Exploits

by Poppet

  I did anything and everything I had to, to keep him happy. So, when Gary pushed me away and kept me at a distance, I was miserable.

  I still could not take my eyes off him. He was stunning. No man, (other than Calvin Klein models), looked that jaw-dropping in nothing but plain old blue jeans. And he chose to walk around in just the blues so often that I was in a permanent state of arousal.

  Gary kept me at arm's distance for two weeks. He rejected every advance I made, but had to feed the beast. I cannot convey how it shattered my heart (and self-esteem–the little I had left)– that he refused to speak to me, to engage with me in any way, until I was fast asleep. For two weeks I was woken with him skewering me in the middle of the night. When he was done, he'd just roll over and go to sleep. Two hours later he'd wake me up again. Just a shake.

  "What?" I'd mumble sleepily.

  He would smile. I would fall for it, thinking that redemption was going to be mine. When he pulls my head into the top of his thighs, I give him what he likes.

  My hopeful eyes would meet his, just to be met with that triumphant gloat.

  He was killing me with degradation and humiliation. (I fell for this multiple times. Ha ha. You can tell I'm a natural blonde.) And I had no one I could share my pain with. My only real friend now, was Gary.

  Once he'd decided that I'd suffered enough for being attractive to other men, he took me back. Gary style. The dynamics were changing faster than I could comprehend. But I was just so grateful he wanted me. He picked me up from work, drowning out any conversation with blaring Metallica. I stared sullenly out of my window at the back end of Table Mountain. The beauty lost on me in my haze of misery. Craving him with every breath and hating him for my sufferance.

  When I got home, I walked in through the door expecting to simply make dinner. The kitchen was the first room as you walked in through the door. I dropped my Gucci bag on the table and put the kettle on. I opened the fridge and took out the cold brew to slake his hard day's thirst. He's wearing his wicked grin.

  My heartbeat accelerates. Oh, how I've missed that look. His eyes sparkle deceptively as he puts his noosed tie around my neck. He takes the beer and places it onto the table next to us. His grin is a smile now. He's touching me. YAY, thank God he still wants to touch me. My dress falls to the floor. My bra follows. I step out of my shoes and become diminutive, looking up at him, wondering what he's going to do. He pulls off his button-down work shirt and drops it to caress my dress. With my leash he leads me to the bedroom. I'm melting. The thought of him has my body in biological response-ready mode.

  He pushes me rather forcefully onto the edge of the king sized bed. Face down. I hear the zipper and my body explodes when he unlocks me. Tears of gratitude and relief well up. I'm into it. The rhythm. I feel the hardening before he ices my cake and instantly feel robbed as he pulls out of me and sprays hot ectoplasm all over my naked back. I swallow hard, fighting back bitter tears. I'm given hope again as the noose tightens and he pulls my head back by the hair. He re-enters the chamber of secrets and starts doing his thing again.

  Hope restored! I'm used to his games. If Gary is anything, he's unpredictable. And he gets bored easily. The bedroom dynamic was constantly morphing, an endless kaleidoscope of sadistic creativity.

  I am shamed when he pulls out and repeats the process. When he does it a third time, I am broken. He pulls me up off the bed backwards, with the noose tight around my throat, and turns me to face him. I cannot meet his eyes. My emotional pain is too excruciating. I don't want him to know what he's just done to me. I stare fixedly at his amazing pecs, my eyes caressing the shape that is perfection.

  A commanding hand lifts my chin until I finally look into his eyes with my own. I hate Gary. He knows me better than anyone ever will. He loves to make me angry and hurt, because my eyes turn a deep sapphire. He deliberately shames and humiliates me, because he relishes my eyes when they’re that shade of blue. I know that my eyes are betraying me, because his smile communicates that he has achieved what he set out to.

  He hasn't spoken a word. Neither have I. I wait for the next instruction. He sits down on the kohl black sheet and pulls my body by the tie to stand between his legs. He looks at my erect nipples and a gloating smirk morphs his handsome face. He waits expectantly. I remember belatedly that this is my cue. (Hah! No pun intended).

  I kneel and watch his eyes close, as a low moan escapes his throat when my warm mouth cossets one of the twins. He flops back and the noose gets tighter. I can hardly breathe and with the erection in my mouth, the lack of oxygen is making my vision blur. I've read about people dying like this. Squashing my fear, I choose to trust him. It's odd, but it's an adrenalin rush. Erotic extreme sports has entered our dynamic. He finally relinquishes the leash.

  I'm in!

  I loosen the tie slightly as I become the dominant partner. Looking down at my victim who is enjoying lying back with expectant anticipation. I've learned the art of masochism from Gary. And it's pay-back time. I'm hornier than a blowfish, but I've waited this long, a little while longer won't be any harder to take. Those hands grip my hips, and I take the noose off and restrain his hands to the bed with it. No way is he interfering in this.

  Ha!

  His eyes opened and I saw startled surprise. I smile back at my master. He's forgotten that he's trained me well. Sub or dom, top or bottom, I can do both.

  I learned the Asian art of making love using all of the pelvic floor muscles. My body can do better than my lips can. I ride him until I anticipate the precipice, and using the nurse’s technique of stalling a detonation, I make him wait. It's a brilliant technique.

  I start the slow build up again. He's my victim now, and I'm relishing torturing him. I fondle my own pink skin and watch his eyes cloud with anger. The motion doesn't stop. My body is working its erotic pleasure on him, he moans loudly ... I cut it off again.

  Three times he humiliated me.

  Three times is payback.

  So I initiate joyride number three. I'm getting my own fix. Two weeks without the explosion of a new galaxy is a lifetime when you've been having two or three a day for years. I'm now as sick as Gary. He has made his needs my needs. I cannot change who he's conditioned me to be.

  I've never heard Gary yell like that ever. When I let him have the release, it looked like it could almost have been painful. I stay on him, smiling.

  Game, set and match.

  Respect won, he smiles back. The smile that conveys openly,’ I love you, bitch’.

  Feeling secure, I undo his hands and free him. My head lurches as he grabs me and pins me underneath him. He's angry and has to work off that energy. He's nailing me hard. (And I'm loving it.) Since that first time I have never had a vocal climax again. The only way to shut up, is to hold my breath. He knows I'm cumming when I stop breathing. A long groan breaks the never-ending slapping of skin on skin. Not from me. He drops heavily against me. A tear of relief and satisfaction escapes out of the corner of my eye. He leans away and grips my face. His explorative kiss feels like rape. I savagely kiss him back, returning the mingling of lips and tongues. I'm hungry. I've been craving this sustenance. His hand tightens around my neck and squeezes. Kissing and asphyxiating me.

  My vision starts blurring again. Fear hammers my heart. Would he really kill me? Is this a power trip? I'm too breathless to scream. You never beg with Gary. You never ask. If you do, he'll show you the door. So I watch through tearing eyes as his head pulls away from mine.

  (Thanks to Gary I can hold my breath for an indeterminate amount of time.)

  He lets my throat go and laughs happily. A gentle kiss is placed on my swollen lips. Swollen from kissing. The soul-soothing voice speaks in my ear as he pinches my nipple, "Fuck, I love you." The first words of the night.

  I can't tell you a time when I have felt this happy. My heart is blowing evanescent bubbles of joy as I walk naked to make us dinner. That night he engaged with my body repeatedly. And I felt loved. This was love.
(Or so I thought.) I lost count of the orgasms we had between us. After dinner he put in Miss Magic Boobs and doggie'd me in the dark, watching her writhing. I'm addicted to his smell, it turns me inside out. I never object to his overwhelming appetite for my lips on his cue. I crave his hands all over my body. I adore him inside me. In short, I worship him.

  (In retrospect I think he had turned me into a sex addict who missed her calling as a porn star.)

  I knew I'd won him back when we went out together for drinks with the goofy gang on Friday night to the V&A Waterfront. Cindy is short, really short: four-foot-two or something ridiculous like that. And she can drink an alcoholic into surrender. Her joy at our being reunited is palpable, and she intends to rejoice with shooters. Shoving money into my hand she grabs the other and pulls me off my bar stool, "Come!"

  She pushes me through throngs of men to the bar. I know the routine. She can't see over the bar so someone else has to get the drinks for her.

  "What are we having?"

  She grins and flicks back wildly curly, long blonde hair, "Two Slippery Nipples."

  I laugh, and feel my cheeks heat up as every man around us is suddenly giving our nipples their undivided attention. Shit. They are reacting to the attention! Great. Thanks nipples!

  The tall, dark-haired beefcake behind the bar smiles and asks, "What can I give you?"

  I order, "Two Slippery Nipples, please." His eyes move to my nipples, he grins, "Sure thing." The suggestion is obvious.

  As he walks away Cindy pulls on my arm and yells, "And a Blow Job!"

  I raise my eyebrows because now we're becoming the object of commentary and scrutiny. She laughs and, too loud, says, "I'm craving one."

  I'm not. I had a lifetime's supply just yesterday. Sleep is becoming an indulgence of luxurious proportions.

  The bar-tender returns with the shooters and quirks an eyebrow, "Anything else?"

  I blush for real, "A Blow Job too, please."

  His smile causes sunlight to break through the night and he unzips his jeans, "With pleasure."

  I clarify, "The shooter."

  He gives me a wink, his mischievous glance said very clearly, ‘It is the shooter, angel,’ but he pulls it back up. His throaty laugh causes my cheeks to burn with fervour. (This is my give-away. It reveals that no matter what happens between Gary and me behind closed doors, I'm still naive and easily embarrassed around strangers. Especially men.)

  Laughs erupt from the baritones and muscles surrounding us. A huge scary looking guy leers at me, "I'll give you one."

  This isn't going well. If Gary sees other men talking to me, I'm in endless shit. And I've only just been allowed out to play again. My flushed cheeks drain as his wide shoulders push through them and he stands towering behind Cindy. His look of displeasure sends fluttering panic through my loins. Cindy fears no repercussion and is encouraging the lewd behaviour. Gary scowls at the men, puts his arm around my waist and slides his hand into the back of my jeans.

  "Woman, is there a problem?"

  I shake my head as the bartender returns to me with a Blow Job. I pay him, my eyes pleading silently for him not to joke any further. As he hands me the change, Gary knifes him with two cold, hard, blue eyes and orders, "Two Castle's!"

  Gary is used to ordering people around. You can tell. He never says please. Gary moves his arm to around my shoulders and blatantly cups my right breast. Angry eyes seem insulted as they watch him. I feel shamed and carefully pick up the drinks, handing Cindy her Blow Job, avoiding all eye contact with the audience around us, at any cost. She downs it and I put the empty glass back on the bar. I hand her the Slippery Nipple and get ready to walk back to our table with mine.

  As I move through our audience, one man says to me, "What are you doing with a loser like that, sister?"

  I freeze, dizzy with fear. I keep my eyes riveted to the floor and force myself to start moving as Gary's voice confronts him, "Fuck you!"

  I glance back at the Good Samaritan. Gary is facing him, ready for a confrontation. I mouth "Sorry!" His eyes communicate so much. I felt genuine caring for my well-being in them. Cindy grabs Gary and pushes him, "Stop being a wanker, Gary!"

  Gary knows he's outnumbered. He can withdraw with his pride intact. Glaring daggers, he allows Cindy to drag him away. When she reaches me she gives me the ‘What the hell is wrong with your man?’ look.

  Charl and Alan immediately start teasing him for being highly strung, pushing smokes and alcohol at him. The instant solution to every problem.

  My eyes meet his and I want to die, and cry. I'm going to pay for this.

  I stare out at the luxury boats docked in the harbour. It's too late to hear the seals barking now. The lights dance ecstatically across the inky ocean, the smell strongly greasy from the tankers out of sight. I feel my exuberance drowning, like the moon sinking below the horizon. My emotional death is not that beautiful. Eventually, I drag my eyes back to watch him with ill-disguised trepidation. I smile half-heartedly at Cindy head-banging to one of our fine local bands. Cutting Jade are grinding out ‘I will fight you, every step of the way ...’

  I haven't. I don't have the guts to fight him.

  Later, a voice whispers at me as I enter the ladies, "You can do better."

  My eyes stare nervously up into gentle brown ones. For the first time, I'm sensing that I'm a catch, and Gary's possessive behaviour not only shamed me, but made me wish I didn't have an audience to witness it. I smile, averting my gaze in case my tormentor is watching, and whisper, "Thanks."

  Chapter 10

  Blow Up

  Okay, I'll admit that it took endless reassurances and every persuasive technique in my repertoire to convince him that I was not at fault for Friday's issue. I also had to finally submit to some bedroom antics I am still staunchly opposed to. (Keep reading, I'll dish them out later.) By Monday morning, the game was back on.

  Gary played games. Constantly. Underlying every one of them was a seriousness that kept me captive. One thing I would never attempt, was the undermining of his authority. He named the game. I had to play.

  Nothing prepared me for him dropping me off for work. He grabs my wrist and stalls me from exiting the leather seat. His smile disarms me.

  What's going on?

  "Wait."

  It's a command.

  I wait.

  What are you doing?

  His hand slips into my knickers and his fingers bury in like a tortoise getting shy.

  My cheeks instantly heat up as my body reacts to the stimulation. I watch the bodies thronging past the car. I'm grateful that Monday morning is a sedative. People stroll past in their own private trance. No one notices. He pulls open my blouse and pops out my nipple, his mouth covers it. I am molten. Instinct just takes over and obliterates any thought processes I was entertaining.

  He pulls his hand away along with his head, laughs demonically, and smiles at me. "Get out."

  "What?"

  "Get out. I'm going to be late."

  Hastily I try to straighten my clothing and step out of his impatient transportation capsule. He pulls off and does not look back. I draw deep breaths to try and still my arousal. My body is on fire and my legs have lost the blood flow that mobilises muscles. I stagger to the door and walk past it to the steps beyond. I flop down heavily, waiting for my cheeks to calm down. I light a smoke with shaking fingers and sit and stare blankly at traffic and strangers trickling past my view to the street.

  A blond head appears at the window. Arched eyebrows convey a silent query. I smile and mouth, "I'm fine."

  I finish my smoke, spritz on more perfume and force my legs to walk to the door.

  The blond head opens the door for me, one hand for some reason on the gun at his hip, "Are you okay?"

  I am so horny I am sure if I meet his eyes he'll see it, and know it. Embarrassed I mumble, "I'm fine."

  I half meet his eyes, before nervously looking away and walking to my desk. I sit too close to him the entire day, e
very day. He knows my routine. This is how we became friends. Through close proximity, daily. If anyone can tell there's something different about me, it's the guy that doesn't have to answer phones and push paper. He sits down, a frown marring his peaches and cream face.

  I don’t get coffee, I just immerse myself in work.

  * * * * *

  I have a problem. I have one of 'those' voices. Once, a few weeks ago, I phoned the radio station to enter a competition on 5fm and landed up having a debate with the DJ about me doing radio. He insisted I had just the right voice for radio. He told me it was so sexy the listeners would lap it up. Thanks, but no thanks: (like Gary would ever let that happen.)

  (Okay, fine. I admit it. I asked him if I could and he said NO.)

  I also have clients who are pretty blatant about it. They phone me for no other reason than to say hi and hear my voice. A few of them have told me I should be doing phone sex, and they'd be my number one caller. Great. I know it's meant to be a compliment, but I'm pretty uncomfortable with strangers saying things like this to me. And no, I have never told Gary.

  So the last thing I want to do today is answer that flippin’ telephone. If they think that about me when I'm not feeling frisky, then those men will just know and start saying naughty things to me, and I just can't handle that today.

  When Monica walks in, I tell her, "I'm not feeling well today. Can I ask you to take the calls?"

  She nods, and drops her bag as she places her cute derriere into the chair at the desk pushed up against mine, "No problem. Just take it easy."

  Mr Security Guard overhears and now he's staring through me as if he's trying to read my mind.