don't. Just don't. Don't play dumb. You fucking know," I say loudly. My anger is flaring and I can feel my breath pick up. "You know why I don't want you to leave all day on Sundays, and you fucking know why it's such a slap in my face to go and do that."

"Do what?" you're asking, still playing dumb.

"Single girls go to Kim's," I tell you, angry that you're even making me explain myself, "because of the boys, and the booze. That's what single sluts do when they want some action before the week starts. Are you single, Jessica? Are you a little slut that wants to get felt up? You want to get fucked poolside by random guys?!"

You're alarmed, and rightly so because I'm yelling. You try to wrap your arms around my neck so you can soothe me. Instead, I pull away and fling your body upright. My hands grip you, I'm quickly ripping the little dress up and over your head.

You're left in just the bikini, and my chest heaves and burns as I take in the first sight of it.

"Stand up," I tell you.

"What?"

"You heard me. Stand up. Now."

You roll your eyes and flip your hair, the bratty bitch as always, but you still do as you are told. You stand there beside the bed in just your bikini and your high-heeled sandals.

I look you up and down. The bathing suit is extremely skimpy, even for you. Tiny red triangles and not much else. Eighty percent of your titties are hanging out.

"Turn around," I order.

You do. I see that the little triangle in back covers your ass just barely enough to not be completely obscene.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask. You spin back around so you're facing me and you smirk.

"Oh, I get it. You want me to wear a burka out at the pool from now on?"

"I want you to not look like a goddamn cheap tramp when I'm not around. I want you to not advertise that body of yours like it's open for business. I want you to not force all male vision within a quarter mile to your tits and ass. I want you to not jump-start potential rapists. I want you to THINK of ME in some way, at some fucking point! I want you to show me the tiniest bit of fucking respect every now and then!"

Gradually, my rant has raised in volume until it becomes a shout. Your shoulders flinch up, you look afraid.

"I'm, I'm sorry," you say quietly. "I didn't know, I mean, why didn't you tell me it upset you so much?"

"Because you never listen to me. Now take it off."

"What?" you giggle nervously.

"TAKE. IT. OFF."

"Tyler, what are you—"

"—Shut up and strip. Get that shit off of you right now. Stop acting like you can't hear me."

You look in my eyes for a sign of what's going on, of what to expect or how to navigate your way through this, but you are at least smart enough to pull the bikini bottoms down and begin stripping as you do. I return your eye contact, glaring right into you while you get naked and toss the bikini off to the side.

You stand there now in your platform pool sandals and jewelry, and nothing else.

"Come here," I tell you. And the look in my eye is there to tell you not to dare question me any further.

You comply and take a few steps to the bed. When you're in front of me, inches away, I grab your ass with full-strength. You gasp and jump, but I have your cheeks already clenched tightly in my hands.

And then I dare you to look away, to break my eye contact as I spit a question in your face: "What am I to you?"

Tears form in your pretty eyes. "What are you to me?" you stutter.

I feel my face contorting with anger as I pull you towards me, into me, grabbing your skin so hard that you yelp out helplessly with pain.

"You're my boyfriend!" you cry out, finally giving me some sort of an answer.

"Really?" I say loudly into your face, "not a doormat?"

"No!"

"Not a walking ATM?"

"No!"

"Not someone to leave at home while you go off and live your real life?"

"NO!"

And now you're really sobbing. I loosen my grip and kiss your forehead, then your cheek.

"Stop it," I tell you softly. "Stop crying. It's alright. I just have to show you some things, kitten."

"What do you mean?" you ask quietly as you wrap your arms around my neck.

I pull away and look at your face. "I'm not just your boyfriend anymore, babydoll. I need to be a little bit more."

The confusion in your eyes, on your face is so incredibly cute. You really have no idea what's about to happen.

"What?" I don't understand..."

"I know, but you will. Now get down on your knees and put your hands behind your back."

You look at me, blinking, more confusion fresh in your dilating pupils. "Seriously?"

"YES, Jessica. Get DOWN on the FLOOR. On your KNEES. Hands behind your BACK."

You drop fast, much faster than I thought you would. You do as I instructed with your hands, holding one wrist in the other behind your back.

"Good girl. Now close your eyes."

You obey this command too, and I smile. My heart is electrified. My cock is throbbing hard in my jeans as I watch you submit.

I walk to your closet. Unlike my anxieties related to this exact moment, I actually know what items I want and precisely how I'm going to use them. Easily, I find the small set of restraints and then the paddle. I leave the ballgag up on the shelf because I want to hear you scream full-force. I also leave the blindfold because I want to see the look in your eyes as I do this again.