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He let me go and started to peel equipment off so that he was left in his white button down shirt opened at the neck, untucked over a pair of faded jeans.
"I said I wouldn’t if you really didn't want me to, but," he said, pulling me into his arms, putting on a fake German accent, "Ve have vays to make you vant me to…"
"You are a dirty conniving bastard," I said and sidled away from him when he tried to prevent my escape. "I have a headache and can't drink wine."
"Just had a shower so not dirty. My father was definitely married to my mother when I was conceived, so not a bastard. I am not conniving. I am calculating. I plan. I analyze a problem, breaking it down into its component parts, then I solve each problem so I can have the outcome that I want."
I escaped and ran away but he chased me, lunging at me, smiling as he grabbed me.
"I want to fuck you. As to your headache, an orgasm will help you with that."
"Drake!" I said, trying to avoid his grasp.
"Kate," he said, his tone chiding. "I said I want to fuck you. You're resistant because of outdated sense of bodily modesty that is entirely inappropriate in a D/s relationship. I must break down your resistance. How better to do so than to get you good and drunk?"
"Why are you doing this?" I said, trying to keep him away, slapping his hands away only half-playfully. "Why are you pushing me?"
"That's what I do, Kate. You know this. You signed the agreement. There wasn't any clause that said you wouldn’t fuck me when you had your period."
"I didn’t think there had to be." I just stood there, my eyes closed, my hands fisted. I was close to tears, despite his playful tone.
"Kate," he said and put his arms around me, enveloping me in his warm embrace. "Just trust me…"
"You can't even go one week without sex?"
"There's no reason to," he said, his voice soft, his lips at my ear. "I don't want to go a week without fucking you. You wait. It will be so good for you. You'll have a nice orgasm and you'll feel so much better. I promise…"
"I won't be able to enjoy it."
"Let's have a bet," he said and pulled back, touching my bottom lip with his thumb. "You don't enjoy it, and I have to fuck you twice in your favorite position next time. You enjoy it and I get to fuck you twice any position I want."
"That sounds like a win-win for you," I said. "No bets."
He laughed and pulled me into the living room and made me sit on the couch while he poured us each a glass of wine.
"That's because you know you'll lose. How are you feeling? I mean your cramps?"
"I took some Tylenol. It doesn't do much."
"You need something different – Ibuprophen's best." Then he motioned to my glass. "Drink that all down. You need the alcohol to dull your cramps."
I took a big gulp, wishing we'd keep talking about nothing instead of him preparing me for sex that I didn't want to have.
"So you prefer old music," I said, hoping to distract him.
"Yes, there's more than enough great music from the sixties and early seventies. My dad was a collector and has thousands of albums."
"What's your absolute favorite piece of all time?"
"Drink it all down." He motioned to the glass again. "I want you silly drunk and giggling."
"You must have a favorite," I said, wanting to keep him talking.
He shook his head. "Drink up. No more delaying, Kate."
I exhaled in frustration, and drank down the rest of the glass of wine, a warmth building in my limbs and stomach from the alcohol.
"I'm a really cheap drunk," I said, smiling a bit. "I get drunk very quickly. No tolerance to alcohol."
