Adventurous Me (14 page)

“Um-hum,” he says kind of absent-mindedly. I can’t believe it’s okay. I thought he’d have my head.

“So everything is all right, Sir?” I’m still shaking a little.

“Of course.” He begins to put food on a plate. Notice I said plate, the singular form. There’s only one plate.

It registers, but I try to make light of it and smile. “So what’s for dinner, Sir?”

“Oh, let’s see, sautéed chicken breast, roasted broccoli, and yellow squash.”

“Sounds good, Sir. I’ll get a plate too.”

That’s when the other shoe falls. “Oh, I didn’t make enough for you.”

I stare at him. “Wha . . . What do you mean?”

He doesn’t crack a smile, doesn’t even look at me. “I didn’t know when you’d be back so I didn’t cook you anything.”

“Sir, I didn’t know when I’d be back either or I would’ve left you a message. And they required me to turn off my phone when I was there, so I couldn’t call you.”

He turns to look at me and, face passive and cold, he says, “You could’ve at least left a note telling me where you’d gone. I had no idea where you were. So I only cooked for myself.” He turns to go to the table, leaving me standing there.

“That’s okay, Sir. I’ll just fix myself something,” I say, opening the refrigerator.

“Nope. Kitchen’s officially closed.”

I feel like a seven-year-old. He’s going to make me go without supper.

“You’re kidding, right?” I can’t believe it. “Even if I cook it? Why isn’t that okay?”

He turns and looks at me, and there’s no mirth in those eyes, just coldness, his voice forcing an icy chill into my core. “You will watch your bratty, impertinent tone with me, sub. You know your place. Get to it.” With that, he turns and starts eating.

After I go into my bedroom and take everything off, I put on my heels and collar and go to kneel in the living room. He finishes eating and spends the rest of the evening ignoring me. At bedtime, he doesn’t even speak.

I find myself wishing he’d yell at me instead of just ignoring me. He gets ready for bed, so I just sit there, feeling like The Invisible Woman. Finally, at about midnight, he appears in the living room. And all he says is, “Go to bed.” Then he turns and leaves the room.

Once he’s in his room with the door closed, I get up and go down the hall to my room. I brush my teeth and hair, wash my face, and climb into bed. Even though it’s summertime, it’s cold in that bed. He hasn’t touched me since he left for his meeting this morning. I don’t know if he’ll want me to come in and pleasure him in the morning, so I go ahead and set my clock. I try to go to sleep, but I toss and turn and generally ache all over.

I must’ve eventually dozed off, because at six the alarm clock goes off. Getting up and tiptoeing down the hall to his room, I find the door closed. Thinking I’d better be polite, I give a timid knock. There’s no answer. I knock a little louder; still no answer. I finally get worried. What if something’s wrong, or he’s overslept? So I crack the door open and peek in.

He’s not there. The bed is empty. It’s been made. The kitchen is cleaned up, the dishes in the dishwasher. I check the coffee pot; it’s still a little warm, so he had coffee. But he didn’t wake me to suck him or to even eat a little breakfast with him.

I spend the day trying to catch up some laundry I’d intended to do the day before, then empty trash cans and mop the kitchen floor. The whole day is shrouded in uncertainty. Mid-afternoon I read a little, then take a nap. I wake at four and decide I’d better look around to see what I can find to make for dinner. I haven’t eaten all day; I haven’t had an appetite.

There are plenty of beans and crushed tomatoes in the pantry, and in the freezer I find meat, so I can make chili, no problem. After it’s together and started, I look at the clock. It’s five thirty and I haven’t heard from him. At six I start to get worried, so I call him – no answer. By seven the chili’s about to burn, so I turn it off. Eight comes around and then nine, and nothing. I don’t know what to do. At ten, still not having heard from him, I go in and kneel in my spot.

When I realize it’s midnight and he’s still not there, I do something very uncharacteristic for me. I start to cry. I’m pretty sure he’s not coming home, and I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. What if something’s happened to him?

My phone starts ringing a little after midnight and I run to it, but it’s Sheila, so I don’t even answer it. I finally lean forward and stretch out, my torso almost resting on the floor, arms straight out, and cry into the carpet. I’ve started to get scared and I don’t know what to do.

Time just disappears, and my mind is in a haze. Things had been going so well, and then I do something so stupid that I can’t even believe I did it. I’m still stretched out there, sobbing, when I hear the door. I don’t even look up; I don’t think I can.

I hear him drop his keys in the bowl by the door and set his messenger bag down. He doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t touch me, nothing, just walks by me and goes down the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him. I’m so confused that I just stay there. I don’t know how to apologize more than I already have, and I can’t undo what I did. But at least I know he’s safe. That’s all I really care about.

I wake to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen and sunlight pouring into the front window. When I try to move, I find that my joints are so stiff that I can’t. I’m in the same position I’ve been in for over six hours and I’m aching. After some work, I finally make it up to kneeling position. I haven’t had anything to eat since two mornings previous, and nothing to drink since about seven the night before. I’m feeling kind of weak and very, very tired, not to mention the aching. In a few minutes Clint appears in the doorway with, thank god, two cups of coffee in his hands. I wonder if he’s doing it just to torture me, but thankfully he brings both cups to the coffee table, sets them down, and in a voice soft and sweet says, “Vännan, come to me.”

It’s difficult to stand, so I just crawl on my knees, carpet burn be damned. When I get to the sofa I try to get up, but I can’t. I start to cry, and strong hands lift me. Next thing I know I’m sitting in his lap. Before he can say anything I cry out, “I was so scared!” Then I start to weep.

His voice is calm and soothing. “Do you understand now how worried I was when I got home and you weren’t here? And there was no note? And you didn’t answer your phone?” I nod. “We’re not talking about Dom/sub protocol here, Vännan. We’re talking common courtesy, that’s all.”

That’s when I start to sob. “I know, but I was in such a hurry that I didn’t even think about it, and I couldn’t have dreamed it would be that late before I got back. I thought I’d be back home before you even knew I was gone. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Shhh, shhh.” He presses my face to his shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” He pulls my head up so he can look into my face and wipes my eyes with his hand. “But you remember this lesson, how it felt to not know where I was or if I was okay, to not know if or when I’d be back. And then to be ignored all evening . . .” When I shudder with a sob, he whispers, “That was hard for me too. You’re hard to ignore, little one. Do you know that?” That makes me completely break down, and he pulls me to him and rocks me forward and back like a child.

Finally he says, “Here. Sit up and drink this. It’ll make everything better. And let’s go into the kitchen and get something to eat, okay? I know you’re hungry.” After drinking about half of the cup, I stand from his lap and let him lead me into the kitchen. I’m so hungry and tired that I can barely sit up, and he fixes me a big bowl of oatmeal with strawberries in it, which I promptly devour. He’s still eating his, so I sit there while he eats, saying nothing.

I put our bowls in the sink and run water in them – I just don’t have the strength to wash them right at that minute. Then the clock catches my eye: Eight forty-five. “Oh god, sir! You’re late and everything! I’m so sorry – it’s all my fault! I’ll help you, okay?” I start rushing around, picking things up, making sure his bag is by the door, running through the morning checklist in my mind, so crazed that I can’t speak.

“Hey! Hey, baby, stop. Stop, okay?” I’m so frantic that he finally takes my upper arms and turns me toward him. “Trish, just stop. It’s okay.” I stare at him. “I’m not doing any work today. That’s the beauty of being your own boss. I cancelled a couple of things so I can stay here with you today.” I start to cry again. “Oh, baby, you’re just exhausted. Go get a quick shower and come back to my bed.” It’s a challenge to make it down the hall to my bathroom, but I manage.

When I’ve finished my shower and brushed my teeth, I stumble back up the hall to his room. He’s in the bed, naked, waiting for me. I assume he wants me to suck him like I’m supposed to in the morning, but instead he braces himself above me. “Wrap your legs around me, Vännan.” Once I have, he rolls us both to our sides and begins to pump into me slowly as though he’s contemplating every fraction of an inch of flesh between us, kissing me softly on my forehead, stroking my hair. A couple of times while he’s stroking into me I almost fall asleep. When I fight it, he lays a palm on my cheek and whispers, “Go ahead, baby. Go to sleep. Let me relax you enough for you to fall asleep.” I just let go and feel his cock moving inside me, almost hypnotically. My consciousness begins to drift in and out. I feel him press into me and groan, and his cum warms my sheath. And that’s it – I’m gone.

When I wake I look at the clock: Two twenty-three in the afternoon. Clint’s asleep beside me. He rouses when I look at the clock and says, “Babe, if you need to go to the bathroom, go ahead.” I almost crawl in there, relieve myself, and crawl back. In just a few seconds I’m back in his arms, my head pressed against his chest.

By the time I wake again, it’s almost five o’clock. Clint isn’t in the bed. I find him in the living room, reading a magazine article.

“There’s the sleepyhead. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m very hungry, Sir,” I say, still in a daze and stretching.

“Go and throw something on. Nothing fancy. No underwear or bra. We’ll go out and get something to eat.” I go down the hall to my room and find a little sundress. Once I’ve pulled it on with a pair of sandals, I go back to the living room. “Well, don’t you look cute? Let’s go,” he says, smiling at me. When I get to the door, I stop and let him open it for me. He smiles again and then leads me down the steps, opening the car door for me when we get there and helping me in.

We go down the street to a pizza place. As we sit there we chat about benign things, the weather, whether or not the mail carrier left anything in the box, how blue the sky has been today, and I start to feel a little better. After we eat, we stroll out of the pizza place but he doesn’t go to the car. Instead, he heads down the sidewalk and motions for me to come with him. When I catch up, he takes my hand, and I’m surprised at how good it feels to hold his.

There’s a park two blocks down, and there’s no one there when we get there. He sits on a park bench. I start to sit beside him, but he shakes his head. He unzips his fly, pulls out his dick, and says, “Mount me facing forward.” I simply pull up the hem of my dress and back onto him, sitting on his lap with his cock buried in my already-soaked pussy.

“Move on me, sub,” he whispers, and I start to stroke up and down on his length, making sure to keep my dress down. He reaches up, wraps his arms around me, and begins to toy with my nipples through my dress. I see people coming from a distance, but he doesn’t stop. It’s an older couple, and when they get close, Clint whispers, “Get still.”

They walk by but, to my surprise, after they’ve passed us the old man turns around and grins at Clint. A gasp escapes my lips. “Oh my god, he knew what we were doing!”

“Yeah. He’d like to be doing it too. Start again, baby. Ride me.” In a couple of minutes I’m lost in ecstasy, and he comes in me like a tidal wave. I’m worried that I’ll leave a mess on the front of his jeans, but he doesn’t seem to care.

On the way home he asks, without looking at me, “All good?”

I nod my head. “Yes, Sir. It’s all good. And I really am sorry, Sir.”

“It’s over. Let’s just move forward, okay? Tomorrow is another day.”

Yes it is. Thank god.

S
aturday is our compulsory day. We’re required to go to the club and have an interview to report on how things are going. Clint acts like he’s nervous, but I’m not sure why, and I have to wonder if he’s worried about what I might say.

We’re supposed to be there at one thirty. There’s a deli downtown that I’ve always loved, and when I mention it, Clint wants to take me there.

I can’t figure him out. Sometimes it seems like he wants me here and can’t wait to spend time with me, and other times he acts like I’m nothing, or that I’m the last person he’d want to see. The yanking back and forth is tiresome. I plan to say that to whoever is interviewing us.

When we get to the club there are a couple of other Dom/sub pairings there waiting for their interviews. They put each pair in a private room to wait, and we wind up in Dave’s office because it’s the only room left. He’s got some little trinkets on his desk, and I play with a couple of them while we’re waiting. When he comes to the doorway, he sighs and says, “Okay, you two, who’s first?”