The Time My Sub Dommed Me

Sitting in my car in the drive way, the last thing I want to do is get out and walk into the house. I know I stayed out too late, got too drunk, and didn’t call. I didn’t even hear you in the morning before you left for the studio. I was still passed out on the couch. I must have sent you a dozen unanswered texts. My only hope was that after a long day of teaching one class after another, me doing the dishes, folding the laundry, vacuuming, and dusting (you really hate the dust) would be enough. Or at the least be a very good start.

I take a deep breath, and slink out of the car, careful not to make any noise when I close the door. If you don’t hear me maybe I can sneak in unnoticed, like maybe the lack of noise would help you forget how angry you are. I can see the lights on through the blinds, but don’t hear the TV or any music. You’re probably in bed reading, or on the tablet watching videos of dancers performing to your favorite choreographers.

With my hand on the door knob, I already know how this will play out. I walk in and see you. “Hey babe.” No response. Thirty minutes later you’ll ask, “So, did you have a good time last night? And I’ll kind of pretend I forgot that I got home so late, like I had scrubbed the stove and cleaned the countertops on a whim. “Oh yeah, I had a good time. You know how I get when Greg’s in town. But, yeah, um… sorry about not texting or calling. I guess I got in kind of late.” And then you’ll sarcastically snip, “You think?” Then another thirty tense filled minutes of silence will go by while I heat up some food, before you lay into me, before you tell me how you worry, how you don’t care if I’m out with my friends as long as I tell you, as long as I let you know I’m OK.

I get it, I’m a horrible partner. I am the worst. Just punish me so we can move on.

Finally, twisting the knob and walking in through the door I see the back of your head. You’re sitting on the couch and starring at a dark TV. *Shit. It’s worse than I thought.* True to form my opening gambit is, “Hey babe.” True to form you don’t respond. It isn’t till I come around the couch that I realize you’re playing a very different game. You’re sitting there, legs crossed, arms folded over your chest, and completely naked, except for a thin-chained gold necklace with a harp pendant and red six inch heels. “Um… hey, there… You know I did the laundry, right? You should have clothes to wear.”

Just a hint of a smile cracks on your face, but the force is strong with you and you’re able to choke it back. “I’m not happy,” you say, without looking at me.

“Yeah, I can tell. I was just thinking how unhappy you looked.” And then I realize that you had classes all day. You were dancing and sweating from the time you got into the studio until the time your last student left. Instead of being a thick tangled mess, your long brown highlighted hair shines, resting on your shoulders in flowing wavy curls. Your lips were an unnatural pink, glowing bright as if they were able to create their own incandescence. Light purple eye shadow, impossibly long thick eyelashes and the smell of your perfume sailed up into my nostrils with each inhale.

“I don’t want to have the same old fight again,” you start. “You know. The one where you pretend you did nothing wrong while I try to passively aggressively kill you with silence. The way I see it is we both know you fucked up last night, you feel bad about it, you tried to make up for it by cleaning, and that isn’t enough to make me feel better.”

I was a little skeptical. I mean, did you read this in some magazine at the checkout line? “How to Win Every Negotiation with Your Significant Other: Step One always Negotiate Naked?” But I couldn’t argue with anything you’ve said so far, so I nod, hoping that when you spring what aver trap you’re setting, that I can claim I never agreed with your premise.

“So, come over here,” you demand without raising your voice.

*OK, here it is. You’re just luring me in so you can hit me, so you can jam your heel into my leg.* But that thought is shattered when I catch your legs out of the corner of my eye. Jesus Christ, you look so good. Sometimes I forget how long and smooth your legs are. I love how they’re crossed, hiding what’s better them, but showing just enough to let me know you’re completely shaved. You uncross your arms, letting your breasts fall a little. I can’t take my eyes off of them. They’re so soft, and pale. Your nipples are so pink and firm. I almost don’t realize your patting the seat next to you. That magazine article must have been written by some negotiation genius. “Step two: get him to comply with small things at first so he will agree to the big things later on.”

As I sit down next to you, you say, “I’ve come to expect this sometimes. And I don’t what you to think I’m not mad just because you stayed out really late and got too drunk. I am. But, I don’t want to fight with you about it anymore. I really don’t. It’s a waste of time and we never get anywhere.” You uncross your legs and put the one furthest away from me up on the coffee table. With my eyes only, I glance down at your pussy. It looks so silky. I feel compelled to touch it. I want to feel my fingers slide between your lips to see how wet you are. I want to push back your skin and find your clit. So, I slowly move my hand towards your thigh, but you grab it and put it on my lap. “No, you don’t get to touch me. Not yet. Let me finish. I’m not mad, but I am disappointed. Not in you, just in our inability to communicate. I wish I could make you understand how much I worry. I wish I was able to understand how you can get so caught up in what you’re doing that you forget to call. So, because I can’t get what I need from you in that situation to feel safe and secure, then you’re going to have to give me something else I need. You understand?

I let out a sad pathetic, “Yes,” as my chin drops down into my chest.

“Good. Now, get down on your knees.”

*What the fuck? Excuse me?*

“I don’t want to argue with you about this. You know you were wrong for not at least texting me last night. So you’re going to do this. Get on your knees.”

Watching you carefully, not sure what I’m getting myself into, I slide off the couch, onto the floor. You lift your leg up and I flinch. “Relax,” you tell me. “I’m not going through all this just to kick you.” When I feel your calf on my shoulder I open my eyes to see you slowly rubbing your clit. “Come here,” you say as you reach out and run your fingers through my hair. Grabbing hold you gently pull my head closer to you. “You’re going to lick me until I don’t feel like cumming anymore.”

I dive right in with my tongue stretched out, and you slap the top of my head. “No!” You snap like I’m a lap dog trying to steal food. “You’re gonna start out slowly by kissing up my thigh.”

So, I pull away and kiss the inside of your knee, watching carefully to make sure you aren’t about to strike me again. “Mmm, that’s it. Now work your way up a little – nice and slow.”

Your skin is so soft and cool. It’s so smooth against my lips. One little peck after another, I inch my way up your thigh. The closer I get, the more your body squirms. The more I suck and nibble on your flesh, the tighter your grip gets on my hair. “That’s it,” you say before letting out a long exhale. “Keep getting closer.”

Gliding my lips along your pussy, getting a taste of your juices, your whole body shutters in a wave from your legs up to your neck. Then I slide down, letting my sandpaper-skinned face rub against your thighs. Moving back up towards your clit, I stretch my tongue out, parting your lips and pushing deep inside of you. “Oh fuck, baby,” You cry out as your legs lock onto my shoulders and your heels dig into my shoulder blades. “That’s it. That’s exactly what I want.”

My tongue is still deep inside of you when you begin to grind your hips up and down. I feel your clit pressed against my nose, so I take my tongue out hand hold it against that little nub. It must be exactly what you wanted because your nails are digging into my scalp. I love how you taste. I love how wet you feel, how my face is already covered in your juices. Your legs are so long and smooth. I love how they’re pressed against my ears. The pressure is so tight, when you speak, your words are muffled. It sounded like you said, “Lick it, baby. Lick my clit nice and slow.”

So, I move around and around in tender slow circles. It’s almost as if your body is attached to my tongue, like I’m controlling your movements. I can’t believe how all this began. I thought I was coming home into a hell storm of passive aggressive comments and silences, followed by screaming and crying. Instead, here I am, on my knees, with your cum running down my face, with my tongue on your clit. I still can’t hear you but I think you say, “Are you going to call me next time? Are you going to let me know you’re OK?”

I hum the letters, “M-M-M-M-M H-M-M-M-M” and nod up and down. That causes you to practically rip my hair out of my scalp. So, you keep asking me questions, and I keep humming “Mmmmm Hmmmm,” over and over, letting my lips vibrate on your clit. Switching back and forth between licking and humming, answering one question after another, your heels push even harder into my flesh, forcing me to swallow a scream.

God damn, I can feel all your energy turning your body into a stiff board. It’s like watching a movie and the DVD freezes right before the bad guy gets shot, right before the 2nd baseman hits the walk-off homerun, right before the handsome man kisses the girl of his dreams. And I am shacking my head left and right as fast as I can, holding my tongue against you, and lifting you up off the couch. I’ll have no excuse next time. If I don’t remember to call you there’s something wrong with my memory. But what if I don’t want to? What if I want to test your patience so I can come home and find you naked, with your long perfectly formed legs crossed over one another? What if I want to feel your heels jabbing into my back and your hands gripping my hair?

I’m sorry I was late. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Now cum for me. Let me feel all that tension explode out of you. And just like that, your body comes crashing down into the couch. You twist and turn, and your head snaps back. My tongue is still on your clit but your hands are pressed into my forehead trying to push me off. I hold my ground a little longer, but I can’t. You practically shove me into the coffee table, but your legs catch me and pull me back in. Unable to form complete sentences your words come out all jumbled, “Enough. Too much. Fuck. No more.”

Peering up from between your legs I watch your breasts rise and fall with each breath. Hugging your leg, I kiss your thigh. Every time my lips touch your skin, your body jolts like an aftershock following a massive earthquake, until finally you settle into a light murmur. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say before kissing your thigh. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Looking up at the ceiling, with your head resting on the back of the couch, you speak while your fingers run through my hair and massage my scalp. “It’s OK. I forgive you.” And then after a long pause, starting again like it is a totally new thought, “Imagine. If this is what happens when I’m mad at you, just wait to see what happens when you do as I ask.”