Learning to Trust Part 2: Full Submission

***

My head throbbed when I woke the next morning, my temples feeling like they were two sizes too small for my head and wound as tightly around my brain as possible. I groaned and rolled over in bed, checking the clock on my
cell phone
—i
t was 11:45am.

“Shit,” I said out loud. I never slept that late
—
but I hadn't set an alarm
either
.
Why did I have such a headache?
I guess the excess sleep had literally
gone to my head
. I needed to check in with my boss, but I wasn't
quite
ready to do that yet. I needed to eat and have some coffee before I could function around other humans
, even through the phone
. I took some ibuprofen and planted my head back on the pillow.
I wanted a couple more minutes in this bed.

I had come home the previous night, entirely flustered, heart still burning with desire. Roland had toyed with me in a way that I had no experience with, made love to me in a way that was as foreign as Latin
to my untrained ears
. I simp
ly couldn't understand it, instead just
feeling
, allowing it to flush my skin and my mind with its truth
(whatever that truth was)
. The whole ride home I had fought with myself, my urges telling me to turn around, my common sense telling me to
just go home
.

God, I wanted so much more
—
but he had given me specific instructions and I had no right to violate
them, as much as I wanted to. It seemed
that
want
was a big part of his game, a big part of his overall strategy, but what did I know? Why did I try to understand what was going on in his brain? He was a mastermind, I was not. Could I really ever grasp what went on in his head? Was it really worth it to try?

I finally crawled out of bed and
got some coffee from the lobby.
I sat in my room
,
sipping it with desperate need, allowing the ca
ffeine to trickle into my brain.
Ah, the drug acted
as a painkiller as well.
Relief!
I was only a few sips in and already feeling better. My pain was evaporating as my awareness returned to normal. I wasn't feeling that great about waiting for Roland
's next move
—
but I could at least function again. I figured that I should probably just call my boss and get it out of the way.
He picked up on the first ring when I tried.

“Marisa, how's it going out there?” He seemed especially cheery, probably because it was Saturday.
He didn't even say
hi
, just went straight into conversation.

“Hey Pat, it's going well. Sorry this is the first time I've made contact.”

“Don't worry about it. We've been swamped here. The Mayor was busted in a money laundering scandal and everyone is going nuts about it. Even if you had called me and
told me that StarChem was staffed by
M
artians, it would only be on page five. God, that would be
weird.
” He laughed at his own joke.

“Ha, yeah. But Roland
's got ties with Al
Qaeda
, so
—
“

“Eh, that'd be page two maybe.” He laughed again, his hearty laugh still so
booming
through the
tiny speaker
. He was a big guy; you could even tell through the phone. “So what's up? Do you have anything yet?”

“Not really,” I said, unsure of what I should tell him if anything. “I feel like I'm making progress, but he knows what I'm up to. He's taking his sweet time.”

“I trust that you're doing the right thing, Marisa.”

I blushed after he said that, thinking about what Roland had don
e to me the previous afternoon. I was very
thankful that we weren't
video chatting
.
Yeah, some interview
,
all right.
“You know me,” I said. “I always do what it takes to get a
good
story.”

“You're damn right.
Damn right
. I don't know what I'd do without you.” There was some commotion in the background. “Al
l
right, Marisa. I gotta get going. The kids want me to take them out today. Museum or Coney Island?”

“Take 'em somewhere educational,” I said. “Museum.”

“Alright, Coney Island then.” His l
augh was even louder this time.

“Thanks for taking me seriously,” I said, laughing in return.

“Marisa, I'll talk to you later. These kids are driving me nuts. See ya.”

The call ended just like that—
I was alone again in that hotel room. I put the phone back down
on the bed
.

I really liked Pat because he was absolutely a no bullshit kind of guy. He didn't want excuses or lies, even if the truth hurt worse. I had actually messed up a lot at the beginning of my career with him and he always took me back in, giving me a harsh scolding that I learned to take. It had made me a lot stronger than I was when I started.

I went and worked out after that, taking a quick swim at the conclusion of my workout.
The cool water
felt just marvelous
after so much sweating
. I watched the other couples around the pool, suddenly feeling so old and alone
, even though I was only 28
. People swimming together, playing together, being affectionate together. Some with kids, some without. As stupid as it sounded, I had never just frolicked with a lover in a pool, oblivious to the world
—
like we were the only people there. God, I wasn't even 30 and already I felt like I was having a mid-life crisis. If I kept holding on to so much stress, dying at 60 didn't see
m like such an impossibility.

Jesus, Marisa. You can't even go swimming without upsetting yourself.
Why did I have to spoil every good moment by over-thinking?

I got back to my room and hit the shower
to wash away the chlorine smell. Standing still,
the warm water rushed down my body, envelo
ping me with relaxing steam
. I reached out of the shower to grab my
hairbrush
; the water hit my clit with almost laser-precision, strong and pow
erful.
I immediately shivered. I felt like a recovering drug addict that just had a taste of some
very forbidden fruit
, a taste that would have ruined any and all progress toward breaking the habit.

My fingers, possessed by a need like the one I'd felt the previous day, shot to that awoken flesh between my legs, swirling gently at first, growing in intensity as I felt my body fill with burning white heat. I touched myself frantically and desperately, fueled by re-emerging
,
transparent images of Roland in my mind.

I thought of his hands on my wrists again, his power, his drive to please and control me. The images were weaker this time
—
I felt like I could literally see through them
—
but the emotions were
stronger
than ever. That feeling of helplessness flooded through me like water through a broken dam, filling me just as his thickness had. I wanted to trust him, to submit to him, to let him do with me whatever he thought was best.

My ache throbbed as I touched myself; there was nothing I could do to stop that growing internal
want
as it snowballed. My fingers eased into my moist folds, pressing against my g-spot with each in-and-out movement, my muscles clenching against them with absolute approval. I kept my thumb planted against my swollen clit, increasing the pressure as I got hotter and hotter inside, my core threatening to burst from just
too much
. I worked fast and with precision as my mind cycled through everything I had felt, one emotion after another like they were printed on flash cards.

I moaned loudly, sending my departed cries echoing against the shower walls, reminding my ears that I couldn't stop no matter what. I felt myself go over the edge, my cream spilling out, my legs weakening even as my muscles tightened everywhere. I fell back against the s
hower wall and cried out for more, clutching
the metal bar for support. I pushed myself higher and higher into my clima
x, the water gushing at me as
tension fled my body, evaporating like steam from a
teakettle
. I felt my pussy flutter against my fingers, and after that, it was over. The explosion had been overwhelming
ly
big, but quick.

My heart took its
sweet
time to slow down, working with my heaving chest to return me to normality. I suddenly felt
too hot
and turned up the cold water, chilling myself as I went too far. I shivered, somewhat enjoying the
icy
surprise. I realized I had responded like an animal, like my brain was suddenly removed and replaced by only instinct and desire. My body had been poisoned by lust with only the most subtle touch of water in the
right place
.

I got out of the shower shortly after, filling up my water bottle with tap water. It was the same bottle that Roland had given me the previous day, the gesture replaying in my mind. The water had an overwhelming chemical flavor, something I had gotten used to during my many business-related hotel stays. He had left me longing, wanting, only satisfying my literal thirst and nothing beyond that. Sure, he made me feel incredible
—
but he cut it off after that, leaving our sentence unfinished. Hell, maybe it was a whole
paragraph
that he left unfinished. I knew what I wanted it to say, but really had no idea what his pen had in mind. I only knew that it was going to get
harder
.

***

I did the best I could to pass the time during the rest of the weekend, watching movies on my laptop and just trying to zone out as much as possible. My mind went back and forth, hating Roland
and then wanting him even more as I struggled
to figure out what I was really feeling. It didn't take me long to realize that I had stopped thinking about the
story
at all, instead obsessing over
this man and what he could do to me. The more I tried to convince myself that I needed to focus on my own career, the more I realized that I simply couldn't. My struggle was probably the reason why I had kicked my emotions to the curb for so long, allowing my job to replace that volatility with something a slightly more stable.