Reading Time: 3minutes “I mean, I know what you like. I could just take you to a fancy hotel, tie you up, do a little tit-torture, and finish by butt-fucking you. And you’d be OK with that"
She knew – well, he had told her – that he was impressed with her intellect. She knew that she was bright, had more imagination than most – maybe all – of the rest.
But since the dominant male in her story had paid a similar compliment to her protagonist, and since the story dwelled on her insecurity, she wasn’t sure that he wasn’t playing on her insecurity.
She wished she hadn’t been so goddamned autobiographical.
He smiled – no, maybe it was a smirk. “The thing that I like about you is that your imagination is doing most of the work for me”. Was he a mind reader, too?
He finished chewing on the rib, and put the bone on the small pile that had accumulated. He wiped his hands on the napkin – surprising her, as she expected him to lick his fingers – before taking a swig from the domestic long-neck.
“J, I have to be honest. I could have been the guy in the hotel dining room, elegant, sophisticated, charming. But I felt that you deserved something different, something a little more … stimulating”.
“I mean, I know what you like. I could just take you to a fancy hotel, tie you up, do a little tit-torture, and finish by butt-fucking you. And you’d be OK with that”. She glanced around, her unease at being the only white couple in an all African-American diner suddenly compounded by his matter of fact lewd language. At the table next to them, an elderly lady in a ridiculous hat was staring at them … had she overheard him, or was it on general principle?
Oblivious, or indifferent, he continued, “But while you’d go through the motions, and then go through the motion of being fulfilled, I decided to go somewhere that a petite salad and a 92 Chardonnay aren’t on the menu. Just to get your mind churning that this is going to be a little different”.
She had been mostly quiet through the dinner, but finally told him in a piqued tone, “Well, Mark, you’ve succeeded in surprising me. I get dressed up in silk for the Ritz, you show up in a pickup wearing a flannel shirt and take me to a soul food place.” She let that thought linger for a moment … let him sweat it a little.
But then she smiled, which became broader as she noticed that he had resumed breathing.. She continued, “I have to admit, the braised Oxtail was really good. And, although the Chablis leaves something to be desired, at least it’s drinkable”. She picked up her glass and started to take another sip.
He snorted. “Chablis? Did you really believe that? Hell, that’s grape juice mixed with industrial alcohol”. The words sunk in mid sip; her reflexes got the better of her, the violence of her reaction spraying wine over herself, over the table, onto Mark, in general a hell of a mess…he just roared with laughter.
“Shit, for being a Lady Einstein, you sure are gullible”. As she wiped off her face, and her hands, a chuckle emerged, which became a full laugh before she could control herself. She looked around the diner – conversation had stopped, they were all looking at her now … might as well give them a show, so she threw the napkin across the table into his face. The both laughed, and he said, “Let’s get out of here before we get into trouble.”
The check paid, he took her by the hand, and led her to the truck. He opened the door for her, but instead of climbing in, she turned and gave him a quick kiss. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a very interesting afternoon.” And then in her most sultry voice, “I’m getting the idea that you’re very inventive”.
He returned the kiss, slow, romantic, then startled her with a swat on the ass. “Aren’t you glad that I found a way to get you to check your email?”
J. looked into his eyes and told him, “Yes, that was clever”, and then trying to suppress a smile continued “but that’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” She cocked her head, waiting for an answer.
He snorted, and then told her, “Mouthy bitch, you’ll pay for that – but that’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?”
Her eyes softened, then looked away from him. “Yes”, she whispered, “that’s what I want to hear”.
Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
