AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you love the idea, or do you want to feel it,” he asks back?
“I crave it,” I answer.“I’ve craved it for a long time. There, I finally admitted it.”
He always has a way with words. We walk into my apartment. My bedroom door is open and the covers are inviting. But he doesn’t let me walk away. He puts me in front of my hallway mirror and very slowly and deliberately starts to unwrap me like a Valentine’s Day present, while I watch. First the coat. Then the boots. Then my dress. Then the lingerie I wore thinking it would be appropriate for tonight. Until I am standing in front of the mirror naked with my hips in his hands. We stand like this for a while. I feel one of his hands slide down and part my lips. I gasp slightly and try to twist away from the mirror, but his other hand is holding me in place.
“Spread your legs,” he says. I comply. I am shuddering.This is the first time I truly feel like I’m his property, here to do whatever he tells me to. And I like it. There are no grey areas. I am his.I expect him to start playing with me, but he doesn’t. Instead he tells me to play with myself standing in front of the mirror while he is behind me. I comply again. I thought I’d be awkward in front of the mirror, but it turns out that I like watching myself with him behind me.
He must sense it somehow.As soon as I started getting close, he guides me to the bed and places me upon it. And before he commands my release, he says, “You are mine.” I nod and he smiles, satisfied, and allows me my climax.
Later, I would think this was our wedding night. I have never looked back, not since that night.
* * *
20
Kitten Says a Prayer
Sometimes consent is “It’s good enough.” Look, not every decision in life must be embraced as if it were our heart’s greatest desire. Consent is a part of our daily lives; we’d be exhausted if we threw ourselves into every single, microscopic decision. Because, you see, consent extends far beyond what we usually discuss (that is, in context of romance). Hugs from your niece or nephew? Where you live? Where you go out for dinner? Anything that involves a “yes” is consent. A million little things that happen, many with hardly a thought passing.
Sometimes that consent is so minimal that we don’t even register it. You needn’t jump for joy every time your partner says, “Do you want to go out to dinner?” or your mother says, “Can you call me on Sunday?” Casual consent, so to speak. The “yeah, sure, whatever” type of consent.
Sometimes a yes is good enough (assuming of course, you wish to say yes). Not always, of course. I doubt you’d accept, “Yeah, sure, whatever” in response to, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” or, “Would you marry me?” You probably want someone who sincerely wishes to be with you; rather than someone who doesn’t have anything else to do that evening. “Be someone’s priority, not their option,” is something I hear time and time again. While I have issues with that sentiment, I think most of us can agree on the aforementioned point (i.e. acceptable responses to the question of being their girlfriend.)
But sometimes you do things just to do them. Sometimes you even do them just to make someone happy– and that’s okay. My munchkins wanted dinner. I was kind of tired, but I made dinner anyway. Because, well, we’ve worked out a system and this is my job (doing dishes is THEIRS!). So I say yes. Or maybe my friend wants Chinese and I’m not sure what I feel like, but whatever, I can eat Chinese, so I say yes. Or I need a shirt, because I don’t have enough and this shirt is $5 so I buy it, because, whatever it’s good enough and society tells me I have to wear shirts in public (or something covering my top at any rate).
But sometimes that’s just not good enough.
* * *
April 8, 6:45pm
“Meet me in the boiler room.”
The text comes through, per expectation, in the evening. Some nights she receives it. Sometimes she does not. She never knows, nor is it her place to know. It is His. She is thankful for the time He allows her.
Her eyes sparkle, true emerald glint, when the text pops up on her phone. She had an especially rough day at work. She needs the release. She craves it.
She knows what to do. Bring the freshly cleaned comforter downstairs to the basement, avoiding her roommates. Her oh so proper roommates- one is engaged with an absurdly enormous cubic zirconia, one is single and shoots you a shy glance when admitting she is dating on Match.com- would hardly approve of her “fling” with this man. A man with a family at home and an unconventional, open arrangement outside of it. A man with a girlfriend in “every city.” Of course this isn’t true- what man has the time for the fantasies society places on him– but it turns her on to imagine his dozens, hundreds of other girlfriends. Her humiliation at being one of thousands of pretty bodies makes her drip, even before he arrives.
It isn’t a fling to her. It is her escape. It’s her fortitude. Sometimes she wonders if this is his escape, too, but, no, he has never shown his is anything less than happy in his life. She appreciates a man that can be honest and still take his desires. Can allow “his” women the same freedom he demands for himself. Besides, hers isn’t unpleasant. Simply– a bit incomplete. But after all, she is much younger. She has time.
She waits for him with closed lids. She could be anywhere at this moment. His soon to be felt presence is all that matters. Prepares herself for Him. Snuggles on the soft, enveloping comforter, as she traces her fingertips down the hollow of her throat, down to her wetness….she brings herself to orgasm exactly once, again per command. She utters a sharp sound— and it is almost as if it is a call to him, because right then
Footsteps echo from the basement stairs. Her eyes obediently closed, she listens to the door creak open. “Open your eyes.” The dark command in his voice breaks her reverie. He walks in, nodding initial approval of her position. He examines her body for final approval. It is to his standards, smoothly shaven and completely open to his gaze. No lingerie or sheets to hide a single inch of his toy.
He lowers himself to her and—
—immediately afterwards, he dresses himself, adjusts his cufflinks, and informs her, “Until next time.” As if she needed the reminder. She remains silent, on her knees. She nods understanding.
When she hears the door slam rather unceremoniously shut, she picks herself up, free for a night dancing with the girls- her two best friends since high school. She applies a fresh coat of dusky red lipstick before walking out the door. Crimson lips twitch mischievous.
Who needs a boyfriend on a night like this?
* * *
May 7, 8:00pm
I am diligently doingmy homework tonight. He’s requested it, although it is not a formal command. Yet. We haven’t come to an arrangement where he gets to order me around and make me do things (even if they’re for my own good.)
