“No, not yet.”
The nerve of him, this was all his idea and now he was denying me. But really, it wasn’t his words that stopped me – it was his eyes.
Deep. Brown turning to hazel, focused, at the moment, on me – my face, my own eyes.
He had told me that he thinks I may have a submissive streak, an observation I vehemently denied. I submit to no one, in any arena, ever. “I am a grown-ass woman, why would I feel the need to submit, to obey, to do as others (much less you) tell me to do?”
“Hell, I don’t know, but I think maybe you might, in bed.”
Oh, now this was such bullshit, I had to call him out on it. Told him not only did it not turn me on to be dictated to, ordered, expected, but that I would never do anything that was demanded of me. Fuck that.
Now I looked across the table, and he told me what I would do, and what I would not. Could not. Was not allowed to.
“C’mon,” I said, barely above a whisper. I could hear it, weakness in my voice. I hated it, hated hated hated it. I could feel myself thinking “please” but refused to go there, I would not beg for my own orgasm.
It had started as essentially a dare. My submissive tendencies, or lack thereof, had been touched on occasionally, with me still telling him he could fuck right off, and him chuckling under his breath, as if to say, ‘sure tell yourself that if you want.’
But now, now he was pushing it, pushing me, and I hated myself for allowing that, for not laughing in his face.
But, I wasn’t. I was looking at him, waiting for him to say the words that would push me over the edge, let me freefall.
The words that would allow me to come.
‘Fuck you,’ I thought. I couldn’t believe I had allowed this to go this far. When I sat down at the table, a drink was waiting for me, dripping onto the tablecloth. A very strong one.
“Drink up baby,” he said. “I’m two ahead of you.” So I drank the drink, gulping it down, thinking nothing of it. My head started swimming almost immediately. Then he reached his closed hand across the table. Without thinking, I reached out, palms up. He opened his hand and a bullet vibrator, no bigger than his thumb, fell into my hand.
When I saw what it was, I laughed, closing my hand around the smooth object, looking at him.
“What the hell David?” I half whispered. “I mean, I like gifts and all, but geez you could have left it in the box, wrapped it up.”
“But its not a gift, not really,” he said, a smirk coming over his face. “I just had an idea, if you’re interested.”
Anything sexual, hell yeah I’m interested, even when, as it was in this instance, against my better judgement. Especially then. So, like a sucker, I asked what he had in mind.
“Will you do it?” he asked.
“I don’t know, depends on what it is.”
“You know I don’t want what is not given freely.”
“I know you don’t, but I don’t know what you are going to ask.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, with my life.”
“Then, will you do what I ask? Will you Sasha?”
He knew the sound of my name off his tongue did something to me, affected me.
Both a thrill of excitement and a wave of relief washed over me. Thrilled because he obviously had a plan that involved me and a vibrator, relief that whatever happened, I was not responsible, David was.
He took a swallow of his whiskey, smiled.
“Glad you wore a skirt,” he said. “Panties?”
“Yes, I’m wearing panties.”
“Slip that toy into them.”
I started to get up, but he stopped me. Said he wanted me to do it while I was sitting at the table. After he said that, his mouth curled, daring me. So, naturally I made sure the tablecloth was over my lap, opened my legs, pulled my panties aside and pushed the bullet up against my clit. I smiled right back at him, with an eyebrowed raised, answering his dare.
Little did I know it was a remote controlled vibrator, I jumped when he wiped the smile off my face by turning the the vibrator on.
His eyes widened, he opened his mouth into a smiling “O,” laughing at my surprise.
I immediately felt my body going limp, automatically doing what it does when a buzz starts in my pussy. I leaned back in the booth, my eyelids getting heavy as I went to that other place.
“Hey,” he said, not loud, but sharp. I sat up, but he didn’t turn the vibe off.
“Come back to me, don’t go anywhere,” he said. No, ordered, he ordered me to stay alert, aware of where I was, here with him in this bar.
“I’m here,” I told him. “I can do this.”
“You will do this.”
“Oh, is that so? And why will I do this?”
“Because I asked you, and you said you would. You said you would give this to me, did you not?”
I had said that, I told him I would. The insistent buzz in my panties continued, along with his stare. He did not attempt to look casual, to glance around or smile. He looked at me, I could read the changes in my own demeanor by the look in his eyes. The longer the vibe stayed in place, the more turned on I got, the more intensely he looked at me. When he changed the speed on the bullet, he observed me, like an interesting display at a museum.
And every time I started to relax, go limp, let myself go and give in to the sensations, he brought me back.
Insistent. A bit demanding, just enough. He kept me from slipping away.
And it worked, my pussy gushing and twitching as the tension built. Yet, I stayed on top of the arousal, aware of what he was doing.
“Baby, I’m dying over here,” I said after several silent minutes, the hum of the vibrator barely audible as it rose in pitch. “I want to come.”
He gave a chuckle but never took his eyes off me, those eyes that I had seen close as he himself came. He was not allowing me that luxury.
“Not yet,” he said, turning the speed on the vibrator back down. “Open your eyes, look at me.”
I did, I looked at him even as I felt the tension build in my belly and my thighs, my body tightening, getting ready for release. I fought to keep my eyes focused on his, to sit up straight and not betray myself to the world. But I was losing, I could feel myself melting.
“Sasha, look at me.”
I looked at him for what could only have been a few seconds, but seemed like an eternity as he steadily turned the vibe up, smiling. I fought to find a way to go with the wave of pleasure coursing through me while concentrating on him, on his face.
On those eyes.
“Now. Come to me Sasha, come now.”
And I was freefalling, looking at him, watching him watch me. Relief and release, pleasure I was having to rein in, his control of me forcing me to control myself. I came and came, I didn’t think it would ever end, my body jumping and squeezing itself. I felt my fingernails dig into my palms, somewhere I knew I was about to cry out.
“No, don’t, be quiet. Shhhh, be quiet for me.”
And I did.
I pressed my lips together, as if I were teetering on an “m” forever. I heard a noise in my throat, muffled only by sheer will, a whining sound, plaintive and begging. But I did not. I just came, refusing to close my eyes, giving him what he wanted, what I wanted.
“So, what did you just prove? Nothing. That I enjoy an orgasm, big deal.”
“But you gave it to me,” he said. “I didn’t force you, you gave it to me, a gift.”
And I understood. I understood giving up control.
Not submitting, I will never understand that, to allow someone to dominate me, to need to relinquish control. I was always in control.
I simply surrendered it.