Submit (Page 7)

Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(7)
Author: C.D. Reiss

He grunted and came, sharp and sticky down my throat. I breathed through my nose, taking him without gagging and letting his juice run out as he finished. When he came to a stop, I kissed the end of his cock. He released my arms.

When I put them down, I caught a shooting ache in my biceps. “I better not find out you’re lying,” I said. “That was the best blowjob I ever gave anyone.”

He put himself back in his pants and zipped up. “You have a funny way of showing a guy you’re pissed off.” He reached for my hand to help me up, and I took it. He steadied me as I wobbled on my high heels.

“Welcome home,” I said. “Now, I’ve been upset for days.”

“I’m sorry about that. If you had called me, I could have told you sooner.”

“But you did something with her.”

He touched my chin with two fingers, then slid them over my jaw and down my neck, down my chest, stopping at my nipple, which was rock hard under my dress. He brushed his thumb against it and leaned his body into mine, kissing my lips softly while he stroked my breast.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“I hate secrets.”

“I have secrets I may never tell you.”

“I only want this one today. I know she’s yours. I know she has your heart, but you promised me your body, so I have the right to it.”

He kissed my neck, finding the sensitive spots. “She has nothing of mine.”

My hands went under his jacket, finding his waist. I stroked the shape of him while he moved off my breast and down to my ass.

He gasped in my neck when he felt what I was wearing under my skirt. “Monica.”

“I was ready to do whatever I needed to so you’d tell me.”

He stepped back. “Pick up your skirt.”

“We didn’t get to enjoy this the other night.” I pulled up my skirt so he could see the garter, minus the panties. “So you’re telling me, right?”

“No.”

I put down my skirt.

He stepped closer and brushed his finger against my collarbone. “No games. I don’t want to tell you because it’s better that way. But I’ll tell you this: I spent the past three days thinking about you, how much I wanted you, and realizing I was free to have you.” He kissed me, a slow, soft grind of his lips and tongue, and I yielded to him. “Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered. “Say it.”

I wanted to. I almost did. I almost promised him whatever he wanted, but the anxiety of the last few days nagged at my chest and throat. “Tell me what happened with Jessica.”

“I’m afraid I’ll chase you away, and I don’t want to do that.”

“I can take it.”

“Fine then. Turn around.”

I let go of my skirt and faced away from him. He put his palms on my ass, then moved closer and drew them up my back until his newly erect penis was pressed against me. He unzipped the simple black dress and pressed his hands to my shoulders in such a way as to turn me around to face him.

“Take it off,” he said.

I let the dress slip over my shoulders and onto the floor. I stood in the black garter, black heels, matching lace bra, and a wet pu**y. I stepped out of the dress and pushed it to the side. He watched me, and I could almost see his brain working. He stepped back to me and kicked my legs open with his foot, then stroked my forearms, down to my hands. He laced his fingers into mine. His eyes were not unkind, but hard and focused.

“I’d f**k you senseless,” he said, “but I never got more condoms.”

“You’ll make it up to me.”

“What did she say to you?” he asked.

“I asked her how she broke her wrist, and she said, ‘Jonathan can be rough sometimes.’”

He made a little snort that might have been mistaken for a short laugh if the rest of his face hadn’t been so hardened. “First of all, that’s a typical Jessica contextual lie.” He moved my hands behind me. “Lean back.” He held my arms steady so I wouldn’t fall, until my back was arched enough for my hands to lean on the back of the love seat. His body curved with mine, his breath on my shoulder as he drew his hands up my arms. “It’s true as a statement, but false in context. Second of all, she doesn’t know from rough. You, my darling, got me rougher than she’s ever seen.”

He stepped back from me, an artist working on a piece. I stood, legs apart, back arched, arms behind me leaning on the back of the sofa. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and turned on. He’d called Jessica a liar, and one with her own brand of lying. I noted the change in attitude. He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed up, arching it further, exposing me to him, and forcing me to look at the ceiling.

“She lives in Venice, on the water,” he said as he lifted my bra, exposing my tits so he could stroke the rock-hard ni**les. “And she was waiting. As soon as I drove up, she was in the doorway. She hadn’t acted happy to see me in two years or more. And yes, I thought about you, but I figured, only a few hours had passed. If I needed to get out you’d understand. Or not. I wasn’t on ethically shaky ground.”

A drizzle of wetness dripped down my leg.

“She hugged me and pulled me into the house. I kept asking her what was wrong, and I mean I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there was so much shit missing.”

“Her boyfriend left and took his stuff,” I said.

“I was happy. I was excited. I felt like I’d won some kind of war.” He reached down to part my thighs more than I thought physically possible, his finger grazed the drip. “A war of patience. She poured us some wine and as soon as she started talking about how great she felt that he was gone, I knew something was wrong.” He brushed his wet finger against my lower lips, and I tasted myself. “This is turning you on.”

“What you’re doing. Not what you’re saying.”

“She put her hands on me. I can’t tell you how long I waited for her to touch me again.” He put his hand between my br**sts and moved it down my belly, touching the diamond in my navel and circling it before he drifted down to my crotch. He brushed against my snatch only long enough to feel the dampness then moved to my thighs again.

I moaned and pushed against him.

He pressed his hand flat against my snatch, letting me do the work of grinding against him. “And I kissed her. I admit it. I couldn’t have stopped myself. She said, ‘Make love to me Jonathan, like you used to.’ So I threw her on the couch.”