"You just don't get me, Marcus."
The words pierced right through his seemingly frail exterior. This kind of fight had been all too familiar for the last few weeks of their relationship. Kim wanted him to give her more satisfaction in the bedroom but Marcus was too much of a worrywart and relaxed man to give her the kind of action she so desired.
When you finally push back your chair and stand, approaching me, my fingers wiggle slightly to try to gain back some feeling. My relief when you unshackle me from the doorway is completely short-lived. You hand me your empty coffee cup, then brush past me with nothing more than a slap on the ass and a smirk. My face is hot with anger and disbelief as I wait for the numbness in my hands and feet to wear off, then hobble to refill your fucking coffee.
He was too handsome for his own good. I'd long since recognized that it might very well lead to the end of us. My sore whipping arm was longing for an overweight sub with the face of a pug. Good thing for Precious, the rest of me was not.
Eyeing the furtive glances of the young girl, I immediately knew she wasn't his type. She was submissive, for one thing. It leaked from every pore of her overly exposed skin.
"We were lucky you know, Bunkum Boy," said Hoodoo Girl when they held their after fight review. "If Dr Dragoon hadn't made that one little slip we may not have been able to stop him this time."
Bunkum Boy just laughed.
"He always makes that one little mistake, though, Hoodoo Girl," he pointed out.
He looked across at the picture of Dr Dragoon on the front of the report and laughed again.
It was a hot night in Rochester but I shivered all the same. There were no cars in the driveway on a sprawling cream colored new-money manse the bordered the Clearey Woods, so I pulled up the parking brake and on battered gray Camry. The thick pine and birch that skirted the side and back of the property kept drawing my eye. If I wasn't very careful, I could die tonight. But if I'd refused, I'd be dead for certain.
He obeyed so well. It was one of her favorite things about him. Her other favorite thing about him? The way he disobeyed.
Tonight she'd push him to his limits and test his devotion. She had to. If he succeeded, she would collar him.
She'd searched for weeks for his collar, the one that would fit him perfectly. One that fit them perfectly. It was black leather, dark, soft and supple.
Paul's out tonight and I am thinking back to our honeymoon, just a few weeks ago. Some of my readers have been asking me to write about the honeymoon sex, but most of it is really too intimate for me to write about. But I think I can write about the last night without giving away any secrets of the heart.
Looking around the room, she made sure the candles were in place. So many colors, shapes and sizes, yet they fit with the décor, adding a hint of mysterious shadow in one spot while dispelling shadows in another. Colors, blending with orchids arranged amid baby's breath, complementing framed artwork hanging above them, enhancing deep rich hues of hanging drapery and reflecting off gleaming woodwork, each had its place and was ready for the match.
He was waiting for me when I came home from work that Friday. As I stepped through the door and saw the leather collar in his hands, my heart began to pound. Dropping my bag to the ground, I immediately went to my knees, casting my gaze down demurely. My hands trembled with excitement as I took the collar from him and fastened it snugly around my neck.
Falling flat on my face was not the greatest way to start off the evening but there you have it. I was unpacking taped cardboard boxes in my newly rented apartment. Such a hassle.
"How's it going?"
Someone had stepped inside. I forgot I had left the front door open. He was a very big man, somewhere around 6'2 wearing all leather. Quite intimidating actually but he was smiling and seemed friendly.