haven’t. You are still here; you are choosing to obey.”
He comes over to the bed and places the glass of wine at the side table.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Sara.” His voice is even. “If you don’t want me to do so, say so now.”
I look at him. I’m not certain of many things but I know the need that runs through me, the need that has arisen even through my initial panic at being tied up. My need to place myself in Doug’s hands and to cede control to him. Here, now, in this moment, I acknowledge that need within myself, and I give myself permission to explore that need.
I look into Doug’s eyes. My voice is absolutely steady. “I want you to fuck me,” I say.
He moves so his weight is on me and I feel every inch of his body imprinted on mine.
He smiles at me. “Look at me; don’t close your eyes,” he says quietly, as he plunges inside me in one hard stroke.
I obey, but it is hard. I want to close my eyes as the feeling of him inside me intensifies. I feel his warmth all over me and I look into his eyes. This feels… intimate.
I can’t look away. I gaze into his eyes as his arousal builds and mine with it. He is thrusting inside me, and it is hard and fast and so toe-curling good. Then his eyes widen, and I can feel his body stiffen, and he is erupting into orgasm, and I am filled with a primal satisfaction that I caused this.
He rolls off me; his fingers find my clitoris; bring me to orgasm. As the pulsing pleasure washes over me, I moan out his name, and I can hear the need and longing in my voice.
I inwardly tense. I am unprepared to let him become important to me.
***
Things are a little weird the morning after. Not in anything Doug is doing or saying. No, he is the essence of consideration. He’s made me coffee and breakfast.
No, things are weird because I’m torn. I don’t know what to say to Doug. I could get to know him better, or I can try to keep what we are doing here as a purely sexual thing. I eat my breakfast in relative silence as I contemplate this.
“So you like classical music?” Doug’s voice interrupts my meditations.
I nod. I love classical music; I always have. I was the weird teenager who saw Amadeus a million times, and who had a crush on Mozart. As an adult, I try to go to as many concerts in Toronto as my budget allows.
“I have tickets to the symphony Friday night,” he says. “Would you like to come?” His eyes are on mine.
I gulp. Clearly, Doug’s in favour of getting to know me better. He’s just asked me out on a date. And I adore the symphony and I can’t often afford to go.
But yet I hesitate. I have a pattern with guys. I always fall in love with them. I always want to be with them far more than they want to be with me. Yearning has defined my life. I’ve pined for boyfriend after boyfriend, and I’m warier nowadays; more cautious with my heart.
And then there’s the submission. I’ve heard what Doug has said about the submission staying in the dungeon. I’m just not sure if I entirely believe it.
To top it all off, Doug’s dangerously out of my league. He’s rich and successful and gorgeous. I only have to look at his house and at my studio apartment to see the contrast. Doug’s not the person worrying about dragging his clothes to the Laundromat and planning his life around subway construction delays; I am. He has symphony tickets Friday night; I’m usually hanging out in my local dive bar. We don’t belong together.
I don’t say all of that. Instead, I keep my reply simple and polite. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Inside, there’s an odd ache in me, a wish that all of my arguments didn’t matter. But I’m not twenty-one anymore, and where my heart is involved, I don’t jump without a safety net. Doug could easily break my heart. I won’t let that happen.
Doug eyes me expressionlessly, but he doesn’t pursue the discussion further.
***
“Do you start work tomorrow at your new job?” Doug asks me.
“No, I’m
He comes over to the bed and places the glass of wine at the side table.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Sara.” His voice is even. “If you don’t want me to do so, say so now.”
I look at him. I’m not certain of many things but I know the need that runs through me, the need that has arisen even through my initial panic at being tied up. My need to place myself in Doug’s hands and to cede control to him. Here, now, in this moment, I acknowledge that need within myself, and I give myself permission to explore that need.
I look into Doug’s eyes. My voice is absolutely steady. “I want you to fuck me,” I say.
He moves so his weight is on me and I feel every inch of his body imprinted on mine.
He smiles at me. “Look at me; don’t close your eyes,” he says quietly, as he plunges inside me in one hard stroke.
I obey, but it is hard. I want to close my eyes as the feeling of him inside me intensifies. I feel his warmth all over me and I look into his eyes. This feels… intimate.
I can’t look away. I gaze into his eyes as his arousal builds and mine with it. He is thrusting inside me, and it is hard and fast and so toe-curling good. Then his eyes widen, and I can feel his body stiffen, and he is erupting into orgasm, and I am filled with a primal satisfaction that I caused this.
He rolls off me; his fingers find my clitoris; bring me to orgasm. As the pulsing pleasure washes over me, I moan out his name, and I can hear the need and longing in my voice.
I inwardly tense. I am unprepared to let him become important to me.
***
Things are a little weird the morning after. Not in anything Doug is doing or saying. No, he is the essence of consideration. He’s made me coffee and breakfast.
No, things are weird because I’m torn. I don’t know what to say to Doug. I could get to know him better, or I can try to keep what we are doing here as a purely sexual thing. I eat my breakfast in relative silence as I contemplate this.
“So you like classical music?” Doug’s voice interrupts my meditations.
I nod. I love classical music; I always have. I was the weird teenager who saw Amadeus a million times, and who had a crush on Mozart. As an adult, I try to go to as many concerts in Toronto as my budget allows.
“I have tickets to the symphony Friday night,” he says. “Would you like to come?” His eyes are on mine.
I gulp. Clearly, Doug’s in favour of getting to know me better. He’s just asked me out on a date. And I adore the symphony and I can’t often afford to go.
But yet I hesitate. I have a pattern with guys. I always fall in love with them. I always want to be with them far more than they want to be with me. Yearning has defined my life. I’ve pined for boyfriend after boyfriend, and I’m warier nowadays; more cautious with my heart.
And then there’s the submission. I’ve heard what Doug has said about the submission staying in the dungeon. I’m just not sure if I entirely believe it.
To top it all off, Doug’s dangerously out of my league. He’s rich and successful and gorgeous. I only have to look at his house and at my studio apartment to see the contrast. Doug’s not the person worrying about dragging his clothes to the Laundromat and planning his life around subway construction delays; I am. He has symphony tickets Friday night; I’m usually hanging out in my local dive bar. We don’t belong together.
I don’t say all of that. Instead, I keep my reply simple and polite. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Inside, there’s an odd ache in me, a wish that all of my arguments didn’t matter. But I’m not twenty-one anymore, and where my heart is involved, I don’t jump without a safety net. Doug could easily break my heart. I won’t let that happen.
Doug eyes me expressionlessly, but he doesn’t pursue the discussion further.
***
“Do you start work tomorrow at your new job?” Doug asks me.
“No, I’m
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