“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom questions. “Something happen at school?”
I really don’t want to talk to her about this, but she isn’t going to give up until I tell her. We don’t have conversations aboutboys. And this is the “not fun” kind. The kind where you decide to be brave and ask a guy friend to winter formal and he tells you ‘no’. He was kind about it and let me down easy, but the rejection still hurts like a bitch. I’d like to smother myself with a pillow now, please?
“I’m okay, Mom. I just asked a guy friend to winter formal and he said no. It’s no big deal.” I do my best to placate her so she doesn’t ask more questions.
“Well, if you took better care of yourself, maybe he would have said yes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She regards me for a moment before answering, “Well–if you lost a little weight, dressed a little nicer and maybe put some effort into your appearance, maybe he would have said yes. Guys like pretty girls, not chubby, frumpy ones.”
It takes all my effort to hold in the tears as her words soak in. Before the first one spills down my cheek, I run to my room–and then they fall freely.
Present Day
I must have zoned out, because we’re pulling into the parking structure and I barely remember the drive. My emotions are all over the place. I need to reign it in and reset quickly, because I can’t let him see me like this. Letting someone see me cry is a vulnerability I can’t handle. But I’m not sure I’m able to mask it either.
Once we’re in the elevator, I feel the emotions tugging at me, like they'll take over any minute if I don’t give them an outlet. So I opt for nonchalance I don’t feel. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for taking me with you. I appreciate it.”
Don’t make eye contact. Do not make eye contact.
As soon as the elevator door opens, I hightail it to the guest room.
17
Ryker
Arabella zoned out for most, if not all, of the drive back. I know she’s upset I told her no, but she’ll realize–eventually–that I did it for her own good. I was hoping to talk more when we got back, but she practically ran to her room. She wouldn’t even look at me. Fuck. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her.
I’m in desperate need of a hot shower. It might help relieve some of the tension I’m feeling. I pause at her door, wondering if I should check on her. Gently pressing my forehead to the frame, I hear a faint noise that sounds almost like–crying? Double fuck. My hand curls into a fist as I go to knock, when I think better of it. I suspect she needs space, after how quickly she ran away. I don’t want to make anything worse. Hopefully, she’s feeling better tomorrow, so we can talk.
The water is hotter than I usually like, but almost every muscle in my body feels tense and I need the heat. I place my hands on the shower wall in front of me, letting the water run down the back of my neck. It’s not helping. The shower is my thinkingplace, where I often have my best ideas, but what I really need right now is to shut my thoughts off. I keep replaying it over and over in my head. Those plump lips asking me toteach her.
Closing my eyes, I can almost hear her begging me, like she’s here in the room.
When I open them, I envision her on her knees before me, and it’s suddenly all I want. She’s waiting for direction like the good girl I know she really is, with her hands behind her back and mouth open, waiting for my cock.
Grabbing the base of my hard length, I slowly stroke myself from root to tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum with my thumb and wishing she was really here so I could feed it to her.
I close my eyes again, and imagine my fist in her hair, holding her where I want her as I slowly enter her warm, waiting mouth.
“Such a good girl for me,” I whisper. “Taking Daddy’s fat cock like you were made for it.” Daddy? Where the fuck did that come from? That’s new.
I can’t help but rut forward into my hand, as if it were her mouth. I need to feel her gag and choke on my dick and earn her breath back with her tears. I’m fully fucking my fist now at the image I’ve created, and I feel a tingle at the base of my spine, telling me I won’t be in this fantasy much longer. If she were really here, I’d force things to be more drawn out. I’d take my time with her, but right now I don’t actually give a fuck. My balls draw up and I imagine pulling out of her warm mouth as I grunt out my release, shooting hot ropes of cum all over the shower wall and wishing it was her pretty face, instead.
Catching my breath, I realize Iwantto teach her everything. The things I could teach her are endless, but control is what I crave, and I’d want it all. I’m not capable of settling for less than full submission with my partners.
As I dry off, reality sets in. This can’t happen. I’m too old and too set in my ways. She doesn’t know what she’s really asking. I have no choice but to keep this in my head where it belongs.
18
Arabella
Iwake to the feeling of the sun on my face, yet again and I can already smell Ryker cooking breakfast. Groaning, I turn over and throw my forearm over my eyes, because I’m not ready to open them yet. I was awake until five am researching all things kink and BDSM. I do have questions, but I found myself imagining what it’d be like if I was his submissive. I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t turn me on. It may have even resulted in a self-induced orgasm or two throughout the night, which is saying something, becausethathas been particularly difficult lately. I’ll have to remember to thank Wrinley for forcing me to stash that mini vibe in my purse.
Orgasms aside, I may now know why I’ve been searching for something like this, all these years. I learned it’s not uncommon for women that have a lot of responsibility in their day to day lives to want to give up control to another person. Some say it’s like a weight is lifted when the Dominant takes some of the pressure off. Granted, I’ve not been looking for anything outside of the bedroom, but I’m intrigued at the thought of it now.
I’m exhausted, but my mouth is watering at the smell of whatever he’s cooking out there, so I pull on an oversized t-shirt and trudge my way out of the room. I’m suddenly accosted by the sunlight bouncing off bare skin. Jesus, this man needs to put on a fucking shirt. It may be inappropriate, but those traps are calling to me and for a brief moment, I imagine jumping onto his back like a spider monkey and licking them. Jesus. What is it with me and licking lately? But I can’t lick him. He’s already rejected me. Maybe someone could tell my vagina, because she has not gotten the memo.
