Submissive Desires

Two

"Help me get to the bathroom, and then make me something very, very gentle to eat. Eggs."

She was being oddly bossy, but I nodded. I was asking a favor and she wanted one back. I helped her over to her new best friend, Clay Flushmore, and scrambled some eggs, not listening to the vomiting.

She walked into the kitchen under her own power, though with a hand on the wall, and sat. "Never again with the vodka. I promised that, right?"

I nodded, and slid a plate of eggs next to her. She looked at it, looked away, but then forced herself to take a bite. It stayed down and she gave a tentative smile. "Thank you."

"Tell me about Andrei."

"Classy... I will try but you have to put aside everything you believe about men and women. I have... this is going to sound awful. I've seen your last two boyfriends. They were lapdogs, kind, obedient, so eager to please. But it's better to be eager to please a man, much better. It gets our minds off ourselves, where they were never meant to stay. When Andrei is with me he is totally focused on me, and I am on him, the intensity is something I have no words for you. If you stepped between him and I, he would swat you aside like a bug. I know because it has happened. He makes me his and I get to know that I am his. Holding a door open for a girl doesn't say that. Taking me by the hair and requiring that I kneel to him so he can feel the pleasure of my mouth, that is when I know I am his. I am claimed. He demands things of me and what I feel is an ache to yield to those demands because I want to be claimed fully. He demands I be what I know myself to be – yielding, giving, generous, eager to please. I become myself when I am with him because he gives me the strength to tear off the veil of self-sufficiency and self-determination and just let me myself, a small, beautiful, willing, offering of pleasure. You can't imagine the peace I feel when I sate him, the happiness when I make him laugh."

"What I can't imagine is the six orgasms you have," I said, and then I blushed horribly, utterly shocked I'd said that.

"Three is more common," she said, primly. "Usually by then he comes and then he is done. These men in fantasy stories that want it every hour for days at a time, how horrible that would be. You'd never felt like you did a good enough job... Nothing is sweeter than a man on the edge of sleep after being sated. But sometimes he is more about my orgasms than his own, and when he is... playful like that... and oh, he knows how to be playful. He can make my begging turn to screams. He knows me inside and out. Every secret known, because he demands to know. Do you see? He doesn't let me hide anything, so I have to be myself with him, completely myself."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty seven. Don't ask me where he got his insight into females at that age. Maybe demons whisper to him in the night. But not when he's with me. I make sure he sleeps very well," she said, eyes glinting. Then she winced, and held her stomach.

"So... after the party, you contacted him..."

"And when I told him who I was, he said, 'finally, it has been six days, why did you make me wait? I will see you tomorrow at five at night, at the fountain up in the hills north of your town...' and then he hung up. Classy it was a two hour walk – I had no car – to that fountain. I was very used to walking places but even a half hour would have gotten me to an abandoned farmhouse where we could have met in secret, and I was nervous walking so far from town for someone I barely knew. And maybe a little annoyed. And when I got there... no one. But then I heard a noise – he was climbing the cliff face below the fountain with a large pack on his back. He called up to me, apologized for being late, and when he got to the top he dunked his head in the fountain's water and then unpacked his pack, setting out a rich picnic for us both.