Reese Gabriel - Own Me Wholly!

"Why?” I snap. “It's not like you want anything that's down there."

"What I do with my pussy,” he informs me. “Is none of your concern."

I make a noise. Letting him know I am thoroughly, so totally over him and all his shit.

"I would like you to suck my cock,” he announces, unzipping.

"Again? How about a little equal time?"

"A slave's greatest pleasure is her master,” he gives me a boyish grin. “Besides you don't want me to suffer over here all worked up do you? All hot and bothered."

He's massaging his cock through his pants.

I have an idea.

Brian would probably consider it a brat idea but I would say it's just getting even.

Thomas used to explain to me about the whole brat thing in submissive psychology. The female has this side of her that has to act out that wants to have the male come down on her, for reassurance. It's the submissive's pay off and a dominant has to handle it just right. Thomas thought there were better ways to get attention and when I wanted to be a brat he told me to just tell him so he could respond accordingly.

"Thomas, I feel bratty,” and then he would say, “okay, close the door,” or “go and reserve us a hotel room for the afternoon."

"Now where were we,” he'd say when we finally got down to it and we would slip right into our roles nice as can be.

"I was telling you how bad I've been,” I would grin and make up something because I just never would do anything to interfere with his business or cause him difficulty.

"You have?” That eyebrow would go up and I would get warm and tingly and feel soooo good, the way he got into it, the way he made it feel all right, the way he could make it light and amusing at the same time it was so passionate and dramatic.

"Yep. I didn't collect the rent from Jane this month."

That was an inside joke because Jane the psychologist doesn't pay her rent, at least not this month's rent. She blames it on insurance that is always six months behind in paying her billable hours with clients.

"I know this makes for tension,” she will say. “And I want us to deal with that."

Like Thomas needs counseling for wanting the money he needs from her to pay his own freaking mortgage on the building her butt gets to park in.

Why doesn't she sell her Jaguar? That would be a nice way to deal.

Anyhow, Thomas will try not to laugh. “You didn't, baby girl? Well how does that make you feel?"

"Like a spanking,” I grin and I'll squeal as he takes hold of me and tickles me all the way to the bed. I'm seventeen again, and I'm twenty and thirty and I am every woman in the world, all the good things he's ever seen in any of us females as he turns me over and pinkens my bottom-just pinkens it, mind you. And then, because he can never hold out, we move into the sex and it's all ‘Yes, Sir,’ as he slides that beautiful, sculpted cock, into me, a work of art.

I watch Brian take his cock out of his pants now.

You've got to be kidding. A man has to woo a woman to his cock, not hold it like a sausage. Okay, so my mouth is watering and yes, I would not mind getting down there, my head in his lap just pleasuring and obeying, but there is a principle at stake.

Which brings me back to my idea. The soda cup in the beverage holder.

It's half full. Ice melted. Bearing the logo of a popular convenience chain.

How sweet is this going to be, to borrow an expression from Erin.

He never sees it coming. I take off the top and spill the contents, sticky and cola dark all over his pants.

"There, did that cool you off?"

Brian yelps and squirms. He wants to get mad but I start laughing. It only gets worse when he tries to slap my thigh. He yelps as a piece of ice gets down underneath him and somehow ends up in his butt crack.

"Oh, Brian, I'm sorry."

He eventually grips the wheel, steaming, having given up on me and his clothes. “Your apology would be a lot more convincing if you weren't in hysterics."

I see some paper napkins in the pocket by my door. I try to use them to clean him up.

He stops me. “That isn't how bad slave girls fix their messes, is it?"

The laughter has loosened me up. “No, Master."

"What do you need to do, girl?” he puts out the back of his hand, stained.

"Use my tongue,” I say.

I lick his skin, sweet and sticky. I suck each finger. I'm worked up and hornier than ever but I'm stuck. His cock is covered in soda. I lap at it, running my tongue up and down. Until the soda taste is gone and there is nothing left but the pungent taste of male.

He strokes my hair, talking to me. It's like playing with the outside and the inside of my head at once. “You belong down there, girl, don't you? You fight me and you only make it worse on yourself."

"Yes, Master…” I kiss his balls.

"I want my pants clean, too."

I apply my tongue to the fabric. His hand goes to the back of my neck. “You can suck me, but I'm not going to come again. I want to be nice and charged up for when we get to your place. We're going to play some new games."

I moan, wanting to rub my thighs together so bad. I can only imagine what new games he has in mind. I suck him the whole way, bobbing my head up and down, working my jaws until they ache.

I don't want to stop without permission. I don't want to do anything without permission.

"You're going to be punished, Caroline,” he tells me. “You're going to be taken down to a whole new level of slavery."

I'm not sure if he wants me in dread, or what, but I'm more relieved than anything. I want to escape my thoughts, my sadness. I want to be in that other world, where the decisions are made for me, where I am happily along for the ride.

Sure, you pay for everything in time, but not today.

I figure the universe owes me that much.

* * * *

Nothing much happens, BDSM-wise when we get to my apartment. The mood shifts, as I guess it's bound to in a grief situation. We do crave each other's naked flesh, however. We cuddle in bed and eventually make love. It is one of those long, languid fucks that makes you lose track of time, no longer caring if it's day or night.

As some point I go to get out of bed. I think Brian is dozing, but he stirs. “Where are you going?” he mutters.

"To the kitchen. I'm thirsty."

"Permission denied,” he mutters. “You can have water from the bathroom."

I tousle his hair. “Whatever you say, Master Big Ego."

I sashay off to the kitchen for my orange juice. My heart pounds. Will he try to stop me?

I flip on the lights and go to the refrigerator. “I thought I told you to be in bed,” I hear him say from the doorway.

"Omigod,” I jolt. “You scared me."

"Go back to bed, Caroline."

"Huh? No. I'm getting orange juice. I am thirsty. Is that against the law?"

"It is when you come out here without permission."

"Last I checked my name was on the lease."

"It's my name going to be imprinted on your ass with my palm."

"Promises, promises.” I am taunting him, getting a glass, leaning up against the counter on tip toe, deliberately giving him a view of my bare behind.

I drip with anticipation. He doesn't disappoint. He comes in fast, holds my waist and smacks me hard, again and again, not stopping until I beg for mercy.

When he gets tired of using his hand, he gets a spatula and starts in all over again. I am groaning by the time he's done. But my thighs are slick and wet from my desire.

"Don't move,” he orders, leaving me bent over the counter.

"What are you doing?” I sniffle as he goes into my cupboard.

He ignores me.

"Are you looking for something?” I persist.

"You'll see.” Brian finds a bowl and sets it on the counter. My stomach does a little flip as I see him open the spigot of the orange juice and pour the contents. He fills the bowl half way.