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Chapter 18
BRIDGET
Past
By Friday, I’ve ruled out needle play. But regardless of which hard limit I end up choosing, I question my sanity. I would have tried talking Darren into going to the concert with JD and Amy, but (a) I’m not the biggest Rai-Rai fan, and (b) I don’t like delaying the inevitable. I prefer tearing the band-aid off quick.
When Friday rolls around, I’m a bundle of nerves. During stats class, my mind keeps wandering. I go for a jog and that helps settle me. My mindset improves, and I tell myself I can do this. Past experiences, while not always predictors of the future, suggest that a magnificent orgasm will make it all worth it in the end.
But there’s often a curveball with Darren.
“I’m stuck at the club waiting for someone,” Darren tells me over the phone, “but I’ll have one of my security guys pick you up.”
“Like I’ve said before, I can get there on my own,” I reply. “I’m a big girl.”
“It’ll be dark and cold.”
“I’ve got this amazing sweater that keeps my really warm.”
He chuckles, then says seriously, “You’re getting picked up.”
I’ve chosen not to battle the small stuff with Darren, though a part of me wonders if by doing so, I’m only encouraging more dictatorial ways: the broken window theory applied to overbearing and dominant penchants.
“But first, you’re going to get out that vibrator I gave you,” Darren says.
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
Part of me is reluctant because even though I have the bedroom to myself, since Amy already left for the concert, Kat is in her bedroom. What is if she decides to knock on my door?
The other part of me is eager for the stimulation. I haven’t come in several days, which is normally not a big deal, but my sex drive has been amped up ever since I met Darren. And even though the thought of dropping something from the list of hard limits has me nervous, it hasn’t diminished my arousal. I did touch myself in the shower the day I got back, then masturbated the other night while lying in bed, but when I texted Darren for permission to come, the reply came back in the negative.
I texted him the same question five minutes later. Same answer.
Screw this, I initially thought. I shouldn’t need his permission to come, but it’s just a game. At least it is to me. I assume it is for him to, but I’m not 100% sure.
It was frustrating to stop. I wanted to keep caressing myself, even though my orgasms from a hand job are much smaller than the ones I get with Darren. But I did as told, got up and putzed around, trying to find a distraction to simmer down my frustration, finally settling on a bag of wasabi peas. I’m actually not a fan of how the wasabi burns through my nose, but I wanted something crunchy.
“Will I get to come?” I ask, pulling the vibrator from a dresser drawer.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I make a face at my cellphone.
“Before you turn it on,” Darren continues, “I want you to remember when you were over here last time. What were the fun parts for you?”
I think back. “The elevator sex. I’ve never done it in an elevator before.”
That happened the morning after he caught me picking at my stitches. He had made reservations for breakfast, but we ended up more than twenty minutes late due to the impromptu quickie.
“What else?” he asks.
“The orgasm at your club.”
“Which one?”
It’s crazy that there’s multiple to choose from. There’s the one I had while sitting alone at the table with the egg vibrating in me. The one I had from vanilla sex on the sofa after I had already come twice on the—
