Domination Sex: Conditioned Response by Erika Masten Page A

now, a bottle of wine and a pint of ice
cream, an old t-shirt, and something violent on television in my
nice dark bedroom sounds about as good as my night is going to
get.
    Still, when my cell phone rings, where
it’s sitting on the cushion beside me, my breath catches. Maybe
it’s Robert calling to say he was too rash. He didn’t mean what he
said earlier. He doesn’t want to break up. Will I forgive him,
he’ll ask. Can he come over?
    I’ll maul him when he gets here. I
suddenly need him in my pussy, need to get on my knees and go down
on him hard and deep, play a bit of the submissive for him. He
seems to like that. I need to hear him moan my name and tell me
that no one sucks cock like I do, that no one’s pussy is as hot or
as tight as mine.
    But, no, it’s a number I don’t
recognize, though there is something familiar about it. It goes to
voicemail, and a chime a few seconds later tells me I have a
message. Could it be Robert calling from someone’s house instead of
his cell or his home phone?
    After pressing a few buttons, I
instantly feel guilty for not recognizing the number. Jay’s deep
voice vibrates through the speaker with that tone he has when he’s
nonplused, a little sharp, a little sarcastic, always
intense.
    “Emma, where are you? Why aren’t you
at Julie’s party, and why is Robert here with some little chit we
don’t even know?” he growls in the voicemail. “So help me, you
better be out having fun somewhere instead of moping over that
prick.” There’s a moment of silence, like he’s reluctant to hang up
without speaking to me, before a tone signals the end of the
message.
    Hearing Jay’s voice plays hell with my
wildly swinging emotions right now. He was two years ahead of me in
college but then stayed for his grad degree, so he was a daily
fixture in my life for four years. God, but I had the worst crush
on him my freshman year, before I started dating the student body
president and then that basketball player and then (secretly) a
teaching assistant for one of my classes. And that was just
freshman year.
    Even back then, Jay had a presence
about him that made him seem larger than life, sexier and cooler
and less attainable than anyone else. Black hair and bright green
eyes and a long, lean body he’d gotten earning every penny of his
swimming scholarship. Girls loved the way he brooded, but among
close friends, he could be lighthearted and funny at the most
unexpected moments.
    Naturally, I had to get involved with
him, about three years ago, in the most torrid three and a half
days of my life. That’s all it took me to realize I was in over my
head with Jay. Zero to sixty in two seconds flat, and I was in for
a major crash.
    It was another three-day weekend just
like this. One moment we were having dinner together at Pardini’s
around the corner, and the next we were here with Jay bending me
over the arm of this sofa and fucking my cunt rougher and deeper
than I’d thought possible. Then we moved to the bedroom for more.
And started up again the next morning.
    The second night, he tied my hands to
the headboard with his tie and wouldn’t let up until I literally
couldn’t come anymore. By the third night, I was sore and well-used
and worried about what this would do to one of the longest-standing
friendships I had. He was curled around me, asleep and so peaceful,
while I lay awake most of the night.
    The next day, I called
Jay’s home phone while I knew he’d be at work and left a message
saying I thought we’d made a mistake and how much I didn’t want to
risk our friendship for sex. Yeah, cowardly of me, but I couldn’t
face him. This was Jay . The Jay who held my hand all night when I found my senior
year boyfriend in bed with my roommate. Broody, private Jay, who
let so few get really close to him, and here I go and fall into bed
with him way too casually. Plenty of women would have killed to be
able to say he had tied them to their beds and inflicted