No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11

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"Honey, he's going to just eat you up alive. There'll be nothing left of you. It's already happening." Carole practically tsked her disapproval before slurping a little of her coffee.

Marcie just looked at her and laughed. "C'mon, it's just jealousy. Admit it, you'd give your eyeteeth for a guy like him."

Her friend was only slightly amused. "I know, when people get together and decide to get married, they agree to give up some freedom. Shit, that's what it's about, right? Giving up a little independence to have a life-long companion. I get that. But you and Monty." She shook her head. "It's too one-sided – he's got all the cards."

Marcie silently reminded herself that Carole could be an insensitive clod sometimes. "Thanks a lot," she shot back sarcastically. "You really give me a lot of credit."

"Oh, c'mon Marcie. I know love is blind and all that, but seriously, are you that good in bed? Is it your spectacular body? What happens when the sex is over, when, 10 years from now, you're breasts are sagging, you've got two brats running around and he decides he needs to start up with another sweet young thing?"

"Carole! I thought you were happy for me? What's going on?"

Her friend just shook her head and looked away. "I am happy for you, baby. I think you are the luckiest woman alive. I just...I'm sorry. That was a really stupid thing to say. I'm just concerned for you. He's richer than God and I...I guess I've been hearing a lot of 'Monty this' and 'Monty that.' Shit. I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right."

Marcie had the urge to defend herself and her relationship, but just pressed her lips together and looked back at the list they had been making. "If you don't want to do this right now, we could stop."

"No. Shit. I'm sorry. No. Where were we – bridesmaid dresses...I really really liked those two at the last shop, did you?"

The memory of their conversation drifted in and out of her consciousness as she sat in the house (she had stopped calling it his house a few days ago) looking around at what would be her new home. Was it just jealousy, or was Marcie giving up too much for a life only imaginable in gothic novels?

She was sitting on the deck looking out over the greenery and thought about how much her life had changed, just in the last couple of months, since the therapy had begun, or maybe since they revealed their secrets to each other. Whatever it was, she had definitely changed. The thought of exposing herself to strangers was no less a turn-on to her (even now the tingle in her nipples at the possibility of stripping and lounging in the middle of the day teased her), but her feelings about it had completely changed.

She entertained the idea of standing up and removing her clothes. No one was expected at the house, as far she could remember – the staff's schedules were still something of a mystery to her, and no one could see her from across the way. She stood up, moving her hand to the top button of her blouse.

Like now, the idea of stripping, of exhibiting herself was no longer associated with guilt or shame, but with an internal joy at being free, of showing off, of exciting others with her body, of causing Monty to get hard. She had removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra. She loved the feeling of the air on her naked breasts; she loved feeling her nipples harden, her areolae crinkle up into goosebumps.

Okay, so you're not so guilty and ashamed at being an exhibitionist. How about being Monty's slut? The thought stopped her mid-motion as she had been sliding her skirt off. Monty's slut. Is that what was bothering Carole? That she had been giving up her freedom to be Monty's fuck toy?

She let her skirt drop and reflected on that idea for a few heartbeats. Monty and she had gone over this enough times he was getting a little tired of the conversation. But it remained a recurring worry of hers; forget about Carole – not so much that she was a label as he liked to say, but that she had given up her independence. The weekend at Grey's Pointe came rushing back to her, the night he forced her to walk upstairs naked, his finger buried in her asshole. Her acquiescence in the theater the night she felt the stars on her skin. The image of kneeling at his feet, right after his proposal. She shivered at the memories, a pulse of arousal moving through her. She was still turned on by the thought of submitting to him.

She stood there, half-naked, her skirt at her feet and looked around. What the fuck am I doing? Am I willing to just be his plaything? Does he just want me as his toy? With most of her brain, she knew he didn't, that he wanted her to be happy, but a small (and loud) part of her continued to question her choices. She ran her fingers along her belly and ribs, sending little lightning bolts of pleasure up her spine. Hooking her panty waistband in her thumbs she slid them off, freeing herself completely. She lay back down on the chaise continuing her self-criticism.

No! He wants to have a child with me. He wants me to be a part of his life forever. He's just preparing me. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. She had seen the alternate past. She knew what he had been telling her was true, but she couldn't possibly convince Carole – there was no way to get her to understand.

She let her hand drift down to her cunny, feeling her strip of pubic hair tickling her palm and thought further about her relationship. Maybe not his plaything, but maybe Carole is right on one point, I am submitting to his needs. The word submit stuck in her mind and the images of her becoming his submissive blocked every other thought. Was she giving up more than just her independence as a single woman? Was she unconsciously drifting into a submissive power relationship with him? Was Carole more right than wrong about becoming consumed by his...power, influence, domination?

She knew in her heart that it wasn't true. Monty hadn't asked her to let go of herself. Her finger sparked arousal into her core. It wasn't hard for her to ignite the white fire – she could feel a flicker of it starting just from touching her clit. That alone was a major gift he'd given her – something she'd never be able to explain to her friends. It wasn't something she'd even revealed to Patti – it was too hard to explain.

He hadn't asked her to submit to his will, in spite of what their behaviors might look like on the surface. The images of her kneeling and taking him into her mouth, of him penetrating her in the elevator, the ritual cleansing, the weekend at Grey's Pointe all rapidly flashed behind her eyes extending the white flame higher up her spine. If that is what being a submissive is, I suppose that's what I'm becoming and the thought only turned her on more.

She wasn't so aroused that she couldn't stay a little objective. Submissive. It was just another title she was hanging on herself like slut, or fuck toy, or exhibitionist. That's what Monty, and Patti, had both been saying. She could hear her therapist's voice whispering in her ear:

"Are you both role playing as a part of your sex life? Is it consensual? Or is he demanding something from you that you aren't comfortable giving?"

She smiled at the scene she'd painted and realized she was probably getting close to not needing Patti anymore, or at least not needing to see her so frequently. So what if she was letting go of her independence? That's what marriage was about. And at this stage of their relationship, she was willing to submit to some things she'd never had considered in a million years just six months ago.

She remembered he had asked her to not masturbate, or was it not cum? She didn't remember, but the white fire had reached the top of her spine and licked there, flickering in time with her finger's rubbing of her clit and pussy. She stopped, letting it settle and removed her hand. She didn't need to go there right now. She wanted to feel his cock, not her finger, maybe even his fist; there was another thing she'd never had thought she would yearn for – a lover's entire fist shoved inside her. But when Monty did it, it was like lighting a fuse – the white fire leapt into her head.

She licked her lips, thinking about having him shove his fist inside her and pull on her tongue. She moaned at the thought and with all her will, pulled her hands away from her body, spreading herself out on the chaise to let the afternoon breeze caress her.