Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(27)
Author: C.D. Reiss

He pulled his lips between his teeth. I blinked hard twice, but that was as far as we got before we started laughing. The joke was terrible, but the release of tension turned what should have been a groaner in to a belly laugh. He tried to look at the list again, but started laughing, which made me unable to stop, and we were both wiping tears before he reached for me. I took his hand.

“Your list is good,” he said.

“Really? It seemed like I didn’t leave much.”

“Monica, this should be fun. If we’re not having fun, we’re doing it wrong.” He looked at our clasped hands and softened. “The other day, I said everything in the worst way possible. I like playing, and I know how to do it safely, but I haven’t made a lifestyle out of it. I wasn’t out looking for a submissive, and I haven’t set hooks in the ceilings.”

“So no dungeon?”

“The Historical Society wouldn’t allow it,” he joked.

“Oh please, you could buy and sell the Historical Society.”

I tilted my head up, and he took the signal, kissing me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Jessica was the last woman I cared about that I discussed this with, and it didn’t go well. None of it did. I was scared you’d run away.”

“And I did.”

“Sure as f**k you did. I was pretty upset.”

“You didn’t seem upset.”

“I have a rich inner life, but that’s where it stays.”

“Really? Nobody gets in?” I slipped my arms around his waist.

“Can you live with that?” He puts his hands on my cheeks and kissed me. His stubble scraped my face, a rough counterpoint the softness of his lips and the slickness of his tongue.

“No. Not for long.”

“I’d like to see how long.” He kissed me in earnest, pressing his body to mine. He felt good. Delicious. Warm and supple with his hands on my back and his open mouth on mine.

I could have kissed him for hours, but I didn’t have the luxury. I kept my body close to his while moving my mouth away. “I need a test night. Like a trial run. To see if I’m scared.”

“Boo.” He dragged his lips down my neck and pushed his hands up my shirt.

“I mean it.”

“Okay. You just smell perfect. And also…” He pulled far enough away to look into my eyes. “I’m blocked. I have everything I want from you, and I can’t think of anything to do. I have too many options.”

I pushed him away, smiling. “You’re supposed to stand in the doorway and tell me to get undressed.”

He laughed and stood framed in the warm light of the open door. He looked me up and down. I’d come from the meeting in tight jeans, boots, and a woven long-sleeved shirt with a daunting number of buttons.

“That outfit’s bulletproof,” he said.

“Sorry.” I started unbuttoning the shirt.

“No,” he said, his smile an infectious disease spreading all over his face. “Stop. Let’s start over. Come up the steps.”

He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him. Okay. He wanted to start over in the right frame of mind. I went down the porch steps and back up slowly. I knocked on the door and stepped back, clearing my throat. It seemed like two full minutes before the door opened, and he was there again, wearing the same shirt and linen pants, in his sock feet, smile in dormancy, but there at the corners of his mouth.

“Monica.”

“Jonathan.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“And you.”

“Turn around.”

My breathing immediately got heavier, pooling between my legs as I turned my back to him.

“Unbutton your pants.” His voice had gotten half an octave deeper and more staccato at the hard consonants. The change in it made laughter impossible.

I yanked my belt loose, unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled down the zipper, then put my hands back at my sides.

“Good girl.”

I felt him get closer behind me. He stuck his thumbs in my waistband and tugged down my jeans. In three heaves, they were mid-thigh, with my panties still protecting my ass.

“Now,” he said, putting his hand on my back, “when I say bend over, you do it from the waist.”

“Okay.”

“Do it.”

I bent over until my nose was inches from my knees. He put his hand on my ass and a finger in my panties, slipping under them to feel me. I gasped.

“You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

“What were you thinking about while you were waiting out here?”

“Nothing.”

“This is only fun if we’re honest.” He pulled my underwear down and circled my opening with his finger. “So say it.”

Through my knees, I could see his legs behind me and the open door of the house. I closed my eyes. “I was imagining you’d come through the door. You put your hand at the back of my neck and grabbed my hair. You kissed me. Then you pulled me down until I was kneeling. You had your dick out. I don’t know how, but it’s a fantasy, and you did it really fast. And you put your c**k to my lips, and I took you in my mouth. You sighed really loud.”

“Then what?”

“I started over. Did it a little differently. Maybe more kissing. Or I went to one knee instead of both.”

“So it was that moment.”

“Yes.”

He put two fingers in me. I groaned.

“Another time. Maybe. When you trust me completely.” He leaned over, brushing his free hand against my neck and shoulder, and pulled me up to standing, telling me what he wanted with a slight pressure. He pulled out his fingers and reached around me with his other hand, cupping my chin. “Open.”

I opened my mouth, and he put in the two fingers he’d just removed from me.

“This is what I taste when I eat you.”

I sucked his fingers, savoring the sex on them, the taste of arousal filling my mouth, my tongue licking his hard fingers. His erection pressed against my ass. His other hand pressed against my belly, pulling me against him. He took his fingers out of my mouth and put them back on my cheek, leaving dampness in their wake.

“You turned on?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“If I do anything that changes that, you let me know.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

At once, I rebelled against the suggestion that I call him by an honorary, but at the same time, I wanted desperately to complete the act of surrender. “Yes, sir.”