“Are you feeling up to using anything?” I ask while you play with my waistband. You seem confused and I point at the gray canvas box full of our stuff. You pull the panties I’m wearing down and think.

“Uh…yeah, I do,” You say as if the box never crossed your mind. You take my underwear off and lean over to your nightstand. You pull out a piece of paper, the list we made last weekend. So far, we’ve only tested out following one rule at a time, and they were some of the easier on the list. Like the morning after when you made me avoid eye contact while blowing you.

Tonight, you hand me the paper and ask - no, order - me to read each rule. The anxiety rising in me begs my mouth to replace each “Slut” with “I” and “Sir” with “you”, but I understand the irony in doing that. I recite the list without daring to take my eyes off the paper until they’re all said. My cheeks grow red and you grab the paper back from me.

“Look at me,” you say and I immediately look up. “What are your rules? “

Your rules. The phrase echoes in my head. I lock eyes with you and recite all five, only messing up a word or two. You glance down at the paper before reaching over to touch my face. You gently grab my cheek and say “Promptly, and accurately,” emphasizing the last word, which I forgot. I consider the meaning of the word and recognize it as an odd choice. Maybe my tipsy brain was just adding fluff.

You let go of me and put the list back in your drawer. “Kneel on the floor.” Lust takes over me first and I lean forward and grab your face with both of my hands. I open mouth kiss you until you pull me away with your hand in my hair. “Now.”

I hurry to follow your instructions, but realize we never hashed out what positions you like to see me in. I default to the same way I waited for you the other week.

You get up and stand directly in front of me, about six inches away. I focus on what could be going through your mind. I hope I look cute from your point of view.

“Take off your shirt.”

I cross my arms and pull my sleep shirt over my head before folding it as fast as I can and putting it behind me. I’m wearing nothing now, while you’re still in your work clothes. Fuck.

I love the dynamic of being naked while you’re fully clothed. It makes me feel so vulnerable and subservient to you.

You snap me out of my thinking when you push me forward by the back of my head, until my cheek makes contact with the button of your dress pants. You maneuver my head around your crotch, rubbing yourself over your pants with my face. I softly moan, then cringe at the fact that I’m moaning from being manhandled like this.

“Beg me.” You command.

“What?” I ask, taken aback and looking up at you, forgetting to follow my rules. You ignore my mistake.

“Beg me. You have ten seconds.”

I stare past you in anxious fear for a moment and try to extrapolate more meaning from your words.

“One.” Fuck. “Two.”

“Please, please can I please suck your dick?” I plead, rubbing my face against you on my own. I plant a mix of long and fast kisses on you through your pants. “Please, it’s the only thing I want. I need to have you. Please.” I run my tongue along your bulge as I try to think of what to say next.

I don’t have to as you interrupt my train of thought with instructions to unbutton your pants. I pull your cock free and plant kisses along the sides, but I’m interrupted as you pull my head away from you.

“I didn’t say to do that.” You say calmly. There’s no rule that says I can’t do things on my own. But I understand that you want me to only act on your terms, and I’m here to do what you want. A “sorry” gets stuck in my throat.

“I was going to give you what you wanted.” You say just as calmly. I keep my gaze down. You pull me directly up by my hair and tell me to bend over the bed. I don’t bother turning my head to the side as I’m face down, so I’m not as tempted to look at you. “Maybe next time,” you add, confirming that you aren’t going to let me suck you off tonight.

Your fingers run along the back of my thighs and over my ass, grabbing here and there. Eventually you brush your fingers lightly against my vulva, commenting under your breath about how wet I look. You surprise me by keeping one finger toying with my clit, eliciting an unexpected moan. You move back up and slowly shove your fingers into me. You hold that position for a second before pulling out abruptly and entering me for real.

You lean onto my back as you thrust, preventing me from trying to arch for you. You pull my head up with your hand entangled in my hair. “I never got an apology,” you say quietly but sternly.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” I respond between heavy breaths. This position always feels amazing, borderline too much, but I’m so needy now causing it to feel more intense.

Your grip on my hair tightens, causing me to yelp. “I’m sorry, what?”

Shit. “I’m sorry, Sir.” I say as fast as I can, but your grip doesn’t get any looser. You push my face back down into the bed and use me. You don’t acknowledge me or change how you’re fucking me for several minutes. It gives me time to think about how I felt so weird calling you that, but can’t deny that it’s a little exciting. A little freeing.

I’m so glad that I gave you something to correct me on, and that you did. As I’m lost in thought and mindlessly taking you, you wrap your hand around my throat and squeeze, slightly cutting off oxygen to my brain. I feel a familiar dizzy effect from this movement as you give three percussive final thrusts into me. Then you stop and slowly let go of my neck and hair. You rest your forehead on my shoulder and catch your breath.

After a few moments, you invite me to join you in the shower, and I do. I’m still in a very submissive mindset and make a point to wash your back for you, massaging you as I spread the soap around. You let me do this and release a sigh. I reach around your waist and grab you even though you’re soft. I use the remaining soap on my hands to wash our sex off of you. You rinse off and hop out, and I do the same.

————————

I get myself into silky pajamas and meet you in the living room. I grab the remote and plop down next to you, leaning against your arm. You push your hand over my head through my hair and look into my eyes. “We weren’t done.”

You guide me to kneel on the floor in front of you, and I don’t dare try to do anything without explicit permission. I keep my gaze down, starting to resent the eye contact rule.

“Go ahead.” You tell me, appearing to not reference anything specific. Do you mean what I hope you mean? I maneuver your pajama pants down and begin kissing the insides of your thighs. I don’t spend too much time dancing around the main event and move my kisses to your shaft, as I was doing before I was interrupted before. You’re already halfway hard when I start and it doesn’t take long to get you the rest of the way there as I take you into my mouth.

You relax how you’re sitting and I sneak a glance upward. You’re scrolling on your phone. I initially am shocked by this and almost say something, but that feeling is replaced by a warmth. It’s like I’m not important. Me giving you a blowjob is just another normal occurrence, might as well multitask, right? This dismissiveness of my existence is demeaning and I love it. Like I’m an object, here to make your dick feel good while you do whatever else. I think about my fantasies of sitting under your desk while you work, cockwarming you with my mouth or the one where you look at porn while I suck your dick.

This goes on for a while. I have no idea how long. Me worshipping your cock with my mouth while you make no effort to hide your typing and scrolling.