RoseAnn Discovers Dominance Pt. 33

At that point, I should have gotten back in my car and driven away. Instead, I followed him inside and slipped off my coat, hanging it on the familiar row of hooks behind the door. I was surprised to see that a worn sweater of mine still hung there.

The interior of the trailer was tidy and newly furnished. Decorations and touches of color had been added. It looked neat, comfortable, and inviting. I sat on the new couch, which was good quality and very comfortable.

"Where's Cheryl?" I persisted.

Mike rummaged in the refrigerator and brought out two cans of beer. "She's gone. She tried to trap me into marrying her."

"Trap you?"

"She quit taking her birth control and didn't tell me. She made me fuck her until she was pregnant. She thought she'd trap me into marrying her."

"She made you have sex with her?" I would have said 'fuck' a year ago, but I no longer felt comfortable talking that way around Mike. "You always wanted to have your...I mean, you know what you always wanted."

"Oh, I remember. I remember real well. But she wasn't any good at it." He handed me a can of beer and took a long swallow of his own. "She complained and choked all the time--"

"I don't really want to hear it," I said.

"Fucking was the only thing she knew how to do."

"So she got pregnant and you kicked her out."

"Her parents took her in. They said they never would, but they're her parents, right? Now I'm on my own. In a month, I'm off to basic training, but there'll be no one at home waiting for me."

"Why did you fix up the trailer if you're going away soon?"

"I hoped I could talk you into coming back and living here. You know, when it was good, we had it really good. It can be that way again."

I didn't remember it being good. Perhaps for the two or three months after we were married. After that, it was a pervasive sense of entrapment and sometimes terror. Not to mention a daily mouthful of Mike's jizz.

"Mike, I've got to go."

I moved to get up, but he went to his knees in front of me so I couldn't help but look into those brilliant eyes. But their challenging gaze had been replaced by a shadow of fear. I remembered how I sometimes loved the hold he had over me, even when the results were tearful and even painful, I remembered how strong he was and how he once dominated my every action.

"RoseAnn, I want to win you back. But I'm going away and I might be killed. I might end up like Don Whitten. Will you give me something just one more time?"

"I...I...don't know." I hated myself for weakening. This wasn't fair to Craig, and it wasn't fair to myself. But Mike's eyes made it impossible to refuse him outright, or even to look away. "What do you want?"

"Anything. But what I really need is what you were so good at. You know what I mean."

Yes, I knew what he meant. I wanted to say no. But my mouth opened and no words came.

He clutched at my wrists. "Do you want me to spell it out? Please suck my cock, RoseAnn. That's how you used to show you loved me. I need to remember it while I'm away. And I need someone to remember me if anything happens."

I stood up, but he rose with me, still holding my hands. "RoseAnn, please." He kissed me. I couldn't help myself. I was aroused in spite of myself, and I kissed him back. He moved his hands to my shoulders and bore down gently. I sank to my knees without struggling.

He sobbed, "I think about you all the time."

I tried to stand up again, but he wound his hands in my hair and pulled my face against his crotch. He sobbed, loudly. He was crying! I'd never heard him cry before. I felt wetness on my face; I was crying, too. He turned my cheek against his jeans so I could feel his erection. "Please, RoseAnn." It was a mournful, desperate plea.

My hands, on their own volition, came up and loosened his belt and zipper. I pulled his pants down to his knees. The tip of his cock protruded from the leg of his briefs, and I remembered how long and thick it was, and how it filled my mouth. I kissed the silken tip while I fumbled for the elastic waistband of the briefs. I pulled them down until the beautiful organ swung free, and watched in wonder as it continued to swell to full size.

"Yes, lover, that's the way," he whispered. His hands still clutched at my hair, but he relaxed them so I could rear my head and take his magnificent cock in my mouth. I closed my eyes and took the glans between my lips. I wanted to take it slow, making love to every inch, but he thrust hard until the tip touched the back of my throat. My lips were stretched nearly to the point of pain. The great organ throbbed like a living animal.

I was momentarily conscious of wetness between my legs, and a drop of moisture trickling down my thigh.

He groaned aloud. I opened my eyes again and saw the tangle of black hair at the root of his cock. I looked up into his eyes, their blue irises dull and glazed at this moment, as if he were in a trance. His hips began to move, to thrust. At each stroke, he touched the back of my throat. My tears flowed down to my lips and even onto his cock, and I tasted them with each stroke. From long habit, I brought my tongue into play at this point, dragging it slowly back and forth across the underside of his shaft.

"Oh my God, RoseAnn, what did I ever do to make you go away? I must have been crazy. I love you, RoseAnn. It's been so long--uh!"

The climax of this dance of sex was still familiar to me. The tip swelled against my palate in the first, dry contraction. Then he grunted again, and hot fluid gushed into my throat. My reflexes were still perfect, and I swallowed in time to avoid choking, and swallowed again, and swallowed again, taking each hot jet down my throat as it was delivered.

An orgasm, not strong, but very real, shuddered through me at this most intimate moment.

Almost immediately it was over, and I became aware of where I was and what I'd done. Mike, sighing noisily, let go of my hair. I sank down and sat on the floor. His pants were piled around his feet, his underwear on top. His softening cock poked from under his shirt. He looked ridiculous. A drop of semen fell on my wrist, and I became aware of the taste of his jizz. It was easy to ignore in the frenzy of his orgasm--and mine--but afterward, it tasted like I'd rinsed my mouth with bleach.

I felt sick to my stomach. It wasn't the semen I'd just swallowed, or its foul taste. As much as I loathed it, swallowing his come had never actually made me sick. It was the sheer tawdriness of what I'd done. It was only a small step above offering my mouth to an unwashed bum in a bus station toilet. And I'd actually had an orgasm, which sealed my humiliation.

"Oh, Jesus, RoseAnn. That was so good. I've missed it more than you can imagine. I love you."

I didn't say anything. I wanted to take a shower, even though I knew I'd still feel dirty afterward. I was going to feel dirty forever. I'd ignored my debt to Craig, which so far I'd cheerfully paid with fidelity and the domination he needed. Now I'd gone and fucked that up, too.

Without taking the time to wipe himself, Mike pulled up his pants and fastened his belt. "Was it just my imagination," he said, "or did you come, too?"

"No, I didn't," I lied, without looking up. "You're going away. I wanted to make it worth remembering, that's all. It isn't going to happen again, not ever."

"But I fixed this place up for you."

"I see that, but you and I have been over for a year now. We're still over, and it will stay that way." I stood up and found the can of beer, and used the last of it to wash away the taste of his jizz.

"Can I write to you from Viet Nam?"