Submissive Desires

Fourteen

It was 6:59pm on the 12th, and I was shivering. Sy had just gone out on errands – the timing was suspiciously convenient.

We'd run out of brownies the day before – I did not forgive Sy for giving two to each of the delivery men that brought my bed – so we'd made more this morning, and the smell of them filled the apartment. I knew better than to do nervous eating but the temptation was there. I wasn't sure how brownies had become the currency of my relationships and the common thread of my experiences, but they were and this, again, was something to blame on Sy. She was down to 129 pounds. I so very much wanted to murder her in her sleep.

I had spent an hour on my outfit. It was old grey sweatpants, splattered with green paint from an art project, and a baggy sweatshirt, an unrelated shade of grey, with a full coverage white bra, and panties which were notable for not coming from Victoria Secret. Under all that I'd washed up carefully and I'd done my hair nicely and done a bit with nail polish and wore a little perfume, because who was I kidding anyway, but damnit I was not the sort of girl to dress it hot on a second date.

For the last three nights I'd been online with him. He hadn't come. The first and third time he'd edged me so cruelly I'd cried. The time in the middle we'd only talked. (The bed had not been discussed other than a polite thank you, and I'd kept it out of the camera's field of view when we'd chatted.) But it was ok. I wasn't horny. You can't be horny in a baggy grey sweatshirt with a chocolate smear on the shoulder, it's just not possible. The shivers were anticipation, not arousal.

7:02pm. He was late. Technically. I mean you aren't late until you are five minutes late and he wasn't five minutes late yet but still he'd landed on time – the terse text from the airport had made that obvious – so I'd have expected him to have gotten here exactly when he said he would, because that was just the way a dominant male should be. Traffic should get out of his way and the wind should get behind his car and gently blow and-

Ok, I was thinking a bunch of nonsense. Silly me. But maybe I should text him because it would be nice to know exactly when he was arriving.

I opened the phone. It said 6:59pm. I'd been going from the living room clock, which was apparently four minutes fast. As I looked at it, it changed to 7:00pm and there was a knock at the door-

"Come in," I said in a small voice. That had been kind of creepy.

He swept in, in a dark suit and carrying two suitcases. He tossed them aside, walked over to me and kissed me. It was a ruthless kiss; he gathered my hair in his hand and drew me up to my full height, and then to my tiptoes, and moved his mouth over mine, insistently. I tried to pull back and he growled against my lips and that was the end of my struggles. Then he was nibbling my lower lip and staring into my eyes, and then kissing me again. Slowly, my arms went around him and my kiss became more... accommodating. And then warm. And then, with a soft whimper, enthusiastic. I reminded myself that I was supposed to be annoyed at him for the bed thing, and I got my revenge by not pressing myself against the length of him. Very much.

He broke the kiss, and pulled my hair downwards, firmly, not roughly. It took a moment to realize what he intended, but then I folded to my knees. The kiss had banished the shivers but now they were back.

"The kiss helps," he said. "I'm not used to denying myself the pleasure of women for this long. You see what your kiss does to me."

I looked, and looked away. The way he tented his suit pants was not good for my self-control. I turns out that I was wrong about the sweatshirt. It's entirely possible to be horny in one. I'd never trust it again.

"Your outfit though... I come to you in a suit and I get this baggy thing in return? Take it off, Clarissa."

"I- Stefan-"